THE VOCABULARY OF WAR

By SIR WILLIAM MARRIS

BY way of change from graver matters, it may be entertaining to recall the routes by which many of the military terms which we are using every day came into the language. Many of us in youth may have got our first vivid pictures of war rot from the Old Testament or Caesar, but from the Iliad. But the war terms which the Greeks have given us are curiously few. Chief among them are " tactics " and " strategy," and (at one remove) "machine." " Siren," once a word of magic, has suffered unmerited devaluation. Another good Greek word, " phalanx " seems to have gone entirely Spanish and political. " Periscope " is a sound neologism from the Greek, and so is " helicopter " ; but these happy inventions are rare. The late Sir Arnold Wilson bravely suggested that the Greek word " kredemnon "—the life-saving scarf which Ino gave to Odysseus —should be adopted for the defensive girdle which defeated the magnetic mine ; but evidently his lively fancy did not appeal to the Lords of the Admiralty.

With the evidence of their occupation before us in the shape of the " castra," " strata," " valla " and " fossae " which the Romans left in Britain, it is natural for us to think of Latin as the chief source of our military terminology. It has, of course, given us a large number of prosaic terms, like " army," " armis- tice," " cavalry," " detonator," " explosive," " neutral," " sub- marine " and so forth : all these explain themselves, and their metal has acquired no patina. But since the days of Hadrian and Severus British troops have fought not merely in many European wars, but all over the earth. Many words of common military usage, though ultimately of Roman origin, have gained fresh colour in their passage through Italy, France or Spain. Others have come to us from further afield, either direct or through a foreign tongue, and naturally it is about words in these categories that richer savour clings.

Most of the common terms for army personnel are transmuted from the Latin. A soldier is the man paid in " solid " coin ; a mercenary was one who " earned " his hire ; an " officer " got the work done. " Military " seems to imply originally " acting in unison " ; " hostage " properly means " a guaranteed guest," to the shame of the Germans, who behave as if it were derived from " hostia," a victim. " Troop " means flock ; " forces " are, of course, the strong ones. And when we remember how " our armies swore terribly in Flanders," it is amusing to realise that " infantry," if one goes far enough back, were the juniors, the children, in fact " the speechless ones."

A " regiment " is merely a thing commanded. The root notion of " brigade " is simply a wrangle. This may remind the elders among us of an old joke in Punch: " The dragoon subaltern, asked what was the proper function of cavalry in war, replied that it was to lend refinement to what would otherwise be a vulgar brawl." Etymologically, at all events, the respectable " brigadier " has for cousin the less reputable " brigand." A " platoon " is a small agglomeration, and is akin to pellet and pelota. A " colonel " commands a column. The " comets " of the Boer war were once trumpeters. The " sergeant " is rather surprisingly he who serves. A " chaplain " was originally a custodian of the chapel (" capella "), where was deposited the sacred cloak (" cappa ") of St. Martin, patron saint of beggars, and also of Armistice Day.

In no language does any creditable significance attach to the words used for war itself. The Greek " polemos " (which sur- vives with us only in the anaemic form " polemic ") seems fundamentally to mean " quivering " or " confusion." The Greeks' word for battle, " mache " (surviving bloodlessly in " logomachy "), meant hacking. Of the two corresponding terms in Latin, " bellum " meant not " a dainty thing " but the duel, the struggle between two adversaries ; and " pugna," fight, implies crudely a set-to with fists. Of these parents, " belligerent " is the sole survivor as a term of war ; " bellicose " and " pug- naCious " have only secondary relevance. Our own ancestors, to do them justice, seem to have shared the sane Greek view about the insanity of war, for our word " war " itself means ultimately " confusion."

" Battle, " battery," " battalion " all go back to the root idea of beating. A " campaign " is conducted in the field ; an " ambush " is properly laid in a wood ; a " route " march is a march by broken (rupta) roads; a " raid " is a riding foray. " Attack " is akin to " attach," and means to make contact. " Patrol " seems to be a slang term for foot-slogging through the mud. " Skirmish " is akin to scrimmage, and once more suggests disorder. " Camouflage," which appeared in the last war, is believed to be connected with " camouflet," in the sense of blowing smoke in one's face. " Echelon " conveys a picture of a tilted ladder (scala). " Sector " rather suggests that the front is the arc of a circle, much as " rank " is connected with ring. A " parade " is a preparation ; a " file " is a thread of soldiers ; a " pioneer " is one who goes afoot like a " pawn " at chess, or a " peon " in India. " Picket " was once a tethering- stake for horses. " Sentry " is a colloquial form of sanctuary, and has nothing to do with " Sentinel," which Mr. Weekley ingeniously traces to an Italian word for latrine, by reason of the likeness in outline between the outdoor-latrine of mediaeval days and a sentry-box upon the ramparts.

For the designation of its highest rank the Navy has drawn upon the Arabic. " Admiral " is the Amir (of the sea). " Commodore " shares with " Commander " the meaning of one entrusted with responsibility. A " fleet" is that which floats ; a " squadron " is that which forms square. The last war revived the term " Monitor," which was the name of the Federal turretship which successfully engaged the Confederate ' Merrimac ' in 1862. A " corvette " is not beaked like a raven, but goes back to " corbis," a basket, which suggests that its prototype was a coracle. A " sloop " is that which slips. A " torpedo " is a thing that benumbs.

The Royal Artillery have ranged in their terminology about as widely as their motto " Ubique " implies. " Artillery " means equipment : the word is applied in the Bible to Jonathan's bow and arrows, and the root idea seems to be aptness rather than art. A " cannon " is simply a pipe (there is characteristic precision about Kipling's phrase " in reeking tube ") and canyon " and " cane " are its remote kinsmen. " Gun " is thought to have been named after a certain Lady Gunhild, much as Mons Meg and Big Bertha were given feminine names. " Ordnance " means standardised ; a " rifle " is that which is scored or grooved ; a " cartridge " is made of paper ; the trigger is a puller and akin to " trek "; a " fuse " means a spindle, which in shape it resembled. A " bullet " is a small ball or knob (bulla), which in its secondary sense of seal or sealed document has given us two other war-words, " billet " and " bulletin." " Bayonet " is traditionally ascribed to Bayonne, and " pistol " to Pistoia. " Howitzer " was once a Bohemian catapult. " Shrapnel " is in the same category as Maxim, Martini, Lyddite, Zeppelin and other things named after the inventor.

" Maroon," the siren's predecessor, is derived from chestnut, its meaning of " firework " being possibly due to the popping of roasted chestnuts in the fire.

As a newcomer the Air Force has chosen its terminology more deliberately, but not always well. It began by drawing on the Latin word for bird, and the Greek word for air. But " airman " and " flying " have displaced " aviator " and " aviation," and one may hope that " airplane " will expel the ugly hybrid " aeroplane." " Aerodrome " is an unintelligent echo of " hippodrome," and ought to mean a place where air runs. " Runway " puts it to shame by its apt brevity. " Hangar " seems to have been once either a penthouse, or a smithy. In search of picturesque names for different types of planes designers have ranged far afield. " Tomahawk " is Red Indian ; Hurricane is Caribbean. These are certainly better than the unaesthetic " Aerocobra ": but the English name " Spitfire " is unbeatable for aptness.

The Royal Tank Corps has not developed a large separate

vocabulary; but there is no military word that has gone through greater changes than its own eponym. When its inventors wanted some non-revealing name for • their new weapon, they deliberately picked a word which for most people signified an innocuous water-cistern, or other container of liquid. But that was not the original meaning of the word "tank." It reached this country from India, where it signified the slimy and pesti- ferous pools, often fringed with palm-trees, which are character- istic of the Lower Bengal landscape. No wonder that the Portuguese called them " tanque," " stagnant things " ; for in truth there is no stagnation on earth to surpass that of a Bengal tank. But it is one of the ironies of language that a name signi- fying sluggish inertia in excelsis should be worn so comfortably by the fast, powerful plunging, monster's which have transformed the face of modern battle. Compared with this it is but a mild surprise to discover that their " caterpillar " wheels hark back to a vision of a hairy cat.

Some of the nlines appropriate to " sonorous metal blowing martial sounds " are purely imitative, like " trumpet " and " fanfare." " Bugle " was once bugle-horn, the horn of a wild ox. "Drum " is also onomatopoeic. " Tuck " (of drum) and " tucket " (of trumpets), both obsolete, derive from " touch " ; and the same syllable is heard also in " tocsin " (alarm-bell). " Tattoo " originally meant " Lights out ": it was spelt " taptoo " and was the signal for closing the taps, that is to say the taprooms.

About the Royal Engineers' designation there is no fundamental modesty. The " engineer " is the man of skill or genius. " Barrack," which reaches us by Spanish-Italian route, has the idea of " barrier " and is akin to " barrage," though not to barricade, which means " rolling out the barrels " for purposes of defence. " Cantonment " and " quarters " both signify division ; but it is uncertain what is the root notion of the term " to give quarter." A " mess " is that which is put on the table. Authori- ties are not agreed whether its other meaning, " displeasing con- fusion," is or is not an ironic use of the same word. Among terms of fortification, " bastion " is merely a building and has kinship with " bastille." " Glacis " is a slippery place; a " ramp " is a place to be climbed ; a " berm " is merely a brim or ledge. " Parapet " and " parados," that is to say cover for the breast and back, exemplify the right use of " para," meaning " defence for or against." So, too, " parachute " is a correct formation: but " paravane " is a monstrous word ; it ought to be " paramine." " Casemate " has in it the idea of " chasm," a gaping hole ; and casually it leads us to a more notable word of which much may be heard before the war ends. When about 300 yettrs ago the chemist von Helmont needed a term for his new discovery he chose, or made, the word " gas," with some vague reference to " chaos." " Chaos " and " chasm " alike mean " yawning "; and it is to be noted that when Pope imagines the dying out of all life, art and intelligence in all-pervading coma, he makes Dullness pervade the cosmos like a gaseous vapour: " And Chiefless Armies dozed out the Campaign, And Navies yawned for orders on the Main."

We do not expect indeed that by such means the present war will end ; but, first and last, there rams this curious parallel. Not only was war, as we have seen, thought of by .primitive man as the negation of all sense and order, but also ifs modern promoters have devised as one of its deadliest weapons gas, that thing which in men's minds is associated with Chaos, Disorder, and what the poet calls " the Yawn of Gods."