War had been declared.  We had known for a long time that it was coming.  For months past the bellicose bench of Bishops had been preaching war in all the Cathedrals of the land.  Field Marshal the Duke of WOLSELEY, who was then a simple lord, had written articles in all the prominent American reviews, and had proved to demonstration that with 50,000 boys and the new patent revolving ammunition belt, Britain (for that too was the name of my late country) was ready to defy and conquer the world.  Rear-Admiral and Lieutenant-General Sir WILLIAM T. STEAD, G.C.B., C.S.I., K.G., V.C.—­the great journalist in the shade of whose colossal mounted statue we are now sitting—­had suddenly become a convert to the doctrine that war is the great purifier, and had offered in a spirit of extraordinary self-abnegation to command both the Army and the Fleet in action.  Volunteer corps armed with scythes, paper-knives, walking-sticks and umbrellas had sprung up all over the country, and had provided their own uniforms and equipment.  Lord RANDOLPH CHURCHILL, father of the present Earl of South Africa, had been recalled to office by an alarmed country, and had united in his own person the offices of Secretary of State for War, First Lord of the Admiralty, Premier, Chancellor of the Exchequer and Lord Privy Seal.  As a first step towards restoring confidence, he had, with his own hands, beheaded the former Prime Minister, the Marquis of SALISBURY, and had published a cheap and popular edition of his epoch-making Letters from Mashonaland.  His Lordship’s official residence had been established at the Amphitryon Club where they still preserve on constant relays of ice the Becassine bardee aux truffes which Lord RANDOLPH was about to eat when he snubbed the united ambassadors of Germany, France, Austria, Russia, Italy and the Republic of Andorra.  The immediate consequence was a declaration of war against us.

CHAPTER III.

I was at that time in command of H.M.S. Bandersnatch, a vessel of nine hundred thousand horse-power, and a mean average displacement of four hundred thousand tons.  Ah, the dear old Bandersnatch! Never can I forget the thrill of exquisite emotion which pervaded my inmost being as I stepped on board in mid-ocean.  Everything was in apple-pie order.  Bulkheads, girders, and beams shone like glass in the noonday sun.  The agile torpedo-catchers had been practising their sports, and I could not resist a feeling of intense pride when I learnt that only fifty of these heroic fellows had that morning perished owing to the accidental explosion of one of their charming playthings at the very crisis of the game.  The racers of the after-guns had been out for their morning’s exercise.  Indeed the saddles had only just been removed, and the noble animals were now enjoying a good square meal of corn in their bombproof stable.  Keep your animals in good fettle, and they’ll never shirk their work:  that was