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The Swoop! Or How Clarence Saved
England
By
P.G. Wodehouse
Contents
Chapter
1 - AN ENGLISH BOY'S HOME
Chapter
5 - THE GERMANS REACH LONDON
Chapter
7 - A CONFERENCE OF THE POWERS
Chapter
1 - IN THE BOY SCOUTS' CAMP
Chapter
2 - AN IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT
Chapter
4 - CLARENCE HEARS IMPORTANT NEWS.
Chapter
8 - THE MEETING AT THE SCOTCH STORES.
Chapter
10 - THE TRIUMPH OF ENGLAND
Chapter
11 - CLARENCE--THE LAST PHASE
It may be thought by some that in the pages wh=
ich
follow I have painted in too lurid colours the horrors of a foreign invasio=
n 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 succe=
ss.
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. G. WODEHOUSE.
=
August
the First, 19--
Clarence Chugwater looked around him with a fr=
own,
and gritted his teeth.
"England--my England!" he moaned.
Clarence was a sturdy lad of some fourteen
summers. He was neatly, but not gaudily, dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a c=
oloured
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.
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.
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 informati=
on;
that massive chin; those eyes, gleaming behind their spectacles; that tout
ensemble; that je ne sais quoi.
In a word, Clarence!
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 s=
mile
and whistle simultaneously in accordance with Rule 8 (and only those who ha=
ve
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.
*
Clarence, on this sultry August afternoon, was
tensely occupied tracking the family cat across the dining-room carpet by i=
ts foot-prints.
Glancing up for a moment, he caught sight of the other members of the famil=
y.
"England, my England!" he moaned.
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 hi=
s 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 read=
ing
the cricket news in an early edition of the evening paper. Horace, his brot=
her,
was playing pop-in-taw with his sister Grace and Grace's fiance, Ralph Peab=
ody.
Alice, the other Miss Chugwater, was mending a Badminton racquet.
Not a single member of that family was practis=
ing
with the rifle, or drilling, or learning to make bandages.
Clarence groaned.
"If you can't play without snorting like =
that,
my boy," said Mr. Chugwater, a little irritably, "you must find s=
ome
other game. You made me jump just as I was going to beat my record."
"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."
"I thought he was playing for Somerset,&q=
uot;
said Horace.
"That was a fortnight ago. You ought to k=
eep
up to date in an important subject like cricket."
Once more Clarence snorted bitterly.
"I'm sure you ought not to be down on the
floor, Clarence," said Mr. Chugwater anxiously. "It is so draught=
y,
and you have evidently got a nasty cold. Must you lie on the floor?"
"I am spooring," said Clarence with
simple dignity.
"But I'm sure you can spoor better sittin=
g on
a chair with a nice book."
"I think the kid's sickening for
something," put in Horace critically. "He's deuced roopy. What's =
up,
Clarry?"
"I was thinking," said Clarence,
"of my country--of England."
"What's the matter with England?"
"She's all right," murmured Ralph
Peabody.
"My fallen country!" sighed Clarence=
, a
not unmanly tear bedewing the glasses of his spectacles. "My fallen,
stricken country!"
"That kid," said Reggie, laying down=
his
paper, "is talking right through his hat. My dear old son, are you awa=
re
that England has never been so strong all round as she is now? Do you ever =
read
the papers? Don't you know that we've got the Ashes and the Golf Championsh=
ip,
and the Wibbley-wob Championship, and the Spiropole, Spillikins, Puff-Feath=
er,
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 w=
on
the Hop-skip-and-jump at the last Olympic Games? You've been out in the woo=
ds,
old sport."
Clarence's heart was too full for words. He ro=
se
in silence, and quitted the room.
"Got the pip or something!" said Reg=
gie.
"Rum kid! I say, Hirst's bowling well! Five for twenty-three so far!&q=
uot;
Clarence wandered moodily out of the house. The
Chugwaters lived in a desirable villa residence, which Mr. Chugwater had bu=
ilt
in Essex. It was a typical Englishman's Home. Its name was Nasturtium Villa=
.
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!"=
He stopped on seeing Clarence.
"Paper, General?"
Clarence shook his head. Then he uttered a
startled exclamation, for his eye had fallen on the poster.
It ran as follows:--
&=
nbsp;
SURREY DOING BADLY GERMAN ARMY LANDS=
IN
ENGLAND
=
=
Clarence
flung the boy a halfpenny, tore a paper from his grasp, and scanned it eage=
rly.
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," sa=
id
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."
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.
He entered the dining-room with the speed of a
highly-trained Marathon winner, just in time once more to prevent Mr. Chugw=
ater
lowering his record.
"The Germans!" shouted Clarence.
"We are invaded!"
This time Mr. Chugwater was really annoyed.
"If I have told you once about your
detestable habit of shouting in the house, Clarence, I have told you a hund=
red
times. If you cannot be a Boy Scout quietly, you must stop being one
altogether. I had got up to six that time."
"But, father----"
"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!"
"But, father----"
Clarence dropped the paper, shaken with emotio=
n.
Mr. Chugwater's sternness deepened visibly.
"Clarence! Must I speak again?"
He stooped and removed his right slipper.
Clarence withdrew.
Reggie picked up the paper.
"That kid," he announced judicially,
"is off his nut! Hullo! I told you so! Fry not out, 104. Good old
Charles!"
"I say," exclaimed Horace, who sat
nearest the window, "there are two rummy-looking chaps coming to the f=
ront
door, wearing a sort of fancy dress!"
"It must be the Germans," said Reggi=
e.
"The paper says they landed here this afternoon. I expect----"
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."
"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."
"Just so--just so!" said Mr. Chugwat=
er,
affably. "Sit down, won't you?"
The visitors seated themselves. There was an
awkward silence.
"Warm day!" said Mr. Chugwater.
"Very!" said the Prince, a little
constrainedly.
"Perhaps a cup of tea? Have you come
far?"
"Well--er--pretty far. That is to say, a
certain distance. In fact, from Germany."
"I spent my summer holiday last year at
Dresden. Capital place!"
"Just so. The fact is, Mr.--er--"
"Chugwater. By the way--my wife, Mrs.
Chugwater."
The prince bowed. So did his aide-de-camp.
"The fact is, Mr. Jugwater," resumed=
the
prince, "we are not here on a holiday."
"Quite so, quite so. Business before
pleasure."
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.
"We are invaders."
"Not at all, not at all," protested =
Mr.
Chugwater.
"I must warn you that you will resist at =
your
peril. You wear no uniform--"
"Wouldn't dream of such a thing. Except at
the lodge, of course."
"You will be sorely tempted, no doubt. Do=
not
think that I do not appreciate your feelings. This is an Englishman's
Home."
Mr. Chugwater tapped him confidentially on the
knee.
"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."
The prince laughed shortly. So did his
aide-de-camp. "Exactly," continued Mr. Chugwater, "exactly. =
Then
you will want some pied-a-terre, 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 se=
e,
dealing direct with me, you would escape the middleman's charges, and--&quo=
t;
Gently but firmly he edged the prince out of t=
he
room and down the passage.
The aide-de-camp continued to sit staring wood=
enly
at the carpet. Reggie closed quietly in on him.
"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--"
Horace sidled forward.
"I don't know if you happen to be a cycli=
st,
Captain--er--Graf; but if you'd like a practically new motorbike, only been
used since last November, I can let you--"
There was a swish of skirts as Grace and Alice
advanced on the visitor.
"I'm sure," said Grace winningly,
"that you're fond of the theatre, Captain Poppenheim. We are getting u=
p a
performance of 'Ici on parle Francais,' in aid of the fund for Supplying Sq=
uare
Meals to Old-Age Pensioners. Such a deserving object, you know. Now, how ma=
ny
tickets will you take?"
"You can sell them to your friends, you k=
now,"
added Mrs. Chugwater.
The aide-de-camp gulped convulsively.
*
Ten minutes later two penniless men groped the=
ir
way, dazed, to the garden gate.
"At last," said Prince Otto brokenly,
for it was he, "at last I begin to realise the horrors of an invasion-=
-for
the invaders."
And together the two men staggered on.
=
=
When
the papers arrived next morning, it was seen that the situation was even wo=
rse
than had at first been suspected. Not only had the Germans effected a landi=
ng
in Essex, but, in addition, no fewer than eight other hostile armies had, by
some remarkable coincidence, hit on that identical moment for launching the=
ir
long-prepared blow.
England was not merely beneath the heel of the
invader. It was beneath the heels of nine invaders.
There was barely standing-room.
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 mome=
nt
China, at last awakened, had swooped down upon that picturesque little Welsh
watering-place, Lllgxtplll, and, despite desperate resistance on the part o=
f an
excursion of Evanses and Joneses from Cardiff, had obtained a secure footho=
ld.
While these things were happening in Wales, the army of Monaco had descende=
d 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. An=
d,
at Brighton and Margate respectively, small but determined armies, the one =
of
Moroccan brigands, under Raisuli, the other of dark-skinned warriors from t=
he
distant isle of Bollygolla, had made good their footing.
This was a very serious state of things.
Correspondents of the Daily Mail at the various
points of attack had wired such particulars as they were able. The prelimin=
ary
parley at Lllgxtplll between Prince Ping Pong Pang, the Chinese general, an=
d Llewellyn
Evans, the leader of the Cardiff excursionists, seems to have been impressi=
ve
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.
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.
At the time of the arrival of the black warrio=
rs
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 revelle=
rs.
When the war canoes approached the beach, the excursionists seem to have mi=
staken
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 w=
ere
being presented by Charles Frohmann, who was endeavouring to revive the anc=
ient
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.
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 coco=
s,
undoubtedly troubled the advance guard considerably. But superior force tol=
d.
After half an hour's fighting the excursionists fled, leaving the beach to =
the
foe.
At Auchtermuchty and Portsmouth no obstacle,
apparently, was offered to the invaders. At Brighton the enemy were permitt=
ed
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 recei=
ved
a nasty slap in the face from a dexterously-thrown bloater, the resistance
appears to have been equally futile.
By tea-time on August the First, nine
strongly-equipped forces were firmly established on British soil.
=
Chapter
4
WHAT ENGLAND THOUGHT OF IT
=
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.
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 thei=
r positions
was due to a mere accident of birth. They demanded that every man in the ar=
my
should be a general. Comrade Quelch, in an eloquent speech at Newington But=
ts,
had pointed, amidst enthusiasm, to the republics of South America, where the
system worked admirably.
Scotland, too, disapproved of the army, becaus=
e it
was professional. Mr. Smith wrote several trenchant letters to Mr. C. J. B.
Marriott on the subject.
So the army was abolished, and the land defenc=
e of
the country entrusted entirely to the Territorials, the Legion of Frontiers=
men,
and the Boy Scouts.
But first the Territorials dropped out. The st=
rain
of being referred to on the music-hall stage as Teddy-boys was too much for
them.
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 h=
eart
out of them.
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.
*
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 mo=
re than
the gist of a few of these.
Miss Charlesworth wrote:--"In this crisis=
I
see no alternative. I shall disappear."
Mr. Horatio Bottomley, in John Bull, 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.
The Daily Express, in a thoughtful leader, said
that Free Trade evidently meant invaders for all.
Mr. Herbert Gladstone, writing to the Times,
pointed out that he had let so many undesirable aliens into the country tha=
t he
did not see that a few more made much difference.
Mr. George R. Sims made eighteen puns on the n=
ames
of the invading generals in the course of one number of "Mustard and
Cress."
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?
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 hi=
m as
a personal favour to let himself be knocked out. He had lost several fights
that way.
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 chanc=
e of
once more finding itself full.
Judge Willis asked: "What is an
invasion?"
Signor Scotti cabled anxiously from America
(prepaid): "Stands Scotland where it did?"
Mr. Lewis Waller wrote heroically: "How m=
any
of them are there? I am usually good for about half a dozen. Are they
assassins? I can tackle any number of assassins."
Mr. Seymour Hicks said he hoped they would not
hurt George Edwardes.
Mr. George Edwardes said that if they injured
Seymour Hicks in any way he would never smile again.
A writer in Answers pointed out that, if all t=
he
invaders in the country were piled in a heap, they would reach some of the =
way
to the moon.
Far-seeing men took a gloomy view of the
situation. They laid stress on the fact that this counter-attraction was bo=
und
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 aw=
ay
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.
In sporting circles the chief interest centere=
d on
the race to London. The papers showed the positions of the various armies e=
ach
morning in their Runners and Betting columns; six to four on the Germans wa=
s freely
offered, but found no takers.
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 actua=
lly
declaring war. Until the moment when the enemy were at her doors, England h=
ad
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 tha=
t it
was perhaps in some ways a silly thing to have done; but, they urged, you c=
ould
not think of everything. Besides, they were on the point of laying down a D=
readnought,
which would be ready in a very few years. Meanwhile, the best thing the pub=
lic
could do was to sleep quietly in their beds. It was Fisher's tip; and Fisher
was a smart man.
And all the while the Invaders' Marathon
continued.
Who would be the first to reach London?
=
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 i=
n a
couple of days it was seen that the army of the Fatherland was bound, barri=
ng accidents,
to win comfortably.
The progress of the other forces was slower. T=
he
Chinese especially had undergone great privations, having lost their way ne=
ar 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 t=
hey
contrived to reach Chester, where, catching a cheap excursion, they arrived=
in
the metropolis, hungry and footsore, four days after the last of their riva=
ls
had taken up their station.
The German advance halted on the wooded height=
s of
Tottenham. Here a camp was pitched and trenches dug.
The march had shown how terrible invasion must=
of
necessity be. With no wish to be ruthless, the troops of Prince Otto had do=
ne
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=
.
With the other armies it was the same story.
Through carefully-preserved woods they had marched, frightening the birds a=
nd 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.
Near Epping the Russians shot a fox....
*
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, b=
ut
only within bounds. He could not very well ask the other nations to withdra=
w.
Nor did he feel inclined to withdraw himself.
"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 ju=
st
as bad for the others, thank goodness! Well, Poppenheim?"
Captain von Poppenheim approached and saluted.=
"Please, sir, the men say, 'May they bomb=
ard
London?'"
"Bombard London!"
"Yes, sir; it's always done."
Prince Otto pulled thoughtfully at his moustac=
he.
"Bombard London! It seems--and yet--ah, w=
ell,
they have few pleasures."
He stood awhile in meditation. So did Captain =
von
Poppenheim. He kicked a pebble. So did Captain von Poppenheim--only a small=
er
pebble. Discipline is very strict in the German army.
"Poppenheim."
"Sir?"
"Any signs of our--er--competitors?"=
"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."
The Prince brooded. Then he spoke, unbosoming
himself more freely than was his wont in conversation with his staff.
"Between you and me, Pop," he cried
impulsively, "I'm dashed sorry we ever started this dashed silly invad=
ing
business. We thought ourselves dashed smart, working in the dark, and givin=
g 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."
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 adhe=
sion
verbally to his superior officer's remarks. The words "I don't think&q=
uot;
trembled on his tongue. But the iron discipline of the German Army gagged h=
im. He
saluted again and clicked his heels.
The Prince recovered himself with a strong eff=
ort.
"You say the Russians will be here
shortly?" he said.
"In a few hours, sir."
"And the men really wish to bombard
London?"
"It would be a treat to them, sir."<= o:p>
"Well, well, I suppose if we don't do it,
somebody else will. And we got here first."
"Yes, sir."
"Then--"
An orderly hurried up and saluted.
"Telegram, sir."
Absently the Prince opened it. Then his eyes l=
it
up.
"Gotterdammerung!" he said. "I
never thought of that. 'Smash up London and provide work for unemployed men=
ding
it.--GRAYSON,'" he read. "Poppenheim."
"Sir?"
"Let the bombardment commence."
"Yes, sir."
"And let it continue till the Russians
arrive. Then it must stop, or there will be complications."
Captain von Poppenheim saluted, and withdrew.<= o:p>
Chapter 6
THE BOMBARDMENT OF LONDON
=
Thus
was London bombarded. Fortunately it was August, and there was nobody in to=
wn.
Otherwise there might have been loss of life.<= o: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 alibi, 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 m=
etropolis
left no room in the British mind for other reflections.
The attraction was beginning to draw people ba=
ck
to London now. They found that the German shells had had one excellent resu=
lt,
they had demolished nearly all the London statues. And what might have conc=
eivably
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.
Taking it for all in all, the German gunners h=
ad
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; Whitefie=
ld'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.
But if Londoners rejoiced, the invaders were v=
ery
far from doing so. The complicated state of foreign politics made it impera=
tive
that there should be no friction between the Powers. Yet here a great numbe=
r 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.
Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig set himself resolu=
tely
to grapple with the problem. His chance of grappling successfully with it w=
as
not improved by the stream of telegrams which arrived daily from his Imperi=
al 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 wa=
y,
and had received the following: "At once mailed fist display. On Get or
out Get.--WILHELM."
It was then that the distracted prince saw that
steps must be taken at once.
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 we=
re absolutely
incoherent.
Raisuli, apologising for delay on the ground t=
hat
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."
The general of the Monaco forces thought the b=
est
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 te=
ach
them the rules in half a minute.
The reply of Prince Ping Pong Pang of China was
probably brilliant and scholarly, but it was expressed in Chinese character=
s of
the Ming period, which Prince Otto did not understand; and even if he had i=
t would
have done him no good, for he tried to read it from the top downwards inste=
ad
of from the bottom up.
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,&q=
uot;
concluded the note jubilantly.
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.
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 happe=
ns
when you scratch a Russian?"
As for the Mad Mullah's reply, it was simply p=
ure
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.
Prince Otto placed a hand wearily on his throb=
bing
brow.
"We must have a conference," he said.
"It is the only way."
Next day eight invitations to dinner went out =
from
the German camp.
*
It would be idle to say that the dinner, as a
dinner, was a complete success. Half-way through the Swiss general missed h=
is
diamond solitaire, and cold glances were cast at Raisuli, who sat on his im=
mediate
left. Then the King of Bollygolla's table-manners were frankly inelegant. W=
hen
he wanted a thing, he grabbed for it. And he seemed to want nearly everythi=
ng.
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 dess=
ert;
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 h=
im.
Also, the general of Monaco had brought a pack of cards with him, and was s=
poiling
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.
Altogether Prince Otto was glad when the cloth=
was
removed, and the waiters left the company to smoke and talk business.
Anyone who has had anything to do with the hig=
her
diplomacy is aware that diplomatic language stands in a class by itself. It=
is
a language specially designed to deceive the chance listener.
Thus when Prince Otto, turning to Grand Duke
Vodkakoff, said quietly, "I hear the crops are coming on nicely down K=
ent
way," the habitual frequenter of diplomatic circles would have underst=
ood,
as did the Grand Duke, that what he really meant was, "Now about this
business. What do you propose to do?"
The company, with the exception of the represe=
ntative
of the Young Turks, who was drinking creme de menthe 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.
Vodkakoff carelessly flicked the ash off his
cigarette.
"So I hear," he said slowly. "B=
ut
in Shropshire, they tell me, they are having trouble with the
mangel-wurzels."
The prince frowned at this typical piece of sh=
ifty
Russian diplomacy.
"How is your Highness getting on with your
Highness's roller-skating?" he enquired guardedly.
The Russian smiled a subtle smile.
"Poorly," he said, "poorly. The
last time I tried the outside edge I thought somebody had thrown the buildi=
ng
at me."
Prince Otto flushed. He was a plain, blunt man,
and he hated this beating about the bush.
"Why does a chicken cross the road?"=
he
demanded, almost angrily.
The Russian raised his eyebrows, and smiled, b=
ut
made no reply. The prince, resolved to give him no chance of wriggling away
from the point, pressed him hotly.
"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?"
There was an awed silence. Surely the Russian,
expert at evasion as he was, could not parry so direct a challenge as this.=
He threw away his cigarette and lit a cigar.
"I understand," he said, with a tink=
le
of defiance in his voice, "that the Suffragettes, as a last resource,
propose to capture Mr. Asquith and sing the Suffragette Anthem to him."=
;
A startled gasp ran round the table.
"Because the higher he flies, the
fewer?" asked Prince Otto, with sinister calm.
"Because the higher he flies, the
fewer," said the Russian smoothly, but with the smoothness of a
treacherous sea.
There was another gasp. The situation was beco=
ming
alarmingly tense.
"You are plain-spoken, your Highness,&quo=
t;
said Prince Otto slowly.
At this moment the tension was relieved by the
Young Turk falling off his chair with a crash on to the floor. Everyone jum=
ped
up startled. Raisuli took advantage of the confusion to pocket a silver
ash-tray.
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:
"Trumper is perhaps the prettier bat, but=
I
confess I admire Fry's robust driving."
The Russian was won over. He extended his hand=
.
"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.
The two shook hands warmly.
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 fo=
rces
of the Germans, Russians, Swiss, and Monacoans were overwhelming, especiall=
y as
the Chinese had not recovered from their wanderings in Wales and were far t=
oo
footsore still to think of serious fighting.
When they had left, the remaining four Powers
would continue the invasion jointly.
*
Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig went to bed that
night, comfortably conscious of a good work well done. He saw his way now c=
lear
before him.
But he had made one miscalculation. He had not
reckoned with Clarence Chugwater.
=
Night!
Night in Aldwych!
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 ligh=
t.
It was the camp-fire of the Boy Scouts.
The night was raw and windy. A fine rain had b=
een
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. T=
he public
had seen it go with a certain regret. Not since the visit of the Shah had s=
uch
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 larg=
e,
new, unsophisticated public. A piece at the Waldorf Theatre had run for a w=
hole
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.
Now the Young Turks were back at school in
Constantinople, shuffling their feet and throwing ink pellets at one anothe=
r;
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 locum tenens; and the Chinese, the Bollygollans, and the troops=
of
the Mad Mullah were enduring the miseries of sea-sickness out in mid-ocean.=
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.
*
In the camp of the Boy Scouts a vast activity
prevailed.
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=
.
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 Engla=
nd, 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 yo=
ur
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? Apparentl=
y,
yes. In reality, a quarter reaches the common fund.
Take another case, to show the Boy Scouts' pow=
er.
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 h=
ome
in the Tube, a burly working-man treads heavily on your gouty foot. In Ladb=
roke
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 no=
t 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 champ=
agne
arrives at your address.
Terrible in their wrath, the Boy Scouts never
forget kindness.
*
The whistle of a Striped Iguanodon sounded sof=
tly
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 n=
ote
of a zebra calling to its mate.
A voice from the darkness said, "Een
gonyama-gonyama."
"Invooboo," replied the sentry
argumentatively "Yah bo! Yah bo! Invooboo."
An indistinct figure moved forward.
"Who goes there?"
"A friend."
"Advance, friend, and give the
countersign."
"Remember Mafeking, and death to
Injuns."
"Pass friend! All's well."
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 Clare=
nce Chugwater.
"Your name?" said Clarence, eyeing t=
he
sturdy young warrior.
"Private William Buggins, sir."
"You watch well, Private Buggins. England=
has
need of such as you."
He pinched the young Scout's ear tolerantly. T=
he
sentry flushed with pleasure.
"My orders have been carried out?" s=
aid
Clarence.
"Yes, sir. The patrols are all here."=
;
"Enumerate them."
"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."
Clarence nodded.
"'Tis well," he said. "What are
they doing?"
"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."
Clarence nodded.
"They could not be better employed. Inform
them that I have arrived and would address them."
The sentry saluted.
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 t=
hree
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 w=
as
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.
The Scouts had assembled now, and were standin=
g,
keen and alert, ready to do Clarence's bidding.
Clarence returned their salute moodily.
"Scout-master Wagstaff," he said.
The Scout-master, the leader of the troop form=
ed
by the various patrols, stepped forward.
"Let the war-dance commence."
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 h=
is
hand.
"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 th=
is
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 a=
nd
now to seize your hockey-sticks and rush upon the invader, were it not, ala=
s!
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 Russi=
ans
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, war=
ming
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, y=
ou
chaps? It's like this. Any moment they may start scrapping and chaw each ot=
her
up, and then we'll simply sail in and knock what's left endways."
A shout of applause went up from the assembled
scouts.
"What I am anxious to impress upon you
men," concluded Clarence, in more measured tones, "is that our ho=
ur
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."
"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 t=
hese
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.&qu=
ot;
"Een gonyama-gonyama!" shouted the n=
ew
thoroughly roused troops. "Invooboo! Yah bo! Yah bo! Invooboo!"
The voice of Young England--of Young England a=
lert
and at its post!
=
=
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, mo=
st
of them more than one. The public appetite for sight-seeing had to be satis=
fied
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 mee=
t.
If an impulsive gentleman slew his grandmother with a coal-hammer, only a s=
mall
portion of the public could gaze upon his pleasing features at the Old Bail=
ey.
To enable the rest to enjoy the intellectual treat, it was necessary to eng=
age
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 introduc=
er,
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 enterprisi=
ng
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 s=
ome
other similarly brainy feat.
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.
The first man to think of it was Solly Quhayne,
the rising young agent. Solly was the son of Abraham Cohen, an eminent agen=
t 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 b=
usiness,
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' lectu=
ring
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 cha=
nce
of displaying his gifts to the wider public of the vaudeville stage.
The idea of securing the services of the invad=
ing
generals came to him in a flash.
"S'elp me!" he cried. "I believe
they'd go big; put 'em on where you like."
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 O=
tto
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 circ=
uit.
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.
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 so=
ngs 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 decan=
ter
and a-half of neat vodka to bring him up to the scratch.
The agent ridiculed the idea.
"Why, your Grand Grace," he cried,
"there won't be anything of that sort. You ain't going to be starred a=
s a
comic. You're a Refined Lecturer and Society Monologue Artist. 'How I Invad=
ed
England,' with lights down and the cinematograph going. We can easily fake =
the pictures."
The Grand Duke made another objection.
"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."
Mr Quhayne once more became the human semaphor=
e.
"S'elp me! Of course you needn't! All the
leading pros, eat it with a spoon. Bless you, you can be the refined gentle=
man
on the Halls same as anywhere else. Come now, your Grand Grace, is it a dea=
l?
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."
The Grand Duke reflected. The invasion has pro=
ved
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 spec=
ial benefit.
And he was expected to do such a lot of tipping. Four hundred and fifty a w=
eek
would come in uncommonly useful.
"Where do I sign?" he asked, extendi=
ng
his hand for the agreement.
*
Five minutes later Mr. Quhayne was urging his
taxidriver to exceed the speed-limit in the direction of Tottenham.
=
Chapter
3
A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF THE SITUATION
=
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 mediu=
m of
headlines:--
&=
nbsp;
MUSIC-HALL SENSATION INVADING GENERALS'
GIGANTIC SALARIES RUMOURED RESENTME=
NT OF
V.A.F. WHAT=
WILL
WATER-RATS DO? INTERVIEW WITH MR.
HARRY LAUDER
Clarence chuckled grimly as the tape clicked o=
ut
the news. The end had begun. To sow jealousy between the rival generals wou=
ld have
been easy. To sow it between two rival music-hall artistes would be among t=
he world's
softest jobs.
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 popu=
lar
impression was that the generals were going to do a comedy duo act of the W=
ho-Was-It-I-Seen-You-Coming-Down-the-Street-With?
type, and there was disappointment when it was found that the engagements w=
ere
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.
Then the truth came out. Neither had any
specialities; they would simply appear and deliver lectures.
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
Era, gave it as his opinion that both the Grand Duke and the Prince were go=
wks,
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 f=
rom
other countries.
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 approac=
hing
debut 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 ind=
ucement
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 b=
een
kept waiting in the ante-room for two hours in the midst of a bevy of Spark=
ling
Comediennes of pronounced peroxidity and blue-chinned men in dusty bowler-h=
ats,
who told each other how they had gone with a bang at Oakham and John o'Groa=
ts,
and had then gone away in despair.
On the following day, deeply offended, he had
withdrawn his troops from the country.
The strength of the invaders was melting away
little by little.
"How long?" murmured Clarence Chugwa=
ter,
as he worked at the tape-machine. "How long?"
=
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 hall=
s.
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.
Both, it seemed, had met with flattering
receptions, though they had appeared nervous. The Russian general especiall=
y,
whose style, said the critic, was somewhat reminiscent of Mr. T. E. Dunvill=
e,
had made himself a great favourite with the gallery. The report concluded b=
y 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.
Clarence had just finished this when there cam=
e to
his ear the faint note of a tarantula singing to its young.
He looked up. Opposite him, at the next table,=
was
seated a youth of fifteen, of a slightly grubby aspect. He was eyeing Clare=
nce
closely.
Clarence took off his spectacles, polished the=
m,
and replaced them on his nose. As he did so, the thin gruffle of the tarant=
ula
sounded once more. Without changing his expression, Clarence cautiously utt=
ered
the deep snarl of a sand-eel surprised while bathing.
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 uprig=
ht.
Clarence seized his hat by the brim at the bac=
k,
and moved it swiftly twice up and down.
The other, hesitating no longer, came over to =
his
table.
"Pip-pip!" he said, in an undertone.=
"Toodleoo and God save the King!"
whispered Clarence.
The mystic ceremony which always takes place w=
hen
two Boy Scouts meet in public was complete.
"Private Biggs of the Eighteenth Tarantul=
as,
sir," said the boy respectfully, for he had recognised Clarence.
Clarence inclined his head.
"You may sit, Private Biggs," he said
graciously. "You have news to impart?"
"News, sir, that may be of vital
importance."
"Say on."
Private Biggs, who had brought his sparkling
limado and a bath-bun with him from the other table, took a sip of the form=
er,
and embarked upon his narrative.
"I am employed, sir," he said, "=
;as
a sort of junior clerk and office-boy by Mr. Solly Quhayne, the music-hall
agent."
Clarence tapped his brow thoughtfully; then his
face cleared.
"I remember. It was he who secured the
engagements of the generals."
"The same, sir."
"Proceed."
The other resumed his story.
"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 th=
em.
That is the most exacting part of my day's work. You wouldn't believe how f=
ull
of the purest swank some of these pros. are. Tell you they've got an appoin=
tment
as soon as look at you. Artful beggars!"
Clarence nodded sympathetically.
"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 recogni=
sed
as his brother, Mr. Colquhoun. They were engrossed in their conversation, a=
nd 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, 'b=
ut
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 anythi=
ng,
he'd be the bigger draw. Bit of a comic in his way!' And then he saw me. Th=
ere
was some slight unpleasantness. In fact, I've got the sack. After it was ov=
er I
came away to try and find you. It seemed to me that the information might b=
e of
importance."
Clarence's eyes gleamed.
"You have done splendidly, Private--no,
Corporal 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 importanc=
e.
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."
He rose; then sat down again.
"Corporal--no, dash it, Sergeant Biggs--y=
ou
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?"
The other saluted joyfully.
"I think I'll have another sparkling lima=
do,
thanks, awfully," he said.
The beverage arrived. They raised their glasse=
s.
"To England," said Clarence simply.<= o:p>
"To England," echoed his subordinate=
.
*
Clarence left the shop with swift strides, and
hurried, deep in thought, to the offices of the Encore in Wellington Street=
.
"Yus?" said the office-boy
interrogatively.
Clarence gave the Scout's Siquand, the pass-wo= rd. The boy's demeanour changed instantly. He saluted with the utmost respect.<= o:p>
"I wish to see the Editor," said
Clarence.
A short speech, but one that meant salvation f=
or
the motherland.
=
The
days following Clarence's visit to the offices of the Encore were marked by=
a
growing feeling of unrest, alike among invaded and invaders. The first nove=
lty
and excitement of the foreign occupation of the country was beginning to we=
ar
off, and in its place the sturdy independence so typical of the British cha=
racter
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 we=
re asking
themselves by what right these aliens had overrun British soil. An ever-gro=
wing
feeling of annoyance had begun to lay hold of the nation.
It is probable that the departure of Sir Harry
Lauder first brought home to England what this invasion might mean. The gre=
at
comedian, in his manifesto in the Times, 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."
Ominous mutterings began to make themselves he=
ard.
Other causes contributed to swell the disconte=
nt.
A regiment of Russians, out route-marching, had walked across the
bowling-screen at Kennington Oval during the Surrey v. 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.
The mutterings increased.
Nor were the invaders satisfied and happy. The
late English summer had set in with all its usual severity, and the Cossack=
s,
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.
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 the=
y might
meet with the Glare of Hatred as they patrolled the streets. The Supercilio=
us
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 l=
ike
men who had been found travelling in a first-class carriage with a third-cl=
ass
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 sensation=
s 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.
It was dull for them, too. London is never at =
its
best in early September, even for the habitue. There was nothing to do. Mos=
t of
the theatres were shut. The streets were damp and dirty. It was all very we=
ll
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.
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.
=
Clarence
had called at the offices of the Encore on a Friday. The paper's publishing=
day
is Thursday. The Encore is the Times of the music-hall world. It casts its
curses here, bestows its benedictions (sparely) there. The Encore criticisi=
ng
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 loo=
se
the performing dogs of war."
It so happened that on the Thursday following = his momentous visit to Wellington Street, there was need of someone on the staf= f 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 Roya= l, 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.<= o:p>
All the other reporters being away on their
duties, the editor was at a loss.
"Isn't there anybody else?" he deman=
ded.
The chief sub-editor pondered.
"There is young blooming Chugwater,"=
he
said.
(It was thus that England's deliverer was
habitually spoken of in the office.)
"Then send him," said the editor.
*
Grand Duke Vodkakoff's turn at the Magnum Pala=
ce
of Varieties started every evening at ten sharp. He topped the bill. Claren=
ce,
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 go=
ing
on to the stage.
The Grand Duke dressed in the large room with =
the
other male turns. There were no private dressing-rooms at the Magnum. Clare=
nce
sat down on a basket-trunk belonging to the Premier Troupe of Bounding Zoua=
ves 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.
Presently one Zouave spoke.
"Bit off to-night, Bill. Cold house."=
;
"Not 'arf," replied his colleague.
"Gave me the shivers."
"Wonder how his nibs'll go."
Evidently he referred to the Grand Duke.
"Oh, 'e's all right. They eat his sort of
swank. Seems to me the profession's going to the dogs, what with these bloo=
min'
amytoors an' all. Got the 'airbrush, 'Arry?"
Harry, a tall, silent Zouave, handed over the
hairbrush.
Bill continued.
"I'd like to see him go on of a Monday ni=
ght
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 a=
nd seventy-five
o' goblins a week."
"Not so much of your eight hundred and
seventy-five, young feller me lad," said the Zouave who had spoken fir=
st.
"Ain't you seen the rag this week?"
"Naow. What's in it? How does our advert,
look?"
"Ow, that's all right, never mind that. Y=
ou
look at 'What the Encore Would Like to Know.' That's what'll touch his nibs
up."
He produced a copy of the paper from the pocke=
t of
his great-coat which hung from the door, and passed it to his bounding brot=
her.
"Read it out, old sort," he said.
The other took it to the light and began to re=
ad
slowly and cautiously, as one who is no expert at the art.
"'What the Encore 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 hundr=
ed
and fifty? And, In any case, whether the Prince isn't worth fifty a week mo=
re
than his Russian friend?' Lumme!"
An awed silence fell upon the group. To Claren=
ce,
who had dictated the matter (though the style was the editor's), the paragr=
aph
did not come as a surprise. His only feeling was one of relief that the edi=
tor
had served up his material so well. He felt that he had been justified in l=
eaving
the more delicate literary work to that master-hand.
"That'll be one in the eye," said the
Zouave Harry. "'Ere, I'll stick it up opposite of him when he comes ba=
ck
to dress. Got a pin and a pencil, some of you?"
He marked the quarter column heavily, and pinn=
ed
it up beside the looking-glass. Then he turned to his companions.
"'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 w=
ith
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!"
The suggestion seemed thoughtful and good. The
Bounding Zouaves, with one accord, bounded into their clothes and disappear=
ed
through the door just as a long-drawn chord from the invisible orchestra
announced the conclusion of the Grand Duke's turn.
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.
It was not for a moment that he noticed Claren=
ce.
"Ah," he said, "the interviewer=
, eh?
You wish to--"
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 g=
rease-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.
The looking-glass hung just over the basin.
Clarence, watching him in the glass, saw him s=
tart
as he read the first paragraph. A dark flush, almost rivalling the Raven Gi=
psy
No. 3, spread over his face. He trembled with rage.
"Who put that paper there?" he roare=
d,
turning.
"With reference, then, to Mr. Hubert Wale=
s's
novel," said Clarence.
The Grand Duke cursed Mr. Hubert Wales, his no=
vel,
and Clarence in one sentence.
"You may possibly," continued Claren=
ce,
sticking to his point like a good interviewer, "have read the trenchan=
t,
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."
The Grand Duke swiftly added that eminent cler=
ic
to the list.
"Did you put that paper on this
looking-glass?" he shouted.
"I did not put that paper on that
looking-glass," replied Clarence precisely.
"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."
"I'm glad I didn't," said Clarence.<= o:p>
"Have you read this paper on the
looking-glass?"
"I have not read that paper on the
looking-glass," replied Clarence, whose chief fault as a conversationa=
list
was that he was perhaps a shade too Ollendorfian. "But I know its
contents."
"It's a lie!" roared the Grand Duke.
"An infamous lie! I've a good mind to have him up for libel. I know ve=
ry
well he got them to put those paragraphs in, if he didn't write them
himself."
"Professional jealousy," said Claren=
ce,
with a sigh, "is a very sad thing."
"I'll professional jealousy him!"
"I hear," said Clarence casually,
"that he has been going very well at the Lobelia. A friend of mine who=
was
there last night told me he took eleven calls."
For a moment the Russian General's face swelled
apoplectically. Then he recovered himself with a tremendous effort.
"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!"
And, with a shout of almost maniac laughter, t=
he
jealous artiste flung himself into a chair, and began to pull off his boots=
.
Clarence silently withdrew. The hour was very
near.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>Chapter 7 - THE BIRD<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
=
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 typic=
al
Muscovite. By midnight his staff had their orders.
Those orders were for the stalls at the Lobeli=
a.
Price of entrance to the gallery and pit was
served out at daybreak to the Eighth and Fifteenth Cossacks of the Don, tho=
se
fierce, semi-civilised fighting-machines who know no fear.
Grand Duke Vodkakoff's preparations were ready=
.
*
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 sta=
rt
to finish. At a quarter to eleven a wild-eyed man charged in at the main en=
trance
of Carmelite House, and, too impatient to use the lift, dashed up the stair=
s,
shouting for pens, ink and paper.
Next morning the Daily Mail 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:--
&=
nbsp;
SCENE AT THE LOBELIA PRINCE OTTO OF
SAXE-PFENNIG GIVEN THE BIRD BY=
RUSSIAN SOLDIERS =
WHAT WILL BE THE
OUTCOME?
There were about seventeen more, and then came=
Mr.
Bart Kennedy's special report.
He wrote as follows:--
"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.
"Nine-thirty. I had dined. I had eaten my
dinner. My dinner! So inextricably are the prose and romance of life blende=
d.
My dinner! I had eaten my dinner on this night. This wonderful night. This
night of September the eleventh. Last night!
"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!
"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.
"I sent in my card to the manager. He let=
me
through. Ever courteous. He let me through on my face. This manager. This g=
enial
and courteous manager.
"I was in the Lobelia. A dead-head. I was=
in
the Lobelia as a dead-head!"
Here, in the original draft of the article, th=
ere
are reflections, at some length, on the interior decorations of the Hall, a=
nd
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.
"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 app=
eal.
The Caesars of the music-hall. The audience."
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 sile=
nt
and watchful. They applauded little. The programme left them cold. The Trick
Cyclist. The Dashing Soubrette and Idol of Belgravia. The Argumentative Col=
lege
Chums. The Swell Comedian. The Man with the Performing Canaries. None of th=
ese
could rouse them. They were waiting. Waiting. Waiting tensely. Every muscle
taut. Husbanding their strength. Waiting. For what?
"A man at my side told a friend that a fe=
llow
had told him that he had been told by a commissionaire that the pit and gal=
lery
were full of Russians. Russians. Russians everywhere. Why? Were they genuine
patrons of the Halls? Or were they there from some ulterior motive? There w=
as an
air of suspense. We were all waiting. Waiting. For what?
"The atmosphere is summed up in a word. O=
ne
word. Sinister. The atmosphere was sinister.
"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 kis=
ses,
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.
"The number 15.
"Who is number 15?
"Prince Otto of Saxe-Pfennig. Prince Otto,
General of the German Army. Prince Otto is Number 15.
"A burst of applause from the house. But =
not
from the Russians. They are silent. They are waiting. For what?
"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.
"He begins to speak. 'Ladies and gentleme=
n.'
This man, this general, says, 'Ladies and gentlemen.'
"But no more. No more. No more. Nothing m=
ore.
No more. He says, 'Ladies and Gentlemen,' but no more.
"And why does he say no more? Has he fini=
shed
his turn? Is that all he does? Are his eight hundred and seventy-five pound=
s a
week paid him for saying, 'Ladies and Gentlemen'?
"No!
"He would say more. He has more to say. T=
his
is only the beginning. This tall, handsome man has all his music still with=
in
him.
"Why, then, does he say no more? Why does=
he
say 'Ladies and Gentlemen,' but no more? No more. Only that. No more. Nothi=
ng
more. No more.
"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 waiti=
ng
for this colossal 'Boo!'
"The General retreats a step. He is amaze=
d.
Startled. Perhaps frightened. He waves his hands.
"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.
"Everyone is standing on his feet. Some on
mine. Everyone is shouting. This vast audience is shouting.
"Words begin to emerge from the babel.
"'Get offski! Rotten turnovitch!' These
bearded Russians, these stern critics, shout, 'Rotten turnovitch!'
"Fire shoots from the eyes of the German.
This strong man's eyes.
"'Get offski! Swankietoff! Rotten
turnovitch!'
"The fury of this audience is terrible. T=
his
audience. This last court of appeal. This audience in its fury is terrible.=
"What will happen? The German stands his
ground. This man of blood and iron stands his ground. He means to go on. Th=
is
strong man. He means to go on if it snows.
"The audience is pulling up the benches. A
tomato shatters itself on the Prince's right eye. An over-ripe tomato.
"'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!
"AA! At last the stage-manager--keen, ale=
rt,
resourceful--saves the situation. This man. This stage-manager. This man wi=
th
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 Pri=
nce.
The Prince. That general. That man of iron. That performer who has just got=
the
bird.
"The Russian National Anthem rings through
the hall. Thunderous! Triumphant! The Russian National Anthem. A paean of j=
oy.
"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. Tho=
se
menials.
"A crash from the orchestra. Turn number
sixteen has begun...."
=
Prince
Otto of Saxe-Pfennig stood in the wings, shaking in every limb. German oath=
s 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.
The stage-manager was endeavouring to administ=
er
balm.
"Bless you, your Highness," he was
saying, "it's nothing. It's what happens to everyone some time. Ask an=
y 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----"
A stage-hand came up with a piece of paper in =
his
hand.
"Young feller in spectacles and a rum sor=
t o'
suit give me this for your 'Ighness."
The Prince snatched it from his hand.
The note was written in a round, boyish hand. =
It
was signed, "A Friend." It ran:--"The men who booed you to-n=
ight
were sent for that purpose by General Vodkakoff, who is jealous of you beca=
use
of the paragraphs in the Encore this week."
Prince Otto became suddenly calm.
"Excuse me, your Highness," said the
stage-manager anxiously, as he moved, "you can't go round to the front.
Stand by, Bill."
"Right, sir!" said the stage-hands.<= o:p>
Prince Otto smiled pleasantly.
"There is no danger. I do not intend to g=
o to
the front. I am going to look in at the Scotch Stores for a moment."
"Oh, in that case, your Highness, good-ni=
ght,
your Highness! Better luck to-morrow, your Highness!"
*
It had been the custom of the two generals, si=
nce
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 etique=
tte
demands that a successful artiste shall.
The Prince had little doubt but that he would =
find
Vodkakoff there to-night.
He was right. The Russian general was there,
chatting affably across the counter about the weather.
He nodded at the Prince with a well-assumed
carelessness.
"Go well to-night?" he inquired
casually.
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.
"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?"
The shaft plainly went home, but the Grand Duk=
e's
manner, as he replied, was unruffled.
"Rain," he said, sipping his vermout=
h,
"is always wet; but sometimes it is cold as well."
"But it never falls upwards," said t=
he
Prince, pointedly.
"Rarely, I understand. Your powers of
observation are keen, my dear Prince."
There was a silence; then the Prince, momentar=
ily
baffled, returned to the attack.
"The quickest way to get from Charing Cro=
ss
to Hammersmith Broadway," he said, "is to go by Underground."=
;
"Men have died in Hammersmith Broadway,&q=
uot;
replied the Grand Duke suavely.
The Prince gritted his teeth. He was no match =
for
his slippery adversary in a diplomatic dialogue, and he knew it.
"The sun rises in the East," he crie=
d,
half-choking, "but it sets--it sets!"
"So does a hen," was the cynical rep=
ly.
The last remnants of the Prince's self-control
were slipping away. This elusive, diplomatic conversation is a terrible str=
ain
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.
"Hen!" he echoed, clenching and
unclenching his fists. "Have you studied the habits of hens?"
The truth seemed very near to him now, but the=
master-diplomat
before him was used to extracting himself from awkward corners.
"Pullets with a southern exposure," =
he
drawled, "have yellow legs and ripen quickest."
The Prince was nonplussed. He had no answer.
The girl behind the bar spoke.
"You do talk silly, you two!" she sa=
id.
It was enough. Trivial as the remark was, it w=
as
the last straw. The Prince brought his fist down with a crash on the counte=
r.
"Yes," he shouted, "you are rig=
ht.
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 yo=
ur
troops to give me the bird to-night?"
"My dear Prince!"
The Grand Duke raised his eyebrows.
"Did you or did you not?"
"The wise man," said the Russian, st=
ill
determined on evasion, "never takes sides, unless they are sides of
bacon."
The Prince smashed a glass.
"You did!" he roared. "I know y=
ou
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----"
He paused dramatically.
The Grand Duke slowly drained his vermouth.
"Have you seen my professional advertisem=
ent
in the Era, my dear Prince?" he asked.
"I have. What of it?"
"You noticed nothing about it?"
"I did not."
"Ah. If you had looked more closely, you
would have seen the words, 'Permanent address, Hampstead.'"
"You mean----"
"I mean that I see no occasion to alter t=
hat
advertisement in any way."
There was another tense silence. The two men
looked hard at each other.
"That is your final decision?" said =
the
German.
The Russian bowed.
"So be it," said the Prince, turning=
to
the door. "I have the honour to wish you a very good night."
"The same to you," said the Grand Du=
ke.
"Mind the step."
=
The
news that an open rupture had occurred between the Generals of the two inva=
ding
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.
Meanwhile, those who look after London's public
amusements were busy with telephone and telegraph. The quarrel had taken pl=
ace
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 i=
ntelligence
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 pub=
lic
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 agai=
nst
so strong a counter-attraction as a battle between the German and Russian
armies.
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.
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. Message=
s passed
and repassed between the two armies, and in the end it was decided to put o=
ff
the outbreak of hostilities till Monday morning.
*
Satisfactory as this undoubtedly was for the
theatre-managers and directors of football clubs, it was in some ways a pit=
y.
From the standpoint of the historian it spoiled the whole affair. But for t=
he 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.
As it is, owing to the mistaken good-nature of=
the
rival generals, the date of the fixture was changed, and practically all th=
at a
historian can do is to record the result.
A slight mist had risen as early as four o'clo=
ck
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 nobod=
y, 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.
London awoke on Sunday to find the world blank=
eted
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 wo=
uld clear
up by tomorrow.
"They can't possibly fight if it's like
this," they told each other.
But on the Monday morning the fog was, if
possible, denser. It wrapped London about as with a garment. People shook t=
heir
heads.
"They'll have to put it off," they w=
ere
saying, when of a sudden--Boom! And, again, Boom!
It was the sound of heavy guns.
The battle had begun!
*
One does not wish to grumble or make a fuss, b=
ut
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 newsp=
aper
office there were men who could have hauled up their slacks about that batt=
le
in a way that would have made a Y.M.C.A. lecturer want to get at somebody w=
ith
a bayonet; men who could have handed out the adjectives and exclamation-mar=
ks
till you almost heard the roar of the guns. And there they were--idle, supi=
ne--like
careened battleships. They were helpless. Bart Kennedy did start an article
which began, "Fog. Black fog. And the roar of guns. Two nations fighti=
ng
in the fog," but it never came to anything. It was promising for a whi=
le,
but it died of inanition in the middle of the second stick.
It was hard.
The lot of the actual war-correspondents was s=
till
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 the=
ir
editors remorselessly, "it's light enough for you to watch them."=
And
out they had to go.
They had a perfectly miserable time. Edgar Wal=
lace
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 kno=
ws. 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 st=
ory
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.
The rest--A. G. Hales, Frederick Villiers, Cha=
rles
Hands, and the others--met, on a smaller scale, the same fate as Edgar Wall=
ace.
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 f=
ate
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 see=
ms
to have walked round and round Shakespeare's statue, under the impression t=
hat
he was going straight to Tottenham. After a day and a-half of this he sat d=
own
to rest, and was there found, when the fog had cleared, by a passing police=
man.
And all the while the unseen guns boomed and
thundered, and strange, thin shoutings came faintly through the darkness.
=
=
It was
the afternoon of Wednesday, September the Sixteenth. The battle had been ov=
er
for twenty-four hours. The fog had thinned to a light lemon colour. It was
raining.
By now the country was in possession of the ma=
in
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 inve=
nt them,
and on the whole had not done badly.
Broadly, the facts were that the Russian army,
outmanoeuvered, had been practically annihilated. Of the vast force which h=
ad
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.
The victory had not been gained bloodlessly. N=
ot 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 t=
he capture
of the Russian general.
*
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.
*
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 l=
ook
of quiet command which showed that he was the leader.
They stood looking at the prostrate general for
some moments. Then the spectacled leader spoke.
"Scout-Master Wagstaff."
The other saluted.
"Wake him!"
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.
As his eyes fell on the quiet, stern, spectacl=
ed
figure, he leaped from the bed.
"What--what--what," he stammered.
"What's the beadig of this?"
He sneezed as he spoke, and, turning to the ta=
ble,
poured out and drained a bumper of ammoniated quinine.
"I told the sedtry pardicularly not to let
adybody id. Who are you?"
The intruder smiled quietly.
"My name is Clarence Chugwater," he =
said
simply.
"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."
"I am from no paper."
"Thed you're wud of these photographers. I
tell you, I cad't see you."
"I am no photographer."
"Thed what are you?"
The other drew himself up.
"I am England," he said with a subli=
me
gesture.
"Igglud! How do you bead you're Igglud? T=
alk
seds."
Clarence silenced him with a frown.
"I say I am England. I am the Chief Scout,
and the Scouts are England. Prince Otto, you thought this England of ours l=
ay 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."
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.
"Cover that man!"
The Prince looked up. Two feet away Scout-Mast=
er
Wagstaff was standing, catapult in hand, ready to shoot.
"He is never known to miss," said
Clarence warningly.
The Prince wavered.
"He has broken more windows than any other
boy of his age in South London."
The Prince sullenly withdrew his hand--empty.<= o:p>
"Well, whad do you wad?" he snarled.=
"Resistance is useless," said Claren=
ce.
"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."
"The diggids they are!" said the Pri=
nce
blankly.
"England, my England!" cried Clarenc=
e,
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."
"Thad's bad grabbar," said the Prince
critically.
"It isn't," said Clarence with warmt=
h.
"It is, I tell you. Id's a splid
idfididive."
Clarence's eyes flashed fire.
"I don't want any of your beastly
cheek," he said. "Scout-Master Wagstaff, remove your prisoner.&qu=
ot;
"All the sabe," said the Prince,
"id is a splid idfididive."
Clarence pointed silently to the door.
"And you doe id is," persisted the
Prince. "And id's spoiled your big sbeech. Id--"
"Come on, can't you," interrupted
Scout-Master Wagstaff.
"I ab cubbing, aren't I? I was odly
saying--"
"I'll give you such a whack over the shin
with this hockey-stick in a minute!" said the Scout-Master warningly.
"Come on!"
The Prince went.
=
The
brilliantly-lighted auditorium of the Palace Theatre.
Everywhere a murmur and stir. The orchestra is
playing a selection. In the stalls fair women and brave men converse in exc=
ited
whispers. One catches sentences here and there.
"Quite a boy, I believe!"
"How perfectly sweet!"
"'Pon honour, Lady Gussie, I couldn't say.
Bertie Bertison, of the Bachelors', says a feller told him it was a clear
thousand."
"Do you hear that? Mr. Bertison says that
this boy is getting a thousand a week."
"Why, that's more than either of those ho=
rrid
generals got."
"It's a lot of money, isn't it?"
"Of course, he did save the country, didn=
't
he?"
"You may depend they wouldn't give it him=
if
he wasn't worth it."
"Met him last night at the Duchess's hop.
Seems a decent little chap. No side and that, if you know what I mean. Hull=
o,
there's his number!"
The orchestra stops. The number 7 is displayed=
. A
burst of applause, swelling into a roar as the curtain rises.
A stout man in crinkled evening-dress walks on=
to
the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, &qu=
ot;I
'ave the 'onour to-night to introduce to you one whose name is, as the sayi=
ng
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 wri=
thes
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 Kilk=
enny
cats, thereupon firmly and without flinching, stepped bravely in with his
fellow-'eros--need I say I allude to our gallant Boy Scouts?--and dexterous=
ly
gave what-for in no uncertain manner to the few survivors who remained.&quo=
t;
Here the orator bowed, and took advantage of t=
he
applause to replenish his stock of breath. When his face had begun to lose =
the
purple tinge, he raised his hand.
"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 l=
ess
than one thousand one 'undred and fifty pounds a week."
Thunderous applause.
"I 'ave little more to add. This 'ero will
first perform a few of those physical exercises which have made our Boy Sco=
uts
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 exhibi=
tion
of the various calls and cries of the Boy Scouts--all, as you doubtless kno=
w,
skilful imitations of real living animals. In this connection I 'ave to ass=
ure
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 rema=
ins
for me to retire, 'aving duly announced to you England's Darling Son, the
Country's 'Ero, the Nation's Proudest Possession--Clarence Chugwater."=
A moment's breathless suspense, a crash from t=
he
orchestra, and the audience are standing on their seats, cheering, shouting,
stamping.
A small sturdy, spectacled figure is on the st=
age.
It is Clarence, the Boy of Destiny.