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And though theoretically our own unemployed could be dressed in British uniforms and sent abroad with instructions to take refuge in neutral territory and be "interned" or to surrender to the first Uhlan patrol they met, yet it would be difficult to reduce this theory to practice, though the possibility is worth mentioning as a reduction to absurdity of the situation.
I peered round the door; nobody there. I entered and found the building had been used as a stable. Straw was lying all over the place; feed-bags had been hastily thrown down, halters were dotted here and there, and a Uhlan lance was lying on the ground, which, needless to say, I retained as a souvenir.
Pierre was not there, but something moved in the darkness outside the window, and he went to the door. "Pierre!" he called again; and at the same instant an Uhlan struck him with his lance-butt across the temples. How long it was before he opened his eyes he could not tell. He found himself lying on the ground in a meadow surrounded by trees.
If a Prussian Uhlan was seen far off on the road every man took to his heels. The infantry threw down their rifles, the cuirassiers their helmets and breastplates; the gunners cut the traces of the horses, jumped upon their backs, and dashed on, without thinking of the fate of the rest.
Suddenly an Uhlan rode cautiously around the bend, glanced right and left, looked back, signalled, and started on. Behind him crowded a dozen more Uhlans, lances glancing, pennants streaming in the wind. "They've got a woman!" whispered Lorraine. They had a man, too a powerful, bearded peasant, with a great livid welt across his bloodless face.
But the peasant had been a soldier, and he held a revolver in the side pocket of his jacket. He answered civilly, but shot through his pocket and killed the man at the end of the lance. The Uhlan fell from his horse, and the peasant seized his lance and carbine as souvenirs of a happy moment. But the moment was brief. A second later and the peasant was sick with fear for what he had done.
I saw a British Mark 11.50 torpedo at the torpedo shop at Bruges the other day, and I was much struck with their deep depth gear, which is of the unrestrained Uhlan type, i.e., weight and valve interdependent. But then the main feature is that the whole gear is contained in a separate water-tight chamber.
He stood aside to let me get in, then mounted himself, followed, rather to my surprise, by the young Count, whose responsibility for myself had ended, I imagined, on "delivering the goods." My surprise was of short duration, for once in the car the young Uhlan dropped all the formality he had displayed on the platform and addressed the elder officer as "papa."
For over two weeks he had been on the hunt of Uhlan patrols. Another schipperke he, who could not only hate but fight as best he knew how. "We had an alarm," he said. "Have you heard anything?" When we told him no, he pedalled on more slowly, and oh, how wearily! to the front. Rather pitiful that, too, when you thought of what was "out there."
Like a vague voice in a dream he heard his own name pronounced; he heard a sonorous formula repeated in a heavy, dispassionate voice "accused of having resisted a picquet of his Prussian Majesty's 11th Regiment of Uhlan cavalry, of having wilfully, maliciously, and with murderous design fired upon and wounded trooper Kohlmann of said picquet while in pursuit of his duty."
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