Naturally, it will be asked why the spy is so generally held in contempt, and, indeed, in abhorrence. That this should be so is, in all probability, due to a certain confusion of ideas between the soldier spy who, risking his life in war, may be playing a truly heroic part, and those miserable secret agents who, in time of peace and without risk, abuse for gold a nation's hospitality with the deliberate intention of working her ruin when war comes, or, still worse, the traitor who is ready to sell the interests of his own country. And it is one of the anomalies of the whole subject that the traitor who is ready to sell his country's interests to a possible enemy should, in time of peace, be punishable only by penal servitude, while the truly brave and often heroic soldier who in time of war risks his life in his country's cause, should meet certain death if he is detected. Let us assume for a moment that a man of the former class, the day before the war broke out, had sold to Germany information of some secret upon which the safety of the British Empire depended. There is no such secret, but I assume it for the sake of argument. His maximum punishment would have been penal servitude. Take next the case of a German soldier who, the day after war was declared, crept disguised into our lines and obtained information which might have enabled his commander to capture fifty British soldiers. We should have shot him without delay. Yet will anyone contend that there is anything comparable in the moral turpitude of the two acts? It must not be understood, of course, that I am pleading for clemency for the spy; my plea is for greater severity for the traitor! We are now faced with another problem. If it is dishonourable to spy--and many eminent authorities, as well as public opinion, generally hold this to be the case--it is unquestionably dishonourable to employ spies. Yet all commanders of all nations employ spies, and if any nation failed to do so, it might as well--as Lord Wolseley said--sheathe its sword for ever. We can take it for granted that, in his many campaigns, Lord Wolseley made the fullest use possible of spies, and yet his personal honour need not be questioned. We certainly cannot say that he was dishonoured by the use of means often regarded as dishonourable. Moreover, great soldiers themselves have not hesitated to act as spies. The history of war is full of such cases. Catinat spied in the disguise of a coal-heaver. Montluc disguised himself as a cook. Ashby, in the American Civil War, visited the Federal lines as a horse-doctor, while General Nathaniel Lyon visited the Confederate camp at St. Louis in disguise before he attacked and captured it. Against the personal honour of such men as these no word can be said, and, as Mr. Spaight points out, it is surprising to find a military historian like Sir Henry Hozier declaring that "spies have a dangerous task and not an honourable one."