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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Joy in the Morning</p> +<p> The Ditch; Her Country Too; The Swallow; Only One of Them; The V.C.; He That Loseth His Life Shall Find It; The Silver Stirrup; The Russian; Robina's Doll; Dundonald's Destroyer</p> +<p>Author: Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews</p> +<p>Release Date: May 8, 2005 [eBook #15796]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOY IN THE MORNING***</p> +<p> </p> +<h4 class="pg">E-text prepared by David Garcia, Josephine Paolucci, Joshua Hutchinson,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + from page images generously made available by<br /> + the Kentuckiana Digital Library</h4> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;" cellpadding="10"> + <tr> + <td valign="top"> + Note: + </td> + <td> + Images of the original pages are available through the Kentuckiana + Digital Library. See + <a href="http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B92-171-30119788&view=toc"> + http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc=1&idno=B92-171-30119788&view=toc</a> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<div class="tei tei-text"> +<div class="tei tei-front"> +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">Joy In The Morning</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p">By</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">NEW YORK<br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br /> +<br /> +1919</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<p class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">By MARY R.S. ANDREWS</span></p> +<p class="tei tei-p">JOY IN THE MORNING<br /> +THE ETERNAL FEMININE<br /> +AUGUST FIRST<br /> +THE ETERNAL MASCULINE<br /> +THE MILITANTS<br /> +BOB AND THE GUIDES<br /> +CROSSES OF WAR<br /> +HER COUNTRY<br /> +OLD GLORY<br /> +THE COUNSEL ASSIGNED<br /> +THE COURAGE OF THE COMMONPLACE<br /> +THE LIFTED BANDAGE<br /> +THE PERFECT TRIBUTE</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p"> +<img src="images/image01.png" width="480" height="639" alt="He pinned the thing men die for on the shabby coat of the guide." class="tei tei-figure" /></p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p">He pinned the thing men die for on the shabby coat of the +guide.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_1" id="toc_1"></a> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">DEDICATION</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p">To the two stars of a service flag, to a brother +and a son who served in France, this book is dedicated. +No book, to my thinking, were one Shakespere +and Isaiah rolled together, might fittingly +answer the honor which they, with four million +more American soldiers, have brought to their +own. So that the stories march out very proudly, +headed by the names of</p> + +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p">CHAPLAIN HERBERT SHIPMAN<br /> +AND<br /> +CAPTAIN PAUL SHIPMAN ANDREWS</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_2" id="toc_2"></a> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">NOTE</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Now that the tide of Khaki has set toward our +shores instead of away; now that the streets are +filled with splendid boys with gold chevrons of foreign +service or no less honorable silver chevrons +of service here; now that the dear lads who sleep +in France know that the "torch was caught" from +their hands, and that faith with them was kept; +now that—thank God, who, after all, rules—the +war is over, there is an old word close to the +thought of the nation. "Heaviness may endure +for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." A +whole country is so thinking. For possibly ten +centuries the Great War will be a background for +fiction. To us, who have lived those years, any +tale of them is a personal affair. Every-day +women and men whom one meets in the street may +well say to us: "My boy was in the Argonne," or: +"My brother fought at St. Mihiel." Over and +over, unphrased, our minds echo lines of that verse +found in the pocket of the soldier dead at Gallipoli:</p> + +<div style="text-align: left" class="tei tei-lg"> +<p class="tei tei-l">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">We</span> saw the powers of darkness put to flight,</p> +<p class="tei tei-l"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">We</span> saw the morning break."</p> +</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Crushed and glorified beyond all generations of +the planet, war stories prick this generation like +family records. It is from us of to-day that the +load is lifted. We have weathered the heaviness +of the night; to us "Joy cometh in the morning."</p> + +<p style="text-align: right" class="tei tei-p">M.R.S.A.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div id="toc" class="tei tei-div"><a name="toc_3" id="toc_3"></a><h1 class="tei tei-head">Contents</h1><ul class="toc"> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_1">DEDICATION</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_2">NOTE</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_3">Contents</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_4">THE DITCH</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 2em;"><a href="#toc_5">FIRST ACT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 2em;"><a href="#toc_6">SECOND ACT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 2em;"><a href="#toc_7">THIRD ACT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 2em;"><a href="#toc_8">FOURTH ACT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 2em;"><a href="#toc_9">FIFTH ACT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_10">HER COUNTRY TOO</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_11">THE SWALLOW</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_12">ONLY ONE OF THEM</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_13">THE V.C.</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_14">HE THAT LOSETH HIS LIFE SHALL FIND IT</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_15">THE SILVER STIRRUP</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_16">THE RUSSIAN</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_17">ROBINA'S DOLL</a></li> +<li style="margin: 0em 0em;"><a href="#toc_18">DUNDONALD'S DESTROYER</a></li> +</ul></div> +</div> + +<div class="tei tei-body"> +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_4" id="toc_4"></a> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">THE DITCH</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p"> +</p><table cellspacing="0" class="tei tei-table"><colgroup span="2"></colgroup><tbody><tr><th colspan="2" style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-head">Persons</th></tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE BOY</td><td class="tei tei-cell"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">an American soldier</span></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE BOY'S DREAM OF HIS MOTHER</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">ANGÉLIQUE</td><td class="tei tei-cell"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">French children</span></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">JEAN-BAPTISTE</td><td class="tei tei-cell"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">French children</span></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE TEACHER</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE ONE SCHOOLGIRL WITH IMAGINATION</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE THREE SCHOOLGIRLS WITHOUT IMAGINATION</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">HE</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">SHE</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE AMERICAN GENERAL</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr><tr class="tei tei-row"> +<td class="tei tei-cell">THE ENGLISH STATESMAN</td><td class="tei tei-cell"></td> +</tr></tbody></table><p class="tei tei-p"> +</p> + +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The Time</span>.—A summer day in 1918 and a summer +day in 2018</p> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_5" id="toc_5"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page003">[pg 003]</span> +<a name="Pg003" id="Pg003" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h2 class="tei tei-head">FIRST ACT</h2> + + <p style="margin: 2em 4em" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The time is a summer day in 1918. The scene is + the first-line trench of the Germans—held lately by the + Prussian Imperial Guard—half an hour after it had been taken + by a charge of men from the Blank</span>th <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Regiment, United States Army. + There has been a mistake and the charge was not preceded by + artillery preparation as usual. However, the Americans have taken + the trench by the unexpectedness of their attack, and the Prussian + Guard has been routed in confusion. But the German artillery has at + once opened fire on the Americans, and also a German machine gun + has enfiladed the trench. Ninety-nine Americans have been killed in + the trench. One is alive, but dying. He speaks, being part of the + time delirious.</span></p> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">The Boy</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Why can't I stand? What—is it? +I'm wounded. The sand-bags roll when I try—to +hold to them. I'm—badly wounded. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Sinks +down. Silence.</span>) How still it is! We—we took +the trench. Glory be! We took it! (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Shouts +weakly as he lies in the trench.</span>) (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Sits up and +stares, shading his eyes</span>.) It's horrid still. Why—they're +here! Jack—you! What makes you—lie +<span class="tei-pb" id="page004">[pg 004]</span> +<a name="Pg004" id="Pg004" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>there? You beggar—oh, my God! They're +dead. Jack Arnold, and Martin and—Cram and +Bennett and Emmet and—Dragamore—Oh—God, +God! All the boys! Good American boys. +The whole blamed bunch—dead in a ditch. Only +me. Dying, in a ditch filled with dead men. +What's the sense? (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Silence</span>.) This damned silly +war. This devilish—killing. When we ought to +be home, doing man's work—and play. Getting +some tennis, maybe, this hot afternoon; coming in +sweaty and dirty—and happy—to a tub—and +dinner—with mother. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Groans</span>.) It begins to +hurt—oh, it hurts confoundedly. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Becomes delirious</span>.) +Canoeing on the river. With little Jim. +See that trout jump, Jimmie? Cast now. Under +the log at the edge of the trees. That's it! +Good—oh! (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Groans</span>.) It hurts—badly. Why, +how can I stand it? How can anybody? I'm +badly wounded. Jimmie—tell mother. Oh—good +boy—you've hooked him. Now play him; +lead him away from the lily-pads. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Groans</span>.) Oh, +mother! Won't you come? I'm wounded. You +never failed me before. I need you—if I die. You +<span class="tei-pb" id="page005">[pg 005]</span> +<a name="Pg005" id="Pg005" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>went away down—to the gate of life, to bring me +inside. Now—it's the gate of death—you won't +fail? You'll bring me through to that other +life? You and I, mother—and I won't be scared. +You're the first—and the last. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Puts out his +arm searching and folds a hand, still warm, of +a dead soldier</span>.) Ah—mother, my dear. I knew—you'd +come. Your hand is warm—comforting. +You always—are there when I need you. All my +life. Things are getting—hazy. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">He laughs</span>.) +When I was a kid and came down in an elevator—I +was all right, I didn't mind the drop if I +might hang on to your hand. Remember? (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Pats +dead soldier's hand, then clutches it again +tightly</span>.) You come with me when I go across and +let me—hang on—to your hand. And I won't +be scared. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Silence</span>.) This damned—damned—silly +war! All the good American boys. We +charged the Fritzes. How they ran! But—there +was a mistake. No artillery preparation. +There ought to be crosses and medals going for +that charge, for the boys—(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Laughs</span>.) Why, +they're all dead. And me—I'm dying, in a ditch. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page006">[pg 006]</span> +<a name="Pg006" id="Pg006" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Twenty years old. Done out of sixty years by—by +the silly war. What's it for? Mother, what's +it about? I'm ill a bit. I can't think what good +it is. Slaughtering boys—all the nations' boys—honest, +hard-working boys mostly. Junk. Fine +chaps an hour ago. What's the good? I'm dying—for +the flag. But—what's the good? It'll +go on—wars. Again. Peace sometimes, but nothing +gained. And all of us—dead. Cheated out of +our lives. Wouldn't the world have done as well +if this long ditch of good fellows had been let +live? Mother?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">The Boy's Dream of His Mother</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Seems to +speak</span>.) My very dearest—no. It takes this great +burnt-offering to free the world. The world will +be free. This is the crisis of humanity; you are +bending the lever that lifts the race. Be glad, +dearest life of the world, to be part of that glory. +Think back to your school-days, to a sentence you +learned. Lincoln spoke it. "These dead shall not +have died in vain, and government of the people, +by the people, for the people, shall not perish from +the earth." +<span class="tei-pb" id="page007">[pg 007]</span> +<a name="Pg007" id="Pg007" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The Boy</span>. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Whispers</span>.) I remember. It's +good. "Shall not have died in vain"—"The +people—shall not perish"—where's your hand, +mother? It's taps for me. The lights are going +out. Come with me—mother. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Dies</span>.) +<span class="tei-pb" id="page008">[pg 008]</span> +<a name="Pg008" id="Pg008" class="tei tei-anchor"></a></p></div> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_6" id="toc_6"></a> +<h2 class="tei tei-head">SECOND ACT</h2> + + <p style="margin: 2em 4em" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The scene it the same trench one hundred years + later, in the year 2018. It is ten o'clock of a summer morning. Two + French children have come to the trench to pick flowers. The little + girl of seven is gentle and soft-hearted; her older brother is a + man of nearly ten years, and feels his patriotism and his + responsibilities</span>.</p> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The little French girl</span>.) Here's +where they grow, Jean-B'tiste.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The little French boy</span>.) I +know. They bloom bigger blooms in the American +ditch.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Climbs into the ditch and picks +flowers busily</span>.) Why do people call it the 'Merican +ditch, Jean-B'tiste? What's 'Merican?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Ripples laughter</span>.) One's +little sister doesn't know much! Never mind. +One is so young—three years younger than I am. +I'm ten, you know.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tiens</span>, Jean-B'tiste. Not ten till +next month.</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page009">[pg 009]</span> +<a name="Pg009" id="Pg009" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Oh, but—but—next month!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">What's 'Merican?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Droll <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">p'tite</span>. Why, everybody +in all France knows that name. Of American.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Unashamed</span>.) Do they? What +is it?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It's the people that live in the +so large country across the ocean. They came +over and saved all our lives, and France.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Surprised</span>.) Did they save my +life, Jean-B'tiste?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Little <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">drôle</span>. You weren't +born.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Oh! Whose life did they then +save? Maman's?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But no. She was not born +either.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Whose life, then—the grandfather's?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But—even he was not born. +(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Disconcerted by Angélique's direct tactics</span>.) +One sees they could not save the lives of people +who were not here. But—they were brave—but +<span class="tei-pb" id="page010">[pg 010]</span> +<a name="Pg010" id="Pg010" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>yes—and friends to France. And they came +across the ocean to fight for France. Big, strong +young soldiers in brown uniforms—the grandfather +told me about it yesterday. I know it all. +His father told him, and he was here. In this +field. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Jean-Baptiste looks about the meadow, +where the wind blows flowers and wheat.</span>) There +was a large battle—a fight very immense. It was +not like this then. It was digged over with ditches +and the soldiers stood in the ditches and shot at +the wicked Germans in the other ditches. Lots +and lots of soldiers died.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Lips trembling</span>.) Died—in +ditches?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Grimly.</span>) Yes, it is true.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Breaks into sobs.</span>) I can't bear +you to tell me that. I can't bear the soldiers to—die—in +ditches.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Pats her shoulder.</span>) I'm sorry +I told you if it makes you cry. You are so little. +But it was one hundred years ago. They're dead +now.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Rubs her eyes with her dress and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page011">[pg 011]</span> +<a name="Pg011" id="Pg011" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>smiles</span>.) Yes, they're quite dead now. So—tell +me some more.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But I don't want to make you +cry more, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">p'tite</span>. You're so little.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I'm not <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">very</span> little. I'm bigger than +Anne-Marie Dupont, and she's eight.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But no. She's not eight till +next month. She told me.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Oh, well—next month. Me, I want +to hear about the brave 'Mericans. Did they make +this ditch to stand in and shoot the wicked +Germans?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">They didn't make it, but they +fought the wicked Germans in a brave, wonderful +charge, the bravest sort, the grandfather said. +And they took the ditch away from the wicked +Germans, and then—maybe you'll cry.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I won't. I promise you I won't.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then, when the ditch—only +they called it a trench—was well full of American +soldiers, the wicked Germans got a machine gun +at the end of it and fired all the way along—the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page012">[pg 012]</span> +<a name="Pg012" id="Pg012" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>grandfather called it enfiladed—and killed every +American in the whole long ditch.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Bursts into tears again; buries +her face in her skirt</span>.) I—I'm sorry I cry, but +the 'Mericans were so brave and fought—for +France—and it was cruel of the wicked Germans +to—to shoot them.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The wicked Germans were always +cruel. But the grandfather says it's quite +right now, and as it should be, for they are now a +small and weak nation, and scorned and watched +by other nations, so that they shall never +be strong again. For the grandfather says they +are not such as can be trusted—no, never the +wicked Germans. The world will not believe their +word again. They speak not the truth. Once they +nearly smashed the world, when they had power. +So it is looked to by all nations that never again +shall Germany be powerful. For they are sly, and +cruel as wolves, and only intelligent to be wicked. +That is what the grandfather says.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Me, I'm sorry for the poor wicked +<span class="tei-pb" id="page013">[pg 013]</span> +<a name="Pg013" id="Pg013" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Germans that they are so bad. It is not nice to +be bad. One is punished.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Sternly</span>.) It is the truth. +One is always punished. As long as the world +lasts it will be a punishment to be a German. But +as long as France lasts there will be a nation to +love the name of America, one sees. For the Americans +were generous and brave. They left their +dear land and came and died for us, to keep us free +in France from the wicked Germans.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Lip trembles</span>.) I'm sorry—they +died.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">p'tite!</span> That was one hundred +years ago. It is necessary that they would +have been dead by now in every case. It was more +glorious to die fighting for freedom and France +than just to die—fifty years later. Me, I'd enjoy +very much to die fighting. But look! You pulled +up the roots. And what is that thing hanging to +the roots—not a rock?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">No, I think not a rock. (She takes +the object in her hands and knocks dirt from it.) +But what is it, Jean-B'tiste?</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page014">[pg 014]</span> +<a name="Pg014" id="Pg014" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It's—but never mind. I can't +always know everything, don't you see, Angélique? +It's just something of one of the Americans who +died in the ditch. One is always finding something +in these old battle-fields.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Rubs the object with her dress. +Takes a handful of sand and rubs it on the object. +Spits on it and rubs the sand</span>.) <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">V'là</span>, Jean-B'tiste—it +shines.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Loftily</span>.) Yes. It is nothing, +that. One finds such things.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Angélique</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Rubbing more</span>.) And there are +letters on it.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Jean-Baptiste</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Yes. It is nothing, that. One +has flowers <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en masse</span> now, and it is time to go home. +Come then, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">p'tite</span>, drop the dirty bit of brass and +pick up your pretty flowers. <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tiens!</span> Give me +your hand. I'll pull you up the side of the ditch. +(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Jean-Baptiste turns as they start</span>.) I forgot +the thing which the grandfather told me I must do +always. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">He stands at attention</span>.) <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Au revoir</span>, +brave Americans. One salutes your immortal +glory. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Exit Jean-Baptiste and Angélique</span>.)</p></div> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_7" id="toc_7"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page015">[pg 015]</span> +<a name="Pg015" id="Pg015" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h2 class="tei tei-head">THIRD ACT</h2> + + + <p style="margin: 2em 4em" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The scene is the same trench in the year 2018. + It is eleven o'clock of the same summer morning. Four American + schoolgirls, of from fifteen to seventeen years, have been brought + to see the trench, a relic of the Great War, in charge of their + teacher. The teacher, a worn and elderly person, has imagination, + and is stirred, as far as her tired nerves may be, by the heroic + story of the old ditch. One of the schoolgirls also has imagination + and is also stirred. The other three are "young barbarians at + play." Two out of five is possibly a large proportion to be blessed + with imagination, but the American race has improved in a hundred + years</span>.</p> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Teacher</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">This, girls, is an important bit of our +sight-seeing. It is the last of the old trenches of +the Great War to remain intact in all northern +France. It was left untouched out of the reverence +of the people of the country for one hundred +Americans of the Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span> Regiment, who died here—in +this old ditch. The regiment had charged too +soon, by a mistaken order, across what was called +<span class="tei-pb" id="page016">[pg 016]</span> +<a name="Pg016" id="Pg016" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>No-Man's Land, from their own front trench, +about (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">consults guide-book</span>)—about thirty-five +yards away—that would be near where you see +the red poppies so thick in the wheat. They took +the trench from the Germans, and were then wiped +out partly by artillery fire, partly by a German +machine gun which was placed, disguised, at the +end of the trench and enfiladed the entire length. +Three-quarters of the regiment, over two thousand +men, were killed in this battle. Since then +the regiment has been known as the "Charging +Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span>."</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">First Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Wouldn't those poppies be +lovely on a yellow hat?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Second Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ssh! The Eye is on you. +How awful, Miss Hadley! And were they all +killed? Quite a tragedy!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Third Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Not a yellow hat! Stupid! +A corn-colored one—just the shade of the grain +with the sun on it. Wouldn't it be lovely! When +we get back to Paris—</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Fourth Schoolgirl (the one with imagination)</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">You idiots! You poor kittens!</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page017">[pg 017]</span> +<a name="Pg017" id="Pg017" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">First Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">If we ever do get back to +Paris!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Teacher</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Wearily</span>.) Please pay attention. +This is one of the world's most sacred spots. It +is the scene of a great heroism. It is the place +where many of our fellow countrymen laid down +their lives. How can you stand on this solemn +ground and chatter about hats?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Third Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Well, you see, Miss Hadley, +we're fed up with solemn grounds. You can't +expect us to go into raptures at this stage over +an old ditch. And, to be serious, wouldn't some +of those field flowers make a lovely combination +for hats? With the French touch, don't you +know? You'd be darling in one—so <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">ingénue!</span></p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Second Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ssh! She'll kill you. +(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Three girls turn their backs and stifle a giggle</span>.)</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Teacher</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Girls, you may be past your youth +yourselves one day.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">First Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Airily.</span>) But we're well +preserved so far, Miss Hadley.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Fourth Schoolgirl</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Has wandered away a +few yards. She bends and picks a flower from the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page018">[pg 018]</span> +<a name="Pg018" id="Pg018" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>ditch. She speaks to herself</span>.) The flag floated +here. There were shells bursting and guns thundering +and groans and blood—here. American +boys were dying where I stand safe. That's what +they did. They made me safe. They kept America +free. They made the "world safe for freedom," +(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">She bends and speaks into the ditch</span>.) +Boy, you who lay just there in suffering and gave +your good life away that long-ago summer day—thank +you. You died for us. America remembers. +Because of you there will be no more wars, +and girls such as we are may wander across battle-fields, +and nations are happy and well governed, +and kings and masters are gone. You did that, +you boys. You lost fifty years of life, but you +gained our love forever. Your deaths were not in +rain. Good-by, dear, dead boys.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Teacher</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Calls</span>). Child, come! We must +catch the train.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_8" id="toc_8"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page019">[pg 019]</span> +<a name="Pg019" id="Pg019" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h2 class="tei tei-head">FOURTH ACT</h2> + + <p style="margin: 2em 4em" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The scene is the same trench in the year 2018. + It is three o'clock of the afternoon, of the same summer day. A + newly married couple have come to see the trench. He is journeying + as to a shrine; she has allowed impersonal interests, such as + history, to lapse under the influence of love and a trousseau. She + is, however, amenable to patriotism, and, her husband applying the + match, she takes fire—she also, from the story of the + trench</span>.</p> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">This must be the place.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It is nothing but a ditch filled with +flowers.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old trench. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Takes off his hat</span>.)</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Was it—it was—in the Great War?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">My dear!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">You're horrified. But I really—don't +know.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Don't know? You must.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">You've gone and married a person who +hasn't a glimmer of history. What will you do +about it?</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page020">[pg 020]</span> +<a name="Pg020" id="Pg020" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I'll be brave and stick to my bargain. Do +you mean that you've forgotten the charge of the +Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span> Americans against the Prussian Guard? +The charge that practically ended the war?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ended the war? How could one charge +end the war?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was fighting after. But the last +critical battle was here (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">looks about</span>) in these +meadows, and for miles along. And it was just +here that the Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span> United States Regiment +made its historic dash. In that ditch—filled with +flowers—a hundred of our lads were mown down +in three minutes. About two thousand more followed +them to death.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Oh—I do know. It was <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">that</span> charge. I +learned about it in school; it thrilled me always.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Certainly. Every American child knows +the story. I memorized the list of the one hundred +soldiers' names of my own free will when I was +ten. I can say them now. "Arnold—Ashe—Bennett—Emmet—Dragmore—"</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Don't say the rest, Ted—tell me about it +as it happened. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">She slips her hand into his</span>.) +<span class="tei-pb" id="page021">[pg 021]</span> +<a name="Pg021" id="Pg021" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>We two, standing here young and happy, looking +forward to a, lifetime together, will do honor, that +way, to those soldiers who gave up their happy +youth and their lives for America.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Puts his arm around her</span>.) We will. +We'll make a little memorial service and I'll +preach a sermon about how gloriously they fell +and how, unknowingly, they won the war—and so +much more!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Tell me.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was a hundred years ago about now—summer. +A critical battle raged along a stretch +of many miles. About the centre of the line—here—the +Prussian Imperial Guards, the crack +soldiers of the German army, held the first trench—this +ditch. American forces faced them, but +in weeks of fighting had not been able to make +much impression. Then, on a day, the order came +down the lines that the Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span> United States +Regiment, opposed to the Guard, was to charge +and take the German front trench. Of course the +artillery was to prepare for their charge as usual, +but there was some mistake. There was no curtain +<span class="tei-pb" id="page022">[pg 022]</span> +<a name="Pg022" id="Pg022" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>of fire before them, no artillery preparation to +help them. And the order to charge came. So, +right into the German guns, in the face of those +terrible Prussian Guards, our lads went "over the +top" with a great shout, and poured like a flame, +like a catapult, across the space between them—No-Man's +Land, they called it then—it was only +thirty-five yards—to the German trench. So fast +they rushed, and so unexpected was their coming, +with no curtain of artillery to shield them, that the +Germans were for a moment taken aback. Not +a shot was fired for a space of time almost long +enough to let the Americans reach the trench, and +then the rifles broke out and the brown uniforms +fell like leaves in autumn. But not all. They +rushed on pell-mell, cutting wire, pouring irresistibly +into the German trench. And the Guards, +such as were not mown down, lost courage at the +astounding impetus of the dash, and scrambled and +ran from their trench. They took it—our boys +took that trench—this old ditch. But then the +big German guns opened a fire like hail and a +machine gun at the end—down there it must have +<span class="tei-pb" id="page023">[pg 023]</span> +<a name="Pg023" id="Pg023" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>been—enfiladed the trench, and every man in it +was killed. But the charge ended the war. Other +Americans, mad with the glory of it, poured in a +sea after their comrades and held the trench, and +poured on and on, and wiped out that day the +Prussian Guard. The German morale was broken +from then; within four months the war was over.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Turns and hides her face on his shoulder +and shakes with sobs</span>.) I'm not—crying for +sorrow—for them. I'm crying—for the glory of +it. Because—I'm so proud and glad—that it's +too much for me. To belong to such a nation—to +such men. I'm crying for knowing, it was my +nation—my men. And America is—the same today. +I know it. If she needed you today, Ted, +you would fight like that. You would go over +the top with the charging Blank <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span>, with a shout, +if the order came—wouldn't you, my own man?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Looking into the old ditch with his head +bent reverently</span>.) I hope so.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And I hope I would send you with all my +heart. Death like that is more than life.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I've made you cry.</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page024">[pg 024]</span> +<a name="Pg024" id="Pg024" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Not you. What they did—those boys.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It's fitting that Americans should come +here, as they do come, as to a Mecca, a holy place. +For it was here that America was saved. That's +what they did, the boys who made that charge. +They saved America from the most savage and +barbarous enemy of all time. As sure as France +and England were at the end of their rope—and +they were—so surely Germany, the victor, would +have invaded America, and Belgium would have +happened in our country. A hundred years +wouldn't have been enough to free us again, if +that had happened. You and I, dearest, owe it to +those soldiers that we are here together, free, +prosperous citizens of an ever greater country.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Drops on her knees by the ditch</span>.) It's +a shrine. Men of my land, I own my debt. I +thank you for all I have and am. God bless you +in your heaven. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Silence</span>.)</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">He</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tears in his eyes. His arm around her +neck as he bends to her</span>.) You'll not forget the +story of the Charging Blank <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span>?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">She</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Never again. In my life. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Rising</span>.) I +<span class="tei-pb" id="page025">[pg 025]</span> +<a name="Pg025" id="Pg025" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>think their spirits must be here often. Perhaps +they're happy when Americans are here. It's a +holy place, as you said. Come away now. I love +to leave it in sunshine and flowers with the dear +ghosts of the boys. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Exit He and She</span>.)</p></div> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_9" id="toc_9"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page026">[pg 026]</span> +<a name="Pg026" id="Pg026" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h2 class="tei tei-head">FIFTH ACT</h2> + + + <p style="margin: 2em 4em" class="tei tei-p"><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">The scene it the same trench in the year 2018. + It is five o'clock of the same summer afternoon. An officer of the + American Army and an English cabinet member come, together, to + visit the old trench. The American has a particular reason for his + interest; the Englishman accompanies the distinguished American. + The two review the story of the trench and speak of other things + connected, and it is hoped that they set forth the far-reaching + work of the soldiers who died, not realizing their work, in the + great fight of the Charging Blank</span> th.</p> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It's a peaceful scene.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Advances to the side of the ditch. +Looks down. Takes off his cap</span>.) I came across +the ocean to see it. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">He looks over the fields</span>.) +It's quiet.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The trenches were filled in all +over the invaded territory within twenty-five +years after the war. Except a very few kept as +a manner of monument. Object-lessons, don't +you know, in what the thing meant. Even those +<span class="tei-pb" id="page027">[pg 027]</span> +<a name="Pg027" id="Pg027" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>are getting obliterated. They say this is quite +the best specimen in all France.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It doesn't look warlike. What a +lot of flowers!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Yes. The folk about here have +a tradition, don't you know, that poppies mark +the places where blood flowed most.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ah! (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Gazes into the ditch</span>.) Poppies +there. A hundred of our soldiers died at +once down there. Mere lads mostly. Their names +and ages are on a tablet in the capitol at Washington, +and underneath is a sentence from Lincoln's +Gettysburg speech: "These dead shall not +have died in vain, and government of the people, +by the people, for the people shall not perish from +the earth."</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Those are undying words.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And undying names—the lads' +names.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">What they and the other Americans +did can never die. Not while the planet endures. +No nation at that time realized how vital +was your country's entrance into the war. Three +<span class="tei-pb" id="page028">[pg 028]</span> +<a name="Pg028" id="Pg028" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>months later it would have been too late. Your +young, untried forces lifted worn-out France and +England and swept us to-victory. It was America's +victory at the last. It is our glory to confess +that, for from then on America has been our kin.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Smiles</span>.) England is our well-beloved +elder sister for all time now.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The soldiers who died there (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">gestures +to the ditch</span>) and their like did that also. +They tied the nations together with a bond of +common gratitude, common suffering, common +glory.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">You say well that there was common +gratitude. England and France had fought +our battle for three years at the time we entered +the war. We had nestled behind the English fleet. +Those grim gray ships of yours stood between us +and the barbarians very literally.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Without doubt Germany would +have been happy to invade the only country on +earth rich enough to pay her war debt. And you +were astonishingly open to invasion. It is one of +the historical facts that a student of history of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page029">[pg 029]</span> +<a name="Pg029" id="Pg029" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>this twenty-first century finds difficult to realize.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Great War made revolutionary +changes. That condition of unpreparedness was +one. That there will never be another war is the +belief of all governments. But if all governments +should be mistaken, not again would my country, +or yours, be caught unprepared. A general staff +built of soldiers and free of civilians hampering is +one advantage we have drawn from our ordeal of +1917.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Your army is magnificently efficient.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And yours. Heaven grant neither +may ever be needed! Our military efficiency is the +pride of an unmilitary nation. One Congress, +since the Great War and its lessons, has vied with +another to keep our high place.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ah! Your Congress. That has +changed since the old days—since La Follette.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The name is a shame and a warning +to us. Our children are taught to remember it so. +The "little group of wilful men," the eleven who +came near to shipwrecking the country, were +<span class="tei-pb" id="page030">[pg 030]</span> +<a name="Pg030" id="Pg030" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>equally bad, perhaps, but they are forgotten. La +Follette stands for them and bears the curses of +his countrymen, which they all earned.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Their ignominy served America; +it roused the country to clean its Augean stables.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The war purified with fire the legislative +soul.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Exactly. Men are human still, +certainly, yet genuine patriotism appears to be +a <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sine qua non</span> now, where bombast answered in +the old day. Corruption is no longer accepted. +Public men then were surprisingly simple, surprisingly +cheap and limited in their methods. There +were two rules for public and private life. It was +thought quixotic, I gather from studying the documents +of the time, to expect anything different. +And how easily the change came!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The nation rose and demanded honesty, +and honesty was there. The enormous +majority of decent people woke from a discontented +apathy and took charge. Men sprang into +place naturally and served the nation. The old +log-rolling, brainless, greedy public officials were +<span class="tei-pb" id="page031">[pg 031]</span> +<a name="Pg031" id="Pg031" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>thrown into the junk-heap. As if by magic the +stress of the war wrung out the rinsings and the +scourings and left the fabric clean.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The stress of the war affected +more than internal politics. You and I, General, +are used to a standard of conduct between responsible +nations as high as that taken for granted +between responsible persons. But, if one considers, +that was far from the case a hundred years +ago. It was in 1914, that von Bethmann-Hollweg +spoke of "a scrap of paper."</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Ah—Germans!</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Certainly one does not expect +honor or sincerity from German psychology. +Even the little Teutonic Republic of to-day is +tricky, scheming always to get a foothold for +power, a beginning for the army they will never +again be allowed to have. Even after the Kaiser +and the Crown Prince and the other rascals were +punished they tried to cheat us, if you remember. +Yet it is not that which I had in mind. The +point I was making was that today it would be +out of drawing for a government even of charlatans, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page032">[pg 032]</span> +<a name="Pg032" id="Pg032" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>like the Prussians, to advance the sort of +claims which they did. In commonplace words, it +was expected then that governments, as against +each other, would be self-seeking. To-day decency +demands that they should be, as men must be, +unselfish.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">America</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Musingly</span>.) It's odd how long +it took the world—governments—human beings—to +find the truth of the very old phrase that "he +who findeth his life must lose it."</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The simple fact of that phrase +before the Great War was not commonly grasped. +People thought it purely religious and reserved +for saints and church services. As a working +hypothesis it was not generally known. The +every-day ideals of our generation, the friendships +and brotherhoods of nations as we know them +would have been thought Utopian.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Utopian? Perhaps our civilization +is better than Utopian. The race has grown with +a bound since we all went through hell together. +How far the civilization of 1914 stood above that +of 1614! The difference between galley-slaves and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page033">[pg 033]</span> +<a name="Pg033" id="Pg033" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>able-bodied seamen, of your and our navy! +Greater yet than the change in that three hundred +years is the change in the last one hundred. +I look at it with a soldier's somewhat direct view. +Humanity went helpless and alone into a fiery +furnace and came through holding on to God's +hand. We have clung closely to that powerful +grasp since.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Certainly the race has emerged +from an epoch of intellect to an epoch of spirituality—which +comprehends and extends intellect. +There have never been inventions such as those of +our era. And the inventors have been, as it were, +men inspired. Something beyond themselves has +worked through them for the world. A force like +that was known only sporadically before our time.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Looks into old ditch</span>.) It would +be strange to the lads who charged through horror +across this flowery field to hear our talk and +to know that to them and their deeds we owe the +happiness and the greatness of the world we now +live in.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Their short, Homeric episode of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page034">[pg 034]</span> +<a name="Pg034" id="Pg034" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>life admitted few generalizations, I fancy. To be +ready and strong and brave—there was scant +time for more than that in those strenuous days. +Yet under that simple formula lay a sea of patriotism +and self-sacrifice, from which sprang their +soldiers' force. "Greater love hath no man than +this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." +It was their love—love of country, of humanity, +of freedom—which silenced in the end the great +engine of evil—Prussianism. The motive power of +life is proved, through those dead soldiers, to be +not hate, as the Prussians taught, but love.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Do you see something shining +among the flowers at the bottom of the ditch?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Why, yes. Is it—a leaf which +catches the light?</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Stepping down</span>.) I'll see. (<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">He +picks up a metal identification disk worn by a +soldier. Angélique has rubbed it so that the +letters may mostly be read</span>.) This is rather wonderful. +(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">He reads aloud</span>.) "R.V.H. Randolph—Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span> +Regiment—U.S." I can't make out +the rest.</p></div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page035">[pg 035]</span> +<a name="Pg035" id="Pg035" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">Englishman</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Takes the disk</span>.) Extraordinary! +The name and regiment are plain. The +identification disk, evidently, of a soldier who died +in the trench here. Your own man, General.</p></div> + +<div style="margin-left: 2em" class="tei tei-sp"> +<div style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: -2em" class="tei tei-speaker">American</div> + +<p class="tei tei-p">(<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Much stirred</span>.) And—my own +regiment. Two years ago I was the colonel of +"The Charging Blank<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">th</span>."</p></div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_10" id="toc_10"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page039">[pg 039]</span> +<a name="Pg039" id="Pg039" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">HER COUNTRY TOO</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">David Lance sat wondering. He was not +due at the office till ten this Saturday night and +he was putting in a long and thorough wonder. +About the service in all its branches; about +finance; about the new Liberty Loan. First, how +was he to stop being a peaceful reporter on the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> and get into uniform; that wonder +covered a class including the army, navy and air-service, +for he had been refused by all three; he +wondered how a small limp from apple-tree acrobatics +at ten might be so explained away that he +might pass; reluctantly he wondered also about +the Y.M.C.A. But he was a fighting man <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">par +excellence</span>. For him it would feel like slacking to +go into any but fighting service. Six feet two +and weighing a hundred and ninety, every ounce +possible to be muscle was muscle; easy, joyful +twenty-four-year-old muscle which knew nothing +of fatigue. He was certain he would make a fit +<span class="tei-pb" id="page040">[pg 040]</span> +<a name="Pg040" id="Pg040" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>soldier for Uncle Sam, and how, how he wanted to +be Uncle Sam's soldier!</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He was getting desperate. Every man he knew +in the twenties and many a one under and over, +was in uniform; bitterly he envied the proud peace +in their eyes when he met them. He could not +bear to explain things once more as he had explained +today to Tom Arnold and "Beef" Johnson, +and "Seraph" Olcott, home on leave before sailing +for France. He had suffered while they listened +courteously and hurried to say that they understood, +that it was a shame, and that: "You'll +make it yet, old son." And they had then turned +to each other comparing notes of camps. It made +little impression that he had toiled and sweated +early and late in this struggle to get in somewhere—army, +navy, air-service—anything to follow the +flag. He wasn't allowed. He was still a reporter +on the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> while the biggest doings of humanity +were getting done, and every young son of +America had his chance to help. With a strong, +tireless body aching for soldier's work, America, +his mother, refused him work. He wasn't allowed.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page041">[pg 041]</span> +<a name="Pg041" id="Pg041" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance groaned, sitting in his one big chair in +his one small room. There were other problems. +A Liberty Loan drive was on, and where could he +lay hands on money for bonds? He had plunged +on the last loan and there was yet something to +pay on the $200 subscription. And there was no +one and nothing to fall back on except his salary +as reporter for the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak.</span> His father had +died when he was six, and his mother eight years +ago; his small capital had gone for his four years, +at Yale. There was no one—except a legend of +cousins in the South. Never was any one poorer +or more alone. Yet he must take a bond or two. +How might he hold up his head not to fight and +not to buy bonds. A knock at the door.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Come in," growled Lance.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The door opened, and a picture out of a storybook +stood framed and smiling. One seldom sees +today in the North the genuine old-fashioned negro-woman. +A sample was here in Lance's doorway. +A bandanna of red and yellow made a +turban for her head; a clean brownish calico dress +stood crisply about a solid and waistless figure, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page042">[pg 042]</span> +<a name="Pg042" id="Pg042" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and a fresh white apron covered it voluminously +in front; a folded white handkerchief lay, fichu-wise, +around the creases of a fat black neck; a +basket covered with a cloth was on her arm. She +stood and smiled as if to give the treat time to +have its effect on Lance. "Look who's here!" was +in large print all over her. And she radiated +peace and good-will.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance was on his feet with a shout. "Bless +your fat heart, Aunt Basha—I'm glad to see you," +he flung at her, and seized the basket and slung it +half across the room to a sofa with a casualness, +alarming to Aunt Basha—christened Bathsheba +seventy-five years ago, but "rightly known," she +had so instructed Lance, as "Aunt Basha."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Young marse, don' you ruinate the washin', +please sir," she adjured in liquid tones.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Never you mind. It's the last one you'll do +for me," retorted Lance. "Did I tell you you +couldn't have the honor of washing for me anymore, +Aunt Basha?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha was wreathed in smiles.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page043">[pg 043]</span> +<a name="Pg043" id="Pg043" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yassir, young marse. You tole me dat mo'n +tree times befo', a'ready, sir."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well—it's final this time. Can't stand your +prices. I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">can't</span> stand your exorbitant prices. +Now what do you have the heart to charge for +dusting off those three old shirts and two and a +half collars? Hey?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha, entirely serene, was enjoying the +game. "What does I charges, sir? Fo' dat wash, +which you slung 'round acrost de room, sir? +Well, sir, young marse, I charges fo' dollars 'n +sev'nty fo' cents, sir, dis week. Fo' dat wash."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance let loose a howl and flung himself into +his chair as if prostrated, long legs out and arms +hanging to the floor. Aunt Basha shook with +laughter. This was a splendid joke and she never, +never tired of it. "You see!" he threw out, between +gasps. "Look at that! <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Fo'</span> dollars 'n sev'nty <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">fo'</span> +cents." He sat up suddenly and pointed a big +finger, "Aunt Basha," he whispered, "somebody's +been kidding you. Somebody's lied. This palatial +apartment, much as it looks like it, is not the home +of John D. Rockefeller." He sprung up, drew +<span class="tei-pb" id="page044">[pg 044]</span> +<a name="Pg044" id="Pg044" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>an imaginary mantle about him, grasped one elbow +with the other hand, dropped his head into the free +palm and was Cassius or Hamlet or Faust—all +one to Aunt Basha. His left eyebrow screwed up +and his right down, and he glowered. "List to +her," he began, and shot out a hand, immediately +to replace it where it was most needed, under his +elbow. "But list, ye Heavens and protect the +lamb from this ravening wolf. She chargeth—oh +high Heavens above!—she expecteth me to pay"—he +gulped sobs—"the extortioner, the she-wolf—expecteth +me to pay her—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">fo</span>' dollars 'n sev'nty +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">fo</span>' cents!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha, entranced with this drama, quaked +silently like a large coffee jelly, and with that +there happened a high, rich, protracted sound +which was laughter, but laughter not to be imitated +of any vocal chords of a white race. The +delicious note soared higher, higher it seemed than +the scale of humanity, and was riotous velvet and +cream, with no effort or uncertainty. Lance +dropped his Mephistopheles pose and grinned.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page045">[pg 045]</span> +<a name="Pg045" id="Pg045" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's Q sharp!" he commented. "However does +she do it!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Naw, sir, young marse," Aunt Basha began, +descending to speech. "De she-wolf, she don' +expecteth you to pay no fo' dollars 'n sev'nty fo' +cents, sir. Dat's thes what I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">charges</span>. Dat ain' +what you <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">pay</span>. You thes pay me sev'nty fo' cents +sir. Dat's all."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh!" Lance let it out like a ten-year-old. It +was hard to say which enjoyed this weekly interview +more, the boy or the old woman. The boy +was lonely and the humanity unashamed of her +race and personality made an atmosphere which +delighted him. "Oh!" gasped Lance. "That's a +relief. I thought it was goodbye to my Sunday +trousers."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha, comfortable and efficient, was unpacking +the basket and putting away the wash +in the few bureau drawers which easily held the +boy's belongings. "Dey's all mended nice," she +announced. "Young marse, sir, you better wa' +out dese yer ole' undercloses right now, endurin' +de warm weather, 'caze dey ain' gwine do you fo' +<span class="tei-pb" id="page046">[pg 046]</span> +<a name="Pg046" id="Pg046" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>de col'. You 'bleeged to buy some new ones sir, +when it comes off right cool."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance smiled, for there was no one but this old +black woman to take care of him and advise his +haphazard housekeeping, and he liked it. "Can't +buy new ones," he made answer. "There you go +again, mixing me up with Rockefeller. I'm not +even the Duke of Westminster, do you see. I +haven't got any money. Only sev'nty fo' cents +for the she-wolf."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha chuckled. Long ago there had +been a household of young people in the South +whose clothes she, a very young woman then, had +mended; there had been a boy who talked nonsense +to her much as this boy—Marse Pendleton. But +trouble had come; everything had broken like a +card-house under an ocean wave. "De fambly" +was lost, and she and her young husband, old Uncle +Jeems of today, had drifted by devious ways to +this Northern city. "Ef you ain't got de money +handy dis week, young marse, you kin pay me nex' +week thes as well," suggested the she-wolf.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then the big boy was standing over her, and she +<span class="tei-pb" id="page047">[pg 047]</span> +<a name="Pg047" id="Pg047" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was being patted on the shoulder with a touch that +all but brought tears to the black, dim eyes. +"Don't you dare pay attention to my drool, or +I'll never talk to you again," Lance ordered. +"Your sev'nty fo' cents is all right, and lots more. +I've got heaps of cash that size, Aunt Basha. But +I want to buy Liberty Bonds, and I don't know +how in hell I'm going to get big money." The +boy was thinking aloud. "How am I to raise +two hundred for a couple of bonds, Aunt Basha? +Tell me that?" He scratched into his thatch of +hair and made a puzzled face.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What fo' you want big money, young marse?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Bonds. Liberty Bonds. You know what that +is?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Naw, sir."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You don't? Well you ought to," said Lance. +"There isn't a soul in this country who oughtn't +to have a bond. It's this way. You know we're +fighting a war?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yassir. Young Ananias Johnson, he's Sist' +Amanda's boy, he done tole his Unk Jeems 'bout +dat war. And Jeems, he done tole me."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page048">[pg 048]</span> +<a name="Pg048" id="Pg048" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance regarded her. Was it possible that the +ocean upheaval had stirred even the quietest backwater +so little? "Well, anyhow, it's the biggest +war that ever was on earth."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha shook her head. "You ain't never +seed de War of de Rebullium," she stated with +superiority. "You's too young. Well, I reckon +dis yer war ain't much on to dat war. Naw, sir! +Dat ar was a sure 'nough war—yas, sir!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance considered. He decided not to contest +the point. "Anyhow Aunt Basha, this is an awfully +big war. And if we don't win it the Germans +will come over here and murder the most of us, +and make you and Uncle Jeems work in the fields +from daylight till dark."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Dem low down white trash!" commented Aunt +Basha.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, and worse. And Uncle Sam can't beat +the Germans unless we all help. He needs money +to buy guns for the soldiers, and food and clothes. +So he's asking everybody—just everybody—to +lend him money—every cent they can raise to buy +things to win the war. He gives each person who +<span class="tei-pb" id="page049">[pg 049]</span> +<a name="Pg049" id="Pg049" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>lends him any, a piece of paper which is a promise +to pay it back, and that piece of paper is called +a bond—Uncle Sam's promise to pay. Everybody +ought to help by giving up every cent they +have. The soldiers are giving their lives to save +us from the horrible Germans. They're going +over there to live in mud and water and sleep in +holes of the earth, to be shot and wounded and +tortured and killed. They're facing that for our +sakes, to save us from worse than death, for you +and Uncle Jeems and me, Aunt Basha. Now, +oughtn't we to give all we've got to take care of +those boys—our soldiers?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance had forgotten his audience, except that +he was wording his speech carefully in the simplest +English. It went home.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, my Lawd!" moaned Aunt Basha, sitting +down and rocking hard. "Does dey sleep in de +col' yeth? Oh, my Lawd have mercy!" It was +the first realization she had had of the details of +the war. "You ain't gwine over dar, is you +young marse, honey?" she asked anxiously.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I wish to God I was," spoke Lance through set +<span class="tei-pb" id="page050">[pg 050]</span> +<a name="Pg050" id="Pg050" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>teeth. "No, Aunt Basha, they won't take me. +Because I'm lame. I'd give my life to go. And +because I can't fight I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">must</span> buy bonds. Do you +see? I must. I'd sell my soul to get money for +Liberty Bonds. Oh, God!" Lance was as if +alone, with only that anxious old black face gazing +up at him. "Oh, God—it's my country!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Suddenly the rich flowing voice spoke. "Young +marse, it's my country too, sir," said Aunt Basha.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance turned and stared. How much did the +words mean to the old woman? In a moment he +knew.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yas, my young marseter, dis yer America's +de ole black 'oman's country, thes like it's fine +young white man's, like you, sir. I gwine give my +las' cent, like you say. Yas, I gwine do dat. I +got two hun'erd dollars, sir; I b'en a-savin' and +a-savin' for Jeems 'n me 'ginst when we git ole, +but I gwine give dat to my country. I want Unc' +Sam to buy good food for dem boys in the muddy +water. Bacon 'n hominy, sir—'n corn bread, what's +nourishin'. 'N I want you to git de—de Liberty +what-je-call-'ems. Yassir. 'Caze you ain't got +<span class="tei-pb" id="page051">[pg 051]</span> +<a name="Pg051" id="Pg051" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>no ma to he'ep you out, 'n de ole black 'oman's +gwine to be de bes' ma she know how to her young +marse. I got de money tied up—" she leaned +forward and whispered—"in a stockin' in de bottom +draw' ob de chist unner Jeem's good coat. +Tomorrow I gwine fetch it, 'n you go buy yo' +what-je-calls-'ems."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance went across and knelt on the floor beside +her and put his arms around the stout figure. He +had been brought up with a colored mammy and +this affection seemed natural and homelike. "Aunt +Basha, you're one of the saints," he said. "And +I love you for it. But I wouldn't take your +blessed two hundred, not for anything on earth. +I'd be a hound to take it. If you want some +bonds"—it flashed to him that the money would +be safer so than in the stocking under Jeem's coat—"why, +I'll get them for you. Come into the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> office and ask for me, say—Monday. +And I'll go with you to the bank and get bonds. +Here's my card. Show anybody that at the +office." And he gave directions.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Five minutes later the old woman went off +<span class="tei-pb" id="page052">[pg 052]</span> +<a name="Pg052" id="Pg052" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>down the street talking half aloud to herself in +fragments of sentences about "Liberty what-je-call-'ems" +and "my country too." In the little +shack uptown that was home for her and her husband +she began at once to set forth her new light. +Jeems, who added to the family income by taking +care of furnaces and doing odd jobs, was grizzled +and hobbling of body, but argumentative of soul.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Oman," he addressed Aunt Basha, "Unc' Sam +got lots o' money. What use he gwine have, great +big rich man lak Unc' Sam, fo' yo' two hun'erd? +But we got mighty lot o' use fo' dat money, +we'uns. An' you gwine gib dat away? Thes lak +a 'oman!" which, in other forms, is an argument +used by male people of many classes.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha suggested that Young Marse David +said something about a piece of paper and Uncle +Sam paying back, but Jeems pooh-poohed that.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Naw, sir. When big rich folks goes round +collectin' po' folkses money, is dey liable to pay +back? What good piece o' paper gwine do you? +Is dey aimin' to let you see de color ob dat money +agin? Naw, sir. Dey am not." He proceeded +<span class="tei-pb" id="page053">[pg 053]</span> +<a name="Pg053" id="Pg053" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>to another branch of the subject. "War ain' +gwine las' long, nohow. Young Ananias he gwine +to Franch right soon, an' de yether colored +brothers. De Germans dey ain't gwine las' long, +once ef dey see us Anglo-Saxons in de scrablin'. +Naw, sir.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"White man what come hyer yether day, he say +how dey ain't gwine 'low de colored sojers to +fight," suggested Aunt Basha. German propaganda +reaches far and takes strange shapes.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Don' jer go to b'lieve dat white man, 'oman," +thundered Jeems, thumping with his fist. "He +dunno nawthin', an' I reckon he's a liar. Unc' +Sam he say we kin fight an' we <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">gwine</span> fight. An' +de war ain't las' long atter we git to fightin' good."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha, her hands folded on the rounded +volume of apron considered deeply. After a time +she arrived at a decision.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Jeems," she began, "yo' cert'nly is a strong +reasoner. Yassir. But I got it bo'ne in upon me +powerful dat I gotter give dese yer savin's to Unc' +Sam. It's my country too, Jeems, same as dem +sojers what's fightin', dem boys in de mud what +<span class="tei-pb" id="page054">[pg 054]</span> +<a name="Pg054" id="Pg054" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>ain' got a soul to wash fo' 'em. An' lak as not +dey mas not dere. Dem boys is fightin', and gittin' +wet and hunted up lak young marse say, fo' +Aunt Basha and—bress dere hearts"—Aunt Basha +broke down, and the upshot was that Jeems +washed his hands of an obstinate female and—the +savings not being his in any case—gave unwilling +consent.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Youth of the sterner set is apt to be casual +in making appointments. It had not entered +Lance's head to arrange in case he was not at the +office. As for Aunt Basha, her theory was that +he reigned there over an army of subordinates +from morning till evening. So that she was taken +aback when told that Mr. Lance was out and no +one could say when he would be in. She had risen +at dawn and done her housework and much of the +fine washing which she "took in," and had then +arrayed herself in her best calico dress and newest +turban and apron for the great occasion and had +reported at the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> office at nine-thirty. +And young marse wasn't there.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'll set and rest ontwell he comes in," she announced, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page055">[pg 055]</span> +<a name="Pg055" id="Pg055" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and retired to a chair against the wall.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There she folded her hands statelily and sat +erect, motionless, an image of fine old dignity. +But much thinking was going on inside the calm +exterior. What was she going to do if young +marse did not come back? She had the $200 +with her, carefully pinned and double pinned into +a pocket in her purple alpaca petticoat. She +did not want to take it home. Jeems had submitted +this morning, but with mutterings, and a +second time there might be trouble. The savings +were indeed hers, but a rebellious husband in high +finance is an embarrassment. Deeply Aunt Basha +considered, and memory whispered something +about a bank. Young marse was going to the +bank with her to give her money to Uncle Sam. +She had just passed a bank. Why could she not +go alone? Somebody certainly would tell her what +to do. Possibly Uncle Sam was there himself—for +Aunt Basha's conception of our national myth +was half mystical, half practical—as a child with +Santa Claus. In any case banks were responsible +places, and somebody would look after her. She +<span class="tei-pb" id="page056">[pg 056]</span> +<a name="Pg056" id="Pg056" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>crossed to the desk where two or three young men +appeared to be doing most of the world's business.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Marsters!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The three looked up.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Good mawnin', young marsters. I'm 'bleeged +to go now. I cert'nly thank you-all fo' lettin' me +set in de cheer. I won't wait fo' marse David +Lance no mo', sir. Good mawnin', marsters."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">A smiling courtesy dropped, and she was gone.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'll be darned!" remarked reporter number +one.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Where did that blow in from?" added reporter +number two.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But reporter number three had imagination. +"The dearest old soul I've seen in a blue moon," +said he.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha proceeded down the street and +more than one in the crowd glanced twice at the +erect, stout figure swinging, like a quaint and +stately ship in full sail, among the steam-tuggery +of up-to-date humanity. There were high steps +leading to the bank entrance, impressive and +alarming to Aunt Basha. She paused to take +<span class="tei-pb" id="page057">[pg 057]</span> +<a name="Pg057" id="Pg057" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>breath for this adventure. Was a humble old colored +woman permitted to walk freely in at those +grand doors, open iron-work and enormous of +size? She did not know. She stood a moment, +suddenly frightened and helpless, not daring to go +on, looking about for a friendly face. And behold! +there it was—the friendliest face in the world, it +seemed to the lost old soul—a vision of loveliness. +It was the face of a beautiful young white lady in +beautiful clothes who had stepped from a huge +limousine. She was coming up the steps, straight +to Aunt Basha. She saw the old woman, saw her +anxious hesitation, and halted. The next event +was a heavenly smile. Aunt Basha knew the repartee +to that, and the smile that shone in answer +was as heavenly in its way as the girl's.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Is there anything I can do for you?" spoke +a voice of gentleness.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And the world had turned over and come up +right side on top. "Mawnin', Miss. Yas'm, I was +fixin' to go in dat big do' yander, but I dunno as +I'm 'lowed. Is I 'lowed, young miss, to go in dar +an' gib my two hun'erd to Unc' Sam?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page058">[pg 058]</span> +<a name="Pg058" id="Pg058" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What?" The tone was kindness itself, but +bewildered.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha elucidated. "I got two hun'erd, +young miss, and I cert'nly want to gib it to Unc' +Sam to buy clo'se for dem boys what's fightin' for +us in Franch."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I wonder," spoke the girl, gazing thoughtfully, +"if you want to get a Liberty Bond?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yas'm—yas, miss. Dat's sho' it, a whatjer-ma-call-'em. +I know'd 'twas some cu'is name lak +dat." The vision nodded her head.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'm going in to do that very thing myself," +she said. "Come with me. I'll help you get +yours."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha followed joyfully in the wake, and +behold, everything was easy. Ready attention +met them and shortly they sat in a private office +carpeted in velvet and upholstered in grandeur. A +personage gave grave attention to what the vision +was saying.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I met—I don't know your name," she interrupted +herself, turning to the old negro woman.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha rose and curtsied. "Dey christened +<span class="tei-pb" id="page059">[pg 059]</span> +<a name="Pg059" id="Pg059" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>me Bathsheba Jeptha, young miss," she stated. +"But I'se rightly known as Aunt Basha. Jes' +Aunt Basha, young miss. And marster."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">A surname was disinterred by the efforts of the +personage which appeared to startle the vision.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why, it's our name, Mr. Davidson," she exclaimed. +"She said Cabell."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha turned inquiring, vague eyes. "Is +it, honey? Is yo' a Cabell?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And then the personage, who was, after all, +cashier of the Ninth National Bank and very busy, +cut in. "Ah, yes! A well known Southern name. +Doubtless a large connection. And now Mrs.—ah—Cabell—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'd be 'bleeged ef yo' jis' name me Aunt Basha, +marster."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And marster, rather <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">intrigué</span> because he, being +a New Englander, had never in his life addressed +as "aunt" a person who was not sister to his +mother or his father, nevertheless became human +and smiled. "Well, then, Aunt Basha."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At a point a bit later he was again jolted when +he asked the amount which his newly adopted +<span class="tei-pb" id="page060">[pg 060]</span> +<a name="Pg060" id="Pg060" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>"aunt" wanted to invest. For an answer she +hauled high the folds of her frock, unconscious of +his gasp or of the vision's repressed laughter, and +went on to attack the clean purple alpaca petticoat +which was next in rank, Mr. Davidson +thought it wise at this point to make an errand +across the room. He need not have bothered as +far as Aunt Basha was concerned. When he came +back she was again <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">à la mode</span> and held an ancient +beaded purse at which she gazed. Out of a less +remote pocket she drew steel spectacles, which +were put on. Mr. Davidson repeated his question +of how much.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's all hyer, marster. It's two hun'erd dollars, +sir. I ben savin' up fo' twenty years an' +mo', and me'n Jeems, we ben countin' it every +mont, so I reckon I knows."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The man and the girl regarded the old woman +a moment. "It's a large sum for you to invest," +Mr. Davidson said.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yassir. Yas, marster. It's right smart +money. But I sho' am glad to gib dis hyer to +Unc' Sam for dem boys."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page061">[pg 061]</span> +<a name="Pg061" id="Pg061" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The cashier of the Ninth National Bank lifted +his eyes from the blank he was filling out and +looked at Aunt Basha thoughtfully. "You understand, +of course, that the Government—Uncle +Sam—is only borrowing your money. That you +may have it back any time you wish."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha drew herself up. "I don' wish it, +sir. I'm gibin' dis hyer gif,' a free gif' to my +country. Yassir. It's de onliest country I got, +an' I reckon I got a right to gib dis hyer what I +earned doin' fine washin' and i'nin. I gibs it to my +country. I don't wan' to hyer any talk 'bout +payin' back. Naw, sir."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It took Mr. Davidson and the vision at least +ten minutes to make clear to Aunt Basha the character +and habits of a Liberty Bond, and then, +though gratified with the ownership of what +seemed a brand new $200 and a valuable slip of +paper—which meandered, shamelessly into the +purple alpaca petticoat—yet she was disappointed.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"White folks sho' am cu'is," she reflected, +"Now who'd 'a thought 'bout dat way ob raisin' +<span class="tei-pb" id="page062">[pg 062]</span> +<a name="Pg062" id="Pg062" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>money! Not me—no, Lawd! It do beat me." +With that she threw an earnest glance at Mr. +Davidson, lean and tall and gray, with a clipped +pointed beard. "'Scuse me, marster," said Aunt +Basha, "mout I ask a quexshun?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Surely," agreed Mr. Davidson blandly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Is you'—'scuse de ole 'oman, sir—is you' Unc' +Sam?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The "quexshun" left the personage too staggered +to laugh. But the girl filled the staid place +with gay peals. Then she leaned over and patted +the wrinkled and bony worn black knuckles. +"Bless your dear heart," she said; "no, he isn't, +Aunt Basha. He's awfully important and good +to us all, and he knows everything. But he's not +Uncle Sam."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The bewilderment of the old face melted to +smiles. "Dar, now," she brought out; "I mout +'a know'd, becaze he didn't have no red striped +pants. An' de whiskers is diff'ent, too. 'Scuse +me, sir, and thank you kindly, marster. Thank +you, young miss. De Lawd bress you fo' helpin' +de ole 'oman." She had risen and she dropped her +<span class="tei-pb" id="page063">[pg 063]</span> +<a name="Pg063" id="Pg063" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>old time curtsey at this point. "Mawnin' to yo', +marster and young miss."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But the girl sprang up. "You can't go," she +said. "I'm going to take you to my house to see +my grandmother. She's Southern, and our name +is Cabell, and likely—maybe—she knew your +people down South."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Maybe, young miss. Dar's lots o' Cabells," +agreed Aunt Basha, and in three minutes found +herself where she had never thought to be, inside +a fine private car.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She was dumb with rapture and excitement, +and quite unable to answer the girl's friendly +words except with smiles and nods. The girl saw +how it was and let her be, only patting the calico +arm once and again reassuringly. "I wonder if +she didn't want to come. I wonder if I've frightened +her," thought Eleanor Cabell. When into +the silence broke suddenly the rich, high, irresistible +music which was Aunt Basha's laugh, and +which David Lance had said was pitched on "Q +sharp." The girl joined the infectious sound and +a moment after that the car stopped.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page064">[pg 064]</span> +<a name="Pg064" id="Pg064" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"This is home," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha observed, with the liking for magnificence +of a servant trained in a large house, the +fine façade and the huge size of "home." In a +moment she was inside, and "young miss" was +carefully escorting her into a sunshiny big room, +where a wood fire burned, and a bird sang, and +there were books and flowers.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Wait here, Aunt Basha, dear," Eleanor said, +"and I'll get Grandmother." It was exactly like +the loveliest of dreams, Aunt Basha told Jeems +an hour later. It could not possibly have been +true, except that it was. When "Grandmother" +came in, slender and white-haired and a bit breathless +with this last surprise of a surprising granddaughter, +Aunt Basha stood and curtsied her +stateliest.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then suddenly she cried out, "Fo' God! Oh, +my Miss Jinny!" and fell on her knees.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Mrs. Cabell gazed down, startled. "Who is it? +Oh, whom have you brought me, Eleanor?" She +bent to look more closely at Aunt Basha, kneeling, +speechless, tears streaming from the brave old +<span class="tei-pb" id="page065">[pg 065]</span> +<a name="Pg065" id="Pg065" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>eyes, holding up clasped hand imploring. "It +isn't—Oh, my dear, I believe it <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">is</span> our own old +nurse, Basha, who took care of your father!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yas'm. Yas, Miss Jinny," endorsed Aunt +Basha, climbing to her feet. "Yas, my Miss +Jinny, bress de Lawd. It's Basha." She turned +to the girl. "Dis yer chile ain't nebber my young +Marse Pendleton's chile!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But it was; and there was explanation and +laughter and tears, too, but tears of happiness. +Then it was told how, after that crash of disaster +was over; the family had tried in vain to find +Basha and Jeems; had tried always. It was told +how a great fortune had come to them in the turn +of a hand by the discovery of an unsuspected salt +mine on the old estate; how "young Marse Pendleton," +a famous surgeon now, had by that time +made for himself a career and a home in this +Northern state; how his wife had died young, +and his mother, "Miss Jinny," had come to live +with him and take care of his one child, the vision. +And then the simple annals of Aunt Basha and +Uncle Jeems were also told, the long struggle to +<span class="tei-pb" id="page066">[pg 066]</span> +<a name="Pg066" id="Pg066" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>keep respectable, only respectable; the years of +toil and frugality and saving—saving the two +hundred dollars which she had offered this morning +as a "free gif" to her country. In these +annals loomed large for some time past the figure +of a "young marse" who had been good to her +and helped her much and often in spite of his own +"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">res augusta domi</span>,"—which was not Aunt Basha's +expression. The story was told of his oration in +the little hall bedroom about Liberty "whatjer-m'-call-'ems," +and of how the boy had stirred the +soul of the old woman with his picture of the soldiers +in the trenches.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"So it come to me, Miss Jinny, how ez me'n +Jeems was thes two wuthless ole niggers, an' +hadn't fur to trabble on de road anyways, an' de +Lawd would pervide, an' ef He didn't we could +scratch grabble some ways. An' dat boy, dat +young Marse David, he tole me everbody ought +to gib dey las' cent fo' Unc' Sam an' de sojers. +So"—Aunt Basha's high, inexpressibly sweet +laughter of pure glee filled the room—"so I thes +up'n handed over my two hun'erd."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page067">[pg 067]</span> +<a name="Pg067" id="Pg067" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was the most beautiful and wonderful thing +that's been done in all wonderful America," pronounced +Eleanor Cabell as one having authority. +She went on. "But that young man, your young +Marse David, why doesn't he fight if he's such +a patriot?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Bress gracious, honey," Aunt Basha hurried +to explain, "he's a-honin' to fight. But he cayn't. +He's lame. He goes a-limpin'. Dey won't took +him."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh!" retracted Eleanor. Then: "What's his +name? Maybe father could cure him."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He name Lance. Marse David Lance."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Why should Miss Jinny jump? "David Lance? +It can't be, Aunt Basha."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">With no words Aunt Basha began hauling up +her skirts and Eleanor, remembering Mr. Davidson's +face, went into gales of laughter. Aunt +Basha baited, looked at her with an inquiring gaze +of adoration. "Yas'm, my young miss. He name +dat. I done put the cyard in my ridicule. Yas'm, +it's here." The antique bead purse was opened +and Lance's card was presented to Miss Jinny.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page068">[pg 068]</span> +<a name="Pg068" id="Pg068" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Eleanor! This is too wonderful—look!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Eleanor looked, and read: "Mr. David Pendleton +Lance." "Why, Grandmother, it's Dad's +name—David Pendleton Cabell. And the +Lance—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Mrs. Cabell, stronger on genealogy than the +younger generation, took up the wandering +thread. "The 'Lance' is my mother's maiden +name—Virginia Lance she was. And her brother +was David Pendleton Lance. I named your father +for him because he was born on the day my +young uncle was killed, in the battle of Shiloh."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, then—who's this sailing around with +our family name?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Who is he? But he must be our close kin, +Eleanor. My Uncle David left—that's it. His +wife came from California and she went out there +again to live with her baby. I hadn't heard of +them for years. Why, Eleanor, this boy's father +must have been—my first cousin. My young +Uncle David's baby. Those years of trouble after +we left home wiped out so much. I lost track—but +that doesn't matter now. Aunt Basha," spoke +<span class="tei-pb" id="page069">[pg 069]</span> +<a name="Pg069" id="Pg069" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Miss Jinny in a quick, efficient voice, which suddenly +recalled the blooming and businesslike +mother of the young brood of years ago, "Aunt +Basha, where can I find your young Marse +David?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha smiled radiantly and shook her +head. "Cayn't fin' him, honey? I done tried, and +he warn't dar."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Wasn't where?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"At de orfice, Miss Jinny."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"At what office?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why, de <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> orfice, cose, Miss Jinny. +What yether orfice he gwine be at?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh!" Miss Jinny followed with ease the +windings of the African mind. "He's a reporter +on the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> then."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Cose he is, Miss Jinny, ma'am. Whatjer +reckon?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Miss Jinny reflected. Then: "Eleanor, call up +the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> office and ask if Mr. Lance is there +and if he will speak to me."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But Aunt Basha was right. Mr. Lance was not +<span class="tei-pb" id="page070">[pg 070]</span> +<a name="Pg070" id="Pg070" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>at the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Daybreak</span> office. Mrs. Cabell was as +grieved as a child.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"We'll find him, Grandmother," Eleanor asserted. +"Why, of course—it's a morning paper. +He's home sleeping. I'll get his number." She +caught up the telephone book.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Aunt Basha chuckled musically. "He ain't got +no tullaphome, honey chile. No, my Lawd! Whar +dat boy gwine git money for tullaphome and contraptions? +No, my Lawd!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"How will we get him?" despaired Mrs. Cabell. +The end of the council was a cryptic note in the +hand of Jackson, the chauffeur, and orders to +bring back the addressee at any cost.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Meanwhile, as Jackson stood in his smart dark +livery taking orders with the calmness of efficiency, +feeling himself capable of getting that +young man, howsoever hidden, the young man himself +was wasting valuable hours off in day-dreams. +In the one shabby big chair of the hall bedroom +he sat and smoked a pipe, and stared at a microscopic +fire in a toy grate. It was extravagant of +David Lance to have a fire at all, but as long as +<span class="tei-pb" id="page071">[pg 071]</span> +<a name="Pg071" id="Pg071" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>he gave up meals to do it likely it was his own +affair. The luxuries mean more than the necessities +to plenty of us. With comfort in this, his +small luxury, he watched the play of light and +shadow, and the pulsing of the live scarlet and +orange in the heart of the coals. He needed comfort +today, the lonely boy. Two men of the office +force who had gotten their commissions lately at +an officer's training-camp had come in last night +before leaving for Camp Devens; everybody had +crowded about and praised them and envied them. +They had been joked about the sweaters, and +socks made by mothers and sweethearts, and about +the trouble Uncle Sam would have with their mass +of mail. The men in the office had joined to give +each a goodbye present. Pride in them, the honor +of them to all the force was shown at every turn; +and beyond it all there was the look of grave contentment +in their eyes which is the mark of the +men who have counted the cost and given up +everything for their country. Most of all soldiers, +perhaps, in this great war, the American +fights for an ideal. Also he knows it; down to +<span class="tei-pb" id="page072">[pg 072]</span> +<a name="Pg072" id="Pg072" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the most ignorant drafted man, that inspiration +has lifted the army and given it a star in the East +to follow. The American fights for an ideal; the +sign of it is in the faces of the men in uniform +whom one meets everywhere in the street.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">David Lance, splendidly powerful and fit except +for the small limp which was his undoing, suffered +as he joined, whole-hearted, in the glory of +those who were going. Back in his room alone, +smoking, staring into his dying fire, he was dreaming +how it would feel if he were the one who was to +march off in uniform to take his man's share of +the hardship and comradeship and adventure and +suffering, and of the salvation of the world. With +that, he took his pipe from his mouth and grinned +broadly into the fire as another phase of the question +appeared. How would it feel if he was somebody's +special soldier, like both of those boys, sent +off by a mother or a sweetheart, by both possibly, +overstocked with things knitted for him, with all +the necessities and luxuries of a soldier's outfit +that could be thought of. He remembered how +<span class="tei-pb" id="page073">[pg 073]</span> +<a name="Pg073" id="Pg073" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Jarvis, the artillery captain, had showed them, +proud and modest, his field glass.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's a good one," he had said. "My mother +gave it to me. It has the Mills scale."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And Annesley, the kid, who had made his lieutenant's +commission so unexpectedly, had broken +in: "That's no shakes to the socks I've got on. +If somebody'll pull off my boots I'll show you. +Made in Poughkeepsie. A dozen pairs. <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Not</span> my +mother."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance smiled wistfully. Since his own mother +died, eight years ago, he had drifted about unanchored, +and though women had inevitably held out +hands to the tall and beautiful lad, they were not +the sort he cared for, and there had been none of +his own sort in his life. Fate might so easily have +given him a chance to serve his country, with also, +maybe, just the common sweet things added which +utmost every fellow had, and a woman or two to +give him a sendoff and to write him letters over +there sometimes. To be a soldier—and to be somebody's +soldier! Why, these two things would mean +Heaven! And hundreds of thousands of American +<span class="tei-pb" id="page074">[pg 074]</span> +<a name="Pg074" id="Pg074" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>boys had these and thought nothing of it. +Fate certainly had been a bit stingy with a chap, +considered David Lance, smiling into his little fire +with a touch of wistful self-pity.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At this moment Fate, in smart, dark livery, +knocked at his door. "Come in," shouted Lance +cheerfully.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The door opened and he stared. Somebody had +lost the way. Chauffeurs in expensive livery did +not come to his hall bedroom. "Is dis yer Mr. +Lance?" inquired Jackson.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance admitted it and got the note and read it +while Jackson, knowing his Family intimately, +knew that something pleasant and surprising was +afoot and assisted with a discreet regard. When +he saw that the note was finished, Jackson confidently +put in his word. "Cyar's waitin', sir. Orders +is I was to tote you to de house."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lance's eyes glowered as he looked up. "Tell +me one thing," he demanded.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, sir," grinned Jackson, pleased with this +young gentleman from a very poor neighborhood, +who quite evidently was, all the same, "quality."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page075">[pg 075]</span> +<a name="Pg075" id="Pg075" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Are you," inquired Lance, "are you any relation +to Aunt Basha?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Jackson, for all his efficiency a friendly soul, +forgot the dignity of his livery and broke into +chuckles. "Naw, sir; naw, sir. I dunno de lady, +sir; I reckon I ain't, sir," answered Jackson.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"All right, then, but it's the mistake of your +life not to be. She's the best on earth. Wait till +I brush my hair," said Lance, and did it.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Inside three minutes he was in the big Pierce-Arrow, +almost as unfamiliar, almost as delightful +to him as to Aunt Basha, and speeding gloriously +through the streets. The note had said that some +kinspeople had just discovered him, and would he +come straight to them for lunch.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Mrs. Cabell and Eleanor crowded frankly to +the window when the car stopped.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I can't wait to see David's boy," cried Mrs. +Cabell, and Eleanor, wise of her generation, followed +with:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Now, don't expect much; he may be deadly."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And out of the limousine stepped, unconscious, +the beautiful David, and handed Jackson a dollar.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page076">[pg 076]</span> +<a name="Pg076" id="Pg076" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Cabell.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was silly, but I love it," added Eleanor; and +David limped swiftly up the steps, and one heard +Ebenezer, the butler, opening the door with +suspicious promptness. Everyone in the house +knew, mysteriously, that uncommon things were +doing.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Pendleton," spoke Mrs. Cabell, lying in wait +for her son, the great doctor, as he came from his +office at lunch time, "Pen, dear, let me tell you +something extraordinary." She told, him, condensing +as might be, and ended with; "And oh, Pen, +he's the most adorable boy I ever saw. And so +lonely and so poor and so plucky. Heartbroken +because he's lame and can't serve. You'll cure +him. Pen, dear, won't you, for his country?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The tall, tired man bent down and kissed his +mother. "Mummy, I'm not God Almighty. But +I'll do my damdest for anything you want. Show +me the paragon."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The paragon shot up, with the small unevenness +which was his limp, and faced the big doctor +on a level. The two pairs of eyes from their uncommon +<span class="tei-pb" id="page077">[pg 077]</span> +<a name="Pg077" id="Pg077" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>height, looked inquiringly into each +other.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I hear you have my name," spoke Dr. Cabell +tersely.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, sir," said David, "And I'm glad." +And the doctor knew that he also liked the +paragon.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Lunch was an epic meal above and below stairs. +Jeems had been fetched by that black Mercury +Jackson, messenger today of the gods of joy. And +the two old souls had been told by Mrs. Cabell +that never again should they work hard or be +anxious or want for anything. The sensation-loving +colored servants rejoiced in the events as +a personal jubilee, and made much of Aunt Basha +and Unc' Jeems till their old heads reeled. Above +stairs the scroll unrolled more or loss decorously, +yet in magic colors unbelievable. Somehow +David had told about Annesley and Jarvis last +night.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Somebody knitted him a whole dozen pairs of +socks!" he commented, "Really she did. He said +<span class="tei-pb" id="page078">[pg 078]</span> +<a name="Pg078" id="Pg078" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>so. Think of a girl being as good to a chap as +that."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'll knit you a dozen," Miss Eleanor Cabell +capped his sentence, like the Amen at the end of +a High Church prayer. "I'll begin this afternoon."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"And, David," said Mrs. Cabell—for it had got +to be "David" and "Cousin Virginia" by now—"David, +when you get your commission, I'll +have your field glass ready, and a few other +things."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Dr. Cabell lifted his eyes from his chop. +"You'll spoil that boy," he stated. "And, mother, +I pointed out that I'm not the Almighty, even on +joints, I haven't looked at that game leg yet. I +said it <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">might</span> be curable."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"That boy" looked up, smiling, with long years +of loneliness and lameness written in the back of +his glance. "Please don't make 'em stop, doctor," +he begged. "I won't spoil easily. I haven't +any start. And this is a fairy-story to me—wonderful +people like you letting me—letting me +belong. I can't believe I won't wake up. Don't +<span class="tei-pb" id="page079">[pg 079]</span> +<a name="Pg079" id="Pg079" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>you imagine it will go to my head. It won't. I'm +just so blamed—grateful."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The deep young voice trailed, and the doctor +made haste to answer. "You're all right, my lad," +he said, "As soon as lunch is over you come into +the surgery and I'll have a glance at the leg." +Which was done.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">After half an hour David came out, limping, +pale and radiant. "I can't believe it," he spoke +breathless. "He says—it's a simple—operation. +I'll walk—like other men. I'll be right for—the +service." He choked.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At that Mrs. Cabell sped across the room and +put up hands either side of the young face and +drew it down and kissed the lad whom she did not, +this morning, know to be in existence. "You +blessed boy," she whispered, "you shall fight for +America, and you'll be our soldier, and we'll be +your people." And David, kissing her again, +looked over her head and saw Eleanor glowing like +a rose, and with a swift, unphrased shock of happiness +felt in his soul the wonder of a heaven that +might happen. Then they were all about the fire, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page080">[pg 080]</span> +<a name="Pg080" id="Pg080" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>half-crying, laughing, as people do on top of +strong feelings.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Aunt Basha did it all," said David. "If Aunt +Basha hadn't been the most magnificent old black +woman who ever carried a snow-white soul, if she +hadn't been the truest patriot in all America, if +she hadn't given everything for her country—I'd +likely never have—found you." His eyes went to +the two kind and smiling faces, and his last word +was a whisper. It was so much to have found. +All he had dreamed, people of his own, a straight +leg—and—his heart's desire—service to America.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Mrs. Cabell spoke softly, "I've lived a long +time and I've seen over and over that a good deed +spreads happiness like a pebble thrown into water, +more than a bad one spreads evil, for good is +stronger and more contagious. We've gained this +dear kinsman today because of the nobility of an +old negro woman."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">David Lance lifted his head quickly. "It was +no small nobility," he said. "As Miss Cabell was +saying—"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page081">[pg 081]</span> +<a name="Pg081" id="Pg081" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'm your cousin Eleanor," interrupted Miss +Cabell.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">David lingered over the name. "Thank you, +my cousin Eleanor. It's as you said, nothing +more beautiful and wonderful has been done in +wonderful America than this thing Aunt Basha +did. It was as gallant as a soldier at the front, +for she offered what meant possibly her life."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Her little two hundred," Eleanor spoke +gently. "And so cross at the idea of being paid +back! She wanted to <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">give</span> it."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">David's face gleamed with a thought as he +stared into the firelight, "You see," he worked +out his idea, "by the standards of the angels a +gift must be big not according to its size but +according to what's left. If you have millions +and give a few thousand you practically give +nothing, for you have millions left. But Aunt +Basha had nothing left. The angels must have +beaten drums and blown trumpets and raised Cain +all over Paradise while you sat in the bank, my +cousin Eleanor, for the glory of that record gift. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page082">[pg 082]</span> +<a name="Pg082" id="Pg082" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>No plutocrat in the land has touched what Aunt +Basha did for her country."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Eleanor's eyes, sending out not only clear vision +but a brown light as of the light of stars, shone +on the boy. She bent forward, and her slender +arms were about her knee. She gazed at David, +marveling. How could it be that a human being +might have all that David appeared to her to have—clear +brain, crystal simplicity, manliness, charm +of personality, and such strength and beauty besides!</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes," she said, "Aunt Basha gave the most. +She has more right than any of us to say that it's +her country." She was silent a moment and then +spoke softly a single word. "America!" said +Eleanor reverently.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">America! Her sound has gone out into all +lands and her words into the end of the world. +America, who in a year took four million of sons +untried, untrained, and made them into a mighty +army; who adjusted a nation of a hundred million +souls in a turn of the hand to unknown and +unheard of conditions. America, whose greatest +<span class="tei-pb" id="page083">[pg 083]</span> +<a name="Pg083" id="Pg083" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>glory yet is not these things. America, of whom +scholars and statesmen and generals and multi-millionaires +say with throbbing pride today: +"This is my country," but of whom the least in +the land, having brought what they may, however +small, to lay on that flaming altar of the world's +safety—of whom the least in the land may say +as truly as the greatest, "This is my country, +too."</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_11" id="toc_11"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page087">[pg 087]</span> +<a name="Pg087" id="Pg087" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> +<h1 class="tei tei-head">THE SWALLOW</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Château Frontenac at Quebec is a turreted +pile of masonry wandering down a cliff over the +very cellars of the ancient Castle of St. Louis. A +twentieth-century hotel, it simulates well a mediæval +fortress and lifts against the cold blue +northern sky an atmosphere of history. Old +voices whisper about its towers and above the +clanging hoofs in its paved court; deathless names +are in the wind which blows from the "fleuve," the +great St. Lawrence River far below. Jacques +Cartier's voice was heard hereabouts away back +in 1539, and after him others, Champlain and +Frontenac, and Father Jogues and Mother Marie +of the Conception and Montcalm—upstanding +fighting men and heroic women and hardy discoverers +of New France walked about here once, on +the "Rock" of Quebec; there is romance here if +anywhere on earth. Today a new knighthood hails +that past. Uniforms are thick in steep streets; +<span class="tei-pb" id="page088">[pg 088]</span> +<a name="Pg088" id="Pg088" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>men are wearing them with empty sleeves, on +crutches, or maybe whole of body yet with racked +faces which register a hell lived through. Canada +guards heroism of many vintages, from four +hundred years back through the years to Wolfe's +time, and now a new harvest. Centuries from now +children will be told, with the story of Cartier, +the tale of Vimy Ridge, and while the Rock stands +the records of Frenchmen in Canada, of Canadians +in France will not die.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Always when I go to the Château I get a table, +if I can, in the smaller dining-room. There the +illusion of antiquity holds through modern luxury; +there they have hung about the walls portraits +of the worthies of old Quebec; there Samuel +Champlain himself, made into bronze and heroic +of size, aloft on his pedestal on the terrace outside, +lifts his plumed hat and stares in at the narrow +windows, turning his back on river and lower city. +One disregards waiters in evening clothes and +up-to-date table appointments, and one looks at +Champlain and the "fleuve," and the Isle d'Orléans +lying long and low, and one thinks of little ships, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page089">[pg 089]</span> +<a name="Pg089" id="Pg089" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>storm-beaten, creeping up to this grim bigness +ignorant of continental events trailing in their +wake.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was on my way to camp in a club a hundred +miles north of the gray-walled town when I drifted +into the little dining-room for dinner one night in +early September in 1918. The head-waiter was +an old friend; he came to meet me and piloted me +past a tableful of military color, four men in +service uniforms.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Some high officers, sir," spoke the head waiter. +"In conference here, I believe. There's a French +officer, and an English, and our Canadian General +Sampson, and one of your generals, sir."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I gave my order and sat back to study the +group. The waiter had it straight; there was the +horizon blue of France; there was the Englishman +tall and lean and ruddy and expressionless and +handsome; there was the Canadian, more of our +own cut, with a mobile, alert face. The American +had his back to me and all I could see was an erect +carriage, a brown head going to gray, and the +one star of a brigadier-general on his shoulders. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page090">[pg 090]</span> +<a name="Pg090" id="Pg090" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>The beginnings of my dinner went fast, but after +soup there was a lull before greater food, and I +paid attention again to my neighbors. They were +talking in English.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"A Huron of Lorette—does that mean a full-blooded +Indian of the Huron tribe, such as one +reads of in Parkman?" It was the Englishman +who asked, responding to something I had not +heard.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"There's no such animal as a full-blooded +Huron," stated the Canadian. "They're all +French-Indian half-breeds now. Lorette's an interesting +scrap of history, just the same. You +know your Parkman? You remember how the +Iroquois followed the defeated Hurons as far as +the Isle d'Orléans, out there?" He nodded toward +where the big island lay in the darkness of the St. +Lawrence. "Well, what was left after that chase +took refuge fifteen miles north of Quebec, and +founded what became and has stayed the village +of Indian Lorette. There are now about five or +six hundred people, and it's a nation. Under its +own laws, dealing by treaty with Canada, not subject +<span class="tei-pb" id="page091">[pg 091]</span> +<a name="Pg091" id="Pg091" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>to draft, for instance. Queer, isn't it? They +guard their identity vigilantly. Every one, man +or woman, who marries into the tribe, as they +religiously call it, is from then on a Huron. And +only those who have Huron blood may own land +in Lorette. The Hurons were, as Parkman put +it, 'the gentlemen of the savages,' and the tradition +lasts. The half-breed of today is a good sort, +self-respecting and brave, not progressive, but intelligent, +with pride in his inheritance, his courage, +and his woodscraft."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Canadian, facing me, spoke distinctly and +much as Americans speak; I caught every word. +But I missed what the French general threw back +rapidly. I wondered why the Frenchman should +be excited. I myself was interested because my +guides, due to meet me at the club station tomorrow, +were all half-breed Hurons. But why the +French officer? What should a Frenchman of +France know about backwaters of Canadian history? +And with that he suddenly spoke slowly, +and I caught several sentences of incisive if halting +English.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page092">[pg 092]</span> +<a name="Pg092" id="Pg092" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Zey are to astonish, ze Indian Hurong. For +ze sort of work special-ment, as like scouting on a +stomach. Qu-vick, ver' qu-vick, and ver' quiet. +By dark places of danger. One sees zat nozzing +at all af-frightens zose Hurong. Also zey are alike +snakes, one cannot catch zem—zey slide; zey are +slippy. To me it is to admire zat courage +most—personnel—selfeesh—because an Hurong safe +my life dere is six mont', when ze Boches make ze +drive of ze mont' of March."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At this moment food arrived in a flurry, and I +lost what came after. But I had forgotten the +Château Frontenac; I had forgotten the group of +officers, serious and responsible, who sat on at the +next table. I had forgotten even the war. A +word had sent my mind roaming. "Huron!" +Memory and hope at that repeated word rose and +flew away with me. Hope first. Tomorrow I was +due to drop civilization and its tethers.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Allah does not count the days spent out of +doors." In Walter Pater's story of "Marius the +Epicurean" one reads of a Roman country-seat +called "Ad Vigilias Albas," "White Nights." A +<span class="tei-pb" id="page093">[pg 093]</span> +<a name="Pg093" id="Pg093" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>sense of dreamless sleep distils from the name. +One remembers such nights, and the fresh world of +the awakening in the morning. There are such +days. There are days which ripple past as a night +of sleep and leave a worn brain at the end with the +same satisfaction of renewal; white days. Crystal +they are, like the water of streams, as musical and +eventless; as elusive of description as the ripple +over rocks or brown pools foaming.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The days and months and years of a life race +with accelerating pace and youth goes and age +comes as the days race, but one is not older for +the white days. The clock stops, the blood runs +faster, furrows in gray matter smooth out, time +forgets to put in tiny crow's-feet and the extra +gray hair a week, or to withdraw by the hundredth +of an ounce the oxygen from the veins; one grows +no older for the days spent out of doors. Allah +does not count them.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was days like these which hope held ahead as +I paid earnest attention to the good food set before +me. And behold, beside the pleasant vision +of hope rose a happy-minded sister called memory. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page094">[pg 094]</span> +<a name="Pg094" id="Pg094" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>She took the word "Huron," this kindly spirit, +and played magic with it, and the walls of the +Château rolled into rustling trees and running +water.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was sitting, in my vision, in flannel shirt and +knickerbockers, on a log by a little river, putting +together fishing tackle and casting an eye, off and +on, where rapids broke cold over rocks and whirled +into foam-flecked, shadowy pools. There should +be trout in those shadows.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Take the butt, Rafael, while I string the line."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael slipped across—still in my vision of +memory—and was holding my rod as a rod should +be held, not too high or too low, or too far or too +near—right. He was an old Huron, a chief of +Indian Lorette, and woods craft was to him as +breathing.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"A varry light rod," commented Rafael in his +low voice which held no tones out of harmony with +water in streams or wind in trees. "A varry light, +good rod," paying meanwhile strict attention to +his job. "M'sieu go haf a luck today. I t'ink +M'sieu go catch a beeg fish on dat river. Water +<span class="tei-pb" id="page095">[pg 095]</span> +<a name="Pg095" id="Pg095" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>high enough—not too high. And cold." He shivered +a little. "Cold last night—varry cold nights +begin now. Good hun-ting wedder."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Have you got a moose ready for me on the +little lake, Rafael? It's the 1st of September next +week and I expect you to give me a shot before +the 3d."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael nodded. "Oui, m'sieur. First day." The +keen-eyed, aquiline old face was as of a prophet. +"We go get moose first day. I show you." With +that the laughter-loving Frenchman in him flooded +over the Indian hunter; for a second the two inheritances +played like colors in shot silk, producing +an elusive fabric, Rafael's charm. "If nights +get so colder, m'sieur go need moose skin kip him +warm."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was looking over my flies now, the book +open before me, its fascinating pages of color +more brilliant than an old missal, and maybe as +filled with religion—the peace of God, charity +which endureth, love to one's neighbor. I chose +a Parmachene Belle for hand-fly, always good in +<span class="tei-pb" id="page096">[pg 096]</span> +<a name="Pg096" id="Pg096" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Canadian waters. "A moose-skin hasn't much +warmth, has it, Rafael?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The hunter was back, hawk-eyed. "But yes, +m'sieu. Moose skin one time safe me so I don' +freeze to death. But it hol' me so tight so I +nearly don' get loose in de morning."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What do you mean?" I was only half listening, +for a brown hackle and a Montreal were competing +for the middle place on my cast, and it was +a vital point. But Rafael liked to tell a story, and +had come by now to a confidence in my liking to +hear him. He flashed a glance to gather up my +attention, and cleared his throat and began: "Dat +was one time—I go on de woods—hunt wid my +fader-in-law—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">mon beau-père</span>. It was mont' of +March—and col'—but ver' col' and wet. So it +happen we separate, my fador-in-law and me, to +hunt on both side of large enough river. And I +kill moose. What, m'sieur? What sort of gun? +Yes. It was rifle—what one call flint-lock. Large +round bore. I cast dat beeg ball myself, what I +kill dat moose. Also it was col'. And so it happen +my matches got wet, but yes, ev-very one. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page097">[pg 097]</span> +<a name="Pg097" id="Pg097" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>So I couldn' buil' fire. I was tired, yes, and much +col'. I t'ink in my head to hurry and skin dat +moose and wrap myself in dat skin and go sleep +on de snow because if not I would die, I was so col' +and so tired. I do dat. I skin heem—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">je le plumait</span>—de +beeg moose—beeg skin. Skin all warm +off moose; I wrap all aroun' me and dig hole and +lie down on deep snow and draw skin over head +and over feet, and fol' arms, so"—Rafael illustrated—"and +I hol' it aroun' wid my hands. And +I get warm right away, warm, as bread toast. So +I been slippy, and heavy wid tired, and I got comfortable +in dat moose skin and I go aslip quick. +I wake early on morning, and dat skin got froze +tight, like box made on wood, and I hol' in dat wid +my arms fol' so, and my head down so"—illustrations +again—"and I can't move, not one inch. +No. What, m'sieur? Yes, I was enough warm, +me. But I lie lak dat and can't move, and I t'ink +somet'ing. I t'ink I got die lak dat, in moose-skin. +If no sun come, I did got die. But dat day sun +come and be warm, and moose skin melt lil' bit, +slow, and I push lil' bit wid shoulder, and after +<span class="tei-pb" id="page098">[pg 098]</span> +<a name="Pg098" id="Pg098" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>while I got ice broke, on moose skin, and I crawl +out. Yes. I don' die yet."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael's chuckle was an amen to his saga, and +at once, with one of his lightning-changes, he was +austere.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"M'sieur go need beeg trout tonight; not go +need moose skin till nex' wik. Ze rod is ready take +feesh, I see feesh jump by ole log. Not much +room to cast, but m'sieur can do it. Shall I carry +rod down to river for m'sieur?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In not so many words as I have written, but +in clear pictures which comprehended the words, +Memory, that temperamental goddess of moods, +had, at the prick of the word "Huron," shaken +out this soft-colored tapestry of the forest, and +held it before my eyes. And as she withdrew this +one, others took its place and at length I was +musing profoundly, as I put more of something +on my plate and tucked it away into my anatomy. +I mused about Rafael, the guide of sixty, who had +begun a life of continued labor at eight years; I +considered the undying Indian in him; how with +the father who was "French of Picardy"—the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page099">[pg 099]</span> +<a name="Pg099" id="Pg099" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>white blood being a pride to Rafael—he himself, +yes, and the father also, for he had married a +"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sauvagess</span>," a Huron woman—had belonged to +the tribe and were accounted Hurons; I considered +Rafael's proud carriage, his classic head and +carved features, his Indian austerity and his +French mirth weaving in and out of each other; I +considered the fineness and the fearlessness of his +spirit, which long hardship had not blunted; I +reflected on the tales he had told me of a youth +forced to fight the world. "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">On a vu de le misère</span>," +Rafael had said: "One has seen trouble"—shaking +his head, with lines of old suffering emerging from +the reserve of his face like writing in sympathetic +ink under heat. And I marvelled that through +such fire, out of such neglect, out of lack of opportunity +and bitter pressure, the steel of a character +should have been tempered to gentleness and +bravery and honor.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">For it was a very splendid old boy who was +cooking for me and greasing my boots and going +off with me after moose; putting his keen ancestral +instincts of three thousand years at my service +<span class="tei-pb" id="page100">[pg 100]</span> +<a name="Pg100" id="Pg100" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>for three dollars a day. With my chances +would not Rafael have been a bigger man than I? +At least never could I achieve that grand air, +that austere repose of manner which he had got +with no trouble at all from a line of unwashed +but courageous old bucks, thinking highly of +themselves for untold generations, and killing +everything which thought otherwise. I laughed +all but aloud at this spot in my meditations, as a +special vision of Rafael rose suddenly, when he +had stated, on a day, his views of the great war. +He talked plain language about the Germans. He +specified why he considered the nation a disgrace +to humanity—most people, not German, agree on +the thesis and its specifications. Then the fire of +his ancient fighting blood blazed through restraint +of manner. He drew up his tall figure, slim-waisted, +deep-shouldered, every inch sliding muscle. +"I am too old to go on first call to army," +said Rafael. "Zey will not take me. Yes, and on +second call. Maybe zird time. But if time come +when army take me—I go. If I may kill four +Germans I will be content," stated Rafael concisely. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page101">[pg 101]</span> +<a name="Pg101" id="Pg101" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>And his warrior forebears would have +been proud of him as he stated it.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">My reflections were disturbed here by the +American general at the next table. He was +spoken to by his waiter and shot up and left the +room, carrying, however, his napkin in his hand, +so that I knew he was due to come back. A half +sentence suggested a telephone. I watched the +soldierly back with plenty of patriotic pride; this +was the sort of warrior my country turned out +now by tens of thousands. With that he returned, +and as I looked up into his face, behold it was +Fitzhugh.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">My chair went banging as I sprang toward him. +"Jim!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And the general's calm dignity suddenly was the +radiant grin of the boy who had played and gone +to school and stolen apples with me for a long +bright childhood—the boy lost sight of these last +years of his in the army. "Dave!" he cried out. +"Old Davy Cram!" And his arm went around my +shoulder regardless of the public. "My word, but +I'm glad!" he sputtered. And then: "Come and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page102">[pg 102]</span> +<a name="Pg102" id="Pg102" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>have dinner—finish having it. Come to our +table." He slewed me about and presented me to +the three others.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In a minute I was installed, to the pride of +my friend the head waiter, at military headquarters, +next to Fitzhugh and the Frenchman. A +campact résumé of personal history between Fitzhugh +and myself over, I turned to the blue figure +on my left hand, Colonel Raffré, of the French, +army. On his broad chest hung thrilling bits of +color, not only the bronze war cross, with its +green watered ribbon striped with red, but the +blood-red ribbon of the "Great Cross" itself—the +cross of the Legion of Honor. I spoke to him in +French, which happens to be my second mother +tongue, and he met the sound with a beaming +welcome.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I don't do English as one should," he explained +in beautiful Parisian. "No gift of tongues in my +kit, I fear; also I'm a bit embarrassed at practising +on my friends. It's a relief to meet some one +who speaks perfectly French, as m'sieur."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">M'sieur was gratified not to have lost his facility. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page103">[pg 103]</span> +<a name="Pg103" id="Pg103" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>"But my ear is getting slower," I said. +"For instance, I eavesdropped a while ago when +you were talking about your Huron soldiers, and +I got most of what you said because you spoke +English. I doubt if I could if you'd been speaking +French."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel shrugged massive shoulders. "My +English is defective but distinct," he explained. +"One is forced to speak slowly when one speaks +badly. Also the Colonel Chichely"—the Britisher—"it +is he at whom I talk carefully. The +English ear, it is not imaginative. One must +make things clear. You know the Hurons, then?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I specified how.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Ah!" he breathed out. "The men in my command +had been, some of them, what you call +guides. They got across to France in charge of +troop horses on the ships; then they stayed and +enlisted. Fine soldier stuff. Hardy, and of resource +and of finesse. Quick and fearless as +wildcats. They fit into one niche of the war better +than any other material. You heard the +story of my rescue?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page104">[pg 104]</span> +<a name="Pg104" id="Pg104" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I had not. At that point food had interfered, +and I asked if it was too much that the colonel +should repeat.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"By no means," agreed the polite colonel, ready, +moreover, I guessed, for any amount of talk in his +native tongue. He launched an epic episode. "I +was hit leading, in a charge, two battalions. I +need not have done that," another shrug—"but +what will you? It was snowing; it was going to +be bad work; one could perhaps put courage into +the men by being at their head. It is often the +duty of an officer to do more than, his +duty—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">n'est-ce-pas?</span> So that I was hit in the right knee +and the left shoulder <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">par exemple</span>, and fell about +six yards from the German trenches. A place unhealthy, +and one sees I could not run away, being +shot on the bias. I shammed dead. An alive +French officer would have been too interesting in +that scenery. I assure m'sieur that the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">entr'actes</span> +are far too long in No Man's Land. I became +more and more displeased with the management of +that play as I lay, very badly amused with my +wounds, and afraid to blink an eye, being a corpse. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page105">[pg 105]</span> +<a name="Pg105" id="Pg105" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>The Huns demand a high state of immobility in +corpses. But I fell happily sidewise, and out of +the extreme corner of the left eye I caught a +glimpse of our sand-bags. One blessed that +twist, though it became enough <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">ennuyant</span>, and one +would have given a year of good life to turn over. +Merely to turn over. Am I fatiguing m'sieur?" +the colonel broke in.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I prodded him back eagerly into his tale.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"M'sieur is amiable. The long and short of it +is that when it became dark my good lads began +to try to rescue my body. Four or five times +that one-twentieth of eye saw a wriggling form +work through sand-bags and start slowly, flat to +the earth, toward me. But the ground was snow-covered +and the Germans saw too the dark uniform. +Each time a fusillade of shots broke out, +and the moving figure dropped hastily behind the +sand-bags. And each time—" the colonel stopped +to light a cigarette, his face ruddy in the glare of +the match. "Each time I was—disappointed. I +became disgusted with the management of that +theatre, till at last the affair seemed beyond hope, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page106">[pg 106]</span> +<a name="Pg106" id="Pg106" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and I had about determined to turn over and draw +up my bad leg with my good hand for a bit of +easement and be shot comfortably, when I was +aware that the surface of the ground near by was +heaving—the white, snowy ground heaving. I +was close enough to madness between cold and +pain, and I regarded the phenomenon as a dream. +But with that hands came out of the heaving +ground, eyes gleamed. A rope was lashed about +my middle and I was drawn toward our trenches." +The cigarette puffed vigorously at this point. +"M'sieur sees?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I did not.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel laughed. "One of my Hurons had +the inspiration to run to a farmhouse not far +away and requisition a sheet. He wrapped himself +in it, head and all, and, being Indian, it was +a bagatelle to him to crawl out on his stomach. +They were pleased enough, my good fellows, when +they found they had got not only my body but +also me in it."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I can imagine, knowing Hurons, how that +Huron enjoyed his success," I said. "It's in their +<span class="tei-pb" id="page107">[pg 107]</span> +<a name="Pg107" id="Pg107" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>blood to be swift and silent and adventurous. But +they're superstitious; they're afraid of anything +supernatural." I hesitated, with a laugh in my +mind at a memory. "It's not fitting that I +should swap stories with a hero of the Great +War, yet—I believe you might be amused with +an adventure of one of my guides." The Frenchman, +all civil interest, disclaimed his heroism with +hands and shoulders, but smiling too—for he had +small chance at disclaiming with those two crosses +on his breast.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I shall be enchanted to hear m'sieur's tale of +his guide. For the rest I am myself quite mad +over the 'sport.' I love to insanity the out of +doors and shooting and fishing. It is a regret +that the service has given me no opportunity these +four years for a breathing spell in the woods. +M'sieur will tell me the tale of his guide's superstition?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">A scheme began to form in my brain at that +instant too delightful, it seemed, to come true. I +put it aside and went on with my story. "I have +one guide, a Huron half-breed," I said, "whom I +<span class="tei-pb" id="page108">[pg 108]</span> +<a name="Pg108" id="Pg108" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>particularly like. He's an old fellow—sixty—but +light and quick and powerful as a boy. More interesting +than a boy, because he's full of experiences. +Two years ago a bear swam across the +lake where my camp is, and I went out in a canoe +with this Rafael and got him."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Colonel Raffré made of this fact an event larger +than—I am sure—he would have made of his winning +of the war cross.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You shame me, colonel," I said, and went on +hurriedly. "Rafael, the guide, was pleased about +the bear. 'When gentlemens kill t'ings, guides is +more happy,' he explained to me, and he proceeded +to tell an anecdote. He prefaced it by informing +me that one time he hunt bear and he see +devil. He had been hunting, it seemed, two or +three winters before with his brother-in-law at the +headwaters of the St. Maurice River, up north +there," I elucidated, pointing through the window +toward the "long white street of Beauport," across +the St. Lawrence. "It's very lonely country, entirely +wild, Indian hunting-ground yet. These two +Hurons, Rafael and his brother-in-law, were on a +<span class="tei-pb" id="page109">[pg 109]</span> +<a name="Pg109" id="Pg109" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>two months' trip to hunt and trap, having their +meagre belongings and provisions on sleds which +they dragged across the snow. They depended +for food mostly on what they could trap or shoot—moose, +caribou, beaver, and small animals. But +they had bad luck. They set many traps but +caught nothing, and they saw no game to shoot. +So that in a month they were hard pressed. One +cold day they went two miles to visit a beaver +trap, where they had seen signs. They hoped to +find an animal caught and to feast on beaver tail, +which is good eating."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Here I had to stop and explain much about +beaver tails, and the rest of beavers, to the Frenchman, +who was interested like a boy in this new, +almost unheard-of beast. At length:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Rafael and his brother-in-law were disappointed. +A beaver had been close and eaten the bark +off a birch stick which the men had left, but nothing +was in the trap. They turned and began a +weary walk through the desolate country back to +their little tent. Small comfort waited for them +there, as their provisions were low, only flour and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page110">[pg 110]</span> +<a name="Pg110" id="Pg110" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>bacon left. And they dared not expend much of +that. They were down-hearted, and to add to it a +snow-storm came on and they lost their way. Almost +a hopeless situation—an uninhabited country, +winter, snow, hunger. And they were lost. +'<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Egaré. Perdu</span>,' Rafael said. But the Huron was +far from giving up. He peered through the falling +snow, not thick yet, and spied a mountain +across a valley. He knew that mountain. He had +worked near it for two years, logging—the '<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">chantier</span>,' +they call it. He knew there was a good +camp on a river near the mountain, and he knew +there would be a stove in the camp and, as Rafael +said, 'Mebbe we haf a luck and somebody done +gone and lef' somet'ing to eat,' Rafael prefers +to talk English to me. He told me all this in +broken English.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was three miles to the hypothetical camp, +but the two tired, hungry men in their rather +wretched clothes started hopefully. And after +a hard tramp through unbroken forest they came +in sight of a log shanty and their spirits rose. +'Pretty tired work,' Rafael said it was. When +<span class="tei-pb" id="page111">[pg 111]</span> +<a name="Pg111" id="Pg111" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>they got close to the shanty they hoard a noise +inside. They halted and looked at each other. +Rafael knew there were no loggers in these parts +now, and you'll remember it was absolutely wild +country. Then something came to the window +and looked out."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Something</span>?" repeated the Frenchman in italics. +His eyes were wide and he was as intent on +Rafael's story as heart could desire.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"They couldn't tell what it was," I went on. +"A formless apparition, not exactly white or +black, and huge and unknown of likeness. The +Indians were frightened by a manner of unearthliness +about the thing, and the brother-in-law fell +on his knees and began to pray. 'It is the devil,' +he murmured to Rafael. 'He will eat us, or carry +us to hell.' And he prayed more.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But old Rafael, scared to death, too, because +the thing seemed not to be of this world, yet had +his courage with him. 'Mebbe it devil,' he said—such +was his report to me—'anyhow I'm cold and +hungry, me. I want dat camp. I go shoot dat +devil.'</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page112">[pg 112]</span> +<a name="Pg112" id="Pg112" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He crept up to the camp alone, the brother +still praying in the bush. Rafael was rather convinced, +mind you, that he was going to face the +powers of darkness, but he had his rifle loaded +and was ready for business. The door was open +and he stepped inside. Something—'great beeg +somet'ing' he put it—rose up and came at him, +and he fired. And down fell the devil."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"In the name of a sacred pig, what was it?" +demanded my Frenchman.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"That was what I asked. It was a bear. The +men who had been logging in the camp two months +back had left a keg of maple-syrup and a half barrel +of flour, and the bear broke into both—successively—and +alternately. He probably thought +he was in bear-heaven for a while, but it must have +gotten irksome. For his head was eighteen inches +wide when they found him, white, with black +touches. They soaked him in the river two days, +and sold his skin for twenty dollars. 'Pretty +good for devil skin,' Rafael said."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Frenchman stared at me a moment and +then leaned back in his chair and shouted laughter. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page113">[pg 113]</span> +<a name="Pg113" id="Pg113" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>The greedy bear's finish had hit his funny-bone. +And the three others stopped talking and demanded +the story told over, which I did, condensing.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I like zat Hurong for my soldier," Colonel +Raffré stated heartily. "Ze man what are not +afraid of man <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">or</span> of devil—zat is ze man to fight ze +Boches." He was talking English now because +Colonel Chichely was listening. He went on. +"Zere is human devils—oh, but plentee—what we +fight in France. I haf not heard of ozzers. But +I believe well ze man who pull me out in sheet +would be as your guide Rafael—he also would +crip up wiz his rifle on real devil out of hell. But +yes. I haf not told you how my Indian soldier +bring in prisoners—no?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">We all agreed no, and put in a request.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He brings zem in not one by one always—not +always." The colonel grinned. He went on to +tell this tale, which I shift into the vernacular +from his laborious English.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It appears that he had discerned the aptitude +of his Hurons for reconnaissance work. If he +needed information out of the dangerous country +<span class="tei-pb" id="page114">[pg 114]</span> +<a name="Pg114" id="Pg114" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>lying in front, if he needed a prisoner to question, +these men were eager to go and get either, get +anything. The more hazardous the job the better, +and for a long time they came out of it untouched. +In the group one man—nicknamed by the poilus, +his comrades—Hirondelle—the Swallow—supposedly +because of his lightness and swiftness, +was easily chief. He had a fault, however, his +dislike to bring in prisoners alive. Four times +he had haled a German corpse before the colonel, +seeming not rightly to understand that a dead +enemy was useless for information.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The Boches are good killing," he had elucidated +to his officer. And finally: "It is well, +m'sieur, the colonel. One failed to understand +that the colonel prefers a live Boche to a dead +one. Me, I am otherwise. It appears a pity to +let live such vermin. Has the colonel, by chance, +heard the things these savages did in Belgium? +Yes? But then—Yet I will bring to m'sieur, +the colonel, all there is to be desired of German +prisoners alive—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en vie</span>; fat ones; <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en masse</span>."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">That night Hirondelle was sent out with four +<span class="tei-pb" id="page115">[pg 115]</span> +<a name="Pg115" id="Pg115" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>of his fellow Hurons to get, if possible, a prisoner. +Pretty soon he was separated from the others; +all but himself returning empty-handed in a couple +of hours. No Germans seemed to be abroad. +But Hirondelle did not return.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He risks too far," grumbled his captain. "He +has been captured at last. I always knew they +would get him, one night."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But that was not the night. At one o'clock +there was suddenly a sound of lamentation in the +front trench of the French on that sector. The +soldiers who were sleeping crawled out of their +holes in the sides of the trench walls, and crowded +around the zigzag, narrow way and rubbed their +eyes and listened to the laughter of officers and +soldiers on duty. There was Hirondelle, solemn +as a church, yet with a dancing light in his eyes. +There, around him, crowded as sheep to a shepherd, +twenty figures in German uniform stood +with hands up and wet tears running down pasty +cheeks. And they were fat, it was noticeable that +all of them were bulging of figure beyond even the +German average. They wailed "Kamerad! Gut +<span class="tei-pb" id="page116">[pg 116]</span> +<a name="Pg116" id="Pg116" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Kamerad!" in a chorus that was sickening to the +plucky poilu make-up. Hirondelle, interrogated +of many, kept his lips shut till the first excitement +quieted. Then: "I report to my colonel," he +stated, and finally he and his twenty were led back +to the winding trench and the colonel was +waked to receive them. This was what had happened: +Hirondelle had wandered about, mostly +on his stomach, through the darkness and peril +of No Man's Land, enjoying himself heartily; +when suddenly he missed his companions and realized +that he had had no sign of them for some +time. That did not trouble him. He explained +to the colonel that he felt "more free." Also +that if he pulled off a success he would have +"more glory." After two hours of this midnight +amusement, in deadly danger every second, Hirondelle +heard steps. He froze to the earth, as he +had learned from wild things in North American +forests. The steps came nearer. A star-shell +away down the line lighted the scene so that +Hirondelle, motionless on the ground, all keen +eyes, saw two Germans coming toward him. Instantly +<span class="tei-pb" id="page117">[pg 117]</span> +<a name="Pg117" id="Pg117" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>he had a scheme. In a subdued growl, yet +distinctly, he threw over his shoulder an order +that eight men should go to the right and eight +to the left. Then, on his feet, he sent into the +darkness a stern "Halt!" Instantly there was +a sputter, arms thrown up, the inevitable "Kamerad!" +and Hirondelle ordered the first German to +pass him, then a second. Out of the darkness +emerged a third. Hirondelle waved him on, and +with that there was a fourth. And a fifth. Behold +a sixth. About then Hirondelle judged it +wise to give more orders to his imaginary squad +of sixteen. But such a panic had seized this +German mob; that little acting was necessary. +Dark figure followed dark figure out of the darker +night—arms up. They whimpered as they came, +and on and on they came out of shadows. Hirondelle +stated that he began to think the Crown +Prince's army was surrendering to him. At last, +when the procession stopped, he—and his mythical +sixteen—marched the entire covey, without +any objection from them, only abject obedience, +to the French trenches.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page118">[pg 118]</span> +<a name="Pg118" id="Pg118" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel, with this whining crowd weeping +about him, with Hirondelle's erect figure confronting +him, his black eyes regarding the cowards +with scorn as he made his report—the colonel +simply could not understand the situation. All +these men! "What are you—soldiers?" he flung +at the wretched group. And one answered, "No, +my officer. We are not soldiers, we are the +cooks." At that there was a wail. "Ach! Who, +then, will the breakfast cook for my general? He +will <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">schrecklich</span> angry be for his sausage and his +sauerkraut."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">By degrees the colonel got the story. A number +of cooks had combined to protest against new +regulations, and the general, to punish this +astounding insubordination, had sent them out +unarmed, petrified with, terror, into No Man's +Land for an hour. They had there encountered +Hirondelle. Hirondelle drew the attention of the +colonel to the fact that he had promised prisoners, +fat ones. "Will my colonel regard the shape of +these pigs," suggested Hirondelle. "And also +that they are twenty in number. Enough <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en +<span class="tei-pb" id="page119">[pg 119]</span> +<a name="Pg119" id="Pg119" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>masse</span> for one man to take, is it not, my colonel?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The little dinner-party at the Frontenac discussed +this episode. "Almost too good to be +true, colonel," I objected. "You're sure it <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">is</span> +true? Bring out your Hirondelle. He ought to +be home wounded, with a war cross on his breast, +by now."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel smiled and shook his head. "It is +that which I cannot do—show you my Hirondelle. +Not here, and not in France, by <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">malheur</span>. For he +ventured once too often and too far, as the captain +prophesied, and he is dead. God rest the +brave! Also a Croix de Guerre is indeed his, but +no Hirondelle is there to claim it."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The silence of a moment was a salute to the +soul of a warrior passed to the happy hunting-grounds. +And then I began on another story of +my Rafael's adventures which something in the +colonel's tale suggested.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel, his winning face all a smile, interrupted. +"Does one believe, then, in this Rafael of +m'sieur who caps me each time my tales of my +Huron Hirondelle? It appears to me that m'sieur +<span class="tei-pb" id="page120">[pg 120]</span> +<a name="Pg120" id="Pg120" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>has the brain, of a story-teller and hangs good +stories on a figure which he has built and named +so—Rafael. Me, I cannot believe there exists +this Rafael. I believe there is only one such gallant +d'Artagnan of the Hurons, and it is—it was—my +Hirondelle. Show me your Rafael, then!" +demanded the colonel.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At that challenge the scheme which had flashed +into my mind an hour ago gathered shape and +power. "I will show him to you, colonel," I took +up the challenge, "if you will allow me." I turned +to include the others. "Isn't it possible for you +all to call a truce and come up tomorrow to my +club to be my guests for as long or as short a +time as you will? I can't say how much pleasure +it would give me, and I believe I could give you +something also—great fishing, shooting, a moose, +likely, or at least a caribou—and Rafael. I +promise Rafael. It's not unlikely, colonel, that he +may have known the Hirondelle. The Hurons are +few. Do come," I threw at them.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">They took it after their kind. The Englishman +stared and murmured: "Awfully kind, I'm sure, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page121">[pg 121]</span> +<a name="Pg121" id="Pg121" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>but quite impossible." The Canadian, our next of +kin, smiled, shaking his head like a brother. Fitzhugh +put his arm of brawn about me again till +that glorious star gleamed almost on my own +shoulder, and patted me lovingly as he said: "Old +son, I'd give my eyes to go, if I wasn't up to my +ears in job."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But the Frenchman's face shone, and he lifted +a finger that was a sentence. It embodied reflection +and eagerness and suspense. The rest of us +gazed at that finger as if it were about to address +us. And the colonel spoke. "I t'ink," brought +out the colonel emphatically, "I t'ink I damn +go."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And I snatched the finger and the hand of steel +to which it grew, and wrung both. This was a +delightful Frenchman. "Good!" I cried out. +"Glorious! I want you all, but I'm mightily +pleased to get one. Colonel, you're a sport."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But, yes," agreed the colonel happily, "I am +sport. Why not? I haf four days to wait till my +sheep sail. Why not kip—how you say?—kip +in my hand for shooting—go kill moose? I may +<span class="tei-pb" id="page122">[pg 122]</span> +<a name="Pg122" id="Pg122" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>talk immensely of zat moose in France—hein? +Much more <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">chic</span> as to kill Germans, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">n'est çe pas</span>? +Everybody kill Germans."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At one o'clock next day the out-of-breath little +train which had gasped up mountains for five +hours from Quebec uttered a relieved shriek and +stopped at a doll-house club station sitting by +itself in the wilderness. Four or five men in worn +but clean clothes—they always start clean—waited +on the platform, and there was a rapid +fire of "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Bon jour</span>, m'sieur," as we alighted. Then +ten quick eyes took in my colonel in his horizon-blue +uniform. I was aware of a throb of interest. +At once there was a scurry for luggage because +the train must be held till it was off, and the +guides ran forward to the baggage-car to help. +I bundled the colonel down a sharp, short hill to +the river, while smiling, observant Hurons, missing +not a line of braid or a glitter of button, +passed with bags and <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">pacquetons</span> as we descended. +The blue and black and gold was loaded into a +canoe with an Indian at bow and stern for the +three-mile paddle to the club-house. He was already +<span class="tei-pb" id="page123">[pg 123]</span> +<a name="Pg123" id="Pg123" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>a schoolboy on a holiday with unashamed +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But it is fun—fun, zis," he shouted to me from +his canoe. "And <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">lequel</span>, m'sieur, which is Rafael?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael, in the bow of my boat, missed a beat +of his paddle. It seemed to me he looked older +than two years back, when I last saw him. His +shoulders were bent, and his merry and stately +personality was less in evidence. He appeared +subdued. He did not turn with a smile or a +grave glance of inquiry at the question, as I had +expected. I nodded toward him.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Mais oui</span>," cried out the colonel. "One has +heard of you, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">mon ami</span>. One will talk to you later +of shooting."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael, not lifting his head, answered quietly, +"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, m'sieur.</span>"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Just then the canoes slipped past a sandy bar +decorated with a fresh moose track; the excitement +of the colonel set us laughing. This man +was certainly a joy! And with that, after a long +paddle down the winding river and across two +breezy lakes, we were at the club-house. We +<span class="tei-pb" id="page124">[pg 124]</span> +<a name="Pg124" id="Pg124" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>lunched, and in short order—for we wanted to +make camp that night—I dug into my <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">pacquetons</span> +and transformed my officer into a sportsman, his +huge delight in Abernethy & Flitch's creations +being a part of the game. Then we were off.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">One has small chance for associating with +guides while travelling in the woods. One sits in +a canoe between two, but if there is a wind and +the boat is <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">chargé</span> their hands are full with the +small craft and its heavy load; when the landing +is made and the "messieurs" are <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">débarqués</span>, instantly +the men are busy lifting canoes on their +heads and packs on their backs in bizarre, piled-up +masses to be carried from a leather tump-line, +a strap of two inches wide going around the forehead. +The whole length of the spine helps in the +carrying. My colonel watched Delphise, a husky +specimen, load. With a grunt he swung up a +canvas U.S. mailbag stuffed with <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">butin</span>, which +includes clothes and books and shoes and tobacco +and cartridges and more. With a half-syllable +Delphise indicated to Laurent a bag of potatoes +weighing eighty pounds, a box of tinned biscuit, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page125">[pg 125]</span> +<a name="Pg125" id="Pg125" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>a wooden package of cans of condensed milk, a +rod case, and a raincoat. These Laurent added +to the spine of Delphise.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"How many pounds?" I asked, as the dark head +bent forward to equalize the strain.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Delphise shifted weight with another grunt to +gauge the pull. "About a hundred and eighty +pounds, m'sieur—quite heavy—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">assez pesant</span>." Off +he trotted uphill, head bent forward.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel was entranced. "Hardy fellows—the +making of fine soldiers," he commented, tossing +his cigarette away to stare.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">That night after dinner—but it was called supper—the +colonel and I went into the big, airy log +kitchen with the lake looking in at three windows +and the forest at two doors. We gunned over +with the men plans for the next day, for the most +must be made of every minute of this precious +military holiday. I explained how precious it +was, and then I spoke a few words about the +honor of having as our guest a soldier who had +come from the front, and who was going back to +the front. For the life of me I could not resist +<span class="tei-pb" id="page126">[pg 126]</span> +<a name="Pg126" id="Pg126" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>a sentence more about the two crosses they had +seen on his uniform that day. The Cross of War, +the Legion of Honor! I could not let my men +miss that! Rafael had been quiet and colorless, +and I was disappointed in the show qualities of +my show guide. But the colonel beamed with satisfaction, +in everything and everybody, and received +my small introduction with a bow and a +flourish worthy of Carnegie Hall.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I am happy to be in this so charming camp, +in this forest magnificent, on these ancient mountains," +orated the colonel floridly. "I am most +pleased of all to have Huron Indians as my guides, +because between Hurons and me there are memories." +The men were listening spell-bound. "But +yes. I had Huron soldiers serving in my regiment, +just now at the western front, of whom I +thought highly. They were all that there is, those +Hurons of mine, of most fearless, most skilful. +One among them was pre-eminent. Some of you +may have known him. I regret to say that I +never knew his real name, but among his comrades +he went by the name of l'Hirondelle. From that +<span class="tei-pb" id="page127">[pg 127]</span> +<a name="Pg127" id="Pg127" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>name one guesses his qualities—swift as a swallow, +untamable, gay, brave to foolishness, moving in +dashes not to be followed—such was my Hirondelle. +And yet this swift bird was in the end +shot down."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At this point in the colonel's speech. I happened +to look at Rafael, back in the shadows of the +half-lighted big room. His eyes glittered out of +the dimness like disks of fire, his face was strained, +and his figure bent forward. "He must have +known this chap, the Swallow," I thought to myself. +"Just possibly a son or brother or nephew +of his." The colonel was going on, telling in fluent, +beautiful French the story of how Hirondelle, +wrapped in a sheet, had rescued him. The men +drank it in. "When those guides are old, old +fellows, they'll talk about this night and the +colonel's speech to their great-grandchildren," I +considered, and again the colonel went on.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Have I m'sieur's permission to <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">raconter</span> a +short story of the most amusing which was the +last escapade of my Hirondelle before he was +killed?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page128">[pg 128]</span> +<a name="Pg128" id="Pg128" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">M'sieur gave permission eagerly, and the low +murmur of the voices of the hypnotized guides, +standing in a group before the colonel, added to +its force and set him smiling.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was like this," he stated. "My Hirondelle +was out in No Man's Land of a night, strictly +charged to behave in a manner <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">comme il faut</span>, for +he was of a rashness, and we did not wish to lose +him. He was valuable to us, and beyond that the +regiment had an affection for him. For such +reasons his captain tried—but, yes—to keep him +within bounds. As I say, on this night he had +received particular orders to be <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sage</span>. So that +the first thing the fellow does is to lose his comrades, +for which he had a <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">penchant</span>, one knows. +After that he crawls over that accursed country, +in and out of shellholes, rifle in his teeth likely—the +good God knows where else, for one need be +all hands and feet for such crawling. He crawled +in that fashion till at last he lost himself. And +then he was concerned to find out where might be +our lines till in time he heard a sound of snoring +and was well content. Home at last. He tumbled +<span class="tei-pb" id="page129">[pg 129]</span> +<a name="Pg129" id="Pg129" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>into a dark trench, remarking only that it was +filled with men since he left, and so tired he was +with his adventure that he pushed away the man +next, who was at the end, to gain space, and he +rolled over to sleep. But that troublesome man +next took too much room. Our Hirondelle +planted him a kick in the middle of the back. At +which the man half waked and swore at him—in +German. And dropped off to sleep again with his +leg of a pig slung across Hirondelle's chest. At +that second a star-shell lighted up the affair, and +Hirondelle, staring with much interest, believe me, +saw a trench filled with sleeping Boches. To get +out of that as quietly as might be was the +game—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">n'est-ce-pas, mes amis</span>? But not for Hirondelle.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'My colonel has a liking for prisoners,' he +reported later. 'My captain's orders were to conduct +oneself <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">très comme il faut</span>. It is always +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">comme il faut</span> to please the colonel. Therefore +it seemed <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en regle</span> to take a prisoner. I took him. +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Le v'la</span>.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What the fellow did was to wait till the Boche +next door was well asleep, then slowly remove his +<span class="tei-pb" id="page130">[pg 130]</span> +<a name="Pg130" id="Pg130" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>rifle, then fasten on his throat with a grip which +Hirondelle understood, and finally to overpower +the Boche till he was ready enough to crawl out +at the muzzle of Hirondelle's rifle."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a stir in the little group of guides, +and from the shadows Rafael's voice spoke.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mon colonel—pardon!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel turned sharply. "Who is that?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"There were two Germans," spoke the voice out +of the shadows.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel, too astonished to answer, stared. +The voice, trembling, old, went on. "The second +man waked and one was obliged to strangle him +also. One brought the brace to the captain at +the end of the carabine—rifle."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"In heaven's name who are you?" demanded +the colonel.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">From where old Rafael had been, bowed and +limp in his humble, worn clothes, stepped at a +stride a soldier, head up, shoulders squared, glittering +eyes forward, and stood at attention. It +was like magic. One hand snapped up in a smart +salute.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page131">[pg 131]</span> +<a name="Pg131" id="Pg131" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Who are you?" whispered the colonel.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"If the colonel pleases—l'Hirondelle."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I heard the colonel's breath come and go as he +peered, leaning forward to the soldierly figure. +"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Nom de Ciel</span>," he murmured, "I believe it is." +Then in sharp sentences: "You were reported +killed. Are you a deserter?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The steady image of a soldier dropped back a +step.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"My colonel—no."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Explain this."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael—l'Hirondelle—explained. He had not +been killed, but captured and sent to a German +prison-camp.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You escaped?" the colonel threw in.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But yes, my colonel."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel laughed. "One would know it. +The clumsy Boches could not hold the Swallow."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But no, my colonel."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Go on."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"One went to work before light, my colonel, in +that accursed prison-camp. One was out of sight +from the guard for a moment, turning a corner, so +<span class="tei-pb" id="page132">[pg 132]</span> +<a name="Pg132" id="Pg132" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>that on a morning I slipped into some bushes and +hid in a dugout—for it was an old camp—all day. +That night I walked. I walked for seven nights +and lay hid for seven days, eating, my colonel, +very little. Then, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">v'la</span>, I was in front of the +French lines."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You ran across to our lines?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But not exactly. One sees that I was yet in +dirty German prison clothes, and looked like an +infantryman of the Boches, so that a poilu rushed +at me with a bayonet. I believed, then, that I +had come upon a German patrol. Each thought +the other a Hun. I managed to wrest from the +poilu his rifle with the bayonet, but as we fought +another shot me—in the side."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You were wounded?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, my colonel."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"In hospital?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, my colonel."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"How long?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Three months, my colonel."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why are you not again in the army?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The face of the erect soldier, Hirondelle, the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page133">[pg 133]</span> +<a name="Pg133" id="Pg133" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>dare-devil, was suddenly the face of a man grown +old, ill, and broken-hearted. He stared at the +stalwart French officer, gathering himself with an +effort. "I—was discharged, my colonel, as—unfit." +His head in its old felt hat dropped into +his hands suddenly, and he broke beyond control +into sobs that shook not only him but every man +there.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel stepped forward and put an arm +around the bent shoulders. "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Mon héros!</span>" said +the colonel.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">With that Rafael found words, never a hard +task for him. Yet they came with gasps between. +"To be cast out as an old horse—at the moment +of glory! I had dreamed all my life—of +fighting. And I had it—oh, my colonel—I had +it! The glory came when I was old and knew how +to be happy in it. Not as a boy who laughs and +takes all as his right. I was old, yes, but I was +good to kill the vermin. I avenged the children +and the women whom those savages—My people, +the savages of the wood, knew no better, yet they +have not done things as bad as these vile ones who +<span class="tei-pb" id="page134">[pg 134]</span> +<a name="Pg134" id="Pg134" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>were educated, who knew. Therefore I killed +them. I was old, but I was strong, my colonel +knows. Not for nothing have I lived a hard life. +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">On a vu de la misère</span>. I have hunted moose and +bear and kept my muscles of steel and my eyes of +a hawk. It is in my blood to be a fighting man. +I fought with pleasure, and I was troubled with +no fear. I was old, but I could have killed many +devils more. And so I was shot down by my own +friend after seven days of hard life. And the +young soldier doctor discharged me as unfit to +fight. And so I am come home very fast to hide +myself, for I am ashamed. I am finished. The +fighting and the glory are for me no more."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The colonel stepped back a bit and his face +flamed. "Glory!" he whispered. "Glory no more +for the Hirondelle? What of the Croix de +Guerre?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Rafael shook his head. "I haf heard my colonel +who said they would have given me—me, the +Hirondelle—the war cross. That now is lost +too."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Lost!" The colonel's deep tone was full of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page135">[pg 135]</span> +<a name="Pg135" id="Pg135" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the vibration which only a French voice carries. +With a quick movement he unfastened the catch +that held the green ribbon, red-striped, of his own +cross of war. He turned and pinned the thing +which men die for on the shabby coat of the +guide. Then he kissed him on either cheek. +"My comrade," he said, "your glory will never +be old."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was deep silence in the camp kitchen. +The crackling of wood that fell apart, the splashing +of the waves of the lake on the pebbles by the +shore were the only sounds on earth. For a long +minute the men stood as if rooted; the colonel, +poised and dramatic, and, I stirred to the depths +of my soul by this great ceremony which had +come out of the skies to its humble setting in the +forest—the men and the colonel and I, we all +watched Rafael.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And Rafael slowly, yet with the iron tenacity +of his race, got back his control. "My colonel," +he began, and then failed. The Swallow did not +dare trust his broken wings. It could not be +done—to speak his thanks. He looked up with +<span class="tei-pb" id="page136">[pg 136]</span> +<a name="Pg136" id="Pg136" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>black eyes shining through tears which spoke +everything.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Tomorrow," he stated brokenly, "if we haf +a luck, my colonel and I go kill a moose."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">They had a luck.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_12" id="toc_12"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page139">[pg 139]</span> +<a name="Pg139" id="Pg139" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">ONLY ONE OF THEM</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was noon on a Saturday. Out of the many +buildings of the great electrical manufacturing +plant at Schenectady poured employees by hundreds. +Thirty trolley-cars were run on special +tracks to the place and stood ready to receive the +sea streaming towards them. Massed motor-cars +waited beyond the trolleys for their owners, officials +of the works. The girl in blue serge, standing +at a special door of a special building counted, +keeping watch meantime of the crowd, the cars. +A hundred and twenty-five she made it; it came +to her mind that State Street in Albany on a day +of some giant parade was not unlike this, not less +a throng. The girl, who was secretary to an assistant +manager, was used to the sight, but it +was an impressive sight and she was impressionable +and found each Saturday's pageant a wonder. +The pageant was more interesting it may be because +<span class="tei-pb" id="page140">[pg 140]</span> +<a name="Pg140" id="Pg140" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>it focussed always on one figure—and here +he was.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Did you wait, long?" he asked as he came up, +broad-shouldered and athletic of build, boyish and +honest of face, as good looking a young American +as one may see in any crowd.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I was early." She smiled up at him as they +swung off towards the trolleys; her eyes flashed +a glance which said frankly that she found him +satisfactory to look upon.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">They sped past others, many others, and made +a trolley car and a seat together, which was the +goal. They always made it, every Saturday, yet +it was always a game. Exhilarated by the winning +of the game they settled into the scat for +the three-quarters of an hour run; it was quite +a worth-while world, the smiling glances said one +to the other.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The girl gazed, not seeing them particularly, +at the slower people filling the seats and the passage +of the car. Then: "Oh," she spoke, "what +was it you were going to tell me?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The man's face grew sober, a bit troubled. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page141">[pg 141]</span> +<a name="Pg141" id="Pg141" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>"Well," he said, "I've decided. I'm going to +enlist."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She was still for a second. Then: "I think +that's splendid," she brought out. "Splendid. +Of course, I knew you'd do it. It's the only +thing that could be. I'm glad."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes," the man spoke slowly. "It's the only +thing that could be. There's nothing to keep me. +My mother's dead. My father's husky and not +old and my sisters are with him. There's nobody +to suffer by my going."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"N-no," the girl agreed. "But—it's the fine +thing to do just the same. You're thirty-two you +see, and couldn't be drafted. That makes it +rather great of you to go."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well," the man answered, "not so very great, +I suppose, as it's what all young Americans are +doing. I rather think it's one of those things, +like spelling, which are no particular credit if you +do them, but a disgrace if you don't."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What a gray way of looking at it!" the girl +objected. "As if all the country wasn't glorying +in the boys who go! As if we didn't all stand +<span class="tei-pb" id="page142">[pg 142]</span> +<a name="Pg142" id="Pg142" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>back of you and crowd the side lines to watch you, +bursting with pride. You know we all love you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Do you love me, Mary? Enough to marry me +before I go?" His voice was low, but the girl +missed no syllable. She had heard those words +or some like them in his voice before.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, Jim," she begged, "don't ask me now. +I'm not certain—yet. I—I couldn't get along +very well without you. I care a lot. But—I'm +not just sure it's—the way I ought to care to +marry you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">As alone in the packed car as in a wood, the +little drama went on and no one noticed. "I'm +sorry, Mary." The tone was dispirited. "I +could go with a lot lighter heart if we belonged +to each other."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Don't say that, Jim," she pleaded. "You +make me out—a slacker. You don't want me to +marry you as a duty?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Good Lord, no!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I know that. And I—do care. There's nobody +like you. I admire you so for going—but +you're not afraid of anything. It's easy for you, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page143">[pg 143]</span> +<a name="Pg143" id="Pg143" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>that part. I suppose a good many are really—afraid. +Of the guns and the horror—all that. +You're lucky, Jim. You don't give that a +thought."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The man flashed an odd look, and then regarded +his hands joined on his knee.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I do appreciate your courage. I admire that +a lot. But somehow Jim there's a doubt that +holds me back. I can't be sure I—love you +enough; that it's the right way—for that."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The man sighed. "Yes," he said. "I see. +Maybe some time. Heavens knows I wouldn't +want you unless it was whole-hearted. I wouldn't +risk your regretting it, not if I wanted you ten +times more. Which is impossible." He put out +his big hand with a swift touch on hers. "Maybe +some time. Don't worry," he said. "I'm yours." +And went on in a commonplace tone, "I think +I'll show up at the recruiting office this afternoon, +and I'll come to your house in the evening as +usual. Is that all right?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The car sped into Albany and the man went +to her door with the girl and left her with few +<span class="tei-pb" id="page144">[pg 144]</span> +<a name="Pg144" id="Pg144" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>words more and those about commonplace subjects. +As he swung down the street he went over +the episode in his mind, and dissected it and +dwelt on words and phrases and glances, and +drew conclusions as lovers have done before, each +detail, each conclusion mightily important, outweighing +weeks of conversation of the rest of the +world together. At last he shook his head and set +his lips.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's not honest." He formed the words with +his lips now, a summing up of many thoughts in +his brain. The brain went on elaborating the +text. "She thinks I'm brave; she thinks it's easy +for me to face enlisting, and the rest. She thinks +I'm the makeup which can meet horror and suffering +light-heartedly. And I'm not. She admires +me for that—she said so. I'm not it. I'm fooling +her; it's not honest. Yet"—he groaned aloud. +"Yet I may lose her if I tell her the truth. I'm +afraid. I am. I hate it. I can't bear—I can't +bear to leave my job and my future, just when it's +opening out. But I could do that. Only I'm—Oh, +damnation—I'm afraid. Horror and danger, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page145">[pg 145]</span> +<a name="Pg145" id="Pg145" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>agony of men and horses, myself wounded maybe, +out on No Man's Land—left there—hours. To +die like a dog. Oh, my God—must I? If I tell it +will break the little hold I have on her. Must I go +to this devil's dance that I hate—and give up her +love besides? But yet—it isn't honest to fool +her. Oh, God, what will I do?" People walking +up State Street, meeting a sober-faced young +man, glanced at him with no particular interest. +A woman waiting on a doorstep regarded him +idly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why isn't he in uniform?" she wondered as +one does wonder in these days at a strong chap +in mufti. Then she rebuked her thought. "Undoubtedly +there's a good reason; American boys +are not slackers."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">His slow steps carried him beyond her vision +and casual thought. The people in the street +and the woman on the doorstep did not think or +care that what they saw was a man fighting his +way through the crisis of his life, fighting alone +"per aspera ad astra—" through thorns to the +stars.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page146">[pg 146]</span> +<a name="Pg146" id="Pg146" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He lunched with a man at a club and after that +took his way to the building on Broadway where +were the recruiting headquarters. He had told +her that he was going to enlist. As he walked +he stared at the people in the streets as a man +might stare going to his execution. These people +went about their affairs, he considered, as if he—who +was about to die—did not, in passing their +friendly commonplace, salute them. He did salute +them. Out of his troubled soul he sent a silent +greeting to each ordinary American hurrying +along, each standing to him for pleasant and +peaceful America, America of all his days up to +now. Was he to toss away this comfortable +comradeship, his life to be, everything he cared +for on earth, to go into hell, and likely never come +back? Why? Why must he? There seemed to +be plenty who wanted to fight—why not let them? +It was the old slacker's argument; the man was +ashamed as he caught himself using it; he had the +grace to see its selfishness and cowardice. Yet his +soul was in revolt as he drove his body to the +recruiting office, and the thoughts that filled him +<span class="tei-pb" id="page147">[pg 147]</span> +<a name="Pg147" id="Pg147" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>were not of the joy of giving but of the pain of +giving up. With that he stood on the steps of +the building and here was Charlie Thurston +hurrying by on the sidewalk.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hello, Jim! Going in to enlist? So long till +you come back with one leg and an eye out."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was Thurston's idea of a joke. He would +have been startled if he had known into what a +trembling balance his sledge-hummer wit cast its +unlucky weight. The balance quivered at the +blow, shook back and forth an instant and fell +heavily. Jim Barlow wheeled, sprang down the +stone steps and bolted up the street, panting as +one who has escaped a wild beast. Thurston had +said it. That was what was due to happen. It +was now three o'clock; Barlow fled up State +Street to the big hotel and took a room and locked +his door and threw himself on the bed. What was +he to do? After weeks of hesitation he had come +to the decision that he would offer himself to his +country. He saw—none plainer—the reasons +why it was fit and right so to do. Other men were +giving up homes and careers and the whole bright +<span class="tei-pb" id="page148">[pg 148]</span> +<a name="Pg148" id="Pg148" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and easy side of life—why not he? It was the +greatest cause to fight for in the world's history—should +he not fight for it? How, after the war, +might he meet friends, his own people, his children +to come, if he alone of his sort had no honorable +record to show? Such arguments, known to all, +he repeated, even aloud he repeated them, tossing +miserably about the bed in his hotel room. And +his mind at once accepted them, but that was all. +His spirit failed to spring to his mind's support +with the throb of emotion which is the spark that +makes the engine go. The wheels went around +over and over but the connection was not made. +The human mind is useful machinery, but it is +only the machine's master, the soul, which can +use it. Over and over he got to his feet and spoke +aloud: "Now I will go." Over and over a repulsion +seized him so strongly that his knees +gave way and he fell back on the bed. If he had +a mother, he thought, she might have helped, but +there was no one. Mary—but he could not risk +Mary's belief in his courage. Only a mother +would have understood entirely.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page149">[pg 149]</span> +<a name="Pg149" id="Pg149" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">With that, sick at heart, the hideous sea of +counter arguments, arguments of a slacker, +surged upon him. What would it all matter a +hundred years from now? Wasn't he more useful +in his place keeping up the industries of the +nation? Wasn't he a bigger asset to America as +an alive engineer, an expert in his work, than as +mere cannon fodder, one of thousands to be shot +into junk in a morning's "activity"—just one +of them? Because the Germans were devils why +should he let them reach over here, away over +here, and drag him out of a decent and happy life +and throw him like dirt into the horrible mess +they had made, and leave him dead or worse—mangled +and useless. Then, again—there were +plenty of men mad to fight; why not let them? +Through a long afternoon he fought with the +beasts, and dinner-time came and he did not notice, +and at last he rose and, telephoning first to Mary +a terse message that he would not be able to come +this evening, he went out, hardly knowing what he +did, and wandered up town.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a humble church in a quiet street +<span class="tei-pb" id="page150">[pg 150]</span> +<a name="Pg150" id="Pg150" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>where a service flag hung, thick with dark stars, +and the congregation were passing out from a +special service for its boys who were going off to +camp. The boys were there on the steps, surrounded +by people eager to touch their hands, a +little group of eight or ten with serious bright +faces, and a look in their eyes which stabbed into +Barlow. One may see that look any day in any +town, meeting the erect stalwart lads in khaki +who are about our streets. It is the look of +those who have made a vital sacrifice and know +the price, and whose minds are at peace. Barlow, +lingering on the corner across the way, stared +hungrily. How had they got that look, that +peace? If only he might talk to one of them! +Yet he knew how dumb an animal is a boy, and +how helpless these would be to give him the master +word.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The master-word, he needed that; he needed it +desperately. He must go; he must. Life would +be unendurable without self-respect; no amount of +explaining could cover the stain on his soul if +he failed in the answer to the call of honor. That +<span class="tei-pb" id="page151">[pg 151]</span> +<a name="Pg151" id="Pg151" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was it, it was in a nut-shell, the call. Yet he +could not hear it as his call. He wandered unhappily +away and left the church and its dissolving +congregation, and the boys, the pride of the +church, the boys who were now, they also, separating +and going back each to his home for the last +evening perhaps, to be loved and made much of. +Barlow vaguely pictured the scenes in those little +homes—eyes bright with unshed tears, love and +laughter and courage, patriotism as fine as in any +great house in America, determination that in giving +to America what was dearest it should be +given with high spirit—that the boys should have +smiling faces to remember, over there. And then +again—love and tender words. He was missing +all that. He, too, might go back to his father's +house an enlisted man, and meet his father's eyes +of pride and see his sisters gaze at him with a new +respect, feel their new honor of him in the touch +of arms about his neck. All these things were for +him too, if he would but take them. With that +there was the sound of singing, shrill, fresh voices +singing down the street. He wheeled about. A +<span class="tei-pb" id="page152">[pg 152]</span> +<a name="Pg152" id="Pg152" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>company of little girls were marching towards +him and he smiled, looking at them, thinking the +sight as pretty as a garden of flowers. They +were from eight to ten or eleven years old and +in the bravery of fresh white dresses; each had +a big butterfly of pink or blue or yellow or white +ribbon perched on each little fair or dark head, and +each carried over her shoulder a flag. Quite evidently +they were coming from the celebration at +the church, where in some capacity they had figured. +Not millionaires children these; the little +sisters likely of the boys who were going to be +soldiers; just dear things that bloom all over +America, the flowering of the land, common to +rich and poor. As they sprang along two by +two, in unmartial ranks, they sang with all their +might "The Long, Long Trail."</p> + +<div style="text-align: left" class="tei tei-lg"> +<p class="tei tei-l">"There's a long, long trail that's leading</p> +<p style="margin-left: 6em" class="tei tei-l">To No Man's Land in France</p> +<p class="tei tei-l">Where the shrapnel shells are bursting</p> +<p style="margin-left: 6em" class="tei tei-l">And we must advance."</p> +</div> + +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p"> * * * * *</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And then:</p> + +<div style="text-align: left" class="tei tei-lg"> +<p class="tei tei-l">We're going to show old Kaiser Bill</p> +<p class="tei tei-l">What our Yankee boys can do.</p> +</div> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page153">[pg 153]</span> +<a name="Pg153" id="Pg153" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Jim Barlow, his hands in his pockets, backed +up against a house and listened to the clear, high, +little voices. "No Man's Land in France—We +must advance—What our Yankee boys can do."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">As if his throat were gripped by a quick hand, +a storm of emotion swept him. The little girls—little +girls who were the joy, each one, of some +home! Such little things as the Germans—in +Belgium—"Oh, my God!" The words burst aloud +from his lips. These were trusting—innocent, +ignorant—to "What our Yankee boys can do." +Without that, without the Yankee boys, such as +these would be in the power of wild beasts. It +was his affair. Suddenly he felt that stab through +him.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"God," he prayed, whispering it as the little +girls passed on singing, "help me to protect them; +help me to forget myself." And the miracle that +sends an answer sometimes, even in this twentieth +century, to true prayer happened to Jim Barlow. +Behold he had forgotten himself. With his head +up and peace in his breast, and the look in his +face already, though he did not know it, that our +<span class="tei-pb" id="page154">[pg 154]</span> +<a name="Pg154" id="Pg154" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>soldier boys wear, he turned and started at a great +pace down the street to the recruiting office.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why, you did come."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was nine o'clock and he stood with lighted +face in the middle of the little library. And she +came in; it was an event to which he never got +used, Mary's coming into a room. The room +changed always into such an astonishing place.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mary, I've done it. I'm—" his voice choked +a bit—"I'm a soldier." He laughed at that. +"Well not so you'd notice it, yet. But I've taken +the first step."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I knew, Jim. You said you were going to +enlist. Why did you telephone you couldn't +come?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He stared down at her, holding her hands yet. +He felt, unphrased, strong, the overwhelming conviction +that she was the most desirable thing on +earth. And directly on top of that conviction +another, that he would be doing her desirableness, +her loveliness less than the highest honor if he +posed before her in false colors. At whatever cost +to himself he must be honest with her. Also—he +<span class="tei-pb" id="page155">[pg 155]</span> +<a name="Pg155" id="Pg155" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was something more now than his own man; he +was a soldier of America, and inside and out he +would be, for America's sake, the best that was in +him to be.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mary, I've got a thing to tell you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes?" The sure way in which she smiled up +at him made the effort harder.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I fooled you. You think I'm a hero. And I'm +not. I'm a—" for the life of him he could not get +out the word "coward." He went on: "I'm a +blamed baby." And he told her in a few words, +yet plainly enough what he had gone through in +the long afternoon. "It was the kiddies who +clinched it, with their flags and their hair ribbons—and +their Yankee boys. I couldn't stand +for—not playing square with them."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Suddenly he gripped her hands so that it hurt. +"Mary, God help me, I'll try to fight the devils +over there so that kiddies like that, and—you, +and all the blessed people, the whole dear shooting-match +will be safe over here. I'm glad—I'm +so glad I'm going to have a hand in it. Mary, +it's queer, but I'm happier than I've been in +<span class="tei-pb" id="page156">[pg 156]</span> +<a name="Pg156" id="Pg156" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>months. Only"—his brows drew anxiously. +"Only I'm scared stiff for fear you think me—a +coward."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He had the word out now. Thee taste wasn't +so bad after all; it seemed oddly to have nothing +to do with himself. "Mary, dear, couldn't you—forget +that in time? When I've been over there +and behaved decently—and I think I will. Somehow +I'm not afraid of being afraid now. It feels +like a thing that couldn't be done—by a soldier of +Uncle Sam's. I'll just look at the other chaps—all +heroes, you know—and be so proud I'm with +them and so keen to finish our job that I know—somehow +I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">know</span> I'll never think about my blooming +self at all. It's queer to say it, Mary, but +the way it looks now I'm in it, it's not just country +even. It's religion. See, Mary?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was no sound, no glance from Mary. +But he went on, unaware, so rapt was he in his +new illumination.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"And when I come back, Mary, with a decent +record—just possibly with a war-cross—oh, my +word! Think of me! Then, couldn't you forget +<span class="tei-pb" id="page157">[pg 157]</span> +<a name="Pg157" id="Pg157" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>this business I've been telling you? Do you +think you could marry me then?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">What was the matter? Why did she stand so +still with her head bending lower and lower, the +color deepening on the bit of cheek that his anxious +eyes could see.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mary!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Suddenly she was clutching his collar as if in +deadly fear.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mary, what's the matter? I'm such a fool, +but—oh, Mary, dear!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">With that Mary-dear straightened and, slipping +her clutch to the lapel of his old coat, spoke. +She looked into his eyes with a smile that was +sweeter—oh, much sweeter!—for tears that +dimmed it, and she choked most awfully between +words. "Jim"—and a choke. "Jim, I'm terrified +to think I nearly let you get away. You. +And me not worthy to lace your shoes—" ("Oh, +gracious, Mary—don't!") "me—the idiot, backing +and filling when I had the chance of my life at—at +a hero. Oh, Jim!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Here! Mary, don't you understand? I've +<span class="tei-pb" id="page158">[pg 158]</span> +<a name="Pg158" id="Pg158" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>been telling you I was scared blue. I hated to tell +you Mary, and it's the devil to tell you twice—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">What was this? Did Heaven then sometimes +come down unawares on the head of an every-day +citizen with great lapses of character? Jim Barlow, +entranced, doubted his senses yet could not +doubt the touch of soft hands clasped in his +neck. He held his head back a little to be sure +that they were real. Yes, they were there, the +hands—Barlow's next remark was long, but untranslatable. +Minutes later. "Mary, tell me what +you mean. Not that I care much if—if this." +Language grows elliptical under stress. "But—did +you get me? I'm—a coward." A hand +flashed across his mouth.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Don't you dare, Jim, you're the bravest—bravest—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The words died in a sharp break. "Why, Jim +it was a hundred thousand times pluckier to be +afraid and then go. Can't you see that, you big +stupid?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But, Mary, you said you admired it when—when +you thought I was a lion of courage."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page159">[pg 159]</span> +<a name="Pg159" id="Pg159" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Of course. I admired you. Now I adore +you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well," summed up, Barlow bewildered, "if +women aren't the blamedest!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And Mary squealed laughter. She put hands +each side of his face. "Jim—listen. I'll try to +explain because you have a right to understand."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, yes," agreed Jim.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's like this. I thought you'd enlist and I +never dreamed you were balky. I didn't know +you hated it so. Why didn't you tell me?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Go on," urged Jim.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I thought you were mad to be going, like—like +these light-headed boys. That you didn't mind +leaving me compared to the adventure. That +you didn't care for danger. But now—now." +She covered his eyes with her fingers, "Now Jim, +you need me. A woman can't love a man her +best unless she can help him. Against everything—sorrow, +mosquitoes, bad food—drink—any old +bother. That's the alluring side of tipplers. +Women want to help them. So, now I know you +need me," the soft, unsteady voice wandered on, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page160">[pg 160]</span> +<a name="Pg160" id="Pg160" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and Jim, anchored between, the hands, drank in +her look with his eyes and her tones with his ears +and prayed that the situation might last a week. +"You need me so, to tell you how much finer you +are than if you'd gone off without a quiver."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Barlow sighed in contentment. "And me thinking +I was the solitary 'fraid-cat of America!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Solitary! Why, Jim, there must be at least +ten hundred thousand men going through this +same battle. All the ones old enough to think, +probably. Why Jim—you're only one of them. +In that speech the other night the man said this +war was giving men their souls. I think it's your +kind he meant, the kind that realizes the bad +things over there and the good things over here +and goes just the same. The kind—you are."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'm a hero from Hero-ville," murmured Barlow. +"But little Mary, when I come back mangled +will you feel the same? Will you marry me +then, Mary?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'll marry you any minute," stated Mary, +"and when you come back I'll love you one extra +for every mangle."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page161">[pg 161]</span> +<a name="Pg161" id="Pg161" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Any minute," repeated Barlow dramatically. +"Tomorrow?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And summed up again the heaven that he could +not understand and did not want to, "Search +me," he adjured the skies in good Americanese, +"if girls aren't the blamedest."</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_13" id="toc_13"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page165">[pg 165]</span> +<a name="Pg165" id="Pg165" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">THE V.C.</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">I had forgotten that I ordered frogs' legs. +When mine were placed before me I laughed. I +always laugh at the sight of frogs' legs because of +the person and the day of which they remind me. +Nobody noticed that I laughed or asked the +reason why, though it was an audible chuckle, +and though I sat at the head of my own dinner-party +at the Cosmic Club.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The man for whom the dinner was given, Colonel +Robert Thornton, my cousin, a Canadian, who +got his leg shot off at Vimy Ridge, was making +oration about the German Crown Prince's tactics +at Verdun, and that was the reason that ten men +were not paying attention to me and that I was +not paying attention to Bobby. When the good +chap talks human talk, tells what happened to +people and what their psychological processes +seemed to be, he is entertaining. He has a genuine +gift of sympathy and a power to lead others +<span class="tei-pb" id="page166">[pg 166]</span> +<a name="Pg166" id="Pg166" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>in the path he treads; in short, he tells a good +story. But like most people who do one thing +particularly well he is always priding himself on +the way he does something else. He likes to look +at Colonel Thornton as a student of the war, and +he has the time of his life when he can get people +to listen to what he knows Joffre and Foch and +Haig and Hindenberg ought to have done. So +at this moment he was enjoying his evening, for +the men I had asked to meet him, all strangers to +him, ignorant of his real powers, were hanging +on his words, partly because no one can help +liking him whatever he talks about, and partly +because, with that pathetic empty trouser-leg and +the crutch hooked over his chair, he was an undoubted +hero. So I heard the sentences ambling, +and reflected that Hilaire Belloc with maps and +a quiet evening would do my tactical education +more good than Bobby Thornton's discursions. +And about then I chuckled unnoticed, over the +silly frogs' legs.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Tell me, Colonel Thornton, do you consider +that the French made a mistake in concentrating +<span class="tei-pb" id="page167">[pg 167]</span> +<a name="Pg167" id="Pg167" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>so much of their reserve—" It was the Governor +himself who was demanding this earnestly of +Bobby. And I saw that the Governor and the +rest were hypnotized, and did not need me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">So I sat at the head of the table, and waiters +brooded over us, and cucumbers and the usual +trash happened, and Bobby held forth while the +ten who were bidden listened as to one sent from +heaven. And, being superfluous, I withdrew mentally +to a canoe in a lonely lake and went +frogging.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Vicariously. I do not like frogging in person. +The creature smiles. Also he appeals because he +is ugly and complacent. But for the grace of +God I might have looked so. He sits in supreme +hideousness frozen to the end of a wet log, with +his desirable hind legs spread in view, and smiles +his bronze smile of confidence in his own charm +and my friendship. It is more than I can do to +betray that smile. So, hating to destroy the +beast yet liking to eat the leg, about once in my +summer vacation in camp I go frogging, and make +the guides do it.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page168">[pg 168]</span> +<a name="Pg168" id="Pg168" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It would not be etiquette to send them out +alone, for in our club guides are supposed to do +no fishing or shooting—no sport. Therefore, I +sit in a canoe and pretend to take a frog in a +landing-net and miss two or three and shortly +hand over the net to Josef. We have decided on +landing-nets as our tackle. I once shot the animals +with a .22 Flobert rifle, but almost invariably they +dropped, like a larger bullet, off the log and into +the mud, and that was the end. We never could +retrieve them. Also at one time we fished them +with a many-pronged hook and a bit of red +flannel. But that seemed too bitter a return for +the bronze smile, and I disliked the method, besides +being bad at it. We took to the landing-net.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">To see Josef, enraptured with the delicate +sport, approach a net carefully till within an +inch of the smile, and then give the old graven +image a smart rap on the legs in question to +make him leap headlong into the snare—to see +that and Josef's black Indian eyes glitter with joy +at the chase is amusing. I make him slaughter +<span class="tei-pb" id="page169">[pg 169]</span> +<a name="Pg169" id="Pg169" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the game instantly, which appears supererogatory +to Josef who would exactly as soon have a collection +of slimy ones leaping around the canoe. But +I have them dead and done for promptly, and +piled under the stern seat. And on we paddle to +the next.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The day to which I had retired from my dinner-party +and the tactical lecture of my distinguished +cousin was a late August day of two years before. +The frogging fleet included two canoes, that of +young John Dudley who was doing his vacation +with me, and my own. In each canoe, as is Hoyle +for canoeing in Canada, were two guides and a +"m'sieur." The other boat, John's, was somewhere +on the opposite shore of Lac des Passes, +the Lake of the Passes, crawling along edges of +bays and specializing in old logs and submerged +rocks, after frogs with a landing-net, the same +as us. But John—to my mind coarser—was +doing his own frogging. The other boat was +nothing to us except for an occasional yell when +geography brought us near enough, of "How +many?" and envy and malice and all uncharitableness +<span class="tei-pb" id="page170">[pg 170]</span> +<a name="Pg170" id="Pg170" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>if the count was more, and hoots of triumph +if less.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In my craft sailed, besides Josef and myself, as +bow paddler, The Tin Lizzie. We called him that +except when he could hear us, and I think it would +have done small harm to call him so then, as he +had the brain of a jack-rabbit and managed not +to know any English, even when soaked in it +daily. John Dudley had named him because of +the plebeian and reliable way in which he plugged +along Canadian trails. He set forth the queerest +walk I have ever seen—a human Ford, John said. +He was also quite mad about John. There had +been a week in which Dudley, much of a doctor, +had treated, with cheerful patience and skill, an infected +and painful hand of the guide's, and this +had won for him the love eternal of our Tin Lizzie. +Little John Dudley thought, as he made jokes to +distract the boy, and worked over his big throbbing +fist, the fist which meant daily bread—little +John thought where the plant of love springing +from that seed of gratitude would at last blossom. +Little he thought as the two sat on the gallery of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page171">[pg 171]</span> +<a name="Pg171" id="Pg171" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the camp, and the placid lake broke in silver +on pebbles below, through what hell of fire and +smoke and danger the kindliness he gave to the +stupid young guide would be given back to him. +Which is getting ahead of the story.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I suggested that the Lizzie might like a turn +at frogging, and Josef, with Indian wordlessness, +handed the net to him. Whereupon, with his +flabby mouth wide and his large gray eyes gleaming, +he proceeded to miss four easy ones in succession. +And with that Josef, in a gibberish +which is French-Canadian patois of the inner circles, +addressed the Tin Lizzie and took away the +net from him, asking no orders from me. The +Lizzie, pipe in mouth as always, smiled just as +pleasantly under this punishment as in the hour +of his opportunities. He would have been a very +handsome boy, with his huge eyes and brilliant +brown and red color and his splendid shoulders +and slim waist of an athlete if only he had possessed +a ray of sense. Yet he was a good enough +guide to fill in, for he was strong and willing and +took orders amiably from anybody and did his +<span class="tei-pb" id="page172">[pg 172]</span> +<a name="Pg172" id="Pg172" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>routine of work, such as chopping wood and filling +lamps and bringing water and carrying boats, +with entire efficiency. That he had no initiative +at all and by no chance did anything he was not +told to, even when most obvious, that he was lacking +in any characteristic of interest, that he was +moreover a supreme coward, afraid to be left +alone in the woods—these things were after all +immaterial, for, as John pointed out, we didn't +really need to love our guides.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">John also pointed out that the Lizzie—his name +was, incidentally, Aristophe—had one nice quality. +Of course, it was a quality which appealed most +to the beneficiary, yet it seemed well to me also to +have my guests surrounded with mercy and loving +kindness. John had but to suggest building a +fire or greasing his boots or carrying a canoe over +any portage to any lake, and the Lizzie at once +leaped with a bright smile as who should say that +this was indeed a pleasure. "C'est bien, M'sieur," +was his formula. He would gaze at John for sections +of an hour, with his flabby mouth open in +speechless surprise as if at the unbelievable glory +<span class="tei-pb" id="page173">[pg 173]</span> +<a name="Pg173" id="Pg173" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and magnificence of M'sieur. A nice lad, John +Dudley was, but no subtle enchanter; a stocky +and well-set-up young man with a whole-souled, +garrulous and breezy way, and a gift of slang and +a brilliant grin. What called forth hero-worship +towards him I never understood; but no more +had I understood why Mildred Thornton, Colonel +Thornton's young sister, my very beautiful +cousin, should have selected him, from a large assortment +of suitors, to marry. Indeed I did not +entirely understand why I liked having John in +camp better than anyone else; probably it was +essentially the same charm which impelled Mildred +to want to live with him, and the Tin Lizzie to fall +down and worship. In any case the Lizzie worshipped +with a primitive and unashamed and enduring +adoration, which stood even the test of +fear. That was the supreme test for the Tin +Lizzie, who was a coward of cowards. Rather +cruelly I bet John on a day that his satellite did +not love him enough to go out to the club-house +alone for him, and the next day John was in sore +<span class="tei-pb" id="page174">[pg 174]</span> +<a name="Pg174" id="Pg174" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>need of tobacco, not to be got nearer than the +club.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Aristophe will go out and get it for me," +he announced as Aristophe—the Lizzie—trotted +about the table at lunch-time purveying us flapjacks.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Tin Lizzie stood rooted a second, petrified +at the revolutionary scheme of his going to the +club, companions unmentioned. There one saw +as if through glass an idea seeking a road through +his smooth gray matter. One had always gone +to the club with Josef, or Maxime or Pierre—certainly +M'sieur meant that; one would of +course be glad to go—with Josef or Maxime or +Pierre—to get tobacco for M'sieur John. Of +course, the idea slid through the old road in the +almost unwrinkled gray matter, and came safely +to headquarters.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"C'est bien, M'sieur," answered the Lizzie +smiling brightly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And with that I knocked the silly little smile +into a cocked hat. "You may start early tomorrow, +Aristophe," I said, "and get back by dark, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page175">[pg 175]</span> +<a name="Pg175" id="Pg175" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>going light, I can't spare any other men to go +with you. But you will certainly not mind going +alone—to get tobacco for M'sieur John."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The poor Tin Lizzie turned red and then white, +and his weak mouth fell open and his eyebrows +lifted till the whites of his eyes showed above the +gray irises. And one saw again, through the +crystal of his unexercised brain, the operation +of a painful and new thought. M'sieur John—a +day alone in the woods—love, versus fear—which +would win. John and I watched the struggle +a bit mercilessly. A grown man gets small +sympathy for being a coward. And yet few +forms of suffering are keener. We watched; +and the Tin Lizzie stood and gasped in the play +of his emotions. Nobody had ever given this son +of the soil ideals to hold to through sudden danger; +no sense of inherited honor to be guarded +came to help the Lizzie; he had been taught to +work hard and save his skin—little else. The +great adoration for John which had swept him off +his commonplace feet—was it going to make +good against life-long selfish caution? We wondered. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page176">[pg 176]</span> +<a name="Pg176" id="Pg176" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>It was curious to watch the new big feeling +fight the long-established petty one. And it +was with a glow of triumph quite out of drawing +that we saw the generous instinct win the +battle.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oui, M'sieur," spoke Aristophe, unconscious +of subtleties or watching. "I go tomorrow—alone. +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, M'sieur</span>."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was about the only remark I ever heard him +make, that gracious: "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, M'sieur</span>!" But +he made it remarkably well. Almost he persuaded +me to respect him with that hearty response to +the call of duty, that humble and high gift of +graciousness. One remembers him as his dolly +face lighted at John's order to go and clean trout +or carry in logs, and one does not forget the absurd, +queer little fast trot at which his powerful +young legs would instantaneously swing off to +obey the behest. Such was the Tin Lizzie, the +guide who paddled bow in my canvas canoe on the +day of the celebrated frog hunt.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">That the frog hunt was celebrated was owing +to the Lizzie. He should have been in John's +<span class="tei-pb" id="page177">[pg 177]</span> +<a name="Pg177" id="Pg177" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>boat, as one of John's guides, but at the last +moment, there was a confusion of tongues and +Lizzie was shipped aboard my canoe. In the excitement +of the chase Josef, stern man, had faced +about to manipulate his landing-net; Aristophe +also slewed around and, sitting on the gunwale, +became stern paddler. I was in the middle screwed +anyhow, watching the frog fishing and enjoying +the enjoyment of the men. Poor chaps, it was +the only bit of personal play they got out of our +month of play. Aristophe, the Tin Lizzie, was +quite mad with the excitement even from his very +second fiddle standpoint of paddler to Josef's +frogging. His enormous gray eyes snapped, his +teeth showed white and gold around his pipe—which +he nearly bit off—and he even used +language.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tiens! Encore un!</span>" hissed the Lizzie in a +blood-curdling whisper as a new pair of pop eyes +lifted from the edge of a rotten log.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And Josef, who had always seen the frog first, +fired a guttural sentence, full of contempt, full of +friendliness, for he sized up the Lizzie, his virtues +<span class="tei-pb" id="page178">[pg 178]</span> +<a name="Pg178" id="Pg178" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and his limitations, accurately. And then the +boat was pushed and pulled in the shallow water +till Josef and the net were within range. With, +that came the slow approach of the net to the +smile, the swift tap on the eatable legs, and headlong +into his finish leaped M. Crapaud. Which +is rot his correct name, Josef tells me, in these +parts, but M. Guarron. And that, being translated, +means Mr. Very-Big-Bull-Frog.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Business had prospered to fourteen or fifteen +head of frogs, and we calculated that the other +boat might have a dozen when, facing towards +Aristophe, I saw his dull, fresh face suddenly +change. My pulse missed a beat at that expression. +It was adequate to an earthquake or sudden +death. How the fatuous doll-like features could +have been made to register that stare of a soul in +horror I can't guess. But they did. The whites +of his eyes showed an eighth of an inch above +the irises and his black eyebrows were shot up +to the roots of his glossy black hair. In the +gleaming white and gold of his teeth the pipe was +still gripped. And while I gazed, astonished, his +<span class="tei-pb" id="page179">[pg 179]</span> +<a name="Pg179" id="Pg179" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>unfitting deep voice issued from that mask of +fear:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tiens! Encore un!</span>" And I screwed about +and saw that the Lizzie was running the boat on +top of an enormous frog which he had not spied +till the last second. With that Josef exploded +throaty language and leaning sidewise made a +dive at the frog. Aristophe, unbalanced with +emotion and Josef's swift movement shot from +his poise at the end of the little craft, and landed, +in a foot of water, flat on his buck, and the frog +seized that second to jump on his stomach.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I never heard an Indian really laugh before +that day. The hills resounded with Josef's +shouts. We laughed, Josef and I, till we were +weak, and for a good minute Aristophe sprawled +in the lake, with the frog anchored as if till Kingdom +come on his middle, and howled lusty howls +while we laughed. Then Josef fished the frog +and got him off the Tin Lizzie's lungs. And +Aristophe, weeping, scrambled into the boat. And +as we went home in the cool forest twilight, up +the portage by the rushing, noisy rapids, Josef, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page180">[pg 180]</span> +<a name="Pg180" id="Pg180" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>walking before us, carrying the landing-net full +of frogs' legs, shook with laughter every little +while again, as Aristophe, his wet strong young +legs, the only section of him showing, toiled ahead +up the winding thread of a trail, carrying the +inverted canoe on his head.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was this adventure which came to me and +seized me and carried me a thousand miles northward +into Canadian forest as I looked at the +frogs' legs on my plate at the Cosmic Club, and +did not listen to my cousin, the Colonel, talking +military tactics.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The mental review took an eighth of the time +it has taken me to tell it. But as I shook off my +dream of the woods, I realized that, while Thornton +still talked, he had got out of his uninteresting +rut into his interesting one. Without hearing +what he said I knew that from the look of +the men's faces. Each man's eyes were bright, +through a manner of mistiness, and there was a +sudden silence which was perhaps what had recalled +me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's a war which is making a new standard of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page181">[pg 181]</span> +<a name="Pg181" id="Pg181" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>courage," spoke the young Governor in the gentle +tone which goes so oddly and so pleasantly with +his bull-dog jaw. "It looks as if we were going +to be left with a world where heroism is the normal +thing," spoke the Governor.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Heroism—yes," said Bobby, and I knew with +satisfaction that he was off on his own line, the +line he does not fancy, the line where few can +distance him. "Heroism!" repeated Bobby, "It's +all around out there. And it crops out—" he +begun to smile—"in unsuspected places, from +varied impulses."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He was working his way to an anecdote. The +men at the table, their chairs twisted towards him, +sat very still.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What I mean to say is," Bobby began, "that +this war, horrible as it is, is making over human, +nature for the better. It's burning out selfishness +and cowardice and a lot of faults from millions +of men, and it's holding up the nobility of +what some of them do to the entire world. It +takes a character, this débâcle, and smashes out +the littleness. Another thing is curious. If a +<span class="tei-pb" id="page182">[pg 182]</span> +<a name="Pg182" id="Pg182" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>small character has one good point on which to +hang heroism, the battle-spirit searches out that +point and plants on it the heroism. There was +a stupid young private in my command who—but +I'm afraid I'm telling too many war stories," +Bobby appealed, interrupting himself. "I'm full +of it, you see, and when people are so good, and +listen—" He stopped, in a confusion which is +not his least attractive manner.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">From down the table came a quick murmur of +voices. I saw more than one glance halt at the +crutch on the back of the soldier's chair.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Thank you. I'd really like to tell about this +man. It's interesting, psychologically to me," he +went on, smiling contentedly. He is a lovable +chap, my cousin Robert Thornton. "The lad +whom I speak of, a French-Canadian from Quebec +Province, was my servant, my batman, as the +Indian army called them and as we refer to them +often now. He was so brainless that I just missed +firing him the first day I had him. But John +Dudley, my brother-in-law and lieutenant, +wanted me to give him a chance, and also there +<span class="tei-pb" id="page183">[pg 183]</span> +<a name="Pg183" id="Pg183" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was something in his manner when I gave him +orders which attracted me. He appeared to have +a pleasure in serving, and an ideal of duty. Dudley +had used him as a guide, and the man had +a dog-like devotion to 'the lieutenant' which +counted with me. Also he didn't talk. I think +he knew only four words. I flung orders at him +and there would be first a shock of excitement, +then a second of tense anxiety, then a radiant +smile and the four words: '<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, Mon Capitaine</span>.' +I was captain then."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At that point I dropped my knife and fork and +stared at my cousin. He went on.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, Mon Capitaine</span>.' That was the +slogan. And when the process was accomplished, +off he would trot, eager to do my will. He was +powerful and well-built, but he had the oddest +manner of locomotion ever I saw, a trot like—like +a Ford car. I discovered pretty soon that the poor +wretch was a born coward. I've seen him start +at the distant sound of guns long before we got +near the front, and he was nervous at going out +alone at night about the camp. The men ragged +<span class="tei-pb" id="page184">[pg 184]</span> +<a name="Pg184" id="Pg184" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>him, but he was such a friendly rascal and so willing +to take over others' work that he got along +with a fraction of the persecution most of his +sort would have had. I wondered sometimes what +would happen to the poor little devil when actual +fighting came. Would it be '<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, Mon +Capitaine</span>,' at the order to go over the top, or +would the terrible force of fear be too much for +him and land him at last with his back to a wall +and a firing squad in front—a deserter? Meantime +he improved and I got dependent on his +radiant good will. Being John Dudley's brother-in-law +sanctified me with him, and nothing was +too much trouble if I'd give him a chance sometimes +to clean John's boots. I have a man now +who shows no ecstacy at being ordered to do my +jobs, and I don't like him.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"We were moved up towards the front, and, +though Mr. Winston Churchill has made a row +about the O.S.—the officers' servants who are removed +from the firing line, I know that a large +proportion of them do their share in the trenches. +I saw to it that mine did.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page185">[pg 185]</span> +<a name="Pg185" id="Pg185" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"One night there was a digging expedition. An +advance trench was to be made in No Man's Land +about a hundred and fifty yards from the Germans. +I was in command of the covering party +of thirty-five men; I was a captain. We, of +course, went out ahead. Beauramé was in the +party. It was his first fighting. We had rifles, +with bayonets, and bombs, and a couple of Lewis +guns. We came up to the trenches by a road, +then went into the zigzag communication trenches +up to the front, the fire-trench. Then, very cautiously, +over the top into No Man's Land. It +was nervous work, for at any second they might +discover us and open fire. It suited us all to be +as quiet as human men could be, and when once +in a while a star-shell, a Very light, was sent up +from the German lines we froze in our tracks till +the white glare died out.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The party had been digging for perhaps an +hour when hell broke loose. They'd seen us. All +about was a storm of machine-gun and rifle bullets, +and we dropped on our faces, the diggers +in their trench—pretty shallow it was. As for +<span class="tei-pb" id="page186">[pg 186]</span> +<a name="Pg186" id="Pg186" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the covering party, we simply took our medicine. +And then the shrapnel joined the music. Word +was passed to get back to the trenches, and we +started promptly. We stooped low as we ran +over No Man's Land, but there were plenty of +casualties. I got mine in the foot, but not the +wound which rung in this—" Thornton nodded +his head at the crutches with a smile. "It was +from a bit of shrapnel just as I made the trench, +and as I fell in I caught at the sand bags and +whirled about facing out over No Man's Land; as +I whirled I saw, close by, Beauramé's face in a +shaft of light. I don't know why I made conversation +at that moment—I did. I said:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"When did you get back?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And his answer came as if clicked on a typewriter. +"Me, I stayed, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Mon Capitaine</span>. It had +an air too dangerous, out there."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I stared in a white rage. You'll imagine—one +of my men to dare tell me that! And at that +second, simultaneously, came the flare of a shell +star and a shout of a man struck down, and I +knew the voice—John Dudley. He was out there, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page187">[pg 187]</span> +<a name="Pg187" id="Pg187" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the tail end of the party, wounded. I saw him as +he fell, on the farther side of the new trench. Of +course, one's instinct was to dash back and bring +him in, and I started. And I found my foot +gone—I couldn't walk. Quicker than I can tell +it I turned to Beauramé, the coward, who'd been +afraid to go over the top, and I said in French, +because, though I hadn't time to think it out, +I yet realized that it would get to him faster so—I +said:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Get over there, you deserter. Save the lieutenant—Lieutenant +Dudley. Go."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">For one instant I thought it was no good and +I was due to have him shot, if we both lived +through the night. And then—I never in my +life saw such a face of abject fear as the one he +turned first to me and then across that horror of +No Man's Land. The whites of his eyes showed, +it seemed, an eighth of an inch above the irises; +his black eyebrows were half way up his forehead, +and his teeth, luxuriously upholstered with +fillings, shone white and gold in the unearthly +light. It was such a mad terror as I'd never +<span class="tei-pb" id="page188">[pg 188]</span> +<a name="Pg188" id="Pg188" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>seen before, and never since. And into it I, mad +too with the thought of my sister if I let young +John Dudley die before my eyes—I bombed again +the order to go out and bring in Dudley. I remember +the fading and coming expressions on that +Frenchman's face like the changes on a moving +picture film. I suppose it was half a minute. And +here was the coward face gazing into mine, transfigured +into the face of a man who cared about +another man more than himself—a common man +whose one high quality was love.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">C'est bien, Mon Capitaine</span>," Beauramé spoke, +through still clicking teeth, and with his regulation +smile of good will he had sprung over the +parapet in one lithe movement, and I saw him +crouching, trotting that absurd, powerful fast +trot through the lane in our barbed wire, like +lightning, to the shallow new trench, to Dudley. +I saw him—for the Germans had the stretch +lighted—I saw the man pick up my brother-in-law +and toss him over his shoulders and start +trotting back. Then I saw him fall, both of them +fall, and I knew that he'd stopped a bullet. And +<span class="tei-pb" id="page189">[pg 189]</span> +<a name="Pg189" id="Pg189" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>then, as I groaned, somehow Beauramé was on +his feet again. I expected, that he'd bolt for +cover, but he didn't. He bent over deliberately as +if he had been a fearless hero—and maybe he was—and +he picked up Dudley again and started +on, laboring, this time in walking. He was hit +badly. But he made the trench; he brought in +Dudley.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then such a howl of hurrahs greeted him from +the men who watched the rescue as poor little +Aristophe Beauramé—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Ah!" I interjected, and Bobby turned and +stared—"as the poor little scared rat had not +dreamed, or had any right to dream would ever +greet his conduct on earth. He dropped Dudley +at my feet and turned with his flabby mouth open +and his great stupid eyes like saucers, towards +the men who rushed to shake his hand and throw +at him words of admiration that choked them to +get out. And then he keeled over. So you see. +It was an equal chance at one second, whether a +man should be shot for a deserter or—win the +Victoria Cross."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page190">[pg 190]</span> +<a name="Pg190" id="Pg190" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What!" I shouted at my guest. "What! Not +the Victoria Cross! Not Aristophe!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Bobby looked at me in surprise. "You're a +great claque for me," he said. "You seem to take +an interest in my hero. Yes, he got it. He was +badly hurt. One hand nearly gone and a wound +in his side. I was lucky enough to be in London +on a day three months later, and to be present at +the ceremony, when the young French-Canadian, +spoiled for a soldier, but splendid stuff now for +a hero, stood out in the open before the troops +in front of Buckingham Palace and King George +pinned the V.C. on his breast. They say that +he's back in his village, and the whole show. I +hear that he tells over and over the story of +his heroism and the rescue of '<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Mon Lieutenant</span>.' +to never failing audiences. Of course, John is +looking after him, for the hand which John saved +was the hand that was shot to pieces in saving +John, and the Tin Lizzie can never make his living +with that hand again. A deserter, a coward—decorated +by the King with the Victoria Cross! +Queer things happen in war!" +<span class="tei-pb" id="page191">[pg 191]</span> +<a name="Pg191" id="Pg191" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>There was a stir, a murmur as of voices, of +questions beginning, but Bobby was not quite +through.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"War takes the best of the best men, and the +best of the cheapest, and transfigures both. War +doesn't need heroes for heroism. She pins it on +anywhere if there's one spot of greatness in a +character. War does strange things with humanity," +said Bobby.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And I, gasping, broke out crudely in three +words: "Our Tin Lizzie!" I said, and nobody +knew in the least what I meant, or with what +memories I said it.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_14" id="toc_14"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page195">[pg 195]</span> +<a name="Pg195" id="Pg195" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">HE THAT LOSETH HIS LIFE SHALL FIND IT</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Red Cross women had gone home. Half +an hour before, the large library had been filled +with white-clad, white-veiled figures. Two long +tables full, forty of them today, had been working; +three thousand surgical dressings had been +cut and folded and put away in large boxes on +shelves behind glass doors where the most valuable +books had held their stately existence for years. +The books were stowed now in trunks in the attic. +These were war days; luxuries such as first editions +must wait their time. The great living-room +itself, the center of home for this family +since the two boys were born and ever this family +had been, the dear big room with its dark carved +oak, and tapestries, and stained glass, and books, +and memories was given over now to war relief +work.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page196">[pg 196]</span> +<a name="Pg196" id="Pg196" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Sometimes, as the mistress walked into the spacious, +low-ceilinged, bright place, presences long +past seemed to fill it intolerably. Brock and +Hugh, little chaps, roared in untidy and tumultuous +from football, or came, decorous and groomed, +handsome, smart little lads, to be presented to +guests. Her own Hugh, her husband, proud of +the beautiful new house, smiled from the hearth +to her as he had smiled twenty-six years back, the +night they came in, a young Hugh, younger than +Brock was now. Her father and mother, long +gone over "to the majority," and the exquisite +old ivory beauty of a beautiful grandmother—such +ghosts rose and faced the woman as she +stepped into the room where they had moved in +life, the room with its loveliness marred by two +long tables covered with green oilcloth, by four +rows of cheap chairs, by rows and rows of boxes +on shelves where soft and bright and dark colors +of books had glowed. She felt often that she +should explain matters to the room, should tell the +walls which had sheltered peace and hospitality +that she had consecrated them to yet higher service. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page197">[pg 197]</span> +<a name="Pg197" id="Pg197" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Never for one instant, while her soul ached +for the familiar setting, had she regretted its sacrifice. +That her soul did ache made it worth +while.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And the women gathered for this branch Red +Cross organization, her neighbors on the edge of +the great city, wives and daughters and mothers of +clerks, and delivery-wagon drivers, and icemen, and +night-watchmen, women who had not known how +to take their part in the war work in the city or +had found it too far to go, these came to her house +gladly and all found pleasure in her beautiful room. +That made it a joy to give it up to them. She +stood in the doorway, feeling an emphasis in the +quiet of the July afternoon because of the forty +voices which had lately gone out of the sunshiny +silence, of the forty busy figures in long, white +aprons and white, sweeping veils, the tiny red +cross gleaming over the forehead of each one, each +face lovely in the uniform of service, all oddly +equalized and alike under their veils and crosses. +She spoke aloud as she tossed out her hands to the +room:</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page198">[pg 198]</span> +<a name="Pg198" id="Pg198" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"War will be over some day, and you will be +our own again, but forever holy because of this. +You will be a room of history when you go to +Brock—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock! Would Brock ever come home to the +room, to this place which he loved? Brock, in +France! She turned sharply and went out through +the long hall and across the terrace, and sat down +where the steps dropped to the garden, on the +broad top step, with her head against the pillar +of the balustrade. Above her the smell of +box in a stone vase on the pillar punctured +the mild air with its definite, reminiscent fragrance. +Box is a plant of antecedents of sentiment, +of memories. The woman inhaling its +delicate sharpness, was caught back into days +past. She considered, in rapid jumps of thought, +events, episodes, epochs. The day Brock was +born, on her own twentieth birthday, up-stairs +where the rosy chintz curtains blew now out of +the window; the first day she had come down to +the terrace—it was June—and the baby lay in +his bassinet by the balustrade in that spot—she +<span class="tei-pb" id="page199">[pg 199]</span> +<a name="Pg199" id="Pg199" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>looked at the spot—the baby, her big Brock, +a bundle of flannel and fine, white stuff in +lacy frills of the bassinet. And she loved him; +she remembered how she had loved that baby, how, +laughing at herself, she had whispered silly words +over the stolid, pink head; how the girl's heart +of her had all but burst with the astonishing new +tide of a feeling which seemed the greatest of +which she was capable. Yet it was a small thing +to the way she loved Brock now. A vision came +of little Hugh, three years younger, and the two +toddling about the terrace together, Hugh always +Brock's satellite and adorer, as was fitting; less +sturdy, less daring than Brock, yet ready to go +anywhere if only the older baby led. She thought +of the day when Hugh, four years old, had taken +fright at a black log among the bushes under the +trees.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's a bear!" little Hugh had whispered, shaking, +and Brock, brave but not too certain, had +looked at her, inquiring.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"No, love, it's not a bear; it's an old log of +wood. Go and put your hand on it, Hughie."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page200">[pg 200]</span> +<a name="Pg200" id="Pg200" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Little Hugh had cried out and shrunk back. +"I'm afraid!" cried little Hugh.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And Brock, not entirely clear as to the no-bear +theory, had yet bluffed manfully. "Come on, +Hughie; let's go and bang 'um," said Brock.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Which invitation Hugh accepted reluctantly +with a condition, "If you'll hold my hand, B'ocky."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The woman turned her head to see the place +where the black log had lain, there in the old high +bushes. And behold! Two strong little figures +in white marched along—she could all but see +them today—and the bigger little figure was +dragging the other a bit, holding a hand with +masterful grip. She could hear little Hugh's +laughter as they arrived at the terrible log and +found it truly a log. Even now Hugh's laugh +was music.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why, it's nuffin but an old log o' wood!" little +Hugh had squealed, as brave as a lion.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">As she sat seeing visions, old Mavourneen, +Brock's Irish wolf-hound, came and laid her muzzle +on the woman's shoulder, crying a bit, as +was Mavourneen's Irish way, for pleasure at finding +<span class="tei-pb" id="page201">[pg 201]</span> +<a name="Pg201" id="Pg201" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the mistress. And with that there was a +brown ripple and a patter of many soft feet, and +a broken wave of dogs came around the corner, +seven little cairn-terriers. Sticky and Sandy +and their offspring. The woman let Sticky +settle in her lap and drew Sandy under her arm, +and the puppies looked up at her from the step +below with ten serious, anxious eyes and then +fell to chasing quite imaginary game up and down +the stone steps. Mavourneen sighed deeply and +dropped with a heavy thud, a great paw on the +edge of the white dress and her beautiful head +resting on her paws, the topaz, watchful eyes gazing +over the city. The woman put her free hand +back and touched the rough head.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Dear dog!" she spoke.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Another memory came: how they had bought +Mavourneen, she and Hugh and the boys, at the +kennels in Ireland, eight years ago; how the huge +baby had been sent to them at Liverpool in a +hamper; the uproarious drive the four of them—Hugh, +the two boys, and herself—and Mavourneen +had taken in a taxi across the city. The +<span class="tei-pb" id="page202">[pg 202]</span> +<a name="Pg202" id="Pg202" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>puppy, astonished and investigating throughout +the whole proceeding, had mounted all of them, +separately and together, and insisted on lying +in big Hugh's lap, crying broken-heartedly at +not being allowed. How they had shouted laughter, +the four and the boy taxi-driver, all the +journey, till they ached! What good times they +had always had together, the young father and +mother and the two big sons! She reflected how +she had not been at all the conventional mother +of sons. She had not been satisfied to be gentle +and benevolent and look after their clothes and +morals. She had lived their lives with them, she +had ridden and gone swimming with them, and +played tennis and golf, and fished and shot and +skated and walked with them, yes, and studied +and read with them, all their lives.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I haven't any respect for my mother," young +Hugh told her one day. "I like her like a +sister."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She was deeply pleased at this attitude; she did +not wish their respect as a visible quality. Vision +after vision came of the old times and care-free +<span class="tei-pb" id="page203">[pg 203]</span> +<a name="Pg203" id="Pg203" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>days while the four, as happy and normal a family +as lived in the world, passed their alert, full days +together before the war. Memory after memory +took form in the brain of the woman, the center +of that light-hearted life so lately changed, so +entirely now a memory. War had come.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At first, in 1914, there had been excitement, +astonishment. Then the horror of Belgium. One +refused to believe that at first; it was a lurid +slander on the kindly German people; then one +believed with the brain; one's spirit could not +grasp it. Unspeakable deeds such as the Germans' +deeds—it was like a statement made concerning +a fourth dimension of space; civilized +modern folk were not so organized as to realize +the facts of that bestiality.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Aren't you thankful we're Americans?" the +woman had said over and over.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">One day her husband, answering usually with +a shake of the head, answered in words. "We +may be in it yet," he said. "I'm not sure but we +ought to be."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock, twenty-one then, had flashed at her: +<span class="tei-pb" id="page204">[pg 204]</span> +<a name="Pg204" id="Pg204" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>"I want to be in it. I may just have to be, +mother."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Young Hugh yawned a bit at that, and stretching +his long arm, he patted his brother's shoulder. +"Good old hero, Brock! I'll beat you a set of +tennis. Come on."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">That sudden speech of Brock's had startled her, +had brought the war, in a jump which was like +a stab, close. The war and Lindow—their place—how +was it possible that this nightmare in +Europe could touch the peace of the garden, the +sunlit view of the river, the trees with birds singing +in them, the scampering of the dogs down +the drive? The distant hint of any connection +between the great horror and her own was pain; +she put the thought away.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Lusitania</span> was sunk. All America +shouted shame through sobs of rage. The President +wrote a beautiful and entirely satisfactory +note.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It should be war—war. It should be war +today," Hugh had said, her husband. "We only +<span class="tei-pb" id="page205">[pg 205]</span> +<a name="Pg205" id="Pg205" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>waste time. We'll have to fight sooner or later. +The sooner we begin, the sooner we'll finish."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Fight!" young Hugh threw at him. "What +with? We can just about make faces at 'em, +father."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The boy's father did not laugh. "We had +better get ready to do more than make faces; +we've got to get ready." He hammered his hand +on the stone balustrade. "I'm going to Plattsburg +this summer, Evelyn."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'm going with you." Brock's voice was low +and his mouth set, and the woman, looking at him, +saw suddenly that her boy was a man.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, then, as man power is getting low at +Lindow, I'll stay and take care of Mummy. +Won't I? We'll do awfully well without them, +won't we, Mum? You can drive Dad's Rolls-Royce +roadster, and if you leave on the handbrake +up-hill, I'll never tell."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Father and son had gone off for the month in +camp, and, glad as she was to have the younger +boy with her, there was yet an uneasy, an almost +subconscious feeling about him, which she indignantly +<span class="tei-pb" id="page206">[pg 206]</span> +<a name="Pg206" id="Pg206" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>denied each time that it raised its head. +It never quite phrased itself, this fear, this wonder +if Hugh were altogether as American as his father +and brother. Question the courage and patriotism +of her own boy? She flung the thought from +her as again and yet again it came. People of +the same blood were widely different. To Brock +and his father it had come easily to do the obvious +thing, to go to Plattsburg. It had not so +come to young Hugh, but that in good time he +would see his duty and do it she would not for an +instant doubt. She would not break faith with +the lad in thought. With a perfect delicacy she +avoided any word that would influence him. He +knew. All his life he had breathed loyalty. It +was she herself, reading to them night after night +through years, who had taught the boys hero +worship—above all, worship of American heroes, +Washington, Paul Jones, Perry, Farragut, Lee; +how Dewey had said, "You may fire now, Gridley, +if you are ready"; how Clark had brought the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Oregon</span> around the continent; how Scott had gone +alone among angry Indians. She had taught +<span class="tei-pb" id="page207">[pg 207]</span> +<a name="Pg207" id="Pg207" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>them such names, names which will not die while +America lives. It was she who had told the little +lads, listening wide-eyed, that as these men had +held life lightly for the glory of America, so her +sons, if need came, must be ready to offer their +lives for their country. She remembered how +Brock, his round face suddenly scarlet, had stammered +out:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">am</span> ready, Mummy. I'd die this minute for—for +America. Wouldn't you, Hughie?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And young Hugh, a slim, blond angel of a boy, +of curly, golden hair and unexpected answers, had +ducked beneath the hero, upsetting him into a +hedge to his infinite anger. "I wouldn't die right +now, Brocky," said Hugh. "There's going to be +chocolate cake for lunch."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">One could never count on Hugh's ways of doing +things, but Brock was a stone wall of reliability. +She smiled, thinking of his youth and beauty and +entire boyishness, to think yet of the saying from +the Bible which always suggested Brock, "Thou +shalt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is +stayed on Thee." It was so with the lad; through +<span class="tei-pb" id="page208">[pg 208]</span> +<a name="Pg208" id="Pg208" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the gay heart and eager interest in life pulsed an +atmosphere of deep religiousness. He was always +"in perfect peace," and his mother, less balanced, +had stayed her mind on that quiet and right +young mind from its very babyhood. The lad +had seen his responsibilities and lifted them all +his life. It came to her how, when her own mother, +very dear to Brock, had died, she had not let the +lads go with her to the house of death for fear +of saddening their youth, and how, when she and +their father came home from the hard, terrible +business of the funeral, they met little Hugh on +the drive, rapturous at seeing them again, rather +absorbed in his new dog. But Brock, then fourteen, +was in the house alone, quiet, his fresh, dear +face red with tears, and a black necktie of his +father's, too large for him, tied under his collar. +Of all the memories of her boys, that grotesque +black tie was the most poignant and most precious. +It said much. It said: "I also, O, my +mother, am of my people. I have a right to their +sorrows as well as to their joys, and if you do +not give me my place in trouble, I shall do what +<span class="tei-pb" id="page209">[pg 209]</span> +<a name="Pg209" id="Pg209" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I can alone, being but a boy. I shall give up +play, and I shall wear mourning as I can, not +knowing how very well, but pushed by all my being +to be with my own in their mourning."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Quickly affection for the other lad asserted itself. +Brock and Hugh were different, but Hugh +was a dear boy, too—undeveloped, that was all. +He had never taken life seriously, little Hugh, and +now that this war-cloud hung over the world, he +simply refused to look at it; he turned away his +face. That was all, a temperament which loved +harmony and shrank from ugliness; these things +were young Hugh's limitations, and no ignoble +quality.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In a long dream, yet much faster than the +words have told it, in comprehensive flashes of +memory, her elbows on her knees and her face, +in her slender hands, looking out over the garden +with its arched way of roses, with its high +hedge, looking past the loveliness that was +home to the city pulsing in summer heat, to +the shining zigzag of river beyond the city, the +woman reviewed her boys' lives. Boys were +<span class="tei-pb" id="page210">[pg 210]</span> +<a name="Pg210" id="Pg210" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>not now merely one phase of humanity; they had +suddenly become the nation. They stood in the +foreground of a world crisis; back of them America +was ranged, orderly, living and moving to +feed, clothe, and keep happy these millions of lads +holding in their hands the fate of the earth. Her +boys were but two, yet necessary. She owed them +to the country, as other mothers of men.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a whistle under the archway, a flying +step, and young Hugh shot from beneath the +rosiness of Dorothy Perkins vines and took the +stone steps in four bounds. All the dogs fell into +a community chorus of barks and whines and +patterings about, and Hugh's hands were on this +one and that as he bent over the woman.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"A <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">good</span> kiss, Mummy; that's cold baked potato," +he complained, and she laughed and hugged +him.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Not cold; I was just thinking. Your knee, +Hughie? You came up like a bird."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh made a face. "Bad break, that," he +grinned, and limped across the terrace and back. +"Mummy, it doesn't hurt much now, and I do +<span class="tei-pb" id="page211">[pg 211]</span> +<a name="Pg211" id="Pg211" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>forget," he explained, and his color deepened. +With that: "Tom Arthur is waiting for me in +town. We're going to pick up Whitney, the tennis +champion, at the Crossroads Club. May I +take Dad's roadster?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, Hughie. And, Hugh, meet the train, the +seven-five. Dad's coming to-night, you know."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The boy took her hand, looked at her uneasily. +"Mummy, dear, don't be thinking sinful thoughts +about me. And don't let Dad. Hold your fire, +Mummy."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She lifted her face, and her eyes were the eyes +of faith he had known all his life. "You blessed +boy of mine, I will hold my fire." And then Hugh +had all but knocked her over with a violent kiss +again, and he slammed happily through the screen +doors and was leaping up the stairs. Ten minutes +later she heard the car purring down the drive.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The dogs settled about her with long dog-sighs +again. She looked at her wrist—only five-thirty. +She went back with a new unrest to her thoughts. +Hugh's knee—it was odd; it had lasted a long +time, ever since—she shuddered a bit, so that old +<span class="tei-pb" id="page212">[pg 212]</span> +<a name="Pg212" id="Pg212" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Mavourneen lifted her head and objected softly—ever +since war was declared. Over a year! To be +sure, he had hurt it again badly, slipping on the +ice in December, just as it was getting strong. +She wished that his father would not be so grim +when Hugh's bad knee was mentioned. What did +he mean? Did he dare to think her boy—the word +was difficult even mentally—a slacker? With that +her mind raced back to the days just before Hugh +had hurt this knee. It was in February that +Germany had proclaimed the oceans closed except +along German paths, at German times. "This is +war at last," her husband had said, and she knew +the inevitable had come.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Night after night she had lain awake facing +it, sometimes breaking down utterly and shaking +her soul out in sobs, sometimes trying to see ways +around the horror, trying to believe that war +must end before our troops could get ready, often +with higher courage glorying that she might give +so much for country and humanity. Then, in the +nights, things that she had read far back, unrealizing, +rose and confronted her with awful reality. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page213">[pg 213]</span> +<a name="Pg213" id="Pg213" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Brutalities, atrocities, wounds, barbarous captivity—nightmares +which the Germans had dug out +of the grave of savagery and sent stalking over +the earth—such rose and stood before the +woman lying awake night after night. At first +her soul hid its face in terror at the gruesome +thoughts; at first her mind turned and fled and +refused to believe. Her boys, Brock and Hugh! +It was not credible, it was not reasonable, it was +out of drawing that her good boys, her precious +boys trained to be happy and help the world, to +live useful, peaceful lives, should be snatched +from home, here in America, and pitched into the +ghastly struggle of Europe. Push back the ocean +as she might, the ocean surged every day nearer.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Daytimes she was as brave as the best. She +could say: "If we had done it the day after the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Lusitania</span>, that would have been right. It would +have been all over now." She could say: "My +boys? They will do their duty like other women's +boys." But nights, when she crept into bed and +the things she had read of Belgium, of Serbia, +came and stood about her, she knew that hers +<span class="tei-pb" id="page214">[pg 214]</span> +<a name="Pg214" id="Pg214" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>were the only boys in the world who could not, +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">could</span> not be spared. Brock and Hugh! It seemed +as if it would be apparent to the dullest that +Brock and Hugh were different from all others. +She could suffer; she could have gone over there +light-hearted and faced any danger to save <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">them</span>. +Of course! That was natural! But—Brock and +Hugh! The little heads that had lain in the hollow +of her arm; the noisy little boys who had +muddied their white clothes, and broken furniture, +and spilled ink; the tall, beautiful lads who had +been her pride and her everlasting joy, her playmates, +her lovers—Brock and Hugh! Why, there +had never been on earth love and friendship in any +family close and unfailing like that of the four.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Night after night, nearer and nearer, the +ghosts from Belgium and Serbia and Poland stood +about her bed, and she fought with them as one +had fought with the beasts at Ephesus. Day +after day she cheered Brock and the two Hughs +and filled them with fresh patriotism. Of course, +she would not have her own fail in a hair's breadth +of eager service to their flag. Of course! And as +<span class="tei-pb" id="page215">[pg 215]</span> +<a name="Pg215" id="Pg215" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>she lifted up, for their sakes, her heart, behold +a miracle, for her heart grew high! She began +to feel the words she said. It came to her in very +truth that to have the world as one wanted it +was not now the point; the point was a greater +goal which she had never in her happy life even +visualized. It began to rise before her, a distant +picture glorious through a mist of suffering, +something built of the sacrifice, and the honor, and +the deathless bravery of millions of soldiers in +battle, of millions of mothers at home. The education +of a nation to higher ideals was reaching +the quiet backwater of this one woman's soul. +There were lovelier things than life; there were +harder things than death. Service is the measure +of living. If the boys were to compress years +of good living into a flame of serving humanity +for six months, who was she, what was life +here, that she should be reluctant? To play +the game, for herself and her sons, this was +the one thing worth while. More and more entirely, +as the stress of the strange, hard vision +crowded out selfishness, this woman, as thousands +<span class="tei-pb" id="page216">[pg 216]</span> +<a name="Pg216" id="Pg216" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and tens of thousands all over America, lifted up +her heart—the dear things that filled and were +her heart—unto the Lord.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And with that she was aware of a recurring +unrest. She was aware that there was something +her husband did not say to her about the boys, +about young Hugh. Brock had been hard to hold +for nearly two years now, but his father had +thought for reasons, that he should not serve +until his own flag called him. Now it would soon +be calling, and Brock would go instantly. But +young Hugh? What did the boy's attitude +mean?</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I can't make out Hughie," his father had +said to her in March, 1917, when it was certain +that war was coming. "What does this devil-may-care +pose about the war mean?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And she answered: "Let Hughie work it out, +Hugh. He's in trouble in his mind, but he'll +come through. We'll give him time."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, very well," Hugh the elder had agreed, +"but young Americans will have to take their +<span class="tei-pb" id="page217">[pg 217]</span> +<a name="Pg217" id="Pg217" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>stand shortly. I couldn't bear it if a son of mine +were a slacker."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She tossed out her hands. "Slacker! Don't +dare say it of my boy!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The hideous word followed her. That night, +when she lay in bed and looked out into the +moonlit wood, and saw the pines swaying like +giant fans across a pulsing, pale sky, and listened +to the summer wind blowing through the tall heads +of them, again through the peace of it the +word stabbed. A slacker! She set to work to +fancy how it would be if Brock and Hugh both +went to war and were both killed. She faced the +thought. Life—years of it—without Brock and +Hugh! She registered that steadily in her mind. +Then she painted to herself another picture, +Brock and Hugh not going to war, at home ignominiously +safe. Other women's sons marching +out into the danger—men, heroes! Brock and +Hugh explaining, steadily explaining why they +had not gone! Brock and Hugh after the war, +mature men, meeting returning soldiers, old +friends who had borne the burden and heat, themselves +<span class="tei-pb" id="page218">[pg 218]</span> +<a name="Pg218" id="Pg218" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>with no memories of hideous, infinitely precious +days, of hardships, and squalid trench life, +and deadly pain—for America! Brock and Hugh +going on through life into old age ashamed to +hold up their heads and look their comrades in +the eye! Or else—it might be—Brock and Hugh +lying next year, this year, in unknown, honored +graves in France! Which was worse? And the +aching heart of the woman did not wait to answer. +Better a thousand times brave death than a +coward's life. She would choose so if she knew +certainly that she sent them both to death. The +education of the war, the new glory of patriotism, +had already gone far in this one woman.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And then the thought stabbed again—a slacker—Hugh! +How did his father dare say it? A +poisonous terror, colder than the fear of death, +crawled into her soul and hid there. Was it possible +that Hugh, brilliant, buoyant, temperamental +Hugh was—that? The days went on, and the +cold, vile thing stayed coiled in her soul. It was +on the very day war was declared that young +Hugh injured his knee, a bad injury. When he +<span class="tei-pb" id="page219">[pg 219]</span> +<a name="Pg219" id="Pg219" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was carried home, when the doctor cut away his +clothes and bent over the swollen leg and said wise +things about the "bursa," the boy's eyes were +hard to meet. They constantly sought hers with +a look questioning and anxious. Words were impossible, +but she tried to make her glance and +manner say: "I trust you. Not for worlds would +I believe you did it on purpose."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And finally the lad caught her hand and with +his mouth against it spoke. "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">You</span> know I didn't +do it on purpose, Mummy."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And the cold horror fled out of her heart, and +a great relief flooded her.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">On a day after that Brock came home from +camp, and, though he might not tell it in words, +she knew that he would sail shortly for France. +She kept the house full of brightness and movement +for the three days he had at home, yet the +four—young Hugh on crutches now—clung to +each other, and on the last afternoon she and +Brock were alone for an hour. They had sat just +here after tennis, in the hazy October weather, +and pink-brown leaves had floated down with a +<span class="tei-pb" id="page220">[pg 220]</span> +<a name="Pg220" id="Pg220" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>thin, pungent fragrance and lay on the stone steps +in vague patterns. Scarlet geraniums bloomed +back of Brock's head and made a satisfying harmony +with the copper of his tanned face. They +fell to silence after much talking, and finally she +got out something which had been in her mind +but which it had been hard to say.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Brocky," she began, and jabbed the end of +her racket into her foot so that it hurt, because +physical pain will distract and steady a mind. +"Brocky, I want to ask you to do something."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes'm," answered Brock.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's this. Of course, I know you're going +soon, over there."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock looked at her gravely.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, I know, I want to ask you if—if <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">it</span> +happens—will you come and tell me yourself? If +it's allowed."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock did not even touch her hand; he knew +well she could not bear it. He answered quietly, +with a sweet, commonplace manner as if that other +world to which he might be going was a place +too familiar in his thoughts for any great strain +<span class="tei-pb" id="page221">[pg 221]</span> +<a name="Pg221" id="Pg221" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>in speaking of it. "Yes, Mummy," he said. "Of +course I will. I'd have wanted to anyway, even +if you hadn't said it. It seems to me—" He +lifted his young face, square-jawed, fresh-colored, +and there was a vision-seeing look in his eyes +which his mother had known at times before. He +looked across the city lying at their feet, and the +river, and the blue hills beyond, and he spoke +slowly, as if shaping a thought. "So many fellows +have 'gone west' lately that there must he +some way. It seems as if all that mass of love +and—and desire to reach back and touch—the +ones left—as if all that must have built a sort +of bridge over the river—so that a fellow might +probably come back and—and tell his mother—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock's voice stopped, and suddenly she was +in his arms, his face was against hers, and hot +tears not her own were on her cheek. Then he +was shaking his head as if to shake off the strong +emotion.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's not likely to happen, dear. The casualties +in this war are tremendously lower than in—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I know," she interrupted. "Of course, they +<span class="tei-pb" id="page222">[pg 222]</span> +<a name="Pg222" id="Pg222" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>are. Of course, you're coming home without a +scratch, and likely a general, and conceited beyond +words. How will we stand you!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Brock laughed delightedly. "You're a peach," +he stated. "That's the sort. Laughing mothers +to send us off—it makes a whale of a difference."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">That October afternoon had now dropped eight +months back, and still the house seemed lost without +Brock, especially on this June twentieth, the +day that was his and hers, the day when there had +always been "doings" second only to Christmas +at Lindow. But she gathered up her courage like +a woman. Hugh the elder was coming tonight +from his dollar-a-year work in Washington, her +man who had moved heaven and earth to get into +active service, and who, when finally refused because +of his forty-nine years and a defective eye, +had left his great business as if it were a joke, and +had put his whole time, and strength, and experience, +and fortune at the service of the Government—as +plenty of other American men were doing. +Hugh was coming in time for her birthday +dinner, and young Hugh was with them—Her +<span class="tei-pb" id="page223">[pg 223]</span> +<a name="Pg223" id="Pg223" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>heart shrank as if a sharp thing touched it. How +would it be when they rose to drink Brock's +health? She knew pretty well what her cousin, +the judge, would say:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The soldier in France! God bring him home +well and glorious!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">How would it be for her other boy then, the +boy who was not in France? Unphrased, a +thought flashed, "I hope, I do hope Hughie will +be very lame tonight."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The little dog slipped from her and barked in +remonstrance as she threw out her hands and +stood up. Old Mavourneen pulled herself to her +feet, too, a huge, beautiful beast, and the woman +stooped and put her arm lovingly about the furry +neck. "Mavourneen, you know a lot. You know +our Brock's away." At the name the big dog +whined and looked up anxious, inquiring. "And +you know—do you know, dear dog, that Hughie +ought to go? Do you? Mavourneen, it's like the +prayer-book says, 'The burden of it is intolerable.' +I can't bear to lose him, and I can't, O God! +I can't bear to keep him." She straightened. "As +<span class="tei-pb" id="page224">[pg 224]</span> +<a name="Pg224" id="Pg224" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>you say, Mavourneen, it's time to dress for +dinner."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The birthday party went better than one could +have hoped. Nobody broke down at Brock's +name; everybody exulted in the splendid episode +of his heroism, months back, which had won him +the war cross. The letter from Jim Colledge and +his own birthday letter, garrulous and gay, were +read. Brock had known well that the day would +be hard to get through and had made that letter +out of brutal cheerfulness. Yet every one felt his +longing to be at the celebration, missed for the +first time in his life, pulsing through the words. +Young Hugh read it and made it sweet with a +lovely devotion to and pride in his brother. A +heart of stone could not have resisted Hugh that +night. And then the party was over, and the +woman and her man, seeing each other seldom +now, talked over things for an hour. After, +through her open door, she saw a bar of light +under the door of the den, Brock's and Hugh's +den.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page225">[pg 225]</span> +<a name="Pg225" id="Pg225" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hughie," she spoke, and on the instant the +dark panel flashed into light.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Come in, Mummy, I've been waiting to talk +to you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Waiting, my lamb?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh pushed her, as a boy shoves a sister, into +the end of the sofa. There was a wood fire on the +hearth in front of her, for the June evening was +cool, and luxurious Hugh liked a fire. A reading +lamp was lighted above Brock's deep chair, and +there were papers on the floor by it, and more low +lights. There were magazines about, and etchings +on the walls, and bits of university plunder, +and the glow of rugs and of books. It was as +fascinating a place as there was in all the beautiful +house. In the midst of the bright peace Hugh +stood haggard.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hughie! What is it?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mother," he whispered, "help me!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"With my last drop of blood, Hugh."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I can't go on—alone—mother." His eyes +were wild, and his words labored into utterance. +"I—I don't know what to do—mother."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page226">[pg 226]</span> +<a name="Pg226" id="Pg226" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The war, Hughie?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Of course! What else is there?" he flung at +her.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But your knee?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, Mummy, you know as well as I that my +knee is well enough. Dad knows it, too. The +way he looks at me—or dodges looking! Mummy—I've +got to tell you—you'll have to know—and +maybe you'll stop loving me. I'm—" He +threw out his arms with a gesture of despair. +"I'm—afraid to go." With that he was on his +knees beside her, and his arms gripped her, and +his head was hidden in her lap. For a long minute +there was only silence, and the woman held +the young head tight.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh lifted his face and stared from blurred +eyes. "A man might better be dead than a coward—you're +thinking that? That's it." A sob +stopped his voice, the young, dear voice. His face, +drawn into lines of age, hurt her unbearably. She +caught him against her and hid the beloved, impossible +face.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hugh—I—judging you—I? Why, Hughie, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page227">[pg 227]</span> +<a name="Pg227" id="Pg227" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">love</span> you—I only love you. I don't stand off +and think, when it's you and Brock. I'm inside +your hearts, feeling it with you. I don't know if +it's good or bad. It's—my own. Coward—Hughie! +I don't think such things of my +darling."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'There's no—friend like a mother,'" stammered +young Hugh, and tears fell unashamed. His +mother had not seen the boy cry since he was ten +years old. He went on. "Dad didn't say a +word, because he wouldn't spoil your birthday, but +the way he dodged—my knee—" He laughed +miserably and swabbed away tears with the corner +of his pajama coat. "I wish I had a hanky," +he complained. The woman dried the tear-stained +cheeks hastily with her own. "Dad's got it in +for me," said Hugh. "I can tell. He'll make me +go—now. He—he suspects I went skating that +day hoping I'd fall—and—I know it wasn't so +darned unlikely. Yes—I did—not the first time—when +I smashed it; that was entirely—luck." +He laughed again, a laugh that was a sob. "And +now—oh, Mummy, have I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">got</span> to go into that +<span class="tei-pb" id="page228">[pg 228]</span> +<a name="Pg228" id="Pg228" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>nightmare? I hate it so. I am—I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">am</span>—afraid. +If—if I should be there and—and sent into some +terrible job—shell-fire—dirt—smells—dead men +and horses—filth—torture—mother, I might run. +I don't feel sure. I can't trust Hugh Langdon—he +might run. Anyhow"—the lad sprang to his +feet and stood before her—"anyhow—why am <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">I</span> +bound to get into this? I didn't start it. My +Government didn't. And I've everything, <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">everything</span> +before me here. I didn't tell you, but that +editor said—he said I'd be one of the great writers +of the time. And I love it, I love that job. I +can do it. I can be useful, and successful, and an +honor to you—and happy, oh, so happy! If only +I may do as Arnold said, be one of America's +big writers! I've everything to gain here; I've +everything to lose there." He stopped and stood +before her like a flame.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And from the woman's mouth came words which +she had not thought, as if other than herself +spoke them. "'What shall it profit a man,'" +she spoke, "'if he gain the whole world and lose +his own soul?'"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page229">[pg 229]</span> +<a name="Pg229" id="Pg229" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At that the boy plunged on his knees in collapse +and sobbed miserably. "Mother, mother! +Don't be merciless."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Merciless! My own laddie!" There seemed +no words possible as she stroked the blond head +with shaking hand. "Hughie," she spoke when +his sobs quieted. "Hughie, it's not how you feel; +it's what you do. I believe thousands and thousands +of boys in this unwarlike country have +gone—are going—through suffering like yours."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh lifted wet eyes. "Do you think so, +Mummy?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Indeed I do. Indeed I do. And I pray that +the women who love them are—faithful. For I +know, I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">know</span> that if a woman lets her men, if a +mother let her sons fail their country now, those +sons will never forgive her. It's your honor I'm +holding to, Hughie, against human instinct. +After this war, those to be pitied won't be the +sonless mothers or the crippled soldiers—it will be +the men of fighting age who have not fought. +Even if they could not, even at the best, they will +spend the rest of their lives explaining why."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page230">[pg 230]</span> +<a name="Pg230" id="Pg230" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh sat on the sofa now, close to her, and his +head dropped on her shoulder. "Mummy, that's +some comfort, that dope about other fellows taking +it as I do. I felt lonely. I thought I was the +only coward in America. Dad's condemning me; +he can't speak to me naturally. I felt as if"—his +voice faltered—"as if I couldn't stand it if +you hated me, too."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The woman laughed a little. "Hughie, you +know well that not anything to be imagined could +stop my loving you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He went on, breathing heavily but calmed. +"You think that even if I am a blamed fool, if +I went anyhow—that I'd rank as a decent white +man? In your eyes—Dad's—my own?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I know it, Hughie. It's what you do, not how +you feel doing it."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"If Brock would hold my hand!" The eyes of +the two met with a dim smile and a memory of +the childhood so near, so utterly gone. "I'd like +Dad to respect me again," the boy spoke in a +wistful, uncertain voice. "It's darned wretched +to have your father despise you." He looked at +<span class="tei-pb" id="page231">[pg 231]</span> +<a name="Pg231" id="Pg231" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>her then. "Mummy, you're tired out; your face +is gray. I'm a beast to keep you up. Go to bed, +dear."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He kissed her, and with his arm around her +waist led her through the dark hall to the door +of her room, and kissed her again. And again, +as she stood and watched there, he turned on the +threshold of the den and threw one more kiss +across the darkness, and his face shone with a +smile that sent her to bed, smiling through her +tears. She lay in the darkness, fragrant of honeysuckle +outside, and her sore heart was full of the +boys—of Hugh struggling in his crisis; still more, +perhaps, of Brock whose birthday it was, Brock +in France, in the midst of "many and great dangers," +yet—she knew—serene and buoyant among +them because his mind was "stayed." Not long +these thoughts held her; for she was so deadened +with the stress of many emotions that nature asserted +itself and shortly she feel asleep.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It may have been two or three hours she slept. +She knew afterward that it must have been at +about three of the summer morning when a dream +<span class="tei-pb" id="page232">[pg 232]</span> +<a name="Pg232" id="Pg232" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>came which, detailed and vivid as it was, probably +filled in time only the last minute or so before +awakening. It seemed to her that glory suddenly +flooded the troubled world; the infinite, intimate +joy, impossible to put into words, was yet a defined +and long first chapter of her dream. After +that she stood on the bank of a river, a river +perhaps miles wide, and with the new light-heartedness +filling her she looked and saw a mighty +bridge which ran brilliant with many-colored +lights, from her to the misty further shore of the +river. Over the bridge passed a throng of radiant +young men, boys, all in uniform. "How glorious!" +she seemed to cry out in delight, and with +that she saw Brock.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Very far off, among the crowd of others, she +saw him, threading his way through the throng. +He came, unhurried yet swift, and on his face +was an amused, loving smile which was perhaps +the look of him which she remembered best. By +his side walked old Mavourneen, the wolf-hound, +Brock's hand on the shaggy head. The two +swung steadily toward her, Brock smiling into +<span class="tei-pb" id="page233">[pg 233]</span> +<a name="Pg233" id="Pg233" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>her eyes, holding her eyes with his, and as they +were closer, she heard Mavourneen crying in wordless +dumb joy, crying as she had not done since +the day when Brock came home the last time. +Above the sound Brock's voice spoke, every trick +of inflection so familiar, so sweet, that the joy of +it was sharp, like pain.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mother, I'm coming to take Hughie's hand—to +take Hughie's hand," he repeated.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And with that Mavourneen's great cry rose +above his voice. And suddenly she was awake. +Somewhere outside the house, yet near, the dog +was loudly, joyfully crying. Out of the deep +stillness of the night burst the sound of the joyful +crying.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The woman shot from her bed and ran barefooted, +her heart beating madly, into the darkness +of the hall to the landing on the stairway. +Something halted her. There was a broad, uncurtained +pane of glass in the front door of the +house. From the landing one might look down +the stone steps outside and see clearly in the +bright moonlight as far as the beginning of the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page234">[pg 234]</span> +<a name="Pg234" id="Pg234" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>rose archway. As she stood gasping, from beneath +the flowers Brock stepped into the moonlight +and began, unhurried, buoyant, as she had +but now seen him in her dream, to mount the steps. +Mavourneen pressed at his side, and his hand was +on the dog's head. As he came, he lifted his face +to his mother with the accustomed, every-day +smile which she knew, as if he were coming home, +as he had come home on many a moonlit evening +from a dance in town to talk the day over with +her. As she stared, standing in the dark on the +landing, her pulse racing, yet still with the stillness +of infinity, an arm came around her, a hand +gripped her shoulder, and young Hugh's voice +spoke.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mother! It's Brock!" he whispered.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At the words she fled headlong down to the door +and caught at the handle. It was fastened, and for +a moment she could not think of the bolt. Brock +stood close outside; she saw the light on his brown +head and the bend in the long, strong fingers that +caressed Mavourneen's fur. He smiled at her +happily—Brock—three feet away. Just as the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page235">[pg 235]</span> +<a name="Pg235" id="Pg235" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>bolt loosened, with an inexplicable, swift impulse +she was cold with terror. For the half of a second, +perhaps, she halted, possessed by some formless +fear stronger than herself—humanity dreading +something not human, something unknown, overwhelming. +She halted not a whole second—for it +was Brock. Brock! Wide open she flung the +door and sprang out.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was no one there. Only Mavourneen +stood in the cold moonlight, and cried, and looked +up, puzzled, at empty air.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, Brock, Brock! Oh, dear Brock!" the +woman called and flung out her arms. "Brock—Brock—don't +leave me. Don't go!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Mavourneen sniffed about the dark hall, investigating +to find the master who had come home +and gone away so swiftly. With that young +Hugh was lifting her in his arms, carrying her +up the broad stairs into his room. "You're barefooted," +he spoke brokenly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She caught his hand as he wrapped her in a +rug on the sofa. "Hugh—you saw—it was +Brock?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page236">[pg 236]</span> +<a name="Pg236" id="Pg236" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, dearest, it was our Brock," answered +Hugh stumblingly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You saw—and I—and Mavourneen."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Mavonrneen is Irish," young Hugh said. +"She has the second sight," and the big old dog +laid her nose on the woman's knee and lifted topaz +eyes, asking questions, and whimpered broken-heartedly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Dear dog," murmured the woman and drew +the lovely head to her. "You saw him." And +then; "Hughie—he came to tell us. He is—dead."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I think so," whispered young Hugh with bent +head.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then, fighting for breath, she told what had +happened—the dream, the intense happiness of it, +how Brock had come smiling. "And Hugh, the +only thing he said, two or three times over, was, +'I'm coming to take Hughie's hand.'"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The lad turned upon her a shining look. "I +know, mother. I didn't hear, of course, but I +knew, when I saw him, it was for me, too. And +<span class="tei-pb" id="page237">[pg 237]</span> +<a name="Pg237" id="Pg237" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I'm ready. I see my way now. Mother, get +Dad."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hugh, the elder, still sleeping in his room at +the far side of the house, opened heavy eyes. Then +he sprang up. "Evelyn! What is it?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, Hugh—come! Oh, Hugh! Brock—Brock—" +She could not say the words; there +was no need. Brock's father caught her hands. +In bare words then she told him.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"My dear," urged the man, "you've had a vivid +dream. That's all. You were thinking about the +boys; you were only half awake; Mavourneen +began to cry—the dog means Brock. It was +easy—" his voice faltered—"to—to believe the +rest."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hugh, I <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">know</span>, dear. Brock came to tell me. +He said he would." Later, that day, when a telegram +arrived from the War Office there was no +new shock, no added certainty to her assurance. +She went on: "Hughie saw him. And Mavourneen. +But I can't argue. We still have a boy, Hugh, +and he needs us—he's waiting. Oh, my dear, +Hughie is going to France!"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page238">[pg 238]</span> +<a name="Pg238" id="Pg238" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Thank God!" spoke Hugh's father.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Hand tight in hand like young lovers the two +came across to the room where their boy waited, +tense. "Father—Dad—you'll give me back your +respect, won't you?" The strong young hand held +out was shaking. "Because I'm going, Dad. +But you have to know that I was—a coward."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">No</span>, Hugh."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes. And Dad, I'm afraid—now. But I've +got the hang of things, and nothing could keep +me. Will you, do you despise me—now—that I +still hate it—if—if I go just the same?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The big young chap shook so that his mother, +his tall mother, put her arms about him to steady +him. He clutched her hand hard and repeated, +through quivering lips, "Would you despise me +still, Dad?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">For a moment the father could not answer. +Then difficult tears of manhood and maturity +forced their way from his eyes and unheeded rolled +down his cheeks. With a step he put his arms +about the boy as if the boy were a child, and the +boy threw his about his father's shoulders.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page239">[pg 239]</span> +<a name="Pg239" id="Pg239" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">For a long second the two tall men stood so. +The woman, standing apart, through the shipwreck +of her earthly life was aware only of happiness +safe where sorrow and loss could not touch +it. What was separation, death itself, when love +stronger than death held people together as it +held Hugh and her boys and herself? Then the +older Hugh stood away, still clutching the lad's +hand, smiling through unashamed tears.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Hugh," he said, "in all America there's not +a man prouder of his son than I am of you. +There's not a braver soldier in our armies than +the soldier who's to take my name into France." +He stopped and steadied himself; he went on: "It +would have broken my heart, boy, if you had +failed—failed America. And your mother—and +Brock and me. Failed your own honor. It would +have meant for us shame and would have bowed +our heads; it would have meant for you disaster. +Don't fear for your courage, Hugh; the Lord +won't forsake the man who carries the Lord's +colors."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Young Hugh turned suddenly to his mother. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page240">[pg 240]</span> +<a name="Pg240" id="Pg240" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>"I'm at peace now. You and Dad—honor me. +I'll deserve respect from—my country. It will +be a wall around me—And—" he caught her to +him and crushed his mouth to hers—"dearest—Brock +will hold my hand."</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_15" id="toc_15"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page243">[pg 243]</span> +<a name="Pg243" id="Pg243" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">THE SILVER STIRRUP</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">In the most unexpected spots vital sparks of +history blaze out. Time seems, once in a while, +powerless to kill a great memory. Romance +blooms sometimes untarnished across centuries of +commonplace. In a new world old France lives.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p"> * * * * *</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It is computed that about one-seventh of the +French-Canadian population of Canada enlisted +in the great war. The stampede of heroism seems +to have left them cold. A Gospel of the Province +first congealed the none too fiery blood of the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">habitants</span>, small farmers, very poor, thinking in +terms of narrowest economy, of one pig and ten +children, of painstaking thrift and a bare margin +to subsistence. Such conditions stifle world interests. +The earthquake which threatened civilization +disturbed the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">habitant</span> merely because it +hazarded his critical balance on the edge of want. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page244">[pg 244]</span> +<a name="Pg244" id="Pg244" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>The cataclysm over the ocean was none of his +affair. And his affairs pressed. What about the +pig if one went to war? And could Alphonse, who +is fourteen, manage the farm so that there would +be vegetables for winter? Tell me that.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">When in September, 1914, I went to Canada +for two weeks of camping I had heard of this +point of view. Dick Lindsley and I were met at +the Club Station on the casual railway which +climbs the mountains through Quebec Province, +by four guides, men from twenty to thirty-five, +powerfully built chaps, deep-shouldered and slim-waisted, +lithe as wild-cats. It was a treat to see +their muscles, like machines in the pink of order, +adjust to the heavy <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">pacquetons</span>, send a canoe +whipping through the water. There was one exception +to the general physical perfection; one of +Dick's men, a youngster of perhaps twenty-two, +limped. He covered ground as well as the others, +for all of that; he picked the heaviest load and +portaged it at an uneven trot, faster than his comrades; +he was what the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">habitants</span> call "ambitionné." +Dick's canoe was loaded first, owing to +<span class="tei-pb" id="page245">[pg 245]</span> +<a name="Pg245" id="Pg245" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the fellow's efficiency, and I waited while it got +away and watched the lame boy. He had an interesting +face, aquiline and dark, set with vivid light-blue +eyes, shooting restless fire. I registered an +intention to get at this lad's personality. The +chance came two days later. My men were off +chopping on a day, and I suddenly needed to go +fishing.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Take Philippe," offered Dick. "He handles +a boat better than any of them."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe and I shortly slipped into the Guardian's +Pool, at the lower end of the long lake of the +Passes. "It is here, M'sieur," Philippe announced, +"that it is the custom to take large ones."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">By which statement the responsibility of landing +record trout was on my shoulders. I thought +I would have a return whack. My hands in the +snarly flies and my back to Philippe I spoke +around my pipe, yet spoke distinctly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why aren't you in France fighting?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The canoe shivered down its length as if the +man at its stern had jumped. There was a silence. +Then Philippe's deep, boyish voice answered.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page246">[pg 246]</span> +<a name="Pg246" id="Pg246" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"As M'sieur sees, one is lame."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I felt a hotness emerging from my flannel collar +and rushing up my face as I bent over that +damned Silver Doctor that wouldn't loose its grip +on the Black Hackle. I didn't see the Black +Hackle or the Silver Doctor for a moment. "Beg +pardon," I growled. "I forgot." I mumbled +platitudes.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"M'sieur le Docteur has right," Philippe announced +unruffled. "One should fight for France. +I have tried to enlist, there are three times, explaining +that I am '<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">capable</span>' though I walk not +evenly. But one will not have me. Therefore I +have shame, me. I have, naturally, more shame +than another because of Jeanne."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Because of Jeanne?" I repeated. "Who is +Jeanne?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a pause; a queer feeling made me +slew around. Philippe's old felt hat was being +pulled off as if he were entering a church.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But—Jeanne, M'sieur," he stated as if I +must understand. "Jeanne d'Arc. <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Tiens</span>—the +Maid of France."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page247">[pg 247]</span> +<a name="Pg247" id="Pg247" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The Maid of France!" I was puzzled. "What +has she to do with it?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But everything, M'sieur." The vivid eyes +flamed. "M'sieur does not know, perhaps, that +my grandfather fought under Jeanne?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Your grandfather!" I flung it at him in scorn. +The man was a poor lunatic.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But yes, M'sieur. My grandfather, lui-même."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But, Philippe, the Maid of Orleans died in +1431." I remembered that date. The Maid is +one of my heroic figures.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe shrugged his shoulders. "Oh—as for +a <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">grandpère</span>! But not the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">grandpère à present</span>, +he who keeps the grocery shop in St. Raymond. +Certainly not that grandfather. It is to say the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">grandpère</span> of that <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">grandpère</span>. Perhaps another +yet, or even two or three more. What does it matter? +One goes back a few times of grandfathers +and behold one arrives at him who was armorer +for the Maid—to whom she gave the silver stirrup."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The silver stirrup." My Leonard rod bumped +along the bow; my flies tangled again in the current. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page248">[pg 248]</span> +<a name="Pg248" id="Pg248" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I squirmed about till I faced the guide in +the stern. "Philippe, what in hell do you mean +by this drool of grandfathers and silver stirrups?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The boy, perfectly respectful, not forgetting +for a second his affair of keeping the canoe away +from the fish-hole, looked at me squarely, and his +uncommon light eyes gleamed out of his face like +the eyes of a prophet. "M'sieur, it is a tale +doubtless which seems strange to you, but to us +others it is not strange. M'sieur lives in New +York, and there are automobiles and trolley-cars +and large buildings <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">en masse</span>, and to M'sieur the +world is made of such things. But there are +other things. We who live in quiet places, know. +One has not too much of excitement, we others, +so that one remembers a great event which has +happened to one's family many years. Yes, indeed, +M'sieur, centuries. If one has not much +one guards as a souvenir the tale of the silver +stirrup of Jeanne. Yes, for several generations."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The boy was apparently unconscious that his +remarks were peculiar. "Philippe, will you tell +<span class="tei-pb" id="page249">[pg 249]</span> +<a name="Pg249" id="Pg249" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>me what you mean by a silver stirrup which +Jeanne d'Arc gave to your ancestors?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But with pleasure, M'sieur," he answered readily, +with the gracious French politeness which one +meets among the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">habitants</span> side by side with sad +lapses of etiquette. "It is all-simple that the old +grandfather, the ancient, he who lived in France +when the Maid fought her wars, was an armorer. +'<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Ça fait que</span>'—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sa fak</span>, Philippe pronounced it—'so +it happened that on a day the stirrup of the +Maid broke as her horse plunged, and my grandfather, +the ancient, he ran quickly and caught the +horse's head. And so it happened—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">çe fait que</span>—that +my grandfather was working at that moment +on a fine stirrup of gold for her harness, for +though they burned her afterwards, they gave her +then all that there was of magnificence. And the +old follow—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">le vieux</span>—whipped out the golden stirrup +from his pocket, quite prepared for use, so it +happened—and he put it quickly in the place of +the silver one which she had been using. And +Jeanne smiled. 'You are ready to serve France, +Armorer.'</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page250">[pg 250]</span> +<a name="Pg250" id="Pg250" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"She bent then and looked <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">le vieux</span> in the face—but +he was young at the time.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Are you not Baptiste's son, of Doremy?' +asked the Maid.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Yes, Jeanne,' said my <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">grandpère</span>.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Then keep the silver stirrup to remember our +village, and God's servant Jeanne,' she said, and +gave it to him with her hand."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">If a square of Gobelin tapestry had emerged +from the woods and hung itself across the gunwale +of my canvas canoe it would not have been +more surprising. I got my breath. "And the +stirrup, what became of it?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The boy shrugged his shoulders. "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Sais pas</span>," +he answered with French nonchalance. "One does +not know that. It is a long time, M'sieur le Docteur. +It was lost, that stirrup, some years ago. +It may be a hundred years. It may be two hundred. +My grandfather, he who keeps the grocery +shop, has told me that there is a saying that a +Martel must go to France to find the silver stirrup. +In every case I do not know. It is my wish +to fight for France, but as for the stirrup or +<span class="tei-pb" id="page251">[pg 251]</span> +<a name="Pg251" id="Pg251" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Jeanne—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sais pas</span>." Another shrug. With that he +was making oration, his light eyes flashing, his +dark face working with feeling, about the bitterness +of being a cripple, and unable to go into the +army.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It is not <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">comme il faut</span>, M'sieur le Docteur, +that a man whose very grandfather fought for +Jeanne should fail France now in her need. Jeanne, +one knows, was the saviour of France. Is it not?" +I agreed. "It is my inheritance, therefore, to fight +as my ancient grandfather fought." I looked at +the lame boy, not knowing the repartee. He began +again. "Also I am the only one of the family +proper to go, except Adolphe, who is not very +proper, having had a tree to fall on the lungs and +leave him liable to fits; and also Jacques and Louis +are too young, and Jean Baptiste he is blind of +one eye, God knows. So it is I who fail! I fail! +Jesus Christ! To stay at home like a coward when +France needs men!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But you are Canadian, Philippe. Your people +have been here two hundred years."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"M'sieur, I am of France. I belong there with +<span class="tei-pb" id="page252">[pg 252]</span> +<a name="Pg252" id="Pg252" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the fighting men." His look was a flame, and suddenly +I know why he was firing off hot shot at me. +I am a surgeon.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What's the matter with your leg?" I asked.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The brilliant eyes flashed. "Ah!" he brought +out, "One hoped—If M'sieur le Docteur would +but see. I may be cured. To be straight—to +march!" He was trembling.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Later, in the shifting sunshine at the camp door, +with the odors of hemlocks and balsams about us, +the lake rippling below, I had an examination. I +found that the lad's lameness was a trouble to be +cured easily by an operation. I hesitated. Was +it my affair to root this youngster out of safety +and send him to death in the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">débâcle</span> over there? +Yet what right had I to set limits? He wanted to +offer his life; how could I know what I might be +blocking if I withheld the cure? My job was to +give strength to all I could reach.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Philippe," I said, "if you'll come to New York +next month I'll set you up with a good leg."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In September, 1915, Dick and I came up for +our yearly trip, but Philippe was not with us. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page253">[pg 253]</span> +<a name="Pg253" id="Pg253" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Philippe, after drilling at Valcartier, was drilling +in England. I had lurid post cards off and on; +after a while I knew that he was "somewhere in +France." A grim gray card came with no post-mark, +no writing but the address and Philippe's +labored signature; for the rest there were printed +sentences: "I am well. I am wounded. I am in +hospital. I have had no letter from you lately." +All of which was struck out but the welcome words, +"I am well." So far then I had not cured the lad +to be killed. Then for weeks nothing. It came +to be time again to go to Canada for the hunting. +I wrote the steward to get us four men, as usual, +and Lindsley and I alighted from the rattling +train at the club station in September, 1916, with +a mild curiosity to see what Fate had provided as +guides, philosophers and friends to us for two +weeks. Paul Sioui—that was nice—a good fellow +Paul; and Josef—I shook hands with Josef; +the next face was a new one—ah, Pierre Beauramé—one +calls one's self that—<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">on s'appelle comme +ça. Bon jour!</span> I turned, and got a shock. The +fourth face, at which I looked, was the face of +<span class="tei-pb" id="page254">[pg 254]</span> +<a name="Pg254" id="Pg254" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Philippe Martel. I looked, speechless. And with +that the boy laughed. "It is that M'sieur cannot +again cure my leg," answered Philippe, and tapped +proudly on a calf which echoed with a wooden +sound.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You young cuss," I addressed him savagely. +"Do you mean to say you have gone and got shot +in that very leg I fixed up for you?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe rippled more laughter—of pure joy—of +satisfaction. "But, yes, M'sieur le Docteur, +that leg <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">même</span>. Itself. In a battle, M'sieur le +Docteur gave me the good leg for a long enough +time to serve France. It was all that there was +of necessary. As for now I may not fight again, +but I can walk and portage <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">comme il faut</span>. I am +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">capable</span> as a guide. Is it not, Josef?" He appealed, +and the men crowded around to back him +up with deep, serious voices.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Ah, yes, M'sieur."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">B'en capable!</span>"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He can walk like us others—the same!" they +assured me impressively.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe was my guide this year. It was the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page255">[pg 255]</span> +<a name="Pg255" id="Pg255" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>morning after we reached camp. "Would M'sieur +le Docteur be too busy to look at something?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was not. Philippe stood in the camp doorway +in the patch of sunlight where he had sat two years +before when I looked over his leg. He sat down +again, in the shifting sunshine, the wooden leg +sticking out straight and pathetic, and began to +take the covers off a package. There were many +covers; the package was apparently valuable. As +he worked at it the odors of hemlock and balsam, +distilled by hot sunlight, rose sweet and strong, +and the lake splashed on pebbles, and peace that +passes understanding was about us.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was in a bad battle in Lorraine," spoke +Philippe into the sunshiny peace, "that I lost +M'sieur le Docteur's leg. One was in the front +trench and there was word passed to have the wire +cutters ready, and also bayonets, for we were to +charge across the open towards the trenches of the +Germans—perhaps one hundred and fifty yards, +eight <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">arpents</span>—acres—as we say in Canada. Our +big guns back did the preparation, making what +M'sieur le Docteur well knows is called a <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">rideau</span>—a +<span class="tei-pb" id="page256">[pg 256]</span> +<a name="Pg256" id="Pg256" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>fire curtain. We climbed out of our trench with +a shout and followed the fire curtain; so closely +we followed that it seemed we should be killed by +our own guns. And then it stopped—too soon, +M'sieur le Docteur. Very many Boches were left +alive in that trench in front, and they fired as we +came, so that some of us were hit, and so terrible +was the fire that the rest were forced back to our +own trench which we had left. It is so sometimes +in a fight, M'sieur le Docteur. The big guns make +a little mistake, and many men have to die. Yet +it is for France. And as I ran with the others +for the shelter of the trench, and as the Boches +streamed out of their trench to make a counter +attack with hand-grenades I tripped on something. +It was little Réné Dumont, whom M'sieur le Docteur +remembers. He guided for our camp when +Josef was ill in the hand two years ago. In any +case he lay there, and I could not let him lie to +be shot to pieces. So I caught up the child and +ran with him across my shoulders and threw him +in the trench, and as he went in there was a cry +behind me, 'Philippe!'</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page257">[pg 257]</span> +<a name="Pg257" id="Pg257" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I turned, and one waved arms at me—a comrade +whom I did not know very well—but he lay +in the open and cried for help. So I thought of +Jeanne d'Arc, and how she had no fear, and was +kind, and with that, back I trotted to get the comrade. +But at that second—pouf!—a big noise, +and I fell down and could not get up. It was the +good new leg of M'sieur le Docteur which those +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">sacrés</span> Boches had blown off with a hand-grenade. +So that I lay dead enough. And when I came +alive it was dark, and also the leg hurt—but yes! +I was annoyed to have ruined that leg which you +gave me—M'sieur le Docteur."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I grinned, and something ached inside of me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe went on. "It was then, when I was +without much hope and weak and in pain and also +thirsty, that a thing happened. It is a business +without pleasure, M'sieur le Docteur, that—to lie +on a battle-field with a leg shot off, and around one +men dead, piled up—yes, and some not dead yet, +which is worse. They groan. One feels unable to +bear it. It grows cold also, and the searchlights +of the Boches play so as to prevent rescue by comrades. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page258">[pg 258]</span> +<a name="Pg258" id="Pg258" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>They seem quite horrible, those lights. +One lives, but one wishes much to die. So it happened +that, as I lay there, I heard a step coming, +not crawling along as the rescuers crawl and stopping +when the lights flare, but a steady step coming +freely. And with that I was lifted and carried +quickly into a wood. There was a hole in the +ground there, torn by a shell deeply, and the friend +laid me there and put a flask to my lips, and I was +warm and comforted. I looked up and I saw a +figure in soldier's clothing of an old time, such +as one sees in books—armor of white. And the +face smiled down at me. 'You will be saved,' a +voice said; and the words sounded homely, almost +like the words of my grandfather who keeps the +grocery shop. 'You will be saved.' It seemed to +me that the voice was young and gentle and like a +woman's.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Who are you?' I asked, and I had a strange +feeling, afraid a little M'sieur, yet glad to a marvel. +I got no answer to my question, but I felt +something pressed into my hand, and then I spoke, +but I suppose I was a little delirious, M'sieur, for +<span class="tei-pb" id="page259">[pg 259]</span> +<a name="Pg259" id="Pg259" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I heard myself say a thing I had not been thinking. +'A Martel must return to France to find the +silver stirrup'—I said that, M'sieur. Why I do +not know. They were the words I had heard my +grandfather speak. Perhaps the hard feeling in +my hand—but I cannot explain, M'sieur le Docteur. +In any case, there was all at once a great +thrill through my body, such as I have never +known. I sat up quickly and stared at the figure. +It stood there. M'sieur will probably not believe +me—the figure stood there in white armor, with +a sword—and I knew it for Jeanne—the Maid. +With that I knew no more. When I woke it was +day. I was still lying in the crater of the shell +which had torn up the earth of a very old battle-field, +but in my hand I held tight—this."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Philippe drew off the last cover with a dramatic +flourish and opened the box which had been +wrapped so carefully. I bent over him. In the +box, before my eyes, lay an ancient worn and battered +silver stirrup. There were no words to say. +I stared at the boy. And with that suddenly he +had slewed around clumsily—because of his poor +<span class="tei-pb" id="page260">[pg 260]</span> +<a name="Pg260" id="Pg260" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>wooden leg—and was on his knees at my feet. He +held out the stirrup.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"M'sieur le Docteur, you gave me a man's +chance and honor, and the joy of fighting for +France. I can never tell my thanks. I have nothing +to give you—but this. Take it, M'sieur le +Docteur. It is not much, yet to me the earth +holds nothing so valuable. It is the silver stirrup +of Jeanne d'Arc. It is yours."</p> + +<p style="text-align: center" class="tei tei-p"> * * * * *</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">In a glass case on the wall of my library hangs +an antique bit of harness which is my most precious +piece of property. How its story came +about I do not even try to guess. As Philippe +said the action of that day took place on a very +old battle-field. The shell which made the sheltering +crater doubtless dug up earth untouched for +hundreds of years. That it should have dug up +the very object which was a tradition in the Martel +family and should have laid it in the grasp of a +Martel fighting for France with that tradition at +the bottom of his mind seems incredible. The story +<span class="tei-pb" id="page261">[pg 261]</span> +<a name="Pg261" id="Pg261" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>of the apparition of the Maid is incredible to +laughter, or tears. No farther light is to be got +from the boy, because he believes his story. I do +not try to explain, I place the episode in my +mind alongside other things incredible, things +lovely and spiritual, and, to our viewpoint of five +years ago, things mad. Many such have risen +luminous, undesirable, unexplained, out of these +last horrible years, and wait human thought, it +may be human development, to be classified. I +accept and treasure the silver stirrup as a pledge +of beautiful human gratitude. I hold it as a +visible sign that French blood keeps a loyalty to +France which ages and oceans may not weaken.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_16" id="toc_16"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page265">[pg 265]</span> +<a name="Pg265" id="Pg265" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">THE RUSSIAN</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">The little dinner-party of grizzled men strayed +from the dining-room and across the hall into the +vast library, arguing mightily.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The great war didn't do it. World democracy +was on the way. The war held it back."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was the United States Senator, garrulous +and incisive, who issued that statement. The +Judge, the host, wasted not a moment in contradicting. +"You're mad, Joe," he threw at him with +a hand on the shoulder of the man who was still +to him that promising youngster, little Joe Burden +of The School. "Held back democracy! The +war! Quite mad, my son."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The guest of the evening, a Russian General +who had just finished five strenuous years in the +Cabinet of the Slav Republic, dropped back a step +to watch, with amused eyes, strolling through the +doorway, the two splendid old boys, the Judge's +arm around the Senator's shoulders, fighting, sputtering, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page266">[pg 266]</span> +<a name="Pg266" id="Pg266" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>arguing with each other as they had fought +and argued forty odd years up to date.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Two minutes more and the party of six had settled +into deep chairs, into a mammoth davenport, +before a blazing fire of spruce and birch. Cigars, +liqueurs, coffee, the things men love after dinner, +were there; one had the vaguest impression of two +vanishing Japanese persons who might or might +not have brought trays and touched the fire and +placed tiny tables at each right hand; an atmosphere +of completeness was present, one did not +notice how. One settled with a sigh of satisfaction +into comfort, and chose a cigar. One laughed to +hear the Judge pound away at the Senator.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It's all a game." Dr. Rutherford turned to +the Russian. "They're devoted old friends, not +violent enemies, General. The Senator stirs up +the Judge by taking impossible positions and defending +them savagely. The Judge invariably +falls into the trap. Then a battle. Their battles +are the joy of the Century Club. The Senator +doesn't believe for an instant that the war held +back democracy."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page267">[pg 267]</span> +<a name="Pg267" id="Pg267" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">At that the Senator whirled. "I don't? But +I do.—Don't <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">smoke</span> that cigar, Rutherford, on +your life. Peter will have these atrocities. Here—Kaki, +bring the doctor the other box.—That's +better.—I don't believe what I said? Now listen. +How could the fact that the world was turned into +a military camp, officers commanding, privates +obeying, rank, rank, rank everywhere throughout +mankind, how could that fail to hinder democracy, +which is in its essence the leveling of ranks? Tell +me that!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The doctor grinned at the Russian. "What +about it, General? What do you think?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The General answered slowly, with a small accent +but in the wonderfully good English of an +educated Russian. "I do not agree with the Sena-torr," +he stated, and five heads turned to listen. +There was a quality of large personality in the +burr of the voice, in the poise and soldierly bearing, +in the very silence of the man, which made his +slow words of importance. "I believe indeed that +the Sena-torr is partly—shall I say speaking for +argument?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page268">[pg 268]</span> +<a name="Pg268" id="Pg268" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Senator laughed.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The great war, in which all of us here had +the honor to bear arms—that death grapple of +tyranny against freedom—it did not hold back +the cause of humanity, of democracy, that war. +Else thousands upon thousands of good lives were +given in vain."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a hushed moment. Each of the men, +men now from fifty to sixty years old, had been +a young soldier in that Homeric struggle. Each +was caught back at the words of the Russian to a +vision of terrible places, of thundering of great +guns, of young, generous blood flowing like water. +The deep, assured tones of the Russian spoke into +the solemn pause.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"There is an episode of the war which I remember. +It goes to show, so far as one incident may, +where every hour was crowded with drama, how +forces worked together for democracy. It is the +story of a common man of my country who was +a private in the army of your country, and who +was lifted by an American gentleman to hope and +opportunity, and, as God willed it, to honor. My +<span class="tei-pb" id="page269">[pg 269]</span> +<a name="Pg269" id="Pg269" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>old friend the Judge can tell that episode better +than I. My active part in it was small. If you +like"—the dark foreign eyes flashed about the +group—"if you like I should much enjoy hearing +my old friend review that little story of democracy."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a murmur of approval. One man +spoke, a fighting parson he had been. "It argues +democracy in itself, General, that a Russian aristocrat, +the brother of a Duke, should remember +so well the adventures of a common soldier."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The smouldering eyes of the Slav turned to the +speaker and regarded him gravely. "I remember +those adventures well," he answered.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Judge, flung back in a corner of the davenport, +his knees crossed and rings from his cigar +ascending, stared at the ceiling, "Come along, +Peter. You're due to entertain us," the Senator +adjured him, and the Judge, staring upwards, +began.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"This is the year 1947. It was in 1917 that the +United States went into war—thirty years ago. +The fifth of June, 1917, was set, as you remember, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page270">[pg 270]</span> +<a name="Pg270" id="Pg270" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>for the registration of all men in the country over +twenty-one and under thirty-one for the draft. I +was twenty-three, living in this house with my +father and mother, both dead before the war ended. +Being outside of the city, the polling place where +I was due to register was three miles off, at Hiawatha. +I registered in the morning; the polls were +open from seven A.M. to nine P.M. My mother +drove me over, and the road was being mended, +and, as happened in those days in the country, +half a mile of it was almost impassable. There +were no adjustable lift-roads invented then. We +got through the ruts and stonework, but it was +hard going, and we came home by a detour through +the city rather than pass again that beastly half +mile. That night was dark and stormy, with rain +at intervals, and as we sat in this room, reading, +the three of us—" The Judge paused and gazed +a moment at the faces in the lamplight, at the +chairs where his guests sat. It was as if he called +back to their old environment for a moment the +two familiar figures which had belonged here, +which had gone out of his life. "We sat in this +<span class="tei-pb" id="page271">[pg 271]</span> +<a name="Pg271" id="Pg271" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>room, the three of us," he repeated, "and the +butler came in.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'If you please, sir, there's a young man here +who wants to register,' he said.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Wants to register!' my father threw at him. +'What do you mean?'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"We all went outside, and there we found not +one, but five boys, Russians. There was a munitions +plant a mile back of us and the lads worked +there, and had wakened to the necessity of registering +at the last moment, being new in the country +and with little English. They had directions +to go to the same polling place as mint, Hiawatha, +but had gotten lost, and, seeing our lights, brought +up here. Hiawatha, as I said, is three miles away. +It was eight-thirty and the polls closed at nine. +We brought the youngsters inside, and I dashed +to the garage for the car and piled the delighted +lads into it and drove them across.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"At least I tried to. But when we came to the +bad half mile the car rebelled at going the bit +twice in a day, and the motor stalled. There we +were—eight-forty-five P.M.—polls due to close +<span class="tei-pb" id="page272">[pg 272]</span> +<a name="Pg272" id="Pg272" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>at nine—a year's imprisonment for five well-meaning +boys for neglecting to register. I was in despair. +Then suddenly one of the boys saw a small +red light ahead, the tail light of an automobile. +We ran along and found a big car standing in +front of a house. As we got there, out from the +car stepped a woman with a lantern, and as the +light swung upward I saw that she was tall and +fair and young and very lovely. She stopped as +the six of us loomed out of the darkness. I knew +that a professor from the University in town had +taken this house for the summer, but I don't know +the people or their name. It was no time to be +shy. I gave my name and stated the case.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The girl looked at me. 'I've seen you,' she +said. 'I know you are Mr. McLane. I'll drive +you across. One moment, till I tell my mother.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"She was in the house and out again without +wasting a second, and as she flashed into the car I +heard a gasp, and I turned and saw in the glare +of the headlights as they sprang on one of my +Russians, a gigantic youngster of six feet four or +so, standing with his cap off and his head bent, as +<span class="tei-pb" id="page273">[pg 273]</span> +<a name="Pg273" id="Pg273" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>he might have stood before a shrine, staring at the +spot where the girl had disappeared into the car. +Then the engine purred and my squad tumbled in.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"We made the polls on the tap of nine. Afterwards +we drove back to my car and among us, +with the lantern, we got the motor running again, +the girl helping efficiently. The big fellow, when +we told her good-night, astonished me by dropping +on his knees and kissing the edge of her skirt. But +I put it down to Slavic temperament and took it +casually. I've learned since what Russian depth +of feeling means—and tenacity of purpose. There +was one more incident. When I finally drove the +lads up to their village the big chap, who spoke +rather good English when he spoke at all, which +was seldom, invited me to have some beer. I was +tired and wanted to get home, so I didn't. Then +the young giant excavated in his pocket and +brought out a dollar bill.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'You get beer tomorrow.' And when I laughed +and shoved it back he flushed. 'Excuse—Mr. Sir,' +he said. 'I make mistake.' Suddenly he drew himself +up—about to the treetops, it looked, for he +<span class="tei-pb" id="page274">[pg 274]</span> +<a name="Pg274" id="Pg274" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was a huge, a magnificent lad. He tossed out his +arm to me. 'Some day,' he stated dramatically, +'I do two things. Some day I give Mr. Sir somethings +more than dollar—and he will take. And—some +day I marry—Miss Angel!'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You may believe I was staggered. But I simply +stuck out my fist and shook his and said: +'Good. No reason on earth why a fellow with the +right stuff shouldn't get anywhere. It's a free +country.' And the giant drew his black brows +together and remarked slowly: 'All countries—world—is +to be free. War will sweep up kings—and +other—rubbish. I—shall be—a man.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Besides his impressive build, the boy had—had—" +the Judge glanced at the Russian General, +whose eyes glowed at the fire. "The boy had a remarkable +face. It was cut like a granite hill, in +sweeping masses. All strength. His eyes were +coals. I went home thoughtful, and the Russian +boy's intense face was in my mind for days, and I +told myself many times that he not only would +be, but already was, a man.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Events quickstepped after that. I got to +<span class="tei-pb" id="page275">[pg 275]</span> +<a name="Pg275" id="Pg275" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>France within the year, and, as you remember, +work was ready. It was perhaps eighteen months +after that registration day, June fifth, which we +keep so rightly now as one of our sacred days, +that one morning I was in a fight. Our artillery +had demoralized the enemy at a point and sent +them running. There was one machine gun left +working in the Hun trenches—doing a lot of damage. +Suddenly it jammed. I was commanding +my company, and I saw the chance, but also I saw +a horrid mess of barbed wire. So I just ran forward +a bit and up to the wire and started clipping, +while that machine gun stayed jammed. Out of +the corner of an eye I could see men rushing towards +it in the German trench, and I knew I had +only a moment before they got it firing again. +Then, as I leaped far forward to reach a bit of +entanglement, my foot slipped in a puddle and as +I sprawled I saw our uniform and a dead American +boy's face under me, and I fell headlong in his +blood over him and into a bunch of wire. And +couldn't get up. The wire held like the devil. I +got more tied up at every pull. And my clippers +<span class="tei-pb" id="page276">[pg 276]</span> +<a name="Pg276" id="Pg276" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>had fallen from my hand and landed out of +reach.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'It's good night for me,' I thought, and was +aware of a sharp regret. To be killed because of +a nasty bit of wire! I had wanted to do a lot of +things yet. With that something leaped, and I +saw clippers flashing close by. A big man was +cutting me loose, dragging me out, setting me on +my feet. Then the roar of an exploding shell; the +man fell—fell into the wire from which he had just +saved me. There was no time to consider that; +somehow I was back and leading my men—and +then we had the trenches.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The rest of that day was confusion, but we +won a mile of earthworks, and at night I remembered +the incident of the wire and the man who +rescued me. By a miracle I found him in the field +hospital. His head was bandaged, for the bit of +shell had scraped his cheek and jaw, but his eyes +were safe, and something in the glance out of +them was familiar. Yet I didn't know him till he +drew me over and whispered painfully, for it hurt +him to talk:</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page277">[pg 277]</span> +<a name="Pg277" id="Pg277" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Yester—day I did—give Mr. Sir somethings +more than dollar. And he did—take it.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Then I know the big young Russian of registration +day who had tried to tip me. Bless him! +I got him transferred to my command and—" the +Judge hesitated a bit and glanced at his distinguished +guest. One surmised embarrassment in +telling the story of the General's humble compatriot.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The General rose to his feet and stood before +the fire facing the handful of men. "I can continue +this anecdote from the point that is more +easily than my friend the Judge," spoke the General. +"I was in the confidence of that countryman +of mine. I know. It was so that after he had been +thus slightly useful to my friend the Judge, who +was the Captain McLane at that time—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Judge broke in with a shout of deep laughter +worthy of a boy of eighteen. "He 'slightly +obliged me by saving my life." The American, +threw that into the Russian's smooth sentences. +"I put that fact before the jury."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The four men listening laughed also, but the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page278">[pg 278]</span> +<a name="Pg278" id="Pg278" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Russian held up a hand and went on gravely: "It +was quite simple, that episode, and the man's +pleasure. I knew him well. But what followed was +not ordinary. The Captain McLane saw to it +that the soldier had his chance. He became an officer. +He went alive through the war, and at the +end the Captain McLane made it possible that he +should be educated. His career was a gift from +the Captain McLane—from my friend the Judge +to that man, who is now—" the finished sentence +halted a mere second—"who is now a responsible +person of Russia.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"And it is the incident of that sort, it is that +incident itself which I know, which leads me to +combat—" he turned with a deep bow—"the position +of the Sena-torr that the great war did not +make for democracy. Gentlemen, my compatriot +was a peasant, a person of ignorance, yet with +a desire of fulfilling his possibilities. He had +been born in social chains and tied to most sordid +life, beyond hope, in old Russia. To try to shake +free he had gone to America. But it was that caldron +of fire, the war, which freed him, which fused +<span class="tei-pb" id="page279">[pg 279]</span> +<a name="Pg279" id="Pg279" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>his life and the life of the Captain McLane, so +different in opportunity, and burned from them +all trivialities and put them, stark-naked of advantages +and of drawbacks artificial, side by side, +as two lives merely. It made them—brothers. +One gave and the other took as brothers without +thought of false pride. They came from the furnace +men. Both. Which is democracy—a chance +for a tree to grow, for a flame to burn, for a river +to flow; a chance for a man to become a man and +not rest a vegetable anchored to the earth as—Oh, +God!—for many centuries the Russian mujiks +have rested. It is that which I understand by +democracy. Freedom of development for everything +which wants to develop. It was the earthquake +of war which broke chains, loosened dams, +cleared the land for young forests. It was war +which made Russia a republic, which threw down +the kingships, which joined common men and +princes as comrades. God bless that liberating +war! God grant that never in all centuries may +this poor planet have another! God save democracy—humanity! +Does the Sena-torr yet believe +<span class="tei-pb" id="page280">[pg 280]</span> +<a name="Pg280" id="Pg280" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>that the great war retarded democracy?" The +Russian's brilliant, smouldering eyes swept about, +inquiring.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a hush in the peaceful, firelit, lamp-lit +room. And with that, as of one impulse, led +by the Senator, the five men broke into handclapping. +Tears stood in eyes, faces were twisted with +emotion; each of these men had seen what the thing +was—war; each knew what a price humanity had +paid for freedom. Out of the stirring of emotion, +out of the visions of trenches and charges and +blood and agony and heroism and unselfishness +and steadfastness, the fighting parson, he who had +bent, under fire, many a day over dying men who +waited his voice to help them across the border—the +parson led the little company from the intense +moment to commonplace.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You haven't quite finished the story, General. +The boy promised to do two things. He did the +first; he gave the Judge 'something more than a +dollar,' and the Judge took it—his life. But he +said also he was going to marry—what did he call +her?—Miss Angel. How about that?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page281">[pg 281]</span> +<a name="Pg281" id="Pg281" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Russian General, standing on the hearthrug, +appeared to draw himself up suddenly with +an access of dignity, and the Judge's boyish big +laugh broke into the silence, "Tell them, Michael," +said the Judge. "You've gone so far with +the fairy story that they have a right to know the +crowning glory of it. Tell them."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And suddenly the men sitting about noticed +with one accord what, listening to the General's +voice, they had not thought about—that the Russian +was uncommonly tall—six feet four perhaps; +that his face was carved in sweeping lines like +a granite hillside, and that an old, long scar +stretched from the vivid eyes to the mouth. The +men stared, startled with a sudden simultaneous +thought. The Judge, watching, smiled. Slowly +the General put his hand into the breast pocket +of his evening coat; slowly he drew out a case of +dark leather, tooled wonderfully, set with stones. +He opened the case and looked down; the strong +face changed as if a breeze and sunshine passed +over a mountain. He glanced up at the men +waiting.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page282">[pg 282]</span> +<a name="Pg282" id="Pg282" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I am no Duke's brother," he said, smiling, suddenly +radiant. "That is a mistake of the likeness +of a name, which all the world makes. I am born +a mujik of Russia. But you, sir," and he turned +to the parson, "you wish an answer of 'Miss +Angel,' as the big peasant boy called that lovely +spirit, so far above him in that night, so far above +him still, and yet, God be thanked, so close today! +Yes? Then this is my answer." He held out the +miniature set with jewels.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_17" id="toc_17"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page285">[pg 285]</span> +<a name="Pg285" id="Pg285" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">ROBINA'S DOLL</h1> + + +<p class="tei tei-p">Massive, sprawling, uncertain writing, two +sentences to the page; a violent slant in the second +line, down right, balanced by a drastic lessening +of the letters, up right, in the line underneath; +spelling not as advised in the Century Dictionary—a +letter from Robina, aged eight. Robina's Aunt +Evelyn, sitting in her dress and cap of a Red +Cross nurse in the big base hospital in Paris, read +the wandering, painstaking, very unsuccessful literary +effort, laughing, half-crying, and kissed it +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The darling baby! She shall have her doll if +it takes—" Aunt Evelyn stopped thoughtfully.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It would take something serious to buy and +equip the doll that Robina, with eight-year-old +definiteness, had specified. The girl in the Red +Cross dress read the letter over.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Dear Aunt Evelyn," began Robina and struck +no snags so far. "I liked your postcard so much." +<span class="tei-pb" id="page286">[pg 286]</span> +<a name="Pg286" id="Pg286" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>(The facilis descensus to an averni of literature +began with a swoop down here.) "Mother is wel. +Fother is wel. The baby is wel. The dog has sevven +kitens." (Robina robbed Peter to pay Paul +habitually in her spelling.) "Fother sais they +lukk like choklit eclares. I miss you, dere Aunt +Evelyn, because I lov you sew. I hope Santa +Claus wil bring me a doll. I want a very bigg +bride doll with a vale and flours an a trunk of +close, and all her under-close to buton and unboton +and to have pink ribons run into. I don't +want anythig sode on. Come home, Aunt Evelyn, +becaus I miss you. But if the poor wundead soljers +ned you then don't come. But as soone as you +can come to yure loving own girl—ROBINA."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The dear angel! Every affectionate, labored +word was from the warm little heart; Evelyn +Bruce knew that. She sat, smiling, holding the +paper against her, seeing a vision of the faraway, +beloved child who wrote it. She saw the dancing, +happy brown eyes and the shining, cropped head +of pale golden brown, and the straight, strong +little figure; she heard the merry, ready giggle and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page287">[pg 287]</span> +<a name="Pg287" id="Pg287" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>the soft, slow tones that were always full of love +to her. Robina, her sister's child, her own god-daughter +had been her close friend from babyhood, +and between them there was a bond of understanding +which made nothing of the difference in years. +Darling little Robina! Such a good, unspoiled +little girl, for all of the luxury and devotion that +surrounded her!</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">But—there was a difficulty just there. Robina +was unspoiled indeed, yet, as the children of the +very rich, she was, even at eight, sophisticated in +a baby way. She had been given too many grand +dolls not to know just the sort she wanted. She +did not know that what she wanted cost money, +but she knew the points desired—and they did cost +money. Aunt Evelyn had not much money.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"This one extravagant thing I will do," said +Evelyn Bruce, "and I'll give up my trip to England +next week, and I'll do it in style. Robina +won't want dolls much longer and this time she's +got to have her heart's desire."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Which was doubtless foolish, yet when one is +separated by an ocean and a war from one's own, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page288">[pg 288]</span> +<a name="Pg288" id="Pg288" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>it is perhaps easier to be foolish for a child's face +and a child's voice, and love sent across the sea. +So Evelyn Bruce wrote a letter to her cousin in +England saying that she could not come to her +till after Christmas. Then she went out into +Paris and ordered the doll, and reveled in the +ordering, for a very gorgeous person indeed it +was, and worthy to journey from Paris to a little +American. It was to be ready in just two weeks, +and Miss Bruce was to come in and look over the +fine lady and her equipment as often as desired, +before she started on her ocean voyage.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It would simply break my heart if she were +torpedoed."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Evelyn confided that, childlike, to the black-browed, +stout Frenchwoman who took a personal +interest in every "buton," and then she opened +her bag and brought out Robina's photograph, +standing, in a ruffled bonnet, her solemn West +Highland White terrier dog in her arms, on the +garden path of "Graystones" between tall foxgloves. +And the Frenchwoman tossed up enraptured +hands at the beauty of the little girl who +<span class="tei-pb" id="page289">[pg 289]</span> +<a name="Pg289" id="Pg289" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was to get the doll, and did not miss the great, +splendid house in the background, or the fact that +the dog was of a "<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">chic</span>" variety.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The two weeks fled, every day full of the +breathless life—and death—of a hospital in war-torn +France. Every day the girl saw sights and +heard sounds which it seemed difficult to see and +hear and go on living, but she moved serene +through such an environment, because she could +help. Every day she gave all that was in her to +the suffering boys who were carried, in a never-ending +stream of stretchers, into the hospital. +And the strength she gave flowed back to her +endlessly from, she could not but believe it, the +underlying source of all strength, which stretches +beneath and about us all, and from which those +who give greatly know how to draw.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Two or three times, during the two weeks, +Evelyn had gone in to inspect the progress of +Robina's doll, and spent a happy and light-hearted +quarter of an hour with friendly Madame of the +shop, deciding the color of the lady's party +coat, and of the ribbons in her minute underclothes, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page290">[pg 290]</span> +<a name="Pg290" id="Pg290" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>and packing and repacking the trunk +with enchanting fairy foolishnesses. Again and +again she smiled to herself, in bed at night, going +about her work in the long days, as she thought +of the little girl's rapture over the many and carefully +planned details. For, with all the presents +showered on her, Robina's aunt knew that Robina +had never had anything as perfect as this exquisite +Paris doll and her trousseau.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The day came on which Evelyn was to make +her final visit to "La Marquise," as Madame +called the doll, and the nurse was needed in the +hospital and could not go. But she telephoned +Madame and made an appointment for tomorrow.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'La Marquise' finds herself quite ready for +the voyage," Madame spoke over the telephone. +"She is all which there is of most lovely; Paris +itself has never seen a so ravishing doll. I say +it. We wait anxiously to greet Mademoiselle, I +and La Marquise," Madame assured her. Evelyn, +laughing with sheer pleasure, made an engagement +for the next day, without fail, and went +back to her work.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page291">[pg 291]</span> +<a name="Pg291" id="Pg291" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">There was a badly wounded <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">poilu</span> in her ward, +whom the girl had come to know well. He was +young, perhaps twenty-seven, and his warm +brown eyes were full of a quality of gentleness +which endeared him to everyone who came near +him. He was very grateful, very uncomplaining, +a simple-minded, honest, common, young peasant, +with a charm uncommon. The unending bright +courage with which he made light of cruel pain, +was almost more than Evelyn, used as she was +to brave men's pain, could bear. He could not +get well—the doctors said that—and it seemed +that he could not die.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"If Corporal Duplessis might die," Evelyn +spoke to the surgeon.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He answered, considering: "I don't see what +keeps him alive."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I believe," said Evelyn, "there's something +on his mind. He sighs constantly. Broken-heartedly. +I believe he can't die until his mind is +relieved."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It may be that," agreed Dr. Norton. "You +could help him if you could get him to tell you." +<span class="tei-pb" id="page292">[pg 292]</span> +<a name="Pg292" id="Pg292" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>And moved on to the next shattered thing that +had been, so lately, a strong, buoyant boy.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Evelyn went back to Duplessis and bent over +him and spoke cheerful words; he smiled up at her +with quick French responsiveness, and then sighed +the heavy, anxious sigh which had come to be +part of him. With that the girl took his one +good hand and stroked it. "If you could tell the +American Sister what it is," she spoke softly, +"that troubles your mind, perhaps I might help +you. We Americans, you know," and she smiled +at him, "we are wonderful people. We can do +all sorts of magic—and I want to help you to +rest, so much. I'd do anything to help you. +Won't you tell me what it is that bothers?" +Evelyn Bruce's voice was winning, and Duplessis' +eyes rested on her affectionately.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But how the Sister understands one!" he said. +"It is true that there is a trouble. It hinders me +to die"—and the heavy sigh swept out again. "It +would be a luxury for me—dying. The pain is +bad, at times. Yet the Sister knows I am glad to +have it, for France. Ah, yes! But—if I might +<span class="tei-pb" id="page293">[pg 293]</span> +<a name="Pg293" id="Pg293" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>be released. Yet the thought of what I said to +her keeps me from dying always."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What you said 'to her,' corporal?" repeated +Evelyn. "Can't you tell me what it was? I +would try so hard to help you. I might perhaps."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Who knows?" smiled the corporal, "It is +true that Americans work magic. And the Sister +is of a goodness! But yes. Yet the Sister may +laugh at me, for it is a thing entirely childish, +my trouble."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I will not laugh at you, Corporal," said +Evelyn, gravely, and felt something wring her +heart.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"If—then—if the Sister will not think it foolish—I +will tell." The Sister's answer was to +stroke his fingers. "It is my child, my little girl," +Duplessis began in his deep, weak tones. "It was +to her I made the promise."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What promise?" prompted Evelyn softly, as +he stopped.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"One sees," the deep voice began again, "that +when I told them goodbye, the mother and Marie +my wife, and the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">petite</span>, who has five years, then +<span class="tei-pb" id="page294">[pg 294]</span> +<a name="Pg294" id="Pg294" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I started away, and would not look back, because +I could not well bear it, Sister. And suddenly, +as I strode to the street from our cottage, down +the brick walk, where there are roses and also +other flowers, on both sides—suddenly I heard a +cry. And it was the voice of little Jeanne, the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">petite</span>. I turned at that sound, for I could not +help it, Sister, and between the flowers the little +one came running, and as I bent she threw her +arms about my neck and held me so tight, tight +that I could not loosen the little hands, not without +hurting her. 'I will not let you go—I will +not let you go.' She cried that again and again. +Till my heart was broken. But all the same, one +had to go. One was due to join the comrades at +the station, and the time was short. So that, +immediately, I had a thought. 'My most dear,' +I spoke to her. 'If thou wilt let me go, then I +promise to send thee a great, beautiful doll, all +in white, as a bride, like the cousin Annette at +her wedding last week.' And then the clinging +little hands loosened, and she said, wondering—for +she is but a baby—'Wilt thou promise, my +<span class="tei-pb" id="page295">[pg 295]</span> +<a name="Pg295" id="Pg295" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>father?' And I said, 'Yes,' and kissed her quickly, +and went away. So that now that I am wounded +and am to die, that promise which I cannot keep +to my <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">petite</span>, that promise hinders me to die."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The deep, sad voice stopped and the honest +eyes of the peasant boy looked up at Evelyn, +burning with the pain of his body and of his soul. +And as Evelyn looked back, holding his hand and +stroking it, it was as if the furnace of the soldier's +pain melted together all the things she had ever +cared to do. Yet it was a minute before she +spoke.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Corporal," she said, "your little girl shall +have her doll, I will take it to her and tell her +that her father sent it. Will you lie very still +while I go and get the doll?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The brown eyes looked up at her astounded, +radiant, and the man caught the hem of her white +veil and kissed it. "But the Americans—they do +magic. You shall see, Sister, if I shall be still. +I will not die before the Sister returns. It is a +joy unheard of."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The girl ran out of the hospital and away into +<span class="tei-pb" id="page296">[pg 296]</span> +<a name="Pg296" id="Pg296" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Paris, and burst upon Madame. Somehow she +told the story in a few words, and Madame was +crying as she laid "La Marquise" in a box.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It is Mademoiselle who is an angel of the good +God," she whispered, and kissed Evelyn unexpectedly +on both cheeks.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Corporal Duplessis lay, waxen, starry-eyed, as +the American Sister came back into the ward. +His look was on her as she entered the far-away +door, and he saw the box in her arms. The girl +knelt and drew out the gorgeous plaything and +stood it by the side of the still, bandaged figure. +An expression as of amazed radiance came into +the fast-dimming eyes—into those large, brown, +childlike eyes which had seen so little of the +gorgeousness of earth. His hand stirred a very +little—enough, for Evelyn quickly moved the +gleaming satin train of the doll under the groping +fingers. The eyes lifted to Evelyn's face +and the smile in them was that of a prisoner who +suddenly sees the gate of his prison opened and +the fields of home beyond. It mattered little, one +<span class="tei-pb" id="page297">[pg 297]</span> +<a name="Pg297" id="Pg297" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>may believe, to the welcoming hosts of heaven +that the angel at the gate of release for the +child-soul of Corporal Duplessis, the poilu, was +only Robina's doll!</p> +</div> + +<hr class="page" /> + +<div class="tei tei-div"> +<a name="toc_18" id="toc_18"></a> +<span class="tei-pb" id="page301">[pg 301]</span> +<a name="Pg301" id="Pg301" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<h1 class="tei tei-head">DUNDONALD'S DESTROYER</h1> + +<p class="tei tei-p">This is the year 1977. It will be objected that +the episode I am going to tell, having happened +in 1917, having been witnessed by twenty-odd +thousand people, must have been, if true, for sixty +years common property and an old tale. But +when General Cochrane—who saved England at +the end of the great war—told me the Kitchener +incident of the story last year, sitting in the rose-garden +of the White Hart Inn at Sonning-on-Thames, +I had never heard of it.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I wonder why he told me. Probably, as is the +case in most things which most people do, from +a mixture of impulses. For one thing I am an +American girl, with a fresher zest to hear tales +of those titanic days than the people or the children +of the people who lived through them. Also +the great war of 1914 has stirred me since I was +old enough to know about it, and I have read +<span class="tei-pb" id="page302">[pg 302]</span> +<a name="Pg302" id="Pg302" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>everything concerning it which I could lay hands +on, and talked to everyone who had knowledge +of it. Also, General Cochrane and I made friends +from the first minute. I was a quite unimportant +person of twenty-four years, he a magnificent +hero of eighty, one of the proud figures of England; +it made me a bit dizzy when I saw that he +liked me. One feels, once in a long time, an unmistakable +double pull, and knows that oneself +and another are friends, and not age, color, race +nor previous condition of servitude makes the +slightest difference. To have that happen with +a celebrity, a celebrity whom it would have been +honor enough simply to meet, is quite dizzying. +This was the way of it.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was staying with my cousin Mildred Ward, +an Atlanta girl who married Sir Cecil Ward, an +English baronet of Oxfordshire. I reached +Martin-Goring on a day in July just in time to +dress for dinner. When I came down, a bit early, +Milly looked me over and pronounced favorably.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You're not so hard to look at," she pronounced. +"It takes an American really to wear +<span class="tei-pb" id="page303">[pg 303]</span> +<a name="Pg303" id="Pg303" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>French clothes. I'm glad you're looking well tonight, +because one of your heroes—Oh!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">She had floated inconsequently against a bookcase +in a voyage along the big room, and a spray +of wild roses from a vase on the shelf caught in +her pretty gold hair.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh—why does Middleton stick those catchy +things up there?" she complained, separating the +flowers from her hair, and I followed her eyes +above the shelf.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Why, that's a portrait of Kitchener—the old +great Kitchener, isn't it?" I asked. "Did he +belong to Cecil's people?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"No," answered Milly, "only Cecil's grandfather +and General Cochrane—or something—" +her voice trailed. And then, "I've got somebody +you'll be crazy about tonight, General Cochrane."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"General Cochrane?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh! You pretend to know about the great +war and don't know General Cochrane, who saved +England when the fleet was wrecked. Don't know +him!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh!" I said again. "Know him? Know him! +<span class="tei-pb" id="page304">[pg 304]</span> +<a name="Pg304" id="Pg304" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I know every breath, he drew. Only I couldn't +believe my ears. The boy Donald Cochrane? It +isn't true is it? How did you ever, ever—?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"He lives five miles from us," said Milly, unconcernedly. +"We see a lot of him. His wife +was Cecil's great-aunt. She's dead now. His +daughter is my best friend. 'The boy Donald +Cochrane'!" She smiled a little. "He's no boy +now. He's old. Even heroes do that—get old."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">And with that the footman at the door announced +"General Cochrane."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I stared away up at a very tall, soldierly old +man with a jagged scar across his forehead. His +wide-open, black-lashed gray eyes flashed a glance +like a menace, like a sword, and then suddenly +smiled as if the sun had jumped from a bank of +storm-clouds. And I looked into those wonderful +eyes and we were friends. As fast as that. Most +people would think it nonsense, but it happened +so. A few people will understand. He took me +out to dinner, and it was as if no one else was at +the table. I was aware only of the one heroic +personality. At first I dared not speak of his +<span class="tei-pb" id="page305">[pg 305]</span> +<a name="Pg305" id="Pg305" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>history, and then, without planning or intention, +my own voice astonished my own ears. I announced +to him:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You have been my hero since I was ten years +old."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was a marvelous thing he did, the lad of +twenty, even considering that the secret was there +at his hand, ready for him to use. The histories +say that—that no matter if he did not invent the +device, it was his ready wit which remembered +it, and his persistence which forced the war department +to use it. Yes, and his heroism which +led the ship and all but gave his life. And when +he had fulfilled his mission he stepped back into +the place of a subaltern; he was modest, even +embarrassed, at the great people who thronged +to him. England was saved; that was all his +affair; nothing, so the books say, could prod him +into prominence—though he rose to be a General +later—after that, after being the first man in +England for those days. It was this personage +with whom I had gone out to dinner, and to whom +I dared make that sudden speech: "You have +<span class="tei-pb" id="page306">[pg 306]</span> +<a name="Pg306" id="Pg306" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>been my hero, General Cochrane, since I was ten +years old."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He slued about with the menacing, shrapnel +look, and it seemed that there might be an explosion +of sharp-pointed small bullets over the +dinner-table.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Don't!" I begged. The sun came out; the +artillery attack was over; he looked at me with +boyish shyness.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"D'you know, when people say things like that +I feel as if I were stealing," he told me confidentially. +"Anybody else could have done all I did. +In fact, it wasn't I at all," he finished.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Not you? Who then? Weren't you the boy +Donald Cochrane?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes," he said, and stopped as if he were considering +it. "Yes," he said quietly in the clean-cut, +terse English manner of speaking, "I suppose +I was the boy Donald Cochrane." He gazed +across the white lilacs and pink roses on the +table as if dreaming a bit. Then he turned with +a long breath. "My child," he said, "there is +something about you which gives me back my +<span class="tei-pb" id="page307">[pg 307]</span> +<a name="Pg307" id="Pg307" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>youth, and—the freshness of a great experience. +I thank you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I gazed into those compelling eyes, gasping like +a fish with too much oxygen, I felt myself, +Virginia Fox, meshed in the fringes of historic +days, stirred by the rushing mighty wind of that +Great Experience. I was awestruck into silence. +Just then Milly got up, and eight women flocked +into the library.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I was good for nothing there, simply good for +nothing at all. I tried to talk to the nice, sensible +English women, and I could not. I knew Milly +was displeased with me for not keeping up my +end, but I was sodden with thrills. I had sat +through a dinner next to General Cochrane, the +Donald Cochrane who was the most dramatic +figure of the world war of sixty years ago. It has +always moved me to meet persons who even existed +at that time. I look at them and think what +intense living it must have meant to pick up +a paper and read—as the news of the day, mind +you—that Germany had entered Belgium, that +King Albert was fighting in the trenches, that Von +<span class="tei-pb" id="page308">[pg 308]</span> +<a name="Pg308" id="Pg308" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>Kluck was within seventeen miles of Paris, that +Von Kluck was retreating—think of the rapture +of that—Paris saved!—that the Germans had +taken Antwerp; that the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Lusitania</span> was sunk; that +Kitchener was drowned at sea! I wonder if the +people who lived and went about their business in +America in those days realized that they were +having a stage-box for the greatest drama of history? +I wonder. Terror and heroism and cruelty +find self-sacrifice on a scale which had never been +dreamed, which will never, God grant, need to be +dreamed on this poor little racked planet again. +Of course, there are plenty of those people alive +yet, and I've talked to many and they remember +it, all of them remember well, even those who +were quite small. And it has stirred me simply +to look into the eyes of such an one and consider +that those eyes read such things as morning news. +The great war has had a hold on me since I first +heard of it, and I distinctly remember the day, +from my father, at the age of seven.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Can you remember when it happened, father?" +I asked him. And then: "Can you remember +<span class="tei-pb" id="page309">[pg 309]</span> +<a name="Pg309" id="Pg309" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>when they drove old people out of their houses—and +killed them?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes," said my father. And I burst into tears. +And when I was not much older he told me about +Donald Cochrane, the boy who saved England.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was not strange to my own mind that I could +not talk commonplaces now, when I had just spent +an hour tailing to the man who had been that +historic boy—the very Donald Cochrane. I +could not talk commonplaces.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Milly's leisurely voice broke my meditation. +"I'm sorry that my cousin, Virginia Fox, should +have such bad manners, Lady Andover," she was +drawling. "She was brought up to speak when +spoken to, but I think it's the General who has +hypnotized her. Virginia, did you know that +Lady Andover asked you—" And I came to life.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was Miss Fox who hypnotized the General, +I fancy," said Lady Andover most graciously, +considering I had overlooked her existence a second +before. "He had a word for no one else during +dinner." I felt myself go scarlet; it had +pleased the Marvelous Person, then, to like me a +<span class="tei-pb" id="page310">[pg 310]</span> +<a name="Pg310" id="Pg310" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>little, perhaps for the youth and enthusiasm in +me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">With that the men straggled into the room and +the tall grizzled head of my hero, his lined face +conspicuous for the jagged, glorious scar, towered +over the rest. I saw the vivid eyes flash +about, and they met mine; I was staring at him, +as I must, and my heart all but jumped out of +me when he came straight to where I stood, my +back against the bookcase.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I was looking for you," he said simply.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Then he glanced over my head and his hand +shot up in a manner of salute; I turned to see +why. I was in front of the portrait of Lord +Kitchener.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Did you know him, General Cochrane?" I +asked.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Know him?" he demanded, and the gray glance +plunged out at me from under the thick lashes.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Don't do it," I pleaded, putting my hands +over my eyes. "When you look at me so it's—bombs +and bullets." The look softened, but the +lean, wrinkled face did not smile.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page311">[pg 311]</span> +<a name="Pg311" id="Pg311" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"You asked if I knew Kitchener," he stated.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I spoke haltingly. "I didn't know. Ought I +to have known?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">General Cochrane gazed down, all at once +dreamy, as if he looked through me at something +miles and æons away.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"No," he said. "There's no reason why you +should. You have an uncommon knowledge of +events of that time, an astonishing knowledge for +a young thing, so that I forget you can't know—all +of it." He stopped, as if considering. "It is +because I am old that I have fancies," he went on +slowly. "And you have understanding eyes. I +have had a fancy this evening that you and I were +meant to be friends; that a similarity of interests, +a—a likeness—oh, hang it all!" burst out the +General like a college boy. "I never could talk +except straight and hot. I mean I've a feeling +of a bond between us—you'll think me most presuming—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I interrupted, breathless. "It's so," I whispered. +"I felt it, only I'd not have dared—" +and I choked.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page312">[pg 312]</span> +<a name="Pg312" id="Pg312" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Old General Cochrane frowned thoughtfully. +"Curious," was what he said. "It's psychology of +course, but I'm hanged if I know the explanation. +However, since it's so, my child, I'm glad. A +man as old as I makes few new friends. And a +beautiful young woman—with a brain—and +charm—and innocent eyes—and French clothes!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">One may guess if I tried to stop this description. +I could have listened all night. With that:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Did I know Kitchener!' the child asked," reflected +the General, and threw back his splendid +head and laughed. I stared up, my heart pumping. +Then, "Well, rather. Why, little Miss Fox—" +and he stopped. "I've a mind to tell the child +a fairy-story," he said. "A true fairy-story +which is so extraordinary that few have been +found to believe it, even of those who saw it +happen."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He halted again.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Tell me!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">General Coehrane looked about the roomful of +people and tossed out his hand. "In this mob?" +he objected. "It's too long a story in any case. +<span class="tei-pb" id="page313">[pg 313]</span> +<a name="Pg313" id="Pg313" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>But why shouldn't you and I have a séance, to +let a garrulous old fellow talk about his youth?" +he demanded in his lordly way. "Why not come +out on the river in my boat? They'll let you +play about with an octogenarian, won't they?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I'll come," I answered the General eagerly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Very good. Tomorrow. Oh, by George, no. +That confounded Prime Minister comes down to +me tomorrow. I detest old men," said General +Cochrane. "Well, then, the day after?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The Thames was a picture-book river that day, +gay with row-boats and punts and launches, yet +serene for all its gaiety; slipping between grassy +banks under immemorial trees with the air of a +private stream wandering, protected, through an +estate. The English have the gift above other +nations of producing an atmosphere of leisure +and seclusion, and surely there is no little river +on earth so used and so unabused as the Thames. +Of all the craft abroad that bright afternoon, +General Cochrane's white launch with its gold line +above the water and its gleaming brass trimmings +was far and away the prettiest, and I was bursting +<span class="tei-pb" id="page314">[pg 314]</span> +<a name="Pg314" id="Pg314" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>with pride as we passed the rank and file on the +stream and they looked at us admiringly. To be +alive on such a day in England was something; +to be afloat on the silvery Thames was enchantment; +to be in that lovely boat with General +Cochrane, the boy Donald Cochrane, was a rapture +not to be believed without one's head reeling. +Yet here it was happening, the thing I should look +back upon fifty, sixty years from now, an old +gray woman, and tell my grandchildren as the +most interesting event of my life. It was happening, +and I was enjoying every second, and not in +the least awed into misery, as is often the case +with great moments. For the old officer was as +perfect a playmate as any good-for-nothing +young subaltern in England, and that is putting +it strongly.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Wouldn't it be nicer to land at Sonning and +have our tea there?" he suggested. We were +dropping through the lock just higher than the +village; the wet, mossy walls were rising above us +on both sides and the tops of the lock-keeper's +gorgeous pink snapdragons were rapidly going +<span class="tei-pb" id="page315">[pg 315]</span> +<a name="Pg315" id="Pg315" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>out of sight. My host went on: "There's rather +a nice rose-garden, and it's on the river, and the +plum-cake's good. What do you think, that or +on board?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The rose-garden," I decided.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">Sonning is a village cut out of a book and pasted +on the earth. It can't be true, it's so pretty. +And the little White Hart Inn is adorable.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Is it really three hundred years old?" I asked. +"The standard roses look like an illustration out +of 'Alice in Wonderland.' Yes, please—tea in +the White Hart garden."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old General heaved a sigh. "Thank +Heaven," he said. "I was most awfully anxious +for fear you'd say on the boat, and I didn't +order any."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">We slipped under an arch of the ancient red +bridge and were at the landing. I remember the +scene as we stood on shore and looked down the +shining way of the river, the tall grasses bending +on either side like green fur stroked by the breeze; +I remember the trim sea-wall and velvet lawn, and +the low, long house with leaded windows of the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page316">[pg 316]</span> +<a name="Pg316" id="Pg316" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>place next the inn. A house-boat was moored +to the shore below, white, with scarlet geraniums +flowing the length of the upper deck, and willow +chairs and tables; people were having tea up +there; muslin curtains blew from the portholes +below. Some Americans went past with two +enormous Scotch deer-hound puppies on leash. +"Be quiet, Jock," one of them said, and the big, +gentle-faced beast turned on her with a giant, +caressing bound, the last touch of beauty in the +beautiful, quiet scene.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">It was early, so that we took the table which +pleased us, one set a bit aside against a ten-foot +hedge, and guarded by a tall bush of tea-roses. +A plump maid hurried across the lawn and spread +a cloth on our table and waited, smiling, as if +seeing us had simply made her day perfect. And +the General gave the orders.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The plum-cake is going to be wonderful," I +said then, "and I'm hungry as a bear for tea. +But the best thing I've been promised this afternoon +is a fairy-story."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The shrapnel look flashed, keen and bright and +<span class="tei-pb" id="page317">[pg 317]</span> +<a name="Pg317" id="Pg317" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>afire, but I looked back steadily, not afraid. I +knew what sunlight was going to break; and it +broke.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"D'you know," said he, "I'm really quite mad +to talk about myself. Men always are. You've +heard the little tale of the man who said, 'Let's +have a garden-party. Let's go out on the lawn +and talk about me'? One becomes a frightful bore +quite easily. So that I've made rules—I don't +hector people about—about things I've been concerned +with. As to the incident I said I'd tell +you, that would be quite impossible to tell to—well, +practically anyone."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">My circulatory system did a prance; he could +tell it practically to no one, yet he was going +to tell it to me! I instantly said that. "But +you're going to tell it to me?" I was anxious.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Child, you flatter well," said the Marvelous +Person, who had brought me picnicking. "It's +the American touch; there's a way with American +women quite irresistible."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh—American women!" I remonstrated.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, indeed. They're delightful—you're +<span class="tei-pb" id="page318">[pg 318]</span> +<a name="Pg318" id="Pg318" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>witches, every mother's daughter of you. But +you—ah—that's different, now. You and I, as +we decided long ago, on day before yesterday, +have a bond. I can't help the conviction that +you're the hundred-thousandth person. You have +understanding eyes. If I were a young man—And +yet it's not just that; it's something a bit +rarer. Moreover, they tell me there's a chap +back in America."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes," I owned. "There is a chap." And I +persisted: "I'm to have a fairy-story?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The black-lashed gaze narrowed as it traveled +across the velvet turf and the tall roses, down the +path of the quiet river. He had a fine head, thick-thatched +and grizzled, not white; his nose was of +the straight, short English type, slightly chopped +up at the end—a good-looking nose; his mouth +was wide and not chiseled, yet sensitive as well as +strong; the jaw was powerful and the chin square +with a marked dimple in it; there was also color, +the claret and honey of English tanned complexions. +Of course his eyes, with the exaggeratedly +thick and long black lashes, were the wonderful +<span class="tei-pb" id="page319">[pg 319]</span> +<a name="Pg319" id="Pg319" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>part of him, but there is no describing the eyes. +It was the look from them, probably, which made +General Cochrane's face remarkable. I suppose +it was partly that compelling look which had +brought about his career. He was six feet four, +lean and military, full of presence, altogether a +conspicuously beautiful old lion in a land where +every third man is beautiful.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What are you looking munitions-of-war at, +General, down the innocent little Thames River? +You must be seeing around corners, past Wargrave, +as far as Henley."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I didn't see the Thames River," he shot at +me in his masterful way. "I was looking at things +past, and people dead and gone. We ancients do +that. I saw London streets and crowds; I read +the posters which told that Kitchener was drowned +at sea, and then I saw, a year later, England in +panic; I saw an almighty meeting in Trafalgar +Square and I heard speeches which burned my +ears—men urging Englishmen to surrender England +and make terms with the Huns. Good God!" +His fist came down on the rattling little iron table.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page320">[pg 320]</span> +<a name="Pg320" id="Pg320" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"My blood boils now when I remember. Child," +he demanded, "I can't see why your alluring ways +should have set me talking. Fancy, I've never +told this tale but twice, and I'm holding forth to +a little alien whom I haven't known two days, a +young ne'er-do-well not born till forty years after +the tale happened!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"What difference does that make?" I asked. +"Age means nothing to real people. And we've +known each other since—since we hunted pterodactyls +together, pre-historically. Only—I hate +bats," I objected to my own arrangement. I went +on: "If you knew how I want to hear! It's the +most wonderful thing in my life, this afternoon—you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I know you are honest," he said. "Different +from the ruck. I knew that the moment I saw you."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Then," I prodded, "do begin with the posters +about Lord Kitchener."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"But that's not the beginning," he protested. +"You'll spoil it all," he said.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Oh, no, then! Begin at the beginning. I +didn't know. I wanted to get you started."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page321">[pg 321]</span> +<a name="Pg321" id="Pg321" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The gray eyes dreamed down the placid river +water.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The beginning was before I was born. It +began when Kitchener, a young general, picked +up a marauding party of black rascals on his +way to Khartoum. They had a captive, a white +girl, a lady. They had murdered her father and +mother and young brother. The father was +newly appointed Colonel of a regiment, traveling +to his post with his family. The Arabs were +saving the girl for their devilish head chieftain. +Kitchener had the lot executed, and sent for the +girl. She was—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old man's hand lifted to his head and he +took off his hat and laid it on the ground.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I cannot speak of that girl without uncovering," +he said, quietly. "She was my mother." +There was an electrical silence. I knew enough +to know that no words fitted here. The old officer +went on: "She was one of the wonderful people. +What she seemed to think of, after the horrors +she had gone through, was not herself or her +suffering, but only to show her gratitude. It was +<span class="tei-pb" id="page322">[pg 322]</span> +<a name="Pg322" id="Pg322" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>a long journey—weeks—through that land of +hell, while she was in Kitchener's hands, and not +once did she lose courage. The Sirdar told me +that it was having an angel in camp—she held +that rough soldiery in the hollow of her hand. +She told Kitchener her story, and after that she +would not talk of herself. You've heard that he +never had a love affair? That's wrong. He was +in love then, and for the rest of his life, with my +mother."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I gasped. The shrapnel eyes menaced me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"She could not speak of herself, d'you see? +It was salvation to think only of others, so that +she'd not told him that she was engaged to my +father. Love from any other was the last thing +she was thinking of. After what had happened +she was living from one breath to another and she +dared not consider her own affairs. The night +before they reached Cairo, Kitchener asked her +to marry him. He was over forty then; she was +nineteen. She told him of her engagement, of +course—told him also that it might be she would +never marry at all; a life of her own and happiness +<span class="tei-pb" id="page323">[pg 323]</span> +<a name="Pg323" id="Pg323" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>seemed impossible now. She might go into a +sisterhood. Work for others was what she must +have. Then, unexpectedly, my father was at +Cairo to meet her, and Kitchener went to him and +told him. From that on the two men were close +friends. My people were not married till five +years later, and when I came to be baptized +General Kitchener was godfather. All my young +days I was used to seeing him about the house at +intervals, as if he belonged to us. I remember his +eyes following my mother. Tall and slight she +was, with a haunted look, from what she'd seen; +she moved softly, spoke softly. It was no secret +from the two, my father and mother, that he +loved her always. Yet, so loyal, so crystal he +was that my father had never one moment of +jealousy. On the contrary they were like +brothers. Then they died—my father and mother. +The two almost together. I came into Kitchener's +hands, Lord Kitchener by then. When he met +me in London, a long lad of seventeen, he held +my fingers a second and looked hard at me.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'You're very like her, Donald,' he said. And +<span class="tei-pb" id="page324">[pg 324]</span> +<a name="Pg324" id="Pg324" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>held on. And said it again. 'Your mother's +double. I'd know you for her boy if I caught +one look of your eyes, anywhere,' he said. 'Her +boy.'—Well—what? Do I want more tea? Of +course, I do."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">For the smiling plump maid had long ago +brought the steaming stuff, the bread and butter +and jam and plum cake, I had officiated and +General Cochrane had been absorbing his tea as +an Englishman does, automatically, while he +talked.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">About us the tables were filling up, all over the +rose-garden. The Americans were there with the +beautiful long-legged giant deer-hound puppy, +Jock, and were having trouble with his table +manners. People came in by twos and threes and +more, from the river, with the glow of exercise on +their faces; an elderly country parson sat near, +black-coated, white-collared, with his elderly +daughter and their dog, a well-behaved Scottie +this one, big-headed, with an age-old, wise, black +face. And a group of three pretty girls with +their pretty pink-cheeked mother and a young +<span class="tei-pb" id="page325">[pg 325]</span> +<a name="Pg325" id="Pg325" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>man or so were having a gay time with soft-voiced +laughter and jokes, not far away. The breeze +lifted the long purple and rose-colored motor veils +of mother and daughters. The whole place was +full of bright colors and low-toned cheerful talk, +yet so English was the atmosphere, that it was as +if the General and I were shut into an enchanted +forest. No one looked at us, no one seemed to +know we were there. The General began to talk +again, unconscious as the rest of anything or anybody +not his affair.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I got my commission in 1915 in K-1, Kitchener's +first hundred thousand, and I went off to +the front in the second year of the war. I had a +scratch and was slightly gassed once, but nothing +much happened for a long time. And in 1916, +in May, came the news that my godfather, the +person closest to me on earth, was drowned at +sea. I was in London, just out of the hospital +and about to go back to France."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old General stopped and stared down at +the graveled path with its trim turf border lying +at his feet.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page326">[pg 326]</span> +<a name="Pg326" id="Pg326" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was to me as if the world, seething in its +troubles, was suddenly empty—with that man +gone. I drifted with the crowd about London +town, and the crowd appeared to be like myself, +dazed. The streets were full and there was continually +a profound, sorrowful sound, like the +groan of a nation; faces were blank and gray. +Those surging, mournful London streets, and the +look of the posters with great letters on them—his +name—that memory isn't likely to leave me +till I die. Of course, I got hold of every detail +and tried to picture the manner of it to myself, +but I couldn't get it that he was dead. Kitchener, +the heart of the nation; I couldn't comprehend +that he had stopped breathing. I couldn't get +myself satisfied that I wasn't to see him again. +It seemed there must be some way out. You'll +remember, perhaps, that four boats were seen to +put off from the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Hampshire</span> as she sank? I tried +to trace those boats. I traveled up there and +interviewed people who had seen them. I got no +good from it. But it kept coming to me that it +was not a mine that had sunk the ship, that it +<span class="tei-pb" id="page327">[pg 327]</span> +<a name="Pg327" id="Pg327" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was a torpedo from a German submarine, and +that Kitchener was on one of the boats that put +off and that he had been taken prisoner by the +enemy. God knows why that thought persisted—there +were reasons against it—it was a boy's +theory. But it persisted; I couldn't get it out of +my head. I was in St. Paul's at the Memorial +Service; I heard the 'Last Post' played for him, +and I saw the King and Queen in tears; all that +didn't settle my mind. I went back to the front, +heavy-hearted, and tried to behave myself as I believed +he'd have had me—the Sirdar. My people +had called him the Sirdar always. Luck was with +me in France; I had chances, and did a bit of +work, and got advancement."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I know," I nodded. "I've read history. A few +trifles like the rescue of the rifles and holding that +trench and—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old soldier interrupted, looking thunderous. +"It has a bearing on the episode I'm about +to tell you. That's why I refer to it."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I didn't mind his haughtiness. It was given me +to see the boy's shyness within that grim old hero.</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page328">[pg 328]</span> +<a name="Pg328" id="Pg328" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"So that when I landed in London in 1917, +having been stupid enough to get my right arm +potted, it happened that my name was known. +They picked me out to make a doing over. I was +most uncommonly conspicuous for nothing more +than thousands of other lads had done. They'd +given their lives like water, thousands of them—it +made me sick with shame, when I thought of those +others, to have my name ringing through the land. +But so it was, and it served a purpose, right +enough, I saw later.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Then, as I began to crawl about, came the +crisis of the war. Ill news piled on ill news; the +army in France was down with an epidemic; each +day's news was worse than the last; to top all, the +Germans found the fleet. It was in letters a foot +long about London—newsboys crying awful +words:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Fleet discovered—German submarines and +Zeppelins approaching.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"A bit later, still worse. 'The <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Bellerophon</span> sunk +by German torpedo—ten dreadnoughts sunk—' +There were the names of the big ships, the +<span class="tei-pb" id="page329">[pg 329]</span> +<a name="Pg329" id="Pg329" class="tei tei-anchor"></a><span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Queen Elizabeth</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Warspite</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Thunderer</span>, the +<span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">Agamemnon</span>, the <span style="font-style: italic" class="tei tei-hi">King Edward</span>—a lot more, battle +cruisers, too—then ten more dreadnoughts—and +more and worse every hour. The German navy +was said to be coming into the North Sea and advancing +to our coast. And our navy was going—gone—nothing +to stand between us and the fate of +Belgium.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Then England went mad! I thank God I'll +not live through such days again. The land went +mad with fear. You'll remember that there had +been a three-year strain which human nerves were +not meant to bear. Well, there was a faction who +urged that the only sane act now possible was to +surrender to Germany quickly and hope for a +mercy which we couldn't get if we struggled. The +government, under enormous pressure, weakened. +It's easy to cry 'Shame!' now, but how could it +stand firm with the country stampeding back +of it?</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"So things were the day of the mass meeting in +Trafalgar Square. I was tall, and so thin and +gaunt that, with my uniform and my arm in its +<span class="tei-pb" id="page330">[pg 330]</span> +<a name="Pg330" id="Pg330" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>sling, it was easy to get close to the front, straight +under the speakers. And no sooner had I got +there than I was seized with a restlessness, an uncontrollable +desire to see my godfather—Kitchener. +Only to see him, to lay eyes on him. I wish +I might express to you the push of that feeling. +It was thirst in a desert. With that spell on me +I stood down in front of the stone lions and stared +up at Nelson on his column, and listened to the +speakers. They were mad, quite, those speakers. +The crowd was mad, too. It overflowed that great +space, and there were few steady heads in the lot. +You'll realize it looked a bit of a close shave, with +the German navy coming and our fleet being destroyed, +no one knew how fast, and the army in +France, and struck down by illness. At that moment +it looked a matter of three or four days before +the Huns would be landing. Never before in +a thousand years was England as near the finish. +As I stood there fidgeting, with the starvation on +me for my godfather, it flashed to me that there's +a legend in every nation about some one of its heroes, +how in the hour of need he will come back to +<span class="tei-pb" id="page331">[pg 331]</span> +<a name="Pg331" id="Pg331" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>save the people—Charlemagne in France, don't you +know, and Barbarossa and King Arthur and—oh, +a number. And I spoke aloud, so that the chap +next prodded me in the ribs and said: 'Stop that, +will you? I can't hear'—I spoke aloud and +said:</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'This is the hour. Come back and save us.'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The speakers had been ranting along, urging +on the people to force the government to give in +and make terms with those devils who'd crushed +Belgium. Of course there were plenty there ready +to die in the last ditch for honor and the country, +but the mob was with the speakers. Quite insane +with terror the mob was. And I spoke aloud to +Kitchener, like a madman of a sort also, begging +him to come from another world and save his +people.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'This is the hour; come and save us,' said I, +and said it as if my words could get through to +Kitchener in eternity.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"With that a taxicab forced through the crowd, +close to the platform, and it stopped and somebody +got out. I could see an officer's cap and the crowd +<span class="tei-pb" id="page332">[pg 332]</span> +<a name="Pg332" id="Pg332" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>pressing. My eyes were riveted on that brown +cap; my breath came queerly; there was a murmur, +a hush and a murmur together, where +that tall officer with the cap over his face pushed +toward the speakers. I felt I should choke if I +didn't see him—and I couldn't see him. Then he +made the platform, and before my eyes, before the +eyes of twenty thousand people, he stood there—Kitchener!"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">General Cochrane stared defiantly at me. "I'm +not asking you to believe this," he said. "I'm +merely telling you—what happened."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Go on," I whispered.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">He went on: "A silence like death fell on that +vast crowd. The voice of the speaker screaming +out wild cowardice about mercy from the Germans +kept on for a few words, and then the man caught +the electrical atmosphere and was aware that +something was happening. He halted half-way in +a word, and turned and faced the grim, motionless +figure—Kitchener. The man stared a half minute +and shot his hands up and howled, and ran into +the throng. All over the great place, by then, was +<span class="tei-pb" id="page333">[pg 333]</span> +<a name="Pg333" id="Pg333" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>a whisper swelling into a bass murmur, into a roar, +his name.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"'Kitchener—Kitchener!' and 'K. of K.!' and +'Kitchener of Khartoum!'</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Never in my life have I heard a volume of sound +like London shouting that day the name of Kitchener. +After a time he lifted his hand and stood, +deep-eyed and haggard, as the mass quieted. He +spoke. I can't tell you what he said. I couldn't +have told you the next hour. But he quieted us +and lifted us, that crowd, fearstruck, sobbing, +into courage. He put his own steady dignity into +those cheap, frightened little Johnnies. He gave +us strength even if the worst came, and he held up +English pluck and doggedness for us to look at +and to live by. As his voice stopped, as I stood +down in front just under him, I flung up my arms, +and I suppose I cried out something; I was but a +lad of twenty, and half crazed with the joy of seeing +him. And he swung forward a step to me as +if he had seen me all the time—and I think he had. +'Do the turn, Donald,' he said, 'The time has come +for a Cochrane to save England.'</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page334">[pg 334]</span> +<a name="Pg334" id="Pg334" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"And with that he wheeled and without a look +to right or left, in his own swift, silent, shy way +he was gone.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Nobody saw where he went. I all but killed +myself for an hour trying to find him, but it was +of no use. And with that, as I sat at my lunch, +too feverish and stirred to eat food, demanding +over and over what he meant, what the 'turn' was +which I was to do, why a Cochrane should have a +chance to save England—with that, suddenly I +knew."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">General Cochrane halted again, and again he +gazed down the little river, the river of England, +the river which he, more than any other, had kept +for English folk and their peaceful play-times. I +knew I must not hurry him; I waited.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The thing came to me like lightning," he went +on, "and I had only to go from one simple step to +another; it seemed all thought out for me. It was +something, don't you see, which I'd known all my +lifetime, but hadn't once thought of since the war +began. I went direct to my bankers and got a box +out of the safe and fetched it home in a cab. There +<span class="tei-pb" id="page335">[pg 335]</span> +<a name="Pg335" id="Pg335" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>I opened it and took out papers and went over +them.... This part of the tale is mostly in +print," General Cochrane interrupted himself. +"Have you read it? I don't want to bore you with +repetitions."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I answered hurriedly, trembling for fear I might +say the wrong thing: "I've read what's in print, +but your telling it puts it in another world. Please +go on. Please don't shorten anything."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The shadow of a smile played. "I rather like +telling you a story, d'you know," he spoke, half +absent-mindedly—his real thoughts were with that +huge past. He swept back to it. "You know, of +course, about Dundonald's Destroyer—the invention +of my great-grandfather's kinsman, Thomas +Cochrane, tenth Earl of Dundonald? He was a +good bit of an old chap in various ways. He did +things to the French fleet that put him as a naval +officer in the class with Nelson and Drake. But he's +remembered in history by his invention. It was a +secret, of course, one of the puzzles of the time +and of years after, up to 1917. It was known +there was something. He offered it to the government +<span class="tei-pb" id="page336">[pg 336]</span> +<a name="Pg336" id="Pg336" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>in 1811, and the government appointed a +committee to examine into it. The chairman was +the Duke of York, commander-in-chief of the +army, said to be the ablest administrator of military +affairs of that time. Also there were Admirals +Lord Keith and Exmouth and the Congreve +brothers of the ordnance department. A more +competent committee of five could not have been +gathered in the world. This board would not recommend +the adoption of the scheme. Why? They +reported that there was no question that the invention +would do all which Dundonald claimed, but it +was so unspeakably dreadful as to be impossible +for civilized men.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"There was not a shadow of doubt, the committee +reported, that Dundonald's device would not +merely defeat but annihilate and sweep out of existence +any hostile force, whole armies and navies. +'No power on earth could stand against it,' said +the old fellow, and the five experts backed him up. +But they considered that the devastation would be +inhuman beyond permissible warfare. Not war, +annihilation. In fact, they shelved it because it +<span class="tei-pb" id="page337">[pg 337]</span> +<a name="Pg337" id="Pg337" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>was too efficient. There was great need of means +for fighting Napoleon just then, so they gave it up +reluctantly, but it was a bit too shocking.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"The weak point of the business was, as Dundonald +himself declared, that it was so simple—as +everybody knows now—that its first use would tell +the secret and put it in the hands of other nations. +Therefore the committee recommended that this +incipient destruction should be stowed away and +kept secret, so that no power more unscrupulous +than England should get it and use it for the annihilation +of England and the conquest of the +world. Also the committee persuaded the Earl before +he went on his South American adventure to +swear formally that he would never disclose his +device except in the service of England. He kept +that oath.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, the formula for this affair was, of course, +in pigeonholes or vaults in the British Admiralty +ever since the committee in 1811 had examined +and refused it. But there was also, unknown to +the public, another copy. The Earl was with my +great-grandfather, his kinsman and lifelong friend, +<span class="tei-pb" id="page338">[pg 338]</span> +<a name="Pg338" id="Pg338" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>shortly before his death, and he gave this copy to +him with certain conditions. The old chap had an +ungovernable temper, quarreled right and left, +don't you know, his life long, and at this time and +until he died he was not on speaking terms with +his son Thomas, who succeeded him as Earl, or indeed +with any of the three other sons. Which accounts +for his trusting to my great-grandfather +the future of his invention. I found a quaint note +with the papers. He said in effect that he had +come to believe with the committee that it was +quite too shocking for decent folk. Yet, he suggested, +the time might come when England was in +straits and only a sweeping blow could serve +her. If that time should come it would be a joy +to him in heaven or in hell—he said—to think that +a man of his name had used the work of his brains +to save England.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Therefore, the Earl asked my grandfather to +guard this gigantic secret and to see to it that one +man in each generation of Cochranes should know +it and have it at hand for use in an emergency. +My grandfather came into the papers when he +<span class="tei-pb" id="page339">[pg 339]</span> +<a name="Pg339" id="Pg339" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>came of age, and after him my father; I was due +to read them when I should be twenty-one. I was +only twenty in 1917. But the papers were mine, +and from the moment it flashed to me what Kitchener +meant I didn't hesitate. It was this enormous +power which was placed suddenly in the hands of +a lad of twenty. The Sirdar placed it there.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I went over the business in an hour—it was +simple, like most big things. You know what it +was, of course; everybody knows now. Wasn't it +extraordinary that in five thousand years of fighting +no one ever hit on it before? I rushed to the +War Office.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, the thing came off. At first they pooh-poohed +me as an unbalanced boy, but they looked +up the documents in the Admiralty and there was +no question. It isn't often a youngster is called +into the councils of the government, and I've wondered +since how I held my own. I've come to believe +that I was merely a body for Kitchener's +spirit. I was conscious of no fatigue, no uncertainty. +I did things as the Sirdar might have done +them, and it appears to me only decent to realize +<span class="tei-pb" id="page340">[pg 340]</span> +<a name="Pg340" id="Pg340" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>that he did do them, and not I. You probably +know the details."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I waited, hoping that he would not stop. Then +I said: "I know that the government asked for +twenty-five volunteers for a service which would +destroy the German fleet, but which would mean +almost certain death to the volunteers. I know +that you headed the list and that thousands offered." +My voice shook and I spoke with difficulty +as I realized to whom I was speaking. "I +know that you were the only one who came back +alive, and that you were barely saved."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">General Cochrane seemed not to hear me. He +was living over enormous events.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"It was a bright morning in the North Sea," he +talked on, but not to me now. "Nobody but ourselves +knew just what was to be done, but everybody +hoped—they didn't know what. It was a +desperate England from which we sailed away. We +hadn't long to wait—the second morning. There +were their ships, the triumphant long lines of the +invader. There were their crowded transports, the +soldiers coming to crucify England as they had +<span class="tei-pb" id="page341">[pg 341]</span> +<a name="Pg341" id="Pg341" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>crucified Belgium—thousands and tens of thousands +of them. Then—we did it. German power +was wiped off the face of the earth. German arrogance +was ended for all time. And that was the +last I knew," said General Cochrane. "I was conscious +till it was known that the trick had worked. +Of course it couldn't be otherwise, yet it was so +beyond anything which mankind had dreamed that +I couldn't believe it till I knew. Then, naturally, I +didn't much care if I lived or died. I'd done the +turn as the Sirdar told me, and one life was a small +thing to pay. I dropped into blackness quite happily, +and when I woke up to this good earth I was +glad. England was right. The Sirdar had saved +her."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"And the Sirdar?" I asked him. "Was it—himself?"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Himself? Most certainly."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I mean—well—" I stammered. And then I +plunged in. "I must know," I said. "Was it +Lord Kitchener in flesh and blood? Had he been +a prisoner in Germany and escaped? Or was it—his +ghost?"</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page342">[pg 342]</span> +<a name="Pg342" id="Pg342" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">The old lion rubbed his cheek consideringly. +"Ah, there you have me," and he smiled. "Didn't +I tell you this was a tale which could be told to +few people?" he demanded. "'Flesh and blood'—ah, +that's what I can't tell you. But—himself? +Those people, the immense crowd which saw him +and recognized him, they knew. Afterwards they +begged the question. The papers were full of a +remarkable speech made by an unknown officer who +strikingly resembled Kitchener. That's the way +they got out of it. But those people knew, that +day. There wasn't any doubt in their minds when +that roar of his name went up. They knew! But +people are ashamed to own to the supernatural. +And yet it's all around us," mused General Cochrane.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Could it have been—did you ever think—" I +began, and dared not go on.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Did I ever think what, child?" repeated the old +officer, with his autocratic friendliness. "Out with +it. You and I are having a truth-feast."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well, then," I said, "if you won't be angry—"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"I won't. Come along."</p> + +<span class="tei-pb" id="page343">[pg 343]</span> +<a name="Pg343" id="Pg343" class="tei tei-anchor"></a> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Did you ever think that it might have been that—you +were only a boy, and wounded and weak +and overstrained—and full of longing for your +godfather. Did you ever think that you might +have mistaken the likeness of the officer for +Kitchener himself? That the thought of Dundonald's +Destroyer was working in your mind before, +and that it materialized at that moment and you—imagined +the words he said. Perhaps imagined +them afterwards, as you searched for him over +London. The two things might have suggested +each other in your feverish boy's brain."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">I stopped, frightened, fearful that he might +think me not appreciative of the honor he had done +me in telling this intimate experience. But General +Cochrane was in no wise disturbed.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Yes, I've thought that," he answered dispassionately. +"It may be that was the case. And +yet—I can't see it. That thing happened to me. +I've not been able to explain it away to my own +satisfaction. I've not been able to believe otherwise +than that the Sirdar, England's hero, came to +save England in her peril, and that he did it by +<span class="tei-pb" id="page344">[pg 344]</span> +<a name="Pg344" id="Pg344" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>breathing his thought into me. His spirit got +across somehow from over there—to me. I was +the only available person alive. The copy in the +archives was buried, dead and buried and forgotten +for seventy years. So he did it—that way. +And if your explanation is the right one it isn't +so much less wonderful, is it?" he demanded. "In +these days psychology dares say more than in +1917. One knows that ghost stories, as they called +them in those ignorant times, are not all superstition +and imagination. One knows that a soul +lives beyond the present, that a soul sometimes +struggles back from what we call the hereafter to +this little earth—makes the difficult connection +between an unseen world of spirit, unconditioned +by matter, and our present world of spirit, conditioned +by matter. When the pull is strong +enough. And what pull could be stronger than +England's danger? To Kitchener?" The black-lashed, +gray eyes flamed at me, unblinking the rift +of light through the curtain of eternal silences.</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">When I spoke again: "It's a story the world +<span class="tei-pb" id="page345">[pg 345]</span> +<a name="Pg345" id="Pg345" class="tei tei-anchor"></a>ought to own some day," I said. "Love of country, +faithfulness that death could not hinder."</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">"Well," said old General Cochrane, "when I'm +gone you may write it for the world if you like, +little American. And what I'll do will be to find +the Sirdar, the very first instant I'm over the border, +and say to him, 'I've known it was your work +all along, sir, and however did you get it across?'"</p> + +<p class="tei tei-p">A month ago my cousin sent me some marked +newspapers. General Cochrane has gone over the +border, and I make no doubt that before now he +has found the Sirdar and that the two sons and +saviors of a beloved little land on a little planet +have talked over that moment, in the leisures and +simplicities of eternity, and have wondered perhaps +that anyone could wonder how he got it across.</p> +</div> + +</div> + <div class="tei tei-back"> + </div> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOY IN THE MORNING***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 15796-h.txt or 15796-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/7/9/15796">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/7/9/15796</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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