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Updated: May 28, 2025
Madame therefore announced her intention of sending for the butcher, and was upon the point of doing so when Corporal Mucklewame, in whose heart, at the spectacle of the stark and lifeless corpse, ancient and romantic memories were stirring it may be remembered that before answering to the call of "K " Mucklewame had followed the calling of butcher's assistant at Wishaw volunteered for the job.
Presently he found what he wanted; and by the time Bogle arrived to announce that Sergeant Mucklewame had signalled "message understood," his arrangements were complete. "Stay by this small hole in the wall, Bogle," he said, "and the moment the Lewis gun arrives tell them to mount it here and open fire on the enemy gun."
But the explanation thereof, as proffered by Private Mucklewame, was quite simple and eminently sound. "All the decent lads," he observed briefly, "are oot here." "Good work!" said Wagstaffe, when Blaikie's tale was told. "What is the new trench for, exactly?" Blaikie told him. "Tell me more!" urged Wagstaffe, deeply interested.
We sometimes do it as much as seven or eight times before we get it right, and even then we only stop because the sergeant-in-charge is threatened with clergyman's sore throat. The morning Private Mucklewame fixed his bayonet for the first time, two small boys stayed away from school all day in order to see him unfix it when he came off guard in the afternoon.
Mucklewame and four men had bombed their way along a communication trench leading to one of the side streets of the village a likely avenue for a counter-attack and having reached the end of the trench, had built up a sandbag barricade, and had held the same against the assaults of hostile bombers until a Vickers machine-gun had arrived in charge of an energetic subaltern of that youthful but thriving organisation, the Suicide Club, or Machine-Gun Corps, and closed the street to further Teutonic traffic.
Corporal Mucklewame was speaking, in his new and awful official voice, pointing an accusing finger at the fire, which, neglected in the ardour of discussion, was smoking furiously. "Did you wish the hale wood tae be shelled?" continued Mucklewame sarcastically. "Put oot the fire at once, or I'll need tae bring ye all before the Officer. It is a cauld dinner ye'll get, and ye'll deserve it!"
"If we could reach the estaminet itself," said Angus thoughtfully, "we could get a more extended view. Sergeant Mucklewame, select ten men, including three bombers, and follow me. I am going to find a jumping-off place. The Lewis gun too."
Did better than ever; but well, they required a big draft afterwards." "The third time!" sighed Bobby. "Did any one write to you about it?" "Yes. Who do you think?" "Some one in the regiment?" "Yes." "I didn't know there were any of the old lot left. Who was it?" "Mucklewame." "Mucklewame? You mean to say the Boche hasn't got him yet? It's like missing Rheims Cathedral."
At the worst he pinched your trousers. But Brother Boche is a different proposition. Since he butted in, war has descended in the social scale. And modern scientific developments have turned a sporting chance of being scuppered into a mathematical certainty. And yet and yet old Mucklewame is right. One hates to be out of it especially at the finish.
After three minutes of puckered brows and hard breathing the squad is turned to its rear and the examination proceeds. "Lance-Corporal Ness, what did you notice in the foreground of the picture?" Lance-Corporal Ness gazes fiercely before him. He has noticed a good deal, but can remember nothing. Moreover, he has no very clear idea what a foreground may be. "Private Mucklewame?"
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