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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:28:48 -0700 |
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diff --git a/7050-h/7050-h.htm b/7050-h/7050-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1aac73f --- /dev/null +++ b/7050-h/7050-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3838 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + The Swoop!, by P. G. Wodehouse + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> + <pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Swoop! or How Clarence Saved England, by +P. G. Wodehouse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Swoop! or How Clarence Saved England + A Tale of the Great Invasion + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse + +Release Date: December, 2004 [EBook #7050] +First Posted: March 1, 2003 +Last Updated: November 12, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWOOP! HOW CLARENCE SAVED ENGLAND *** + + + + +Etext produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE SWOOP! + </h1> + <h2> + Or How Clarence Saved England + </h2> + <h3> + <i>A Tale of the Great Invasion</i> + </h3> + <h2> + By P. G. Wodehouse + </h2> + <h4> + 1909 — + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + CONTENTS + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> <b>PREFACE</b> </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <b>Part One</b> </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter 1 </a> + </td> + <td> + AN ENGLISH BOY'S HOME + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter 2 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE INVADERS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter 3 </a> + </td> + <td> + ENGLAND'S PERIL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter 4 </a> + </td> + <td> + WHAT ENGLAND THOUGHT OF IT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter 5 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE GERMANS REACH LONDON + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter 6 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE BOMBARDMENT OF LONDON + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter 7 </a> + </td> + <td> + A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>Part Two</b> </a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter 1 </a> + </td> + <td> + IN THE BOY SCOUTS' CAMP + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter 2 </a> + </td> + <td> + AN IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter 3 </a> + </td> + <td> + A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE SITUATION + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter 4 </a> + </td> + <td> + CLARENCE HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter 5 </a> + </td> + <td> + SEEDS OF DISCORD + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter 6 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE BOMB-SHELL + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter 7 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE BIRD + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter 8 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE MEETING AT THE SCOTCH STORES + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter 9 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE GREAT BATTLE + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter 10 </a> + </td> + <td> + THE TRIUMPH OF ENGLAND + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter 11 </a> + </td> + <td> + CLARENCE, THE LAST PHASE + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + It may be thought by some that in the pages which follow I have painted in + too lurid colours the horrors of a foreign invasion of England. Realism in + art, it may be argued, can be carried too far. I prefer to think that the + majority of my readers will acquit me of a desire to be unduly + sensational. It is necessary that England should be roused to a sense of + her peril, and only by setting down without flinching the probable results + of an invasion can this be done. This story, I may mention, has been + written and published purely from a feeling of patriotism and duty. Mr. + Alston Rivers' sensitive soul will be jarred to its foundations if it is a + financial success. So will mine. But in a time of national danger we feel + that the risk must be taken. After all, at the worst, it is a small + sacrifice to make for our country. + </p> + <h3> + P. G. WODEHOUSE. + </h3> + <p> + <i>The Bomb-Proof Shelter,</i> <i>London, W.</i> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part One + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 — AN ENGLISH BOY'S HOME + </h2> + <p> + <i>August the First, 19—</i> + </p> + <p> + Clarence Chugwater looked around him with a frown, and gritted his teeth. + </p> + <p> + "England—my England!" he moaned. + </p> + <p> + Clarence was a sturdy lad of some fourteen summers. He was neatly, but not + gaudily, dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a coloured handkerchief, a flannel + shirt, a bunch of ribbons, a haversack, football shorts, brown boots, a + whistle, and a hockey-stick. He was, in fact, one of General + Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts. + </p> + <p> + Scan him closely. Do not dismiss him with a passing glance; for you are + looking at the Boy of Destiny, at Clarence MacAndrew Chugwater, who saved + England. + </p> + <p> + To-day those features are familiar to all. Everyone has seen the Chugwater + Column in Aldwych, the equestrian statue in Chugwater Road (formerly + Piccadilly), and the picture-postcards in the stationers' windows. That + bulging forehead, distended with useful information; that massive chin; + those eyes, gleaming behind their spectacles; that <i>tout ensemble</i>; + that <i>je ne sais quoi</i>. + </p> + <p> + In a word, Clarence! + </p> + <p> + He could do everything that the Boy Scout must learn to do. He could low + like a bull. He could gurgle like a wood-pigeon. He could imitate the cry + of the turnip in order to deceive rabbits. He could smile and whistle + simultaneously in accordance with Rule 8 (and only those who have tried + this know how difficult it is). He could spoor, fell trees, tell the + character from the boot-sole, and fling the squaler. He did all these + things well, but what he was really best at was flinging the squaler. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Clarence, on this sultry August afternoon, was tensely occupied tracking + the family cat across the dining-room carpet by its foot-prints. Glancing + up for a moment, he caught sight of the other members of the family. + </p> + <p> + "England, my England!" he moaned. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed a sight to extract tears of blood from any Boy Scout. The + table had been moved back against the wall, and in the cleared space Mr. + Chugwater, whose duty it was to have set an example to his children, was + playing diabolo. Beside him, engrossed in cup-and-ball, was his wife. + Reggie Chugwater, the eldest son, the heir, the hope of the house, was + reading the cricket news in an early edition of the evening paper. Horace, + his brother, was playing pop-in-taw with his sister Grace and Grace's <i>fiance</i>, + Ralph Peabody. Alice, the other Miss Chugwater, was mending a Badminton + racquet. + </p> + <p> + Not a single member of that family was practising with the rifle, or + drilling, or learning to make bandages. + </p> + <p> + Clarence groaned. + </p> + <p> + "If you can't play without snorting like that, my boy," said Mr. + Chugwater, a little irritably, "you must find some other game. You made me + jump just as I was going to beat my record." + </p> + <p> + "Talking of records," said Reggie, "Fry's on his way to his eighth + successive century. If he goes on like this, Lancashire will win the + championship." + </p> + <p> + "I thought he was playing for Somerset," said Horace. + </p> + <p> + "That was a fortnight ago. You ought to keep up to date in an important + subject like cricket." + </p> + <p> + Once more Clarence snorted bitterly. + </p> + <p> + "I'm sure you ought not to be down on the floor, Clarence," said Mr. + Chugwater anxiously. "It is so draughty, and you have evidently got a + nasty cold. <i>Must</i> you lie on the floor?" + </p> + <p> + "I am spooring," said Clarence with simple dignity. + </p> + <p> + "But I'm sure you can spoor better sitting on a chair with a nice book." + </p> + <p> + "<i>I</i> think the kid's sickening for something," put in Horace + critically. "He's deuced roopy. What's up, Clarry?" + </p> + <p> + "I was thinking," said Clarence, "of my country—of England." + </p> + <p> + "What's the matter with England?" + </p> + <p> + "<i>She's</i> all right," murmured Ralph Peabody. + </p> + <p> + "My fallen country!" sighed Clarence, a not unmanly tear bedewing the + glasses of his spectacles. "My fallen, stricken country!" + </p> + <p> + "That kid," said Reggie, laying down his paper, "is talking right through + his hat. My dear old son, are you aware that England has never been so + strong all round as she is now? Do you <i>ever</i> read the papers? Don't + you know that we've got the Ashes and the Golf Championship, and the + Wibbley-wob Championship, and the Spiropole, Spillikins, Puff-Feather, and + Animal Grab Championships? Has it come to your notice that our croquet + pair beat America last Thursday by eight hoops? Did you happen to hear + that we won the Hop-skip-and-jump at the last Olympic Games? You've been + out in the woods, old sport." + </p> + <p> + Clarence's heart was too full for words. He rose in silence, and quitted + the room. + </p> + <p> + "Got the pip or something!" said Reggie. "Rum kid! I say, Hirst's bowling + well! Five for twenty-three so far!" + </p> + <p> + Clarence wandered moodily out of the house. The Chugwaters lived in a + desirable villa residence, which Mr. Chugwater had built in Essex. It was + a typical Englishman's Home. Its name was Nasturtium Villa. + </p> + <p> + As Clarence walked down the road, the excited voice of a newspaper-boy + came to him. Presently the boy turned the corner, shouting, "Ker-lapse of + Surrey! Sensational bowling at the Oval!" + </p> + <p> + He stopped on seeing Clarence. + </p> + <p> + "Paper, General?" + </p> + <p> + Clarence shook his head. Then he uttered a startled exclamation, for his + eye had fallen on the poster. + </p> + <p> + It ran as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SURREY + DOING + BADLY + GERMAN ARMY LANDS IN ENGLAND +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 — THE INVADERS + </h2> + <p> + Clarence flung the boy a halfpenny, tore a paper from his grasp, and + scanned it eagerly. There was nothing to interest him in the body of the + journal, but he found what he was looking for in the stop-press space. + "Stop press news," said the paper. "Fry not out, 104. Surrey 147 for 8. A + German army landed in Essex this afternoon. Loamshire Handicap: Spring + Chicken, 1; Salome, 2; Yip-i-addy, 3. Seven ran." + </p> + <p> + Essex! Then at any moment the foe might be at their doors; more, inside + their doors. With a passionate cry, Clarence tore back to the house. + </p> + <p> + He entered the dining-room with the speed of a highly-trained Marathon + winner, just in time once more to prevent Mr. Chugwater lowering his + record. + </p> + <p> + "The Germans!" shouted Clarence. "We are invaded!" + </p> + <p> + This time Mr. Chugwater was really annoyed. + </p> + <p> + "If I have told you once about your detestable habit of shouting in the + house, Clarence, I have told you a hundred times. If you cannot be a Boy + Scout quietly, you must stop being one altogether. I had got up to six + that time." + </p> + <p> + "But, father——" + </p> + <p> + "Silence! You will go to bed this minute; and I shall consider the + question whether you are to have any supper. It will depend largely on + your behaviour between now and then. Go!" + </p> + <p> + "But, father——" + </p> + <p> + Clarence dropped the paper, shaken with emotion. Mr. Chugwater's sternness + deepened visibly. + </p> + <p> + "Clarence! Must I speak again?" + </p> + <p> + He stooped and removed his right slipper. + </p> + <p> + Clarence withdrew. + </p> + <p> + Reggie picked up the paper. + </p> + <p> + "That kid," he announced judicially, "is off his nut! Hullo! I told you + so! Fry not out, 104. Good old Charles!" + </p> + <p> + "I say," exclaimed Horace, who sat nearest the window, "there are two + rummy-looking chaps coming to the front door, wearing a sort of fancy + dress!" + </p> + <p> + "It must be the Germans," said Reggie. "The paper says they landed here + this afternoon. I expect——" + </p> + <p> + A thunderous knock rang through the house. The family looked at one + another. Voices were heard in the hall, and next moment the door opened + and the servant announced "Mr. Prinsotto and Mr. Aydycong." + </p> + <p> + "Or, rather," said the first of the two newcomers, a tall, bearded, + soldierly man, in perfect English, "Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig and + Captain the Graf von Poppenheim, his aide-de-camp." + </p> + <p> + "Just so—just so!" said Mr. Chugwater, affably. "Sit down, won't + you?" + </p> + <p> + The visitors seated themselves. There was an awkward silence. + </p> + <p> + "Warm day!" said Mr. Chugwater. + </p> + <p> + "Very!" said the Prince, a little constrainedly. + </p> + <p> + "Perhaps a cup of tea? Have you come far?" + </p> + <p> + "Well—er—pretty far. That is to say, a certain distance. In + fact, from Germany." + </p> + <p> + "I spent my summer holiday last year at Dresden. Capital place!" + </p> + <p> + "Just so. The fact is, Mr.—er—" + </p> + <p> + "Chugwater. By the way—my wife, Mrs. Chugwater." + </p> + <p> + The prince bowed. So did his aide-de-camp. + </p> + <p> + "The fact is, Mr. Jugwater," resumed the prince, "we are not here on a + holiday." + </p> + <p> + "Quite so, quite so. Business before pleasure." + </p> + <p> + The prince pulled at his moustache. So did his aide-de-camp, who seemed to + be a man of but little initiative and conversational resource. + </p> + <p> + "We are invaders." + </p> + <p> + "Not at all, not at all," protested Mr. Chugwater. + </p> + <p> + "I must warn you that you will resist at your peril. You wear no uniform—" + </p> + <p> + "Wouldn't dream of such a thing. Except at the lodge, of course." + </p> + <p> + "You will be sorely tempted, no doubt. Do not think that I do not + appreciate your feelings. This is an Englishman's Home." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chugwater tapped him confidentially on the knee. + </p> + <p> + "And an uncommonly snug little place, too," he said. "Now, if you will + forgive me for talking business, you, I gather, propose making some stay + in this country." + </p> + <p> + The prince laughed shortly. So did his aide-de-camp. "Exactly," continued + Mr. Chugwater, "exactly. Then you will want some <i>pied-a-terre</i>, if + you follow me. I shall be delighted to let you this house on remarkably + easy terms for as long as you please. Just come along into my study for a + moment. We can talk it over quietly there. You see, dealing direct with + me, you would escape the middleman's charges, and—" + </p> + <p> + Gently but firmly he edged the prince out of the room and down the + passage. + </p> + <p> + The aide-de-camp continued to sit staring woodenly at the carpet. Reggie + closed quietly in on him. + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me," he said; "talking shop and all that. But I'm an agent for the + Come One Come All Accident and Life Assurance Office. You have heard of it + probably? We can offer you really exceptional terms. You must not miss a + chance of this sort. Now here's a prospectus—" + </p> + <p> + Horace sidled forward. + </p> + <p> + "I don't know if you happen to be a cyclist, Captain—er—Graf; + but if you'd like a practically new motorbike, only been used since last + November, I can let you—" + </p> + <p> + There was a swish of skirts as Grace and Alice advanced on the visitor. + </p> + <p> + "I'm sure," said Grace winningly, "that you're fond of the theatre, + Captain Poppenheim. We are getting up a performance of 'Ici on parle + Francais,' in aid of the fund for Supplying Square Meals to Old-Age + Pensioners. Such a deserving object, you know. Now, how many tickets will + you take?" + </p> + <p> + "You can sell them to your friends, you know," added Mrs. Chugwater. + </p> + <p> + The aide-de-camp gulped convulsively. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Ten minutes later two penniless men groped their way, dazed, to the garden + gate. + </p> + <p> + "At last," said Prince Otto brokenly, for it was he, "at last I begin to + realise the horrors of an invasion—for the invaders." + </p> + <p> + And together the two men staggered on. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 — ENGLAND'S PERIL + </h2> + <p> + When the papers arrived next morning, it was seen that the situation was + even worse than had at first been suspected. Not only had the Germans + effected a landing in Essex, but, in addition, no fewer than eight other + hostile armies had, by some remarkable coincidence, hit on that identical + moment for launching their long-prepared blow. + </p> + <p> + England was not merely beneath the heel of the invader. It was beneath the + heels of nine invaders. + </p> + <p> + There was barely standing-room. + </p> + <p> + Full details were given in the Press. It seemed that while Germany was + landing in Essex, a strong force of Russians, under the Grand Duke + Vodkakoff, had occupied Yarmouth. Simultaneously the Mad Mullah had + captured Portsmouth; while the Swiss navy had bombarded Lyme Regis, and + landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines. At + precisely the same moment China, at last awakened, had swooped down upon + that picturesque little Welsh watering-place, Lllgxtplll, and, despite + desperate resistance on the part of an excursion of Evanses and Joneses + from Cardiff, had obtained a secure foothold. While these things were + happening in Wales, the army of Monaco had descended on Auchtermuchty, on + the Firth of Clyde. Within two minutes of this disaster, by Greenwich + time, a boisterous band of Young Turks had seized Scarborough. And, at + Brighton and Margate respectively, small but determined armies, the one of + Moroccan brigands, under Raisuli, the other of dark-skinned warriors from + the distant isle of Bollygolla, had made good their footing. + </p> + <p> + This was a very serious state of things. + </p> + <p> + Correspondents of the <i>Daily Mail</i> at the various points of attack + had wired such particulars as they were able. The preliminary parley at + Lllgxtplll between Prince Ping Pong Pang, the Chinese general, and + Llewellyn Evans, the leader of the Cardiff excursionists, seems to have + been impressive to a degree. The former had spoken throughout in pure + Chinese, the latter replying in rich Welsh, and the general effect, wired + the correspondent, was almost painfully exhilarating. + </p> + <p> + So sudden had been the attacks that in very few instances was there any + real resistance. The nearest approach to it appears to have been seen at + Margate. + </p> + <p> + At the time of the arrival of the black warriors which, like the other + onslaughts, took place between one and two o'clock on the afternoon of + August Bank Holiday, the sands were covered with happy revellers. When the + war canoes approached the beach, the excursionists seem to have mistaken + their occupants at first for a troupe of nigger minstrels on an unusually + magnificent scale; and it was freely noised abroad in the crowd that they + were being presented by Charles Frohmann, who was endeavouring to revive + the ancient glories of the Christy Minstrels. Too soon, however, it was + perceived that these were no harmless Moore and Burgesses. Suspicion was + aroused by the absence of banjoes and tambourines; and when the foremost + of the negroes dexterously scalped a small boy, suspicion became + certainty. + </p> + <p> + In this crisis the trippers of Margate behaved well. The Mounted Infantry, + on donkeys, headed by Uncle Bones, did much execution. The Ladies' + Tormentor Brigade harassed the enemy's flank, and a hastily-formed band of + sharp-shooters, armed with three-shies-a-penny balls and milky cocos, + undoubtedly troubled the advance guard considerably. But superior force + told. After half an hour's fighting the excursionists fled, leaving the + beach to the foe. + </p> + <p> + At Auchtermuchty and Portsmouth no obstacle, apparently, was offered to + the invaders. At Brighton the enemy were permitted to land unharmed. + Scarborough, taken utterly aback by the boyish vigour of the Young Turks, + was an easy prey; and at Yarmouth, though the Grand Duke received a nasty + slap in the face from a dexterously-thrown bloater, the resistance appears + to have been equally futile. + </p> + <p> + By tea-time on August the First, nine strongly-equipped forces were firmly + established on British soil. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 — WHAT ENGLAND THOUGHT OF IT + </h2> + <p> + Such a state of affairs, disturbing enough in itself, was rendered still + more disquieting by the fact that, except for the Boy Scouts, England's + military strength at this time was practically nil. + </p> + <p> + The abolition of the regular army had been the first step. Several causes + had contributed to this. In the first place, the Socialists had condemned + the army system as unsocial. Privates, they pointed out, were forbidden to + hob-nob with colonels, though the difference in their positions was due to + a mere accident of birth. They demanded that every man in the army should + be a general. Comrade Quelch, in an eloquent speech at Newington Butts, + had pointed, amidst enthusiasm, to the republics of South America, where + the system worked admirably. + </p> + <p> + Scotland, too, disapproved of the army, because it was professional. Mr. + Smith wrote several trenchant letters to Mr. C. J. B. Marriott on the + subject. + </p> + <p> + So the army was abolished, and the land defence of the country entrusted + entirely to the Territorials, the Legion of Frontiersmen, and the Boy + Scouts. + </p> + <p> + But first the Territorials dropped out. The strain of being referred to on + the music-hall stage as Teddy-boys was too much for them. + </p> + <p> + Then the Frontiersmen were disbanded. They had promised well at the start, + but they had never been themselves since La Milo had been attacked by the + Manchester Watch Committee. It had taken all the heart out of them. + </p> + <p> + So that in the end England's defenders were narrowed down to the Boy + Scouts, of whom Clarence Chugwater was the pride, and a large civilian + population, prepared, at any moment, to turn out for their country's sake + and wave flags. A certain section of these, too, could sing patriotic + songs. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It was inevitable, in the height of the Silly Season, that such a topic as + the simultaneous invasion of Great Britain by nine foreign powers should + be seized upon by the press. Countless letters poured into the offices of + the London daily papers every morning. Space forbids more than the gist of + a few of these. + </p> + <p> + Miss Charlesworth wrote:—"In this crisis I see no alternative. I + shall disappear." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Horatio Bottomley, in <i>John Bull</i>, said that there was some very + dirty and underhand work going on, and that the secret history of the + invasion would be published shortly. He himself, however, preferred any + invader, even the King of Bollygolla, to some K.C.'s he could name, though + he was fond of dear old Muir. He wanted to know why Inspector Drew had + retired. + </p> + <p> + The <i>Daily Express</i>, in a thoughtful leader, said that Free Trade + evidently meant invaders for all. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Herbert Gladstone, writing to the <i>Times</i>, pointed out that he + had let so many undesirable aliens into the country that he did not see + that a few more made much difference. + </p> + <p> + Mr. George R. Sims made eighteen puns on the names of the invading + generals in the course of one number of "Mustard and Cress." + </p> + <p> + Mr. H. G. Pelissier urged the public to look on the bright side. There was + a sun still shining in the sky. Besides, who knew that some foreign + marksman might not pot the censor? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Robert FitzSimmons offered to take on any of the invading generals, or + all of them, and if he didn't beat them it would only be because the + referee had a wife and seven small children and had asked him as a + personal favour to let himself be knocked out. He had lost several fights + that way. + </p> + <p> + The directors of the Crystal Palace wrote a circular letter to the + shareholders, pointing out that there was a good time coming. With this + addition to the public, the Palace stood a sporting chance of once more + finding itself full. + </p> + <p> + Judge Willis asked: "What is an invasion?" + </p> + <p> + Signor Scotti cabled anxiously from America (prepaid): "Stands Scotland + where it did?" + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lewis Waller wrote heroically: "How many of them are there? I am + usually good for about half a dozen. Are they assassins? I can tackle any + number of assassins." + </p> + <p> + Mr. Seymour Hicks said he hoped they would not hurt George Edwardes. + </p> + <p> + Mr. George Edwardes said that if they injured Seymour Hicks in any way he + would never smile again. + </p> + <p> + A writer in <i>Answers</i> pointed out that, if all the invaders in the + country were piled in a heap, they would reach some of the way to the + moon. + </p> + <p> + Far-seeing men took a gloomy view of the situation. They laid stress on + the fact that this counter-attraction was bound to hit first-class cricket + hard. For some years gates had shown a tendency to fall off, owing to the + growing popularity of golf, tennis, and other games. The desire to see the + invaders as they marched through the country must draw away thousands who + otherwise would have paid their sixpences at the turnstiles. It was + suggested that representations should be made to the invading generals + with a view to inducing them to make a small charge to sightseers. + </p> + <p> + In sporting circles the chief interest centered on the race to London. The + papers showed the positions of the various armies each morning in their + Runners and Betting columns; six to four on the Germans was freely + offered, but found no takers. + </p> + <p> + Considerable interest was displayed in the probable behaviour of the nine + armies when they met. The situation was a curious outcome of the modern + custom of striking a deadly blow before actually declaring war. Until the + moment when the enemy were at her doors, England had imagined that she was + on terms of the most satisfactory friendship with her neighbours. The foe + had taken full advantage of this, and also of the fact that, owing to a + fit of absent-mindedness on the part of the Government, England had no + ships afloat which were not entirely obsolete. Interviewed on the subject + by representatives of the daily papers, the Government handsomely admitted + that it was perhaps in some ways a silly thing to have done; but, they + urged, you could not think of everything. Besides, they were on the point + of laying down a <i>Dreadnought</i>, which would be ready in a very few + years. Meanwhile, the best thing the public could do was to sleep quietly + in their beds. It was Fisher's tip; and Fisher was a smart man. + </p> + <p> + And all the while the Invaders' Marathon continued. + </p> + <p> + Who would be the first to reach London? + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 — THE GERMANS REACH LONDON + </h2> + <p> + The Germans had got off smartly from the mark and were fully justifying + the long odds laid upon them. That master-strategist, Prince Otto of + Saxe-Pfennig, realising that if he wished to reach the Metropolis quickly + he must not go by train, had resolved almost at once to walk. Though + hampered considerably by crowds of rustics who gathered, gaping, at every + point in the line of march, he had made good progress. The German troops + had strict orders to reply to no questions, with the result that little + time was lost in idle chatter, and in a couple of days it was seen that + the army of the Fatherland was bound, barring accidents, to win + comfortably. + </p> + <p> + The progress of the other forces was slower. The Chinese especially had + undergone great privations, having lost their way near + Llanfairpwlgwnngogogoch, and having been unable to understand the voluble + directions given to them by the various shepherds they encountered. It was + not for nearly a week that they contrived to reach Chester, where, + catching a cheap excursion, they arrived in the metropolis, hungry and + footsore, four days after the last of their rivals had taken up their + station. + </p> + <p> + The German advance halted on the wooded heights of Tottenham. Here a camp + was pitched and trenches dug. + </p> + <p> + The march had shown how terrible invasion must of necessity be. With no + wish to be ruthless, the troops of Prince Otto had done grievous damage. + Cricket-pitches had been trampled down, and in many cases even golf-greens + dented by the iron heel of the invader, who rarely, if ever, replaced the + divot. Everywhere they had left ruin and misery in their train. + </p> + <p> + With the other armies it was the same story. Through carefully-preserved + woods they had marched, frightening the birds and driving keepers into + fits of nervous prostration. Fishing, owing to their tramping carelessly + through the streams, was at a standstill. Croquet had been given up in + despair. + </p> + <p> + Near Epping the Russians shot a fox.... + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The situation which faced Prince Otto was a delicate one. All his early + training and education had implanted in him the fixed idea that, if he + ever invaded England, he would do it either alone or with the sympathetic + co-operation of allies. He had never faced the problem of what he should + do if there were rivals in the field. Competition is wholesome, but only + within bounds. He could not very well ask the other nations to withdraw. + Nor did he feel inclined to withdraw himself. + </p> + <p> + "It all comes of this dashed Swoop of the Vulture business," he grumbled, + as he paced before his tent, ever and anon pausing to sweep the city below + him with his glasses. "I should like to find the fellow who started the + idea! Making me look a fool! Still, it's just as bad for the others, thank + goodness! Well, Poppenheim?" + </p> + <p> + Captain von Poppenheim approached and saluted. + </p> + <p> + "Please, sir, the men say, 'May they bombard London?'" + </p> + <p> + "Bombard London!" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir; it's always done." + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto pulled thoughtfully at his moustache. + </p> + <p> + "Bombard London! It seems—and yet—ah, well, they have few + pleasures." + </p> + <p> + He stood awhile in meditation. So did Captain von Poppenheim. He kicked a + pebble. So did Captain von Poppenheim—only a smaller pebble. + Discipline is very strict in the German army. + </p> + <p> + "Poppenheim." + </p> + <p> + "Sir?" + </p> + <p> + "Any signs of our—er—competitors?" + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir; the Russians are coming up on the left flank, sir. They'll be + here in a few hours. Raisuli has been arrested at Purley for stealing + chickens. The army of Bollygolla is about ten miles out. No news of the + field yet, sir." + </p> + <p> + The Prince brooded. Then he spoke, unbosoming himself more freely than was + his wont in conversation with his staff. + </p> + <p> + "Between you and me, Pop," he cried impulsively, "I'm dashed sorry we ever + started this dashed silly invading business. We thought ourselves dashed + smart, working in the dark, and giving no sign till the great pounce, and + all that sort of dashed nonsense. Seems to me we've simply dashed well + landed ourselves in the dashed soup." + </p> + <p> + Captain von Poppenheim saluted in sympathetic silence. He and the prince + had been old chums at college. A life-long friendship existed between + them. He would have liked to have expressed adhesion verbally to his + superior officer's remarks. The words "I don't think" trembled on his + tongue. But the iron discipline of the German Army gagged him. He saluted + again and clicked his heels. + </p> + <p> + The Prince recovered himself with a strong effort. + </p> + <p> + "You say the Russians will be here shortly?" he said. + </p> + <p> + "In a few hours, sir." + </p> + <p> + "And the men really wish to bombard London?" + </p> + <p> + "It would be a treat to them, sir." + </p> + <p> + "Well, well, I suppose if we don't do it, somebody else will. And we got + here first." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "Then—" + </p> + <p> + An orderly hurried up and saluted. + </p> + <p> + "Telegram, sir." + </p> + <p> + Absently the Prince opened it. Then his eyes lit up. + </p> + <p> + "Gotterdammerung!" he said. "I never thought of that. 'Smash up London and + provide work for unemployed mending it.—GRAYSON,'" he read. + "Poppenheim." + </p> + <p> + "Sir?" + </p> + <p> + "Let the bombardment commence." + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir." + </p> + <p> + "And let it continue till the Russians arrive. Then it must stop, or there + will be complications." + </p> + <p> + Captain von Poppenheim saluted, and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 — THE BOMBARDMENT OF LONDON + </h2> + <p> + Thus was London bombarded. Fortunately it was August, and there was nobody + in town. + </p> + <p> + Otherwise there might have been loss of life. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 — A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS + </h2> + <p> + The Russians, led by General Vodkakoff, arrived at Hampstead half an hour + after the bombardment had ceased, and the rest of the invaders, including + Raisuli, who had got off on an <i>alibi</i>, dropped in at intervals + during the week. By the evening of Saturday, the sixth of August, even the + Chinese had limped to the metropolis. And the question now was, What was + going to happen? England displayed a polite indifference to the problem. + We are essentially a nation of sight-seers. To us the excitement of + staring at the invaders was enough. Into the complex international + problems to which the situation gave rise it did not occur to us to + examine. When you consider that a crowd of five hundred Londoners will + assemble in the space of two minutes, abandoning entirely all its other + business, to watch a cab-horse that has fallen in the street, it is not + surprising that the spectacle of nine separate and distinct armies in the + metropolis left no room in the British mind for other reflections. + </p> + <p> + The attraction was beginning to draw people back to London now. They found + that the German shells had had one excellent result, they had demolished + nearly all the London statues. And what might have conceivably seemed a + draw-back, the fact that they had blown great holes in the wood-paving, + passed unnoticed amidst the more extensive operations of the London County + Council. + </p> + <p> + Taking it for all in all, the German gunners had simply been beautifying + London. The Albert Hall, struck by a merciful shell, had come down with a + run, and was now a heap of picturesque ruins; Whitefield's Tabernacle was + a charred mass; and the burning of the Royal Academy proved a great + comfort to all. At a mass meeting in Trafalgar Square a hearty vote of + thanks was passed, with acclamation, to Prince Otto. + </p> + <p> + But if Londoners rejoiced, the invaders were very far from doing so. The + complicated state of foreign politics made it imperative that there should + be no friction between the Powers. Yet here a great number of them were in + perhaps as embarrassing a position as ever diplomatists were called upon + to unravel. When nine dogs are assembled round one bone, it is rarely on + the bone alone that teeth-marks are found at the close of the proceedings. + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig set himself resolutely to grapple with the + problem. His chance of grappling successfully with it was not improved by + the stream of telegrams which arrived daily from his Imperial Master, + demanding to know whether he had yet subjugated the country, and if not, + why not. He had replied guardedly, stating the difficulties which lay in + his way, and had received the following: "At once mailed fist display. On + Get or out Get.—WILHELM." + </p> + <p> + It was then that the distracted prince saw that steps must be taken at + once. + </p> + <p> + Carefully-worded letters were despatched by District Messenger boys to the + other generals. Towards nightfall the replies began to come in, and, + having read them, the Prince saw that this business could never be settled + without a personal interview. Many of the replies were absolutely + incoherent. + </p> + <p> + Raisuli, apologising for delay on the ground that he had been away in the + Isle of Dogs cracking a crib, wrote suggesting that the Germans and + Moroccans should combine with a view to playing the Confidence Trick on + the Swiss general, who seemed a simple sort of chap. "Reminds me of dear + old Maclean," wrote Raisuli. "There is money in this. Will you come in? + Wire in the morning." + </p> + <p> + The general of the Monaco forces thought the best way would be to settle + the thing by means of a game of chance of the odd-man-out class. He knew a + splendid game called Slippery Sam. He could teach them the rules in half a + minute. + </p> + <p> + The reply of Prince Ping Pong Pang of China was probably brilliant and + scholarly, but it was expressed in Chinese characters of the Ming period, + which Prince Otto did not understand; and even if he had it would have + done him no good, for he tried to read it from the top downwards instead + of from the bottom up. + </p> + <p> + The Young Turks, as might have been expected, wrote in their customary + flippant, cheeky style. They were full of mischief, as usual. The body of + the letter, scrawled in a round, schoolboy hand, dealt principally with + the details of the booby-trap which the general had successfully laid for + his head of staff. "He was frightfully shirty," concluded the note + jubilantly. + </p> + <p> + From the Bollygolla camp the messenger-boy returned without a scalp, and + with a verbal message to the effect that the King could neither read nor + write. + </p> + <p> + Grand Duke Vodkakoff, from the Russian lines, replied in his smooth, + cynical, Russian way:—"You appear anxious, my dear prince, to + scratch the other entrants. May I beg you to remember what happens when + you scratch a Russian?" + </p> + <p> + As for the Mad Mullah's reply, it was simply pure delirium. The journey + from Somaliland, and his meeting with his friend Mr. Dillon, appeared to + have had the worse effects on his sanity. He opened with the statement + that he was a tea-pot: and that was the only really coherent remark he + made. + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto placed a hand wearily on his throbbing brow. + </p> + <p> + "We must have a conference," he said. "It is the only way." + </p> + <p> + Next day eight invitations to dinner went out from the German camp. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It would be idle to say that the dinner, as a dinner, was a complete + success. Half-way through the Swiss general missed his diamond solitaire, + and cold glances were cast at Raisuli, who sat on his immediate left. Then + the King of Bollygolla's table-manners were frankly inelegant. When he + wanted a thing, he grabbed for it. And he seemed to want nearly + everything. Nor was the behaviour of the leader of the Young Turks all + that could be desired. There had been some talk of only allowing him to + come down to dessert; but he had squashed in, as he briefly put it, and it + would be paltering with the truth to say that he had not had far more + champagne than was good for him. Also, the general of Monaco had brought a + pack of cards with him, and was spoiling the harmony by trying to induce + Prince Ping Pong Pang to find the lady. And the brainless laugh of the Mad + Mullah was very trying. + </p> + <p> + Altogether Prince Otto was glad when the cloth was removed, and the + waiters left the company to smoke and talk business. + </p> + <p> + Anyone who has had anything to do with the higher diplomacy is aware that + diplomatic language stands in a class by itself. It is a language + specially designed to deceive the chance listener. + </p> + <p> + Thus when Prince Otto, turning to Grand Duke Vodkakoff, said quietly, "I + hear the crops are coming on nicely down Kent way," the habitual + frequenter of diplomatic circles would have understood, as did the Grand + Duke, that what he really meant was, "Now about this business. What do you + propose to do?" + </p> + <p> + The company, with the exception of the representative of the Young Turks, + who was drinking <i>creme de menthe</i> out of a tumbler, the Mullah and + the King of Bollygolla bent forward, deeply interested, to catch the + Russian's reply. Much would depend on this. + </p> + <p> + Vodkakoff carelessly flicked the ash off his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + "So I hear," he said slowly. "But in Shropshire, they tell me, they are + having trouble with the mangel-wurzels." + </p> + <p> + The prince frowned at this typical piece of shifty Russian diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + "How is your Highness getting on with your Highness's roller-skating?" he + enquired guardedly. + </p> + <p> + The Russian smiled a subtle smile. + </p> + <p> + "Poorly," he said, "poorly. The last time I tried the outside edge I + thought somebody had thrown the building at me." + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto flushed. He was a plain, blunt man, and he hated this beating + about the bush. + </p> + <p> + "Why does a chicken cross the road?" he demanded, almost angrily. + </p> + <p> + The Russian raised his eyebrows, and smiled, but made no reply. The + prince, resolved to give him no chance of wriggling away from the point, + pressed him hotly. + </p> + <p> + "Think of a number," he cried. "Double it. Add ten. Take away the number + you first thought of. Divide it by three, and what is the result?" + </p> + <p> + There was an awed silence. Surely the Russian, expert at evasion as he + was, could not parry so direct a challenge as this. + </p> + <p> + He threw away his cigarette and lit a cigar. + </p> + <p> + "I understand," he said, with a tinkle of defiance in his voice, "that the + Suffragettes, as a last resource, propose to capture Mr. Asquith and sing + the Suffragette Anthem to him." + </p> + <p> + A startled gasp ran round the table. + </p> + <p> + "Because the higher he flies, the fewer?" asked Prince Otto, with sinister + calm. + </p> + <p> + "Because the higher he flies, the fewer," said the Russian smoothly, but + with the smoothness of a treacherous sea. + </p> + <p> + There was another gasp. The situation was becoming alarmingly tense. + </p> + <p> + "You are plain-spoken, your Highness," said Prince Otto slowly. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the tension was relieved by the Young Turk falling off his + chair with a crash on to the floor. Everyone jumped up startled. Raisuli + took advantage of the confusion to pocket a silver ash-tray. + </p> + <p> + The interruption had a good effect. Frowns relaxed. The wranglers began to + see that they had allowed their feelings to run away with them. It was + with a conciliatory smile that Prince Otto, filling the Grand Duke's + glass, observed: + </p> + <p> + "Trumper is perhaps the prettier bat, but I confess I admire Fry's robust + driving." + </p> + <p> + The Russian was won over. He extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + "Two down and three to play, and the red near the top corner pocket," he + said with that half-Oriental charm which he knew so well how to exhibit on + occasion. + </p> + <p> + The two shook hands warmly. + </p> + <p> + And so it was settled, the Russian having, as we have seen, waived his + claim to bombard London in his turn, there was no obstacle to a peaceful + settlement. It was obvious that the superior forces of the Germans and + Russians gave them, if they did but combine, the key to the situation. The + decision they arrived at was, as set forth above, as follows. After the + fashion of the moment, the Russian and German generals decided to draw the + Colour Line. That meant that the troops of China, Somaliland, Bollygolla, + as well as Raisuli and the Young Turks, were ruled out. They would be + given a week in which to leave the country. Resistance would be useless. + The combined forces of the Germans, Russians, Swiss, and Monacoans were + overwhelming, especially as the Chinese had not recovered from their + wanderings in Wales and were far too footsore still to think of serious + fighting. + </p> + <p> + When they had left, the remaining four Powers would continue the invasion + jointly. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig went to bed that night, comfortably conscious + of a good work well done. He saw his way now clear before him. + </p> + <p> + But he had made one miscalculation. He had not reckoned with Clarence + Chugwater. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part Two + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 — IN THE BOY SCOUTS' CAMP + </h2> + <p> + Night! + </p> + <p> + Night in Aldwych! + </p> + <p> + In the centre of that vast tract of unreclaimed prairie known to Londoners + as the Aldwych Site there shone feebly, seeming almost to emphasise the + darkness and desolation of the scene, a single light. + </p> + <p> + It was the camp-fire of the Boy Scouts. + </p> + <p> + The night was raw and windy. A fine rain had been falling for some hours. + The date of September the First. For just a month England had been in the + grip of the invaders. The coloured section of the hostile force had either + reached its home by now, or was well on its way. The public had seen it go + with a certain regret. Not since the visit of the Shah had such an + attractive topic of conversation been afforded them. Several comic + journalists had built up a reputation and a large price per thousand words + on the King of Bollygolla alone. Theatres had benefited by the index of a + large, new, unsophisticated public. A piece at the Waldorf Theatre had run + for a whole fortnight, and "The Merry Widow" had taken on a new lease of + life. Selfridge's, abandoning its policy of caution, had advertised to the + extent of a quarter of a column in two weekly papers. + </p> + <p> + Now the Young Turks were back at school in Constantinople, shuffling their + feet and throwing ink pellets at one another; Raisuli, home again in the + old mountains, was working up the kidnapping business, which had fallen + off sadly in his absence under the charge of an incompetent <i>locum + tenens</i>; and the Chinese, the Bollygollans, and the troops of the Mad + Mullah were enduring the miseries of sea-sickness out in mid-ocean. + </p> + <p> + The Swiss army had also gone home, in order to be in time for the winter + hotel season. There only remained the Germans, the Russians, and the + troops of Monaco. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + In the camp of the Boy Scouts a vast activity prevailed. + </p> + <p> + Few of London's millions realise how tremendous and far-reaching an + association the Boy Scouts are. It will be news to the Man in the Street + to learn that, with the possible exception of the Black Hand, the Scouts + are perhaps the most carefully-organised secret society in the world. + </p> + <p> + Their ramifications extend through the length and breadth of England. The + boys you see parading the streets with hockey-sticks are but a small + section, the aristocrats of the Society. Every boy in England, and many a + man, is in the pay of the association. Their funds are practically + unlimited. By the oath of initiation which he takes on joining, every boy + is compelled to pay into the common coffers a percentage of his + pocket-money or his salary. When you drop his weekly three and sixpence + into the hand of your office-boy on Saturday, possibly you fancy he takes + it home to mother. He doesn't. He spend two-and-six on Woodbines. The + other shilling goes into the treasury of the Boy Scouts. When you visit + your nephew at Eton, and tip him five pounds or whatever it is, does he + spend it at the sock-shop? Apparently, yes. In reality, a quarter reaches + the common fund. + </p> + <p> + Take another case, to show the Boy Scouts' power. You are a City merchant, + and, arriving at the office one morning in a bad temper, you proceed to + cure yourself by taking it out of the office-boy. He says nothing, + apparently does nothing. But that evening, as you are going home in the + Tube, a burly working-man treads heavily on your gouty foot. In Ladbroke + Grove a passing hansom splashes you with mud. Reaching home, you find that + the cat has been at the cold chicken and the butler has given notice. You + do not connect these things, but they are all alike the results of your + unjust behaviour to your office-boy in the morning. Or, meeting a ragged + little matchseller, you pat his head and give him six-pence. Next day an + anonymous present of champagne arrives at your address. + </p> + <p> + Terrible in their wrath, the Boy Scouts never forget kindness. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The whistle of a Striped Iguanodon sounded softly in the darkness. The + sentry, who was pacing to and fro before the camp-fire, halted, and peered + into the night. As he peered, he uttered the plaintive note of a zebra + calling to its mate. + </p> + <p> + A voice from the darkness said, "Een gonyama-gonyama." + </p> + <p> + "Invooboo," replied the sentry argumentatively "Yah bo! Yah bo! Invooboo." + </p> + <p> + An indistinct figure moved forward. + </p> + <p> + "Who goes there?" + </p> + <p> + "A friend." + </p> + <p> + "Advance, friend, and give the countersign." + </p> + <p> + "Remember Mafeking, and death to Injuns." + </p> + <p> + "Pass friend! All's well." + </p> + <p> + The figure walked on into the firelight. The sentry started; then saluted + and stood to attention. On his face was a worshipping look of admiration + and awe, such as some young soldier of the Grande Armee might have worn on + seeing Napoleon; for the newcomer was Clarence Chugwater. + </p> + <p> + "Your name?" said Clarence, eyeing the sturdy young warrior. + </p> + <p> + "Private William Buggins, sir." + </p> + <p> + "You watch well, Private Buggins. England has need of such as you." + </p> + <p> + He pinched the young Scout's ear tolerantly. The sentry flushed with + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + "My orders have been carried out?" said Clarence. + </p> + <p> + "Yes, sir. The patrols are all here." + </p> + <p> + "Enumerate them." + </p> + <p> + "The Chinchilla Kittens, the Bongos, the Zebras, the Iguanodons, the Welsh + Rabbits, the Snapping Turtles, and a half-patrol of the 33rd London + Gazekas, sir." + </p> + <p> + Clarence nodded. + </p> + <p> + "'Tis well," he said. "What are they doing?" + </p> + <p> + "Some of them are acting a Scout's play, sir; some are doing Cone + Exercises; one or two are practising deep breathing; and the rest are + dancing an Old English Morris Dance." + </p> + <p> + Clarence nodded. + </p> + <p> + "They could not be better employed. Inform them that I have arrived and + would address them." + </p> + <p> + The sentry saluted. + </p> + <p> + Standing in an attitude of deep thought, with his feet apart, his hands + clasped behind him, and his chin sunk upon his breast, Clarence made a + singularly impressive picture. He had left his Essex home three weeks + before, on the expiration of his ten days' holiday, to return to his post + of junior sub-reporter on the staff of a leading London evening paper. It + was really only at night now that he got any time to himself. During the + day his time was his paper's, and he was compelled to spend the weary + hours reading off results of races and other sporting items on the + tape-machine. It was only at 6 p.m. that he could begin to devote himself + to the service of his country. + </p> + <p> + The Scouts had assembled now, and were standing, keen and alert, ready to + do Clarence's bidding. + </p> + <p> + Clarence returned their salute moodily. + </p> + <p> + "Scout-master Wagstaff," he said. + </p> + <p> + The Scout-master, the leader of the troop formed by the various patrols, + stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + "Let the war-dance commence." + </p> + <p> + Clarence watched the evolutions absently. His heart was ill-attuned to + dances. But the thing had to be done, so it was as well to get it over. + When the last movement had been completed, he raised his hand. + </p> + <p> + "Men," he said, in his clear, penetrating alto, "although you have not the + same facilities as myself for hearing the latest news, you are all, by + this time, doubtless aware that this England of ours lies 'neath the proud + foot of a conqueror. It is for us to save her. (Cheers, and a voice + "Invooboo!") I would call on you here and now to seize your hockey-sticks + and rush upon the invader, were it not, alas! that such an action would + merely result in your destruction. At present the invader is too strong. + We must wait; and something tells me that we shall not have to wait long. + (Applause.) Jealousy is beginning to spring up between the Russians and + the Germans. It will be our task to aggravate this feeling. With our + perfect organisation this should be easy. Sooner or later this smouldering + jealousy is going to burst into flame. Any day now," he proceeded, warming + as he spoke, "there may be the dickens of a dust-up between these + Johnnies, and then we've got 'em where the hair's short. See what I mean, + you chaps? It's like this. Any moment they may start scrapping and chaw + each other up, and then we'll simply sail in and knock what's left + endways." + </p> + <p> + A shout of applause went up from the assembled scouts. + </p> + <p> + "What I am anxious to impress upon you men," concluded Clarence, in more + measured tones, "is that our hour approaches. England looks to us, and it + is for us to see that she does not look in vain. Sedulously feeding the + growing flame of animosity between the component parts of the invading + horde, we may contrive to bring about that actual disruption. Till that + day, see to it that you prepare yourselves for war. Men, I have finished." + </p> + <p> + "What the Chief Scout means," said Scout-master Wagstaff, "is no rotting + about and all that sort of rot. Jolly well keep yourselves fit, and then, + when the time comes, we'll give these Russian and German blighters about + the biggest hiding they've ever heard of. Follow the idea? Very well, + then. Mind you don't go mucking the show up." + </p> + <p> + "Een gonyama-gonyama!" shouted the new thoroughly roused troops. + "Invooboo! Yah bo! Yah bo! Invooboo!" + </p> + <p> + The voice of Young England—of Young England alert and at its post! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 — AN IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT + </h2> + <p> + Historians, when they come to deal with the opening years of the twentieth + century, will probably call this the Music-Hall Age. At the time of the + great invasion the music-halls dominated England. Every town and every + suburb had its Hall, most of them more than one. The public appetite for + sight-seeing had to be satisfied somehow, and the music-hall provided the + easiest way of doing it. The Halls formed a common place on which the + celebrity and the ordinary man could meet. If an impulsive gentleman slew + his grandmother with a coal-hammer, only a small portion of the public + could gaze upon his pleasing features at the Old Bailey. To enable the + rest to enjoy the intellectual treat, it was necessary to engage him, at + enormous expense, to appear at a music-hall. There, if he happened to be + acquitted, he would come on the stage, preceded by an asthmatic + introducer, and beam affably at the public for ten minutes, speaking at + intervals in a totally inaudible voice, and then retire; to be followed by + some enterprising lady who had endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to solve the + problem of living at the rate of ten thousand a year on an income of + nothing, or who had performed some other similarly brainy feat. + </p> + <p> + It was not till the middle of September that anyone conceived what one + would have thought the obvious idea of offering music-hall engagements to + the invading generals. + </p> + <p> + The first man to think of it was Solly Quhayne, the rising young agent. + Solly was the son of Abraham Cohen, an eminent agent of the Victorian era. + His brothers, Abe Kern, Benjamin Colquhoun, Jack Coyne, and Barney Cowan + had gravitated to the City; but Solly had carried on the old business, and + was making a big name for himself. It was Solly who had met Blinky Bill + Mullins, the prominent sand-bagger, as he emerged from his twenty years' + retirement at Dartmoor, and booked him solid for a thirty-six months' + lecturing tour on the McGinnis circuit. It was to him, too, that Joe + Brown, who could eat eight pounds of raw meat in seven and a quarter + minutes, owed his first chance of displaying his gifts to the wider public + of the vaudeville stage. + </p> + <p> + The idea of securing the services of the invading generals came to him in + a flash. + </p> + <p> + "S'elp me!" he cried. "I believe they'd go big; put 'em on where you + like." + </p> + <p> + Solly was a man of action. Within a minute he was talking to the managing + director of the Mammoth Syndicate Halls on the telephone. In five minutes + the managing director had agreed to pay Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig five + hundred pounds a week, if he could be prevailed upon to appear. In ten + minutes the Grand Duke Vodkakoff had been engaged, subject to his + approval, at a weekly four hundred and fifty by the Stone-Rafferty + circuit. And in a quarter of an hour Solly Quhayne, having pushed his way + through a mixed crowd of Tricky Serios and Versatile Comedians and + Patterers who had been waiting to see him for the last hour and a half, + was bowling off in a taximeter-cab to the Russian lines at Hampstead. + </p> + <p> + General Vodkakoff received his visitor civilly, but at first without + enthusiasm. There were, it seemed, objections to his becoming an artiste. + Would he have to wear a properly bald head and sing songs about wanting + people to see his girl? He didn't think he could. He had only sung once in + his life, and that was twenty years ago at a bump-supper at Moscow + University. And even then, he confided to Mr. Quhayne, it had taken a + decanter and a-half of neat vodka to bring him up to the scratch. + </p> + <p> + The agent ridiculed the idea. + </p> + <p> + "Why, your Grand Grace," he cried, "there won't be anything of that sort. + You ain't going to be starred as a <i>comic</i>. You're a Refined Lecturer + and Society Monologue Artist. 'How I Invaded England,' with lights down + and the cinematograph going. We can easily fake the pictures." + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke made another objection. + </p> + <p> + "I understand," he said, "it is etiquette for music-hall artists in their + spare time to eat—er—fried fish with their fingers. Must I do + that? I doubt if I could manage it." + </p> + <p> + Mr Quhayne once more became the human semaphore. + </p> + <p> + "S'elp me! Of course you needn't! All the leading pros, eat it with a + spoon. Bless you, you can be the refined gentleman on the Halls same as + anywhere else. Come now, your Grand Grace, is it a deal? Four hundred and + fifty chinking o'Goblins a week for one hall a night, and press-agented at + eight hundred and seventy-five. S'elp me! Lauder doesn't get it, not in + England." + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke reflected. The invasion has proved more expensive than he + had foreseen. The English are proverbially a nation of shopkeepers, and + they had put up their prices in all the shops for his special benefit. And + he was expected to do such a lot of tipping. Four hundred and fifty a week + would come in uncommonly useful. + </p> + <p> + "Where do I sign?" he asked, extending his hand for the agreement. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Five minutes later Mr. Quhayne was urging his taxidriver to exceed the + speed-limit in the direction of Tottenham. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 — A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE SITUATION + </h2> + <p> + Clarence read the news of the two engagements on the tape at the office of + his paper, but the first intimation the general public had of it was + through the medium of headlines:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MUSIC-HALL SENSATION + INVADING GENERALS' GIGANTIC SALARIES + RUMOURED RESENTMENT OF V.A.F. + WHAT WILL WATER-RATS DO? + INTERVIEW WITH MR. HARRY LAUDER +</pre> + <p> + Clarence chuckled grimly as the tape clicked out the news. The end had + begun. To sow jealousy between the rival generals would have been easy. To + sow it between two rival music-hall artistes would be among the world's + softest jobs. + </p> + <p> + Among the general public, of course, the announcement created a profound + sensation. Nothing else was talked about in train and omnibus. The papers + had leaders on the subject. At first the popular impression was that the + generals were going to do a comedy duo act of the + Who-Was-It-I-Seen-You-Coming-Down-the-Street-With? type, and there was + disappointment when it was found that the engagements were for different + halls. Rumours sprang up. It was said that the Grand Duke had for years + been an enthusiastic amateur sword-swallower, and had, indeed, come to + England mainly for the purpose of getting bookings; that the Prince had a + secure reputation in Potsdam as a singer of songs in the George Robey + style; that both were expert trick-cyclists. + </p> + <p> + Then the truth came out. Neither had any specialities; they would simply + appear and deliver lectures. + </p> + <p> + The feeling in the music-hall world was strong. The Variety Artists' + Federation debated the advisability of another strike. The Water Rats, + meeting in mystic secrecy in a Maiden Lane public-house, passed fifteen + resolutions in an hour and a quarter. Sir Harry Lauder, interviewed by the + <i>Era</i>, gave it as his opinion that both the Grand Duke and the Prince + were gowks, who would do well to haud their blether. He himself proposed + to go straight to America, where genuine artists were cheered in the + streets and entertained at haggis dinners, and not forced to compete with + amateur sumphs and gonuphs from other countries. + </p> + <p> + Clarence, brooding over the situation like a Providence, was glad to see + that already the new move had weakened the invaders' power. The day after + the announcement in the press of the approaching <i>debut</i> of the other + generals, the leader of the army of Monaco had hurried to the agents to + secure an engagement for himself. He held out the special inducement of + card-tricks, at which he was highly skilled. The agents had received him + coldly. Brown and Day had asked him to call again. Foster had sent out a + message regretting that he was too busy to see him. At de Freece's he had + been kept waiting in the ante-room for two hours in the midst of a bevy of + Sparkling Comediennes of pronounced peroxidity and blue-chinned men in + dusty bowler-hats, who told each other how they had gone with a bang at + Oakham and John o'Groats, and had then gone away in despair. + </p> + <p> + On the following day, deeply offended, he had withdrawn his troops from + the country. + </p> + <p> + The strength of the invaders was melting away little by little. + </p> + <p> + "How long?" murmured Clarence Chugwater, as he worked at the tape-machine. + "How long?" + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 — CLARENCE HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS + </h2> + <p> + It was Clarence's custom to leave the office of his newspaper at one + o'clock each day, and lunch at a neighbouring Aerated Bread shop. He did + this on the day following the first appearance of the two generals at + their respective halls. He had brought an early edition of the paper with + him, and in the intervals of dealing with his glass of milk and scone and + butter, he read the report of the performances. + </p> + <p> + Both, it seemed, had met with flattering receptions, though they had + appeared nervous. The Russian general especially, whose style, said the + critic, was somewhat reminiscent of Mr. T. E. Dunville, had made himself a + great favourite with the gallery. The report concluded by calling + attention once more to the fact that the salaries paid to the two—eight + hundred and seventy-five pounds a week each—established a record in + music-hall history on this side of the Atlantic. + </p> + <p> + Clarence had just finished this when there came to his ear the faint note + of a tarantula singing to its young. + </p> + <p> + He looked up. Opposite him, at the next table, was seated a youth of + fifteen, of a slightly grubby aspect. He was eyeing Clarence closely. + </p> + <p> + Clarence took off his spectacles, polished them, and replaced them on his + nose. As he did so, the thin gruffle of the tarantula sounded once more. + Without changing his expression, Clarence cautiously uttered the deep + snarl of a sand-eel surprised while bathing. + </p> + <p> + It was sufficient. The other rose to his feet, holding his right hand on a + line with his shoulder, palm to the front, thumb resting on the nail of + the little finger, and the other three fingers upright. + </p> + <p> + Clarence seized his hat by the brim at the back, and moved it swiftly + twice up and down. + </p> + <p> + The other, hesitating no longer, came over to his table. + </p> + <p> + "Pip-pip!" he said, in an undertone. + </p> + <p> + "Toodleoo and God save the King!" whispered Clarence. + </p> + <p> + The mystic ceremony which always takes place when two Boy Scouts meet in + public was complete. + </p> + <p> + "Private Biggs of the Eighteenth Tarantulas, sir," said the boy + respectfully, for he had recognised Clarence. + </p> + <p> + Clarence inclined his head. + </p> + <p> + "You may sit, Private Biggs," he said graciously. "You have news to + impart?" + </p> + <p> + "News, sir, that may be of vital importance." + </p> + <p> + "Say on." + </p> + <p> + Private Biggs, who had brought his sparkling limado and a bath-bun with + him from the other table, took a sip of the former, and embarked upon his + narrative. + </p> + <p> + "I am employed, sir," he said, "as a sort of junior clerk and office-boy + by Mr. Solly Quhayne, the music-hall agent." + </p> + <p> + Clarence tapped his brow thoughtfully; then his face cleared. + </p> + <p> + "I remember. It was he who secured the engagements of the generals." + </p> + <p> + "The same, sir." + </p> + <p> + "Proceed." + </p> + <p> + The other resumed his story. + </p> + <p> + "It is my duty to sit in a sort of rabbit-hutch in the outer office, take + the callers' names, and especially to see that they don't get through to + Mr. Quhayne till he wishes to receive them. That is the most exacting part + of my day's work. You wouldn't believe how full of the purest swank some + of these pros. are. Tell you they've got an appointment as soon as look at + you. Artful beggars!" + </p> + <p> + Clarence nodded sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + "This morning an Acrobat and Society Contortionist made such a fuss that + in the end I had to take his card in to the private office. Mr. Quhayne + was there talking to a gentleman whom I recognised as his brother, Mr. + Colquhoun. They were engrossed in their conversation, and did not notice + me for a moment. With no wish to play the eavesdropper, I could not help + but overhear. They were talking about the generals. 'Yes, I know they're + press-agented at eight seventy-five, dear boy,' I heard Mr. Quhayne say, + 'but between you and me and the door-knob that isn't what they're getting. + The German feller's drawing five hundred of the best, but I could only get + four-fifty for the Russian. Can't say why. I should have thought, if + anything, he'd be the bigger draw. Bit of a comic in his way!' And then he + saw me. There was some slight unpleasantness. In fact, I've got the sack. + After it was over I came away to try and find you. It seemed to me that + the information might be of importance." + </p> + <p> + Clarence's eyes gleamed. + </p> + <p> + "You have done splendidly, Private—no, <i>Corporal</i> Biggs. Do not + regret your lost position. The society shall find you work. This news you + have brought is of the utmost—the most vital importance. Dash it!" + he cried, unbending in his enthusiasm, "we've got 'em on the hop. If they + aren't biting pieces out of each other in the next day or two, I'm jolly + well mistaken." + </p> + <p> + He rose; then sat down again. + </p> + <p> + "Corporal—no, dash it, Sergeant Biggs—you must have something + with me. This is an occasion. The news you have brought me may mean the + salvation of England. What would you like?" + </p> + <p> + The other saluted joyfully. + </p> + <p> + "I think I'll have another sparkling limado, thanks, awfully," he said. + </p> + <p> + The beverage arrived. They raised their glasses. + </p> + <p> + "To England," said Clarence simply. + </p> + <p> + "To England," echoed his subordinate. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Clarence left the shop with swift strides, and hurried, deep in thought, + to the offices of the <i>Encore</i> in Wellington Street. + </p> + <p> + "Yus?" said the office-boy interrogatively. + </p> + <p> + Clarence gave the Scout's Siquand, the pass-word. The boy's demeanour + changed instantly. He saluted with the utmost respect. + </p> + <p> + "I wish to see the Editor," said Clarence. + </p> + <p> + A short speech, but one that meant salvation for the motherland. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 — SEEDS OF DISCORD + </h2> + <p> + The days following Clarence's visit to the offices of the <i>Encore</i> + were marked by a growing feeling of unrest, alike among invaded and + invaders. The first novelty and excitement of the foreign occupation of + the country was beginning to wear off, and in its place the sturdy + independence so typical of the British character was reasserting itself. + Deep down in his heart the genuine Englishman has a rugged distaste for + seeing his country invaded by a foreign army. People were asking + themselves by what right these aliens had overrun British soil. An + ever-growing feeling of annoyance had begun to lay hold of the nation. + </p> + <p> + It is probable that the departure of Sir Harry Lauder first brought home + to England what this invasion might mean. The great comedian, in his + manifesto in the <i>Times</i>, had not minced his words. Plainly and + crisply he had stated that he was leaving the country because the + music-hall stage was given over to alien gowks. He was sorry for England. + He liked England. But now, all he could say was, "God bless you." England + shuddered, remembering that last time he had said, "God bless you till I + come back." + </p> + <p> + Ominous mutterings began to make themselves heard. + </p> + <p> + Other causes contributed to swell the discontent. A regiment of Russians, + out route-marching, had walked across the bowling-screen at Kennington + Oval during the Surrey <i>v.</i> Lancashire match, causing Hayward to be + bowled for a duck's-egg. A band of German sappers had dug a trench right + across the turf at Queen's Club. + </p> + <p> + The mutterings increased. + </p> + <p> + Nor were the invaders satisfied and happy. The late English summer had set + in with all its usual severity, and the Cossacks, reared in the kindlier + climate of Siberia, were feeling it terribly. Colds were the rule rather + than the exception in the Russian lines. The coughing of the Germans at + Tottenham could be heard in Oxford Street. + </p> + <p> + The attitude of the British public, too, was getting on their nerves. They + had been prepared for fierce resistance. They had pictured the invasion as + a series of brisk battles—painful perhaps, but exciting. They had + anticipated that when they had conquered the country they might meet with + the Glare of Hatred as they patrolled the streets. The Supercilious Stare + unnerved them. There is nothing so terrible to the highly-strung foreigner + as the cold, contemptuous, patronising gaze of the Englishman. It gave the + invaders a perpetual feeling of doing the wrong thing. They felt like men + who had been found travelling in a first-class carriage with a third-class + ticket. They became conscious of the size of their hands and feet. As they + marched through the Metropolis they felt their ears growing hot and red. + Beneath the chilly stare of the populace they experienced all the + sensations of a man who has come to a strange dinner-party in a tweed suit + when everybody else has dressed. They felt warm and prickly. + </p> + <p> + It was dull for them, too. London is never at its best in early September, + even for the <i>habitue</i>. There was nothing to do. Most of the theatres + were shut. The streets were damp and dirty. It was all very well for the + generals, appearing every night in the glare and glitter of the + footlights; but for the rank and file the occupation of London spelt pure + boredom. + </p> + <p> + London was, in fact, a human powder-magazine. And it was Clarence + Chugwater who with a firm hand applied the match that was to set it in a + blaze. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 — THE BOMB-SHELL + </h2> + <p> + Clarence had called at the offices of the <i>Encore</i> on a Friday. The + paper's publishing day is Thursday. The <i>Encore</i> is the Times of the + music-hall world. It casts its curses here, bestows its benedictions + (sparely) there. The <i>Encore</i> criticising the latest action of the + Variety Artists' Federation is the nearest modern approach to Jove hurling + the thunderbolt. Its motto is, "Cry havoc, and let loose the performing + dogs of war." + </p> + <p> + It so happened that on the Thursday following his momentous visit to + Wellington Street, there was need of someone on the staff of Clarence's + evening paper to go and obtain an interview from the Russian general. Mr. + Hubert Wales had just published a novel so fruity in theme and treatment + that it had been publicly denounced from the pulpit by no less a person + than the Rev. Canon Edgar Sheppard, D.D., Sub-Dean of His Majesty's + Chapels Royal, Deputy Clerk of the Closet and Sub-Almoner to the King. A + morning paper had started the question, "Should there be a Censor of + Fiction?" and, in accordance with custom, editors were collecting the + views of celebrities, preferably of those whose opinion on the subject was + absolutely valueless. + </p> + <p> + All the other reporters being away on their duties, the editor was at a + loss. + </p> + <p> + "Isn't there anybody else?" he demanded. + </p> + <p> + The chief sub-editor pondered. + </p> + <p> + "There is young blooming Chugwater," he said. + </p> + <p> + (It was thus that England's deliverer was habitually spoken of in the + office.) + </p> + <p> + "Then send him," said the editor. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Grand Duke Vodkakoff's turn at the Magnum Palace of Varieties started + every evening at ten sharp. He topped the bill. Clarence, having been + detained by a review of the Scouts, did not reach the hall till five + minutes to the hour. He got to the dressing-room as the general was going + on to the stage. + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke dressed in the large room with the other male turns. There + were no private dressing-rooms at the Magnum. Clarence sat down on a + basket-trunk belonging to the Premier Troupe of Bounding Zouaves of the + Desert, and waited. The four athletic young gentlemen who composed the + troupe were dressing after their turn. They took no notice of Clarence. + </p> + <p> + Presently one Zouave spoke. + </p> + <p> + "Bit off to-night, Bill. Cold house." + </p> + <p> + "Not 'arf," replied his colleague. "Gave me the shivers." + </p> + <p> + "Wonder how his nibs'll go." + </p> + <p> + Evidently he referred to the Grand Duke. + </p> + <p> + "Oh, <i>'e's</i> all right. They eat his sort of swank. Seems to me the + profession's going to the dogs, what with these bloomin' amytoors an' all. + Got the 'airbrush, 'Arry?" + </p> + <p> + Harry, a tall, silent Zouave, handed over the hairbrush. + </p> + <p> + Bill continued. + </p> + <p> + "I'd like to see him go on of a Monday night at the old Mogul. They'd soon + show him. It gives me the fair 'ump, it does, these toffs coming in and + taking the bread out of our mouths. Why can't he give us chaps a chance? + Fair makes me rasp, him and his bloomin' eight hundred and seventy-five o' + goblins a week." + </p> + <p> + "Not so much of your eight hundred and seventy-five, young feller me lad," + said the Zouave who had spoken first. "Ain't you seen the rag this week?" + </p> + <p> + "Naow. What's in it? How does our advert, look?" + </p> + <p> + "Ow, that's all right, never mind that. You look at 'What the <i>Encore</i> + Would Like to Know.' That's what'll touch his nibs up." + </p> + <p> + He produced a copy of the paper from the pocket of his great-coat which + hung from the door, and passed it to his bounding brother. + </p> + <p> + "Read it out, old sort," he said. + </p> + <p> + The other took it to the light and began to read slowly and cautiously, as + one who is no expert at the art. + </p> + <p> + "'What the <i>Encore</i> would like to know:—Whether Prince Otto of + Saxe-Pfennig didn't go particularly big at the Lobelia last week? And + Whether his success hasn't compelled Agent Quhayne to purchase a + larger-sized hat? And Whether it isn't a fact that, though they are + press-agented at the same figure, Prince Otto is getting fifty a week more + than Grand Duke Vodkakoff? And If it is not so, why a little bird has + assured us that the Prince is being paid five hundred a week and the Grand + Duke only four hundred and fifty? And, In any case, whether the Prince + isn't worth fifty a week more than his Russian friend?' Lumme!" + </p> + <p> + An awed silence fell upon the group. To Clarence, who had dictated the + matter (though the style was the editor's), the paragraph did not come as + a surprise. His only feeling was one of relief that the editor had served + up his material so well. He felt that he had been justified in leaving the + more delicate literary work to that master-hand. + </p> + <p> + "That'll be one in the eye," said the Zouave Harry. "'Ere, I'll stick it + up opposite of him when he comes back to dress. Got a pin and a pencil, + some of you?" + </p> + <p> + He marked the quarter column heavily, and pinned it up beside the + looking-glass. Then he turned to his companions. + </p> + <p> + "'Ow about not waiting, chaps?" he suggested. "I shouldn't 'arf wonder, + from the look of him, if he wasn't the 'aughty kind of a feller who'd + cleave you to the bazooka for tuppence with his bloomin' falchion. I'm + goin' to 'urry through with my dressing and wait till to-morrow night to + see how he looks. No risks for Willie!" + </p> + <p> + The suggestion seemed thoughtful and good. The Bounding Zouaves, with one + accord, bounded into their clothes and disappeared through the door just + as a long-drawn chord from the invisible orchestra announced the + conclusion of the Grand Duke's turn. + </p> + <p> + General Vodkakoff strutted into the room, listening complacently to the + applause which was still going on. He had gone well. He felt pleased with + himself. + </p> + <p> + It was not for a moment that he noticed Clarence. + </p> + <p> + "Ah," he said, "the interviewer, eh? You wish to—" + </p> + <p> + Clarence began to explain his mission. While he was doing so the Grand + Duke strolled to the basin and began to remove his make-up. He favoured, + when on the stage, a touch of the Raven Gipsy No. 3 grease-paint. It added + a picturesque swarthiness to his appearance, and made him look more like + what he felt to be the popular ideal of a Russian general. + </p> + <p> + The looking-glass hung just over the basin. + </p> + <p> + Clarence, watching him in the glass, saw him start as he read the first + paragraph. A dark flush, almost rivalling the Raven Gipsy No. 3, spread + over his face. He trembled with rage. + </p> + <p> + "Who put that paper there?" he roared, turning. + </p> + <p> + "With reference, then, to Mr. Hubert Wales's novel," said Clarence. + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke cursed Mr. Hubert Wales, his novel, and Clarence in one + sentence. + </p> + <p> + "You may possibly," continued Clarence, sticking to his point like a good + interviewer, "have read the trenchant, but some say justifiable remarks of + the Rev. Canon Edgar Sheppard, D.D., Sub-Dean of His Majesty's Chapels + Royal, Deputy Clerk of the Closet, and Sub-Almoner to the King." + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke swiftly added that eminent cleric to the list. + </p> + <p> + "Did you put that paper on this looking-glass?" he shouted. + </p> + <p> + "I did not put that paper on that looking-glass," replied Clarence + precisely. + </p> + <p> + "Ah," said the Grand Duke, "if you had, I'd have come and wrung your neck + like a chicken, and scattered you to the four corners of this + dressing-room." + </p> + <p> + "I'm glad I didn't," said Clarence. + </p> + <p> + "Have you read this paper on the looking-glass?" + </p> + <p> + "I have not read that paper on the looking-glass," replied Clarence, whose + chief fault as a conversationalist was that he was perhaps a shade too + Ollendorfian. "But I know its contents." + </p> + <p> + "It's a lie!" roared the Grand Duke. "An infamous lie! I've a good mind to + have him up for libel. I know very well he got them to put those + paragraphs in, if he didn't write them himself." + </p> + <p> + "Professional jealousy," said Clarence, with a sigh, "is a very sad + thing." + </p> + <p> + "I'll professional jealousy him!" + </p> + <p> + "I hear," said Clarence casually, "that he <i>has</i> been going very well + at the Lobelia. A friend of mine who was there last night told me he took + eleven calls." + </p> + <p> + For a moment the Russian General's face swelled apoplectically. Then he + recovered himself with a tremendous effort. + </p> + <p> + "Wait!" he said, with awful calm. "Wait till to-morrow night! I'll show + him! Went very well, did he? Ha! Took eleven calls, did he? Oh, ha, ha! + And he'll take them to-morrow night, too! Only"—and here his voice + took on a note of fiendish purpose so terrible that, hardened scout as he + was, Clarence felt his flesh creep—"only this time they'll be + catcalls!" + </p> + <p> + And, with a shout of almost maniac laughter, the jealous artiste flung + himself into a chair, and began to pull off his boots. + </p> + <p> + Clarence silently withdrew. The hour was very near. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 — THE BIRD + </h2> + <p> + The Grand Duke Vodkakoff was not the man to let the grass grow under his + feet. He was no lobster, no flat-fish. He did it now—swift, secret, + deadly—a typical Muscovite. By midnight his staff had their orders. + </p> + <p> + Those orders were for the stalls at the Lobelia. + </p> + <p> + Price of entrance to the gallery and pit was served out at daybreak to the + Eighth and Fifteenth Cossacks of the Don, those fierce, semi-civilised + fighting-machines who know no fear. + </p> + <p> + Grand Duke Vodkakoff's preparations were ready. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Few more fortunate events have occurred in the history of English + literature than the quite accidental visit of Mr. Bart Kennedy to the + Lobelia on that historic night. He happened to turn in there casually + after dinner, and was thus enabled to see the whole thing from start to + finish. At a quarter to eleven a wild-eyed man charged in at the main + entrance of Carmelite House, and, too impatient to use the lift, dashed up + the stairs, shouting for pens, ink and paper. + </p> + <p> + Next morning the <i>Daily Mail</i> was one riot of headlines. The whole of + page five was given up to the topic. The headlines were not elusive. They + flung the facts at the reader:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE AT THE LOBELIA + PRINCE OTTO OF SAXE-PFENNIG + GIVEN THE BIRD BY + RUSSIAN SOLDIERS + WHAT WILL BE THE OUTCOME? +</pre> + <p> + There were about seventeen more, and then came Mr. Bart Kennedy's special + report. + </p> + <p> + He wrote as follows:— + </p> + <p> + "A night to remember. A marvellous night. A night such as few will see + again. A night of fear and wonder. The night of September the eleventh. + Last night. + </p> + <p> + "Nine-thirty. I had dined. I had eaten my dinner. My dinner! So + inextricably are the prose and romance of life blended. My dinner! I had + eaten my dinner on this night. This wonderful night. This night of + September the eleventh. Last night! + </p> + <p> + "I had dined at the club. A chop. A boiled potato. Mushrooms on toast. A + touch of Stilton. Half-a-bottle of Beaune. I lay back in my chair. I + debated within myself. A Hall? A theatre? A book in the library? That + night, the night of September the eleventh, I as near as a toucher spent + in the library of my club with a book. That night! The night of September + the eleventh. Last night! + </p> + <p> + "Fate took me to the Lobelia. Fate! We are its toys. Its footballs. We are + the footballs of Fate. Fate might have sent me to the Gaiety. Fate took me + to the Lobelia. This Fate which rules us. + </p> + <p> + "I sent in my card to the manager. He let me through. Ever courteous. He + let me through on my face. This manager. This genial and courteous + manager. + </p> + <p> + "I was in the Lobelia. A dead-head. I was in the Lobelia as a dead-head!" + </p> + <p> + Here, in the original draft of the article, there are reflections, at some + length, on the interior decorations of the Hall, and an excursus on + music-hall performances in general. It is not till he comes to examine the + audience that Mr. Kennedy returns to the main issue. + </p> + <p> + "And what manner of audience was it that had gathered together to view the + entertainment provided by the genial and courteous manager of the Lobelia? + The audience. Beyond whom there is no appeal. The Caesars of the + music-hall. The audience." + </p> + <p> + At this point the author has a few extremely interesting and thoughtful + remarks on the subject of audiences. These may be omitted. "In the stalls + I noted a solid body of Russian officers. These soldiers from the Steppes. + These bearded men. These Russians. They sat silent and watchful. They + applauded little. The programme left them cold. The Trick Cyclist. The + Dashing Soubrette and Idol of Belgravia. The Argumentative College Chums. + The Swell Comedian. The Man with the Performing Canaries. None of these + could rouse them. They were waiting. Waiting. Waiting tensely. Every + muscle taut. Husbanding their strength. Waiting. For what? + </p> + <p> + "A man at my side told a friend that a fellow had told him that he had + been told by a commissionaire that the pit and gallery were full of + Russians. Russians. Russians everywhere. Why? Were they genuine patrons of + the Halls? Or were they there from some ulterior motive? There was an air + of suspense. We were all waiting. Waiting. For what? + </p> + <p> + "The atmosphere is summed up in a word. One word. Sinister. The atmosphere + was sinister. + </p> + <p> + "AA! A stir in the crowded house. The ruffling of the face of the sea + before a storm. The Sisters Sigsbee, Coon Delineators and Unrivalled + Burlesque Artists, have finished their dance, smiled, blown kisses, + skipped off, skipped on again, smiled, blown more kisses, and disappeared. + A long chord from the orchestra. A chord that is almost a wail. A wail of + regret for that which is past. Two liveried menials appear. They carry + sheets of cardboard. These menials carry sheets of cardboard. But not + blank sheets. On each sheet is a number. + </p> + <p> + "The number 15. + </p> + <p> + "Who is number 15? + </p> + <p> + "Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig. Prince Otto, General of the German Army. + Prince Otto is Number 15. + </p> + <p> + "A burst of applause from the house. But not from the Russians. They are + silent. They are waiting. For what? + </p> + <p> + "The orchestra plays a lively air. The massive curtains part. A tall, + handsome military figure strides on to the stage. He bows. This tall, + handsome, military man bows. He is Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig, General of + the Army of Germany. One of our conquerors. + </p> + <p> + "He begins to speak. 'Ladies and gentlemen.' This man, this general, says, + 'Ladies and gentlemen.' + </p> + <p> + "But no more. No more. No more. Nothing more. No more. He says, 'Ladies + and Gentlemen,' but no more. + </p> + <p> + "And why does he say no more? Has he finished his turn? Is that all he + does? Are his eight hundred and seventy-five pounds a week paid him for + saying, 'Ladies and Gentlemen'? + </p> + <p> + "No! + </p> + <p> + "He would say more. He has more to say. This is only the beginning. This + tall, handsome man has all his music still within him. + </p> + <p> + "Why, then, does he say no more? Why does he say 'Ladies and Gentlemen,' + but no more? No more. Only that. No more. Nothing more. No more. + </p> + <p> + "Because from the stalls a solid, vast, crushing 'Boo!' is hurled at him. + From the Russians in the stalls comes this vast, crushing 'Boo!' It is for + this that they have been waiting. It is for this that they have been + waiting so tensely. For this. They have been waiting for this colossal + 'Boo!' + </p> + <p> + "The General retreats a step. He is amazed. Startled. Perhaps frightened. + He waves his hands. + </p> + <p> + "From gallery and pit comes a hideous whistling and howling. The noise of + wild beasts. The noise of exploding boilers. The noise of a music-hall + audience giving a performer the bird. + </p> + <p> + "Everyone is standing on his feet. Some on mine. Everyone is shouting. + This vast audience is shouting. + </p> + <p> + "Words begin to emerge from the babel. + </p> + <p> + "'Get offski! Rotten turnovitch!' These bearded Russians, these stern + critics, shout, 'Rotten turnovitch!' + </p> + <p> + "Fire shoots from the eyes of the German. This strong man's eyes. + </p> + <p> + "'Get offski! Swankietoff! Rotten turnovitch!' + </p> + <p> + "The fury of this audience is terrible. This audience. This last court of + appeal. This audience in its fury is terrible. + </p> + <p> + "What will happen? The German stands his ground. This man of blood and + iron stands his ground. He means to go on. This strong man. He means to go + on if it snows. + </p> + <p> + "The audience is pulling up the benches. A tomato shatters itself on the + Prince's right eye. An over-ripe tomato. + </p> + <p> + "'Get offski!' Three eggs and a cat sail through the air. Falling short, + they drop on to the orchestra. These eggs! This cat! They fall on the + conductor and the second trombone. They fall like the gentle dew from + Heaven upon the place beneath. That cat! Those eggs! + </p> + <p> + "AA! At last the stage-manager—keen, alert, resourceful—saves + the situation. This man. This stage-manager. This man with the big brain. + Slowly, inevitably, the fireproof curtain falls. It is half-way down. It + is down. Before it, the audience. The audience. Behind it, the Prince. The + Prince. That general. That man of iron. That performer who has just got + the bird. + </p> + <p> + "The Russian National Anthem rings through the hall. Thunderous! + Triumphant! The Russian National Anthem. A paean of joy. + </p> + <p> + "The menials reappear. Those calm, passionless menials. They remove the + number fifteen. They insert the number sixteen. They are like Destiny—Pitiless, + Unmoved, Purposeful, Silent. Those menials. + </p> + <p> + "A crash from the orchestra. Turn number sixteen has begun...." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 — THE MEETING AT THE SCOTCH STORES + </h2> + <p> + Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig stood in the wings, shaking in every limb. + German oaths of indescribable vigour poured from his lips. In a group some + feet away stood six muscular, short-sleeved stage-hands. It was they who + had flung themselves on the general at the fall of the iron curtain and + prevented him dashing round to attack the stalls with his sabre. At a sign + from the stage-manager they were ready to do it again. + </p> + <p> + The stage-manager was endeavouring to administer balm. + </p> + <p> + "Bless you, your Highness," he was saying, "it's nothing. It's what + happens to everyone some time. Ask any of the top-notch pros. Ask 'em + whether they never got the bird when they were starting. Why, even now + some of the biggest stars can't go to some towns because they always cop + it there. Bless you, it——" + </p> + <p> + A stage-hand came up with a piece of paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + "Young feller in spectacles and a rum sort o' suit give me this for your + 'Ighness." + </p> + <p> + The Prince snatched it from his hand. + </p> + <p> + The note was written in a round, boyish hand. It was signed, "A Friend." + It ran:—"The men who booed you to-night were sent for that purpose + by General Vodkakoff, who is jealous of you because of the paragraphs in + the <i>Encore</i> this week." + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto became suddenly calm. + </p> + <p> + "Excuse me, your Highness," said the stage-manager anxiously, as he moved, + "you can't go round to the front. Stand by, Bill." + </p> + <p> + "Right, sir!" said the stage-hands. + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto smiled pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + "There is no danger. I do not intend to go to the front. I am going to + look in at the Scotch Stores for a moment." + </p> + <p> + "Oh, in that case, your Highness, good-night, your Highness! Better luck + to-morrow, your Highness!" + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + It had been the custom of the two generals, since they had joined the + music-hall profession, to go, after their turn, to the Scotch Stores, + where they stood talking and blocking the gangway, as etiquette demands + that a successful artiste shall. + </p> + <p> + The Prince had little doubt but that he would find Vodkakoff there + to-night. + </p> + <p> + He was right. The Russian general was there, chatting affably across the + counter about the weather. + </p> + <p> + He nodded at the Prince with a well-assumed carelessness. + </p> + <p> + "Go well to-night?" he inquired casually. + </p> + <p> + Prince Otto clenched his fists; but he had had a rigorously diplomatic + up-bringing, and knew how to keep a hold on himself. When he spoke it was + in the familiar language of diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + "The rain has stopped," he said, "but the pavements are still wet + underfoot. Has your grace taken the precaution to come out in a good stout + pair of boots?" + </p> + <p> + The shaft plainly went home, but the Grand Duke's manner, as he replied, + was unruffled. + </p> + <p> + "Rain," he said, sipping his vermouth, "is always wet; but sometimes it is + cold as well." + </p> + <p> + "But it never falls upwards," said the Prince, pointedly. + </p> + <p> + "Rarely, I understand. Your powers of observation are keen, my dear + Prince." + </p> + <p> + There was a silence; then the Prince, momentarily baffled, returned to the + attack. + </p> + <p> + "The quickest way to get from Charing Cross to Hammersmith Broadway," he + said, "is to go by Underground." + </p> + <p> + "Men have died in Hammersmith Broadway," replied the Grand Duke suavely. + </p> + <p> + The Prince gritted his teeth. He was no match for his slippery adversary + in a diplomatic dialogue, and he knew it. + </p> + <p> + "The sun rises in the East," he cried, half-choking, "but it sets—it + sets!" + </p> + <p> + "So does a hen," was the cynical reply. + </p> + <p> + The last remnants of the Prince's self-control were slipping away. This + elusive, diplomatic conversation is a terrible strain if one is not in the + mood for it. Its proper setting is the gay, glittering ball-room at some + frivolous court. To a man who has just got the bird at a music-hall, and + who is trying to induce another man to confess that the thing was his + doing, it is little short of maddening. + </p> + <p> + "Hen!" he echoed, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Have you studied + the habits of hens?" + </p> + <p> + The truth seemed very near to him now, but the master-diplomat before him + was used to extracting himself from awkward corners. + </p> + <p> + "Pullets with a southern exposure," he drawled, "have yellow legs and + ripen quickest." + </p> + <p> + The Prince was nonplussed. He had no answer. + </p> + <p> + The girl behind the bar spoke. + </p> + <p> + "You do talk silly, you two!" she said. + </p> + <p> + It was enough. Trivial as the remark was, it was the last straw. The + Prince brought his fist down with a crash on the counter. + </p> + <p> + "Yes," he shouted, "you are right. We do talk silly; but we shall do so no + longer. I am tired of this verbal fencing. A plain answer to a plain + question. Did you or did you not send your troops to give me the bird + to-night?" + </p> + <p> + "My dear Prince!" + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + "Did you or did you not?" + </p> + <p> + "The wise man," said the Russian, still determined on evasion, "never + takes sides, unless they are sides of bacon." + </p> + <p> + The Prince smashed a glass. + </p> + <p> + "You did!" he roared. "I know you did! Listen to me! I'll give you one + chance. I'll give you and your precious soldiers twenty-four hours from + midnight to-night to leave this country. If you are still here then——" + </p> + <p> + He paused dramatically. + </p> + <p> + The Grand Duke slowly drained his vermouth. + </p> + <p> + "Have you seen my professional advertisement in the <i>Era</i>, my dear + Prince?" he asked. + </p> + <p> + "I have. What of it?" + </p> + <p> + "You noticed nothing about it?" + </p> + <p> + "I did not." + </p> + <p> + "Ah. If you had looked more closely, you would have seen the words, + 'Permanent address, Hampstead.'" + </p> + <p> + "You mean——" + </p> + <p> + "I mean that I see no occasion to alter that advertisement in any way." + </p> + <p> + There was another tense silence. The two men looked hard at each other. + </p> + <p> + "That is your final decision?" said the German. + </p> + <p> + The Russian bowed. + </p> + <p> + "So be it," said the Prince, turning to the door. "I have the honour to + wish you a very good night." + </p> + <p> + "The same to you," said the Grand Duke. "Mind the step." + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 9 — THE GREAT BATTLE + </h2> + <p> + The news that an open rupture had occurred between the Generals of the two + invading armies was not slow in circulating. The early editions of the + evening papers were full of it. A symposium of the opinions of Dr. Emil + Reich, Dr. Saleeby, Sandow, Mr. Chiozza Money, and Lady Grove was hastily + collected. Young men with knobbly and bulging foreheads were turned on by + their editors to write character-sketches of the two generals. All was + stir and activity. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, those who look after London's public amusements were busy with + telephone and telegraph. The quarrel had taken place on Friday night. It + was probable that, unless steps were taken, the battle would begin early + on Saturday. Which, it did not require a man of unusual intelligence to + see, would mean a heavy financial loss to those who supplied London with + its Saturday afternoon amusements. The matinees would suffer. The battle + might not affect the stalls and dress-circle, perhaps, but there could be + no possible doubt that the pit and gallery receipts would fall off + terribly. To the public which supports the pit and gallery of a theatre + there is an irresistible attraction about a fight on anything like a large + scale. When one considers that a quite ordinary street-fight will attract + hundreds of spectators, it will be plainly seen that no theatrical + entertainment could hope to compete against so strong a counter-attraction + as a battle between the German and Russian armies. + </p> + <p> + The various football-grounds would be heavily hit, too. And there was to + be a monster roller-skating carnival at Olympia. That also would be + spoiled. + </p> + <p> + A deputation of amusement-caterers hurried to the two camps within an hour + of the appearance of the first evening paper. They put their case plainly + and well. The Generals were obviously impressed. Messages passed and + repassed between the two armies, and in the end it was decided to put off + the outbreak of hostilities till Monday morning. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Satisfactory as this undoubtedly was for the theatre-managers and + directors of football clubs, it was in some ways a pity. From the + standpoint of the historian it spoiled the whole affair. But for the + postponement, readers of this history might—nay, would—have + been able to absorb a vivid and masterly account of the great struggle, + with a careful description of the tactics by which victory was achieved. + They would have been told the disposition of the various regiments, the + stratagems, the dashing advances, the skilful retreats, and the Lessons of + the War. + </p> + <p> + As it is, owing to the mistaken good-nature of the rival generals, the + date of the fixture was changed, and practically all that a historian can + do is to record the result. + </p> + <p> + A slight mist had risen as early as four o'clock on Saturday. By + night-fall the atmosphere was a little dense, but the lamp-posts were + still clearly visible at a distance of some feet, and nobody, accustomed + to living in London, would have noticed anything much out of the common. + It was not till Sunday morning that the fog proper really began. + </p> + <p> + London awoke on Sunday to find the world blanketed in the densest, + yellowest London particular that had been experienced for years. It was + the sort of day when the City clerk has the exhilarating certainty that at + last he has an excuse for lateness which cannot possibly be received with + harsh disbelief. People spent the day indoors and hoped it would clear up + by tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + "They can't possibly fight if it's like this," they told each other. + </p> + <p> + But on the Monday morning the fog was, if possible, denser. It wrapped + London about as with a garment. People shook their heads. + </p> + <p> + "They'll have to put it off," they were saying, when of a sudden—<i>Boom!</i> + And, again, <i>Boom!</i> + </p> + <p> + It was the sound of heavy guns. + </p> + <p> + The battle had begun! + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + One does not wish to grumble or make a fuss, but still it does seem a + little hard that a battle of such importance, a battle so outstanding in + the history of the world, should have been fought under such conditions. + London at that moment was richer than ever before in descriptive + reporters. It was the age of descriptive reporters, of vivid pen-pictures. + In every newspaper office there were men who could have hauled up their + slacks about that battle in a way that would have made a Y.M.C.A. lecturer + want to get at somebody with a bayonet; men who could have handed out the + adjectives and exclamation-marks till you almost heard the roar of the + guns. And there they were—idle, supine—like careened + battleships. They were helpless. Bart Kennedy did start an article which + began, "Fog. Black fog. And the roar of guns. Two nations fighting in the + fog," but it never came to anything. It was promising for a while, but it + died of inanition in the middle of the second stick. + </p> + <p> + It was hard. + </p> + <p> + The lot of the actual war-correspondents was still worse. It was useless + for them to explain that the fog was too thick to give them a chance. "If + it's light enough for them to fight," said their editors remorselessly, + "it's light enough for you to watch them." And out they had to go. + </p> + <p> + They had a perfectly miserable time. Edgar Wallace seems to have lost his + way almost at once. He was found two days later in an almost starving + condition at Steeple Bumpstead. How he got there nobody knows. He said he + had set out to walk to where the noise of the guns seemed to be, and had + gone on walking. Bennett Burleigh, that crafty old campaigner, had the + sagacity to go by Tube. This brought him to Hampstead, the scene, it + turned out later, of the fiercest operations, and with any luck he might + have had a story to tell. But the lift stuck half-way up, owing to a + German shell bursting in its neighbourhood, and it was not till the + following evening that a search-party heard and rescued him. + </p> + <p> + The rest—A. G. Hales, Frederick Villiers, Charles Hands, and the + others—met, on a smaller scale, the same fate as Edgar Wallace. + Hales, starting for Tottenham, arrived in Croydon, very tired, with a nail + in his boot. Villiers, equally unlucky, fetched up at Richmond. The most + curious fate of all was reserved for Charles Hands. As far as can be + gathered, he got on all right till he reached Leicester Square. There he + lost his bearings, and seems to have walked round and round Shakespeare's + statue, under the impression that he was going straight to Tottenham. + After a day and a-half of this he sat down to rest, and was there found, + when the fog had cleared, by a passing policeman. + </p> + <p> + And all the while the unseen guns boomed and thundered, and strange, thin + shoutings came faintly through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 10 — THE TRIUMPH OF ENGLAND + </h2> + <p> + It was the afternoon of Wednesday, September the Sixteenth. The battle had + been over for twenty-four hours. The fog had thinned to a light lemon + colour. It was raining. + </p> + <p> + By now the country was in possession of the main facts. Full details were + not to be expected, though it is to the credit of the newspapers that, + with keen enterprise, they had at once set to work to invent them, and on + the whole had not done badly. + </p> + <p> + Broadly, the facts were that the Russian army, outmanoeuvered, had been + practically annihilated. Of the vast force which had entered England with + the other invaders there remained but a handful. These, the Grand Duke + Vodkakoff among them, were prisoners in the German lines at Tottenham. + </p> + <p> + The victory had not been gained bloodlessly. Not a fifth of the German + army remained. It is estimated that quite two-thirds of each army must + have perished in that last charge of the Germans up the Hampstead heights, + which ended in the storming of Jack Straw's Castle and the capture of the + Russian general. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig lay sleeping in his tent at Tottenham. He was + worn out. In addition to the strain of the battle, there had been the + heavy work of seeing the interviewers, signing autograph-books, sitting to + photographers, writing testimonials for patent medicines, and the thousand + and one other tasks, burdensome but unavoidable, of the man who is in the + public eye. Also he had caught a bad cold during the battle. A bottle of + ammoniated quinine lay on the table beside him now as he slept. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + As he lay there the flap of the tent was pulled softly aside. Two figures + entered. Each was dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a coloured handkerchief, + a flannel shirt, football shorts, stockings, brown boots, and a whistle. + Each carried a hockey-stick. One, however, wore spectacles and a look of + quiet command which showed that he was the leader. + </p> + <p> + They stood looking at the prostrate general for some moments. Then the + spectacled leader spoke. + </p> + <p> + "Scout-Master Wagstaff." + </p> + <p> + The other saluted. + </p> + <p> + "Wake him!" + </p> + <p> + Scout-Master Wagstaff walked to the side of the bed, and shook the + sleeper's shoulder. The Prince grunted, and rolled over on to his other + side. The Scout-Master shook him again. He sat up, blinking. + </p> + <p> + As his eyes fell on the quiet, stern, spectacled figure, he leaped from + the bed. + </p> + <p> + "What—what—what," he stammered. "What's the beadig of this?" + </p> + <p> + He sneezed as he spoke, and, turning to the table, poured out and drained + a bumper of ammoniated quinine. + </p> + <p> + "I told the sedtry pardicularly not to let adybody id. Who are you?" + </p> + <p> + The intruder smiled quietly. + </p> + <p> + "My name is Clarence Chugwater," he said simply. + </p> + <p> + "Jugwater? Dod't doe you frob Adab. What do you want? If you're forb sub + paper, I cad't see you now. Cub to-borrow bordig." + </p> + <p> + "I am from no paper." + </p> + <p> + "Thed you're wud of these photographers. I tell you, I cad't see you." + </p> + <p> + "I am no photographer." + </p> + <p> + "Thed what are you?" + </p> + <p> + The other drew himself up. + </p> + <p> + "I am England," he said with a sublime gesture. + </p> + <p> + "Igglud! How do you bead you're Igglud? Talk seds." + </p> + <p> + Clarence silenced him with a frown. + </p> + <p> + "I say I am England. I am the Chief Scout, and the Scouts are England. + Prince Otto, you thought this England of ours lay prone and helpless. You + were wrong. The Boy Scouts were watching and waiting. And now their time + has come. Scout-Master Wagstaff, do your duty." + </p> + <p> + The Scout-Master moved forward. The Prince, bounding to the bed, thrust + his hand under the pillow. Clarence's voice rang out like a trumpet. + </p> + <p> + "Cover that man!" + </p> + <p> + The Prince looked up. Two feet away Scout-Master Wagstaff was standing, + catapult in hand, ready to shoot. + </p> + <p> + "He is never known to miss," said Clarence warningly. + </p> + <p> + The Prince wavered. + </p> + <p> + "He has broken more windows than any other boy of his age in South + London." + </p> + <p> + The Prince sullenly withdrew his hand—empty. + </p> + <p> + "Well, whad do you wad?" he snarled. + </p> + <p> + "Resistance is useless," said Clarence. "The moment I have plotted and + planned for has come. Your troops, worn out with fighting, mere shadows of + themselves, have fallen an easy prey. An hour ago your camp was silently + surrounded by patrols of Boy Scouts, armed with catapults and + hockey-sticks. One rush and the battle was over. Your entire army, like + yourself, are prisoners." + </p> + <p> + "The diggids they are!" said the Prince blankly. + </p> + <p> + "England, my England!" cried Clarence, his face shining with a holy + patriotism. "England, thou art free! Thou hast risen from the ashes of the + dead self. Let the nations learn from this that it is when apparently + crushed that the Briton is to more than ever be feared." + </p> + <p> + "Thad's bad grabbar," said the Prince critically. + </p> + <p> + "It isn't," said Clarence with warmth. + </p> + <p> + "It <i>is</i>, I tell you. Id's a splid idfididive." + </p> + <p> + Clarence's eyes flashed fire. + </p> + <p> + "I don't want any of your beastly cheek," he said. "Scout-Master Wagstaff, + remove your prisoner." + </p> + <p> + "All the sabe," said the Prince, "id <i>is</i> a splid idfididive." + </p> + <p> + Clarence pointed silently to the door. + </p> + <p> + "And you doe id is," persisted the Prince. "And id's spoiled your big + sbeech. Id—" + </p> + <p> + "Come on, can't you," interrupted Scout-Master Wagstaff. + </p> + <p> + "I <i>ab</i> cubbing, aren't I? I was odly saying—" + </p> + <p> + "I'll give you such a whack over the shin with this hockey-stick in a + minute!" said the Scout-Master warningly. "Come <i>on</i>!" + </p> + <p> + The Prince went. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 11 — CLARENCE—THE LAST PHASE + </h2> + <p> + The brilliantly-lighted auditorium of the Palace Theatre. + </p> + <p> + Everywhere a murmur and stir. The orchestra is playing a selection. In the + stalls fair women and brave men converse in excited whispers. One catches + sentences here and there. + </p> + <p> + "Quite a boy, I believe!" + </p> + <p> + "How perfectly sweet!" + </p> + <p> + "'Pon honour, Lady Gussie, I couldn't say. Bertie Bertison, of the + Bachelors', says a feller told him it was a clear thousand." + </p> + <p> + "Do you hear that? Mr. Bertison says that this boy is getting a thousand a + week." + </p> + <p> + "Why, that's more than either of those horrid generals got." + </p> + <p> + "It's a lot of money, isn't it?" + </p> + <p> + "Of course, he did save the country, didn't he?" + </p> + <p> + "You may depend they wouldn't give it him if he wasn't worth it." + </p> + <p> + "Met him last night at the Duchess's hop. Seems a decent little chap. No + side and that, if you know what I mean. Hullo, there's his number!" + </p> + <p> + The orchestra stops. The number 7 is displayed. A burst of applause, + swelling into a roar as the curtain rises. + </p> + <p> + A stout man in crinkled evening-dress walks on to the stage. + </p> + <p> + "Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "I 'ave the 'onour to-night to introduce + to you one whose name is, as the saying goes, a nouse'old word. It is + thanks to 'im, to this 'ero whom I 'ave the 'onour to introduce to you + to-night, that our beloved England no longer writhes beneath the ruthless + 'eel of the alien oppressor. It was this 'ero's genius—and, I may + say—er—I may say genius—that, unaided, 'it upon the only + way for removing the cruel conqueror from our beloved 'earths and 'omes. + It was this 'ero who, 'aving first allowed the invaders to claw each other + to 'ash (if I may be permitted the expression) after the well-known + precedent of the Kilkenny cats, thereupon firmly and without flinching, + stepped bravely in with his fellow-'eros—need I say I allude to our + gallant Boy Scouts?—and dexterously gave what-for in no uncertain + manner to the few survivors who remained." + </p> + <p> + Here the orator bowed, and took advantage of the applause to replenish his + stock of breath. When his face had begun to lose the purple tinge, he + raised his hand. + </p> + <p> + "I 'ave only to add," he resumed, "that this 'ero is engaged exclusively + by the management of the Palace Theatre of Varieties, at a figure + previously undreamed of in the annals of the music-hall stage. He is in + receipt of the magnificent weekly salary of no less than one thousand one + 'undred and fifty pounds a week." + </p> + <p> + Thunderous applause. + </p> + <p> + "I 'ave little more to add. This 'ero will first perform a few of those + physical exercises which have made our Boy Scouts what they are, such as + deep breathing, twisting the right leg firmly round the neck, and hopping + on one foot across the stage. He will then give an exhibition of the + various calls and cries of the Boy Scouts—all, as you doubtless + know, skilful imitations of real living animals. In this connection I 'ave + to assure you that he 'as nothing whatsoever in 'is mouth, as it 'as been + sometimes suggested. In conclusion he will deliver a short address on the + subject of 'is great exploits. Ladies and gentlemen, I have finished, and + it only now remains for me to retire, 'aving duly announced to you + England's Darling Son, the Country's 'Ero, the Nation's Proudest + Possession—Clarence Chugwater." + </p> + <p> + A moment's breathless suspense, a crash from the orchestra, and the + audience are standing on their seats, cheering, shouting, stamping. + </p> + <p> + A small sturdy, spectacled figure is on the stage. + </p> + <p> + It is Clarence, the Boy of Destiny. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <pre> + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Swoop! or How Clarence Saved +England, by P. G. Wodehouse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SWOOP! 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