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| It was at a banquet in London in honour of one of the
two or three conspicuously illustrious English
military names of this generation. For reasons which
will presently appear, I will withhold his real name
and titles, and call him Lieutenant-General Lord
Arthur Scoresby, V.C., K.C.B., etc., etc., etc. What a
fascination there is in a renowned name! There say the
man, in actual flesh, whom I had heard of so many
thousands of times since that day, thirty years
before, when his name shot suddenly to the zenith from
a Crimean battle-field, to remain for ever celebrated.
It was food and drink to me to look, and look, and
look at that demigod; scanning, searching, noting: the
quietness, the reserve, the noble gravity of his
countenance; the simple honesty that expressed itself
all over him; the sweet unconsciousness of his
greatness--unconsciousness of the hundreds of admiring
eyes fastened upon him, unconsciousness of the deep,
loving, sincere worship welling out of the breasts of
those people and flowing toward him.
The clergyman at my left was an old acquaintance of
mine--clergyman now, but had spent the first half of
his life in the camp and field, and as an instructor
in the military school at Woolwich. Just at the moment
I have been talking about, a veiled and singular light
glimmered in his eyes, and he leaned down and muttered
confidentially to me--indicating the hero of the
banquet with a gesture,--'Privately--his glory is an
accident-- just a product of incredible luck.'
This verdict was a great surprise to me. If its
subject had been Napoleon, or Socrates, or Solomon, my
astonishment could not have been greater.
Some days later came the explanation of this strange
remark, and this is what the Reverend told me.
About forty years ago I was an instructor in the
military academy at Woolwich. I was present in one of
the sections when young Scoresby underwent his
preliminary examination. I was touched to the quick
with pity; for the rest of the class answered up
brightly and handsomely, while he--why, dear me, he
didn't know anything, so to speak. He was evidently
good, and sweet, and lovable, and guileless; and so it
was exceedingly painful to see him stand there, as
serene as a graven image, and deliver himself of
answers which were veritably miraculous for stupidity
and ignorance. All the compassion in me was aroused in
his behalf. I said to myself, when he comes to be
examined again, he will be flung over, of course; so
it will be simple a harmless act of charity to ease
his fall as much as I can.
I took him aside, and found that he knew a little of
Caesar's history; and as he didn't know anything else,
I went to work and drilled him like a galley-slave on
a certain line of stock questions concerning Caesar
which I knew would be used. If you'll believe me, he
went through with flying colours on examination day!
He went through on that purely superficial 'cram', and
got compliments, too, while others, who knew a
thousand times more than he, got plucked. By some
strangely lucky accident--an accident not likely to
happen twice in a century--he was asked no question
outside of the narrow limits of his drill.
It was stupefying. Well, although through his course I
stood by him, with something of the sentiment which a
mother feels for a crippled child; and he always saved
himself--just by miracle, apparently.
Now of course the thing that would expose him and kill
him at last was mathematics. I resolved to make his
death as easy as I could; so I drilled him and crammed
him, and crammed him and drilled him, just on the line
of questions which the examiner would be most likely
to use, and then launched him on his fate. Well, sir,
try to conceive of the result: to my consternation, he
took the first prize! And with it he got a perfect
ovation in the way of compliments.
Sleep! There was no more sleep for me for a week. My
conscience tortured me day and night. What I had done
I had done purely through charity, and only to ease
the poor youth's fall--I never had dreamed of any such
preposterous result as the thing that had happened. I
felt as guilty and miserable as the creator of
Frankenstein. Here was a wooden- head whom I had put
in the way of glittering promotions and prodigious
responsibilities, and but one thing could happen: he
and his responsibilities would all go to ruin together
at the first opportunity.
The Crimean war had just broken out. Of course there
had to be a war, I said to myself: we couldn't have
peace and give this donkey a chance to die before he
is found out. I waited for the earthquake. It came.
And it made me reel when it did come. He was actually
gazetted to a captaincy in a marching regiment! Better
men grow old and gray in the service before they climb
to a sublimity like that. And who could ever have
foreseen that they would go and put such a load of
responsibility on such green and inadequate shoulders?
I could just barely have stood it if they had made him
a cornet; but a captain--think of it! I thought my
hair would turn white.
Consider what I did--I who so loved repose and
inaction. I said to myself, I am responsible to the
country for this, and I must go along with him and
protect the country against him as far as I can. So I
took my poor little capital that I had saved up
through years of work and grinding economy, and went
with a sigh and bought a cornetcy in his regiment, and
away we went to the field.
And there--oh dear, it was awful. Blunders? why, he
never did anything but blunder. But, you see, nobody
was in the fellow's secret--everybody had him focused
wrong, and necessarily misinterpreted his performance
every time--consequently they took his idiotic
blunders for inspirations of genius; they did
honestly! His mildest blunders were enough to make a
man in his right mind cry; and they did make me
cry--and rage and rave too, privately. And the thing
that kept me always in a sweat of apprehension was the
fact that every fresh blunder he made increased the
lustre of his reputation! I kept saying to myself,
he'll get so high that when discovery does finally
come it will be like the sun falling out of the sky.
He went right along up, from grade to grade, over the
dead bodies of his superiors, until at last, in the
hottest moment of the battle of.... down went our
colonel, and my heart jumped into my mouth, for
Scoresby was next in rank! Now for it, said I; we'll
all land in Sheol in ten minutes, sure.
The battle was awfully hot; the allies were steadily
giving way all over the field. Our regiment occupied a
position that was vital; a blunder now must be
destruction. At this critical moment, what does this
immortal fool do but detach the regiment from its
place and order a charge over a neighbouring hill
where there wasn't a suggestion of an enemy! 'There
you go!' I said to myself; 'this is the end at last.'
And away we did go, and were over the shoulder of the
hill before the insane movement could be discovered
and stopped. And what did we find? An entire and
unsuspected Russian army in reserve! And what
happened? We were eaten up? That is necessarily what
would have happened in ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred. But no; those Russians argued that no single
regiment would come browsing around there at such a
time. It must be the entire English army, and that the
sly Russian game was detected and blocked; so they
turned tail, and away they went, pell-mell, over the
hill and down into the field, in wild confusion, and
we after them; they themselves broke the solid Russia
centre in the field, and tore through, and in no time
there was the most tremendous rout you ever saw, and
the defeat of the allies was turned into a sweeping
and splendid victory! Marshal Canrobert looked on,
dizzy with astonishment, admiration, and delight; and
sent right off for Scoresby, and hugged him, and
decorated him on the field in presence of all the
armies!
And what was Scoresby's blunder that time? Merely the
mistaking his right hand for his left--that was all.
An order had come to him to fall back and support our
right; and instead he fell forward and went over the
hill to the left. But the name he won that day as a
marvellous military genius filled the world with his
glory, and that glory will never fade while history
books last.
He is just as good and sweet and lovable and
unpretending as a man can be, but he doesn't know
enough to come in when it rains. He has been pursued,
day by day and year by year, by a most phenomenal and
astonishing luckiness. He has been a shining soldier
in all our wars for half a generation; he has littered
his military life with blunders, and yet has never
committed one that didn't make him a knight or a
baronet or a lord or something. Look at his breast;
why, he is just clothed in domestic and foreign
decorations. Well, sir, every one of them is a record
of some shouting stupidity or other; and, taken
together, they are proof that the very best thing in
all this world that can befall a man is to be born lucky. | | |
| So I'm on a huge cargo transport plane, probably 20,000 ft. or more in the air, standing on the lowered back ramp staring out into the vast sky. Standing beside me, curiously enough, are a bunch of middle-aged to old men. Things are fine and the infinite borderless sky is a wonder to me as I gaze out into the sky. Then, the sky i was staring out into turns into clouds, thin clouds. But these clouds packed a punch. Turbulence, lots of turbulence. Luckily for me we all had been roped to the plane, should we fall. The plane started shaking, nudging to the side, makin unexpected turns, dippin and climbing, occasionally diving a little as I desparately tried to maintain balance and hold on. The pilot must have been havin a hell a time controling the beast. Then, curiously enough, i notice a couple of men not roped to the plane at all. In fact while i was afraid that i would soon be shaken out of the plane, these couple of unroped men were just standing there on the ramp...motionless. I would think they should regret it, unless they were there to die. For with another sudden bump of air, they were out the back and swallowed up by the endless sky. It was gettin really bad now. I was beginning to slide around on the ramp, clawin around for something to grip on to. The aircraft now spun on its side, it's wingtip facin the earth, though i couldn't tell which way was up now with what they called, "vertigo." And just like that, I slid out the back of the plane. I fell and I fell. Then the rope snapped and i stopped falling backwards and started being pulled forward by the plane. I could see my fellow explorers tryin to pull the rope to get me back into the plane...they were too weak. I knew that if i just stayed there i would get killed when the plane eventually landed...if it landed. It was the hardest decision i ever made. I hacked and sawed the rope away with my blade, and then, just like that, i was loose. I fell every which way, and i felt like i was descending into the pull of a black hole. In fact, initially, i had no idea which way was up or down. After more falling, i realize that i shouldn't pull the cord just yet. (oh yea, luckily all of us had parachutes on). The clouds obscured the ground and I had no idea how far up i was yet. Pulling the cord too soon too high meant passin out for lack of oxygen, and I defn. didn't want to miss this. As I dived straight down clouds parted to reveal s small opening. Shit! There was the ground. The time was now. I ripped the cord and as the chute opened i was jerked roughly up. It felt like i had been hit by a truck, in a wierd way. No more then a couple seconds after my chute deployed the ground got in my face and hit me hard. Surprisingly, i got up about 10 seconds later...no broken bones! Looking around, I see i'm surrounded by low hills crawling with three wheeled vehicles. I was in an ATV playground w/ fellow daredevils. a couple of them in black spandex type suits walk by nonchalantly, as If i hadn't just parachuted amongst them. Smiling, I asked if they had a cellphone. As I arranged pickup, I looked around at the possibilities of my surroundings, hmmm....I haven't gone three-wheeling yet. | | |
| This will be the last entry in this journal. Tomorrow at first light we ride against the enemy. We are outnumbered, malnourished, and poorly equipped. Many of the men have run out of ammunition, and we intend to make tomorrow's battle our last. From now on, it is either victory or death. | | |
| Jet Li is such a badass. Kiss of the Dragon is part of my collection now, great fight scenes. i kinda wish i also started martial arts when i was 8, i'd be randomly attacking people now...;) | | |
| 
I like chickens, especially the little ones. | | |
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confuse me with someone who cares
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