On Patrol

AN ADMINISTRATIVE VICTORY

 
A tale is told of a captain bold
Of E-boat Seventy-two;
She steered to eastward – pitched and rolled, and Poulson swore at her, damp and cold,
As E-boat captains do.
 
 
And off the mouth of the German Bight,
With Borkum on the bow,
She saw the smoke of a German fleet – MIND YOUR FINGERS – SEVENTY FEET!
We're in for business now…
 
 
(For enemy ships are hard to find —
You have to take them quick;
So copy the Eastern vulture's rule, that waits for days for an Army mule —
Always ready to click.)
 
 
Out to the west from Helgoland
The big grey cruiser steered,
And the glinting rays of a rising sun flashed on funnel and mast and gun,
And – Admiral Schultz's beard.
 
 
Down the wind the E-boat came
And passed the searching screen;
Nobody guessed the boat was there, till they heard the wallop and saw the flare —
Where the pride of the fleet had been.
 
 
'Twixt white and green of dancing waves
The racing tracks were seen,
And Poulson watching them get there, cried — Hold the crockery – Starboard side!
For the kick of a magazine!
 
 
The escort ran and the cruisers ran
At the thought of an English snare;
Scattered and spread to left and right, to the friendly arms of the German Bight,
And left the ocean bare.
 
 
Then the coffee was spilt, the E-boat rolled
To a deuce of a shaking bang;
To the sound of the hammer of Aser-Thor, victory-song of Naval War,
The hull of the E-boat rang.
 
 
And Poulson swinging the eye-piece round,
Lifted eyebrows high,
For far aloft, when the smoke had cleared, he saw the flash of a golden beard
Against the empty sky.
 
 
"Admiral over! Surface, lads!
He's flying a belted sword;
Pipe the side or stern or bow, stand to attention smartly now —
Wherever he comes aboard."
 
 
The Admiral landed Cabré-wise
And high the fountains burst —
(What is the meaning of Cabré-wise? To men of the air it signifies —
His after-end was first).
 
 
They piped the side, and still they stood
To watch him struggle and heave,
As he fought the slope of the rounded deck (for none could pull at an Admiral's neck
Without the Admiral's leave).
 
 
They took him below, and sat him down
On the edge of the Captain's bed, —
Treatment vile for a foemen caught, they gave him a bottle of Navy Port —
Fiery, dark, and red.
 
 
They landed him at a Naval Base,
With S. two-twenty D.
Supplied – a large and bearded Hun: Grosse Admirals, angry, One —
For draft to Admiraltee.
 
 
And Grosse-Admiral Schultz von Schmidt,
Graf von Hansa-Zoom,
Faded away to Donnington Hall, to an English park with a guarded wall
– To an elegant private room.
 
 
And there he paced the carpet up,
And paced the carpet down,
"Alte Himmel!" – the prisoners cried – "Some one's trod on the German pride,
And dared the Hansa frown!"
 
 
The Admiral called for a fountain pen
And Reference Sheets¹ galore,
And silence fell on the smoking-room – for Grosse-Admiral Hansa-Zoom
Was throwing a Gage of War.
 
 
"Can I believe your Lordships mean
To stand so idly by —
When a young lieutenant of twenty-four, pleading the need of Naval War,
Shall make an Admiral fly?
 
 
Never shall I believe it true
That I should have to fall
On an icy sea with an awful spank, by the act of one of a junior rank,
I – Schultz, of Donnington Hall."
 
 
Their Lordships read – and bells were heard
That woke the echoing past;
And Scouts and messengers jumped and fled – till all was still as a world of dead
Beneath the wireless mast.
 
 
My Lords in solemn conclave drew
Behind a bolted door,
Threshing it out in full debate – "Is it a case for an Acting Rate?
Or use of Martial Law?"
 
 
At four o'clock in the afternoon,
With tea-cups clattering past,
Along the echoing Portland floor the whisper passed from door to door —
"They've settled it all at last!"
 
 
And I have the word of a lady fair
In Room Two Thousand B —
(A perfect peach, I beg to state), who typed the letter in triplicate
And passed it on to me.
 
 
"We find the Enemy Admiral's Note
Is based on Service Law —
That disrespect to a Flag afloat has sullied the fame of Poulson's boat
Despite the Needs of War.
 
 
But he erred unknowing – so we shall mask
His breach of Service pomp, —
We'll make him an Admiral, D.S.B. ² – Acting – payless – biscuit free,
In lieu of lodging and Comp.
 
 
We'll rate him at once as an A.I.O. ³
With a K.R.A. and an I., ⁴
We'll make him a deputy C.P.O., ⁵ with Rank of Admiral, whether or no,
And a beautiful Flag to fly."
 
 
And now when Poulson sails to war
In E-boat Seventy-two,
The boatswains pipe and the bugles blare, "Stand to attention – forward there!
The Admiral's passing you!"
 
 
That is the tale as told to me
By a friend from Beatty's Fleet,
When over a glass (or even two), he swore to me that the tale was true,
In a Tavern in Regent Street.
 

A NIGHTMARE

 
THE Council of Democracy around the table drew
(The table was a beauty – it was polished – it was new,
Twenty feet from side to side and half a mile in length,
Built of rosewood and mahogany of double extra strength.
The C in C had gone to jail to answer to the charge
Of saying what he thought about Democracy at large.
So the Council of Democracy had taken on the job,
After voting the removal of his Autocratic nob.
And the table was erected in a calm secluded spot,
Well away from any trenches, lest a voter should be shot).
And the Chairman raised a hammer and he hit the board a whack,
No one paid the least attention, so he put the hammer back.
Then he read the lengthy minutes of the gathering before,
To the ever-growing murmur of the Democratic snore.
And he put before the meeting all the questions of the day,
Such as "Shorter hours for Delegates, and seven times the pay."
With a minor matter for the end – "What shall the Council do
About this fellow Mackensen? they say he's coming through
With a hundred thousand hirelings of the Hohenzollern Line,
And breaking all the Union Rules by working after nine."
At this a group of Delegates departed for the door,
To consult with their constituents the conduct of the War.
The remainder started voting on the Delegation Pay,
And agreed with unanimity to seven quid a day.
They decided that unless the Germans travelled very fast,
There'd be time for all the speeches – so they took the matter last.
But just as Mr Blithers to the Chairman had addressed
His opinion – he departed for the Country of the Blest,
(Both in body and in spirit to the heavens he departed,
And the Council looked dispirited, though hardly broken-hearted).
All the delegates were wondering from whence the shell had come;
One arose to ask a question – Bang!! – he went to Kingdom Come.
"Mr Chairman," cried a Delegate. "A point of order! I
Don't believe the Huns are coming – it's an Autocratic lie.
I shall move the Army question do be left upon the Table,
And I'm going home to England just as fast as I am able."
Then he gathered up his papers, and was pushing back his chair,
When a heavy high explosive sent him sailing in the air.
The Chairman beat his hammer on the table all the while,
Yelling oaths and calling "Order" in a Democratic style.
But the Delegates were started on the question of the War,
(So as not to waste the speeches that they'd written out before).
And the Council of Democracy – a thousand fluent tongues —
Let the Germans have it hearty from its Democratic lungs.
Through the bursting of the shrapnel they were constant to the end, —
Kept referring to each other as "My honourable friend."
And in groups of ten and twenty they were blasted into space
By the disrespectful cannon of an Autocratic race,
Till the gathering had dwindled to an incoherent few,
Who were still explaining volubly what England ought to do,
When the cannon ceased abruptly and they heard the Germans cheer,
And a sergeant entered roaring, "Himmel, Ach! was Schmutz ist hier!
Mask your faces, pig-dogs, quickly – all the room is full of gas.
Vorwärts, Carl der Kindermörder – use your bayonet, Saxon ass!"
Faithful to the last, the Chairman, spying strangers all around,
Told them they were out of order; hardly seemed to touch the ground.
Told them of his best intentions, how with love of them he burned,
Shouted as the bayonet caught him, "Ow! the Council is adjourned!"
 

RELEASED

 
WE are drifting back from the End of Hell to the home we long for so, —
Back from the land of fear and hate that jeers at wounded men;
Maimed and crippled are we to-day, but free from curse or blow —
That we knew too well in the land of Cain, the guarded prisoners' den.
 
 
We drift away to the homes we left a thousand years ago,
And there we wait in the Truce of God for the hand of Death to fall,
Waiting aside in hovel or hall – where only neighbours know —
The broken men that the War has left to shun the gaze of all.
 
 
Is it nothing to you that pass us by – hurrying on your way,
Whispering low of peace and rest to the tune of a German song?
Only but for the Grace of God you might be where we lay —
With festering wounds in a truck for beasts, the butt of a laughing throng.
 
 
Peace and Rest? The peace will come when God shall stay His hand,
And change the heart of the German race that mocks at wounded men.
The rest you seek? What need of that? you fight for a Christian land,
And all Eternity waits for you – what need of rest till then?
 
 
We are broken and down in the fight of the world for an end to heathen lust,
But the sword we dropped when the darkness came is yours to handle yet.
If you sheathe the sword for a greed of gold or suffer the steel to rust,
The curse of the captive men be yours – the day when you forget – !