A Frenchman, an official Prussian, And what we took to be a Russian-- The very coalition Who threaten England’s power at sea, And, but for men like Blood and me, Would drive her navies from the sea, And hurl her to perdition. But did my comrade think to flee? To use his very words--Not he! He turned with a contemptuous laugh. Observe him in the photograph. [Illustration ** Sin grinning and walking past the three military men (from previous illustration).] But still these bureaucrats pursued, Until they reached the Captain’s tent. They grew astonishingly rude; The Russian simply insolent, Announcing that he had been sent Upon a holy mission, To call for the disarmament Of all our expedition. He said “the miseries of war Had touched his master to the core”; It was extremely vexing To hear him add, “he couldn’t stand This passion for absorbing land; He hoped we weren’t annexing.” The German asked with some brutality To have our names and nationality. I had an inspiration, In words methodical and slow I gave him this decisive blow: “I haven’t got a nation.” Perhaps the dodge was rather low, And yet I wasn’t wrong to Escape the consequences so; For, on my soul, I did not know _What_ nation to belong to. The German gave a searching look, And marked me in his little book:-- “The features are a trifle Dutch-- Perhaps he is a Fenian; He may be a Maltese, but much More probably Armenian.” Blood gave us each a trifling sum To say that he was deaf and dumb, And backed the affirmation By gestures so extremely rum, They marked him on the writing pad: “Not only deaf and dumb, but mad.” It saved the situation. “If such a man as _that_” (said they) “Is Leader, they can go their way.” [Illustration ** Military man taking notes as Blood talks and gesticulates.] X.