Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3831/The Terrors of War
[Being privileged extracts from two of next season's War Romances.]
From Pot-bank and Potsdam:—
Edwin Clayhanger strolled dully down the Square. A squat dirty boy shrieked: "Sentinel. Result of Bursley Match. War News—Official." Edwin snatched a pink paper and under an anti-Zeppelin gas-lamp read that Knipe had defeated Bursley Rovers by four goals to none. He crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it disgustedly into the gutter, outside Bates the cheesemonger's. Sam Bates emerged, picked up the paper and confided to his assistant that "Young Edwin's brain is going, like old Mr. Clayhanger's."
Chill mists enveloped the pot-banks. The glare of the Hanbridge furnaces was subdued to a faint glimmer. The shout of a laughing crowd outside the Blood Tub drew Edwin closer. He perceived in the midst of the throng an elephant covered with Union Jacks. On its back stood Denry Machin, the famous Card of the Five Towns, thrice Mayor of Bursley.
"Boys," cried the Card, "you can see the circus elephant free. You can listen to me free. Hanbridge is going to raise a Pot-bank Company for Kitchener's Army. They want us to raise one to match it. We're going one better. Bursley will raise a Pot-bank Regiment. I just want a thousand men to be going along with. Don't all speak at once."
The crowd shrieked with laughter at Bursley's only humorist.
Edwin Clayhanger thought deeply. For three years he had been waiting to marry Hilda Lessways. Now the thought of 528 pages of married life with her overwhelmed him. Up went his hand.
"We're doing fine," cried the Card. "Nine hundred and ninety-nine more and off we march to Potsdam in the morning."
From The Military Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes:—
I shrank down into a corner of the reserve trench. The fifteen inches of half-frozen mud caused my old wound from an Afghan bullet to ache viciously. I longed for some wounded to arrive—anything to end this chilly inactivity. A tall officer in staff uniform jumped into the trench beside me.
"You are wishing yourself back in Baker Street," he remarked.
"How did you know" I exclaimed. "Why, Holmes, what are you doing here?"
"Business, my dear Watson, business. Moriarty is becoming troublesome again."
"But he was drowned."
"Far too clever to be drowned in that pool. Merely stranded on the edge like myself. But I had made England too hot for him. You can guess his name."
"Not the K———"
"Watson, Watson, Moriarty was my mental equal. Now he calls himself von Kluck."
I was overwhelmed.
Just then a little group of the staff arrived. I recognised amongst them the figures of General J——— and Field-Marshal F———, and saluted.
"The spy in staff uniform is the third on your left, Sir," said Holmes casually.
The Field-Marshal beckoned a firing party.
As the shots rang out I whispered, "How did you know he wasn't English?"
"Watson, Watson, did you not see that he had no handkerchief in his sleeve?"
*****
"It is all-important, Captain Holmes," said the British Commander, " that we should ascertain what army is opposing our right wing. Our airmen are useless in this fog. I detail you for this duty."
Holmes saluted. "Come, Watson," he said, and led me through the fog towards the enemy's lines. We had not walked a mile when we reached a fine chateau.
"You are cold, Watson," said Holmes. "Light a fire in the front room whilst I scout for Uhlans."
In a moment he returned to me after having looked round the house. It was, I think, the first time the Chateau had known the scent of shag tobacco. A glow of heat rushed through me. I felt another man.
"Better than the trenches," said Holmes, penetrating to my inmost thought. We sat for an hour and then I said, "Holmes, your mission."
"Ah, I forgot. Come on."
He led me into the thickening fog, and in a few minutes I was surprised to find myself in the British lines. The General emerged as we approached. Holmes saluted. "The Crown Prince's army is on the enemy's left, Sir. It is now in rapid retreat."
The General shook him warmly by the hand.
"But, Holmes," I said, as we went away, "we have done nothing. The lives of thousands of our men may depend on this."
"My dear Watson," said Holmes, tapping the dottel of his pipe into his hand. "I used my eyes. In the house we visited the silver had almost all vanished. Inference—Crown Prince. But two solid silver spoons had been left on the table. Inference—Crown Prince in a hurry. Really, I am ashamed to explain a deduction which an intelligent child could have made."