It was 2 A.M. The mosquitoes were singing their nightly chorus, and the
situation reports were coming in from the battalions in the line. With his
hair sizzling in the flame of the candle, the Brigade Orderly Officer who
was on duty for the night tried to decipher the feathery scrawl on the pink
form.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind moderate N.E.," it read.
"Great Scott!" said the O.O. "North-East!" (Hun gas waits upon a wind with
East in it). "Give me the message book."
Laboriously he wrote out warnings to the battalions and machine gun
sections, etc., under the Brigade's control. Then he turned to the next
message.
"Situation normal A-A-A wind light S.W."
"South-West?" said the O.O. blankly, viewing his now useless handiwork.
"Which way _is_ the wind then?"
The orderly went out to see, and returned presently with a moistened
forefinger and the information that it was "blowing acrossways, leastways
it seemed like it." The O.O. got out of his little wire bed, searched in
his pyjamas for the North Star, and, finally deciding that if there was any
wind at all (which was doubtful) it was due South, reported it as such. The
responsibility incurred kept him awake for some time, but when the Brigade
on the right flank reported a totally different wind he concluded there
must be a whirlwind in the line, and, putting up a barrage of bad language,
went to sleep.
In due course the matter came to the ears of the Staff Captain, who
broached the subject at breakfast as the General was probing his second
poached egg.
"This," said the General, who is rather given to the vernacular, "is the
limit. A North-South-East-West report is preposterous. Something must be
done. Haven't we got a weather-vane of our own? Pass the marmalade, will
you?"
Four people reached hastily for the delicacy, and the O.O. feeling out of
it passed the milk for no reason. (Generals really get a very good time.
People have been known to pass things to them unasked.)
"What about those two vanes in our last headquarters, Sir?" said the Staff
Captain brightly--he is very bright and bird-like in the mornings--"the
ones the padre thought were Russian fire-guards. Can't we get them? They
aren't ours, but then they aren't anybody's--they've been there a year, the
old woman told me."
"Where's the Orderly Officer?" (He was there with a mouthful of toast.)
"Take the mess limber and fetch 'em back if the Heavy Group Artillery will
let you--they're in there now, aren't they?"
"And if you're g-going into the town g-get some fish for dinner," said the
Brigade Major; "everlasting ration beef makes my s-stammer worse."
"Why?" said the General.
"Indigestion--nerves, Sir; I can hardly talk over the telephone at all
after dinner."
"Good heavens!" said the General; "bring a turbot."
* * * * *
"Fish!" said the B.M. at dinner. "Bong!"
"I brought the vanes, Sir."
"Have any trouble?"
"No, Sir. I saw the A.D.C., and said we had 'left them behind,' which was
true, you know, Sir." (The O.O. for once felt himself the centre of
interest and desired to improve the occasion). "We _did_ 'leave them
behind,' so it wasn't a lie exactly ..."
"I don't care if it was," said the General; "you've got 'em, that's the
main thing."
"Where will you have one put, Sir?"
"In the fields," said the B.M.
"Not too low," said the Captain.
"Or too high," said Signals.
"Or too far away," said the attached officer.
"Well, now you know," said the General, "pass the chutney."
They all passed it as well as several other things until he was thoroughly
dug-in.
* * * * *
"Another N.S.E.W. report, Sir," said the Staff Captain next morning.
"----!" said the General. (I think I mentioned his partiality for the
vernacular). "Where's our vane?"
"It's up, Sir," said the O.O., shining proudly again, "and I--"
"We'll have' a look at it," and out they all went--General, Brigade Major
(enunciating pedantically after a fish breakfast), Staff Captain (bright
and birdlike), and the O.O. It was a brilliant spectacle.
"North is--there!" said the General in his best field-day manner, "and this
is pointing--due East!" He touched the vane gently. It did not budge. He
touched it again. A cold sweat broke out on the forehead of the O.O.
"Paralysed," said the B.M.
"Give it a 'stand-east,' Sir," said the Staff Captain.
"It's stiff!" said the General; "wants-oil" (pause); "wants _oil_!" and the
O.O. slid away, returning at once with oil (salad, bottle, one).
"Now pour it over the top--top, boy, top!"
A flood sprayed over the top flange, and the B.M. searched hastily for a
handkerchief.
"Making a salad of you?" said the General. "Ha! ha!"
The B.M. smiled a smile (sickly, one).
"That's better!" The General spun it round. "What's it say now? East!"
"Better wait," said the B.M., "it'll change its mind in a minute."
"It's going!" cried the General excitedly. "There! Well, I'm--West!"
"The padre was right--it must be a fireguard, after all," said the Staff
Captain.
"Or a s-sundial," muttered the B.M.
I believe the meteorological report was finally entered as: "Wind light to
moderate (to strong), varying from East to West (_via_ North and South)."
"Of course," said the General kindly to the O.O., "it's not quite
perpendicular, it's a bit too low; wants a stronger prop, wires are a bit
slack, the vane itself wants looking to, and the whole thing is in rather a
bad position, but otherwise it's all right--quite all right."
"Yes, Sir," said the O.O.
"And there's too much oil," added the General, as he moved off.
"There is," said the B.M., discovering another blob on his shiny boots,
"and on m-me!"
* * * * *
The Staff were unaccountably late. The O.O. breakfasted alone. For three
days he had been the despair of the small and perspiring body of pioneers,
who towards the end had fled at the mere sight of him. But at last the vane
was working.
"Well," said the General when he came in, "how's the wind, expert?"
"N.N.E.," said the O.O. proudly. (It was the first thing he had done since
he came on the Brigade three weeks before, and he was pleased at the
interest the Staff had taken in his little achievement.) "I've had the
pioneers working on it, and we've got it up another four feet, Sir,
tightened the pole, and wired it on to the supports on every side. It's
quite perpendicular now. I've marked out the points of the compass on it,
and fixed up a little arrangement for gauging the strength of the
wind--that flap thing, you know, Sir--"
"Yes, yes," said the General, who seemed to have lost his first keenness,
"I'm glad it's working all right. By the way, we shall be moving from here
to-morrow; the division's going back."
The O.O. drained the teapot in silence, and was glad it was strong and
bitter.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AT OUR COMPANY SMOKER.
_The Major_ (_sings_). "AND WE DIDN'T CARE A BUTTON IF THE ODDS WERE ON THE
FOE TEN--TWENTY--THIRTY--FORTY--"
_Colonel_ (_roused from surreptitious snooze_). "AS YOU WERE!--NUMBER!"]
* * * * *
Result of the Blockade.