(_EXTRACT FROM A MILITARY STORY OF THE NEAR FUTURE._)
Captain Pipeclay was perplexed when his Company refused to obey him.
He was considered a fairly good soldier, but not up to date. He might
know his drill, he might have read his _Queen's Regulations_, but he
had vague ideas of the power of the Press.
"You see, Sir," remonstrated his Colour-Sergeant; "if the rear rank
think they should stand fast when you give the command 'Open order!'
it is only a matter of opinion. You may be right, or you may be wrong.
Speaking for myself, I am inclined to fancy that the men are making a
mistake; but you can't always consider yourself omniscient."
"Sergeant," returned the officer, harshly; "it is not the business of
men to argue, but to obey."
"Pardon me again, Sir, but isn't that slightly old-fashioned? I know
that theoretically you have reason on your side; but then in these
days of the latter end of the nineteenth century, we must not he bound
too tightly to precedent."
The Captain bit his moustache for the fourth time, and then again gave
the order. But there was no response. The Company moved not a muscle.
"This is mutiny!" cried the officer. "I will break everyone of you.
I will put you all in the cells; and in the orderly room to-morrow
morning, we will soon see if there is such a thing as discipline."
"Discipline!" repeated the Sergeant. "Beg your pardon, Sir, but I
don't think the men understand what you mean. The word is not to be
found in the most recent dictionaries."
And certainly things seemed to be reaching a climax, for however much
the Commander might shout, not one of the rank and file stirred an
inch. It was at this moment that a cloaked figure approached the
parade-ground. The new-comer strode about with a bearing that
suggested one accustomed to receive obedience.
"What is the matter?" asked the Disguised One.
"I can't get my men to obey me," explained the Captain. "I have been
desiring them to take open order for the last ten minutes, and they
remain as they were."
"What have they to say in their defence?" was the inquiry of the Man
in the Cloak.
"He won't let us write to the newspapers!" was heard from the ranks.
"Is this really so?" asked the new-comer, in a tone more of sorrow
than of anger.
"Well, Sir," returned the Captain, "as it is a rule of the Service
that no communications shall be sent to the Press, I thought that--"
"You had no right to think, Sir!" was the sharp reply. "Are you so
ignorant that you do not know that it is a birth-right of a true-born
Briton to air his opinions in the organs of publicity? You will allow
the men to go to their quarters at once, that they may state their
grievances on paper. They are at perfect liberty to write what they
please, and they may rest assured that their communications will
escape the grave of the waste-paper basket."
Thus encouraged, the Company dismissed without further word of
command.
"And who may you be?" asked the Captain, with some bitterness. "Are
you the Commander-in-Chief?"
"I am one infinitely more powerful," was the reply. And then the
speaker threw off his disguise-cloak, and appeared in morning-dress.
"Behold in me the Editor of an influential Journal!"
A week later the Captain had sent in his papers, and every man in the
Company he had once commanded wore the stripe of a Lance Corporal. And
thus was the power of the Press once again sufficiently vindicated.
* * * * *