12 
LAND 6? WATER 
October 3, 1918 
^piritual vanitv which constitutes one of the most formidable 
obstacles to the final liberation from self. Proud I certainly 
was, and I am still only too much so ; but we cannot extract 
virtues otherwise than from our vices. More ardently than 
when I embraced the phantom of individual superiority, 
I stretch my arms towards homogeneous equality, towards 
the fullness of vacancy." I 
He is right ; but he is thinking, here, witli the eastern 
lobe of his brain, the Asiatic lobe ; and the thoughts of this 
lobe commend us only to inaction and renunciation — the 
"enchantment of the disenchanted," as Kenan used to say — 
or, rather, the satisfaction of despair. Certainly all that we 
see, all that we feel, and all that we know, pledges us to this 
de.-^pair, which our meditations — above all, those of this 
same Asiatic lobe — may, for that matter, render very spacious 
and as beautiful, almost as habitable as Jiope. But what 
do we know, as compared with what we do not know ? We 
are ignorant of all that comes before and of all that comes 
after us, in a word, of the whole universe. Our despair, 
which appears at first the last word and the last effort of 
wisdom, is therefore based upon what we know, which is 
nothing, whereas the hope of those whom we believe to be. 
less wise can be based upon what we do not know, which is 
everything. 
Moreover, if we would be quite just, tlrere is more than 
one reason for hoping which we will not recall here ; let us 
confess, therefore, that in this nothing which we know there 
exists naught but despair, and that hope can lie only in the 
everything which we do not know. But, instead of listening 
only to our eastern lobe, which ccumsels us to accept this 
inactive ignorance and to bury our lives therein, is it not 
more reasonable to set our western lobe to work at the same 
time, the lobe which seeks to discover the everjrthing ? It is 
possible that here, too, when all is said, it will find despair ; 
but it is unlikely, for we cannot imagine a world which would 
be merely an act of despair. Now, if the world is not 
an act of despair, nothing tfiat exists in it has reason 
to despair. In any case, and in the meanwhile, this 
search will doubtless permit us to hope as long as the 
worlcT exists. 
The After Gun : By William Hunt 
An Early Essay at Camouflage 
IT was my first experience of "camouflage," and I must 
admit for some time it took me in completely. 
I had shipped my mules and I had shipped my men. 
I had drawn hammocks for the one and forage for the 
other. There was a cheerful and contented sound of 
rattling mugs and plates from the troop deck, and a steady 
munching noise from the mule stalls. I had' got rid of the 
naval transport officer and the military landing officer, each 
of whom had gone ashore thoroughly happy in the possession 
of endless nominal rolls and lists of animals and vehicles. 
My stable guards were told off for the night, and as the 
warm curtain of dusk came down upon the busy Mediter- 
ranean port, I went down to dinner with just that right 
sort of tired, hungry feeling, which follows a good day's work. 
' My next-door neighbour at the mess-table was the First 
Officer, a hard-bitten old chap who had survived and appar- 
ently thrived upon incessant voyages to the West Coast of 
Africa, and who had proud and garrulous memories of an 
acquaintance with the redoubtable, original prototype of 
that engaging desperado Captain Kettle. 
"Can you find me a guard for our gun on the poop, to be 
mounted day and night ? " he asked me, after we had swapped 
a few yarns. 
"Surely," I said; "but I'm surprised to hear that you 
have managed to wangle a gun out of the Admiralty" — for 
this was in 1915, when the question of arming merchantmen 
was still in the stage of suggestion, controversy, and news- 
paper correspondence only. 
"You've heard of the 'mystery' ships, haven't you?" 
he said. 
"One hears rumours, you know ; but I'm blest if I know 
what they are." 
'.'Well, I've got a 'mystery' gun, and I'll show it to you 
to-morrow. Have your guard ready to mount on the poop 
deck at g.30 a.m," 
" Right-oh," I said ; and that was all I got out of the 
old bird that night. 
Next morning, at.g.20 sharp, the N.C.O., whom I had 
appointed temporary ship's sergeant-major for the duration 
of the voyage, was on the boat deck with six men and a 
corporal. 
Having inspected them and checked one or two details, 
I proceeded with them to the poop deck, where I found 
"the chief" awaiting me. 
"Here's the gun," he said; and, behold, it was so — at 
least, as far as I could see. A long, grey, ugly looking muzzle 
protruding from what appeared to be a bullet-proof gun 
shield. 
"See how obediently she answers her helm," said 'the 
chief,' slipping behind the gun-shields ; and, as he spoke, 
she swung her whole length round with the gun-shield from 
port to starboard, and then back again, finally coming to' 
rest aiming dead astern. 
"That'll shake up Fritz and his tin fish some, I should 
think," I said ; and I must admit I felt considerably cheered 
at the thought, for our probable course lay through wliat 
had already proved on one or two occasions to be happy 
hunting grounds for Boche submarines. 
"Would you like to see her fired?" said the old man, 
his eyes glistening with pride, as he affectionately patted 
his murderous-looking acquisition. "We're well clear of 
land now, and 1 can touch her off in half a jiffy ; you'll get 
the best view of the effect from the boat deck." 
So up to the boat deck I trotted. I saw him fiddle about 
with her, but, from up where I was, could not see exactly 
what he was doing, as by this time my guard had crowded 
curiously round the gun. 
Suddenly there was a loud report, which struck me as 
being singularly different from that of any gun which I had 
ever heard fired before, and then, at what seemed to me a 
considerable distance astern, there was a big bang and a 
great flare, and then a heavy splash in the water. 
"Magnificent," I said, as I rejoined the party on the poop ; 
" that was quite a different shell from any I've struck, so 
far — on land, anyway." 
I thought my men seemed rather amused at something ; 
but all the First Officer said was ; "She's pretty convenient 
to handle, too ! " ; and, as he said it, he grasped hold of her 
firmly near the gun-shield, and with a bit of an effort, lifted 
both that and the gun clean off the mounting. 
"Lord Almighty 1" I gasped ; for this was finer than any 
feat of any music-hall Hercules that I had ever seen. 
" D'you understand, now ? " he said. 
"Damned if I do, except that either it's the lightest gun 
ever forged, or you are the strongest man who ever sacrificed 
a promising career on the halls !" 
"Forged!" said the old villain. "This gun is simply a 
good stout spar, and nothing else ; it's swung on a good stout 
tar-barrel for a mounting ; and the gun-shield is made of 
good stout packing-case wood, covered with canvas ; the 
whole having been given three damned good licks o' grey 
paint." 
"But the shell, man — the shell?" I cried. "You can't 
bluff me that that splendid shell was made by the carpenter, 
or even by the cook ? " 
"No," he said; "but you can get a surprising effect if 
you insert a brass rocket-stand into the end of a spar, and 
then fire a rocket out of it. I don't believe in taking any 
chances where we are going ; and if Fritz pops up and sees 
this gun, I don't believe there'll be much need to fire a rocket ; 
and even if there is, I don't think Fritz has got grit enough 
to wait up on top and watch us fire a second. Remember 
that you didn't spot it for what it was, yourself, at once, 
and you'd have been still less likely to if you'd been living 
for some days in a thing like a bob cigar, with nothing except 
the bottom of the Mediterranean between your perjured 
soul and perdition. No, if the Admiralty don't give me a 
gun, I make one." 
Well, there was no recognised science of camouflage in 
those days, but I think the old reprobate really might well 
consider himself one of the pioneers of the movement. Be 
that as it may, my gun crew certainly swore that one pearly ' 
dawn, as the sun was touching up the rocky crags of one of 
those islands with which Providence has so picturesquely 
strewn those seas, a periscope popped up a few fathoms 
astern of us, but did not stay around long admiring our gun. 
Anyhow, whether their story of the submarine be true or not 
my story of the gun is apostolic veracity itself; and the 
fact remains that we made our port ; which was more than 
many good ships did in those days ; and whether or not she 
be still protected by her home-made gun, one thing is certain, 
and that is that the good old ship is still afloat. 
