(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)
Many years ago, when I was younger and more optimistic than to-day, I
thought out what struck me as an adventure-story of wonderful promise,
and confided the plot to a friend, reputed expert in such matters. He
heard me with indulgent attention and, when I had finished, "Capital,"
says he; "but do you propose to differentiate it in _any_ way from
_Dead Man's Rock?_" I am reminded of this ancient wound by the
appearance of a new buccaneering book by Sir ARTHUR QUILLER-COUCH;
and that not only on account of the name of the author, but because
when a tale of this kind begins in Bristol Docks, with a company
that includes an apprentice-hero, a one-eyed sailor and a parrot of
piratical past, it is impossible not to recall _Treasure Island_.
However this may be, _Mortallone_ soon attains a development quite
sufficiently original, with an island and a secret and a noble store
of buried treasure, all in doubloons and pieces of eight, which is
exactly how I prefer it. In short a capital yarn, which did but
confirm me in an old resolve that, were I ever thinking of commencing
pirate or starting any unlawful business of the seas, I should avoid
apprentices like the plague. The second part of _Mortallone and Aunt
Trinidad_ (ARROWSMITH) I found rather less satisfactory. Here a number
of tales of the Spanish Main are supposed to be told by a trio of
withered beldames whose youthful prime was spent as pirate queens. A
striking and novel approach; though my belief in it was hindered by
the discovery that these untutored crones not only spoke but wrote an
admirable, if slightly mannered, prose, akin to that of STEVENSON or,
say, Sir ARTHUR himself. But these be the carpings of age; I am sure
that no boy lucky enough to find _Mortallone_ among his Christmas
presents will leave a paragraph undevoured.
* * * * *
Dr. H. STUERMER is one of that small band of Germans who have had the
courage to denounce the policy and acts of their Government. When
the War began he joined the German army, fought in the Masurian
operations, was invalided out of the army at the beginning of 1915,
and thereupon became correspondent in Constantinople of the _Kölnische
Zeitung_, in which capacity he acted until the end of 1916, when his
too great truthfulness proved distasteful to his employers and he had
to give up his place. Now he resides in Switzerland and "makes use,"
he says, "of the opportunity ... to range himself boldly on the side
of truth, and show that there are still Germans who find it impossible
to condone, even tacitly, the moral transgression and political
stupidity of their own and an allied Government." This is a big
undertaking, but Dr. STUERMER attacks it manfully in his book, _Two
War Years in Constantinople_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON). He gives a
harrowing description of the sufferings of the Armenians, and leaves
no doubt that he considers Germany responsible for the massacre of
a nation. I advise those who desire first-hand knowledge of the
political schemes and ambitions of the Germans and their Young Turkish
friends to consult this book. It is a mine of information.
* * * * *
Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL always packs his novels with sober stuff and
redeems them from any trace of dulness by the skill with which he
handles his theme, and by his conscientious study not only of his
characters but of the details of his background. That background in
_The Dwelling-Place of Light_ (MACMILLAN) is an American cottonmill
district with a mixed alien population of operatives, and trouble
brewing as the result of a headstrong wage-cutting manager, _Claude
Ditmar_, in conflict with the I.W.W. The phases of this grim struggle
are most forcibly described, the author holding no brief for either
protagonist. And, if widower _Ditmar_, man of iron, for whom the
Chippering Mill is his second and abiding mate, be no hero, _Janet_,
his typist, has the makings of a notable heroine. How this girl,
full of character and of passion bravely restrained, breaks down the
business preoccupation of her chief and how her courage and steadfast
honour convince him that the liaison he promised himself will not
suffice for honour or purified desire--all this is finely told. It
was, however, but a faltering and slowly-growing conviction, and death
claims him before he can make amends for the wrong into which his
masterful pleading has betrayed her. I never quite precisely gathered
what was "the dwelling-place of light." Anyway it wasn't the
Chippering Mill ... But I was sorry when I reached the four hundred
and ninth and last of the closely-set pages. Good measure for a book
in war-time.
* * * * *
Throughout a vagabond career that began in happiness on a farm and
finished, thankfully, amongst the fields, _Frank Rainger_ followed
always the pathway of the broader experience. Followed it so stoutly
and was such good company on the long road that whether it was high
holiday at Cranbrook Circus with _Maggie Coalbran_, or a fight for
the hopeless cause of the Southern States in shell-torn Vicksburg, or
only the keeping of eternal lazy summer with the peons of Yucatan, I
was altogether content to go humbly forward with him, convinced that,
as it was written, so and no otherwise should it be. Even when he
deservedly failed to become a shining light in the literary firmament
to which he aspired--an unheard-of piece of audacity on the part
of his authoress--I did not rebel. Miss SHEILA KAYE SMITH has an
essential clarity of visualisation, a deep and still reserve of
unforced pathos and an exquisite sense of the haunting word, that
combine with a most competent alertness of movement to make her latest
artistic success, _The Challenge to Sirius_ (NISBET), a book for which
I can hardly find adequate words of praise. Most admirable of all,
perhaps, is a strange faculty she has shown for making one satisfied
that her people should remain perennially rather poor and unambitious
and dull, and should even grow old without occasioning us regret.
With the deep under-drift of the writer's philosophy one may not be
completely in accord, but certainly it will worry nobody, while the
unity and beauty of her methods hold one in willing bondage from
beginning to end. This is real literature, and everyone should
read it.
* * * * *
Without any very exceptional gifts as a story-teller Fleet-Surgeon
T.T. JEANS, R.N., scores heavily off most writers of boys' adventure
tales by having actually lived the life he describes. Here, for
instance, in _A Naval Venture_ (BLACKIE) we do get the real thing,
and boys would be well-advised to sample it and see if it is not
preferable to the kind of adventurous fiction produced so prolifically
for their amusement. Not that this yarn is lacking in adventure;
indeed it is concerned with the Gallipoli campaign, from the landings
until the evacuation, and anything more adventurous it would be hard
to imagine. In reading this story of _The Orphan, The Lamp-post,
Bubbles, The Hun, Rawlins and The Pink Rat_, one feels that the author
actually knows these "snotties," with their high courage, animal
spirits and elementary humour. It is in fact history spiced with
fiction. Of all the characters my vote goes to _Kaiser Bill_, for
although, being a tortoise, he performed no deeds of actual gallantry,
he carried good luck with him wherever he went. Besides, his name
might annoy the ALL-HIGHEST. Mr. JEANS made an extremely good shot
when he drew his bow at _A Naval Venture_.
* * * * *
You would hardly believe what a remarkably unprincipled set of persons
make up the cast of Mr. WILLIAM CAINE'S newest story. He calls them
_Drones_ (METHUEN), but that, I feel, is a charitable understatement.
There was _Eric Wanstanley_, rising young sculptor, who, because he
didn't rise quickly enough, was capable of borrowing the savings of
his friend's parlourmaid to work a system at roulette. The friend,
_Austin Jenner_, was also an artist and also rising. His little
failing was concealment of the fact that he was almost wholly
supported by remittances furnished by his hard-working brother.
Incidentally he was engaged to _Eric's_ sister, but abandoned her
without a qualm for the beringed hand of one _Mrs. Meldrum_, a rich
widow, known as The B.Q. (Biscuit Queen). Need I say that _Mrs.
Meldrum_, moving in these circles, and with ambitions as an art
patroness, lived in Cheyne Walk? Indeed the setting of the whole
comedy is inevitably Chelsea. Having regard to the number of bad hats
among the _dramatis personæ_, you will probably not be astonished to
be told that their goings-on are excellently entertaining; though
I cannot but think that to give both his leading lady and his
_soubrette_, or Singing Chambermaid, the handicap of morally deficient
young brothers, does look like laziness on the part of Mr. CAINE.
Surely there exist other avenues to calamity. But it's an amusing
rogues' comedy.
* * * * *
[Illustration: UNPUBLISHED INCIDENTS IN ANCIENT HISTORY. PANOPEUS
EXPLAINS HIS MODEL AT THE WAR OFFICE, ATHENS, DURING THE TROJAN WAR.]
* * * * *