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Read Ebook: Punch or the London Charivari Volume 152 February 28 1917 by Various
Font size: Background color: Text color: Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev PageEbook has 253 lines and 15386 words, and 6 pages"Is that for me?" cried Alice; but Pamela shook her head and smiled very nicely as she took my arm. "No, that's for me," she said. A TRAGEDY OF THE SEA. The night was a very dark one, for a cold damp fog hung over the Channel. The few lights we carried reflected in-board only, and, leaning over the rail, it was with difficulty that I could distinguish the dark waters washing below. Shore-ward I could see nothing, though I knew that a good-sized town lay there. I had soon had enough of the inclement night. Keeping my feet with some difficulty upon the wet boards, I groped my way to a door and, pushing it open, entered. A strange scene met my gaze. A spruce man in the uniform of a naval officer was seated at a table. Before him stood a tall well-set-up young seaman. His dishevelled head was hatless, but otherwise he looked trim, and his garments fitted him better than a seaman's garments generally do. On each side of him stood an armed guard. "Have you anything to say for yourself?" asked the officer sternly. "No, Sir, only that I am innocent," answered the man. He held his head high, almost defiantly. I could not but admire his courageous bearing, and yet there was an air of unreality about the whole thing. I felt almost as if I were dreaming it, but I knew that this was not a dream. "The evidence against you is overwhelming," said the officer. "I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. The sentence will be carried out at dawn. Remove the prisoner." The seaman took a step forward. For a moment he seemed to be struggling with himself, anxious to speak, yet forcing himself to silence. Then he bowed his head, and, turning, placed himself between the guards and was marched away. The officer sighed. "It's a bad business," he said. "He's the best man I ever had on my ship." WEATHER-VANES. It was 2 A.M. The mosquitoes were singing their nightly chorus, and the situation reports were coming in from the battalions in the line. With his hair sizzling in the flame of the candle, the Brigade Orderly Officer who was on duty for the night tried to decipher the feathery scrawl on the pink form. "Situation normal A-A-A wind moderate N.E.," it read. "Great Scott!" said the O.O. "North-East!" . "Give me the message book." Laboriously he wrote out warnings to the battalions and machine gun sections, etc., under the Brigade's control. Then he turned to the next message. "Situation normal A-A-A wind light S.W." The orderly went out to see, and returned presently with a moistened forefinger and the information that it was "blowing acrossways, leastways it seemed like it." The O.O. got out of his little wire bed, searched in his pyjamas for the North Star, and, finally deciding that if there was any wind at all it was due South, reported it as such. The responsibility incurred kept him awake for some time, but when the Brigade on the right flank reported a totally different wind he concluded there must be a whirlwind in the line, and, putting up a barrage of bad language, went to sleep. In due course the matter came to the ears of the Staff Captain, who broached the subject at breakfast as the General was probing his second poached egg. "This," said the General, who is rather given to the vernacular, "is the limit. A North-South-East-West report is preposterous. Something must be done. Haven't we got a weather-vane of our own? Pass the marmalade, will you?" Four people reached hastily for the delicacy, and the O.O. feeling out of it passed the milk for no reason. "What about those two vanes in our last headquarters, Sir?" said the Staff Captain brightly--he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings--"the ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards. Can't we get them? They aren't ours, but then they aren't anybody's--they've been there a year, the old woman told me." "Where's the Orderly Officer?" "Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will let you--they're in there now, aren't they?" "And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse." "Why?" said the General. "Indigestion--nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all after dinner." "Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot." "Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!" "I brought the vanes, Sir." "Have any trouble?" "I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the main thing." "Where will you have one put, Sir?" "In the fields," said the B.M. "Not too low," said the Captain. "Or too high," said Signals. "Or too far away," said the attached officer. "Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney." They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly dug-in. "Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning. "It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I--" "We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went--General, Brigade Major , Staff Captain , and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle. "North is--there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this is pointing--due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O. "Paralysed," said the B.M. "Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain. "Now pour it over the top--top, boy, top!" A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a handkerchief. "Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!" The B.M. smiled a smile . "That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!" "Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute." "It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm--West!" Add to tbrJar First Page Next Page Prev Page |
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