"No," said the Canadian slowly, "organization isn't everything. Up to
a certain point it's necessary, but there must be a latitude. Give me
scope for initiative every time.
"Take an instance. You know our regiments have runners, men who
go to and fro carrying orders and making liaison along the line.
In the regiment I'm telling you about the runners were two smart
chaps--drummers they were before the War--and not having too much work
with their errands they ran a few side lines of their own, such as
shaving and hair-cutting, cobbling and the like. But of all their side
lines souvenir-selling was the most profitable. In their capacity
of runners they could go where they liked and accompany any of the
attacking parties, so they had good chances for souvenirs.
"One evening they went over into D Company's trench and said, 'Say,
you fellows, anybody want souvenirs? Bert's ordered an attack for
daybreak. A, B, and C Companies carry it out. You're not going. I
expect we shall be doing a nice line in tin hats. Any orders? Helmet
for you? Right, that'll be twenty francs, cash on delivery. Bosch
rifle? Yes, if we get any, fifty francs. Bandoliers, same price.
What's that? Iron Cross? Oh, not likely! But we'll do our best. A
hundred francs if we deliver the goods.'
"Well, the next day the attack was made, and at one end of a Bosch
trench there was some pretty hand-to-hand work. An old Rittmeister
held it, his breast covered with decorations, and he just wouldn't
give in. Of course, so long as he stuck it the other Bosches did too,
and there was nothing doing in the Kamerad line. They fought like
fury. So did our men, but we were slightly outnumbered, and it soon
began to be evident that we should have to retire if we didn't get
reinforcements. But, just when things were looking hopeless, over the
top of the parapet leaped the two runners, unarmed but irresistible.
With blazing eyes they flung themselves on that old Rittmeister, and
while one of them downed him with a blow under the chin we heard the
voice of the other uplifted in a new slogan: 'Give over, will you, old
turnip-head! You've got the goods, and, by Sam Hill, we mean to have
'em!' And with one hand he held the prisoner down while with the other
he tore the Iron Cross from his tunic.
"After the Bosch officer's fall our men made short work of the rest,
but the runners didn't wait for victory. There was a muttered counting
of the spoils: 'Six helmets for D Company. Two Bosch rifles. One
bandolier. And the Iron Cross. That's the lot. We'd better git.' And
they got."
* * * * *
"The two British Colossuses, _The Tribune_ says, opened fire
with their 300 five-millimetres guns."--_The Post (Dundee.)_
This is the first we have heard of the new naval pea-shooter.
* * * * *
"The war aims to which Germany and Austria must give assent must
be expressed in unequivocal language and based on the principles
of jujsjtjicjejjjjji."--_Evening Echo (Cork)._
We are not quite sure whether our spirited contemporary refers to
justice or ju-jitsu; but, either way, it means to give the Huns a
knock-out.
* * * * *
"For British and Oversea soldiers and sailors who visit Paris a
club is to be opened at the Hotel Moderne, Place de la République.
"The British Ambassador, Sir Douglas Haig, Sir John Jellicoe, and
Sir William Robertson have become patrons of the club, which will
provide them with comfortable quarters and meals at reasonable
prices, supply guides, and generally fulfil a useful purpose."
_Evening Standard_.
But surely the British Ambassador has already fairly comfortable
quarters in the Rue Faubourg St. Honoré.
* * * * *