jim tinsley. in the clutch of the war-god in three parts, from physical culture magazine, july september, 1911. part one in the clutch of the war-god the tale of the orient's invasion of the occident, as chronicled in the humaniculture society's "history of the twentieth century" by milo hastings foreword: in this strange story of another day, the author has "dipped into the future" and viewed with his mind's eye the ultimate effect of america's self-satisfied complacency, and her persistent refusal to heed the lessons of oriental progress. i can safely promise the reader who takes up this unique recital of the twentieth century warfare, that his interest will be sustained to the very end by the interesting deductions and the keen insight into the possibilities of the present trend of international affairs exhibited by the author.--bernarr macfadden. "kindly be prepared to absent yourself at a moment's notice." it was goyu speaking, blundering, old fool. he was standing in the doorway with his kitchen-apron on, and an iron spoon in his hand. "what on earth is the matter?" asked ethel calvert, tossing aside her french novel in alarm, for such a lack of deference in goyu meant vastly more than appeared upon the surface. "i am informed," replied goyu, gravely, "that there has been an anti-foreign riot and that many are killed." "and father?" gasped ethel. "he was upon the grain boat," said goyu. "but where is he now?" "i do not know," returned goyu, locking nervously over his shoulder. "but i fear he has not fared well--the boat was dynamited--that's what started the trouble." with a gasp ethel recalled that an hour before she had heard an explosion which she had supposed to be blasting. faint with fear, she staggered toward a couch and fell forward upon the cushions. * * * when the girl regained consciousness the house was dark. slowly she recalled the event that had culminated the uneventful day. she wondered if goyu had been lying or had gone crazy. the darkness was not reassuring--her father always came home before dark, and his absence now confirmed her fears. she wondered if the old servant had deserted her. he was a poor stick anyway; japanese men who had pride or character no longer worked as domestics in the households of foreigners. ethel calvert was the daughter of an american grain merchant who represented the interests of the north american grain exporters association at the seaport of otaru, in hokaidi, the north island of japan. three years before her mother had died of homesickness and a broken heart--although the japanese physician had called it tuberculosis, and had prescribed life in a tent! had they not suffered discomforts enough in that barbarous country without adding insult to injury? ethel was bountifully possessed of the qualities of hothouse beauty. her jet black hair hung over the snowy skin of her temples in striking contrast. her form was of a delicate slenderness and her movement easy and graceful with just a little of that languid listlessness considered as a mark of well-bred femininity. she knew that she was beautiful according to the standards of her own people and her isolation from the swirl of the world's social life was to her gall and wormwood. the calverts had never really "settled" in japan, but had merely remained there as homesick americans indifferent to, or unjustly prejudiced against the japanese life about them. now, in the year 1958, the growing anti-foreign feeling among the japanese had added to their isolation. moreover, the japanese bore the grain merchant an especial dislike, for every patriotic japanese was sore at heart over the fact that, after a century of modern progress, japan was still forced to depend upon foreigners to supplement their food supply. in fact, they had oft heard professor oshima grieve over the statistics of grain importation, as a speculator might mourn his personal losses in the stock market. * * * for a time ethel lay still and listened to the faint sound of voices from a neighboring porch. then the growing horror of the situation came over her with anewed force; if her father was dead, she was not only alone in the world, but stranded in a foreign and an unfriendly country; for there were but few americans left in the city. the girl arose and crept nervously into the dining-room. she turned on the electric light; everything seemed in order. she hurried over to goyu's room, and knocked. there was no answer. then slowly opening the door, she peered in--the room was empty and disordered. plainly the occupant had bundled together his few belongings and flown. ethel stole back through the silent house and tremblingly took down the telephone receiver. in vain she called the numbers of the few american families of the city. last on the list was the american consulate, and this time she received the curt information that the consul had left the city by aeroplane "with the other foreigners." the phrase struck terror into her heart. if the european population had flown in such haste as to overlook her, clearly there was danger. a great fear grew upon her. afraid to remain where she was, she tried to think of ways of escape. she could not steer an aeroplane even if she were able to obtain one. otaru was far from the common ways of international traffic and the ships lying at anchor in the harbor were freighters, japanese owned and japanese manned. ethel looked at her watch--it was nine-twenty. she tiptoed to her room. an hour later she was in the street dressed in a tailored suit of american make and carrying in her hand-bag a few trinkets and valuables she had found in the house. passing hurriedly through quiet avenues, she was soon in the open country. the road she followed was familiar to her, as she had traveled it many times by auto. for hours she walked rapidly on. her unpracticed muscles grew tired and her feet jammed forward in high-heeled shoes were blistered and sore. but fear lent courage and as the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the hill-tops, the refugee reached the outskirts of the city of sapporo. ethel made straightway for the residence of professor oshima, the soil chemist of the imperial agricultural college of hokiado--a japanese gentleman who had been educated and who had married abroad, and a close friend of her father's. as she reached the door of the professor's bungalow, she pushed the bell, and sank exhausted upon the stoop. some time afterward she half-dreamed and half realized that she found herself neatly tucked between white silk sheets and lying on a floor mattress of a japanese sleeping-porch. a gentle breeze fanned her face through the lattice work and low slanting sunbeams sifting in between the shutters fell in rounded blotches upon the opposite straw matting wall. for a time she lay musing and again fell asleep. when she next awakened, the room was dimly lighted by a little glowing electric bulb and madame oshima was sitting near her. her hostess greeted her cordially and offered her water and some fresh fruit. madame oshima was fully posted upon the riots and confirmed ethel's fears as to the fate of her father. [illustration: "but have i lost my figure?" inquired the lithe madame oshima.] "you will be safe here for the present," her hostess assured her. "professor oshima has been called to tokio; when he returns we will see what can be done concerning your embarking for america." madame oshima was of french descent but had fully adopted japanese customs and ways of thinking. as soon as ethel was up and about, her hostess suggested that she exchange her american-made clothing for the japanese costume of the time. but ethel was inclined to rebel. "why," she protested, "if i discarded my corsets i would lose my figure." "but have i lost my figure?" inquired the lithe madame oshima, striking an attitude. to this ethel did not reply, but continued, "and i would look like a man," for among the japanese people tight-belted waists and flopping skirts had long since been replaced by the kimo, a single-piece garment worn by both sexes and which fitted the entire body with comfortable snugness. "and is a man so ill-looking?" asked her companion, smiling. "why, no, of course not, only he's different. why, i couldn't wear a kimo--people would see--my limbs," stammered the properly-bred american girl. "why, no, they couldn't," replied madame oshima. "not if you keep your kimo on." "but they would see my figure." "well, i thought you just said that was what you were afraid they wouldn't see." "but i don't mean that way--they--they could see the shape of my--my legs," said ethel, blushing crimson. "are you ashamed that your body has such vulgar parts?" returned the older woman. "no, of course not," said ethel, choking back her embarrassment. "but it's wicked for a girl to let men know such things." "oh, they all know it," replied madame oshima, "they learn it in school." at this the highly strung ethel burst into sobs. "there, there now," said her companion, regretting that she had spoken sarcastically. "i forget that i once had such ideas also. we'll talk some more about it after while. you are nervous and worried now and must have more rest." the next day madame oshima more tactfully approached the subject and showed her protege that while in rome it was more modest to do as the romans do; and that, moreover, it was necessary for her own good and theirs that she attract as little attention as possible, and to those that recognized her caucasian blood appear, superficially, at least, as a naturalized citizen of japan. so, amid blushes and tears, protestations and laughter, ethel accepted the kimo, or one-piece japanese garment, and the outer flowing cloak to be worn on state occasions when freedom of bodily movement was not required. her feather-adorned hat was discarded altogether and her ill-shapen high-heeled boots replaced by airy slippers of braided fiber. her rather short stature and her hair--which fortunately enough was black--served to lessen her conspicuousness, especially when dressed in the fashion followed by japanese girls; and with the leaving off of the use of cosmetics and the spending of several hours a day in the flower garden even her pallid complexion suffered rapid change. it was about a fortnight before professor oshima returned from tokio. upon his arrival ethel at once pleaded with him to be sent to america, but the scientist slowly shook his head. "it is too late," he said; "there is going to be a war." thus it happened that ethel calvert was retained in the professor's family as a sort of english tutor to his children, and introduced as a relative of his wife, and no one suspected that she was one of the hated americans. * * * the trouble between japan and the united states dated back to the early part of the century. it was deep-seated and bitter, and was not only the culmination of a rivalry between the leading nations of the great races of mankind, but a rivalry between two great ideas or policies that grew out in opposite directions from the age of unprecedented mechanical and scientific progress that marked the dawn of the twentieth century. the pages of history had been turned rapidly in those years. the united states, long known as the richest country, had also become the most populous nation of the caucasian world--and wealth and population had made her vain. but with all her material glory, there was not strength in american sinews, nor endurance in her lungs, nor vigor in the product of her loins. her people were herded together in great cities, where they slept in gigantic apartment houses, like mud swallows in a sand bank. they overate of artificial food that was made in great factories. they over-dressed with tight-fitting unsanitary clothing made by the sweated labor of the diseased and destitute. they over-drank of old liquors born of ancient ignorance and of new concoctions born of prostituted science. they smoked and perfumed and doped with chemicals and cosmetics--the supposed virtues of which were blazoned forth on earth and sky day and night. the wealth of the united states was enormous, yet it was chiefly in the hands of the few. the laborers went forth from their rookeries by subway and monorail, and served their shifts in the mills of industry. in turn, others took their places, and the mills ground night and day. even the farm lands had been largely taken over by corporate control. crops on the plains were planted with power machinery. the rough lands had all been converted into forests or game preserves for the rich. agriculture had been developed as a science, but not as a husbandry. the forcing system had been generally applied to plants and animals. wonder-working nitrogenous fertilizers made at niagara and by the wave motors of the coast made all vegetation to grow with artificial luxury. corn-fed hogs and the rotund carcasses of stall-fed cattle were produced on mammoth ranches for the edification of mankind, and fowl were hatched by the billions in huge incubators, and the chicks reared and slaughtered with scarcely a touch of a human hand. and all this was under the control of concentrated business organization. the old, sturdy, wasteful farmer class had gone out of existence. only the rich who owned aeroplanes could afford to live in the country. the poor had been forced to the cities where they could be sheltered _en masse_, and fed, as it were, by machinery. new york had a population of twenty-three millions. manhattan island had been extended by filling in the shallows of the bay, until the battery reached almost to staten island. the aeroplane stations that topped her skyscrapers stood, many of them, a quarter of a mile from the ground. as the materially greatest nation in the world, the united states had an enormous national patriotism based on vanity. the larger patriotism for humanity was only known in the prattle of her preachers and idealists. america was the land of liberty--and liberty had come to mean the right to disregard the rights of others. in japan, too, there had been changes, but japan had received the gifts of science in a far different spirit. with her, science had been made to serve the more ultimate needs of the race, rather than the insane demand for luxuries. the japanese had applied to the human species the scientific principles of heredity, nutrition and physical development, which in america had been confined to plants and animals. the old spirit of japanese patriotism had grown into a semi-religious worship of racial fitness and a moral pride developed which eulogized the sacrifice of the liberties of the individual to the larger needs of the people. legal restrictions of the follies of fashion in dress and food, the prohibition of alcohol and narcotics, the restriction of unwise marriages, and the punishments of immorality were stoically accepted, not as the blue laws of religious fanaticism, but as requisites of racial progress and a mark of patriotism. and while japan showed no signs of the extravagant wealth seen in america, she was far from being poor. she had gained little from centralized and artificial industry, but she had wasted less in insane competition and riotous luxury. but in japanese life there was one unsolved problem. that was her food supply. intensive culture would do wonders and the just administration of wealth and the physical efficiency of her people had eliminated the waste of supporting the non-productive, but an acre is but a small piece of land at most, and japan had long since passed the point where the number of her people exceeded the number of her acres. a quarter of an acre would produce enough grain and coarse vegetables to keep a man alive, but the japanese wanted eggs and fruit and milk for their children; and they wanted cherry trees and chrysanthemums, lotus ponds and shady gardens with little waterfalls. [illustration: in the nineteenth month of the war, the emblem of the rising sun was hoisted over manila.] now if the low birth rate that had resulted when the examinations for parenthood were first enforced had continued, japan would not have been so crowded, but after the first generation of marriage restriction the percentage of those who reached the legal standard of fitness was naturally increased. the scientists and officials had from time to time considered the advisability of increasing the restrictions--and yet why should they? the japanese people had submitted to the prohibition of the marriage of the unfit, but they loved children; and, with their virile outdoor life, the instinct of procreation was strong within them. true, the assignable lands in japan continued to grow smaller, but what reason was there for stifling the reproductive instincts of a vigorous people in a great unused world half populated by a degenerate humanity? so japan was land hungry--not for lands to conquer, as of old, nor yet for lands to exploit commercially, but for food and soil and breathing space for her children. among opponents of japanese racial expansion, the united states was the greatest offender. japanese immigration had long since been forbidden by the united states, and american diplomats had more recently been instrumental in bringing about an agreement among the powers of europe by which all outlets were locked against the overflowing stream of asiatic population. indeed, america called japan the yellow peril; and with her own prejudices to maintain, her institutions of graft and exploitation to fatten her luxury-loving lords and her laborers to appease, she was in mortal terror of the simple efficiency of the japanese people who had taken the laws of nature into their own hands and shaped human evolution by human reason. as commodore perry had forced the open door of commerce upon japan a century before, so japan decided to force upon america the acknowledgment of any human being's right to live in any land on earth. she had tried first by peaceful means to secure these ends, but failing here and driven on by the lash of her own necessity, japan had come to feel that force alone could break the clannish resistance of the anglo-saxon, who having gone into the four corners of the earth and forced upon the world his language, commerce and customs, now refused to receive ideas or citizens in return. and thus it came to pass that the west and the east were in the clutch of the war-god. no one knew just what the war would be like, for the wars of the last century had been bluffing, bulldozing affairs concerning trade agreements or latin-american revolutions. there had been no great clash of great ideas and great peoples. the harbors of the world were filled with huge, floating, flat-topped battleships, within the capacious interiors of which were packed the parts of aeroplanes as were the soldiers of the grecian army in their wooden horse at troy, for assembling and launching them. but the engines of warfare which men had repeatedly claimed would make war so terrible as to end war, had failed to fulfill anticipations. the means of defense and the rules of the game had kept pace with the means of destruction. the flat tops of the warships, which served as alighting platforms for friendly planes, were heavily armored against missiles dropped from unfriendly ones. the explosion of a bomb on top of a plate of steel is a rather tame affair, and guns sufficient to penetrate armor plate could not be carried on air-craft. the big guns of battleships, which had for a time grown bigger and bigger, had now gone quite out of use, for the coming of the armored top had been followed by the toad-stool warship, which had a roof like an inverted saucer, and was provided with water chambers, the opening of the traps of which caused a sudden sinking of the vessel until the eave dipped beneath the water level and left exposed only the sloping roof from which the heaviest shot would glance like a bullet from the frozen surface of a pond. the first two years of war dragged on in the pacific. american grain was of course cut off from japan and the government authorities ordered the people to plow up their flower gardens and plant food crops. the americans had too much territory to protect to take the offensive and their pacific fleet lay close to manila, where, with the help of land aviation forces, they hoped to hold the possession of the islands, which according to the popular american view was supposed to be the prize for which the japanese had gone to war. the test of the actual warfare proved several things upon which mankind had long been in doubt. one of these was that, with all the expert mechanism that science and invention had supplied, the personal equation of the man could not be eliminated. aviation increased the human element in warfare. to shoot straight requires calm nerves, but to fly straight requires also agility and endurance. the american aeroplanes were made of steel and aluminum, and when they hit the water they sank like lead, but the japanese planes were made of silk and bamboo, and their engines were built with multiple compartment air tanks and after a battle the japanese picked up the floating engines and placed them, ready to use, in inexpensive new planes. * * * in the nineteenth month of the war, manila surrendered, and the emblem of the rising sun was hoisted throughout the philippine islands. the remnant of the american fleet retreated across the pacific, and the world supposed that the war was over. but japan refused the american proposals of peace, which conceded them the philippines, unless the united states be also opened to universal immigration. and so it was that when japan, in addition to accepting the philippines, demanded the right to settle her cheap labor in the united states, the american authorities cut short the peace negotiation and began concentrating troops and battleships along the pacific coast in fear of an invasion of california. * * * with ethel calvert's adoption into professor oshima's family there came a great change in her life. at first, she accepted japanese food and japanese clothes as the old-time prisoner accepted stripes and bread and water. but her captivity proved less repulsive than she expected and she was soon confessing to herself that there was much good in japanese life. professor and madame oshima were not talkative on general topics but the books on the shelves of the professor's library proved a godsend to the awakening mind of the young woman. indeed, after a mental diet of french and english fiction upon which ethel had been reared, the works on science and humaniculture, the dreams of universal brotherhood, the epics of a race in its conquests of disease and poverty were as meat and drink to her eager, hungry mind. as the war went on, the horror of it all grew upon her. she read howki's "america." she didn't believe it all, but she realized that most of it was true. she wondered why her people were fighting to keep out the japanese. she marvelled that the japanese who had adopted such lofty ideals of race culture could find the heart to go to war. she wished she might be free to go to the government officials at tokio and washington to show them the folly of it all. surely if the american statesmen understood japanese ideals and the superiority of their habits and customs for the production of happy human beings, they would never have waged war to keep them out of the states. * * * "in three days we leave japan," said professor oshima, as he sat down to dinner one evening in the early part of april, 1960. "all?" asked komoru, the professor's secretary. "we four," replied oshima, indicating those at the table, "the children will stay with my mother. i'll need your assistance, and as for miss ethel, she cannot well stay here, so i have had you two listed. although it's a little irregular, i am sure it will not be questioned, for i know more about american soils than any other man in japan." ethel glanced apprehensively at komoru. she had never quite understood her own attitude toward that taciturn young japanese whom she had seen daily for two years without hardly making his acquaintance. she admired him and yet she feared him. professor oshima was saying that she had been "listed" with komoru for some great journey. what did it mean? what could she do? again she looked up at the secretary; but far from seeing any trace of scheme or plot in his enigmatical countenance, she found him to be considering the situation with the same equanimity with which he would have recorded the calcium content of a soil sample. as for professor and madame oshima, they seemed equally unruffled about the proposed journey, and not at all inclined to elucidate the mystery. experience had taught the younger woman that when information was not offered it was unwise to ask questions, so when the professor busied himself with much ransacking of his pamphlets and papers and his wife became equally occupied with overhauling the family wardrobe and getting the children off to their grandmother's, ethel accepted unquestionably the statement that she would be limited to twenty kilograms of clothing and ten kilograms of other personal effects, and lent assistance as best she could to the enterprise in hand. on the third day the little party, with their light luggage boarded a train for hakodate, at which point they arrived at noon. hurrying along the docks among others burdened like themselves, they came to a great low-lying, turtle-topped warship; and, passing down a gangway, entered the brilliantly lighted interior. the constant flood of new passengers came, not in mixed and motley groups, as the ordinary crowd of passengers, but by two, male and female, as the unclean beasts into the ark. and they were all young in years and athletic in frame--the very cream and flower of the race. [illustration: every few seconds an aeroplane shot into the air and joined the endless winged line.] late that evening the vessel steamed out of port, and during the next two days was joined by a host of other war craft, and the great squadron moved in orderly procession to the eastward. one point, that ethel soon discovered was that, in addition to being excellent physical specimens, all the men, and many of the women, were proficient as aviators. of these facts life on board bore ample evidence, for the great fan ventilated gymnasium was the most conspicuous part of the ship's equipment and here in regular drills and in free willed disportive exercise those on board kept themselves from stagnation during the idleness of the voyage. into this gymnasium work ethel entered with great gusto, for there was a revelation in the discovery of her own physical capabilities that surprised and fascinated her. in the other chief interest of her fellow passengers, ethel was an apt pupil, for though woefully ignorant of aviation, she was eager to learn. she spent many hours in the company of professor or madame oshima, studying aeroplane construction and operation from the displayed mechanisms on board. in fact, they found the great roomy hold of the ship was packed with aeroplane parts. small gasoline turbines were stored in crates by the hundreds; also wings and rudders knocked down and laid flat against each other and still lower down in the framework of the floating palace were vast stores of gasoline. at the end of two weeks the japanese squadron was in latitude 34â° north, longitude 125â° west, and headed directly for the los angeles district of southern california--the richest and most densely populated area of the united states. one evening, just at dark, after they had been in sight of the american aerial scouts all day, the japanese fleet changed its course and turned sharply to the southward. now panama was six days' steaming from los angeles and less than three days from new orleans. so the authorities at washington ordered all warships and available soldiers on the gulf coast to embark for the isthmus. meanwhile there was much going on beneath the armor plate of the japanese transports, and on the fourth day of their southward movement the great trap doors were swung down and aeroplane parts were run out on the tramways, the planes rapidly set up by skilled workmen, and firmly hooked to the floor. above and below deck they stood in great rows like lines of automobiles in a garage. towards sundown the forward planes were manned and in quick succession shot down the runways and took to the air. ethel and her companions were below air the time and hardly knew what was going on. their luggage had been taken up some time ago, except for an extra kima, which they had been ordered to put on. in their turn they were now called out and ordered to go above, that is, the names of the men were called and ethel knew that she was listed as madame komoru, a thing that made her shiver every time it was brought to her attention. an exclamation or astonishment escaped the lips of the more impulsive american girl as she came on deck; for as far as the eye could see the gray flat tops of the war vessels were covered with the drab-winged planes, while every few seconds a plane shot into the air and joined an endless winged line that stretched away to the northeast. "komoru eighty-five: oshima eighty-six." the intent of that command was clear and ethel was soon settled immediately behind the young secretary in the little bamboo car of a japanese plane-of-war. the propeller started with a shrill musical hum; they raced down the runway; dipped for a second toward the water; rose, and sailed swiftly up and on toward the dark line of mexico, that lay in the evening shadow cast by the curved surface of the pacific ocean. (to be continued.) part two. in the clutch of the war-god the tale of the orient's invasion of the occident, as chronicled in the humaniculture society's "notes on the twentieth century". by milo hastings synopsis of previous installment: in the year 1958, ethel calvert, a daughter of an american grain-merchant, residing in japan, because of her father's death in an anti-foreign riot, is forced to take refuge with madame oshima, the french wife of a japanese scientist. she becomes accustomed to the mode of living followed by the japanese, and is finally persuaded to adopt the costume of the land of her exile. war is declared between japan and the united states, and professor oshima, and komoru, his secretary, together with madame oshima and ethel calvert, sail for united states in a japanese war vessel. when near the pacific coast, the many men and women who have been passengers on the vessel, leave the ship by means of aeroplanes, and sail eastwardly over southern california. the air cut by ethel's face at a ninety-mile gait, and she gripped nervously at the hand-rails of the car. then, regaining confidence, she began to drink in the novel view about her. ahead were the drab-winged aeroplanes growing smaller and smaller until they became mere specks against the darkening sky. she turned to the rear and watched the myriads of humans, like birds, rising from the transports that still lay in the sunshine. there were literally thousands of them. she wondered if human eyes had ever before witnessed so marvelous a sight. they had come over the mainland of mexico now and were flying at a height of about half a mile. shrouded in the tropical twilight, the landscape below was but dimly discernible. as the darkness came on, ethel discovered that a small light glowed from the side of the car in front of the driver. gripping the hand-rail, she made bold to raise herself; and, stopping beneath the searchlight and machine-gun that hung, one beneath the other, on swivels in the center of the framework, she peered forward over komoru's shoulder. the taciturn steersman turned and smiled but said nothing. ethel noted carefully the equipment of the driver's box. it was a duplicate throughout of the dummy steering gear with which she had practiced in the ship's gymnasium. one conspicuous addition, however, was an object illuminated by the small glow lamp that had attracted her attention. this proved to be chart or map mounted at either end on short rollers. as the girl watched it, she perceived that it moved slowly. a red line was drawn across the map and hovering over this was the tip of a metal pointer. a compass and a watch were mounted at one side of the chart case. ethel watched the chart creep back on its rollers and reasoned that the pointer indicated the location of the aeroplane. she wondered how the movement of the chart was regulated with that of the plane. finally she decided to ask komoru. "by the landmarks and the time," he said. "do you see that blue coming in on the northeast corner of the map?" "yes." "well, watch it." after a few minutes of waiting the words "_gulf of mexico_" rolled out upon the chart. "why, that can't be," said ethel, "we just left the pacific ocean." "but we have crossed the isthmus of tehauntepec," replied komoru; "it is only a hundred miles wide." his companion looked over the side of the car and to the front and. to the right, she could see by the perfectly flat horizon that they were approaching water. "the map is unrolling too fast," said komoru, as the pointer stood over the edge of the indicated water--and he pushed back the little lever on the clock mechanism that rolled the chart. "we have a little head wind," he added. ethel resumed her seat and sat musing for a half hour or so. komoru looked around and called to her. "look over to your left," he said. "the lights of vera cruz. we are making better time now," he added, again adjusting the regulator on the clock work. the driver contemplated his compass carefully and shifted his course a few points to the right. ethel settled in her bamboo cage and pulled her aviation cap down tightly to shield her face and ears from the wind pressure. for hours they sat so--the girl's heart throbbing with awe, wonder and fear; the man unemotional and silent, a steady, firm hand on the wheel, his feet on the engine controls and his goggled eyes glancing critically at compass or watch or out into the starlit waste of the night, disturbed only by the whirl and shadow of other planes which with varying speed passed or were passed, as the aerial host rushed onward. there were only small tail lights, one above and one below the main plane, to warn following drivers against collision. * * * with her head bent low upon her knees, ethel at length fell into a doze. she was aroused by komoru's calling, and straightening up with a start, she arose and leaned forward over the driver. komoru was looking intently at the scroll chart. in a moment she designed the cause of his interest, for there had rolled across the forward surface of the chart the outline of a coast. in the far left-hand corner was marked the city of galveston, and to the right was the sabine river that forms the boundary between texas and louisiana. ethel raised her eyes from the map and looked far out to the northwest. sure enough, she discerned the lights of a city at the point where galveston was indicated by the chart. "how far have we come?" she asked in astonishment. "eight hundred miles," replied komoru. "see, it is nearly two-thirty. the first men with the faster planes were to have arrived at one o'clock." a little later they passed over the dimly discernible coast line, some thirty or forty miles to the east of galveston. komoru carefully consulted his compass, watch and aneroid, and made a slight change in his course. "where do we land?" asked the girl. komoru steadied the wheel with one hand; and, reaching into the breast pocket of his aviator's jacket, he produced a little document-like roll. "these are the orders," he explained, and asked ethel to spread out the papers on the chart case. the instruction sheet read: "fly twenty-eight minutes beyond the coast line, which will place you ten or twenty miles northwest of the town of beaumont, where a fire of some sort will be lighted about 3 a.m. "when you alight locate one or more farm houses and attach one of the enclosed notices to the door. "this done, fly toward the beaumont signal fire and assist in subduing the town and capturing all petroleum works in the region. "at 6 a.m., if petroleum works are safe, follow the lead of the red plane and fly northwest as far as fort worth, returning by nightfall to oil region." ethel read the paper over and over as she held it down out of the wind by the dim glow lamp. she wanted to ask questions. she wondered what was expected of her. she wondered again as to what was expected of the entire invasion and why the women had been brought along. but her questions did not find verbal expression, for she had schooled herself to await developments. the roller chart had now come to a stop and showed the red line that marked their course terminating in a cross to the northwest of the town of beaumont. komoru tilted the plane downward and flew for a time near the earth. then checking the speed, he ran it lightly aground in an open field a little distance from a clump of buildings. the driver got out and stretched his cramped limbs. taking a hand glow lamp he ran carefully over the mechanism of the plane. then he opened a locker and took out two small magazine pistols. one he handed to ethel. "don't use it," he said, "until you have to." "will you go with me?" he asked, "to tack the poster, or will you stay with the plane?" "i'll stay here," she replied. komoru walked off rapidly towards the house. presently the stillness was interrupted by the vociferous barking of a dog; then there was a sound as of some one picking a taut wire and the voice of the dog curdled in a final yelp. in a few minutes komoru was back. "dogs are no good," he said; "they produce nothing but noise." "will you kindly get aboard, miss ethel? there is much to do." [illustration: by carefully shielding his flash lamp, komoru was able to read a duplicate of the notice he had just fastened up.] ethel obeyed; meanwhile komoru inspected the surface of the ground for a few yards in front of the plane. returning he climbed into his seat and started the engine. they arose without mishap. within a mile or two, komoru picked out another farm house and made a landing nearby. "i will go with you this time," said ethel courageously. approaching an american residence, ethel suddenly found herself conscious of the fact that she was dressed in a most unladylike japanese kimo. for a moment the larger sentiments of the occasion were replaced by the womanly query, "what will people say?" then she laughed inwardly at the absurdity of her thought. komoru produced the roll from his pocket and unwound a small cloth poster. this he fastened to the door jam by pressing in the thumb tacks that were sewed in the hem. then noting another white blotch on the opposite side of the door, he carefully shielded his lamp, and made a light. it was a duplicate of the notice he had just fastened up and read: warning "two hundred thousand japanese have invaded texas and are desirous of possessing your property. you are respectfully requested to depart immediately and apply to your government for property elsewhere. all buildings not vacated within twenty-four hours will be promptly burned--unless displaying a flag truce for sufficient reason. kindly co-operate with us in avoiding bloodshed. (signed) the japanese people." "we were late," said komoru as they walked back toward the plane. "two hundred thousand," he mused; "what you call 'bluff,' i guess." "it's growing light," said ethel, as they reached the plane. "yes, a little," replied komoru, as he walked around to the front. "an ugly ditch," he said. "we shall have to use the helicopter." taking his seat he threw down a lever and what had appeared to be two small superimposed planes above the main plane assumed the form of flat screws. letting the engine gain full headway, komoru threw the clutch on this shafting, and the vertical screws started revolving in opposite directions with a great downward rush of air. the whole apparatus tilted a bit, and then slowly but steadily arose. when they had reached altitude of a hundred feet or so, the driver shifted the power to the quieter horizontal propeller and the plane sidled off like an eagle dropping from a crag. tilting the plane upward, komoru circled for altitude. presently he called back over his shoulder, saying that he saw the signal fire at beaumont at the same time heading the plane in that direction. as the dawn began to break in the east, the occasional passing lights of flying planes became less bright and soon the planes themselves stood out against the sky like shadows. and then the whole majestic train of aerial invaders became visible as they poured over the southern horizon---a never ending stream. komoru and ethel landed in a meadow already well filled with planes and following the others, hurried along toward the town. there had been some fighting in the streets and a few buildings were burning. walking along to the main street of the town, they came upon a crowd of japanese who were collected in front of a building from which the contents were being dragged hastily. "what is it?" asked komoru of one of the men. "hardware store," replied the other; "we've rifled all of them for the weapons and explosives." "where are all the people?" asked ethel. "the americans--are they killed or captured?" "they are at home in their houses," answered the man, who seemed well posted. "i was with the first squad to arrive. we captured the policemen and then took the telephone switchboard. japanese operators are in there now. they have called up every one in town and explained the situation, and advised the people to stay indoors, telling them that every house would be burned from which people emerged or shots were fired. the operators are working on the rural numbers yet. we hold the telegraph also, and are sending out exaggerated reports of the size of the japanese invasion." * * * a man wearing a blue sash came hurrying up. he stopped before the group at the hardware store and gestured for silence. "the town is well in hand," he said, "and only those of you who are detailed here as guards need remain longer; the others will get back to their planes and await the rise of their designated leaders for the flights of the day. "come," said komoru to his companion. but ethel did not move. her mind was racked with perplexity. here she was in a city of her own people. why should she continue to accompany this young japanese whom, despite his gentlemanly conduct, she instinctively feared? yet what else could she do? she was dressed in the peculiar attire of the invaders, and would certainly have trouble in convincing an american of her identity. [illustration: as they passed near other planes, ethel noted that in many cases the women were driving.] "i must ask you to hurry," said komoru, as the others moved off. with an effort ethel gathered her wavering emotions in hand and went with him. if she must go, she reasoned it were well not to arouse komoru's suspicion of her loyalty. a few minutes later they were again in the air, following the lead of a plane with bright red wings--the flag-ship, as it were, of the group. in a half hour the expedition was approaching houston. coming over the city, the leader circled high and waited until his followers were better massed. "are we going to attack the town?" inquired ethel, as komoru asked her for the water-bottle. "oh, no," he replied, "nothing of the sort; we are simply bluffing. there are a number of expeditions going out to-day. we must make the appearance of a great invasion." "how many planes are there all told?" komoru smiled. "not so many," he said. "but how many?" persisted ethel. "fifteen thousand, maybe," komoru replied. "to invade a country with nearly two hundred million inhabitants! we will surely all be killed." komoru smiled. "by sheer force of numbers," explained ethel. "wait and see," replied her enigmatical companion. for hours the little aerial squadron sailed through the balmy air of texas. they passed over austin and waco and fort worth and dallas. they turned eastward and passed over texarkana, and thence south to impress the people of shreveport. the excitement evinced in the towns increased as the news of their flight was wired ahead. they were frequently shot at by groups of excited citizens or occasional companies of militia, but at the height and speed at which they were flying the bullets went wide. one plane was lost. something must have snapped. it doubled up and went tumbling downward like a wounded pigeon. the sun was dropping toward the western horizon. the invaders had been flying for ten hours. they had been without food or sleep for thirty-six hours. save for the brief relaxation of the morning, komoru had not taken his hands from the steering wheel, nor his foot from the engine control since the previous sunset in the bay of tehauntepec. [illustration: the two women of aryan blood worked together in the cotton field side by side with the orientals.] as they passed near other planes, ethel noted that in many cases the women were driving. notwithstanding her dislike for him, the girl found herself wishing that she could relieve komoru. she pondered over his "wait and see" and began to discern a new possibility in an invasion of thirty thousand japanese. she tried to imagine one of the society favorites of her chicago girlhood sitting in front of her driving that plane. she remembered distinctly that aeroplane racing was a part of the diversion of such men and that five or six hours of driving was considered quite a feat. the more she considered the man before her, the more she marvelled at his powers. she confessed he interested her; she wondered why she disliked him. the only answer that seemed acceptable was that he was "not her kind." towards dusk, they hove in sight of the derricks of the beaumont oil region. the leader with the red plane descended in a large meadow. komoru was well to the front and brought his plane to earth a few meters from the red wings. the man in the flag plane who had that day led them over a thousand miles and a score of cities got out and stretched himself. with an exclamation of joyful surprise, ethel recognized that he was professor oshima. the japanese camped where they were for the night. the wings of the planes were guyed to the ground with cordage and little steel stakes. beneath such improvised tents the tired aerial cavalrymen rolled themselves in their sleeping blankets and for twelve hours the camp was as quiet as a graveyard. that day had been a great day in history; it was the first consequential aerial invasion that the world had ever known. while the arrivals of the morning had been circling in fear-inspiring flights above the neighboring states, the later starters from the japanese squadron had continued to arrive in the oil regions. like migrating birds, they settled down over the rich fields and grazing lands of that wonderful strip of flat, black-soiled prairie that stretches westward from the south center of louisiana until it emerges into the great semi-arid cattle plains of southern texas. the region, though one of the richest in the united states, was but sparsely settled. save for the few thousand white laborers who were supported by the oil industry, the whole resident population were negroes who were worked under imported white foremen in the rice and truck lands of the region. the negroes were panic stricken by the japanese invasion and made practically no resistance. in two or three days, the country for a forty-mile radius around beaumont was cleared of americans and practically the entire oil region of texas with its vast storage tanks at port arthur on the sabine river, were in the hands of the invaders. there were not ten regiments of american soldiers within five hundred miles. the great mass of the american army had been rushed weeks before to southern california, and the remnant left in the gulf region had more recently been hastened to panama. in fact, the american squadron had steamed into colon on the very morning the japanese alighted on texas soil. on the second morning of their arrival, japanese officials circling above the captured region, roughly allotted the land to captains under whose leadership were a hundred planes each. the captains then assigned each couple places to stake their plane, which were located a hundred meters apart, allowing to each about two and a half acres of land. professor oshima and komoru, as soil chemists, were constantly on the go making studies of the land and advising with the other experts as to the crops to plant, and the methods of tillage for the various locations. in the cotton lands, where ethel and her associates were located, the soil was immediately put to a fuller use. the cotton plants were thinned and pruned and between the rows quick growing vegetables were planted. elsewhere the great pastures were broken up with captured kerosene-driven gang plows and by dint of hard labor the sod was quickly reduced to a fit state for intensive cultivation. the outside work of the professor and his secretary threw ethel altogether in the company of madame oshima. for this fact she was very grateful, as her aversion to komoru, to whom she was nominally bound, grew more and more a source of worry and fear. so the two women of aryan blood worked together in the cotton field side by side with the orientals--worked and waited and wondered what was awing in the surrounding world. the gasoline wagons came around and refilled the fuel tanks of the planes. mechanics inspected the engines carefully and replaced defective parts. the rice cakes and soyu brought from japan, had been replaced by a diet of wheat and maize products and fresh fruits and vegetables taken from the captured stores and gardens. such captured foods, however, had all been inspected by the dieteticians, and those of doubtful wholesomeness destroyed or placed under lock and key to be used only as a last resort. thus weeks passed. the green things of japanese planting had poked their tender shoots through the black american soil. there had been no fighting except in few cases, where a company of foolhardy militia or a local posse had tried to attach the japanese outposts. american aeroplanes had wisely staid away. but the fight was yet to come. the federal government had recalled its ships from panama and was bringing back the soldiers from california. on the great flat prairie between galveston and houston, a mighty military camp was being established. aeroplane sheds were erected and repair shops built. long lines of army tents were pitched in close proximity. army canteens were established that the thirsty soldiers might get pure liquor and good tobacco and a few rods away--over the line--other grog shops were opened wherein were sold similar goods not so guaranteed. gambling sharks arrived and set up shell games and bedraggled prostitutes--outcasts from urban centers of debauchery---came and camped nearby and made night hideous with their obscene revelry. so the american soldier prepared for battle against the enemy who, fifty miles away, slept undisturbed in the midst of gardens beneath the wings of their aeroplanes. never since roman phalanx moved against the hordes of disorganized barbarians had such extremes of method in warfare been pitted against each other. indeed it is doubtful if the invasion of the japanese should be called war at all. they were not blood-thirsty. in fact, the japanese invaders had sent word to the american government asserting their peaceful intentions if they were unmolested, though threatening dire vengeance by firing cities and poisoning water supplies if they were attacked. madame oshima shook her head. "such talk is only pretense," she said, "the japanese intend to live in america and would never so embitter the people--and it will not be necessary." ethel was in doubt. she pictured the japanese planes flying above the unprotected inland cities dropping conflagration bombs upon shingled roof or casks of prussic acid into open reservoirs. she wished she were out of it all. she wanted to escape and yet she knew not how. the americans made no hasty attacks. they feared the threats of the japanese and awaited the gathering of many hundred thousand soldiers. at the end of four weeks the american army was spread in a giant semi-circle surrounding the japanese encampment from coast to coast. along the gulf coast was also a line of american battleships, so that the japanese encampment was entirely surrounded with an almost continuous line of aeroplane destroying guns. all preparations were at last complete and with cavalry beneath and aeroplanes above, the american strategists planned a dash across the japanese territory with the belief that the outlying lines of artillery would bring to earth those that succeeded in getting into the air. * * * one evening at the hour of twilight, messengers passed rapidly among the japanese distributing maps and orders to prepare for flight. late that night, their possessions made ready for flight, komoru and ethel sat with professor and madame oshima beneath the latter's plane. "our scouts have come to the conclusion," said oshima, "that a cavalry attack is to be expected in the early morning. so our plan is for a signal plane to rise at two o'clock directly over the center of our territory. it will carry a bright yellow light. beginning with the outlying groups our forces are to fly toward the light, rising as they go. attaining an altitude of two miles they are thence to fly due north as our maps show. we will suffer some loss, but two miles high and at night i guess american gunners will not inflict great damage." ethel shuddered. "do you think the american aviators will follow us?" asked komoru. "that depends," replied the older man, "upon the reception we give them; we have them outnumbered." "they carry men gunners," said madame oshima. "so," said the professor, "but shooting from an aeroplane depends not so much upon the gunner as upon the steersman. their planes wabble, the metal frame work is too stiff, it doesn't yield to the air pressure." along such lines the conversation continued for an hour or so. neither the men nor madame oshima seemed the least bit excited over the prospects; but ethel, striving to keep up external appearances, was inwardly torn with warring emotions. making an excuse of wishing to look for something among her luggage, the girl finally escaped and walked quickly toward the other plane. but instead of stopping, she passed by and continued down between the rows of cotton, avoiding as much as possible the lights that dotted the field about her. "oh, god!" she repeated under her breath; "oh, god! i can't go! i won't go!" for some time she walked on briskly trying to calm her feverish mind and reason out a sane course of procedure. she was passing thus where the lights of two planes glowed fifty meters at either side, when she stumbled heavily over some dark object between the cotton rows. she turned to see what it was; and, bending forward, discerned in the starlight the body of a man. she started to run; then, fearing pursuit the more, checked her speed. as she did so some one grasped her arm and a heavy hand was clapped over her mouth. "keep quiet," commanded her captor hoarsely. in another instant he had bent her back over his knee and thrown her--or rather dropped her for she did not resist--upon the soft earth beneath. "if you make a sound, i'll have to shoot," he said, resting a heavy knee upon her chest and clasping her slender wrist in a vise-like grip of a single hand. the girl breathed heavily. the man reached toward his hip pocket and drawing forth a bright metallic object held it close to her face. her breath stopped short. then a flood of light struck her full in the eyes, as her captor pressed the button on his flash lamp. "god! a woman!" the man gasped. the exclamation and voice were clearly not japanese. ethel felt the grip loosen from her wrists and the weight shift from her chest. "you're no japanese!" he said under his breath, at the same time letting the glowing flash lamp fall from his hand. presently ethel raised her head and reached for the lamp where it lay wasting its rays against the black soil. she now turned the glow on the other and saw kneeling beside her a young man in american clothes. he was hatless and coatless and his soft gray shirt was torn and mud bespattered. a massive head of uncombed hair crowned a handsome forehead, but the face beneath was marred by a stubby growth of beard. "who are you?" whispered ethel finding her voice. "put out the light," he commanded, reaching forward to take it from her. "who are you?" he asked reversing the query as they were again in darkness. "i'm a girl," said ethel. the man laughed softly. "i'm not," he said. ethel drew herself into a sitting posture. "which side of this war are you on?" she asked. the man was afraid to commit himself--then a happy thought struck him. "the same side that you are," he answered diplomatically. it was ethel's turn to smile. "you are an american?" she ventured at length. "yes," he said. "so are you?" "yes." "then why are you wearing japanese clothes?" "because--" she said hesitatingly, "i haven't any others." for some minutes he said nothing. "are you going to give the alarm of my presence?" he asked at length. "no." "then i'll go," he said. rising from his knees, but still stooping, he made off rapidly down the cotton row. ethel breathed deeply. confused thoughts flashed through her mind. she would not return to go with komoru; in her japanese garb she feared the early morning sweep of american cavalry; but to the man who had just left her, why could she not explain? without further debate, she arose, and at top speed ran after the retreating figure. the next instalment of this absorbing tale will appear in the september issue of physical culture. it tells of how the japanese attempt to obtain control of the united states through scientific measures rather than barbarous warfare, and is wonderfully interesting and readable. don't miss it. part three. in the clutch of the war-god the tale of the orient's invasion of the occident, as chronicled in the humaniculture society's "notes on the twentieth century" by milo hastings synopsis: in the year of 1958, ethel calvert, a daughter of an american grain-merchant, residing in japan, because of her father's death in an anti-foreign riot, is forced to take refuge, with madame oshima, the french wife of a japanese scientist. she becomes accustomed to the land and mode of living followed by the japanese, and is finally persuaded to adopt the costume of the land of her exile. war is declared between japan and the united states, and professor oshima, and komoru, his secretary, together with madame oshima and ethel calvert, sail for the united states in a japanese war vessel. when near the pacific coast, the many men and women who have been passengers on the vessel, leave the ship by means of aeroplanes, and sail eastwardly toward texas, where they establish plantations and conduct a desultory warfare by aeroplanes with united states troops. while working in the fields ethel discovers a young american in concealment. he warns her to keep silent, and immediately runs away. in a few minutes ethel had caught up with the man who, more cautiously, ran before her. checking her speed, she followed silently. for a half-mile she pursued him thus. he came to the end of the field and dodged into the thicket of bushes that lined the fence row. he moved more slowly now, and she followed by sound rather than by sight. at length they came to where a brook ran at right angles to the fence row. the man stopped and crawled under the barbed-wire fence and came out on the turnpike that ran alongside. ethel, peering out from the bushes, saw him walk boldly forward and stand upon the end of the stone culvert that conducted the brook beneath the roadway. for a moment only he remained so, and then clambered quickly down at the end of the arch and disappeared in the darkness beneath. she heard a foot splash in the water, and then all was quiet save the gurgle of the stream. climbing over the fence, she top ran forward upon the culvert. she listened and looked toward either end, resolved to call to him if he emerged. as she stood waiting she saw the yellow signal light rise in spirals higher and higher and then circle slowly in one location. a few minutes later the dim tail lights of the planes came up out of the horizon and flew towards the signal light. after a half-hour of waiting, she boldly resolved to enter the hiding place of the man she had followed. cautiously feeling her way, she clambered down over the end of the culvert and peered into its black archway. at first, dimly and then with brighter flash, she saw a light within. creeping slowly forward, wading in the stream and stumbling over rough blocks of stone, she made toward the light. midway the passage, the side wall of the culvert had fallen or been torn down and there in a little damp clay nook, sitting hunched upon a rock was the silhouette of the unshaven man. beyond him glowed the dim light and by its faint rays he was hurriedly writing in a note book. with a start he became aware of her presence, and turned the flash-light upon her. "i followed you," she stammered. "i want to explain. i'm an american girl captive among the japanese." he stared at her quizzically in the dim light. "i ran from you," he said, "because i was afraid to trust you--there are a number of europeans among the japanese forces. i couldn't know that you wouldn't have given the alarm, and for one man to run from fifty thousand isn't cowardice; it's common sense--even bravery, perhaps, when there's a cause at stake." "i understand," replied the girl. "won't you be seated?" he said, arising and offering her his place on the rock. she accepted, and he asked her for more of her story. in reply she told him whom she was and related as briefly as she could the incidents of her life that accounted for her peculiar predicament. "i suppose i owe you something of an explanation, too;" he said, when she had finished. "my name is winslow--stanley winslow; i am --or at least was---the editor of the _regenerationist_. do you know what that is?" ethel confessed, that she did not. "perhaps i flatter myself, but then i suppose you have had no chance to keep up on american affairs." just then a crash, followed by a whirring, clattering noise broke in above the sound of the man's voice and the gurgle of the brook running through their hiding-place. "what's that?" winslow exclaimed, starting towards the end of the culvert. [illustration: she was washing her woven grass sandals by rubbing the soles together in the stream.] ethel followed him. before they reached the open the trees in front of them were lit up by the lurid light of a fire. beside the road a hundred yards away was the crumpled mass of a metallic aeroplane. the gasolene tank had burst open and was blazing furiously. "americans," said winslow; "let's see if the crew are dead." the gasolene had largely spent itself by the time they reached the plane. poking about in the crumbled debris, they found the driver impaled upon a lever that protruded from his back. "i wonder what grounded her," mused winslow, as he inspected the dead man with his flash-lamp. "oh! here we are! good shooting that," he added, pointing with his lamp to a soggy hole in the side of the man's head. "i guess they're at it," he said, pressing out his light and turning his eyes skyward. the woman, speechless, followed his gaze. across the sky flashed here and there brilliant beams of search-lights, but far more numerous were the swiftly moving star-like tail-lights of the japanese planes. now and again they heard the crackling of machine guns, occasionally the burr of a disordered propeller and once the faint call of a human voice. "look," said ethel, pointing to the southward. "see that brilliant yellow light. it's the japanese signal plane; they are all to fly in towards it, and then, soaring high will escape over the american lines." "the lines are a joke," returned winslow. "it's plane against plane. and the japs will get the best of it; or at least they'll get away, which is all they want. they are going to dakota, where five train loads of gasolene will be setting on a siding waiting to be captured. we printed the story ten days ago, though the administration papers hooted at the idea." as they walked back toward the culvert, ethel stumbled over something in the roadway. she asked for the light, and discovered to her horror that she was standing in the midst of the remnants of a man who had been spattered over the hard macadam of the turnpike. "ugh! take me away," she shuddered, averting her eyes and running toward the stream, "the gunner fell out of the plane when she lurched, i guess," commented winslow to himself, examining the shreds of clothing attached to the mangled remains beneath him. for some reason winslow did not immediately follow the girl but went back and looked over the wrecked plane again. he removed the magazine pistol from the impaled man's pocket and searched about in the locker until he found a supply of cartridges. the sky was beginning to brighten from approaching dawn now, and the searchlight flashes were less brilliant. winslow stood gazing upward until the forms of the lower flying planes became visible. suddenly he saw a disabled plane come somersaulting out of the air and fall into a field quarter of a mile away. evidently there were explosives aboard, for a shower of flame, smoke and splinters arose where she fell. the onlooking man hopped over the fence and ran toward the spot. there was little to be seen--a mere ragged hole in the sod. as he unconcernedly walked back he passed at intervals a propeller blade sticking upright in the soil, a broken can of rice cakes and a woman's hand. the dawn had now so far progressed that the observer could see some order in the movement of the air craft. he studied with fascination the last of the japanese planes as they circled up toward their aerial guide-post and moved thence in a steady stream to the northward. the american planes which had been harassing and firing on the japanese as they circled for altitude, now turned and closed in on the rear of the enemy and the fighting was fast and furious. plane after plane tumbled sickeningly out of the sky. but for winslow the sight lasted only a few minutes, for the combatants were flying at full speed and soon became mere flitting insects against the gray light of the morning sky. striding down the roadway past the mangled body of the american gunner, winslow reached the culvert. ethel calvert was sitting on a flat stone at the edge of the water. she held her woven grass sandals in her hands and was washing them by rubbing the soles together in the stream. as winslow looked down at her in silence, the girl looked up and eyed him curiously. neither spoke. the man stooped and washed his hands in the brook and then stepping up-stream a few paces he drank from the rivulet. returning he regarded the girl. she had placed her sandals beyond her on the grassy bank and sat with her bare feet in the shallow stream. her head, buried in her arms, rested upon her knees. the slender shoulders now shook convulsively and the sound of a sob escaped her. in the calmness of his cynicism, the man sat down on the rock and placed a strong arm around the trembling woman. [illustration: in another moment, he turned in a gap through the fence and rode down upon the fleeing woman.] "i know," he said, "it's a dirty damned mess, but we didn't start it." after a time the girl raised her head. "i know we didn't start it," she said; "but isn't there something we can do to stop it?" "well," he replied slowly, "i rather hope to have a hand in stopping it, and perhaps you can help." "how?" "surely you can do as much in stopping it as one of those poor devils that get smashed does in keeping it going," he went on. "how?" she repeated. "well, that's quite a long story," he replied; "if you don't already know." "i told you who i was." "yes." "well, the regenerationists, along with many other sincere men and women in this country tried to prevent this war and are trying to get it peaceably settled now. the japs don't want to die. they want a chance to live. we've got a lot of vainglorious, debauched, professional soldiery that wanted to fight something, and now they're getting their fill. in the first place, there is no need of war and in the second place, when there is war, the same stamina that will make efficient humans for the ordinary walks of life will make good soldiers. but money talks louder than reason. the ruling powers in american government are a crew of beer-bloated politicians who are in the pay of a cabal of wine-soaked plutocrats, and the american people under such administration have become a race of mental and physical degenerates. the japs knew this or they would never have invaded the country." "what are you going to do about it? and what are you doing here now within the japanese lines?" asked ethel when her companion paused. "oh, i am acting as my own war correspondent," he replied, smiling a little. "_pat-a-pat, pat-a-pat_"--winslow jumped up excitedly and clambered to the top of the embankment. ethel noting his alarm, slipped her feet into her sandals and rose to follow him. "quick," he exclaimed, hurrying down the bank again. "it's american cavalry." "but let us go meet them," said the girl. "no, never," replied winslow, taking her by the arm and hurrying her into the culvert. "you don't understand. as for you in kimo, your reception would be anything but pleasant; and as for me, i'm an outlaw with a price on my head." reaching the chink where the rocks had fallen out of the culvert wall, winslow squeezed into it and pulled the girl down beside him. carefully he crowded her feet and his own back so that their presence could not be detected from the end of the culvert. "i'm afraid we left tracks on the bank, but we can at least die game," he said, pulling his magazine pistol from his belt and handing it to the girl, while he drew from his hip pocket the weapon he had taken from the dead aviator. "i hate these things," he said, "but when a man is in a corner and no chance to run, i suppose he's justified in using a cowardly fighting machine." they heard clearly now the hoof beats on the roadway above. presently an officer rode his horse down to the stream at the head of the culvert. "anything under there?" called a voice from above. "nothing doing," replied the other, peering beneath the archway. "you're a fool sitting there like that," called a third voice. "company c lost two men back there from a wounded jap under a bridge." the horseman urged his beast up the bank and the troop passed on. for some hours the man and the girl remained in the culvert; meanwhile winslow explained the regenerationist movement, which was not as his enemies interpreted, a traitorous party favoring the japanese, but only a group of thinkers who advocated principles not unlike those which had made the japanese such a superior race either at peace or at war. as she listened, it seemed to ethel as if her own dream had come true, for here indeed was a man of her own blood with stamina of physique and mental and moral courage, who professed and practiced all she had found that was good among the people of her enforced adoption and in addition much that, to her with her racial prejudice in his favor, seemed even better than the ways of japanese. in reply to her questions as to the cause of his outlawry, winslow explained that he and other leaders of his party had long been at swords' points with the conservatives who were in power and that the administration, taking advantage of the martial frenzy of the war, were persecuting the regenerationists as supposed traitors. * * * as the sun indicated mid-forenoon the dishevelled editor of the regenerationist and his newly found follower sauntered forth and took to the turnpike. "we may as well be on the road," he argued. "the sooner the american people get the inside facts of this affair the sooner they will decide to stop it, and it's forty-five miles to the nearest place where i can get in touch with my people." bareheaded, through the hot sun, they travelled rapidly along the turnpike, keeping a sharp lookout for occasional parties of cavalry and hiding in the fields until they passed. sometimes they talked of the contrasted ways of life in japan and in america, and again winslow wrote hurriedly in his note-book as he walked. about three o'clock in the afternoon they stopped in the shade where a rivulet fell over a small cataract. "aren't you hungry?" asked ethel, after they had drunk from the brook. "i don't know. i hadn't thought of it particularly," replied her companion. "let's see, the last time i ate was in a farmhouse north of houston. that was eight days ago. when have you last eaten?" "yesterday morning," replied the girl. "then you are probably hungrier than i am." with their conversation and the murmur of the waterfall they had failed to detect the approach of two cavalry officers, who, walking their tired mounts, had come up unheeded. "hey! look at the beauty in breeches!" called one of the approaching men. [illustration: he rolled a bundle of "regenerationists" on the wing of the aeroplane below.] "her for mine," returned the other. "i saw it first--hie!" returned the first, drawing rein. "give it to me, you hog; you've got one!" "all right, all right--go take it--maybe the bum will object," laughed the first, as the unshaven winslow advanced in front of the girl. "run quick," called winslow to ethel. "they're too drunk to shoot straight." the turnpike was inclosed by a high, woven-wire fence, and the girl obeying turned down the road. her would-be claimant put spurs to his horse and dashed after her, leaving winslow covering the rear horseman with his magazine pistol. "well," said the drunken officer weakly, "i ain't doing nothing." "then ride down the road the other way as fast as you can go." the officer obeyed. for a moment winslow watched him and then turned to see ethel climbing over the woven-wire fence with the soldier trying to urge his horse up the embankment to reach her. winslow started to run to the girl's rescue, but no sooner had he turned than a bullet sang past his ear. wheeling about he saw the other cavalryman riding toward him firing as he came. with lewd brutality calling for vengeance in one direction and a man firing at his back from the other, winslow's aversion to bloodshed became nil; and, aiming cool, he began firing at the approaching officer. it must have been the horse that got the bullet, for with the third shot mount and rider somersaulted upon the macadam. without compunction, winslow turned and sprinted down the roadway. he saw ethel dashing across the field, hurdling the cotton rows. the officer was racing down the road, seeming away from her, but in another moment he turned through a gap in the fence and rode down upon the fleeing woman. the athletic winslow vaulted the six-foot fence with an easy spring, and tore madly through the obstructing vegetation. the rider overtaking the woman, tried to hold her, first by the arm, and failing in that, he grabbed her by the hair. winslow wondered why she did not shoot him, and then he recalled that he was carrying both weapons. in another instant he was up with them and had dragged the man from his horse and flung him to the ground. the soldier kicked and swore, but half drunk, his resistance was of small consequence to his well-trained adversary. "here," called winslow to the girl, who had tumbled down in a heap more from fright than physical exhaustion, "come and get my knife and cut the rein from the horse's bridle." thus equipped, the two strapped their captive's hands and one foot together behind him. "there now," said winslow, as he relieved the officer of his weapon. "hop back to the bridge and look after your comrade. he fell on the turnpike a while ago and i'm afraid he hurt his head. we'll have to be going." "shall we take the horse?" asked ethel. "no," replied her companion, beginning to throw clods at the animal, "we'll simply run him away. as for us, we are safer on foot, and will in the long run make better time." "you are not tired, are you?" he asked, as they turned into the roadway again. "no," she replied, "only a bit tired and weak from my scare. how far have we come?" "fifteen miles, perhaps; i really hardly know; we've been interrupted so much." they made a long detour through the fields to avoid a group of buildings. striking the road again, they soon came upon a slight rise of land that stood well above the level of the surrounding country. "are we not rather conspicuous here?" asked the girl. "well, rather," admitted her companion, pausing to look around; "but i guess we can see as far as we can be seen." "look! look!" called ethel excitedly, jerking her companion's arm and pointing to the south, where the flat horizon was broken by the derricks and tanks of the oil fields. at first winslow saw nothing, and then shading his eyes he sighted what looked like a great bevy of birds flying just above the horizon. larger and larger grew the specks against the sky. "they will be over us in fifteen minutes," said winslow; "let's get up in that oak over there, where we can see without being seen." safely hidden by the enveloping foliage, the man and the girl now watched the approach of the planes. as they came over the oil region the planes began swooping near the ground and then rapidly rising again. "its japanese after the american cavalry, i guess," said winslow. in a few minutes black smoke belched forth at numerous points from the petroleum works. after a time a cloud of dust arose from a great meadow that spread for several miles to the north of the oil wells. a group of aeroplanes hovered closely above the dust cloud and kept up that periodical swooping towards the earth. "it's stampeding cavalry," said the sharp-eyed ethel, "and the airmen are dropping bombs on them." the cloud of dust came nearer and nearer until they could see the swift fall of the deadly missiles from the swooping planes and the havoc wrought in the straggling ranks by the showers of pellets from the shrapnel exploding above their heads. when the foremost of the cavalry troop were perhaps a quarter of a mile from the observers, a commanding officer, who was riding well in the lead, wheeled his horse, threw away his jacket, tore off his white shirt and waived it frantically above his head. an answering truce flag soon appeared from a plane above and the jaded horsemen, riding up, drew rein and waited. the truce plane now swooped low and dropped a message fastened to a white cloth. a soldier caught it and brought it to the officer, who signalled assent. orders were called along the line, and the men filed by and piled their weapons in an inglorious heap. after this most of the lazy circling planes rose and made off to the left, while a few assigned to guard duty circled above the retreating cavalry, as they moved off slowly in the opposite direction. two belated members of the troop, who had lost their horses, flung themselves down to rest for a moment in the lengthening shadow of the oak tree. "oh gawd!" said one, as he panted and mopped his forehead. "oh gawd! i was scared! that damned shrapnel bursting right over us and no chance to fight back or get away. it ain't no fair fighting like that--you can't get at 'em." "they've tricked us, they have," returned his companion. "our own airmen's up in nebraska chasing the japs that gave us the slip this morning, and here these damn hawks come swooping in. i reckon it's reinforcements from japan. the transports that brought the first bunch must have been back and got another load, and this time it seems to be regular soldiers--here to kill--the others were just decoys." "no, they ain't exactly decoys; they're here to stay and raise families, and damned if that ain't what i'm going to do, if i ever get out of this. gawd! our loss must be something awful, and they're at it yet. look! see 'em over there by beaumont like a flock of crows. the bunch that got us was just a few of them." for a time both soldiers eyed the distant fighting. "when i get out of this," continued the first speaker; "when i get out, i'm going to join the regenerationists." "what's that; peace cranks?" "yep; but it's more than that, it's health cranks and temperance cranks, and moral cranks, and socialist cranks, and every other kind of crank that believes in people being decent and living happy--health, quiet lives, instead of fighting and robbing and--boozing and abusing themselves and each other to death." "oh, hell! don't preach just because you're scared," said the other, getting up. "call it preaching if you like, but believe me, i've been getting letters from the folks back home, and my people ain't such poor stuff either, if i did join the army, and i want to tell you that such preaching is getting damn popular lately. this fall's election, you know, and the way we've been done up here to-day, will have a lot to do with the outcome." "we'd better move," said the other, looking up. "that jap up there thinks we're going back after our guns." * * * with the oil regions again in the hands of the vigilant japanese, winslow and ethel found escape more perilous and difficult. but on the third night they succeeded in getting through the lines and reaching winslow's confederates, who were awaiting him near st. charles, la. from hence they travelled by aeroplane to a secluded railroadless valley in the heart of the ozarks. it was here that the secret printing plant of the _regenerationist_ had been established. ethel knew nothing of printing or journalism, but a place was found for her in the department of circulation. while news could be received via wireless, the paper and supplies, as well as the men who went to and fro from the secret printing plant of the outlawed publication, had to be transported by plane. aviators with sufficient skill and daring for the task were hard to find. already at home in the air, it was only a few days until ethel was driving a plane on a paper route. the seven hundred miles to denver she covered one night, returning the next. she started out with half a ton of papers--seventy-two thousand copies--which in suitable bundles were dropped by the boy in the center of the triangular signal fires which local agents built at night in open fields. once she lost her load by a fall in the kansas river, and once she ran out of fuel and held up a rich country house at the point of a pistol and demanded the supply of automobile gasoline. worst of all, she was chased one night by a government secret service plane. despairing of outflying them, she got and held the position directly above their craft, while the boy rolled a two-hundred-pound bale of _regenerationists_ over on the other's wing and sent the federal airmen somersaulting into eternity. but these stirring times did not last long. with the second japanese invasion and the orientals now established in two widely separated sections of the country, the authorities at washington soon acceded to a truce, and one of the immediate results was abolition of martial law and re-establishment of a free press. throughout the summer, in the rice lands in the south, and the wheat lands of the north, the japanese lived, harmless gardeners of their newly acquired possessions. but their gasoline tanks were full and they carried sufficient conflagration bombs to have fired every city from new orleans to st. paul, had the truce been broken by american treachery. the _regenerationist_, now removed to st. louis, was again a full-sized newspaper. the party in power, supported by the capitalistic and military classes, preached old-fashioned patriotism and with martial music and flying flags tried to enthuse the people. but the terror of the american soldiery in the unfair battle of beaumont had gone abroad throughout the land. the people feared the draft for military service--they feared the firing of the cities--the poisoning of their water supplies and a hundred other spectres which in the minds of a degenerate and servile city population the presence of a successful aerial enemy had inspired. the reform party of the _regenerationists_ had by the fortunes of war achieved a tremendous growth. their recruits came both from the better element who had thus been awakened from their lethargy, and from the cowardly rabble who supported peace because of the terror in their hearts. gerald stoddard, chancellor of the university of illinois, a big sound man of clean mind and clean body, was chosen as the radical presidential candidate, and won with an overwhelming majority. his election meant peace between the warring powers, and strong likelihood of peace in the world for all time to come. it also meant other things. it meant the complete inversion of the american policy and the welcoming of science as the servant of mankind's larger needs and not merely a flunky to the degenerate, luxury-loving few. president-elect stoddard, with masterful hand, began at once the organization of the new administration. among the appointees whom he early announced was that of stanley winslow, to the position of secretary of public health. in his telegram of acceptance, winslow said: "in signifying my intention of accepting the position of secretary of public health in your cabinet, i wish to say that it will be my sole purpose to prove myself possessed of the larger patriotism which would defend our race against retrogression and annihilation, not by such antiquated and inefficient methods as immigration restriction or mechanical warfare, but by the improvement of the race itself." and ethel, too, sent a telegram. it read: professor and madame oshima, japanese occupation, south dakota. as soon as travel is freely established come and visit us. when are the children coming over? ethel calvert winslow, care the _regenerationist_. st. louis, mo. but of komoru she said not a word. she couldn't forget the unfathomable look in his eyes. at times she even argued with herself that the poor fellow had loved her, but had feared to express himself because he believed (as he had stated in his scientific essays) that inter-racial marriages were uneugenic and hence immoral. the human slaughter-house _scenes from the war that is sure to come_ translated from the german of wilhelm lamszus by oakley williams with an introduction, by alfred noyes new york frederick a. stokes company publishers 1913 introduction _there is one thing that will certainly be said about this book by some of its readers. it will certainly be said to exaggerate the horrors of modern war; and, just as certainly, that is a thing which this book does not do. it is appallingly reticent; and, for every touch of horror in its pages, the actual records of recent warfare could supply an obscure and blood-stained mass of detail which, if it were once laid before the public, would put an end to militarism in a year. it is not the opponents of militarism who are given over to "cant" and "hypocrisy" and "emotionalism." it is the supporters of militarism who on the eve of a great war go about crying for suppression of facts, censorship of the facts not only of military plans, but of human suffering. for if there is one thing that the military journalist dreads it is the sight and smell of blood. "let us enjoy this pleasant compaign. let us present our readers with a little military music played upon the brass bands of the press. but for god's sake do not waft over europe the smell of iodoform, or of the slaughter-house. man is a fighting animal; let us enjoy the fight. and_--pollice verso!" _unfortunately for these gentlemen, whose good taste is so impeccable that they shrink from the whole truth, man is also a fighting god. 'and the next thing we are going to fight is militarism. there is hardly a great commander in the history of modern warfare who has not described his own profession as "a dirty trade" and war itself as hell. the party of "bad taste" which is going to destroy militarism is not likely to reject the testimony of wellington, grant and napier in favor of the sensational journalist. this book deals chiefly with the physical and mental horrors of war. it presents just that one side of the case; but it must not be forgotten that there are vast battalions of logic and common sense on the same side. from a logical point of view a war between civilized peoples is as insane as it is foul and evil. the pacificists are fighting the noblest battle of the present day. they are not going to win without a struggle; but they will win. and they will win because they have on their side the common good of mankind, common sense, common justice, and common truth._ alfred noyes. contents introduction wilhelm lamszus letter from the congres universel de la paix chapter i mobilization chapter ii soldier chapter iii our father which art in heaven chapter iv the last night chapter v the departure chapter vi like the promise of may chapter vii blood and iron chapter viii the swamp chapter ix the whirling earth epilogue--we poor dead wilhelm lamszus few books of its size--one hundred and eleven pages in the original edition--can perhaps of recent years claim the striking and instantaneous success of wilhelm lamszus's "menschenschlachthaus." in appraising this success, i am less concerned with the number of copies sold (which now, three months after publication, approximates, i believe, one hundred thousand) than with the impression it has left on the mind of its readers in germany and elsewhere on the continent. within a few days of its publication the author awoke to find himself famous--or infamous, according to the point of view adopted--in his own country. the fact that his book has been, or is being, translated into no less than eight european languages is evidence that its appeal is not confined to the conditions of one country, or of a single nationality. its appeal is broad-based. it is addressed to the conscience of civilized humanity, and as was to have been expected, the conscience of the individual has reacted to its stimulus in various ways. the first evidence the author received of the success of his work was drastic. by profession he is a master at one of the great german public schools. he was at once "relieved" of his duties, but has now, i understand, been reinstated. the schoolmaster in germany, it must be borne in mind, is primarily a state official. his most important function is to educate, not only the rising generation of citizens, but the future levies of conscripts. for a schoolmaster to write a book "with a tendency" to strip the pomp and circumstance of war of its traditional glamour--an integral factor in the german educational system--must, in the eyes of the orthodox of the "state-conserving" parties, have savored of an unholy alliance between blasphemy and high treason. the sale of the book was interdicted in the town of its first publication--the "free" city of hamburg. the interdict had the effect of stimulating its sale elsewhere. it challenged a hearing. even the "state-conserving" journals were unable to ignore it entirely. a short time ago, in an open letter addressed to the german press, the author replied to the criticisms and strictures of his professional reviewers. as may be conceived, these criticisms and strictures lacked nothing in virulence or acrimony. "a peril to the public safety," "an hysterical neuropath," "a morbid phantasy," "a socialist-anarchic revolutionary," "a cowardly weakling," "a landless man," "an imported alien draining the marrow of patriotic backbone," may serve as an anthology (for which i am mainly indebted to the _hamburger nachrichten_) of the compliments showered on the author and his work. as this reply discloses what was in the author's mind when he wrote his book, definitely explains its purport and its purpose, it may be worth some consideration. it may serve to differentiate "the human slaughter-house" from the itch of mere literary sensationalism and enable the foreigner to understand the light in which the commission for instruction, education, etc., of the nineteenth universal peace congress at geneva regarded it when last year it wrote officially to congratulate its author on having placed "a weapon of the greatest importance" in the hands of the pacificists. at all times and at all places, lamszus points out, patriotism has been of two kinds. the one sort takes its stand on the public market-place, with its hand on its manly chest, to advertise the public spirit that inflates it. in season and out of season, it never fails to invite the public gaze to dwell on the integrity of its patriotic sentiments. its main strength lies in the spectacular and oratorical. as such it not infrequently deteriorates into the idle sound and fury of junkerdom, chauvinism and jingoism. there is that other type of patriotism that, no less loyal to its own country, believes in the dignity and worth of humanity, that believes in the patriotism of quiet, unadvertised, productive work and in the virtue of a sense of moral responsibility. it is sanguine enough to believe that it may yet be the destiny of a great nation to serve the cause of humanity by eliminating the hideous necessity for war. it finds its highest representative in the patriot of the type of the late emperor frederick the noble, who, himself a soldier proven on the stricken field, found the courage to say, "i hate the business of blood. you have never seen war. if you had ever seen it you would not speak the word unmoved. i have seen it, and i tell you it is a man's highest duty to avoid war if by any means it can be avoided." the issue lamszus raises at the bar of public opinion of the civilized world is whether the patriot of this type must necessarily be either a "neuropath" or a "landless alien," as compared with him of the other sort; whether he be necessarily lacking in civic spirit, virility, and even soldierly virtues. if the matter be of any concern, i gather that the author himself, so far from being physically a weakling, is a trained gymnast (of the type that our representatives will have to take into account at the next olympic games) given to athletic exercises. he has also had sufficient medical training to have passed through a school of comparative anatomy. there are, therefore, no grounds for assuming offhand that he is of the nerveless type that faints at the first sight of blood; yet he writes of war with a shudder that the reader can feel in every line. yet--a contradiction his critics have not been slow to underline--this same man, who abhors the very thought of war, has written to the praise and glorification of war "like a professional panegyrist." while he was writing "the human slaughter-house," he was also engaged in etching some literary silhouettes, embodying the dutch folk-songs, of the revolt of the netherlands. the contrast is so striking that one or two of these "prose poems" may be worth quoting. i a reign of terror has dawned on the netherlands. the netherlands, ever proud of their freedom, are henceforward to be spanish provinces. but the netherlander has no mind for the honor. he cleaves obstinately to his chartered rights and to his nationality. then the duke of alva has come into the country in the emperor's stead. he has brought in his train an army of spanish soldiers, the gallows, and the executioner's axe. he has turned the country into a cemetery. a graveyard stillness reigns over it. for where three men foregather in the streets they smell out conspiracy in their midst. an ill-considered word, and the gallows, lowering in the background, silences the foolish mouth. setting their teeth, the netherlander have to suffer it. the spanish sword reaches the remotest village. only in secret do they dare clench their fists. for the hangman's rack has a way of smoothing out clenched fists. terror lies on its chain like a wild beast. only when it believes itself to be unobserved does it rise and sees the people lying on their knees, and hears a tortured country crying up to heaven. ii a star has risen against the sky of despair. the saviour of the fatherland has been found. egmont and hoorn, the darlings of the people, have walked into the trap and have been beheaded in the market-place. but orange has escaped. he has taken flight to germany. orange, a clever brain! more clever than spanish guile. orange, a brave heart! braver than spanish death and swords. how calm was his countenance! how confident his speech! he is not the man to rush anything, to spoil anything. he will return in his own time. they are already whispering it stealthily in one another's ear. the whisper is already passing from ear to ear, increasing to joyous certainty: he is already in our midst. as yet he is in hiding. but on the morrow his call will ring out, and his confidence glow through every man's heart. william of orange! iii the call has come. they are flocking in on every road. groups of peasants and artisans. masters, and apprentices among them. and the greybeards have taken their old weapons from the wall. halberds flash in the sunlight. old-fashioned furniture of war. but still more ardently do their eyes flash. all are of one mind. all driven on irresistibly by one single impulse. so they pass singing along the highroads. they had almost forgotten how to sing. but now it breaks out the more joyously in the sunlight--the solemn chant. dumfounded, the spanish outpost, under cover of a hedge, gapes after them. let them run, the spies. the spell is broken. let them hear of it till their ears ring again. the morning sun is shining. but we are marching to death and singing: "happy is he who knows how to die for god and his dear fatherland." iv a pleasant farm hidden away in a garden. it is springtide. the garden is a blaze of white. apple-trees in blossom. beneath their boughs a man and a girl are standing close intertwined. beyond, on the other side of the hedge, they are passing along the village street. their friends of the village. their hour has come. the girl's head is resting heavily on his breast, and her arm trembling round his neck. "stay with me, only stay one day more. the wedding was to have been tomorrow. you will never come back! and we are so young--so very young. look, how the blossom is falling. you, too, will lie on the ground like that, so dead and white. and i shall waste away and fade." then he looks into her eyes--sad unto death and fearful. "so you wish me to stay behind, and the others to go and die for us?" she shakes her head without a word, and looks up at him with a smile amid her tears. then he kisses her, and clasps her hand in farewell. v the groups have assembled. they have grown from day to day, and drawn nearer and nearer to the enemy. and now the two armies are arrayed against each other--eye to eye. on the plain yonder you can see them--the spanish troops flashing in steel--so close that you can distinguish their yellow faces in the sunlight. what is their quest here on foreign soil? they are selling their blood for a hireling's wage, and turning themselves into hangmen to lay a free people in chains. a distant glow is still glowering to the heavens. the last villages through which the spanish dogs passed. they have left smoke and ruin behind them. mangled corpses, the wailing of children. what do the strangers care? they have come into the country for loot. there they stand, the destroyers! splendidly harnessed, practised in war, and used to victory. callously, as if at their handicraft, without much shouting, or much running about and movement, the array over there falls into line. a dangerous foe in its uncanny quiet. over against them the netherlanders are a people assembled at haste. they are ignorant of drill, are ignorant how they ought to fight in ranks, and on horseback. but on the issue they are staking hearts filled with indomitable hate, filled full with undying love of country. beggars, the spaniards once called them. and the beggars are mindful of their nakedness. their fists clench. their teeth are set. and their lips are mumbling curses and hot prayers. vi it came to fighting. it came to murder. death leaped up, and raced neighing across the battlefield, until it dripped blood--until at even, blinded with blood, it fled away into the darkness. the battle is over now. the daylight is dying behind bergen's towers. the shadows of night are blending with the shadow of death. it was a glorious fight. the wrath of a people is mightier than all the guile and strategy on earth. but the victors are exhausted. watch fires are ablaze. they all crowd round them to comfort themselves in their warmth. dark figures are whispering in groups. "ha! how they ran! whoever was overtaken was cut down--without mercy. they will remember the day. will they come on again? how will the sinister emperor take it? how far does his power reach? they will come on again. a bigger army! a bigger fleet!" look how the stars are gleaming. the air is clear. even now you can see the heavens opening. and the milky way is glimmering down to meet you. the sound of singing rises in the distance. an old hymn. a prayer of thanks of the days of our fathers. those nearest by take it up. the chant leaps from fire to fire. the darkling field is singing. the night is singing. a choir raising their hands to heaven, their voices to the stars. lord! grant us freedom! * * * * * where then lies the truth? in these "prose poems" aglow with martial enthusiasm, and ringing with the soldier's spirit, or in the relentless anatomical realism of "the human slaughter-house"? or are both lies--"both deliberate conscious untruths, written under the inspiration of a social democratic lawyer?" the explanation, as lamszus see it, lies in the condition of the times. no one, he claims, could write of the revolt of the dutch republics otherwise than in the brave setting of flashing eyes, glittering steel, and the stirring clash of men-at-arms. but it is equally untrue to tell of modern warfare waged with picric acid and electric wires in the same spirit. the romance and glamour of warfare in the past are grinning lies when transferred to latter-day warfare, where long-drawn fronts of flesh and blood are opposed to machines of precision and the triumphs of the chemical laboratory. the anachronism becomes nothing less than the deliberate falsification of history. dynamite and machine-guns, not the writer, have turned the "field of honor" into a "human slaughter-house," where regiments are wiped out by pressing an electric button. in the hideousness of these scenes of future warfare the charge of exaggeration, of painting carnage red, is easy to raise, and difficult to rebut. lamszus does not shirk it. "what i have written was worked out empirically. it is a sum that is, mathematically, so incontestable that no one has hitherto ventured to dispute it. for the second factor in this sum is the albuminous substance of human brain and marrow. and when we hear that in the russo-japanese war thousands went mad, who would care to maintain that the nervous system of the civilized mid-european is hardier and tougher than that of asiatics and semi-civilized russians? 'the material has become softer,' says the authority of the staff-general. what now, when the sum total of acoustic and visual stimuli, of physical and psychic shocks, to which this 'softer material' is exposed, has, with every new invention, become more destructive in quality and quantity? to find the answer to such a simple problem did not assuredly call for a mathematical genius." with the answer before us, the question rises whether it is more patriotic to blink it, to go on pretending that war is what it used to be--a soldier's death on the field of honor, or senseless automatic slaughter by machinery. it is against this latter mechanical aspect of war that the instinct of humanity, to which lamszus has given voice in vivid words, revolts. does it become a man better to look, with the full sense of his moral and ethical responsibility, the hideous fact in its face, or to continue to disguise it under a veil of romance woven round the pomp and circumstance of glorious war? in this sense "the human slaughter-house" of lamszus' invention stands, as the universal peace congress read it, for the revolt of the spirit of humanity, the spirit of progress and evolution, against the cumulative horror of the mechanics of modern warfare. "for just as there is no room for the uncouth monsters of primeval times, for mastodon and brontosaurus, on the green earth today, so little will a nation of krupp's steel plates be able to continue to live in the community of civilized nations." none the less, a nation of men of virile breed will, he believes, be no less prompt to take up arms in defence of its heritage of culture than prussia was in 1813, and to fight in its defence to the last gasp. for in the war of liberation it was not drill, but the spirit of the people that saved the country. "thus the people in which we have belief will be irresistible in the council of nations, and be destined before every other to lead the nations to the work for which nature has fashioned them.... worthless indeed is the nation that would not stake its all for its honor. the only question that remains is what the spirit of this honor be; whether the appetite of savages and barbarians, hungry for spoils, impels me, or whether moral honor, the blood-stained desecrated face of god, inspires me." with these bold words lamszus concludes his apologia for the brutality of "the human slaughter-house." oakley williams. [_translation_.] to herr lamszus. _xixme congres universel de la paix a geneve_. _geneve_,1912. dear sir, i have great pleasure in acquitting myself of the duty of expressing to you, in the name of "the commission for education, instruction, etc.," composed of delegates of the most varied nations assembled at the world's peace congress, and, further, in the name of all pacificists, our thanks for the distinguished word-picture of rare artistic originality and of gripping effectiveness of the wholesale murders of the future in "the human slaughter-house," _for having furnished the cause of peace with a weapon of considerable importance_, and for having more especially made a very valuable gift to the cause of every pacificist. may the blessing of its work be great! on behalf of the congress commission for education, instruction, etc. dr. a. westphal, _secretary_. the human slaughter-house chapter i mobilization war! war is declared! so the news speeds hollow-eyed through the streets. we are at war. it's the real thing this time. mobilization! the ominous word dominates the placards on the hoardings. the newspapers reproduce the proclamations in their heaviest type, and rumors and dispatches flutter like a ruffled dovecote round this day of blood and iron. it is deadly earnest now. and this sense of the seriousness of it has numbed the state like a stroke of paralysis. but then a jar, as of a lever thrown over, goes through the vast iron fabric. and every one has got to yield to this jar. the time for anxiety and hesitation is over, for doubts and oscillation. the moment has now come when we cease to be citizens, from henceforward we are only soldiers--soldiers who have no time to think, who only have time to die. so they come flocking in from the work-shops, from the factories, from behind the counters, from business offices, and the open country--they come flocking into the town, and every man falls in to stand by his native land. "four days from date" was the order on my summons. well, the fourth morning has come, and i have said good-by to my wife and my two children. thank god, the fourth morning has come, for the parting was not easy, and my heart aches when i think of them "at home." "where are you going, daddy?" asked baby, as i kissed her for the last time with my portmanteau in my hand. "daddy's going on a journey," said her mother, and looked at me with a smile amid her tears. "yes, he's going on a journey, girlie, and you, little chap, you've got to be good, and do as mummy tells you." and then we got the parting over quickly, for dora kept up her pluck until the last moment.... * * * * * now we are drawn up in the barrack-yard with bag and baggage--we of the rank and file--we reservists and militiamen, every man at his place by the table. how serious their faces are. they reveal no trace of youthful high spirits or martial exuberance. their expressions rather betoken deep thought. "the war that in the end was bound to come"--so we heard and so we read in the papers. "that is bound to be so, that is a law of nature. the nations are snatching the bread from one another's mouths; they are depriving each other of the air to breathe. that is a thing which in the end can only be settled by force. and if it has to be, better it should be today than tomorrow." we are mercenaries no longer--those hirelings for murder, who once sold their blood for money down to all and sundry. we are gladiators no longer--slaves who enact the drama of dying as an exciting spectacle for the entertainment of the rich, and for the lust of their eyes. it is to our native land we took our oath. and if it must be, we are resolved to die as citizens, to die in the full consciousness and full responsibility for our acts. what will the next few days have in store for us? not one of us has probably ever, with his own eyes, seen a field of battle. but we have heard about it from others, and we have read in books of other men what a battlefield looked like in 1870-71, and, as though with our own eyes, we have watched the shells shattering human bodies. and another thing we know is that forty years ago in spite of inferior guns and rifles, over a hundred and twenty thousand dead stayed behind on the field of honor. what percentage of the living will modern warfare claim? armies are being marshalled vaster than the world has ever seen. germany alone can put six million soldiers in the field; france as many. then the war of '70-'71 was nothing more than a long-drawn affair of outposts! my brain reels when i try to visualize these masses--starting to march against one another; i seem to choke for breath. then are we a breed of men other than our fathers? is the reason because we only have one life to lose? and do we cling so passionately to this life? isn't our native land worth more than this scrap of life? there probably won't be many among us who believe in the resurrection, who believe that our mangled bodies will rise again in new splendor. nor do we believe that our father in heaven will have pleasure in our murderous doings, that in that better world he will regard us other than as our brothers' murderers. but we bend our heads before iron necessity. the fatherland has called us, and we, as loyal sons, obey the command there is no evading, submissively.... from today onward we belong to our native land, so the major shouted a minute ago as he read out the articles of war. and it's going to be the real thing this time. the sergeant-major has already read the roll and checked it. we are already told off in fours. now, in a long column, we are marching across the barrack-yard, for this very day we are ordered to doff our civilian dress, and don our new kit. this very day we have got to become soldiers. things are moving apace with us now. chapter ii soldier on the afternoon of the following day, the company is detailed for barrack drill. we are lying on our stomachs in the barrack-yard, and are being drilled in taking aim and firing lying down. i have just been sighting. in front of me on the barrack wall over there they have painted targets. ring targets, head targets, chest targets. three hundred yards. i take pointblank aim, and press the trigger. "square in the chest." that ought to count as a bull's-eye. wonder how many clips of cartridges am i going to get through? wonder if there will be a bull's-eye among them? if every man of those millions they are putting into the field against the enemy fires about a hundred cartridges, and there is one bull's-eye in every hundred, that works out at ... that amounts to ... and i can't help smiling at this neat sum in arithmetic ... then the answer is no one at all. that is a merry sum. snick! the fifth cartridge tumbles out. i ram in another clip of dummy cartridges. how quickly and smoothly that's done. one--two seconds, and five cartridges are set in your magazine. every one of them, if need be, can penetrate six men; it can penetrate palisades and trees; it can penetrate earthworks and stone walls. there is practically no cover left against this dainty little missile, against this little pointed cone. and what a wonderful bit of mechanism this mauser rifle is. how wretchedly badly off they were in 1870-71 with their rattletrap needle guns. a single feeble bullet at a time, and after you had fired it came the long, complicated business of reloading. and yet the war accounted for well over a hundred thousand french and german dead. i wonder how many dead this war will ac count for? if only every fifth man is left on the field, and if another fifth comes home invalided ... what will its harvest amount to then? the whole of both countrysides are at this moment covered with soldiers lying flat, and all of them with their rifles at the ready, and all of them pointing the death-bearing barrels at one another, are perfecting themselves in the art of hitting the heart. but behind them the guns are swinging up. the gunners are jumping down and dragging the trail round. they are already aligned, and a thousand black mouths are gaping uncannily toward the heavens. we were once standing--we were in camp for musketry training at the time--and watching a battery firing with live ammunition. they had unlimbered and were ready to fire. the officers were peering into the distance through their field-glasses. the targets were not as yet in sight. we were all gazing intently toward the firing zone, where at any moment something might come into view.... there! away over there. in the distance. something is moving! a shout of command. the subaltern points to the moving target with his right hand. he shouts out the range. the gunners take aim, and: "ready! no. i gun. fire!" the missile is already a-wing, and for the space of a moment we feel the iron messenger flitting past. the air is a-hum. boom--and a thousand yards in front of us the shell has exploded above the cavalry riding to the attack, and has spattered its rain of lead over the blue targets. and then nos. 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. the next target was about a mile away, and the new range quickly found. again the strange missile sped away and covered its measured course. it was a thing to marvel at, to see how it checked in the air of its own volition and burst. it seemed as though each one of these iron cylinders had a brain--as if it were endowed with life and consciousness--so certainly did it find its billet. and when the battery had ceased firing and had limbered up, and the danger cone had been pulled down, we went out into the field of fire. there the linked targets under fire were lying. they had been struck down by the shrapnel--all, the whole line. head, body, limbs;--we did not find a single figure there that had not been drilled through and through. we stood and marvelled at the accuracy of it, and with a silent shudder thought of targets other than contraptions of laths and canvas. wonder whether they have engines of such perfect precision on the other side? how the experts have, day in, day out, been inventing and constructing new marvels of mechanism. the mechanical side of war has been raised to a high standard of genius and a fine art. two hundred and forty bullets and more to the minute! what a marvel of mechanism one of those machine-guns is. you set it buzzing, and it spurts out bullets thicker than rain can fall. and the automaton licks its lips hungrily and sweeps from right to left. it is pointed on the middle of the body, and sprays the whole firing-line with one sweep. it is as though death had scrapped his scythe for old iron; as if nowadays he had graduated as expert mechanic. they have ceased to mow corn by hand nowadays. by this time of day even the sheaves are gathered up by machinery. and so they will have to shovel our millions of bodies underground with burying machines. curse! i cannot get rid of this hideous; thought. it is always cropping up again. we have passed on from retail to wholesale methods of business. in place of the loom at which you sat working with your own hands, they have now set the great power-looms in motion. once it was a knightly death, an honorable soldier's death; now it is death by machinery. that is what is sticking in my gullet. we are being hustled from life to death by experts--by mechanicians. and just as they turn out buttons and pins by wholesale methods of production, so they are now turning out the crippled and the dead by machinery. why do i, all of a sudden, begin to shudder? i feel as if it had suddenly become clear as daylight that this is madness--blood-red madness lowering for us there. curse! i must not go on brooding over it any longer, or it will drive me mad. your rifle at the ready! the enemy is facing you! has that ceased to be a case of man to man? what does it matter even if the bullet finds its billet more surely? aim steadily--straight for the chest.... who is it really facing me? the man i am now going to shoot dead! an enemy? what is an enemy? and again i see myself on that glorious morning of my holidays, at a french railway station, and again i am gazing curiously out of the window. a foreign country and a stranger-people. the moment for departure has come. the station-master is just giving the signal. then a little old woman extends her trembling hand to the window, and a fine young fellow in our carriage takes the wrinkled hand and strokes it, until the old woman's tears course down her motherly cheeks. not a word does she speak. she only looks at her boy, and the lad gazes down on his mother. then it flashes upon me like a revelation. foreigners can shed tears. why, that is just the same thing it is with us. they weep when they take leave of one another. they love one another and feel grief.... and as the train rolled out of the station, i kept on looking out of the window and seeing the old woman standing on the platform so desolately, and gazing after the train without stirring. i could not help thinking of my own mother. it was i myself who was saying good-by there, and on the platform yonder my poor old mother was in tears. pocket-handkerchiefs were floating in the breeze. they were waving their hands, and i waved mine too; for i, too, was one who belonged to her.... and again i put my rifle to my shoulder, and take aim for the centre of the target. i will not go on torturing myself with these thoughts. the target seems to have been moved nearer to me. of a sudden it seems to me as if the blue-painted figure had stepped out of its white square. i gape at it. i distinctly see a face in front of me. i have got my finger on the trigger, and feel the tension of the pressure. why don't i pull it through? my finger is trembling.... now, now, i recognize the face. that is the young fellow at nancy who was saying good-by to his mother.... then the spring gives, and the great horror masters me, for i have fired straight into a living face. murderer! murderer! you have shot the only son of his mother dead. thou art thy brother's murderer.... i take a hold on myself. i pull myself together. a murderer? folly! a spook! you are a soldier. soldiers cease to be human beings. the fatherland is at stake. and without turning a hair i take aim at the enemy. if you miss him he will get you. "got him! in the middle of the chest." chapter iii our father which art in heaven we rejoined the colors on friday. on monday we are to move out. today, being sunday, is full-dress church parade. i slept badly last night, and am feeling uneasy and limp. and now we are sitting close-packed in church. the organ is playing a voluntary. i am leaning back and straining my ears for the sounds in the dim twilight of the building. childhood's days rise before my eyes again. i am watching a little solemn-faced boy sitting crouched in a corner and listening to the divine service. the priest is standing in front of the altar, and is intoning the exhortation devoutly. the choir in the gallery is chanting the responses. the organ thunders out and floods through the building majestically. i am rapt in an ecstasy of sweet terror, for the lord god is coming down upon us. he is standing before me and touching my body, so that i have to close my eyes in a terror of shuddering ecstasy.... that is long, long ago, and is all past and done with, as youth itself is past and done with.... strange! after all these years of doubt and unbelief, at this moment of lucid consciousness, the atmosphere of devoutness, long since dead, possesses me, and thrills me so passionately that i can hardly resist it. this is the same heavy twilight--these are the same yearning angel voices--the same fearful sense of rapture---i pull myself together, and sit bolt upright on the hard wooden pew. in the main and the side aisles below, and in the galleries above, nothing but soldiers in uniform, and all, with level faces, turned toward the altar, toward that pale man in his long dignified black gown, toward that sonorous, unctuous mouth, from whose lips flows the name of god. look! he is now stretching forth his hands. we incline our heads. he is pronouncing the benediction over us in a voice that echoes from the tomb. he is blessing us in the name of god, the merciful. he is blessing our rifles that they may not fail us; he is blessing the wire-drawn guns on their patent recoilless carriages; he is blessing every precious cartridge, lest a single bullet be wasted, lest any pass idly through the air; that each one may account for a hundred human beings, may shatter a hundred human beings simultaneously. father in heaven! thou art gazing down at us in such terrible silence. dost thou shudder at these sons of men? thou poor and slight god! thou couldst only rain thy paltry pitch and sulphur on sodom and gomorrah. but we, thy children, whom thou hast created, we are going to exterminate them by high-pressure machinery, and butcher whole cities in factories. here we stand, and while we stretch our hands to thy son in prayer, and cry hosannah! we are hurling shells and shrapnel in the face of thy image, and shooting the son of man down from his cross like a target at the rifle-butts. and now the holy communion is being celebrated. the organ is playing mysteriously from afar off, and the flesh and blood of the redeemer is mingling with our flesh and blood. there he is hanging on the cross above me, and gazing down upon me. how pale these cheeks look! and these eyes are the eyes as of one dead! who was this christ who is to aid us, and whose blood we drink? what was it they once taught us at school? didst thou not love mankind? and didst thou not die for the whole human race? stretch out thine arms toward me. there is something i would fain ask of thee.... ah! they have nailed thy arms to the cross, so that thou canst not stretch out a finger toward us. shuddering, i fix my eyes on the corpse-like face and see that he has died long ago, that he is nothing more than wood, nothing other than a puppet. christ, it is no longer thee to whom we pray. look there! look there! it is he. the new patron saint of a christian state! look there! it is he, the great djengis khan. of him we know that he swept through the history of the world with fire and sword, and piled up pyramids of skulls. yes, that is he. let us heap up mountains of human heads, and pile up heaps of human entrails. great djengis khan! thou, our patron saint! do thou bless us! pray to thy blood-drenched father seated above the skies of asia, that he may sweep with us through the clouds; that he may strike down that accursed nation till it writhes in its blood, till it never can rise again. a red mist swims before my eyes. of a sudden i see nothing but blood before me. the heavens have opened, and the red flood pours in through the windows. blood wells up on the altar. the walls run blood from the ceiling to the floor, and--god the father steps out of the blood. every scale of his skin stands erect, his beard and hair drip blood. a giant of blood stands before me. he seats himself backward on the altar, and is laughing from thick, coarse lips--there sits the king of dahomey and butchers his slaves. the black executioner raises his sword and whirls it above my head. another moment and my head will roll down on the floor--another moment and the red jet will spurt from my neck ... murderers, murderers! none other than murderers! lord god in heaven! then-the creaking-light, air, the blue of heaven, burst in. i draw a breath of relief. we have risen to our feet, and at length pass out of the twilight into the open air. my knees are still trembling under me. we fall into line, and in our hob-nailed boots tramp in step down the street toward the barracks. when i see my mates marching beside me in their matter-of-fact and stolid way, i feel ashamed, and call myself a wretched coward. what a weak-nerved, hysterical breed, that can no longer look at blood without fainting! you neurasthenic offspring of your sturdy peasant forbears, who shouted for joy when they went out to fight! i pull myself together and throw my head back. i never was a coward, and eye for eye i have always looked my man in the face, and will do so this time, too, happen what may. chapter iv the last night i am lying in bed, and counting a hundred slowly. it must be close on midnight now, and i am still unable to get to sleep. the room resounds to the noise of snoring. they are lying to the right and left of me, and if i turn over on my back, i am staring up at the wooden planking of a bed. for the cots extend all along the wall from door to window, one above the other, and in every cot a soldier is lying asleep. now and again one or other tosses about, and rolls heavily over to the other side. further away, near the window, some one is mumbling in his sleep. suddenly he shouts out aloud: "and that wasn't me. i ain't touched a bit of the wire. d'you take me for a thief?" it sounds exactly as if he were wide-awake. i am on the point of speaking to him. then all is silence again, and i lie listening intently for what is going to happen next. but he keeps quiet, and goes on dreaming. he is still in the midst of his workshop; yet tomorrow he is going to be carted out to war. and nothing but sleeping and snoring men all round me. wonder if any one else in barracks is lying wide-eyed and staring into the future? my thoughts flit homeward. wonder whether she slept well to-night? wonder if she has chanced to be thinking of me? wonder how the little chap is getting on? his teeth were giving him trouble.... it is not good to marry so young; the unmarried men who are called out now are better off. wonder whether the war will last long? we have put by a little nest-egg. but what's the good of that in these times of famine prices? the allowance for wife and children is so small that it won't even cover rent. where's she to turn for money when the post-office savings book is finished? she will have to go out sewing. but what's to happen when hundreds of thousands of others have to go out sewing too? well, then she will have to start a little business, open a greengrocer's shop. but what's to happen when hundreds of thousands of others have to start a shop? the state is taking charge of your wives and children, that's what it said in the regimental orders yesterday. well, there is no use in imagining the very worst at the start. the war may be over quickly. perhaps it will never get as far as big battles. perhaps they will think better of it, and give way yet. and then my mind feels at ease again. in spirit i see myself back again at my office-desk and writing invoices. a glance at the clock--it's close on the hour--only a few more strokes of the pen. so let's finish up quickly. let's hang up our office coat on the nail and slip into another. and then get out into the street, for dora must be waiting supper. by this time we have already reached the bridge by the town hall, with the two big triple lamps.... who is standing there by the railing of the bridge, and gazing down into the canal so motionlessly? it's a woman. she must have run straight out of the kitchen, for her apron-strings are hanging to the ground behind her anyhow. and all of a sudden her red-striped skirt strikes me as so familiar, and as i pass behind her she turns round without a word, and looks at me wild-eyed. "dora, is that you?" then she bows her face, streaming with tears, and says dully to herself: "they have shot my husband dead." "but, dora," i shout to her anxiously--for it suddenly flashes upon me that she is ill--"why, here i am! don't you know me any more?" but she shakes her head, and turns away from me comfortless, and passes me by like a stranger. "dora!" i shout aloud, "dora!" and stretch out my arms toward the vanishing figure. a sob chokes my throat.... then i start, and am sitting up in bed, resting on my elbow. through the window sounds the long-drawn reveille. dawn is peeping through the panes. so i did nod off after all, and i did not have a pleasant dream. but i have no time to be grumpy over it, for footsteps are ringing along the corridor. hobnail boots clatter across the floor. the door is flung open. "turn out!" a cheery voice shouts in. it is the sergeant on duty. by this time he has already reached the next door. and sleepy figures are rising from their cots, yawning and stretching their arms; are turning out and slipping, shivering with cold, into their clothes. yawning, they stretch their limbs and flap their arms until the second more welcome morning signal, "breakfast rations," lends life and animation to fasting men. chapter v the departure we are already drawn up in the barrack-yard in service kit. we have stacked our rifles and have fallen out. no one thinks of kit inspection or anything of that kind today. everything is now being pushed on at racing pace. "fall in!" "stand by your packs!" how heavy the full knapsack weighs in one's hands, and yet as soon as it is settled in the small of your back you do not notice it so very much. "stand by arms!" "slope arms!" as if we were marching out for parade, the captain's orders sound as crisp as that. we shoulder arms as smartly as if we were moving out on parade. "form sections! right about turn! quick march!" and we swing round smartly in four at the command. "fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth company!" shouts the major, who has pulled up in the middle of the yard. we are the eighth company, and are following on the heels of the seventh. the gates of the barrack-yard are open. we are marching out. our legs mark time on the pavement of the street in the goose-step of grand parade. "march at ease!" and the muscles of our legs relax and advance at more natural gait. the streets are full of people. they are lining the pavement on both sides and watching us march past. though it is still quite an early hour of the morning, yet the whole town is up and about. they weren't able to stay abed. they wanted to see the soldiers march out. and they welcome us with their eyes and wave their hands to us. a fifteen-year-old lad is running along beside us. his brother is marching in our file. "mother sends you her love; she says she is feeling better again--but she wasn't well enough to get up yet, else she'd have come with me this morning--but i was to give you this from her." and the lad stretches his open hand out to his brother, and tries to hand him something wrapped up in paper--money! but the elder brother waves it aside. "put it away. tell her i said she was to spend it on herself, and to look after herself properly, and be well and fit when we come back again." reluctantly the lad puts the money in his pocket. a little ahead of us a young woman is tripping alongside. we have set a pretty smart pace, and she has to break into a run to keep up. but though her feet may stumble over the uneven pavement she never turns her eyes from her husband. what they may have to say to each other at the very last moment we can't catch. but we catch the expression of her face, and her comically touching devotion. and now the crowds accompanying their soldiers through the streets become denser and denser. a few folk who are seeing members of their family off are running beside every section. white-haired fathers and mothers, with anxious looks, sisters, sweethearts, wives. there is one among them of whom you can tell at a glance that she is about to become a mother. well, she will be brought to bed lonely and desolate. the man marching on my right, a taciturn yokel, who until now has been staring gloomily straight ahead of him, half turns to me. "how many kids are there under way that'll never come to see their dads?" and then he thaws, and begins to talk about his brother, who had to leave with the army service corps two days before, and he was called on the colors the very same day his wife was brought to bed, so that he had to leave her before she was out of the wood. "almost make you think us wasn't human beings." the drums and fifes strike up briskly, and play a merry march. some one or other, somewhere in the crowd, sets up a loud, crowing sort of cheer. "hip! hip! hooray!" and the others join in. it spreads all down the whole length of the street, and does not die down again. but it leaves my yokel unmoved. "what's the good of that how-d'ye-do? folks are fair crazed. there is no sense in it." i glance at him out of the corner of my eye. he is impenetrably rapt in his own gloomy reflections. then he begins again. "ah've left a wife and three kids to home. they're to get a few pence a day, the lot, and nought more. and that's what four people have got to live on." some one tries to cheer him up. "then some one else'll turn up who'll look after 'em!" "what others?" comes the answer in a deep growl. "they'll have their hands full looking after theirselves. by the time i get home they'll have kicked the bucket, the whole lot of 'em. the best thing'd be never to come home no more." then the big drum breaks into his com-plaint. a dull reverberating throb. it is to usher in the regimental band, and orders the drums and the fifes to desist. and then again, deep and monitory. boom! the pipers begin to play the regimental march. and now--the regimental band strikes up. you may kick against it as you will. the martial strain infects the excited streets, trumpets back from a wall of houses, stirs the blood so joyously, and exorcises the spectres of the night from your brain. your muscles stiffen, you throw your head up, and your legs strut along proudly to keep step and time. and the rhythm of step and time infects the whole crowd. the effect on the crowd is electric. they are waving their hands from the pavements; they are waving their hands from the windows; they are waving their hands from the balconies. the air is white with pocket-handkerchiefs. and now some one in front begins to sing. they are shouting and singing against one another. the tune gains strength until it has fought its way through, and swirls above our heads like the wind before a storm. the national anthem! the whole street is taking it up. the regimental band has capitulated to the song that carries every one away with it. and then it solemnly joins in. the crowds bare their heads. we can see nothing except glowing faces, figures marching under a spell, a nation afire and kindled to enthusiasm. we march through the town singing ecstatically until we reach the station, until we at length come to a standstill on the platform reserved for us. the train is already standing there. the bridge, beyond, leading over the rails is black with people shouting and waving down to us. we are already told off. eight men to the compartment. "tara, tata!" the bugle calls us to entrain, and the doors are thrown open. we have scarcely stacked our packs and rifles, and donned our caps when the engine starts, and amid thunderous cheers we slide out of the station, and leave behind us a distant, fading roar, a dying hum--the town shouting her last farewell to her soldiers. we make ourselves comfortable. we are sitting and smoking our pipes. three, unable to change all at once, have already started a game of cards. two more are sitting in the corner and putting their heads together. the yokel is by himself, and shows no interest in anything. i am looking out of the window, watching the landscape fly past my eyes. the rejoicings are still hot in my blood. i have lived to see a great day. wherever the bulk of the people rises above the dust of every day it becomes irresistible, and carries away with it even the man who would fain stand aloof, and keep his head cool. and we hurry past forests and rivers, past meadows whose extent i cannot see, past hills that fade away into the blue of distance, past an immeasurably rich country that stands golden in its ears of corn. and over it all shines the sun of one's native land. and i would fain spread out my arms. yes, our native land is fair and great, and worthy that a man should shed his blood for it. chapter vi like the promise of may we have turned off the main road, and have to march over a field of stubble. a battle was fought here yesterday, for the field is sown with dead bodies. they have picked up the wounded. but as yet they have had no time to bury those who died where they fell. the first dead man we saw struck us dumb. at first we hardly realized what it meant--this lifeless new uniform spread out there--from the way he was lying you could hardly believe he was really dead. it gave you a prickly feeling on the tongue. it seemed as if you were on manoeuvres, and the fellow lying there in a ditch had got a touch of the sun. a rough soldierly jest, a cheery shout was all that was wanted to raise him to his ramshackle legs. "hullo, you! got a head? keep a stiff neck." but the words froze in our throat, for an icy breath was wafted to us from the dead man, and a chill hand clutched at our terror-stricken hearts. so that was death! we knew all about it now. that is what it looks like, and we turned our heads back and shuddered. but then there came more and more of them. and by this time we have become accustomed to them. strange! i gaze at these silent faces that seem to laugh at us, at these wounds that seem to mouth at us fantastically, as if they had i nothing to do with me. it strikes me all as so remote, so indifferent. as if all these dead bodies were lying in glass cases, as if i were in an anatomical museum, and were staring with dispassionately curious eyes at some scientific exhibits. sometimes no wounds at all are visible. the bullets have passed through the uniforms somewhere, and have gone clean through the softer parts of the bodies. they have grown rigid in death in grotesque postures as if death had been trying to pose figures here. there are certain schemes of death that are always recurring. hands out-stretched--fingers clawing the grass--fallen forward on to the face--that fellow over there lying on his back is holding his hand pressed tight against his abdomen, as if he were trying to staunch the wound. in the country i was once watching them killing sheep. there a beast lay, and was waiting for the butcher, and as the short knife cut through its windpipe and jugular vein, and the blood leaped hot from its neck, i could see nothing but the big eye, how it enlarged in its head to a fearsome stare, until at last it turned to a dull glass. all the bodies lying about here, as if bleating up to heaven, have got these glazed eyes, they are lying as if they were outstretched in the abattoir. well, to be hit and to fall down dead, there's nothing to make a fuss about that! but to be shot through the chest, to be shot through the belly, to burn for hours in the fever of your wounds, to cool your mangled body in the wet grass, and to stare up into the pitiless blue heavens because your accursed eyes go on refusing to glaze over yet---i turn away from them. i force myself to look past these mocking, grotesque _posã©s plastiques_ of death. and i am already spirited far away, and am sitting in my little study at home. my coffee cup is standing snugly to my hand. my book-case is beaming down on me. my well-loved books invite me, and in front of me my book of books, "faust," lies open. and so i read, and feel the wonderful relaxation that comes after work stealing through my longing blood. the door opens. a little girl, and a boy who has just learned the use of his legs, put their noses in at the door. "daddy, may we?" i nod consent. then they spread out their little arms, and rush at me. "daddy!" they are climbing on to my knees now, and i give them a ride--"this is how we ride to war." but they twine their soft arms round my neck until at length i put them down on the floor: "now go to mummy--" and now---a new picture. how very plainly i see it. we have gone out of a sunday afternoon beyond the suburbs, gone out with bag and baggage. i see the green fields bright and fair, and see the two kiddies bright and fair. they are rolling about in the grass and chasing the butterflies, and laughing up at me, and crowing with delight as they run after the ball i have thrown down for them to play with. and the sky stretches above us in its sabbath blue, and so confidently as if it all could never come to an end. and dora smiles at me with quiet eyes. then i come back with a start--i feel my knapsack chafing my back--i feel my rifle--i see the dead at my feet again-my god! how can these things be? how can these two worlds be so terribly close to each other?... and we pass on through this first spring crop of dead bodies. no one says a word. no one has a joke. how surreptitiously the others glance aside when some corpse, all too grotesquely mangled, meets their eyes. i wonder what is passing through their brains? working men, tradesmen, artisans, and agricultural laborers, that's what they are for the most part. they themselves have as yet never smelled powder, nor ever been under fire. that, i suppose, is the reason why they have suddenly become so dumb. then a voice beside me says something abruptly, and it seems as if the voice rebounded hollow from the silence. "the stuff is laying about here same as muck." that was my yokel beside me. then he, too, relapses into silence, and i feel as if i could read behind their shy eyes, as if all that is going on in these dull brains had suddenly become clear as daylight. they're all drawn from that other world, where life kissed us and cozened caressingly round our bodies. you have brought us up as human beings. that we have been human no longer counts. life and love no longer count; flesh and blood no longer count; only gore and corpses count for anything now. how we used to tremble in that other world, when a naked human life was even in danger. how we rushed into the burning house to drive away the death for which some poor old paralyzed woman craved. how we plunged into the wintry river to snatch a starved beggar brat from the quiet waters. we would not even suffer a man to creep away out of life by stealth while we looked on. we cut down suicides at their last sob, and hustled them back into life. of our mercy we set up half-rotted wastrels with new bodies; with pills, elixirs and medicines, with herbalists, professors and surgeons, with cauteries, amputations and electrotherapy, we fanned the flickering life and fed the sunken flame with oxygen and radium and all the elements. there was nothing greater, nothing more sacred than life. life was everything to us, was for us the most precious possession on earth. and here lies that most precious of possessions--here it is lying wasted and used up--spurned as the dust by the roadside--and we are marching along over it as over dust and stones. chapter vii blood and iron the whole of that morning we had been marching in the eye of the sun without coming across a drop of water, for the country was not well watered, and there had been no rain for weeks. our tongues were parched; our throats were burning. when about midday we passed through a farmyard, where we found a last remaining drop of dirty liquid, it seemed as if the water evaporated on the tongue before it ever reached our throats. then we had been marched on interminably, so that it was almost with a sense of relief that we heard the first sound of the guns rolling up to meet us. the firing grew hotter, and we soon left the main road and turned down a lane. we were pushed on at a smart pace. our faces were glowing from thirst and heat. the column was enveloped in a thick cloud of dust. the taste of dust instead of water was on our tongues. the dust was lying thick as a layer of flour on our cheeks. and we hurried on without a word. a quickset hedge barred the view on either side. nothing but heavy footfalls, walking packs, black, clattering pannikins, rifles at the slope--hustle and dust.... then some one blundered over a stone in his way, and looked as if he were going to fall into the back of the man in front of him ... but no shout of laughter greets it--we are pushing on almost at the double--at times, when a gap in the hedge slips past, we can catch glimpses of the line of skirmishers advancing over open country--now at length comes a check.... halt! order arms! ... and i am scrambling through a gap in the hedge on to the open fields ... open order at five paces distance.... the long-drawn line of skirmishers advances, rifles at the ready ... in front of us nothing but green fields in sight. in the heart of them gleams the crude yellow of a field of mustard. ahead of us, just opposite our front, a dark wood ... not a trace of the enemy in sight. on our right they have already pushed on the advance line. on our left the skirmishers are just breaking through the hedge and opening out to extend our line of attack. the heavy noise in the air is incessant. i can't see where they are firing, and i can't see what they are firing at. the air is heavy with iron thunder. it closes like a ring round my chest. i am distinctly conscious that my chest is reverberating like a tense sounding-board---what on earth is that? a sound like the cracking of whips from somewhere or other ... the sound is so sharp, so distant, so intermittent, as if it were coming from the rifle-range.... then--by my side a man falls down, falls on his rifle, and lies still, never stirs again ... shot through the head, clean through the brain ... that's what the cracking of whips means; it's coming from over there, out of the wood. somewhere over there the enemy's sharpshooters are lying and lining its edge and opening fire on us. what's the next thing? lie down--mark distance--cover! but no order comes. we push on toward the wood undeterred, as if these bullets did not concern us in any way. the sharpshooters' fire is not hot enough as yet; we have not, so far, got into sufficiently close touch with the enemy. it is an uncomfortable sensation to feel that over there muzzles are pointing straight at us. we are advancing almost as hurriedly and clumsily as 'rookies at their first field day. as i move forward, i turn my head and look back. behind me i sec new lines of skirmishers advancing one behind the other--supports to be pushed forward later. what is that crawling along the ground behind our line?... there is one here, another over there--it looks so novel and so odd. they are crawling back out of the firing-line. and i see how one of them suddenly tries to rise, clutches his rifle with both hands, and hauls himself to his feet by his gun. and now he is spreading his arms out, tumbling over backwards, and flinging his hands away from him, far apart ... his hands are still flapping up and down on the grass. i am looking back as if fascinated while my legs keep on advancing. but suddenly something begins to set up a rattle over there in the wood and buzzes like huge alarum-clocks running down. "lie down." and there we are lying down, flat on our stomachs, as if we had already been mown down, for every man of us knows what that was. they have masked machine-guns in the wood over there; they are opening fire on us. i feel how my heart is thumping against my ribs. a machine-gun is equivalent to a company, the old man once explained to us, after we had been shot down in heaps to the last man by the machine-guns in the autumn manoeuvres. what's the next thing? cautiously, without raising it, i turn my head. behind us, too, the lines of skirmishers, close up to us, have disappeared from the face of the earth; they too, have gone to cover in the grass. only outside the firing zone are they still being pushed forward. shall we have to retreat? are we going to attack? then the order to fire rings out, and is zealously passed on from unit to unit. "rapid fire! into the wood!" yes, but what are we to fire at? lying down, there is nothing to be seen of the sharpshooters. they won't do us any harm; in another minute they will have disappeared among the trees. but the machines--they have hidden them away among the foliage to good purpose. our subaltern, lying a bare five paces away from me in the grass, raises himself on his elbows, and gazes intently through his field-glasses. i know what is vexing his soul. he is a handsome, splendid lad, for whom even we grizzled old-timers would go through fire and water, for he meets you as man to man, without sniffing or swagger, as it becomes a youngster. and the other day, when i was marching with the rear guard, we discussed lilliencron's novels. since then he has always appealed to me as if he had stepped straight out of one of these romances of war. he is all ablaze to glean his first laurels. but however much he may twiddle the focus of his glasses up and down and crane his neck, he cannot discover a trace of the enemy, and we blaze away foolishly at the wood, and may, for all i know, be bringing down leaves or birds from the trees there. "close to the big oak. to the right in the undergrowth," some one of the rank and file sings out. i strain my eyes to the spot, and fail to see anything. and again i hear the guns growling all round us. but somewhere out of the far distance a clear, long-drawn bugle-call rings out amid the iron bass. it thrills like nerve and brain against an iron wall. behind there, to the right--they are on the run there! and from afar the rifle fire rattles like mad. "my men! up with you! at the double!" that came from our lot ... our subaltern is racing on with his drawn sword in his hand.... i am still prone, and have, almost automatically, drawn my right knee close up under my body ... they are rising to their feet to the left and right of me, and dashing on after him ... a wrench! and my knapsack slides lop-sided up the back of my neck ... then i jump up with my rifle in my right hand, and am running for all my legs are worth. but as we rise to our feet the machine-guns in the woods begin to buzz, and to rain lead into our ranks, until right and left of me men yelp and drop twisted and tumbled to the ground. "down! rapid fire!" the line is prone and again we are blazing desperately into the wood, and can catch no glimpse of our enemy. never a single arm raised against us, never the eye of a single man to challenge us. the wood, the green wood, is murdering us from afar, before a single human face comes in view. and while to the right and left of me the rifle fire chatters incessantly, the grim mockery of it maddens my blood, and makes me see red before my eyes. i see scale-armor and visors ... high in their stirrups the knights burst blazing out of the wood, and i, a reckless horseman of the past, i leap into the saddle--my broad sword flashes clear and kisses the morning breeze--and now up and at them like a thunderbolt. then eyes are flashing into mine and hands are raised for the _mãªlã©e_--and stroke for stroke, breast to breast, the pride of youthful, virile strength.... ha-ha-ha-ha! what has happened? where have horse and rider vanished? where is my sword? we are not even charging men. machines are trained on us. why, we are only charging machines. and the machine triumphs deep into our very flesh. and the machine is draining the life-blood from our veins, and lapping it up in bucketsful. those who have been hit are already lying mown down in swathes behind us and are writhing on their wounds. and yet they are racing up behind us in their hundreds--young, healthy human flesh for the machines to butcher. "up! get on! at the double!" the gallant young subaltern dashes on ... he is waving his sword above his head recklessly ... a picture for a painter. i am rushing after him ... his cheer in my ears ... then the gallant vision begins to sway ... the sword flies from his grasp--the subaltern stumbles and falls face forward in the short, stiff stubble ... then i race past him ... i can hear nothing except the uncanny buzz coming out of the wood ... i literally feel how the lead is splashing into our ranks, how men are breaking down to the right and left of me.... "down! rapid fire!" ... i throw myself on my face, my rifle at the ready.... why does the order fail to reach us? no shout comes from the subaltern, none from the non corns.... the nearest man a good twenty paces away ... and then one other ... only we three.... the first line is lying shot down in the stubble ... what's the next thing? the ground becomes alive behind us ... and clattering, panting and shouting ... and again the wood rumbles sullenly ... there they are, lying flat, breathing hard ... never a word ... rifle to the ready ... and shot after shot ... those are the sixth and seventh companies ... they have filled up our gaps. "up, up! at the double!" the head is plunging on, the body after it, into the zone of bullets, and dashing forward with eyes fixed greedily on the ground to spy out the nearest molehill when we fling ourselves down. and when the excited "down!" o'erleaps itself, we too tumble down as if we had been swept away. and look, it is advancing to meet us, that murderous wood.... "up! at the double!" ... who can tell whether he has been hit or not?... behind there, out of the undergrowth--that's where it came from ... that's where the streak of bullets flashed ... there between the white larch trunks the beam of lead leaped out to meet us ... over there, behind that green wall, that's where murder is sitting, and shooting our arms and legs away from our trunks. slay her as she has slain us. rend her to pieces, as she has rent us. "up! at the double!" the body rages on in the whirl of the tempest--the wood, the wood!... the last muscle is still straining for the wood ... as if the soul had leaped free of the body, so the body chases after it--toward the wood ... lungs perforated by shot are running still; entrails riddled by bullets are still pressing on toward it ... and if you are not hit in the head, you are still jumping up once more; and if you fall, you are crawling on all fours--toward the wood.... what's happened? of a sudden a deep stillness falls.... the machines are silenced! not a single shot, not a single spurt of flame ... there--a rustling rising amid the undergrowth ... the branches overhead are swaying frantically against each other. look! something is scurrying among the trees, and pushing and hauling--now, to crown it all, they are trying to save their precious machines from us. yah! yah! the earth reverberates dully and trembles under our tread ... a roar of cheers, clubbed rifles, that's how they are coming up behind us ... our reserves are driving the last assault home ... they are charging in dense mobs--sappers, sharpshooters, rifle-men ... a tall sapper jumps clean over me--i see how his eyes are flashing as he passes.... up, after them ... there is the heather ... there is the entrenchment ... down with you into the trench and scramble up on hands and feet ... where are they? where?--where?... there, by that belt of firs ... they will have disappeared in another minute--past thick, silvery tree-trunks, through the green beech leaves, with the sun laughing in them, the lust of blood charges red and naked ... headlong through the undergrowth--and now--there is something wriggling away so comically before our eyes, and twisting with sinuous dexterity in and out among the trees and the undergrowth ... there is something clinging to the machine as if it were ingrown into the iron.... ha, ha!--in the clearing yonder the horses are waiting.... "let go! run for what you are worth--let go!" but they won't let go ... for their horses are already ploughing through the undergrowth ... the wagon is straining to the traces ... in another minute they will have thrown their guns into the wagon ... and then so-long ... i am done--the trees are dancing round and round before my eyes ... i catch my foot in the root of a tree.... lay on! lay on! they are "ours" who have come up, and are laying on blindly on heads, and bayoneting bent backs and bared necks, till the whole tangle disperses squealing.... i drag myself to my feet. a lad, a mere boy, is sprawling over and clutching his abandoned gun ... with an oath some one dashes at him--it is my yokel bareheaded, his face distorted by rage ... the boy stretches out his mangled hand to ward him off, his lower jaw is waggling, but his mouth remains voiceless.... the next moment the fixed bayonet plunges into his chest ... first his right, then his shattered left hand seizes the blade as if in his death throes he were trying to pluck it out of his heart; so he clings tightly to the bayonet ... a thrust! a recovery!... a bright, leaping jet follows the steel ... and heart and breath gasp their last among the dead leaves.... all round men are lying slain on the brown carpet of the woods.... but the machines are still alive, and rage against the machines fires the blood, and consumes the flesh.... up with the trenching tools!... with axes upraised they rush at the machines, and hail blows upon the barrels. the retorts wherein death has brewed his potion shriek as though wounded ... the jackets burst ... the water flows out ... and the carriage leaps splintered into the air ... twisted metal, the spokes of wheels and cartridge-belts litter the ground all round, but we are battering and smashing everything underfoot until our hot blood has cooled its rage on the metal.... and now amid joyous cheers raise the thunderous shout of victory. let the pipes and the bugles ring out. this is death on the stricken field! this is a soldier's frenzy and the joy of battle: to charge with bared breast against planted steel--to dash cheering with soft, uncased brain against a wall of steel. in such wholesale, callous, purposeful fashion vermin only are exterminated. we count for nothing more than vermin in this war. and dazed and sick, we gaze at the machines, and the steel and iron littering the ground blink up at us full of guile. chapter viii the swamp for the whole of the forenoon we had heard firing in the distance, the thunder of cannon and the rattle of musketry. our regiment had been marched hither and thither. the fight had drawn nearer and nearer. we were expecting to be under fire at any moment, and then we had to fall back again, and look for a new place to develop our attack. it seemed as if the orders that came through were contradictory, and this tension of uncertainty fell like a blight on our spirits, and got on the nerves both of officers and men. at length we had wound through a defile, the steep slopes of which, left and right, were thickly grown with trees. things had got into a bit of a mess. we had had to force our way through undergrowth soaked with rain, through brambles and clumps of tall broom on which the green pods were still pendent. at times there was nothing in sight except the roof and wall of greenery. we breathed more freely when at last the sky spread clear overhead again. so now we have reached a green meadow, and are marching straight across it, but are still unable to see anything of the enemy's forces yet. even the firing has died down, and has become more distant than before. it seemed as if we had come into another, remoter world, and--so we have; for soon we notice how soft the ground has become under our feet, how water is oozing up at every step. we shall, if we go on, be right in the middle of a swamp. that is the reason of the solitude reigning all around us. the terrain is impracticable. to the right and left of us, and all about us, nothing but swamp, running out into a broad sheet of open water, the depths of which no one can guess, or tell whether it be fordable. the head of the column is already swinging round and we are retracing our steps toward the defile to get out of the rat-trap. and in the middle of the meadow: "halt! form sections!" the companies have fallen in. the officers have assembled, and are pow-wowing. we seem to have lost touch. the sergeant beside me is swearing up his sleeve, and is cursing at something about lunacy and blindman's buff. i am gazing up meditatively at the heights, overgrown with trees and undergrowth, and am thinking what fun it would be if we were to have to make our way back to the defile now, and in the thick of it the enemy were to break in on us right and left--no man would come out of it alive--the battle of the teutoburger forest recurs to me--i am trying to, make out if they are oaks or beeches over there----of a sudden there is a flash of lightning from the undergrowth; the very firmament cracks and sways as if it were going to fall in on us.... "lie down!" horror screams somewhere or other. and trembling, we lie down ... and over our heads rushes something that howls for our flesh.... what's the next thing? up and at them now! rush straight at the guns. suffocate their fiery mouths with our flesh and bones. "up! get up!" the captain comes up to us at a run. the breath of the iron holds us tight pressed to the ground as if in a vice.... turn your head away. now! now! then--a-a-h! the vault of heaven has cracked above us, and has spurted down on to the sand from above. life is lying there, wriggling on the earth, and the hands that were clawing the ground are now clutching idly at the shattered air. i rise to my feet again.... i have not been hit. but the man who leaped up beside me--he is lying flat in the sand and screaming in a broken voice. he is lying as if he had been nailed firmly through his stomach to the earth, and as if he could not get free again. the body itself is dead, only the arms and legs are still alive. and arms and legs are working wildly through the air. "up! get up! quick march!" a voice yells in our ears. we no longer know who it is shouting to us, and we don't know from what quarter they have called us.... we leap to our feet. we leave the captain and the wounded in their blood; we start up and run away, and are running a race with the shells, for we are running for our bare, naked life. but the shells have the legs of us. they catch us up from behind in our backs, and wherever the invisible sheaf plunges hissing down, men are falling with it and rolling, helter-skelter in their blood. but we speed away over twitching and dismembered bodies, and over bodies turning somersaults, and look neither to the right nor to the left. we are on the run, and shrink into ourselves as we run. we draw our necks deep between our shoulders, for every man feels that the next moment his head will be leaping out from between his shoulder-blades from behind. and eyes of iron are glaring at us from behind. the swamp! the swamp! the thought suddenly uprears its head in me. we are running blindly straight into the swamp. only another twenty paces now--already the foremost have reached it, and, senseless in their terror, jump into it--the water spurts up high--and now--what has happened now? their feet are stuck fast--they tilt over forwards--they claw for something to hold on to--the rifle flies out of their hand--and face forward they plunge into the water--and close on our heels they come stamping up--the tight-packed, maddened mob.... "back! get back!" but every one has ceased to be conscious of what he is doing. and though our eyes start out of our head at the terror we see in front of us, death is breathing its cold breath into the back of our neck. and into the gurgling water, wriggling with bodies and alive with lungs, over human bodies writhing beneath the water, death tramples us to the other bank. any man who goes down is lost, for they are pressing on behind us past all holding. the water is already up to our armpits. but there is a firm bottom beneath our feet. true, the bottom may clutch at us, and cling round our feet. true, the water may bite savagely at our flesh with teeth and with nails. but whatever may be trying to draw us down to itself from below, we trample underfoot. the shoulders of a form emerge; they plunge down again, and disappear. the faces of drowning men emerge and cleave to the light, and sink gurgling into the depths. lost arms wave about in the air and try to find support on the surface of the water. we dodge these arms, for whomever they may seize they draw down with them to death. and in the thick of this hurly-burly of death, amid these whistling lungs, amid these panting, red, panic-stricken faces, the cloud of shells strikes home, and hurls its hail of iron overhead. the water spurts up in jets. and again! explosions and screams, and the hissing of lead, and the shrieks of men, and blood and water foam up, till no one knows whether he has been hit or is still alive; for in front of me--so close that i could clutch it--i see a jugular vein, ripped through, spurting in an arch like a fountain--and in his blood the fellow hit staggers back, and blood and howls surfeit the black flood, until it is at length reddened with human blood--get on! get on! don't look round! there--the other bank over there! there life is standing and spreading out his arms toward us. get on! before they have murdered all of us in this swamp! get up! get up! thank god! the water's falling! only up to the hips now--only up to the knees. and now---our feet leap on to the dry, blessed land and strike forward beyond all control, and race over the field. they refuse to obey any orders. they are racing--racing toward the protection of the forest beckoning us of its mercy. there! headlong in among the trees, and into the bushes, into the thorns. there they are falling lifeless to the ground, their faces buried in the soil, and they are squeezing their eyes tight, to shut out the sight of the accursed blue of heaven that spat down on us so treacherously--you dogs! you beasts! to shoot us down from behind--it is nothing more nor less than cowardly assassination. and slowly breath and consciousness return to us again, and when we have come to our senses we look at one another with dumb eyes, and these eyes presage nought that is good. a great, unspeakable horror that will never be allayed again has risen in these eyes. chapter ix the whirling earth half-way on the march some one fell down beside me, flung out his arms, clawed himself tightly to the earth, and screamed and gasped against the soil. barely half an hour later we saw another who had fallen into convulsions. and when we were lying in a damp ditch waiting for the enemy, a man suddenly jumped up, and shrieked, and ran away. he laughed back at us from afar until he vanished from our sight in the rain. the shrieking and running away had infected us all. 'twon't be long before it will be your turn. one night when we were lying in our trenches, and had fallen asleep to the thunder of the guns, i suddenly started up--confused--dazed; and lo, the stars were standing bright in the dark, rainless sky, and shone down solemnly, ah god! how solemnly, on the turmoil, as if nothing in this world mattered. yet there--in front of me, before my very eyes --glimmered a red reflection--that surely must be a pool of blood, for the stars are mirrored in it so redly--and suddenly a blind rage overtook me to howl aloud and clench my fists, and to scream in the very face of the great master up above there--but i had neither time to howl nor to run. for in this self-same night it so happened that an uncanny whirr fell on our ears from out the distance. that was death flying toward us on propellers. the spectres of the night whirred above us; we shot blindly into the air--for every moment the storm was bound to break over us.... torpedo tubes above us ... they'll spurt in a minute ... they're going to fling down dynamite ... and then the magnesium bombs blazed out ... cries and crashes rose wherever we looked ... then they are gone again ... but we had to retire from our trenches ... senselessly, like automata, we marched for the whole of that day. i felt the goose-flesh creeping over my skin; my nerves ached, and if the bayonet were not at the small of my back i should chuck my rifle away, and roll sprawling in the damp sand. and yet four days afterward they have contrived to get us to make a stand again. for in our rear, on the other bank of the river, our regiments have crossed, and are groping for new positions. but we have to cover their passage at any cost. we were now drawing on our last reserve. we were still standing with our spades in our hands, and throwing, with aching backs and arms, more soil on the works, when in front of us we saw figures passing up and down on the grey, twilight field. they were grubbing the soil up busily, and were putting something we could not see into holes, and covering it in again. they went about their work noiselessly--no incautious step and no unguarded movement--and when they came back again and passed us, and marched on, their faces were livid and their lips dumb. they proved themselves to be first-class moles. they had done a good bit of work. they had undermined the earth. they had stuffed the ground with explosives, and if the enemy comes to-night we shall repay the gifts they lavished upon us from the sky the other day with interest. they have arranged it all like a rat-trap. over there, beyond the mined field even, two companies are lying in extended order. and midway between them, without a vestige of cover, stands our battery on the open field. it is planted there as if it were doomed to be delivered into the enemy's hands. and now we are lying in our long trenches, and are peering out into the field, with our eyes glued to the sharply outlined silhouettes of the guns. the sun has set some time ago. from the far distance the thin rattle of musketry reaches us clearly. wonder if it'll last much longer? our orders are to remain under arms. we have put on our overcoats. the night is chilly, and lowering, i gaze out over the field of death--nothing makes any difference to me now--if only it were over quickly. a scout has come in, and delivers his report in a whisper. our instructions are not to fire before the order to fire is given, and--then to fire into the air. in the background, far on the horizon, the ground rises, and the gray skyline stands out against the cloudy sky. the musketry fire has become hotter from minute to minute, and has increased to a threatening rattle. to the right and left of us fighting is in full swing. in front of us the mined field lies silent, and the two companies too, are lying silent in their rifle-pits. i am conscious that i am terribly tired--i can no longer keep myself on my feet--my head sinks down on my rifle--my eyes close--but the overstrained nerves are still alert. and now---the earth reverberates sullenly. that's our battery! it is firing straight into the darkness. so our turn is coming now. we hear how "ours" over there are opening fire, and how it suddenly increases, and dies down, and then again swells to a maddening rattle. that is an attack by sharpshooters in overwhelming strength ... they cannot be very far from one another now ... and yet the battery goes on bellowing, and luring the enemy to assault.... and now a martial symphony rises over the dark country ... bugles shrill through the darkness, and drums are rolling sullenly ... that means a general assault ... there rises a sound of shouting and tramping ... a thunderous roar of triumph rises to the dark sky ... that is the shout of victory from a thousand throats ... in their thousands they have charged "ours" over there, and have crushed them by assault.... ha, ha! they have taken a battery by storm.... why, of a sudden, has silence fallen ... what is the object of it ... now it's our turn.... "into the air! rapid fire!" and the volley, crashes. and look there ... over there the cheer rings out again ... the signals for assault sound, and thousands of voices are shouting it simultaneously ... there they are foaming up ... they are charging on, drunk with victory, in closed ranks ... they are rolling with a roar over the mined field ... they are trampling the earth, as if with horses' hoofs ... that means death ... i am lying rigid ... now it must break, now ... i open my mouth wide ... my rifle is trembling in my grasp.... and then-the earth has opened her mouth ... lightnings, crashes and thunderings, and the heaven splits in twain and falls down in flame--the earth whirls upwards in shreds ... men and the earth blaze and hurtle through the air like catharine wheels ... and then ... a crash, a maddening uproar, strikes us full in the chest, so that we reel backward to the ground, and half-consciously struggle for breath in the sand ... and now ... the storm is over ... the pressure of the atmosphere relaxes off our chest ... we breathe deep ... only scattered, dancing flames now and squibs ... fireworks.... but what on earth has happened?---we peer out fearfully over our earthworks. has red hell opened its mouth: there rises a noise of screams and yells, an uproar so unnaturally wild and unrestrained that we cringe up closer to one another ... and, trembling, we see that our faces, our uniforms, have red, wet stains, and distinctly recognize shreds of flesh on the cloth. and among our feet something is lying that was not lying there before--it gleams white from the dark sand and uncurls ... a strange dismembered hand ... and there ... and there ... fragments of flesh with the uniform still adhering to them--then we realize it, and horror overwhelms us. outside there are lying arms, legs, heads, trunks ... they are howling into the night; the whole regiment is lying mangled on the ground there, a lump of humanity crying to heaven.... clouds are arising from the earth ... they are rising crying aloud in the air ... they pass over us in thick drifts, so that we can see the wounds steaming, and can taste blood and bones upon our tongues.... and then a spectral vision rises before my eyes ... i see red death standing outside there on the plain ... the clouds reveal a face grinning down on the symphony ... and suddenly a clear note detaches itself from the darkness--a tune which enraptured death is playing to himself till his fiddle splits ... is that a human being coming up, running, here?... he is coming with a rush ... he will leap upon our backs ... halt! halt! halt! he stumbles upright into the trenches, and tumbles sobbing and howling, among our rifles. he strikes out at us with hands and feet ... he is crying and struggling like a child, and yet no man dares go up to him ... for now he is rising on his knee ... and then we see! half his face has been torn away ... one eye gone ... the twitching muscle of the cheek is hanging down ... he is kneeling, and opening and closing his hands, and is howling to us for mercy. we gaze at him horror-stricken and are paralyzed ... then at length the yokel--and our eyes thank him for it--raises the butt of his rifle and places the muzzle against the sound temple ... bang!... and the maimed wreckage falls over backward and lies still in his blood.... and again the darkness casts up shapes ... they run up and reel about like drunken men ... they fall over and pick themselves up anew ... they race forward through the night in zigzags, until they at last collapse exhausted, and lie still under our very eyes and make an end of it.... and at length some one comes crawling toward us ... he is crawling up on all fours ... he is dragging something behind him with his body, and all the time he is whining like a sick dog, and is howling shrilly in long-drawn tones ... he is still crawling along i fast--and when he has reached us we see--i and the blood stands still in our hearts--they are his entrails hanging out of his body ... his belly has been ripped up from below ... he is crawling, he is crawling up on his entrails ... he is coming ... the entrails are coming ... horror breaks out from every pore ... for hardly three paces away from me he lies still ... and then ... may god forgive me!... he raises himself slowly on his hands ... he succeeds for a moment ... and looks ... merciful god!... he looks at me, and refuses to let my eyes go again ... i can see nothing except these great, death-stricken eyes.... merciful god! ... his eyes, those eyes! those are a mother's eyes looking down on me unspeakably ... that is a son of his mother lying there before us butchered.... i will break out of my fastness.... i will throw myself on him, sobbing, and kiss his face, and bathe his anguish away in my tears.... i will do it! i will! ... and cannot stir myself from my rigid tension.... then the monstrous strain relaxes--his arms give way ... he falls forward on his face and sinks down on his tortured body. his hands twitch once more ... then he lies still and kisses mother earth, who has slain her children so horribly.... i am done ... my hands are trembling.... then all of a sudden, a voice behind us begins to sing ... solemnly--long-drawn.... "now thank we all our god" ... that is madness singing there ... we are all next door to madness.... i look round, and see gray, distorted faces, and blazing, startled eye-balls.... and suddenly the singing voice changes to a loud, impudent burst of laughter.... "ha! ha! ha! ha!" the laugh is full of horror, and mingles with the dying whine beyond.... the laugh grows ever louder, and ever wilder, and laughs in triumph at the naked, pitiful dying, littering the ground. "drummers! strike up!" shouts the voice. "uncover for prayer!" we recognize him; he is a reservist belonging to some pious sect. a sergeant has seized him, and tries to hold him ... the captain has run up, but the madman tears himself away and runs ahead of them to a rifle-pit ... he stands aloft, a black, wild silhouette against the pale sky, and spreads out his arms in blessing over the sick night ... he stands there like a rapt priest, and raves, and is blessing the mangled darkness. "in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." then arms seize him from behind and pull him down ... they drag him to the ground.... "our father" he howls aloud, and strikes and kicks out all round him, and goes on praying from his raging body until at length breath fails him ... they have tied him hand and foot, and have gagged him.... but now the thing-that-couldn't happens--that none the less was bound to happen. and when the voice calls out it comes over me as if i had lived it all once before.... "captain!" shouts the hard, naked, impudent voice we all know. "haven't you got any cotton wool for us to plug our ears with?" we have all turned round as if at the word of command. it is the militia-man, the yokel, standing facing the captain and gesticulating at him. "i only wanted to ask if those are wild beasts, or if they're what are called human beings you've torn to pieces there?" but curt and sharp, as we knew it, the rasping note of command responds: "what the devil's the matter with you? pull yourself together. can't you hear? get back to your place at once." but then it bursts out, the voice of nature, and resounds so harshly, and tears down all barriers. "murderers!" roars a blasphemous mouth. "murderers of men! we shall have to knock them all on the head like dogs." we all start as if under an electric shock ... that was what was on the tip of the tongues of all of us ... that was the climax that was bound to come ... we cannot endure to go on lying in this charnel-house any longer.... "you mind what you're about." the other's wrath breaks out once more ... and then we know it for certain, the captain is a fool ... he has lost the game from the very start ... and now ... it is like a shadow play before my eyes ... like a ghostly kinematograph.... i see that the militia-man has drawn his bayonet ... the captain is standing facing him with his revolver in his hand, and gives him an order ... he promptly gets a blow with the butt end of the rifle on his head that fells him to the ground without a sound ... and they leap up from all the trenches.... "murderers!" they cry. "murderers! kill them!" there is no stopping it now.... i feel i have gone mad.... i do not know where i am.... i see wild beasts all round me distorted unnaturally in a life-and-death grapple ... with bloodshot eyes, with foaming, gnashing mouths, they attack and kill one another, and try to mangle one another.... i leap to my feet.... i must get away, to escape from myself, or in another minute i shall be in the thick of this maddened, death-doomed mob.... i stumble over the rifle-pits.... i race out into the night, and tread on quaking flesh ... step on hard heads, and stumble over weapons and helmets ... something is clutching at my feet like hands, so that i race away like a hunted deer with the hounds at its heels ... and ever more bodies--breathless--out of one field into another.... horror is crooning over my head ... horror is crooning beneath my feet ... and nothing but dying, mangled flesh.... has the whole earth exploded then?... are there nothing but dead abroad this night?... has every human being been fusilladed? how long have i been running?... i hear how my lungs are whistling ... and hear how my temples are beating ... my breath is choked.... i am done.... i stagger backwards ... am falling dead to the ground ... no! i am sinking back on something soft, and sit still motionless, and listen intently to the night.... i can hear nothing except the blood in my ears ... all of a sudden there is a light in my eyes like bright, clean daylight ... the sun is shining ... then i realize it, it is my own head ... visions are teeming in my brain, and are teeming out of my head, one unwearyingly on the heels of the other.... i see the regiments marching out ... they are passing by in the bright sunshine ... the blues from over there, the reds from over here; they are marching against each other in long array.... now they halt, and are standing drawn up against each other on a huge front ... ready for the fray ... then our captain's voice on this side rings out.... "ready?" ... and the rifles on both sides are raised. i see the black mass of the muzzles ... they are scarcely ten paces apart ... they are aiming straight for the chest.... "stop!" i am trying to cry out, "stop! you ought to attack in open order with seven paces intervals." ... then our captain's voice rings out again, "fire!" ... the volley crashes, and behold! not a man is hit ... they all are standing there unscathed ... they have fired into the air ... and with shouts of joy the ranks dissolve ... they rush toward one another ... the rifles fall to the ground ... but they rush into one another's arms, and fondle one another, and laugh aloud as children laugh ... then they fall back into line ... they shoulder their rifles ... right about turn!... the bands strike up a joyous march, they march off with bands playing--every regiment to its own home.... and now i catch myself singing an accompaniment to it aloud.... i am beating time with my right hand, and supporting myself on my seat with my left ... and something trickles oddly across my hand--something like warm water.... i raise my hand to my eyes ... it is red and moist ... blood is flowing over my white hand ... then i realize it, the white thing under me is not a heap of sand.... i have been sitting on a corpse ... horror-stricken, i rush about ... and one is lying over there, too ... and there, and there!... merciful god! i see it plainly now; there are only dead to-night ... the human race died out this very night ... i am the last survivor ... the fields are dead--the woods dead--the villages dead--the cities dead--the earth is dead--the earth was butchered to-night, and i, only i have escaped the slaughter-house. and it comes over me as a great thing, a pathetically great thing--now i know what my destiny is--lowering, i watch my own actions, and wait to see how i shall accomplish it--i mark how i am slowly putting my hand into my pocket--before i left home i took my pocket-pistol with me. i am holding the toy in my hand--the steel is looking up at me and blinking at me--i am gazing with a smile into its black, confiding muzzle--i am holding it against my temples--i pull the trigger, and fall over backward--the last of mankind on this dead earth! epilogue we poor dead they have now covered up our hot breath with earth. why are you blinking at me with your bleared eyes, my brother? are you not glad? don't they envy us our sweet death? they have laid us out in a picturesque row, and you need only turn your head to rub against human flesh at once, and if you turn your yellow eyeball, you can see nothing but corpses in the twilight. one beside the other, that is how they are sleeping. and corpse upon corpse, ever more of them, through the whole length of the loose soil of the potato-field, and we even fill the whole adjoining field of roots. wonder whether the sun still goes on shining above us?--whether they still know how to laugh in the towns as we used to in our time? wonder whether my wife still goes on remembering her dead husband--and my two kiddies--whether they have already forgotten their father? they were so tiny at the time--another man'll come along--they will call another fellow father--and my wife is still so young and fair. we poor dead heroes! so do not disturb our last sleep any longer. we had to die to enable the others to live. we died for our native land in its straits. we are victorious now, and have won land and fame, land enough for millions of our brothers. our wives have land, our children, our mothers, our fathers have land. and now our poor native land has air to breathe. it need no longer be stifled. they have cleared the air of us. they have got rid of us, of us who were far too many. we are no longer eating the bread away from other folks' mouths. we are so full-fed, so full-fed and quiet. but they have got land! fertile land! and ore! iron mines! gold! spices! and bread! come, brother philosopher, let us turn our faces to the earth. let us sleep upon our laurels, and let us dream of nothing but our country's future. the end the swoop! or how clarence saved england _a tale of the great invasion_ by p. g. wodehouse 1909 preface it may be thought by some that in the pages which follow i have painted in too lurid colours the horrors of a foreign invasion of england. realism in art, it may be argued, can be carried too far. i prefer to think that the majority of my readers will acquit me of a desire to be unduly sensational. it is necessary that england should be roused to a sense of her peril, and only by setting down without flinching the probable results of an invasion can this be done. this story, i may mention, has been written and published purely from a feeling of patriotism and duty. mr. alston rivers' sensitive soul will be jarred to its foundations if it is a financial success. so will mine. but in a time of national danger we feel that the risk must be taken. after all, at the worst, it is a small sacrifice to make for our country. p. g. wodehouse. _the bomb-proof shelter,_ _london, w._ part one chapter 1 an english boy's home _august the first, 19--_ clarence chugwater looked around him with a frown, and gritted his teeth. "england--my england!" he moaned. clarence was a sturdy lad of some fourteen summers. he was neatly, but not gaudily, dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a coloured handkerchief, a flannel shirt, a bunch of ribbons, a haversack, football shorts, brown boots, a whistle, and a hockey-stick. he was, in fact, one of general baden-powell's boy scouts. scan him closely. do not dismiss him with a passing glance; for you are looking at the boy of destiny, at clarence macandrew chugwater, who saved england. to-day those features are familiar to all. everyone has seen the chugwater column in aldwych, the equestrian statue in chugwater road (formerly piccadilly), and the picture-postcards in the stationers' windows. that bulging forehead, distended with useful information; that massive chin; those eyes, gleaming behind their spectacles; that _tout ensemble_; that _je ne sais quoi_. in a word, clarence! he could do everything that the boy scout must learn to do. he could low like a bull. he could gurgle like a wood-pigeon. he could imitate the cry of the turnip in order to deceive rabbits. he could smile and whistle simultaneously in accordance with rule 8 (and only those who have tried this know how difficult it is). he could spoor, fell trees, tell the character from the boot-sole, and fling the squaler. he did all these things well, but what he was really best at was flinging the squaler. * * * * * clarence, on this sultry august afternoon, was tensely occupied tracking the family cat across the dining-room carpet by its foot-prints. glancing up for a moment, he caught sight of the other members of the family. "england, my england!" he moaned. it was indeed a sight to extract tears of blood from any boy scout. the table had been moved back against the wall, and in the cleared space mr. chugwater, whose duty it was to have set an example to his children, was playing diabolo. beside him, engrossed in cup-and-ball, was his wife. reggie chugwater, the eldest son, the heir, the hope of the house, was reading the cricket news in an early edition of the evening paper. horace, his brother, was playing pop-in-taw with his sister grace and grace's _fiance_, ralph peabody. alice, the other miss chugwater, was mending a badminton racquet. not a single member of that family was practising with the rifle, or drilling, or learning to make bandages. clarence groaned. "if you can't play without snorting like that, my boy," said mr. chugwater, a little irritably, "you must find some other game. you made me jump just as i was going to beat my record." "talking of records," said reggie, "fry's on his way to his eighth successive century. if he goes on like this, lancashire will win the championship." "i thought he was playing for somerset," said horace. "that was a fortnight ago. you ought to keep up to date in an important subject like cricket." once more clarence snorted bitterly. "i'm sure you ought not to be down on the floor, clarence," said mr. chugwater anxiously. "it is so draughty, and you have evidently got a nasty cold. _must_ you lie on the floor?" "i am spooring," said clarence with simple dignity. "but i'm sure you can spoor better sitting on a chair with a nice book." "_i_ think the kid's sickening for something," put in horace critically. "he's deuced roopy. what's up, clarry?" "i was thinking," said clarence, "of my country--of england." "what's the matter with england?" "_she's_ all right," murmured ralph peabody. "my fallen country!" sighed clarence, a not unmanly tear bedewing the glasses of his spectacles. "my fallen, stricken country!" "that kid," said reggie, laying down his paper, "is talking right through his hat. my dear old son, are you aware that england has never been so strong all round as she is now? do you _ever_ read the papers? don't you know that we've got the ashes and the golf championship, and the wibbley-wob championship, and the spiropole, spillikins, puff-feather, and animal grab championships? has it come to your notice that our croquet pair beat america last thursday by eight hoops? did you happen to hear that we won the hop-skip-and-jump at the last olympic games? you've been out in the woods, old sport." clarence's heart was too full for words. he rose in silence, and quitted the room. "got the pip or something!" said reggie. "rum kid! i say, hirst's bowling well! five for twenty-three so far!" clarence wandered moodily out of the house. the chugwaters lived in a desirable villa residence, which mr. chugwater had built in essex. it was a typical englishman's home. its name was nasturtium villa. as clarence walked down the road, the excited voice of a newspaper-boy came to him. presently the boy turned the corner, shouting, "ker-lapse of surrey! sensational bowling at the oval!" he stopped on seeing clarence. "paper, general?" clarence shook his head. then he uttered a startled exclamation, for his eye had fallen on the poster. it ran as follows:- surrey doing badly german army lands in england chapter 2 the invaders clarence flung the boy a halfpenny, tore a paper from his grasp, and scanned it eagerly. there was nothing to interest him in the body of the journal, but he found what he was looking for in the stop-press space. "stop press news," said the paper. "fry not out, 104. surrey 147 for 8. a german army landed in essex this afternoon. loamshire handicap: spring chicken, 1; salome, 2; yip-i-addy, 3. seven ran." essex! then at any moment the foe might be at their doors; more, inside their doors. with a passionate cry, clarence tore back to the house. he entered the dining-room with the speed of a highly-trained marathon winner, just in time once more to prevent mr. chugwater lowering his record. "the germans!" shouted clarence. "we are invaded!" this time mr. chugwater was really annoyed. "if i have told you once about your detestable habit of shouting in the house, clarence, i have told you a hundred times. if you cannot be a boy scout quietly, you must stop being one altogether. i had got up to six that time." "but, father----" "silence! you will go to bed this minute; and i shall consider the question whether you are to have any supper. it will depend largely on your behaviour between now and then. go!" "but, father----" clarence dropped the paper, shaken with emotion. mr. chugwater's sternness deepened visibly. "clarence! must i speak again?" he stooped and removed his right slipper. clarence withdrew. reggie picked up the paper. "that kid," he announced judicially, "is off his nut! hullo! i told you so! fry not out, 104. good old charles!" "i say," exclaimed horace, who sat nearest the window, "there are two rummy-looking chaps coming to the front door, wearing a sort of fancy dress!" "it must be the germans," said reggie. "the paper says they landed here this afternoon. i expect----" a thunderous knock rang through the house. the family looked at one another. voices were heard in the hall, and next moment the door opened and the servant announced "mr. prinsotto and mr. aydycong." "or, rather," said the first of the two newcomers, a tall, bearded, soldierly man, in perfect english, "prince otto of saxe-pfennig and captain the graf von poppenheim, his aide-de-camp." "just so--just so!" said mr. chugwater, affably. "sit down, won't you?" the visitors seated themselves. there was an awkward silence. "warm day!" said mr. chugwater. "very!" said the prince, a little constrainedly. "perhaps a cup of tea? have you come far?" "well--er--pretty far. that is to say, a certain distance. in fact, from germany." "i spent my summer holiday last year at dresden. capital place!" "just so. the fact is, mr.--er--" "chugwater. by the way--my wife, mrs. chugwater." the prince bowed. so did his aide-de-camp. "the fact is, mr. jugwater," resumed the prince, "we are not here on a holiday." "quite so, quite so. business before pleasure." the prince pulled at his moustache. so did his aide-de-camp, who seemed to be a man of but little initiative and conversational resource. "we are invaders." "not at all, not at all," protested mr. chugwater. "i must warn you that you will resist at your peril. you wear no uniform--" "wouldn't dream of such a thing. except at the lodge, of course." "you will be sorely tempted, no doubt. do not think that i do not appreciate your feelings. this is an englishman's home." mr. chugwater tapped him confidentially on the knee. "and an uncommonly snug little place, too," he said. "now, if you will forgive me for talking business, you, i gather, propose making some stay in this country." the prince laughed shortly. so did his aide-de-camp. "exactly," continued mr. chugwater, "exactly. then you will want some _pied-a-terre_, if you follow me. i shall be delighted to let you this house on remarkably easy terms for as long as you please. just come along into my study for a moment. we can talk it over quietly there. you see, dealing direct with me, you would escape the middleman's charges, and--" gently but firmly he edged the prince out of the room and down the passage. the aide-de-camp continued to sit staring woodenly at the carpet. reggie closed quietly in on him. "excuse me," he said; "talking shop and all that. but i'm an agent for the come one come all accident and life assurance office. you have heard of it probably? we can offer you really exceptional terms. you must not miss a chance of this sort. now here's a prospectus--" horace sidled forward. "i don't know if you happen to be a cyclist, captain--er--graf; but if you'd like a practically new motorbike, only been used since last november, i can let you--" there was a swish of skirts as grace and alice advanced on the visitor. "i'm sure," said grace winningly, "that you're fond of the theatre, captain poppenheim. we are getting up a performance of 'ici on parle francais,' in aid of the fund for supplying square meals to old-age pensioners. such a deserving object, you know. now, how many tickets will you take?" "you can sell them to your friends, you know," added mrs. chugwater. the aide-de-camp gulped convulsively. * * * * * ten minutes later two penniless men groped their way, dazed, to the garden gate. "at last," said prince otto brokenly, for it was he, "at last i begin to realise the horrors of an invasion--for the invaders." and together the two men staggered on. chapter 3 england's peril when the papers arrived next morning, it was seen that the situation was even worse than had at first been suspected. not only had the germans effected a landing in essex, but, in addition, no fewer than eight other hostile armies had, by some remarkable coincidence, hit on that identical moment for launching their long-prepared blow. england was not merely beneath the heel of the invader. it was beneath the heels of nine invaders. there was barely standing-room. full details were given in the press. it seemed that while germany was landing in essex, a strong force of russians, under the grand duke vodkakoff, had occupied yarmouth. simultaneously the mad mullah had captured portsmouth; while the swiss navy had bombarded lyme regis, and landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines. at precisely the same moment china, at last awakened, had swooped down upon that picturesque little welsh watering-place, lllgxtplll, and, despite desperate resistance on the part of an excursion of evanses and joneses from cardiff, had obtained a secure foothold. while these things were happening in wales, the army of monaco had descended on auchtermuchty, on the firth of clyde. within two minutes of this disaster, by greenwich time, a boisterous band of young turks had seized scarborough. and, at brighton and margate respectively, small but determined armies, the one of moroccan brigands, under raisuli, the other of dark-skinned warriors from the distant isle of bollygolla, had made good their footing. this was a very serious state of things. correspondents of the _daily mail_ at the various points of attack had wired such particulars as they were able. the preliminary parley at lllgxtplll between prince ping pong pang, the chinese general, and llewellyn evans, the leader of the cardiff excursionists, seems to have been impressive to a degree. the former had spoken throughout in pure chinese, the latter replying in rich welsh, and the general effect, wired the correspondent, was almost painfully exhilarating. so sudden had been the attacks that in very few instances was there any real resistance. the nearest approach to it appears to have been seen at margate. at the time of the arrival of the black warriors which, like the other onslaughts, took place between one and two o'clock on the afternoon of august bank holiday, the sands were covered with happy revellers. when the war canoes approached the beach, the excursionists seem to have mistaken their occupants at first for a troupe of nigger minstrels on an unusually magnificent scale; and it was freely noised abroad in the crowd that they were being presented by charles frohmann, who was endeavouring to revive the ancient glories of the christy minstrels. too soon, however, it was perceived that these were no harmless moore and burgesses. suspicion was aroused by the absence of banjoes and tambourines; and when the foremost of the negroes dexterously scalped a small boy, suspicion became certainty. in this crisis the trippers of margate behaved well. the mounted infantry, on donkeys, headed by uncle bones, did much execution. the ladies' tormentor brigade harassed the enemy's flank, and a hastily-formed band of sharp-shooters, armed with three-shies-a-penny balls and milky cocos, undoubtedly troubled the advance guard considerably. but superior force told. after half an hour's fighting the excursionists fled, leaving the beach to the foe. at auchtermuchty and portsmouth no obstacle, apparently, was offered to the invaders. at brighton the enemy were permitted to land unharmed. scarborough, taken utterly aback by the boyish vigour of the young turks, was an easy prey; and at yarmouth, though the grand duke received a nasty slap in the face from a dexterously-thrown bloater, the resistance appears to have been equally futile. by tea-time on august the first, nine strongly-equipped forces were firmly established on british soil. chapter 4 what england thought of it such a state of affairs, disturbing enough in itself, was rendered still more disquieting by the fact that, except for the boy scouts, england's military strength at this time was practically nil. the abolition of the regular army had been the first step. several causes had contributed to this. in the first place, the socialists had condemned the army system as unsocial. privates, they pointed out, were forbidden to hob-nob with colonels, though the difference in their positions was due to a mere accident of birth. they demanded that every man in the army should be a general. comrade quelch, in an eloquent speech at newington butts, had pointed, amidst enthusiasm, to the republics of south america, where the system worked admirably. scotland, too, disapproved of the army, because it was professional. mr. smith wrote several trenchant letters to mr. c. j. b. marriott on the subject. so the army was abolished, and the land defence of the country entrusted entirely to the territorials, the legion of frontiersmen, and the boy scouts. but first the territorials dropped out. the strain of being referred to on the music-hall stage as teddy-boys was too much for them. then the frontiersmen were disbanded. they had promised well at the start, but they had never been themselves since la milo had been attacked by the manchester watch committee. it had taken all the heart out of them. so that in the end england's defenders were narrowed down to the boy scouts, of whom clarence chugwater was the pride, and a large civilian population, prepared, at any moment, to turn out for their country's sake and wave flags. a certain section of these, too, could sing patriotic songs. * * * * * it was inevitable, in the height of the silly season, that such a topic as the simultaneous invasion of great britain by nine foreign powers should be seized upon by the press. countless letters poured into the offices of the london daily papers every morning. space forbids more than the gist of a few of these. miss charlesworth wrote:--"in this crisis i see no alternative. i shall disappear." mr. horatio bottomley, in _john bull_, said that there was some very dirty and underhand work going on, and that the secret history of the invasion would be published shortly. he himself, however, preferred any invader, even the king of bollygolla, to some k.c.'s he could name, though he was fond of dear old muir. he wanted to know why inspector drew had retired. the _daily express_, in a thoughtful leader, said that free trade evidently meant invaders for all. mr. herbert gladstone, writing to the _times_, pointed out that he had let so many undesirable aliens into the country that he did not see that a few more made much difference. mr. george r. sims made eighteen puns on the names of the invading generals in the course of one number of "mustard and cress." mr. h. g. pelissier urged the public to look on the bright side. there was a sun still shining in the sky. besides, who knew that some foreign marksman might not pot the censor? mr. robert fitzsimmons offered to take on any of the invading generals, or all of them, and if he didn't beat them it would only be because the referee had a wife and seven small children and had asked him as a personal favour to let himself be knocked out. he had lost several fights that way. the directors of the crystal palace wrote a circular letter to the shareholders, pointing out that there was a good time coming. with this addition to the public, the palace stood a sporting chance of once more finding itself full. judge willis asked: "what is an invasion?" signor scotti cabled anxiously from america (prepaid): "stands scotland where it did?" mr. lewis waller wrote heroically: "how many of them are there? i am usually good for about half a dozen. are they assassins? i can tackle any number of assassins." mr. seymour hicks said he hoped they would not hurt george edwardes. mr. george edwardes said that if they injured seymour hicks in any way he would never smile again. a writer in _answers_ pointed out that, if all the invaders in the country were piled in a heap, they would reach some of the way to the moon. far-seeing men took a gloomy view of the situation. they laid stress on the fact that this counter-attraction was bound to hit first-class cricket hard. for some years gates had shown a tendency to fall off, owing to the growing popularity of golf, tennis, and other games. the desire to see the invaders as they marched through the country must draw away thousands who otherwise would have paid their sixpences at the turnstiles. it was suggested that representations should be made to the invading generals with a view to inducing them to make a small charge to sightseers. in sporting circles the chief interest centered on the race to london. the papers showed the positions of the various armies each morning in their runners and betting columns; six to four on the germans was freely offered, but found no takers. considerable interest was displayed in the probable behaviour of the nine armies when they met. the situation was a curious outcome of the modern custom of striking a deadly blow before actually declaring war. until the moment when the enemy were at her doors, england had imagined that she was on terms of the most satisfactory friendship with her neighbours. the foe had taken full advantage of this, and also of the fact that, owing to a fit of absent-mindedness on the part of the government, england had no ships afloat which were not entirely obsolete. interviewed on the subject by representatives of the daily papers, the government handsomely admitted that it was perhaps in some ways a silly thing to have done; but, they urged, you could not think of everything. besides, they were on the point of laying down a _dreadnought_, which would be ready in a very few years. meanwhile, the best thing the public could do was to sleep quietly in their beds. it was fisher's tip; and fisher was a smart man. and all the while the invaders' marathon continued. who would be the first to reach london? chapter 5 the germans reach london the germans had got off smartly from the mark and were fully justifying the long odds laid upon them. that master-strategist, prince otto of saxe-pfennig, realising that if he wished to reach the metropolis quickly he must not go by train, had resolved almost at once to walk. though hampered considerably by crowds of rustics who gathered, gaping, at every point in the line of march, he had made good progress. the german troops had strict orders to reply to no questions, with the result that little time was lost in idle chatter, and in a couple of days it was seen that the army of the fatherland was bound, barring accidents, to win comfortably. the progress of the other forces was slower. the chinese especially had undergone great privations, having lost their way near llanfairpwlgwnngogogoch, and having been unable to understand the voluble directions given to them by the various shepherds they encountered. it was not for nearly a week that they contrived to reach chester, where, catching a cheap excursion, they arrived in the metropolis, hungry and footsore, four days after the last of their rivals had taken up their station. the german advance halted on the wooded heights of tottenham. here a camp was pitched and trenches dug. the march had shown how terrible invasion must of necessity be. with no wish to be ruthless, the troops of prince otto had done grievous damage. cricket-pitches had been trampled down, and in many cases even golf-greens dented by the iron heel of the invader, who rarely, if ever, replaced the divot. everywhere they had left ruin and misery in their train. with the other armies it was the same story. through carefully-preserved woods they had marched, frightening the birds and driving keepers into fits of nervous prostration. fishing, owing to their tramping carelessly through the streams, was at a standstill. croquet had been given up in despair. near epping the russians shot a fox.... * * * * * the situation which faced prince otto was a delicate one. all his early training and education had implanted in him the fixed idea that, if he ever invaded england, he would do it either alone or with the sympathetic co-operation of allies. he had never faced the problem of what he should do if there were rivals in the field. competition is wholesome, but only within bounds. he could not very well ask the other nations to withdraw. nor did he feel inclined to withdraw himself. "it all comes of this dashed swoop of the vulture business," he grumbled, as he paced before his tent, ever and anon pausing to sweep the city below him with his glasses. "i should like to find the fellow who started the idea! making me look a fool! still, it's just as bad for the others, thank goodness! well, poppenheim?" captain von poppenheim approached and saluted. "please, sir, the men say, 'may they bombard london?'" "bombard london!" "yes, sir; it's always done." prince otto pulled thoughtfully at his moustache. "bombard london! it seems--and yet--ah, well, they have few pleasures." he stood awhile in meditation. so did captain von poppenheim. he kicked a pebble. so did captain von poppenheim--only a smaller pebble. discipline is very strict in the german army. "poppenheim." "sir?" "any signs of our--er--competitors?" "yes, sir; the russians are coming up on the left flank, sir. they'll be here in a few hours. raisuli has been arrested at purley for stealing chickens. the army of bollygolla is about ten miles out. no news of the field yet, sir." the prince brooded. then he spoke, unbosoming himself more freely than was his wont in conversation with his staff. "between you and me, pop," he cried impulsively, "i'm dashed sorry we ever started this dashed silly invading business. we thought ourselves dashed smart, working in the dark, and giving no sign till the great pounce, and all that sort of dashed nonsense. seems to me we've simply dashed well landed ourselves in the dashed soup." captain von poppenheim saluted in sympathetic silence. he and the prince had been old chums at college. a life-long friendship existed between them. he would have liked to have expressed adhesion verbally to his superior officer's remarks. the words "i don't think" trembled on his tongue. but the iron discipline of the german army gagged him. he saluted again and clicked his heels. the prince recovered himself with a strong effort. "you say the russians will be here shortly?" he said. "in a few hours, sir." "and the men really wish to bombard london?" "it would be a treat to them, sir." "well, well, i suppose if we don't do it, somebody else will. and we got here first." "yes, sir." "then--" an orderly hurried up and saluted. "telegram, sir." absently the prince opened it. then his eyes lit up. "gotterdammerung!" he said. "i never thought of that. 'smash up london and provide work for unemployed mending it.--grayson,'" he read. "poppenheim." "sir?" "let the bombardment commence." "yes, sir." "and let it continue till the russians arrive. then it must stop, or there will be complications." captain von poppenheim saluted, and withdrew. chapter 6 the bombardment of london thus was london bombarded. fortunately it was august, and there was nobody in town. otherwise there might have been loss of life. chapter 7 a conference of the powers the russians, led by general vodkakoff, arrived at hampstead half an hour after the bombardment had ceased, and the rest of the invaders, including raisuli, who had got off on an _alibi_, dropped in at intervals during the week. by the evening of saturday, the sixth of august, even the chinese had limped to the metropolis. and the question now was, what was going to happen? england displayed a polite indifference to the problem. we are essentially a nation of sight-seers. to us the excitement of staring at the invaders was enough. into the complex international problems to which the situation gave rise it did not occur to us to examine. when you consider that a crowd of five hundred londoners will assemble in the space of two minutes, abandoning entirely all its other business, to watch a cab-horse that has fallen in the street, it is not surprising that the spectacle of nine separate and distinct armies in the metropolis left no room in the british mind for other reflections. the attraction was beginning to draw people back to london now. they found that the german shells had had one excellent result, they had demolished nearly all the london statues. and what might have conceivably seemed a draw-back, the fact that they had blown great holes in the wood-paving, passed unnoticed amidst the more extensive operations of the london county council. taking it for all in all, the german gunners had simply been beautifying london. the albert hall, struck by a merciful shell, had come down with a run, and was now a heap of picturesque ruins; whitefield's tabernacle was a charred mass; and the burning of the royal academy proved a great comfort to all. at a mass meeting in trafalgar square a hearty vote of thanks was passed, with acclamation, to prince otto. but if londoners rejoiced, the invaders were very far from doing so. the complicated state of foreign politics made it imperative that there should be no friction between the powers. yet here a great number of them were in perhaps as embarrassing a position as ever diplomatists were called upon to unravel. when nine dogs are assembled round one bone, it is rarely on the bone alone that teeth-marks are found at the close of the proceedings. prince otto of saxe-pfennig set himself resolutely to grapple with the problem. his chance of grappling successfully with it was not improved by the stream of telegrams which arrived daily from his imperial master, demanding to know whether he had yet subjugated the country, and if not, why not. he had replied guardedly, stating the difficulties which lay in his way, and had received the following: "at once mailed fist display. on get or out get.--wilhelm." it was then that the distracted prince saw that steps must be taken at once. carefully-worded letters were despatched by district messenger boys to the other generals. towards nightfall the replies began to come in, and, having read them, the prince saw that this business could never be settled without a personal interview. many of the replies were absolutely incoherent. raisuli, apologising for delay on the ground that he had been away in the isle of dogs cracking a crib, wrote suggesting that the germans and moroccans should combine with a view to playing the confidence trick on the swiss general, who seemed a simple sort of chap. "reminds me of dear old maclean," wrote raisuli. "there is money in this. will you come in? wire in the morning." the general of the monaco forces thought the best way would be to settle the thing by means of a game of chance of the odd-man-out class. he knew a splendid game called slippery sam. he could teach them the rules in half a minute. the reply of prince ping pong pang of china was probably brilliant and scholarly, but it was expressed in chinese characters of the ming period, which prince otto did not understand; and even if he had it would have done him no good, for he tried to read it from the top downwards instead of from the bottom up. the young turks, as might have been expected, wrote in their customary flippant, cheeky style. they were full of mischief, as usual. the body of the letter, scrawled in a round, schoolboy hand, dealt principally with the details of the booby-trap which the general had successfully laid for his head of staff. "he was frightfully shirty," concluded the note jubilantly. from the bollygolla camp the messenger-boy returned without a scalp, and with a verbal message to the effect that the king could neither read nor write. grand duke vodkakoff, from the russian lines, replied in his smooth, cynical, russian way:--"you appear anxious, my dear prince, to scratch the other entrants. may i beg you to remember what happens when you scratch a russian?" as for the mad mullah's reply, it was simply pure delirium. the journey from somaliland, and his meeting with his friend mr. dillon, appeared to have had the worse effects on his sanity. he opened with the statement that he was a tea-pot: and that was the only really coherent remark he made. prince otto placed a hand wearily on his throbbing brow. "we must have a conference," he said. "it is the only way." next day eight invitations to dinner went out from the german camp. * * * * * it would be idle to say that the dinner, as a dinner, was a complete success. half-way through the swiss general missed his diamond solitaire, and cold glances were cast at raisuli, who sat on his immediate left. then the king of bollygolla's table-manners were frankly inelegant. when he wanted a thing, he grabbed for it. and he seemed to want nearly everything. nor was the behaviour of the leader of the young turks all that could be desired. there had been some talk of only allowing him to come down to dessert; but he had squashed in, as he briefly put it, and it would be paltering with the truth to say that he had not had far more champagne than was good for him. also, the general of monaco had brought a pack of cards with him, and was spoiling the harmony by trying to induce prince ping pong pang to find the lady. and the brainless laugh of the mad mullah was very trying. altogether prince otto was glad when the cloth was removed, and the waiters left the company to smoke and talk business. anyone who has had anything to do with the higher diplomacy is aware that diplomatic language stands in a class by itself. it is a language specially designed to deceive the chance listener. thus when prince otto, turning to grand duke vodkakoff, said quietly, "i hear the crops are coming on nicely down kent way," the habitual frequenter of diplomatic circles would have understood, as did the grand duke, that what he really meant was, "now about this business. what do you propose to do?" the company, with the exception of the representative of the young turks, who was drinking _creme de menthe_ out of a tumbler, the mullah and the king of bollygolla bent forward, deeply interested, to catch the russian's reply. much would depend on this. vodkakoff carelessly flicked the ash off his cigarette. "so i hear," he said slowly. "but in shropshire, they tell me, they are having trouble with the mangel-wurzels." the prince frowned at this typical piece of shifty russian diplomacy. "how is your highness getting on with your highness's roller-skating?" he enquired guardedly. the russian smiled a subtle smile. "poorly," he said, "poorly. the last time i tried the outside edge i thought somebody had thrown the building at me." prince otto flushed. he was a plain, blunt man, and he hated this beating about the bush. "why does a chicken cross the road?" he demanded, almost angrily. the russian raised his eyebrows, and smiled, but made no reply. the prince, resolved to give him no chance of wriggling away from the point, pressed him hotly. "think of a number," he cried. "double it. add ten. take away the number you first thought of. divide it by three, and what is the result?" there was an awed silence. surely the russian, expert at evasion as he was, could not parry so direct a challenge as this. he threw away his cigarette and lit a cigar. "i understand," he said, with a tinkle of defiance in his voice, "that the suffragettes, as a last resource, propose to capture mr. asquith and sing the suffragette anthem to him." a startled gasp ran round the table. "because the higher he flies, the fewer?" asked prince otto, with sinister calm. "because the higher he flies, the fewer," said the russian smoothly, but with the smoothness of a treacherous sea. there was another gasp. the situation was becoming alarmingly tense. "you are plain-spoken, your highness," said prince otto slowly. at this moment the tension was relieved by the young turk falling off his chair with a crash on to the floor. everyone jumped up startled. raisuli took advantage of the confusion to pocket a silver ash-tray. the interruption had a good effect. frowns relaxed. the wranglers began to see that they had allowed their feelings to run away with them. it was with a conciliatory smile that prince otto, filling the grand duke's glass, observed: "trumper is perhaps the prettier bat, but i confess i admire fry's robust driving." the russian was won over. he extended his hand. "two down and three to play, and the red near the top corner pocket," he said with that half-oriental charm which he knew so well how to exhibit on occasion. the two shook hands warmly. and so it was settled, the russian having, as we have seen, waived his claim to bombard london in his turn, there was no obstacle to a peaceful settlement. it was obvious that the superior forces of the germans and russians gave them, if they did but combine, the key to the situation. the decision they arrived at was, as set forth above, as follows. after the fashion of the moment, the russian and german generals decided to draw the colour line. that meant that the troops of china, somaliland, bollygolla, as well as raisuli and the young turks, were ruled out. they would be given a week in which to leave the country. resistance would be useless. the combined forces of the germans, russians, swiss, and monacoans were overwhelming, especially as the chinese had not recovered from their wanderings in wales and were far too footsore still to think of serious fighting. when they had left, the remaining four powers would continue the invasion jointly. * * * * * prince otto of saxe-pfennig went to bed that night, comfortably conscious of a good work well done. he saw his way now clear before him. but he had made one miscalculation. he had not reckoned with clarence chugwater. part two chapter 1 in the boy scouts' camp night! night in aldwych! in the centre of that vast tract of unreclaimed prairie known to londoners as the aldwych site there shone feebly, seeming almost to emphasise the darkness and desolation of the scene, a single light. it was the camp-fire of the boy scouts. the night was raw and windy. a fine rain had been falling for some hours. the date of september the first. for just a month england had been in the grip of the invaders. the coloured section of the hostile force had either reached its home by now, or was well on its way. the public had seen it go with a certain regret. not since the visit of the shah had such an attractive topic of conversation been afforded them. several comic journalists had built up a reputation and a large price per thousand words on the king of bollygolla alone. theatres had benefited by the index of a large, new, unsophisticated public. a piece at the waldorf theatre had run for a whole fortnight, and "the merry widow" had taken on a new lease of life. selfridge's, abandoning its policy of caution, had advertised to the extent of a quarter of a column in two weekly papers. now the young turks were back at school in constantinople, shuffling their feet and throwing ink pellets at one another; raisuli, home again in the old mountains, was working up the kidnapping business, which had fallen off sadly in his absence under the charge of an incompetent _locum tenens_; and the chinese, the bollygollans, and the troops of the mad mullah were enduring the miseries of sea-sickness out in mid-ocean. the swiss army had also gone home, in order to be in time for the winter hotel season. there only remained the germans, the russians, and the troops of monaco. * * * * * in the camp of the boy scouts a vast activity prevailed. few of london's millions realise how tremendous and far-reaching an association the boy scouts are. it will be news to the man in the street to learn that, with the possible exception of the black hand, the scouts are perhaps the most carefully-organised secret society in the world. their ramifications extend through the length and breadth of england. the boys you see parading the streets with hockey-sticks are but a small section, the aristocrats of the society. every boy in england, and many a man, is in the pay of the association. their funds are practically unlimited. by the oath of initiation which he takes on joining, every boy is compelled to pay into the common coffers a percentage of his pocket-money or his salary. when you drop his weekly three and sixpence into the hand of your office-boy on saturday, possibly you fancy he takes it home to mother. he doesn't. he spend two-and-six on woodbines. the other shilling goes into the treasury of the boy scouts. when you visit your nephew at eton, and tip him five pounds or whatever it is, does he spend it at the sock-shop? apparently, yes. in reality, a quarter reaches the common fund. take another case, to show the boy scouts' power. you are a city merchant, and, arriving at the office one morning in a bad temper, you proceed to cure yourself by taking it out of the office-boy. he says nothing, apparently does nothing. but that evening, as you are going home in the tube, a burly working-man treads heavily on your gouty foot. in ladbroke grove a passing hansom splashes you with mud. reaching home, you find that the cat has been at the cold chicken and the butler has given notice. you do not connect these things, but they are all alike the results of your unjust behaviour to your office-boy in the morning. or, meeting a ragged little matchseller, you pat his head and give him six-pence. next day an anonymous present of champagne arrives at your address. terrible in their wrath, the boy scouts never forget kindness. * * * * * the whistle of a striped iguanodon sounded softly in the darkness. the sentry, who was pacing to and fro before the camp-fire, halted, and peered into the night. as he peered, he uttered the plaintive note of a zebra calling to its mate. a voice from the darkness said, "een gonyama-gonyama." "invooboo," replied the sentry argumentatively "yah bo! yah bo! invooboo." an indistinct figure moved forward. "who goes there?" "a friend." "advance, friend, and give the countersign." "remember mafeking, and death to injuns." "pass friend! all's well." the figure walked on into the firelight. the sentry started; then saluted and stood to attention. on his face was a worshipping look of admiration and awe, such as some young soldier of the grande armee might have worn on seeing napoleon; for the newcomer was clarence chugwater. "your name?" said clarence, eyeing the sturdy young warrior. "private william buggins, sir." "you watch well, private buggins. england has need of such as you." he pinched the young scout's ear tolerantly. the sentry flushed with pleasure. "my orders have been carried out?" said clarence. "yes, sir. the patrols are all here." "enumerate them." "the chinchilla kittens, the bongos, the zebras, the iguanodons, the welsh rabbits, the snapping turtles, and a half-patrol of the 33rd london gazekas, sir." clarence nodded. "'tis well," he said. "what are they doing?" "some of them are acting a scout's play, sir; some are doing cone exercises; one or two are practising deep breathing; and the rest are dancing an old english morris dance." clarence nodded. "they could not be better employed. inform them that i have arrived and would address them." the sentry saluted. standing in an attitude of deep thought, with his feet apart, his hands clasped behind him, and his chin sunk upon his breast, clarence made a singularly impressive picture. he had left his essex home three weeks before, on the expiration of his ten days' holiday, to return to his post of junior sub-reporter on the staff of a leading london evening paper. it was really only at night now that he got any time to himself. during the day his time was his paper's, and he was compelled to spend the weary hours reading off results of races and other sporting items on the tape-machine. it was only at 6 p.m. that he could begin to devote himself to the service of his country. the scouts had assembled now, and were standing, keen and alert, ready to do clarence's bidding. clarence returned their salute moodily. "scout-master wagstaff," he said. the scout-master, the leader of the troop formed by the various patrols, stepped forward. "let the war-dance commence." clarence watched the evolutions absently. his heart was ill-attuned to dances. but the thing had to be done, so it was as well to get it over. when the last movement had been completed, he raised his hand. "men," he said, in his clear, penetrating alto, "although you have not the same facilities as myself for hearing the latest news, you are all, by this time, doubtless aware that this england of ours lies 'neath the proud foot of a conqueror. it is for us to save her. (cheers, and a voice "invooboo!") i would call on you here and now to seize your hockey-sticks and rush upon the invader, were it not, alas! that such an action would merely result in your destruction. at present the invader is too strong. we must wait; and something tells me that we shall not have to wait long. (applause.) jealousy is beginning to spring up between the russians and the germans. it will be our task to aggravate this feeling. with our perfect organisation this should be easy. sooner or later this smouldering jealousy is going to burst into flame. any day now," he proceeded, warming as he spoke, "there may be the dickens of a dust-up between these johnnies, and then we've got 'em where the hair's short. see what i mean, you chaps? it's like this. any moment they may start scrapping and chaw each other up, and then we'll simply sail in and knock what's left endways." a shout of applause went up from the assembled scouts. "what i am anxious to impress upon you men," concluded clarence, in more measured tones, "is that our hour approaches. england looks to us, and it is for us to see that she does not look in vain. sedulously feeding the growing flame of animosity between the component parts of the invading horde, we may contrive to bring about that actual disruption. till that day, see to it that you prepare yourselves for war. men, i have finished." "what the chief scout means," said scout-master wagstaff, "is no rotting about and all that sort of rot. jolly well keep yourselves fit, and then, when the time comes, we'll give these russian and german blighters about the biggest hiding they've ever heard of. follow the idea? very well, then. mind you don't go mucking the show up." "een gonyama-gonyama!" shouted the new thoroughly roused troops. "invooboo! yah bo! yah bo! invooboo!" the voice of young england--of young england alert and at its post! chapter 2 an important engagement historians, when they come to deal with the opening years of the twentieth century, will probably call this the music-hall age. at the time of the great invasion the music-halls dominated england. every town and every suburb had its hall, most of them more than one. the public appetite for sight-seeing had to be satisfied somehow, and the music-hall provided the easiest way of doing it. the halls formed a common place on which the celebrity and the ordinary man could meet. if an impulsive gentleman slew his grandmother with a coal-hammer, only a small portion of the public could gaze upon his pleasing features at the old bailey. to enable the rest to enjoy the intellectual treat, it was necessary to engage him, at enormous expense, to appear at a music-hall. there, if he happened to be acquitted, he would come on the stage, preceded by an asthmatic introducer, and beam affably at the public for ten minutes, speaking at intervals in a totally inaudible voice, and then retire; to be followed by some enterprising lady who had endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to solve the problem of living at the rate of ten thousand a year on an income of nothing, or who had performed some other similarly brainy feat. it was not till the middle of september that anyone conceived what one would have thought the obvious idea of offering music-hall engagements to the invading generals. the first man to think of it was solly quhayne, the rising young agent. solly was the son of abraham cohen, an eminent agent of the victorian era. his brothers, abe kern, benjamin colquhoun, jack coyne, and barney cowan had gravitated to the city; but solly had carried on the old business, and was making a big name for himself. it was solly who had met blinky bill mullins, the prominent sand-bagger, as he emerged from his twenty years' retirement at dartmoor, and booked him solid for a thirty-six months' lecturing tour on the mcginnis circuit. it was to him, too, that joe brown, who could eat eight pounds of raw meat in seven and a quarter minutes, owed his first chance of displaying his gifts to the wider public of the vaudeville stage. the idea of securing the services of the invading generals came to him in a flash. "s'elp me!" he cried. "i believe they'd go big; put 'em on where you like." solly was a man of action. within a minute he was talking to the managing director of the mammoth syndicate halls on the telephone. in five minutes the managing director had agreed to pay prince otto of saxe-pfennig five hundred pounds a week, if he could be prevailed upon to appear. in ten minutes the grand duke vodkakoff had been engaged, subject to his approval, at a weekly four hundred and fifty by the stone-rafferty circuit. and in a quarter of an hour solly quhayne, having pushed his way through a mixed crowd of tricky serios and versatile comedians and patterers who had been waiting to see him for the last hour and a half, was bowling off in a taximeter-cab to the russian lines at hampstead. general vodkakoff received his visitor civilly, but at first without enthusiasm. there were, it seemed, objections to his becoming an artiste. would he have to wear a properly bald head and sing songs about wanting people to see his girl? he didn't think he could. he had only sung once in his life, and that was twenty years ago at a bump-supper at moscow university. and even then, he confided to mr. quhayne, it had taken a decanter and a-half of neat vodka to bring him up to the scratch. the agent ridiculed the idea. "why, your grand grace," he cried, "there won't be anything of that sort. you ain't going to be starred as a _comic_. you're a refined lecturer and society monologue artist. 'how i invaded england,' with lights down and the cinematograph going. we can easily fake the pictures." the grand duke made another objection. "i understand," he said, "it is etiquette for music-hall artists in their spare time to eat--er--fried fish with their fingers. must i do that? i doubt if i could manage it." mr quhayne once more became the human semaphore. "s'elp me! of course you needn't! all the leading pros, eat it with a spoon. bless you, you can be the refined gentleman on the halls same as anywhere else. come now, your grand grace, is it a deal? four hundred and fifty chinking o'goblins a week for one hall a night, and press-agented at eight hundred and seventy-five. s'elp me! lauder doesn't get it, not in england." the grand duke reflected. the invasion has proved more expensive than he had foreseen. the english are proverbially a nation of shopkeepers, and they had put up their prices in all the shops for his special benefit. and he was expected to do such a lot of tipping. four hundred and fifty a week would come in uncommonly useful. "where do i sign?" he asked, extending his hand for the agreement. * * * * * five minutes later mr. quhayne was urging his taxidriver to exceed the speed-limit in the direction of tottenham. chapter 3 a bird's-eye view of the situation clarence read the news of the two engagements on the tape at the office of his paper, but the first intimation the general public had of it was through the medium of headlines:- music-hall sensation invading generals' gigantic salaries rumoured resentment of v.a.f. what will water-rats do? interview with mr. harry lauder clarence chuckled grimly as the tape clicked out the news. the end had begun. to sow jealousy between the rival generals would have been easy. to sow it between two rival music-hall artistes would be among the world's softest jobs. among the general public, of course, the announcement created a profound sensation. nothing else was talked about in train and omnibus. the papers had leaders on the subject. at first the popular impression was that the generals were going to do a comedy duo act of the who-was-it-i-seen-you-coming-down-the-street-with? type, and there was disappointment when it was found that the engagements were for different halls. rumours sprang up. it was said that the grand duke had for years been an enthusiastic amateur sword-swallower, and had, indeed, come to england mainly for the purpose of getting bookings; that the prince had a secure reputation in potsdam as a singer of songs in the george robey style; that both were expert trick-cyclists. then the truth came out. neither had any specialities; they would simply appear and deliver lectures. the feeling in the music-hall world was strong. the variety artists' federation debated the advisability of another strike. the water rats, meeting in mystic secrecy in a maiden lane public-house, passed fifteen resolutions in an hour and a quarter. sir harry lauder, interviewed by the _era_, gave it as his opinion that both the grand duke and the prince were gowks, who would do well to haud their blether. he himself proposed to go straight to america, where genuine artists were cheered in the streets and entertained at haggis dinners, and not forced to compete with amateur sumphs and gonuphs from other countries. clarence, brooding over the situation like a providence, was glad to see that already the new move had weakened the invaders' power. the day after the announcement in the press of the approaching _debut_ of the other generals, the leader of the army of monaco had hurried to the agents to secure an engagement for himself. he held out the special inducement of card-tricks, at which he was highly skilled. the agents had received him coldly. brown and day had asked him to call again. foster had sent out a message regretting that he was too busy to see him. at de freece's he had been kept waiting in the ante-room for two hours in the midst of a bevy of sparkling comediennes of pronounced peroxidity and blue-chinned men in dusty bowler-hats, who told each other how they had gone with a bang at oakham and john o'groats, and had then gone away in despair. on the following day, deeply offended, he had withdrawn his troops from the country. the strength of the invaders was melting away little by little. "how long?" murmured clarence chugwater, as he worked at the tape-machine. "how long?" chapter 4 clarence hears important news it was clarence's custom to leave the office of his newspaper at one o'clock each day, and lunch at a neighbouring aerated bread shop. he did this on the day following the first appearance of the two generals at their respective halls. he had brought an early edition of the paper with him, and in the intervals of dealing with his glass of milk and scone and butter, he read the report of the performances. both, it seemed, had met with flattering receptions, though they had appeared nervous. the russian general especially, whose style, said the critic, was somewhat reminiscent of mr. t. e. dunville, had made himself a great favourite with the gallery. the report concluded by calling attention once more to the fact that the salaries paid to the two--eight hundred and seventy-five pounds a week each--established a record in music-hall history on this side of the atlantic. clarence had just finished this when there came to his ear the faint note of a tarantula singing to its young. he looked up. opposite him, at the next table, was seated a youth of fifteen, of a slightly grubby aspect. he was eyeing clarence closely. clarence took off his spectacles, polished them, and replaced them on his nose. as he did so, the thin gruffle of the tarantula sounded once more. without changing his expression, clarence cautiously uttered the deep snarl of a sand-eel surprised while bathing. it was sufficient. the other rose to his feet, holding his right hand on a line with his shoulder, palm to the front, thumb resting on the nail of the little finger, and the other three fingers upright. clarence seized his hat by the brim at the back, and moved it swiftly twice up and down. the other, hesitating no longer, came over to his table. "pip-pip!" he said, in an undertone. "toodleoo and god save the king!" whispered clarence. the mystic ceremony which always takes place when two boy scouts meet in public was complete. "private biggs of the eighteenth tarantulas, sir," said the boy respectfully, for he had recognised clarence. clarence inclined his head. "you may sit, private biggs," he said graciously. "you have news to impart?" "news, sir, that may be of vital importance." "say on." private biggs, who had brought his sparkling limado and a bath-bun with him from the other table, took a sip of the former, and embarked upon his narrative. "i am employed, sir," he said, "as a sort of junior clerk and office-boy by mr. solly quhayne, the music-hall agent." clarence tapped his brow thoughtfully; then his face cleared. "i remember. it was he who secured the engagements of the generals." "the same, sir." "proceed." the other resumed his story. "it is my duty to sit in a sort of rabbit-hutch in the outer office, take the callers' names, and especially to see that they don't get through to mr. quhayne till he wishes to receive them. that is the most exacting part of my day's work. you wouldn't believe how full of the purest swank some of these pros. are. tell you they've got an appointment as soon as look at you. artful beggars!" clarence nodded sympathetically. "this morning an acrobat and society contortionist made such a fuss that in the end i had to take his card in to the private office. mr. quhayne was there talking to a gentleman whom i recognised as his brother, mr. colquhoun. they were engrossed in their conversation, and did not notice me for a moment. with no wish to play the eavesdropper, i could not help but overhear. they were talking about the generals. 'yes, i know they're press-agented at eight seventy-five, dear boy,' i heard mr. quhayne say, 'but between you and me and the door-knob that isn't what they're getting. the german feller's drawing five hundred of the best, but i could only get four-fifty for the russian. can't say why. i should have thought, if anything, he'd be the bigger draw. bit of a comic in his way!' and then he saw me. there was some slight unpleasantness. in fact, i've got the sack. after it was over i came away to try and find you. it seemed to me that the information might be of importance." clarence's eyes gleamed. "you have done splendidly, private--no, _corporal_ biggs. do not regret your lost position. the society shall find you work. this news you have brought is of the utmost--the most vital importance. dash it!" he cried, unbending in his enthusiasm, "we've got 'em on the hop. if they aren't biting pieces out of each other in the next day or two, i'm jolly well mistaken." he rose; then sat down again. "corporal--no, dash it, sergeant biggs--you must have something with me. this is an occasion. the news you have brought me may mean the salvation of england. what would you like?" the other saluted joyfully. "i think i'll have another sparkling limado, thanks, awfully," he said. the beverage arrived. they raised their glasses. "to england," said clarence simply. "to england," echoed his subordinate. * * * * * clarence left the shop with swift strides, and hurried, deep in thought, to the offices of the _encore_ in wellington street. "yus?" said the office-boy interrogatively. clarence gave the scout's siquand, the pass-word. the boy's demeanour changed instantly. he saluted with the utmost respect. "i wish to see the editor," said clarence. a short speech, but one that meant salvation for the motherland. chapter 5 seeds of discord the days following clarence's visit to the offices of the _encore_ were marked by a growing feeling of unrest, alike among invaded and invaders. the first novelty and excitement of the foreign occupation of the country was beginning to wear off, and in its place the sturdy independence so typical of the british character was reasserting itself. deep down in his heart the genuine englishman has a rugged distaste for seeing his country invaded by a foreign army. people were asking themselves by what right these aliens had overrun british soil. an ever-growing feeling of annoyance had begun to lay hold of the nation. it is probable that the departure of sir harry lauder first brought home to england what this invasion might mean. the great comedian, in his manifesto in the _times_, had not minced his words. plainly and crisply he had stated that he was leaving the country because the music-hall stage was given over to alien gowks. he was sorry for england. he liked england. but now, all he could say was, "god bless you." england shuddered, remembering that last time he had said, "god bless you till i come back." ominous mutterings began to make themselves heard. other causes contributed to swell the discontent. a regiment of russians, out route-marching, had walked across the bowling-screen at kennington oval during the surrey _v._ lancashire match, causing hayward to be bowled for a duck's-egg. a band of german sappers had dug a trench right across the turf at queen's club. the mutterings increased. nor were the invaders satisfied and happy. the late english summer had set in with all its usual severity, and the cossacks, reared in the kindlier climate of siberia, were feeling it terribly. colds were the rule rather than the exception in the russian lines. the coughing of the germans at tottenham could be heard in oxford street. the attitude of the british public, too, was getting on their nerves. they had been prepared for fierce resistance. they had pictured the invasion as a series of brisk battles--painful perhaps, but exciting. they had anticipated that when they had conquered the country they might meet with the glare of hatred as they patrolled the streets. the supercilious stare unnerved them. there is nothing so terrible to the highly-strung foreigner as the cold, contemptuous, patronising gaze of the englishman. it gave the invaders a perpetual feeling of doing the wrong thing. they felt like men who had been found travelling in a first-class carriage with a third-class ticket. they became conscious of the size of their hands and feet. as they marched through the metropolis they felt their ears growing hot and red. beneath the chilly stare of the populace they experienced all the sensations of a man who has come to a strange dinner-party in a tweed suit when everybody else has dressed. they felt warm and prickly. it was dull for them, too. london is never at its best in early september, even for the _habitue_. there was nothing to do. most of the theatres were shut. the streets were damp and dirty. it was all very well for the generals, appearing every night in the glare and glitter of the footlights; but for the rank and file the occupation of london spelt pure boredom. london was, in fact, a human powder-magazine. and it was clarence chugwater who with a firm hand applied the match that was to set it in a blaze. chapter 6 the bomb-shell clarence had called at the offices of the _encore_ on a friday. the paper's publishing day is thursday. the _encore_ is the times of the music-hall world. it casts its curses here, bestows its benedictions (sparely) there. the _encore_ criticising the latest action of the variety artists' federation is the nearest modern approach to jove hurling the thunderbolt. its motto is, "cry havoc, and let loose the performing dogs of war." it so happened that on the thursday following his momentous visit to wellington street, there was need of someone on the staff of clarence's evening paper to go and obtain an interview from the russian general. mr. hubert wales had just published a novel so fruity in theme and treatment that it had been publicly denounced from the pulpit by no less a person than the rev. canon edgar sheppard, d.d., sub-dean of his majesty's chapels royal, deputy clerk of the closet and sub-almoner to the king. a morning paper had started the question, "should there be a censor of fiction?" and, in accordance with custom, editors were collecting the views of celebrities, preferably of those whose opinion on the subject was absolutely valueless. all the other reporters being away on their duties, the editor was at a loss. "isn't there anybody else?" he demanded. the chief sub-editor pondered. "there is young blooming chugwater," he said. (it was thus that england's deliverer was habitually spoken of in the office.) "then send him," said the editor. * * * * * grand duke vodkakoff's turn at the magnum palace of varieties started every evening at ten sharp. he topped the bill. clarence, having been detained by a review of the scouts, did not reach the hall till five minutes to the hour. he got to the dressing-room as the general was going on to the stage. the grand duke dressed in the large room with the other male turns. there were no private dressing-rooms at the magnum. clarence sat down on a basket-trunk belonging to the premier troupe of bounding zouaves of the desert, and waited. the four athletic young gentlemen who composed the troupe were dressing after their turn. they took no notice of clarence. presently one zouave spoke. "bit off to-night, bill. cold house." "not 'arf," replied his colleague. "gave me the shivers." "wonder how his nibs'll go." evidently he referred to the grand duke. "oh, _'e's_ all right. they eat his sort of swank. seems to me the profession's going to the dogs, what with these bloomin' amytoors an' all. got the 'airbrush, 'arry?" harry, a tall, silent zouave, handed over the hairbrush. bill continued. "i'd like to see him go on of a monday night at the old mogul. they'd soon show him. it gives me the fair 'ump, it does, these toffs coming in and taking the bread out of our mouths. why can't he give us chaps a chance? fair makes me rasp, him and his bloomin' eight hundred and seventy-five o' goblins a week." "not so much of your eight hundred and seventy-five, young feller me lad," said the zouave who had spoken first. "ain't you seen the rag this week?" "naow. what's in it? how does our advert, look?" "ow, that's all right, never mind that. you look at 'what the _encore_ would like to know.' that's what'll touch his nibs up." he produced a copy of the paper from the pocket of his great-coat which hung from the door, and passed it to his bounding brother. "read it out, old sort," he said. the other took it to the light and began to read slowly and cautiously, as one who is no expert at the art. "'what the _encore_ would like to know:--whether prince otto of saxe-pfennig didn't go particularly big at the lobelia last week? and whether his success hasn't compelled agent quhayne to purchase a larger-sized hat? and whether it isn't a fact that, though they are press-agented at the same figure, prince otto is getting fifty a week more than grand duke vodkakoff? and if it is not so, why a little bird has assured us that the prince is being paid five hundred a week and the grand duke only four hundred and fifty? and, in any case, whether the prince isn't worth fifty a week more than his russian friend?' lumme!" an awed silence fell upon the group. to clarence, who had dictated the matter (though the style was the editor's), the paragraph did not come as a surprise. his only feeling was one of relief that the editor had served up his material so well. he felt that he had been justified in leaving the more delicate literary work to that master-hand. "that'll be one in the eye," said the zouave harry. "'ere, i'll stick it up opposite of him when he comes back to dress. got a pin and a pencil, some of you?" he marked the quarter column heavily, and pinned it up beside the looking-glass. then he turned to his companions. "'ow about not waiting, chaps?" he suggested. "i shouldn't 'arf wonder, from the look of him, if he wasn't the 'aughty kind of a feller who'd cleave you to the bazooka for tuppence with his bloomin' falchion. i'm goin' to 'urry through with my dressing and wait till to-morrow night to see how he looks. no risks for willie!" the suggestion seemed thoughtful and good. the bounding zouaves, with one accord, bounded into their clothes and disappeared through the door just as a long-drawn chord from the invisible orchestra announced the conclusion of the grand duke's turn. general vodkakoff strutted into the room, listening complacently to the applause which was still going on. he had gone well. he felt pleased with himself. it was not for a moment that he noticed clarence. "ah," he said, "the interviewer, eh? you wish to--" clarence began to explain his mission. while he was doing so the grand duke strolled to the basin and began to remove his make-up. he favoured, when on the stage, a touch of the raven gipsy no. 3 grease-paint. it added a picturesque swarthiness to his appearance, and made him look more like what he felt to be the popular ideal of a russian general. the looking-glass hung just over the basin. clarence, watching him in the glass, saw him start as he read the first paragraph. a dark flush, almost rivalling the raven gipsy no. 3, spread over his face. he trembled with rage. "who put that paper there?" he roared, turning. "with reference, then, to mr. hubert wales's novel," said clarence. the grand duke cursed mr. hubert wales, his novel, and clarence in one sentence. "you may possibly," continued clarence, sticking to his point like a good interviewer, "have read the trenchant, but some say justifiable remarks of the rev. canon edgar sheppard, d.d., sub-dean of his majesty's chapels royal, deputy clerk of the closet, and sub-almoner to the king." the grand duke swiftly added that eminent cleric to the list. "did you put that paper on this looking-glass?" he shouted. "i did not put that paper on that looking-glass," replied clarence precisely. "ah," said the grand duke, "if you had, i'd have come and wrung your neck like a chicken, and scattered you to the four corners of this dressing-room." "i'm glad i didn't," said clarence. "have you read this paper on the looking-glass?" "i have not read that paper on the looking-glass," replied clarence, whose chief fault as a conversationalist was that he was perhaps a shade too ollendorfian. "but i know its contents." "it's a lie!" roared the grand duke. "an infamous lie! i've a good mind to have him up for libel. i know very well he got them to put those paragraphs in, if he didn't write them himself." "professional jealousy," said clarence, with a sigh, "is a very sad thing." "i'll professional jealousy him!" "i hear," said clarence casually, "that he _has_ been going very well at the lobelia. a friend of mine who was there last night told me he took eleven calls." for a moment the russian general's face swelled apoplectically. then he recovered himself with a tremendous effort. "wait!" he said, with awful calm. "wait till to-morrow night! i'll show him! went very well, did he? ha! took eleven calls, did he? oh, ha, ha! and he'll take them to-morrow night, too! only"--and here his voice took on a note of fiendish purpose so terrible that, hardened scout as he was, clarence felt his flesh creep--"only this time they'll be catcalls!" and, with a shout of almost maniac laughter, the jealous artiste flung himself into a chair, and began to pull off his boots. clarence silently withdrew. the hour was very near. chapter 7 the bird the grand duke vodkakoff was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet. he was no lobster, no flat-fish. he did it now--swift, secret, deadly--a typical muscovite. by midnight his staff had their orders. those orders were for the stalls at the lobelia. price of entrance to the gallery and pit was served out at daybreak to the eighth and fifteenth cossacks of the don, those fierce, semi-civilised fighting-machines who know no fear. grand duke vodkakoff's preparations were ready. * * * * * few more fortunate events have occurred in the history of english literature than the quite accidental visit of mr. bart kennedy to the lobelia on that historic night. he happened to turn in there casually after dinner, and was thus enabled to see the whole thing from start to finish. at a quarter to eleven a wild-eyed man charged in at the main entrance of carmelite house, and, too impatient to use the lift, dashed up the stairs, shouting for pens, ink and paper. next morning the _daily mail_ was one riot of headlines. the whole of page five was given up to the topic. the headlines were not elusive. they flung the facts at the reader:- scene at the lobelia prince otto of saxe-pfennig given the bird by russian soldiers what will be the outcome? there were about seventeen more, and then came mr. bart kennedy's special report. he wrote as follows:-"a night to remember. a marvellous night. a night such as few will see again. a night of fear and wonder. the night of september the eleventh. last night. "nine-thirty. i had dined. i had eaten my dinner. my dinner! so inextricably are the prose and romance of life blended. my dinner! i had eaten my dinner on this night. this wonderful night. this night of september the eleventh. last night! "i had dined at the club. a chop. a boiled potato. mushrooms on toast. a touch of stilton. half-a-bottle of beaune. i lay back in my chair. i debated within myself. a hall? a theatre? a book in the library? that night, the night of september the eleventh, i as near as a toucher spent in the library of my club with a book. that night! the night of september the eleventh. last night! "fate took me to the lobelia. fate! we are its toys. its footballs. we are the footballs of fate. fate might have sent me to the gaiety. fate took me to the lobelia. this fate which rules us. "i sent in my card to the manager. he let me through. ever courteous. he let me through on my face. this manager. this genial and courteous manager. "i was in the lobelia. a dead-head. i was in the lobelia as a dead-head!" here, in the original draft of the article, there are reflections, at some length, on the interior decorations of the hall, and an excursus on music-hall performances in general. it is not till he comes to examine the audience that mr. kennedy returns to the main issue. "and what manner of audience was it that had gathered together to view the entertainment provided by the genial and courteous manager of the lobelia? the audience. beyond whom there is no appeal. the caesars of the music-hall. the audience." at this point the author has a few extremely interesting and thoughtful remarks on the subject of audiences. these may be omitted. "in the stalls i noted a solid body of russian officers. these soldiers from the steppes. these bearded men. these russians. they sat silent and watchful. they applauded little. the programme left them cold. the trick cyclist. the dashing soubrette and idol of belgravia. the argumentative college chums. the swell comedian. the man with the performing canaries. none of these could rouse them. they were waiting. waiting. waiting tensely. every muscle taut. husbanding their strength. waiting. for what? "a man at my side told a friend that a fellow had told him that he had been told by a commissionaire that the pit and gallery were full of russians. russians. russians everywhere. why? were they genuine patrons of the halls? or were they there from some ulterior motive? there was an air of suspense. we were all waiting. waiting. for what? "the atmosphere is summed up in a word. one word. sinister. the atmosphere was sinister. "aa! a stir in the crowded house. the ruffling of the face of the sea before a storm. the sisters sigsbee, coon delineators and unrivalled burlesque artists, have finished their dance, smiled, blown kisses, skipped off, skipped on again, smiled, blown more kisses, and disappeared. a long chord from the orchestra. a chord that is almost a wail. a wail of regret for that which is past. two liveried menials appear. they carry sheets of cardboard. these menials carry sheets of cardboard. but not blank sheets. on each sheet is a number. "the number 15. "who is number 15? "prince otto of saxe-pfennig. prince otto, general of the german army. prince otto is number 15. "a burst of applause from the house. but not from the russians. they are silent. they are waiting. for what? "the orchestra plays a lively air. the massive curtains part. a tall, handsome military figure strides on to the stage. he bows. this tall, handsome, military man bows. he is prince otto of saxe-pfennig, general of the army of germany. one of our conquerors. "he begins to speak. 'ladies and gentlemen.' this man, this general, says, 'ladies and gentlemen.' "but no more. no more. no more. nothing more. no more. he says, 'ladies and gentlemen,' but no more. "and why does he say no more? has he finished his turn? is that all he does? are his eight hundred and seventy-five pounds a week paid him for saying, 'ladies and gentlemen'? "no! "he would say more. he has more to say. this is only the beginning. this tall, handsome man has all his music still within him. "why, then, does he say no more? why does he say 'ladies and gentlemen,' but no more? no more. only that. no more. nothing more. no more. "because from the stalls a solid, vast, crushing 'boo!' is hurled at him. from the russians in the stalls comes this vast, crushing 'boo!' it is for this that they have been waiting. it is for this that they have been waiting so tensely. for this. they have been waiting for this colossal 'boo!' "the general retreats a step. he is amazed. startled. perhaps frightened. he waves his hands. "from gallery and pit comes a hideous whistling and howling. the noise of wild beasts. the noise of exploding boilers. the noise of a music-hall audience giving a performer the bird. "everyone is standing on his feet. some on mine. everyone is shouting. this vast audience is shouting. "words begin to emerge from the babel. "'get offski! rotten turnovitch!' these bearded russians, these stern critics, shout, 'rotten turnovitch!' "fire shoots from the eyes of the german. this strong man's eyes. "'get offski! swankietoff! rotten turnovitch!' "the fury of this audience is terrible. this audience. this last court of appeal. this audience in its fury is terrible. "what will happen? the german stands his ground. this man of blood and iron stands his ground. he means to go on. this strong man. he means to go on if it snows. "the audience is pulling up the benches. a tomato shatters itself on the prince's right eye. an over-ripe tomato. "'get offski!' three eggs and a cat sail through the air. falling short, they drop on to the orchestra. these eggs! this cat! they fall on the conductor and the second trombone. they fall like the gentle dew from heaven upon the place beneath. that cat! those eggs! "aa! at last the stage-manager--keen, alert, resourceful--saves the situation. this man. this stage-manager. this man with the big brain. slowly, inevitably, the fireproof curtain falls. it is half-way down. it is down. before it, the audience. the audience. behind it, the prince. the prince. that general. that man of iron. that performer who has just got the bird. "the russian national anthem rings through the hall. thunderous! triumphant! the russian national anthem. a paean of joy. "the menials reappear. those calm, passionless menials. they remove the number fifteen. they insert the number sixteen. they are like destiny--pitiless, unmoved, purposeful, silent. those menials. "a crash from the orchestra. turn number sixteen has begun...." chapter 8 the meeting at the scotch stores prince otto of saxe-pfennig stood in the wings, shaking in every limb. german oaths of indescribable vigour poured from his lips. in a group some feet away stood six muscular, short-sleeved stage-hands. it was they who had flung themselves on the general at the fall of the iron curtain and prevented him dashing round to attack the stalls with his sabre. at a sign from the stage-manager they were ready to do it again. the stage-manager was endeavouring to administer balm. "bless you, your highness," he was saying, "it's nothing. it's what happens to everyone some time. ask any of the top-notch pros. ask 'em whether they never got the bird when they were starting. why, even now some of the biggest stars can't go to some towns because they always cop it there. bless you, it----" a stage-hand came up with a piece of paper in his hand. "young feller in spectacles and a rum sort o' suit give me this for your 'ighness." the prince snatched it from his hand. the note was written in a round, boyish hand. it was signed, "a friend." it ran:--"the men who booed you to-night were sent for that purpose by general vodkakoff, who is jealous of you because of the paragraphs in the _encore_ this week." prince otto became suddenly calm. "excuse me, your highness," said the stage-manager anxiously, as he moved, "you can't go round to the front. stand by, bill." "right, sir!" said the stage-hands. prince otto smiled pleasantly. "there is no danger. i do not intend to go to the front. i am going to look in at the scotch stores for a moment." "oh, in that case, your highness, good-night, your highness! better luck to-morrow, your highness!" * * * * * it had been the custom of the two generals, since they had joined the music-hall profession, to go, after their turn, to the scotch stores, where they stood talking and blocking the gangway, as etiquette demands that a successful artiste shall. the prince had little doubt but that he would find vodkakoff there to-night. he was right. the russian general was there, chatting affably across the counter about the weather. he nodded at the prince with a well-assumed carelessness. "go well to-night?" he inquired casually. prince otto clenched his fists; but he had had a rigorously diplomatic up-bringing, and knew how to keep a hold on himself. when he spoke it was in the familiar language of diplomacy. "the rain has stopped," he said, "but the pavements are still wet underfoot. has your grace taken the precaution to come out in a good stout pair of boots?" the shaft plainly went home, but the grand duke's manner, as he replied, was unruffled. "rain," he said, sipping his vermouth, "is always wet; but sometimes it is cold as well." "but it never falls upwards," said the prince, pointedly. "rarely, i understand. your powers of observation are keen, my dear prince." there was a silence; then the prince, momentarily baffled, returned to the attack. "the quickest way to get from charing cross to hammersmith broadway," he said, "is to go by underground." "men have died in hammersmith broadway," replied the grand duke suavely. the prince gritted his teeth. he was no match for his slippery adversary in a diplomatic dialogue, and he knew it. "the sun rises in the east," he cried, half-choking, "but it sets--it sets!" "so does a hen," was the cynical reply. the last remnants of the prince's self-control were slipping away. this elusive, diplomatic conversation is a terrible strain if one is not in the mood for it. its proper setting is the gay, glittering ball-room at some frivolous court. to a man who has just got the bird at a music-hall, and who is trying to induce another man to confess that the thing was his doing, it is little short of maddening. "hen!" he echoed, clenching and unclenching his fists. "have you studied the habits of hens?" the truth seemed very near to him now, but the master-diplomat before him was used to extracting himself from awkward corners. "pullets with a southern exposure," he drawled, "have yellow legs and ripen quickest." the prince was nonplussed. he had no answer. the girl behind the bar spoke. "you do talk silly, you two!" she said. it was enough. trivial as the remark was, it was the last straw. the prince brought his fist down with a crash on the counter. "yes," he shouted, "you are right. we do talk silly; but we shall do so no longer. i am tired of this verbal fencing. a plain answer to a plain question. did you or did you not send your troops to give me the bird to-night?" "my dear prince!" the grand duke raised his eyebrows. "did you or did you not?" "the wise man," said the russian, still determined on evasion, "never takes sides, unless they are sides of bacon." the prince smashed a glass. "you did!" he roared. "i know you did! listen to me! i'll give you one chance. i'll give you and your precious soldiers twenty-four hours from midnight to-night to leave this country. if you are still here then----" he paused dramatically. the grand duke slowly drained his vermouth. "have you seen my professional advertisement in the _era_, my dear prince?" he asked. "i have. what of it?" "you noticed nothing about it?" "i did not." "ah. if you had looked more closely, you would have seen the words, 'permanent address, hampstead.'" "you mean----" "i mean that i see no occasion to alter that advertisement in any way." there was another tense silence. the two men looked hard at each other. "that is your final decision?" said the german. the russian bowed. "so be it," said the prince, turning to the door. "i have the honour to wish you a very good night." "the same to you," said the grand duke. "mind the step." chapter 9 the great battle the news that an open rupture had occurred between the generals of the two invading armies was not slow in circulating. the early editions of the evening papers were full of it. a symposium of the opinions of dr. emil reich, dr. saleeby, sandow, mr. chiozza money, and lady grove was hastily collected. young men with knobbly and bulging foreheads were turned on by their editors to write character-sketches of the two generals. all was stir and activity. meanwhile, those who look after london's public amusements were busy with telephone and telegraph. the quarrel had taken place on friday night. it was probable that, unless steps were taken, the battle would begin early on saturday. which, it did not require a man of unusual intelligence to see, would mean a heavy financial loss to those who supplied london with its saturday afternoon amusements. the matinees would suffer. the battle might not affect the stalls and dress-circle, perhaps, but there could be no possible doubt that the pit and gallery receipts would fall off terribly. to the public which supports the pit and gallery of a theatre there is an irresistible attraction about a fight on anything like a large scale. when one considers that a quite ordinary street-fight will attract hundreds of spectators, it will be plainly seen that no theatrical entertainment could hope to compete against so strong a counter-attraction as a battle between the german and russian armies. the various football-grounds would be heavily hit, too. and there was to be a monster roller-skating carnival at olympia. that also would be spoiled. a deputation of amusement-caterers hurried to the two camps within an hour of the appearance of the first evening paper. they put their case plainly and well. the generals were obviously impressed. messages passed and repassed between the two armies, and in the end it was decided to put off the outbreak of hostilities till monday morning. * * * * * satisfactory as this undoubtedly was for the theatre-managers and directors of football clubs, it was in some ways a pity. from the standpoint of the historian it spoiled the whole affair. but for the postponement, readers of this history might--nay, would--have been able to absorb a vivid and masterly account of the great struggle, with a careful description of the tactics by which victory was achieved. they would have been told the disposition of the various regiments, the stratagems, the dashing advances, the skilful retreats, and the lessons of the war. as it is, owing to the mistaken good-nature of the rival generals, the date of the fixture was changed, and practically all that a historian can do is to record the result. a slight mist had risen as early as four o'clock on saturday. by night-fall the atmosphere was a little dense, but the lamp-posts were still clearly visible at a distance of some feet, and nobody, accustomed to living in london, would have noticed anything much out of the common. it was not till sunday morning that the fog proper really began. london awoke on sunday to find the world blanketed in the densest, yellowest london particular that had been experienced for years. it was the sort of day when the city clerk has the exhilarating certainty that at last he has an excuse for lateness which cannot possibly be received with harsh disbelief. people spent the day indoors and hoped it would clear up by tomorrow. "they can't possibly fight if it's like this," they told each other. but on the monday morning the fog was, if possible, denser. it wrapped london about as with a garment. people shook their heads. "they'll have to put it off," they were saying, when of a sudden--_boom!_ and, again, _boom!_ it was the sound of heavy guns. the battle had begun! * * * * * one does not wish to grumble or make a fuss, but still it does seem a little hard that a battle of such importance, a battle so outstanding in the history of the world, should have been fought under such conditions. london at that moment was richer than ever before in descriptive reporters. it was the age of descriptive reporters, of vivid pen-pictures. in every newspaper office there were men who could have hauled up their slacks about that battle in a way that would have made a y.m.c.a. lecturer want to get at somebody with a bayonet; men who could have handed out the adjectives and exclamation-marks till you almost heard the roar of the guns. and there they were--idle, supine--like careened battleships. they were helpless. bart kennedy did start an article which began, "fog. black fog. and the roar of guns. two nations fighting in the fog," but it never came to anything. it was promising for a while, but it died of inanition in the middle of the second stick. it was hard. the lot of the actual war-correspondents was still worse. it was useless for them to explain that the fog was too thick to give them a chance. "if it's light enough for them to fight," said their editors remorselessly, "it's light enough for you to watch them." and out they had to go. they had a perfectly miserable time. edgar wallace seems to have lost his way almost at once. he was found two days later in an almost starving condition at steeple bumpstead. how he got there nobody knows. he said he had set out to walk to where the noise of the guns seemed to be, and had gone on walking. bennett burleigh, that crafty old campaigner, had the sagacity to go by tube. this brought him to hampstead, the scene, it turned out later, of the fiercest operations, and with any luck he might have had a story to tell. but the lift stuck half-way up, owing to a german shell bursting in its neighbourhood, and it was not till the following evening that a search-party heard and rescued him. the rest--a. g. hales, frederick villiers, charles hands, and the others--met, on a smaller scale, the same fate as edgar wallace. hales, starting for tottenham, arrived in croydon, very tired, with a nail in his boot. villiers, equally unlucky, fetched up at richmond. the most curious fate of all was reserved for charles hands. as far as can be gathered, he got on all right till he reached leicester square. there he lost his bearings, and seems to have walked round and round shakespeare's statue, under the impression that he was going straight to tottenham. after a day and a-half of this he sat down to rest, and was there found, when the fog had cleared, by a passing policeman. and all the while the unseen guns boomed and thundered, and strange, thin shoutings came faintly through the darkness. chapter 10 the triumph of england it was the afternoon of wednesday, september the sixteenth. the battle had been over for twenty-four hours. the fog had thinned to a light lemon colour. it was raining. by now the country was in possession of the main facts. full details were not to be expected, though it is to the credit of the newspapers that, with keen enterprise, they had at once set to work to invent them, and on the whole had not done badly. broadly, the facts were that the russian army, outmanoeuvered, had been practically annihilated. of the vast force which had entered england with the other invaders there remained but a handful. these, the grand duke vodkakoff among them, were prisoners in the german lines at tottenham. the victory had not been gained bloodlessly. not a fifth of the german army remained. it is estimated that quite two-thirds of each army must have perished in that last charge of the germans up the hampstead heights, which ended in the storming of jack straw's castle and the capture of the russian general. * * * * * prince otto of saxe-pfennig lay sleeping in his tent at tottenham. he was worn out. in addition to the strain of the battle, there had been the heavy work of seeing the interviewers, signing autograph-books, sitting to photographers, writing testimonials for patent medicines, and the thousand and one other tasks, burdensome but unavoidable, of the man who is in the public eye. also he had caught a bad cold during the battle. a bottle of ammoniated quinine lay on the table beside him now as he slept. * * * * * as he lay there the flap of the tent was pulled softly aside. two figures entered. each was dressed in a flat-brimmed hat, a coloured handkerchief, a flannel shirt, football shorts, stockings, brown boots, and a whistle. each carried a hockey-stick. one, however, wore spectacles and a look of quiet command which showed that he was the leader. they stood looking at the prostrate general for some moments. then the spectacled leader spoke. "scout-master wagstaff." the other saluted. "wake him!" scout-master wagstaff walked to the side of the bed, and shook the sleeper's shoulder. the prince grunted, and rolled over on to his other side. the scout-master shook him again. he sat up, blinking. as his eyes fell on the quiet, stern, spectacled figure, he leaped from the bed. "what--what--what," he stammered. "what's the beadig of this?" he sneezed as he spoke, and, turning to the table, poured out and drained a bumper of ammoniated quinine. "i told the sedtry pardicularly not to let adybody id. who are you?" the intruder smiled quietly. "my name is clarence chugwater," he said simply. "jugwater? dod't doe you frob adab. what do you want? if you're forb sub paper, i cad't see you now. cub to-borrow bordig." "i am from no paper." "thed you're wud of these photographers. i tell you, i cad't see you." "i am no photographer." "thed what are you?" the other drew himself up. "i am england," he said with a sublime gesture. "igglud! how do you bead you're igglud? talk seds." clarence silenced him with a frown. "i say i am england. i am the chief scout, and the scouts are england. prince otto, you thought this england of ours lay prone and helpless. you were wrong. the boy scouts were watching and waiting. and now their time has come. scout-master wagstaff, do your duty." the scout-master moved forward. the prince, bounding to the bed, thrust his hand under the pillow. clarence's voice rang out like a trumpet. "cover that man!" the prince looked up. two feet away scout-master wagstaff was standing, catapult in hand, ready to shoot. "he is never known to miss," said clarence warningly. the prince wavered. "he has broken more windows than any other boy of his age in south london." the prince sullenly withdrew his hand--empty. "well, whad do you wad?" he snarled. "resistance is useless," said clarence. "the moment i have plotted and planned for has come. your troops, worn out with fighting, mere shadows of themselves, have fallen an easy prey. an hour ago your camp was silently surrounded by patrols of boy scouts, armed with catapults and hockey-sticks. one rush and the battle was over. your entire army, like yourself, are prisoners." "the diggids they are!" said the prince blankly. "england, my england!" cried clarence, his face shining with a holy patriotism. "england, thou art free! thou hast risen from the ashes of the dead self. let the nations learn from this that it is when apparently crushed that the briton is to more than ever be feared." "thad's bad grabbar," said the prince critically. "it isn't," said clarence with warmth. "it _is_, i tell you. id's a splid idfididive." clarence's eyes flashed fire. "i don't want any of your beastly cheek," he said. "scout-master wagstaff, remove your prisoner." "all the sabe," said the prince, "id _is_ a splid idfididive." clarence pointed silently to the door. "and you doe id is," persisted the prince. "and id's spoiled your big sbeech. id--" "come on, can't you," interrupted scout-master wagstaff. "i _ab_ cubbing, aren't i? i was odly saying--" "i'll give you such a whack over the shin with this hockey-stick in a minute!" said the scout-master warningly. "come _on_!" the prince went. chapter 11 clarence--the last phase the brilliantly-lighted auditorium of the palace theatre. everywhere a murmur and stir. the orchestra is playing a selection. in the stalls fair women and brave men converse in excited whispers. one catches sentences here and there. "quite a boy, i believe!" "how perfectly sweet!" "'pon honour, lady gussie, i couldn't say. bertie bertison, of the bachelors', says a feller told him it was a clear thousand." "do you hear that? mr. bertison says that this boy is getting a thousand a week." "why, that's more than either of those horrid generals got." "it's a lot of money, isn't it?" "of course, he did save the country, didn't he?" "you may depend they wouldn't give it him if he wasn't worth it." "met him last night at the duchess's hop. seems a decent little chap. no side and that, if you know what i mean. hullo, there's his number!" the orchestra stops. the number 7 is displayed. a burst of applause, swelling into a roar as the curtain rises. a stout man in crinkled evening-dress walks on to the stage. "ladies and gentlemen," he says, "i 'ave the 'onour to-night to introduce to you one whose name is, as the saying goes, a nouse'old word. it is thanks to 'im, to this 'ero whom i 'ave the 'onour to introduce to you to-night, that our beloved england no longer writhes beneath the ruthless 'eel of the alien oppressor. it was this 'ero's genius--and, i may say--er--i may say genius--that, unaided, 'it upon the only way for removing the cruel conqueror from our beloved 'earths and 'omes. it was this 'ero who, 'aving first allowed the invaders to claw each other to 'ash (if i may be permitted the expression) after the well-known precedent of the kilkenny cats, thereupon firmly and without flinching, stepped bravely in with his fellow-'eros--need i say i allude to our gallant boy scouts?--and dexterously gave what-for in no uncertain manner to the few survivors who remained." here the orator bowed, and took advantage of the applause to replenish his stock of breath. when his face had begun to lose the purple tinge, he raised his hand. "i 'ave only to add," he resumed, "that this 'ero is engaged exclusively by the management of the palace theatre of varieties, at a figure previously undreamed of in the annals of the music-hall stage. he is in receipt of the magnificent weekly salary of no less than one thousand one 'undred and fifty pounds a week." thunderous applause. "i 'ave little more to add. this 'ero will first perform a few of those physical exercises which have made our boy scouts what they are, such as deep breathing, twisting the right leg firmly round the neck, and hopping on one foot across the stage. he will then give an exhibition of the various calls and cries of the boy scouts--all, as you doubtless know, skilful imitations of real living animals. in this connection i 'ave to assure you that he 'as nothing whatsoever in 'is mouth, as it 'as been sometimes suggested. in conclusion he will deliver a short address on the subject of 'is great exploits. ladies and gentlemen, i have finished, and it only now remains for me to retire, 'aving duly announced to you england's darling son, the country's 'ero, the nation's proudest possession--clarence chugwater." a moment's breathless suspense, a crash from the orchestra, and the audience are standing on their seats, cheering, shouting, stamping. a small sturdy, spectacled figure is on the stage. it is clarence, the boy of destiny. doomsday eve by robert moore williams ace books a division of a. a. wyn, inc. 23 west 47th street, new york 36, n. y. doomsday eve copyright 1957, by a. a. wyn, inc. all rights reserved printed in u. s. a. [transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] * * * * * split-second race with world's end! in the midst of the war--that terrible conflict that threatened humanity's total destruction--the "new people" suddenly appeared. quietly performing incredible deeds, vanishing at will, they were an enigma to both sides. kurt zen was an american intelligence officer among the many sent to root them out. he found them. taken captive in their hidden lair, he waited as the enemy prepared to launch the super missile, the bomb to end all bombs--and all life. if only he could find the source of the new people's power, kurt alone might be able to prevent obliteration of the earth.... * * * * * cast of characters kurt zen his loyalty was greater than his love. nedra she might be a "new" person--but she had old emotions. cuso he pitted oriental cunning against western ingenuity. sam west he wouldn't use his strange powers to help his friends or hurt his enemies. jal jonner he was either a legend or a lunatic. grant his rescue was a miracle--though they called it a myth. i the legends clustering around the new people began before the war, while the man who started the group, old jal jonnor, was alive, but they received their greatest circulation during the conflict. if the war is long and the fighting is bitter, with neither side able to achieve victory or even a substantial advantage, soldiers eventually begin to tell strange stories of sights seen when death is near, of miraculous deliveries from destruction, of impossible ships seen above the earth, and even of non-human allies fighting on their side. psychologists, given to believing only what they can see, feel, hear, or measure, generally have credited these stories to hallucinations resulting from long-sustained stress, or, in the case of the non-human allies, to plain, wishful thinking rising out of a deep feeling of insecurity. what psychologist was ever willing to believe that an angel suddenly took over the controls of a falling fighting plane, righting the ship and bringing it down to earth in a crash landing that enabled the wounded pilot to crawl away, then curing the wound the pilot had sustained? red-dog jimmie thurman swore this happened to him. he had tangled with an asian fighter group escorting a hot, high level bomber over the north pole. this was in the early days of the war when such bombers still slipped through the defenses occasionally. red-dog jimmie thurman had got one of the fighters with a single burst from his guns and was pushing his jet straight up at the soft belly of the bomber far overhead when a shell, from an asian fighter that he had not seen, knocked off half of his right wing. a fragment of the exploding shell hit him in the right shoulder, mangling the flesh and the bone. spinning like a leaf being whirled over and over in a hurricane, the plane started the long plunge downward toward the polar ice cap below. jimmie couldn't work the seat ejection mechanism because of his broken arm. just before the ship crashed, he realized that someone else was in the cockpit with him, fighting to take over the controls. since jimmie was still in the seat, this was not easy, but somehow the other one had managed, not only to take over the controls, but had been able to bring the ship down in a crash landing. the other one pulled jimmie out of the burning wreck. then, discovering jimmie's broken, mangled shoulder, "it" had cured it. at least this was the story red-dog jimmie thurman had told after a helicopter had picked him up and had taken him back to his base. he was very stubborn about it, defiantly insisting that someone else had brought the plane down. the only conclusion jimmie had been able to reach about the other one in the cockpit with him--he did not know whether it was male or female--was that it had been one of the new people. when the psychos had asked him how another human being could have gotten into a falling plane while it was still thousands of feet in the air, jimmie had had no answer, except to point out that since the new people were apparently able to accomplish feats beyond the power of an ordinary mortal, they were probably not human. this comment had marked him as permanently unfit for flight duty. jimmie began to grieve his heart out at this, for he had really loved flying. then he began to wonder why the new people--presuming they existed--would save his life at the cost of his sanity. he went over the hill a year later. with spike larson it was different. larson was the commander of an atomic-powered submarine operating in the persian gulf. he was lying doggo on the bottom waiting for a fat convoy that should be hugging the shore when three destroyers smelled him out. larson never knew quite how they had spotted him, but he was in shallow water and, when the first depth charges went off, he knew he had to head for the depths. with charges on the port side making his plates creak, he headed for the channel. the scanning beam reported rocks dead ahead. swiftly checking his charts, he discovered that no such rocks existed. cursing, larson flung the charts across the room. either they were wrong or the bottom here had shifted. a boom ahead told him it made no difference. his escape had been cut off by a destroyer in the channel. "we'll take her up and fight it out on the surface," he told the lieutenant with him. the officer's face went white at the order. but he was a navy man. "aye, sir," he said. "i would recommend otherwise, commander," another voice spoke. larson and the lieutenant froze. there was no one else in the control room. when larson finally managed to turn his head, he found he was wrong in his belief that no one else was in the control room. telling the story later, to a naval board of inquiry, he said. "she was standing right there beside me, all in shining white, the most beautiful woman i have ever seen. i was too dazed to act, too bewildered to think. a woman on my ship! and what a woman! while i stood there like a dummy, she stepped forward to the controls. 'with your permission, commander, there is a new channel close inshore that does not show on the charts. the bottom here has shifted quite a lot since this area was last mapped. the destroyers will not dare follow us into the new channel, even if they know of its existence, because of the danger from rocks on one side and from sand banks on the other. if you will give me permission to con the ship--'" "all i could do was nod," larson reported to the board of inquiry. "as it turned out, this was the last command i ever gave in all my life. she turned the nose of the sub seventy degrees, pulled in the scope, shut off the depth finders and the sonar, and sent us up until we were almost breaking the surface. while she was doing all this, she also dodged two depth charges that should have got us. she scraped paint off our port bow on a set of rocks that should have snatched the guts out of us; she dodged a sandy bottom on our starboard where we ought to have hung up like sitting ducks under the guns of the destroyers, but she took us out of that hole and into deep water. then she turned the controls back to lieutenant thompson, and said, 'thank you, commander. i'm sure you can handle the situation very competently from now on.'" the members of the board of inquiry were leaning forward in their chairs so as not to miss a word of larson's report. when he had finished, the senior member, an admiral, asked breathlessly, "and then what happened to her, commander?" "she vanished," larson said. the admiral collapsed like a punctured balloon. "lieutenant thompson will back up every word i have said," larson continued. he shook his head to indicate that he still couldn't understand it, though he had thought of little else since the day it had happened. "who do you think she was, commander?" a member of the board asked. "i think she was one of the new people," larson answered. his voice was firm but he was still shaking his head when he walked out of the room where the board had met. they gave him shore duty. the psychos did all they could for him, but something seemed to have snapped inside his brain. eight months later he deserted. * * * * * then there was the story of colonel edward grant, usaf. grant was the only man aboard the new earth satellite station. he was the only man aboard because at that time no way had been found to build and to launch a satellite that would carry more than one passenger. in fact, no way had been found to do more than launch such a station and get it into its orbit. it could not return because it could not carry enough fuel for the return journey. a spaceship was being built which would carry additional fuel and food supplies to it, but this vessel was not yet completed when the satellite was launched. grant, who had flown everything with wings, volunteered to ride with the station and put it in its orbit, knowing that when the power was exhausted he might be marooned in space forever. however, neither he nor anyone else had anticipated that he would be marooned. this eventuality had only occurred when the production demands of the new war forced a halt on the construction of his rescue ship. colonel grant became the loneliest man in the history of earth. the stars were his companions. only the moon kept him company. he would remain a lonely flying dutchman of the sky, until the end of the war permitted finishing the ship that would bring him relief. or forever--whichever came first. it was inevitable that the asians would get the idea that he was spying on them as he passed in his regular orbit far above their heads. in reality, this was sheer nonsense; he was much too high to make out any military details of any importance whatsoever. also, they were taking full advantage of his broadcasts of scientific information, which could be obtained by tuning in to the bands he used. in an effort to remove this imagined menace from the sky above them, the asians fired a rocket torpedo at his satellite. colonel grant, reporting later on what had happened, said, "that torpedo must have been on its way, when the little man appeared on my satellite. he told me about the rocket that was coming my way. i told him this was very interesting but that i didn't see what the hell i could do about it. the station had no power and couldn't be moved. i didn't even have a chute, and even if i had had one i couldn't have used it. anybody who jumped from that height would have frozen to death long before he reached enough air to sustain life. describe the little man for you? sure, general. he looked like a miniature moses, white beard, glittering eyes and everything else. no, general, i never saw moses. clothes? a loin cloth, general. no, sir i am not making light of the dignity of this court, i am telling in the words at my command what i saw happen with my own eyes." at this point, the colonel's voice became a little stiff. the general shut up. a man who had done what grant had done might snap a general's head off and get away with it. "what happened next? the miniature moses told me he was going to land the satellite. he said that even if they missed with this torpedo they would be sure to try again, for no reason except to give the morale of their own people a big boost." "land the satellite, colonel?" the general asked again. "but as i understand it, the station was without power!" "you understand the situation correctly, general. but that was what he said and that was what he did. in as neat a landing as i ever saw. and if you don't believe me, you can go look for yourself." the space satellite sitting in the middle of a kansas wheat field was evidence that could not be ignored. it was solid, it was metal, it was real. colonel grant might have gone wacky from the stress of remaining too long in space, but the station, at least, had remained sane. power must have been used to move it. but what power? colonel grant could not answer the question of what happened to the miniature moses after the station had been landed. he flung up his hands. "moses went the same way he came, without me seeing him." on the basis of grant's report, an investigation was begun. a vast mass of data was assembled, some of it dating from the time of jal jonnor, but when no practical results were immediately forthcoming, the project was shelved, at least temporarily. its manpower was desperately needed for other purposes. men fighting for their lives have no time to think of the future. this dusty, forgotten mass of data was exhumed by a tall, lean man named kurt zen, a colonel of intelligence, who had a reputation for daring even among that elite band of men who daily looked death in the face. zen was assigned to this investigation, not only because of his reputation, but because the stories of the new people had increased in number to the point where they had to be given some credence. also, they became more fantastic in content. for instance, a bomber pilot insisted that a woman had ridden on the wing of his ship all the way to asia, dropping from the plane in the highlands of western china. zen regarded this story as obvious hallucination. much of the data about the new people belonged in this category. he morosely wondered if it was possible to tell where reality left off and hallucination began. the colonel soon discovered that his job was not going to be as easy as he'd hoped. aside from the stories told by the soldiers--and the asian fighting men also had their tales to tell--only one thing was certain: if the new people existed at all, they were very elusive. only the grave of the man who had founded the group, old jal jonnor, was still to be found in the high sierras of california. zen did not go looking for this grave, but he saw photographs of it. he also studied the biographies that had been compiled on this colossal but enigmatical figure. were the grave and the thick files the only remaining evidence that at least one human had dared to dream of a new day? zen did not think so. most of all, he longed to capture one of the new people for questioning. then, in a daring coup that was intended to strike a spearhead at the heart of america, cuso, the top asian fighting leader, and thousands of tough asian paratroopers floated down into the mountains between british columbia and the united states. cuso and his men, hiding out in the high mountain ranges, resisted all efforts to dislodge them. they became a festering thorn in the side of america, a threat that was not quite big enough to take seriously, or slight enough to overlook. he was hidden so deep in the mountain caverns that he could not be bombed out and the terrain was so rugged that his paratroopers could withstand the assault of a full army. as his men began making forays into the lower ranges, searching for food and women, the inhabitants of the area fled in terror. this was the situation when kurt zen accompanied a body of troops up the last fairly good trail toward cuso's hidden lair. neither the troops nor cuso really interested him. what interested him was an army nurse with the medical detachment. he suspected this nurse was one of the new people. in months of patient, painstaking work, she was the only good lead to this group that he had uncovered. he was going up a steep mountain trail, with troops ahead and behind, when something that sounded like a wounded lion began to cough in the sky overhead. ii kurt zen heard the lion cough in the sky overhead. he knew that it would hit in about four minutes and that it would seem to open a tunnel upward from hell, that the mountains would shake and tremble, that the air would vibrate and rattle as if a dozen thunderbolts had exploded at the same instant, and that a good number of the troops laboriously circling the incline of the ridge above would die. he knew that more of them would die a horrible lingering death as a result of the radioactivity that would be released by the blast. "pardon me, nedra," he said to the nurse, who was just ahead of him. she had stopped to stare upward. "hit the dirt!" zen yelled at the troops. a few had already heard the lion cough in the sky and had begun to take cover, following the pattern of experienced fighters who never need an order to dive for the nearest hole. he saw, as he shouted, that the number who had already begun to hit the dirt was pitifully few and he knew the reason for this. most of these men were green conscripts on their first fighting mission, the results of digging deep into a population that had already been scoured to the bone for manpower--and for everything else. conscripts were likely to stare at the sky and die with their mouths open. "what is it?" the girl asked. "what's wrong?" "don't you hear that blooper in the sky overhead?" "no. that is, i heard something make a noise up there. but--" mixed emotions moved across her face but fear was not among them. instead, she seemed to be curious. "but what is a blooper?" from a nurse, or from any living american, such a question was incredible. zen stared at her in amazement. "did i say the wrong thing, ask the wrong question?" "you sure did," zen answered. "come on." "but where are we going?" "there!" he nodded toward a prospect hole, one of the many that had been dug in these mountains by miners. as soon as he had heard the blooper cough its interrupted rocket blast when it changed direction in the sky, he had instantly looked for a hiding place. this tunnel seemed to fill the bill. "is something going to happen?" the nurse asked. "in less than two minutes you will find out," he answered. his long legs had already started taking him toward the hole. after hesitating for an instant, the nurse hastily followed him. the prospect hole extended less than ten feet into the side of the mountain and was not timbered. this was good. it meant no heavy beams would collapse around their heads when the hills began to shake. a quick examination revealed that the stone of the roof seemed to be solid. zen stopped within three feet of the entrance. "why don't we go farther back?" the nurse asked. "we're in far enough for protection from bits of flying metal but not too far to dig ourselves out if the roof should collapse--i hope," zen answered. somewhere outside a man screamed, in terror. the thing in the sky coughed again, closer now. brrrooommm----brrrooommm----brooom! the blooper struck. the sound was that of the simultaneous firing of many cannon. the walls of the prospect tunnel seemed to twist and wave. loose stones dropped from the roof and a fine dust seemed to extrude from the walls. a boulder half as big as a small house hurtled past the entrance, snapping pines like matchsticks. a slide of loose rocks followed it. in the distance another slide could be heard growling back at the sky as it grew to avalanche proportions. the nurse's fingers tightened on zen's arm, then relaxed. every nerve in his body was as taut as a steel wire as he waited for her reaction. other than the tightening and relaxing of her fingers, there was none. her hands remained on his arm and she remained in the tunnel with him. to kurt zen, this was disappointing. "what kind of nerves do you have? most women would have been in my arms and would have had their noses buried in my chest." "i'm sorry, colonel, if my education in how to be afraid has been neglected." she coughed at the dust. "aren't you really afraid, nedra?" he asked. "no." "then you aren't an ordinary human!" the instant he had blurted out the words, he was sorry he had spoken. it was possible to give away too much too soon. "then what am i?" her voice was calm. he dodged her question. "aren't you even afraid to die?" "when so many have died already, why should i hesitate to join them?" the nurse answered. she released his arm and brushed dust from the shoulders of her uniform. she glanced up at him and it seemed that some kind of a radiation flowed from her eyes, a wave of it that sent a tingle over his entire skin surface. outside, another smaller boulder went bouncing past the entrance to the tunnel. fumbling in his pockets for cigarettes, zen found a crumpled package. he offered one to the nurse but she thanked him and refused it. he did not insist. cigarettes were too precious to waste on people who didn't really want them. outside, another man began to scream. the nurse moved automatically in that direction. he caught her arm and held her back. "wait until the rocks stop rolling, nedra." she did not protest. looking up at him, she said, "you think i'm one of the new people, don't you?" zen coughed and swore at the cigarette, insisting that the tobacco was moist. this was a lie and both knew it. but--what to say? her question was a complete stunner. "what makes you think that?" he asked, desperate for words. "i just think it. it's true, isn't it?" as an intelligence officer, zen was accustomed to asking the questions, but this nurse had completely turned the tables on him. he took a deep drag on the cigarette. "i don't know. are you?" he made his voice as casual as was possible. her eyes studied him. the trace of a smile came over her face and tugged at the comers of her lips. "do you mind if i ask you a question?" "go right ahead." the man had stopped screaming outside but another boulder was going past. in the distance, the avalanche was trying to grind to a halt but it sounded as if millions of tons of rock were on the move to a safer location. "are _you_ one of the new people?" the nurse asked. the cough was real this time. zen could not suppress his surprise. "what on earth makes you ask a question like that?" "i just felt like asking it," the nurse replied. "am i wrong?" "who are the new people?" "why, everybody has heard of them. they're the new race that is going to provide the nucleus for new growth after all ordinary men and women have been destroyed in this war." surprise showed in her violet eyes. "do you mean you have never heard of them?" "i've heard the usual rumors that are afloat," zen said, shrugging. "but all the stories have impressed me as a pack of lies. really, i think the enemy has started most of them, to get us to relax our war effort." "do you honestly think that?" her voice had a puzzled note in it. "i mean, honestly and truly." "i think what the evidence tells me to think, nothing less. in this case, i have seen none of the so-called evidence." shrugging, zen moved toward the opening of the tunnel, then drew back as a mass of rock crashed outside. "it's raining boulders out there," he said. "what do you know about the so-called new people?" "not much," she answered. "you're a very lovely liar, but the fact that you are lovely doesn't make you any less a liar," zen said. she was very beautiful with her violet eyes and bronze hair, but an overworked intelligence officer could not be concerned with these things. "thank you, colonel," she said. "but i do not relish being called a liar." her face showed hurt, just the right amount of it, but at the same time her eyes laughed at him. "however, i guess there is nothing i can do about it, is there?" somehow she contrived to look like a small girl who has been unjustly accused of some deed she has not committed. in the distance the avalanche had ground to a halt. now, no more boulders were bounding down the hill. a vast, puzzled silence held the mountains. in that silence, zen fancied he could hear the thoughts of the frightened men who had remained alive thus far, and were wondering how to prolong their precarious existence. they were also wondering if staying alive was worth the effort involved. why not give up now and be done with all tragedy, with all tears, with all trying to find the road to the future? up the trail a man began to scream. like a homing pigeon that has finally found the right direction, the nurse moved toward the sound. zen caught her arm again. looking puzzled, she stopped. "please, colonel. i am needed up there." she nodded up the slope in the direction of the screaming man. "you are probably needed by many others," he commented. she did not seem to understand. "but i am a nurse. it is my duty to help those who are wounded." "i know." he was a little startled to find himself in sympathy with this impulse. "but, not yet." "why not?" "because that slope is still too hot to be safe." he held up his left wrist. instead of a watch, he wore a miniature radiation counter there. the needle was creeping up toward the red line. "the radiation count is about forty right here at the mouth of this prospect hole," he pointed out. "that is interesting," the nurse said. the tone of her voice said it was not important. "halfway up the slope, it will hit a hundred. at the top of the ridge, where the explosion took place, the count may reach a thousand." in his opinion, he had said enough. in her opinion, he had not said anything at all. "that makes no difference. wounded men are up there. i am a nurse. my duty is clear to me." "if you try to help them under these circumstances, you will become a casualty yourself." "but what of the men who need help?" "they will simply have to get out of the radiation zone themselves, or wait until the area is clear and help can reach them." "you are heartless!" "not at all," he denied. "if anything could be done to help them i would be doing it. don't you understand what has happened? that was an asian n bomb that exploded. in an n bomb the immediate effect is minor. the real purpose of the weapon is to spray the area with high intensity radiation, to make the ground unfit for living for months. any living creature caught within the direct blast of the radiation is doomed, and neither you, nor i, nor the medics, can do anything to help them--" he broke off as another man began screaming up the slope. the nurse was irresolute. "but that man needs help," she pointed out. "certainly he needs help," zen agreed. "well--" zen watched her carefully. she seemed to understand his words but something else pulled at her far more strongly: the screaming of the injured man. each time the soldier cried out, she started in his direction. "well, well, thank you, colonel." turning, she moved with a sure stride up the slope. zen swore under his breath and started after her, then caught the motion as the question rose in him as to why she should throw her life away. she knew the meaning of radiation in lethal quantities. unquestionably, she also knew what would happen to any normal human who ventured into a hot zone. was she, then, a normal human being? was he actually witnessing one of the miracles performed by the new people? if she came off the mountain slope alive, it would certainly prove something. zen cursed again. she was going where he could not safely follow. if she returned unharmed, he had enough proof to warrant following her to the ends of the earth, if need be. iii the radio transmitter inside zen's pack was small but very powerful. it did not look like a radio transmitter at all; there was no antenna and no apparent source of power. only the tiny earphone and the throat microphone revealed its true nature. he slipped the phone into his ear, fitted the microphone against his throat, then picked up the piece of plastic tubing that was red on one end and green on the other. wires ran from each end of this tube to the small box that housed the transmitter. "red goes to the right hand," he muttered. "green to the left. or is it the other way around?" making up his mind that red went to the right, he closed his fingers around the ends of the plastic tube, then watched the tiny meter on top of the small box that contained the transmitter. the needle moved on the dial. "calling nine dash nine," he spoke. "this is six one calling nine dash nine." he repeated the call three times, then sat back on his haunches to await an answer. "come in six one," the earphone said. "what color is red?" "it's green this week," zen answered promptly. "what color was it last week?" "last week? um. oh, yes. no color." "and that means--" "white. this is kurt zen, colonel, intelligence, reporting. connect me immediately with general stocker." satisfied with the identity of the caller, the operator said, "just a minute, colonel, i'll see if the general will talk to you." "tell him it's important," zen urged. "they always say that," the operator sighed. "i'll put you through as soon as i can." "kurt, boy, where are you?" general stacker's voice boomed into a distant microphone. the general's voice always boomed, he was always hearty, he was always sure that while things might look black right now, they would work out all right in the end. by the time the booming voice reached zen's earphone, it had been transformed into a tinny squeak. kurt thought he detected an uneasy note in the squeak and he wondered if the general had finally glimpsed the end, and was finding it not quite as he had supposed. "in hell, general," zen answered. he swiftly told where he was and what had happened. "cuso's blooper knocked out the last pass by which we can bring an effective force against him. this whole area is loaded with radiation." "how will we ever root that bastard out of his hole now?" "that's for the staff to decide. i have more important news." "yes? talk, kurt, and fast. you don't mean that you--" "yes. i mean i think this nurse may be it. i don't know yet." zen explained what had happened. "damn it, kurt, do you mean to tell me that if she comes back alive, you will know she is immune to the radiation, and hence must be one of the new people? but if she comes back dead, or so loaded with radiation that she will die within a few days, then you will know she was just like all the rest of us?" even through zen's earphone, the general's voice had begun to boom. "that's the way i see it," zen answered. "but goddammit--are you hurt, kurt?" the general's voice was suddenly solicitous. "are you all right?" "damn it, i'm in my right mind," zen answered. "i was in a prospect hole when the blast went off. don't you think i've got enough sense to take cover?" stocker's suddenly solicitous attitude irritated him. "sorry, sir," he apologized an instant later. "it's quite all right, boy. i know that nerves get frayed in combat. but this nurse--" "that's the way i see it, sir," zen said doggedly. "i request permission to follow her." "if she comes back alive, you mean?" "i would appreciate it if you would stop reminding me of that possibility." "oh. so you are emotionally interested in her?" "well, what if i am? she's a nice kid." "they all are, boy. they all are--until you get to know them. as to permission to follow her, you've not only got it, but it's an order. we've got to find out about these new people. one of them appeared in president wilkerson's private office this morning and told him to call off a planned landing in asia." "really?" zen said. "in the president's office!" "that's what i said." "did it really happen? i mean, was anyone present?" "no one except the president's secretary. she's under heavy sedation right now, from shock. she thought god almighty himself had come walking in. the old man is not in much better shape." stocker's voice showed signs of strain. "i've got my orders from wilkerson himself and i'm passing them on to you. _find these new people!_ follow that nurse to hell if you have to." "right, sir." "report to me when you have something to report--that is, something besides going to bed with her. off." zen grimaced as he pulled the tiny phone out of his ear. he slipped the transmitter back into the pack and slung it over his shoulder. the radiation count was dropping but it was still too high for safety. he looked longingly up the trail. wounded men were coming down but nedra was not in sight. the wounded men were no longer a fighting unit, but had become individuals, each one intent only on his own survival. patriotism had gone from their minds, they no longer gave a hoot about saving their country, but were only interested in saving their own lives. far up the trail, zen could see a tall figure moving upward. the nurse! he unslung the pair of field glasses from his shoulder. through the powerful lenses nedra's lithe figure was very clear. he saw her move to the side of the trail and kneel beside a wounded man who lacked the courage to walk downhill. somehow she got the man to his feet and started him along the trail. he stumbled and fell. again the nurse knelt beside him but this time she made no attempt to lift him. instead, she got to her own feet. zen decided the man had died as he fell. she continued on up the slope. down below, motors roared and then came to a halt. turning, zen saw that a first aid station was being set up down there. the medics worked fast; already they were directing the wounded men to the back end of a truck, where an examination station had been set up. but, fast as they worked, they were too late to help the vast majority of the wounded. the futility of the effort depressed zen, so he returned his attention to the nurse. she was in the middle of the trail again. the avalanche, directly ahead of her, had stopped her progress. a man was with her. through the glasses, the man looked as tall and craggy as a mountain peak. no soldier, he was without helmet or other headgear. his hair, white as the snow on top of a mountain, was flying in the wind. his face looked like a statue hewn in granite. zen guessed that he was a resident of this region, a mountaineer who had sought safety in these remote fastnesses, and who had been blasted out of his hiding place by cuso's radioactive blooper and was wandering down this trail to die. the nurse was talking to him. involuntarily, as if they had a will of their own, zen's legs started carrying him up the slope. he had taken a dozen steps before he remembered the counter on his wrist. "to hell with the count!" he thought. "i'm going up there and drag her down here. she's not going to throw her life away while i skulk like a coward down below. i don't give a damn whether she's one of the new people or not. she's human!" he climbed the slope with giant strides. then he saw that nedra was running toward him and waving him back. "colonel! you can't come up here." "i _am_ coming up there!" he shouted in reply. "no!" when he did not stop, she ran faster toward him. the craggy man kept pace with her. reaching zen, she caught his sleeve, turned him around, and started him down the slope. "you can't be here." her voice was breathless with protest. "are you giving me orders?" zen growled. secretly he was pleased because she was concerned about him. "if you will permit me, colonel, i think nedra's intention is to save your life," the craggy man spoke. he had a voice like a bell tolling in the distance, sweet-toned and musical, but with overtones of great strength. "what about _her_ life?" zen demanded. "i'm going down now, colonel," the nurse said hastily. "they've set up a first aid station. they will need me there." "you will need their attention is what you mean," zen said. "colonel, the counter!" she answered. the needle was well over the hundred mark and was still rising. "come, colonel." hooking her arm in his, nedra began moving down the rough, boulder-strewn trail. zen did not move. she tugged harder. "your life is in danger here, sir," the craggy man said, politely. "that is of interest to me only," zen answered. "and what about your life?" "colonel, i'd like you to meet a friend of mine," the nurse said quickly. "colonel zen, sam west. we'll talk while we walk down to the first aid station." "a pleasure to meet you, sir," west said, extending his hand. his handclasp was firm but there was a suggestion of additional power in his fingers. "nice to meet you, mr. west. do you live around here?" "over that way," the craggy man said, nodding vaguely over his shoulder. again the nurse tugged at zen's arm. he set his feet solidly on the mountain trail. "we'll talk right here." "but you are taking an unfair advantage of nedra," the craggy man protested. "this area is heavy with radiation and this is neither the time nor the place to be swapping horses." "then why are you two here?" "i was getting out of the area as fast as i could when i met nedra," west said. "i would still be getting out of it, but fast, if you were not stopping me." "i'm not stopping you," zen said. "there's the trail. hit it. nor you either," he said to nedra. "don't be silly, kurt," the nurse said. she was pleading with him now. "all right. but on one condition. why did you come up here in the first place? you knew the area was hot." "i--i lost my head," the nurse said promptly. "my emotions ran away with me. i'm a nurse and wounded men needed my attention. i went to them. you will come down the trail with us, won't you?" the violet eyes begged him to believe in her. "what made you lose your head?" "why--shock, i suppose. this is the first time i was bombed. also, the screaming of the wounded. really, sir, i am a nurse." the way she said the word, being a nurse meant something. the violet eyes had grown tired of begging and were on the verge of spitting anger at him. "i don't believe a damned word you have said," zen said. "you didn't lose your head back there in the prospect hole." "please, kurt." again she rugged at his arm. "i'll talk to you all you want down below. but don't try to force me to stay here." reluctantly, zen yielded to the pressure on his arm. relief appeared in the violet eyes and the face of the craggy man showed a sudden release from some inner strain. dimly, he thought he had seen that craggy face somewhere before but the picture that flicked through his mind was gone before he could fit a time and place tag on it. going down the trail, he steered the nurse toward a truck where the medics had set up equipment to test the amount of exposure to radiation. in doing this, he discovered that she was steering him in the same direction. "i don't need the medics," he protested. "i'm all right. i wasn't exposed long enough to do any damage." "of course you're all right," she answered. her tone was similar to that of an indulgent mother reassuring a hurt child. "you're the one who needs help," he said. he was certain she had remained too long. "i'm going to get it if i need it," she said, soothingly. zen could hear the occasional crunch of boots behind them. west was keeping silent. he did not seem to be in a hurry. zen started to speak to nedra. the thought of what he wanted to say was dim in his mind and he could not quite find words for it but he knew that it had something to do with a wish that the world were different and that the human race were not trying to destroy itself. why should he be wishing this? the reason for his thinking became a little clearer. he was wishing the world were different so that he might make love to this nurse under conditions that would permit this love to bear other fruit than frustration, despair, and death. he found himself wishing that a vine-covered cottage existed somewhere, a place where a man and a woman might live in peace and reasonable security, raising some kids who could play on a mountain slope that was not saturated with atomic radiation. "here is the first aid station," the nurse said. "and--" "and what?" he asked her when she did not continue. she gave his arm a squeeze. "and thank you for the dream," she whispered. as kurt zen turned startled eyes toward her, wondering how she had known what he had been dreaming, her face seemed to dissolve in a gray mist. he plunged, unconscious, to the ground at her feet. iv the jar of striking the ground seemed to bring the intelligence agent back to consciousness instantly. as nedra started to kneel beside him, he was already getting to his feet. she tried to help him rise. he shrugged her hand away. "what happened?" she asked. "nothing," he said. this didn't seem quite right. "i--i--" he tried to think what had happened. "i fainted. that's all. i just fainted." to him, this seemed a reasonable explanation for everything that needed explaining. nedra seemed to think otherwise. "but men like you don't just faint," she protested. "i did." "they don't faint unless something is wrong with them," nedra continued. "are you sure you're not suffering from delayed shock following the bomb explosion? or--" her voice slid away into silence as if she were afraid to voice the thought that was in her mind. behind her, west said nothing. "i just did it," zen said, becoming more indignant. "i fainted. who says it can't be done?" confusion existed somewhere. he was sure it was the nurse who was confused. he shook his head in an effort to clear up her difficulty. "i saw you do it. all i am trying to say is that perhaps there may be a reason for it." "nope," zen said. "i'm not going to the aid station. no reason for it. i'm all right. it's the world out there that is wrong." this made sense to him. "i know you are all right," nedra answered. her face showed strain. "but it might be a good idea to have the doctors check, just to make sure." zen, busy shaking his head again, hardly heard her. he had the impression that her confusion would clear up in a minute. somehow it reminded him of the confusion that he had suffered after inhaling a whiff of nerve gas, once. when had this happened? he was not sure, now. perhaps it had taken place in the remote past, perhaps on some other planet ... he realized his mind was wandering. again he shook his head. "but i really think, colonel--" "i wasn't shaking my head at you," zen corrected. "good. then we will go see the doctors." "i didn't mean that either. i was shaking my head to clear it. there's a fog in it." "a fog in your head?" unease appeared in her voice. "yes. what's wrong with that? lots of men have fogs in their heads." to him, this seemed a reasonable statement. "lots of men have to go to the docs every couple of weeks to have the fogs blown out of their heads." thinking he had made a joke, he laughed. nedra did not think he had said anything funny. resolutely, she took his arm. "come with me, colonel." as she led him toward the truck which the medics were using for a first aid station, something happened. he saw clearly. he saw everything. the ability to see came suddenly, out of nowhere. one second it was not there. then it was there. it was like seeing with eyes, except it was better than ocular perception had ever been. with it, he was not only able to see surfaces, he could also see into the interior of things. an acute understanding of what he saw went with the perception. he saw that the universe was as tall as a man, and no taller. he saw that it was as wide as a man, and no wider. he saw that it was as broad as a man, and no broader. he saw the human race in its entirety, one man and all men, all men in one man. simultaneously, he saw the whole history of the race, he saw the long journey it had made from so-called inanimate matter to the point where it was now a creature that looked outward to the stars. he saw that the destiny of the race lay in those stars, and in all that vast expanse of space between them, if it did not destroy itself in the process of growing to star stature. he saw that the race could do exactly this, that it could blow itself back to the component atoms that composed it, in which case the long and toilsome, heart-breaking struggle upward from the atomic level would have to begin all over again. he also knew what he was doing with this clear seeing. he was touching the race mind. he was in contact with the race field. his consciousness had been lifted to the level of that vast, all-pervading, but very subtle force field that comprised the race mind. the knowledge was sudden agony in him, a pain that was needle sharp in the region of his heart. the pain was strange because, while he could feel it and knew it was happening in his body, it had no meaning to him. he was detached from it, it hurt his body, but it did not hurt or harm him. his body was alarmed by the pain, his breathing quickened, and a faint trace of sweat appeared on his skin. but he was not alarmed. even if his body fell dead, he would not be concerned. "what is it, kurt?" his ears heard nedra say. she had detected his heavy breathing and she was alarmed. "are you about to faint again?" "no," his lips answered. his body laughed at the question. he heard the sound of his laughter as being both his and not his. his body knew it was not going to faint. his laughter sounded hollow and out of place but he did not care about that either. ahead, soldiers were lined up at the back end of the truck, waiting their turn in line. "your rank entitles you to priority," nedra said hesitantly. "in the place where i am now, my rank doesn't exist," he answered. "i join the end of the line, i take my turn." he was quite stubborn about this. the nurse looked pleased. he wondered if he had said something important. to him, what he had said seemed obvious. behind him, west was a silent shadow wrapped in an enigma. even with his sudden new perception, his contact with a higher form of consciousness, he could not perceive west clearly. something about the craggy man defied penetration and analysis. the men in the line ahead of him waited for their turn, shuffling forward each time the medics finished with their examination. there was no talk in the line. not a man grumbled, not a man complained. knowing men, zen knew that this was ominous. these men had had it. they knew they had had it. in the face of that knowledge, nothing else mattered. outwardly, they looked fit. inwardly, something had happened to them. it seemed to zen that he could see glows coming from their bodies. one was swaying. zen seemed to glimpse a blob of light moving suddenly upward from the man. the soldier fell. he did not move a muscle after he hit. nedra started toward him. zen shook his head. "no use," he said. "why not?" zen pointed skyward. "he went that way." her face whitened as she caught his meaning. "i'll make sure." she moved forward and inspected the fallen man, felt for a pulse, and felt again, then got to her feet. as she returned, her back seemed to have acquired a new sag. an officer shouted from the truck, his voice gravel rough from tension. in response, a stretcher-bearing detail moved forward. they inspected the body of the fallen man, then lifted it and tossed it to the side of the trail. one clipped a dog tag from it, then ran a counter over it. he grunted to his companion, who tied a red tag on the dead man's wrist. "up that way, boys, you can find some more," zen called to them, jerking his thumb up the slope. "we're not a burial detail," was the answer. the soldiers in the line shuffled forward. "hey! it's gone!" zen said suddenly. "what's gone?" "i'm back," zen said. "you never went anywhere," the nurse said. "_it's gone_ and _i'm back_ both mean the same thing," he tried to explain. "the thing that is gone is my contact with the race field. _i'm back_ means that all of a sudden, i'm normal. i'm back here. i'm looking out of my eyes. i'm hearing with my ears. i don't know everything any longer." daze was in him. worse than the daze was the fact that even the memory of the experience was receding. agony came with this recession. it seemed to him that this experience was the most important thing that had ever happened to him. and it was going away. he watched it slide out of his memory. he felt like running wildly to try and recapture it. which way he would run did not matter, just so he ran until he found it again. he fought the impulse to run. the experience was not out there; it could not be found if he searched the whole world for it. it was inside him. nedra looked at west and started to speak, but the craggy man motioned her to silence. "saul on the road to damascus," zen muttered. "something like this happened to saul on the road to damascus." "kurt--" nedra said. again the craggy man motioned her to silence. the fellow, rough mountaineer that he was, seemed to have some perception of the turmoil inside a fellow human being, and more than that, to have understanding and sympathy. "i contacted the race mind," zen said. "for a minute, i was in touch with the field of the race. but it's gone now," he added. sadness and a falling voice went with the last words. "step in front of the scope, soldier," a gravel voice growled behind him. turning, he saw that he was next in line. the lieutenant in charge of the first aid station had spoken to him. seeing the eagle on zen's helmet he hastily apologized. "i beg your pardon, sir." "it's all right," zen said. for an instant, as conflicting ideas competed for expression in him, he wondered who he was and why he was here. then he remembered what had happened. well established reaction patterns took over and he stepped into position in front of the scope. inside the back end of the truck, a transformer hummed. although he could not feel it, he knew that a powerful stream of radiation was passing through his body and that a count was being made of the radioactivity he had absorbed. the lieutenant studied his meters, then looked up at zen. "you're all right, sir." he seemed puzzled. "not hot, eh?" "no, sir, you're not. frankly, i don't understand it. oh, you've got a little exposure, but nothing serious." "i was in one of the old mines when the blast went off," zen explained. "then that accounts for it. you were lucky as hell, sir. next." catching nedra's arm, zen swung her in front of the scope. the experience with higher levels of consciousness had been forced out of his mind, and he was all intelligence officer. "but i'm all right! i mean, there's nothing wrong. are you out of your mind again?" "yes," zen said. "but i've got the rank to make my decisions stick whether i'm out of my mind or not. lieutenant, check this woman. this is an order!" zen snapped out the words with all the precision and authority of a drill-field sergeant training recruits. "yes, sir," the startled medical officer said. ignoring nedra's protests, zen held her in place while the equipment was put into operation. behind them, west watched. the faintest trace of an approving smile showed on the craggy man's face. the lieutenant looked up from his meters. "she's all right too, sir." "sure of that?" "of course i'm sure. this counter doesn't lie!" the medical officer was indignant. so was nedra. the violet eyes shot sparks of anger at the colonel. zen was unimpressed. deep inside, he was tremendously relieved. she had come down alive! she was unharmed! this was enough to make him feel good all over. he also knew what she was. no ordinary mortal could have remained in the hot zone for the length of time she had been there and emerged unharmed. he did not mind her anger. instead he turned to west. "you're next!" he did not know what response to expect from the craggy man. it might be anything. to his surprise, west smiled. "glad to, colonel. i was hoping i would get tested, so i would know where i stood." without hesitation, west stepped in front of the scope. "while i am certain i did not receive enough exposure to do any damage, still it is best to follow your example and make certain." the deep voice was suave, with tiny overtones of amusement in it somewhere. again the lieutenant studied his meters and again he looked up. real perplexity was on his face. "three okays in a row. i didn't have a single okay up until now." his gaze went up the slope in the direction where the bomb had exploded. "does that mean i'm all right?" west asked. "yes. definitely all right," the lieutenant answered. "and i don't pretend to understand it." "i was in a hole, too," west said. he seemed to be amused at some joke known only to him. the lieutenant brightened. "then i understand it." "i wish i did," zen said, to himself. there was no longer any doubt in his mind that nedra was one of the new people. as to west, the man was an enigma. not knowing how long west had been exposed to the radiation, zen did not know what to make of his freedom from it. but there was certainly something peculiar about him. "colonel, it was good to meet you." west was coming toward him with outstretched hand. zen had the impression that the man's hand could turn into a veritable bear trap, if west chose. "perhaps we shall meet again, sir." the words were a statement, not a question. an enigmatical smile played over the craggy man's face. "who knows whether we shall meet again?" zen answered, shrugging. "generally, when people say goodbye these days, they mean goodbye forever." "i know." sadness showed on the craggy, lined face. "it is too bad that things have to be this way. well, experience is a difficult school, but _homo sapiens_ seems incapable of learning in any other." "it is war," zen said. "i disagree with you there," west said. "war is only a symptom of the disease, it is only an expression of humanity. war itself is not at fault, but man. nor can man really be regarded as being at fault, since what he is now going through is only a stage of growth." momentarily the memory of the contact with the race mind flicked through zen's consciousness. "i know that," he said. then he hesitated. "or i knew it once." "ah? when?" "up the slope there, i knew it. but i have forgotten now what i knew." zen spoke slowly. he was trying hard to remember--or to forget--he wasn't sure which. "ah?" west repeated. "goodday, sir. nedra, i would like to speak with you for a moment, before i leave. with your permission, of course, colonel zen." "certainly," zen said. he watched the nurse and the craggy man move up the trail a few steps. they carried on a conversation in tones too low for him to overhear, then parted. west went down to the bottom of the ravine and crossed to the other side of the gulch, where he began to climb the opposite slope, staying as far away from the radioactive zone as possible. nedra returned to zen beside the truck. "does he live back there?" the intelligence agent asked. "i really don't know," the nurse answered. "i think he does, but i'm not certain." "it's rough country to live in." "from what i have seen of him, he seems capable of living almost anywhere." "do you know him well?" the violet eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "you are asking a great many questions, sir." "i'm going to ask more." "my telephone number, no doubt. i'm sorry, but i don't have a telephone." the violet eyes grew pensive. "but if i did have a telephone number, there is no one i would rather give it to than you." he felt a warm glow at her words. the dream that he had once shared with millions of other men, of a wife and kids, came into his mind again, a yearning that was as old as history. if he had his free choice, he would go with this dream. he knew he did not have a free choice. indeed, he doubted if he had any choice at all. nor had any other man. history had moved past the day when this dream could be realized. fate was sweeping it into the dust heap of good things that were gone forever. v "she is immune to radiation!" zen thought after nedra had left to rejoin her unit. this in itself was of sufficient importance to attract and hold the interest of the top military and scientific minds. perhaps soldiers could also be immunized. perhaps, by some impossible freak of chance, a way might be found for workers to return to abandoned factories, to long-closed shops and forges. this might mean a new flow of goods and materials to troops that were desperately short of them and to a civilian population that, at a conservative estimate, was more than half starved. a human being who had achieved immunity to radiation was important enough to command his complete attention. also, the probability was very great that she was one of the mysterious new people. something else about her interested him even more. he could not put his finger on this something else but he suspected it had to do with the future, with another world than the one he knew. or with another universe. again the memory of his contact with the race mind flicked through his consciousness. now he knew what he was going to do insofar as nedra was concerned. he had a hunch what her next move would be. he would wait for her to make it. finding a carbine was not difficult. on this trail, the weapons were to be had for picking them up. a dead man's ammunition pouches were filled with cartridges. he took the pouches. carrying the carbine, he slid down the bank toward the mountain stream that talked to itself at the bottom of the canyon. the water was clear and cool but dead trout floating in it warned him not to drink. seeking a place from which he could watch the canyon, he moved upward. a dim trail was visible through the pines here. "an old narrow-gauge railroad," he thought. the rails had been removed long since, the ties had rotted away, and the roadbed itself was hardly a trail through the growth of trees. he had barely settled himself in a spot from which to watch the ravine below, than a stone turned on the old roadbed. nedra was coming along the trail. he let her pass without challenge. sliding out of hiding, he followed her. twisting and turning, the trail climbed slowly upward. when it reached the edge of the timber, zen caught a glimpse of a slide of yellow rock far ahead, an old mine dump, which told him why the road had been constructed in the first place. a ghost town was probably ahead. he caught a glimpse of nedra moving steadily ahead along the old road bed. "if she doesn't know exactly where she is going, then i'm missing my guess," he thought, as he followed her. elation was rising in him. she was leading him straight to the hiding place of the new people. here in these mountains a small group could remain in hiding forever. food might eventually become a problem, but there was plenty of game in the ranges: deer, elk, and bear, and some of the high valleys had been in cultivation before the war. a few hardy pioneers had always managed to find a living in this wilderness. if they could do it, so could this new group. of course, they would have to evade cuso's roving patrols, raiding for food, supplies and women. but that ought not to be too difficult. the ghost town was in sight. surrounding an old mine, a crusher, and a concentrator, the ghost town was also in ruins. unlike so many small cities, the ruin here had not come from attack but from nature. the snows of winter had piled their burden on flimsy roofs, the seepage of spring had rotted the timbers, with the result that many of the houses had simply collapsed. weeds grew in the doorways and scrub cedars had found roots in the streets. nedra was walking down the middle of what had once been the main street. her stride was still certain and she seemed to know exactly where she was going. the ragged man appeared in the door of the garage on her left. he spoke to the nurse, calling to her. she jumped at the sound of the voice, glanced at the man, then continued walking. "hey, wait a minute, cutie!" the fellow shouted, loud enough for zen to hear him. he lunged out of the doorway toward her. she turned to face him. kurt zen lifted the carbine, then dropped the muzzle. he not only had great confidence in nedra's ability to protect herself, but he wanted to see what would happen. the loop of rope, thrown with all the skill of a cowboy, came from the opposite side of the street. it settled over her shoulders, pinned her arms to the side, and was instantly jerked tight. she was pulled to the ground. the man who had lunged out of the doorway of the garage leaped toward her. throwing her on her stomach, face down, he jerked both hands behind her back, then began to search her for a weapon. the man who had thrown the rope came out of hiding to help his companion. he was short, with bow legs. together, they held the nurse down. zen raised the carbine to his shoulders. although he had not previously fired this weapon, at this distance he could not miss. her scream came to his ears. "colonel! watch out!" in startled surprise, he slid the carbine from his shoulder. she had known he was following her and that he was somewhere near! thoughts like startled hornets flicked through his consciousness. how had she known he was following her? why had she let him do it? more important, where was she leading him? most important of all, why was she trying to save him when her own life was in danger? even if she had known he was following her, obviously she hadn't known these men were here. she hadn't been coming to meet them. then what was her purpose in climbing to this old ghost town which lay just at timberline on the edge of a mountain wilderness where cuso was held at bay? the first ruffian was standing erect. zen brought the sights of the carbine to bear on the center of his ragged coat. "_drop the gun!_" a voice said behind him. even more surprising than the command was the fact that he knew the voice that had spoken. or he thought he did. he let the carbine slide from his fingers. "now get 'em up." he raised his hands. "hello, jake," he called out. an exclamation of surprise came from behind him. "how the hell did you know me?" "recognized your voice," zen answered. "can i turn around now?" "sure. sure. but what the hell are you doing up here?" turning, zen saw the automatic rifle that covered him. the muzzle was wavering and the man who held it seemed confused. his face was covered with a heavy growth of black whiskers and long hair peeped out from under a battered helmet. "jake, it's really good to see you again." as if such things as automatic rifles did not exist, zen advanced with outstretched hand. "kurt zen! i haven't seen you since--since--" "the night that denver got it," zen answered. horror overwhelmed him as he remembered what had happened to the mile-high city. a bomb had struck from the sky that night and parts of denver had gone much higher than a mile. "yeah. that's it. yeah. i thought you had got it that night, kurt." "i thought the same thing about you. what are you doing up here? and what--what happened to marcia?" the instant zen asked the question, he wished he had kept still. at the name something happened in the man's eyes. they began to change, going from comprehension to blankness, then coming back to understanding, then losing that and going back to blankness. one instant the eyes looked at zen and the man remembered and liked this colonel. the next instant, neither the eyes nor the mind behind them knew him. zen was then an alien, a stranger, to be distrusted and feared and possibly destroyed. when zen had known him in denver, jake had been a young airman. he and marcia had been newly married and very much in love with each other. "she--she--" the voice was choked and tight with pain. "the radiation got her." for an instant, the memory held true. but there was too much pain in the memory for this man to face it. the memory went away. only the pain remained. "marcia? oh, she's fine. the next leave i get, we're going to have a second honeymoon." a glow appeared in the man's eyes. "i can see her now, waiting for me. you must go with me, kurt, and meet her again, the next leave i get." zen could have slugged him. he could have lifted the rifle out of jake's hands without protest. instead, he did nothing. the man's pain was much too real to hurt him further. "what's going on here?" a rough voice said. it was the man in the ragged coat. nedra and the man who had thrown the rope had disappeared. there was no indication where they had gone. this man's beard was thin and ragged. he had teeth like the fangs of a wolf but the lights in his eyes did not shift. instead, they remained fixed in constant hostility and suspicion. he had a sub-machine gun in his hands. the muzzle covered zen. "oh, hello, cal. i--" jake became confused. "this is an old buddy of mine. i knew him down below ... i knew him when.... he's all right." cal's eyes said he did not believe a word he had heard. he looked zen up and down. the muzzle of the gun did not waver from the intelligence agent's stomach. "what are you doing up here?" "maybe i got tired of the way things are down there," zen answered. he was not lying. he _was_ tired of the way things were going. so were uncounted millions of others. cal's eyes indicated he did not believe this. zen could see him turning over different possibilities in his mind. he was inclined to use the gun. dumping another body down the gorge would be an easy solution to the problem of an intruder. "how are things going down there?" he asked. "tough," zen said, with conviction in his voice. "what was the big boom over that way this morning?" "cuso letting go with a blooper." interest kindled in cal's eyes. "what was over there that was worth the cost of a blooper?" "a column of troops heading for cuso's lair," zen answered. "he didn't like it." "i guess he wouldn't," cal said. "you with 'em?" "i was." "which way are they going now?" "back down hill to die," zen answered. "why didn't you go with 'em?" "i got tired," zen said. he waved his hands in a gesture which was intended to explain how a man sometimes got tired and went off to rest for a while. cal grunted. this he understood. "are you hot?" he asked. "nope. the medics checked me just before i took off." "and are there others down there who feel like heading for the hills?" "most of them are too damned near dead to make the effort. why desert when you've had it?" "the blooper got a lot of 'em, eh?" "what the blast didn't get, the radioactivity did." "is the pass too hot for more troops to go through it?" "my guess is that way." "your guess? don't you know?" "i didn't go up to see. i'm not that soft in the head." "i see your point. well, things must be really rough if colonels are deserting. this is interesting." cal fingered the gun but the muzzle no longer pointed at zen's stomach. "what are you looking for up here?" "a place to hide out." "for how long?" "hell, how long can this go on?" zen answered. "even when it's over, i don't want to go back down there and walk on skulls." "walk on skulls?" "that's all that will be left." "you think the asians are gonna win, then?" "i got a hunch there will be more skulls than anything else in asia, too. no, i don't think they're going to win. i don't think anybody is going to win this one, except the people who have enough sense to hide." jake came out of his dreaming and put his hand on cal's shoulder. "kurt's all right," he said. it was obvious that cal did not think very highly of this recommendation. "he's my pal," jake continued. "let him join us. he'll make a good hand. besides, me and him were buddies. and there was a girl--" he stopped speaking and broke into dark musing as the memory of his wife came again into his mind. "were you with this woman?" cal asked. "he never was with this woman in his life!" jake screamed. "she was mine, i tell you. mine!" "shut up, crazy head." "tell him, kurt. tell him marcia was mine." "sure, jake," zen soothed. "everybody knew you and marcia were that way. cal and i were talking about another woman." "oh. that's different. but i don't want to hear either of you say that marcia didn't belong to me." the wolf-faced man looked as if he was about to use his gun on jake. "you stinking nut head, you stay out of this!" "all i was trying to do was to tell you kurt was my pal." "all right, you've told me. now shut up." cal turned to zen again. "about this woman, colonel? were you together?" "no," zen said. "but she yelled out to you when me and ed grabbed her." "i heard her." "you did?" cal's finger went around the trigger of the gun. "yeah. i was following her but i didn't know she knew it until she yelled." "oh." cal kept his finger on the trigger. "why were you following her?" "hell, don't be stupid!" zen exploded. "why would any man follow a woman like that?" a trace of a grin went across the wolf face at this answer. cal licked his lips. this was an answer he understood. "i don't blame you for that. but why was she coming up here?" "that i don't know," zen said. "i don't think it made much difference anyhow. as soon as night came--" he squinted at the sun. "do you think she might be a spy for cuso heading for his camp to report?" zen felt his lower jaw sag. this was a thought that had not crossed his mind. he knew only too well that the asiatic had spies in as many places as he could get them. cuso's survival depended in a large degree on knowing how many troops were moving against him, how they were armed and over what passes they were coming. "i see by your face that you had never thought of that," cal said. "then what is she doing up here?" "i don't know. i realized she was ahead of me about a mile back. as to what she is doing, maybe she got tired of all that down there too, and decided to come up here and live in the mountains?" "a woman in this wilderness?" "some women have delusions that they can return to the primitive and make a go of it." "and maybe she had some other idea," cal said. zen shrugged. "knowing this may be important to us," cal said. "then we had better go ask her," zen said. he was still shocked at the thought that nedra might be a spy. up until now, he had thought he was shockproof. "you want to ask her?" cal said. "sure." "okay, you do the asking. i'll listen. and don't get any funny ideas." his finger curled around the trigger of the gun. "remember, that if a patrol should come looking for a deserter, they would only be going to shoot him. i would be doing them a favor if i shot him in advance." "i covered my tracks," zen said. "nobody will be looking for me." "how did you do it?" "i traded dog tags with a hunk of meat that had once been a gi. there wasn't enough left of him to tell for sure what he was. the burial detail will clip my tags from his body and another colonel will be listed as killed in action. the gi will be listed as missing." "that was smart," cal said, approvingly. for the first time, zen thought he detected a note of admiration in the voice tones of the ragged man. nedra was leaning against what had once been a work-bench in the garage. her helmet was off, her hair was ruffled, and her tunic had been almost torn from her body. a look of pure gratitude appeared on her face when zen stepped through the doorway. a little cry of gladness on her lips, she started toward him. her eyes said she had never been as happy to see anybody in her life as she was to see this tall, lean colonel. with her was the little bow-legged man. he didn't look happy as zen entered. "stand still," he snarled at the girl. "who the hell are you?" at his words, nedra let her body sag back against the bench. "ed, this is kurt," cal said. "he's joining us." the look in ed's eyes was pure venom. "he may join us but he won't last long. this woman is mine. i saw her first." zen wished fervently that he had the carbine back in his possession. some vermin did not deserve to live. but jake had that weapon. while he could probably take the carbine away from jake, the gun in cal's hands was very steady. "she's not mine, you know," he said to ed. "so far as i am concerned, you are welcome to her." "oh, that's different," ed said, relieved. if zen's words relieved ed, they had the opposite effect on nedra. she opened her mouth to speak to him, then closed it in an apparent effort to bite off words that no lady should use. cal laughed. "ed is mighty touchy about his women. but don't let that stop you. ask her what she is doing up here?" "none of your damned business, either of you," nedra answered. zen shrugged and spread his hands in a gesture which said that he hoped cal would see how it was. cal nodded. "we'll find out later." his manner indicated there was no question in his mind that he would find out what he wanted to know. "right now it's time for chow. jake, get on the job." jake turned and walked across the street to another house. cal bringing up the rear, the others followed jake. ed took hold of nedra's arm and escorted her across the street. seeing this, kurt zen again wished that he had a gun. vi the meal was beef stew, which jake prepared in a big pot on an old wood-burning range. they all ate around the kitchen table. "there are lots of wild cattle up here," cal explained. "this used to be good range country, you know. the remnants of the old beef herds are still in existence, the ones that have learned how to dodge or whip the lions, that is." zen was busy watching nedra and ed. the little bantam was following every move she made and was keeping as close to her as possible. he insisted on sitting next to her at the table and he kept trying to touch her at every opportunity. zen kept silent. inwardly, he was greatly perturbed. night was already throwing shadows over the mountains. what would happen after darkness fell? trying to keep such thoughts out of his mind, he found himself wondering if it would be possible for him to break the bantam's neck with his bare hands. he decided he could do this, and that he would like to do it, but that he would also like to stay alive afterward. "girls who go walking in the mountains have to take what happens to them," he said. nedra ignored him. ed glowered at him. cal chuckled but continued eating without speaking. jake ate as if he did not know what he was doing or where he was. occasionally he looked toward the northwest and shook his fist in that direction. zen knew that deep in his sick mind jake was dreaming of what he would do to the asians. remembering marcia, zen did not blame him. ed tried to urge the nurse toward the dilapidated sofa in the room but she eluded him and sat on an empty powder can, to the obvious disgust of the bantam. two people could not sit on the same powder can. jake rattled dishes in the kitchen, and fought imaginary asians. cal found a seat in the corner, a position from which he could watch everyone in the room. off in the night an owl hooted. ed jumped at the sound, grabbed nedra's hand, and tried to drag her toward a ladder that led to some kind of an attic. cal rose to his feet and moved toward the door. "stop it!" nedra said, to ed. "but, honey, you've got to get out of here," ed urged. the bantam was at the edge of panic. "why?" "because that owl hoot was a signal. the guys who are coming will take you away from me," ed explained. "fine," nedra said, her face brightening. "there is justice in the world after all. the good lord does look after the poor working girl." her voice indicated that she had begun to doubt this. "but you don't know who these guys are," ed protested. "i don't care who they are. satan himself would be welcome to me right now." the words were addressed to ed but she was looking at kurt zen as she spoke. zen did not attempt to answer her implied accusation. "damn it, i ain't going to let them take you away from me!" ed shouted. again he reached for the nurse's hand, to drag her toward the ladder. she slugged him in the mouth. in a fury, his fists clenched, the bantam started toward her. she dodged behind zen. "lay off her, ed," cal ordered. "but she belongs to me!" ed shouted. "you know i saw her first. you said so yourself!" the little man was beside himself with frustration and fury. "if the lieutenant decides he wants her, you'll probably be the first one dead," the ragged man commented. then he shrugged. "however, it's your funeral, not mine. only you probably won't get a funeral." again the owl hoot sounded, just outside the house this time. cal opened the door. a lieutenant and four soldiers entered. zen took one look at the dirty uniforms and the slant eyes in dirty yellow faces and knew that these were cuso's men. coming into the room, the lieutenant took command. "who is this?" he demanded, nodding curtly toward zen. he had not as yet noticed nedra, who was still behind kurt. "a colonel who has seen the light of reason and has come over to our side," the ragged man promptly answered. "good. cuso will be very glad to talk to him." the grin on the lieutenant's face left no doubt as to the meaning that lay back of his words. cuso's methods of extracting information from any person careless enough to fall into his hands were well known. "it will be a privilege to talk to the great leader of the asian forces," zen said. he felt sweat begin to appear under both arms. as soon as the lieutenant had appeared, he had known that cal was a spy supplying information to cuso. "i'm sure cuso will find it so," the lieutenant said. the grin vanished from his face as he caught a glimpse of nedra behind the colonel. the rifle in his hands came up. "who is that?" he demanded. "a nurse who has also joined us," cal hastily explained. "what's she doing behind him?" "ed was urging her to go upstairs with him and she hid behind this man," cal explained. a tic had appeared in the right cheek of the ragged man. "oh," the lieutenant said. his grin reappeared. "come out, plizz." as nedra stepped to zen's side, the lieutenant's grin widened. he sucked in his breath. "yess. oh but yess. cuso will want to talk to her. of that i am very sure." ed, his face as black as tar, started to protest. he took another look at the rifle in the asian's hand and quickly changed his mind. the chattering of his teeth was audible all over the room. "why do you make that noise?" the lieutenant said, looking at him. "it--it's cold in here," ed stuttered. as the bantam spoke, zen noticed that the temperature in the big room seemed to have dropped far more than seemed reasonable. even the opening of the door, and the admission of the cool night air, was not enough to account for the sudden chill in the room. this cold was different from anything zen had ever experienced before. it seemed to start at the center of the bones and work its way outward, reaching the skin surface last of all, where it produced a prickling sensation. "i wish to eat," the lieutenant said. "of course," cal instantly agreed. "jake! food for the gentleman." jake, his eyes murky, was standing in the door leading to the kitchen. the expression on his face indicated that he was about to launch himself at the asians. "get into that kitchen!" cal shouted. "oh, all right," jake answered, moving out of sight. the banging of the pots and pans that followed his departure seemed to have a sullen sound. "that one is not right in the head," the asian officer said. "he's just dumb," cal said, defensively. the lieutenant pursed his lips. "i forgot to mention that i left some of my men outside." "bring them in," cal said promptly. "they're probably hungry, too. and cold." "i think i shall leave them where they are," the lieutenant said, decisively. "i left them on guard. they have set up a mounted machine gun at the edge of the street." "i see," cal said. "the gun covers this house," the officer continued. "oh," cal said. a sudden shiver passed through his body. he knew perfectly well what the lieutenant had just told him. it seemed to kurt zen that the temperature of the room had dropped another ten degrees. he was shivering, too, from the effect of that strange cold that seemed to start at the marrow of the bones and spread itself outward. of all those in the room, nedra was the only one who did not seem to be suffering from the effect of the chill. her eyes were bright and her face had a warm glow. zen watched her out of the corners of his eyes. didn't she know that she had escaped from ed only to fall into the tender mercies of cuso's men? "what has happened to you?" he whispered to her. turned toward him, her eyes had a glow that seemed to come from some light that was suddenly burning inside them. the glow went from purple to violet, then to ultra-violet. after that, zen could no longer see the glow, but he suspected it had gone into higher ranges still. what was more surprising was the fact that she was no longer frightened. confidence had suddenly come to her, seemingly out of nowhere. "what do you think has happened to me?" her voice had changed too. all tension had gone from it. the ragged edges of conflict had disappeared. she seemed to be mistress of the situation, and to know it. jake came from the kitchen. "i pick up vibrations," he announced, his voice shrill. "get into the kitchen," cal ordered, as the lieutenant raised his gun. "but i'm only trying to tell you something." "i'm telling you something, get back into that kitchen!" cal ordered. jake's gaze went murkily around the room but it was obvious that he was giving more attention to some internal sight or sound than to the people present. "git," cal shouted. jake backed from the doorway. the lieutenant lowered the muzzle of the gun. he barked an order to the men with him, who arranged themselves with their backs to the wall. the officer moved toward the fire, where he settled himself in a chair. "you," he said. "take off my boots!" he was speaking to zen. kurt measured the distance to the lieutenant's jaw. out of the corners of his eyes, he noted the positions of the asian soldiers. "odds are too great," he thought. "stay alive now. maybe your turn will come." as he started to kneel, he bumped into nedra, who was already on the floor unbuckling the officer's boots. "if you would rather do it, i would rather have you do it," the lieutenant said, smirking. "it is a privilege, sir," the girl said. she pulled off the heavy boot and began to peel off the thick sock. the probability that she had saved kurt zen's life was very great. he felt a surge of anger at his own helplessness. the feeling of cold at the marrow of his bones was appearing again. it was stronger now. he noticed that cal's hands were trembling. the teeth of one of the soldiers standing against the wall were chattering audibly. a second soldier looked as if he were about to go to sleep. zen discovered as he yawned that he was getting sleepy too. along with the cold creeping outward from his bones was a sensation of mental fogginess that was very close to sleep. the lieutenant, sitting directly in front of him, was nodding. everybody was getting sleepy! why? had some subtle, odorless gas been introduced into the room? what gas? who had introduced it? _crash!_ the rifle in the hands of the nodding soldier slid out of his grasp and struck the floor, exploding as it hit. the slug ripped a hole through the wall, passing within a foot of the lieutenant's head. the asian officer was instantly on his feet. he spun to face the sound. the soldier who had dropped the rifle slid forward on the floor and lay there, snoring. as he saw what had happened, the face of the lieutenant settled into a grim mask. he pressed the trigger of the automatic weapon he carried. the gun burped violently. the sleeping soldier jerked as the heavy slugs crashed into his body. a little trickle of blood ran from his nose and collected in a small pool on the floor. the man died where he lay. "_yen thotem ke vos!_" the lieutenant snarled. two of the soldiers left their position against the wall and lifted the body of their dead comrade. the third remained motionless against the wall while they carried the dead man out. "if you go to sleep on me!" the lieutenant said, to the third soldier. his meaning was clear. the soldier shook his head. he understood what his officer meant. terror was in him. but something else was in him too. zen watched the soldier fight this something else. slowly, he let the butt of his rifle slide to the floor. he had enough intelligence and enough strength left not to drop the weapon. he set it against the wall. then he sat down beside it. he was making every possible effort to resist sleep, but in spite of everything he could do, he was losing this fight. slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time, his head slid forward. finally it dropped on his arms that were folded across his knees. he began snoring. the face of the lieutenant was that of a frightened tiger from the depths of the assam jungles. the muzzle of the gun swung to cover the sleeping soldier. a split second passed during which this asian was on the verge of joining his ancestors. realizing finally that this man could not be held accountable for his inability to stay awake, the lieutenant held his fire. he jerked up his head to stare around the room. his face was that of a tiger who suspects it has been caught in a trap but is not yet certain of the nature of the device it has been snared in. his eyes came to focus on cal. "i--i swear--" the ragged man's voice was a thick mutter that did not convey much meaning. cal was sleepy too! "what have you done here?" "i--nothing. i have done nothing--and i know nothing--i am as surprised as you." "you're a liar!" "no. telling truth--" cal's head had sagged downward toward his chest and his voice was getting thicker and more groggy. with an effort of will, he snapped his head up. "i--don't know. something.... yes! never heard of anything like it before.... hell, lieutenant, it's getting me too!" cal's head sagged forward on his chest. "so sleepy ... so tired ... gotta take a nap...." his knees sagging, cal lay down on the floor. he cuddled his head on one arm. the lieutenant spoke, but the grunt that came from his lips was not a growl. soon, he, too, was fast asleep. kurt and nedra were the only two people who were able to remain awake. the nurse was making desperate efforts to resist this strange sleepiness. swaying on her feet, she turned toward zen. he caught her in his arms. "what's happening?" she sounded like a tired little girl. "i don't know," zen answered. "why is everybody going to sleep? is it bedtime?" "it must be." "are you sleepy, too?" her voice was a tired whisper. "i never was so sleepy before in my life," kurt answered. "then why don't we--just take a little nap?" nedra murmured. the way she spoke, this was the most reasonable suggestion that had ever been offered. sagging into his arms, she would have fallen if he had not caught her. gently, he eased her to the floor. her chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm. if there was one thing kurt wanted to do it was to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, too. every organ in his body, every cell, every molecule seemed to cry out that sleep was needed. he felt his knees begin to sag, his head to droop. it seemed to him that all strength was going out of his body, that his muscles could no longer hold him erect. "stay awake!" someone snarled at him. he was startled to realize it was his own voice that had spoken the words. he was even more startled by the fury in the tones. his knees continued to sag. in spite of everything he could do to prevent it, his body continued on its way to the floor. the muscles in his long legs seemed to have turned into rubber. he went down to his knees but caught himself on his hands. the impulse to continue the rest of the way to the floor was like a tidal wave. every thought in his mind was on the desirability of sleep. how wonderful it would be to take a nap, to rest, to dream, to wake no more. with a strength that was born of desperation, he fought this impulse. a battle began inside his body, a conflict that seemed to involve every brain cell and every nerve ending, and finally every muscle group. pain came up as muscle fought muscle, as nerve cell fought nerve cell, as one part of the brain fought another part. he tried to force his body to rise to its feet again. all he could do was grunt. "stand up!" he snarled at himself. his body quivered and twisted but did not move. he repeated the command to himself. the effect was to increase the conflict. and the pain. he had never known such agony. it rolled through him like a series of tidal waves. _click!_ what happened took place so suddenly that it seemed to occur outside of time. vii instantly, as the click sounded, he was outside his body, looking down at it. the pain was gone. the conflicting muscle pulls were gone. or he was no longer aware of them. he understood that the latter was the true explanation. "stand up," he said, to his body. his body obeyed this order. it rose from its hands and knees and stood upon its feet. this fact did not surprise kurt zen. he had known it would happen. this was the way things were. the essence of him, the consciousness that was above the body, was never surprised. "stop trembling," he said, silently, to his body. instantly the tremors vanished. the body knew its master. kurt zen also knew that he now had a choice. he could go back into that body. or he could go--elsewhere. but he knew where he was needed most. _click!_ the way he went back into his body was like turning a switch. one instant, he was inside, looking through his eyes, hearing through his ears. he moved quickly, snatching the gun from the lieutenant's grasp. another instant and he had the weapons of the soldiers. he flung these into the corner. then he grabbed cal's gun from the floor where the ragged man had dropped it. at this point, he saw that nedra was sitting up and was watching him. the expression on her face was that of a sleepy small girl awakening in the morning. only this small girl did not quite succeed in looking as if she had been asleep. her eyes were too wide open and she looked much too alert. "hello," zen said. "so you decided to call off the sham." the thought popped into his mind and the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. "did you know?" she gasped. "of course i did," zen stoutly insisted. "when you went to sleep, i knew it was a trick designed to lure me by suggestion into the belief that i was sleepy, too." "then why did you let me do it?" "i wanted to see how far you would go," he answered. "come on. let's get out of here." "what about them? are they shamming too?" she pointed to the bodies on the floor. "they're up there, watching," he said, gesturing toward the ceiling. he laughed. owlishly, she stared at him. "i do believe you are out of your mind, colonel." "it helps," he said. "come on. let's make tracks." "that's a splendid idea, colonel. except for one thing." "what's that?" she pointed to the sleeping lieutenant. "he said he had left some men with a machine gun." "damn! i had forgotten that. however, that is a problem that can be solved." "how?" "this way." he moved to the heavy machine gun mounted at the window so that its muzzle covered the street. he had his finger on the trigger and was searching the street when he realized that she was pulling at his arm and speaking to him. "what?" he said. "no," she answered. her voice was very firm. "are you out of your mind?" he demanded. "we don't have to shoot them," she replied. "why not?" "because they are already taken care of." "eh? how do you know?" "i know." "then you also know how these men here were put to sleep?" his voice had the sound of steel on stone. she faced him without fear. "yes." "you did it?" "no." "then who did?" "come and i will show you." "hunh!" zen grunted. he made up his mind without hesitation. starting toward the back door, he discovered that she was going out the front. "but that door is probably covered," he protested. she opened it without answering his protest. going through it, zen thought the night outside was far colder than it had any right to be. nedra moved without hesitation. fifty yards away from the house a machine gun mounted on a tripod was set up in the street. two men were lying on the ground beside it. in the quiet night, zen could hear them snoring. "all right," he said. "i have to admit you knew what you were talking about. but if you didn't do this, who did?" "just a minute and you will have an answer to your question," she replied. a block beyond the machine gun, a tall figure lounged in the doorway of a ruined building. "hi, kids," he said. at the first sound of the deep bass voice zen knew that this was west. the craggy man nodded to him. west did not seem in the least surprised to see zen. "what the hell are you doing here?" zen said. "i had business here," west said, in a tone of voice that made zen feel like an errant schoolboy being reproved by a kind, but firm, teacher. "did you make those people go to sleep?" zen continued. "has somebody been sleeping?" west answered. "hmm." "yes," zen said. "did you run into some difficulty?" west asked nedra. he ignored zen. "sort of," the girl answered. "the fact is, i almost got raped. i was afraid i wasn't going to reach you." "i was busy and didn't pick you up at first," the craggy man said. his voice was a rumble of sound in the darkness. he did not seem surprised when she mentioned what had almost happened. "the colonel followed you, eh?" "yes. i told you he would." "how did you know i would follow you?" zen demanded. with the lieutenant's gun in his hands, he felt very secure. "any woman would know that," nedra answered. her laugh tinkled in the darkness. finding zen's arm, she squeezed it. "he is one of the new people," she said, to west. zen wished he could have sunk into the ground. the craggy man did not seem surprised. "hmm," he said again. "that is nice." reserve seemed to have appeared in the bass tones. "let's get inside," nedra suggested. "it's been a hard day and i'm so tired i feel as if i'm walking on my leg bones instead of my feet." "sorry," west said, without moving. "what's wrong?" nedra asked. alarm suddenly appeared in her voice. "don't you believe he is actually one of us? i told you he was." "i did not say i disbelieved you. but what if you are mistaken?" "i can't be mistaken. he followed me, didn't he? that proves i'm right." "men have been following women since bhumi started turning," west replied. "what if you are wrong?" "oh," the nurse said, a falling inflection in her voice. "in that case, who would shoot him?" west continued. "oh," the nurse said. her voice fell lower still. "you know the rules. we cannot have anyone except true mutants." "yes." "in case someone brings in a person who is not a true mutant, it is the duty of the person who introduced the interloper to dispose of him." "i know," nedra said. "in this case, it would be up to you to shoot the colonel," west continued. "could you do it?" "well, i wouldn't want to--" the reluctance in her voice was very strong. "but i would do it." "i hope i don't have to hold you to your promise," west said. "but in that case, come on, both of you. that is, if the colonel wishes." "you can't kid me," zen said. "neither of you are capable of shooting anybody." he spoke fearlessly but he felt a trace of doubt. not one of the new people had ever betrayed their group. this indicated something. "lead on. i'm following." nedra found zen's arm. "would you cry, after you had shot me?" zen asked. "y--yes." "but that wouldn't keep you from shooting me?" "no." "well, that would be nice, anyhow, though i do not see what good it would do me." "you sound as if you wouldn't care," the girl said. "there are times when i am sure death would be a blessed relief." zen meant every word he said. "that life down there," he jerked his thumb to indicate the lower ranges and the plains so far below, "gets tiresome. that's an understatement, if i ever made one." the nurse was silent. "yes, i understand," she said at last. "it was that way with me, once." "how much farther before we get to--hell, where are we going anyhow?" zen blurted out. "to the center here," nedra answered. "um," zen said. he wanted to say something else but he decided he'd better be careful. west led them into an old tunnel which bored straight into the side of the mountain. viii "is the center in here?" zen asked. "of course," nedra answered. "but why haven't cal and his buddies found it?" "they don't even know we exist," nedra explained. "and if they did, for some reason they wouldn't like to come into the tunnels." "in effect, the tunnel is wired," west said. "do you mean they would get a jolt of high voltage electricity if they ventured in here?" "nothing as crude as that," the craggy man replied. "however, at two places, high frequency generators are built into the walls and hidden in such a manner that a person entering the tunnel is saturated with their radiations, which trigger the adrenals in his body. the result of this is that he suddenly feels very much afraid." "eh?" zen said, startled. "a fear generator?" "in effect, it is that." "but that would be a very powerful weapon." "yes, it would," the craggy man said, his voice dry. "if you could generate such radiations in sufficient intensity and cover a large enough area with them, you could panic a division, perhaps even an army." excitement was in zen's voice. he knew that the scientists were desperately searching for a new weapon that might possibly end the war. perhaps here was such a weapon. "it might work that way," west admitted. "does the government know about this?" "i believe not." "who invented it?" "i believe jal jonner is generally credited with being the inventor," west said. "oh," zen answered, and was silent. jonner's name had become a legend of the days when there were giants in the earth, mighty men whose thinking had gone beyond the concept of nations to envision one race, beyond the creeds of churches to see one faith, and beyond the dogma of economics to state that as long as one hungry man existed on the face of the earth, no man with a full dinner in front of him was free to eat his meal in peace and safety. jonner's thinking had also gone beyond one planet to see one solar system--and beyond that, one universe. "here is the first generator," west said. he flicked the beam of his flashlight against the walls. "of course, there isn't anything to see. but you may feel something." as the intelligence agent moved forward, a sudden surge of fear came boiling up from his middle. it was a wild emotion and it carried with it a blasting sense of great peril, of death. instantly, thoughts flashed through his mind of the first time he had ever been under shell fire, the scream of artillery shells, the blasts of the explosions, the shaking of the earth. as the surge of fear shot upward from his middle, he felt his body jerk and start to tremble. "run!" a voice screamed inside him. "get away from here! run for your life!" he caught the impulse to flee, held it in check. it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave. "this is an interesting effect," he said. "does the generator have the same effect on all people?" west grunted and walked ahead without answering the question. zen thought the grunt held an approving tone. nedra squeezed his arm but said nothing. the craggy man did not point out the second generator, but zen felt the radiations hit him, stronger than before. he was mentally prepared this time, but his body wasn't. he felt his muscles tie themselves into knots. the impulse to run was a screaming ululation of mad wolf intensity pouring into his consciousness. zen kept on walking. as abruptly as he had entered it, he was out of the radiation zone. up ahead of him, west did not grunt or change his pace. except for nedra's fingers digging into his arm, zen had no indication that either felt the radiation. what kind of people were they, to be able to walk through hell and be uninfluenced by it? zen wondered as he wiped sweat off his forehead. ahead, west grunted and played his light on the side wall. the craggy man grunted again. on the right, the side wall began to swing back as a door opened there. from the tunnel the wall looked like solid stone, but as the door opened, the back was seen to be made of metal. a lighted tunnel leading to a large gallery lay beyond. "enter," west said. "who did all of this?" zen inquired. "jal jonner took over the title to this old mine. he and his men sealed off the deeper tunnels, enlarged them, provided an air supply, built laboratories and living quarters, and made a comfortable hidden world here." zen felt he should have known better than to ask. according to these people, jal jonner had done everything, except lay the foundations of the world. "i see," the colonel said. "he did all of this before he died." none of the reports he had read had mentioned this activity, or had even hinted at it, but he did not see fit to mention this. "no," west denied. "but you just said--" "he did it after he died," the craggy man explained. "huh?" zen said. "pardon me, but i did not seem to hear you clearly. i thought you said he did this after he died." "that's what i said. that's what he did." the craggy man's voice was calm. "i--uh--" zen hastily changed his mind about the words he was going to use. secretly he was wondering if west was hopelessly insane. how could a dead man build anything? "you understand that i am not too familiar with what actually happened. sorry and all that but i simply haven't had to learn." "i understand," west said. "you don't need to apologize. you will learn here." "good," zen said. he doubted if he felt better because his explanation had been accepted. west's last words had an ominous ring to them. "your lack of familiarity with jonner's history is very obvious," west continued. "but if he was dead--" "he didn't die," west patiently explained. "he was buried. a handsome monument was erected over his grave. but he wasn't in the grave." "son-of-a-gun!" zen said. "why all the fol-de-rol?" "to deceive curious intelligence agents," west said, with no humor in his voice. zen ignored the ironic threat. he was inside, this was what mattered. also the idea of one of the world's foremost scientists--and jonner had been exactly that--hiding himself away here where he could work undisturbed with others who shared his dream, intrigued him. or had that dream been a grim prognostication of the way things were to be on the surface of the third planet out from the sun? had the work here been an effort to escape that future? was this underground cavern really a modern ark, dug into the heart of a mountain so that at least a few humans might escape the deluge by fire? had a modern noah appeared and not been recognized? the thought shocked kurt zen. somewhere he had read a prediction that earth would be destroyed by fire. here was evidence that possibly at least one human being had taken that prediction seriously enough to build a bomb-and-radiation-proof shelter! "you seem to be thinking seriously," west observed. "perhaps for the first time in my life, i am doing exactly that. my brain seems to be trying to spin." "ah? are you surprised at what you find here?" "no. that is, not much. mostly, i'm pleased." "good." west seemed satisfied. "here comes john to greet us." the craggy man's face lit up as a tall youth emerged from an adjoining tunnel and came forward to meet them. his greeting to west had respect in it, he merely glanced at zen, but it was the nurse who commanded and held his interest. "nedra! you're back!" "of course i'm back, john." as if this were the most natural thing to do, nedra allowed herself to be taken in john's arms. west smiled benevolently at the two. zen carefully looked in the other direction. "this is colonel kurt zen, john," west said, when the two had finished kissing. the tall youth extended his hand and said he was glad to meet kurt. his face was brown, his cheeks were lean and slightly hollow, but his eyes were clear and his grip was firm without being bone-crushing. "i imagine kurt is rather tired," west said. "if you would find quarters for him, john--" "glad to do it," the tall youth said. "come with me, kurt." zen nodded goodnight to nedra and to west and followed john away. he was tired down to the bottom of his thick-soled boots. fatigue lay in layers through his muscles and along his nerve trunks. he knew he was keeping himself from collapsing only by an effort of will. "i'll give you my room," john said. "i couldn't think of depriving you of your quarters, old fellow," zen protested. "it's no deprivation. besides, i'll be with nedra." "um," zen said. the jealousy he felt almost made him forget how tired he was. the room was as bare as the cell of a monk. the bed was a double decker with the top deck covered with books. it was hand-made, of rough pine posts, and the springs were cords. there was no mattress. and no pillow. a reading lamp was at the head. "hope you're comfortable here," the tall youth said. "is there anything i can get for you?" "nothing. but you might show me the little boy's room." "are you still on that level?" the tall youth seemed genuinely surprised. "yes," zen said. then, as the implications back of the question caught him, "aren't you on the same level? i mean, don't you go?" "well, yes," john answered. embarrassment reddened his face. "but you're older than i am, and i thought perhaps you--" his voice trailed off into silence as his embarrassment grew. "you thought what?" zen continued. "well, that--" the youth became flustered, then seemed to become irritated with himself for being flustered, then for being irritated. zen watched the emotional reaction build higher and higher. he could see no possible importance in the emotional response of the tall kid except that the kid had intimated that he might be spending the night with nedra. would people who didn't use toilets spend nights together? if they did, what would they do? talk about the beauties of flowers and read poetry to each other? zen sniffed silently to himself, to show his contempt for such antics. "i'll show you where to go," john said, suddenly. zen followed the tall youth out of the room and into a short tunnel which led to a large gallery. here the old-time miners had found a sizeable body of ore. the gallery had been cleared of refuse and a number of small rooms had been dug into the walls, the whole place being illumined by a fluorescent paint that covered the walls. the color of the light was a misty blue and the whole big gallery seemed to float in this light, creating an effect that was breath-takingly beautiful. in the first room they passed a naked young woman who was going through gymnastic exercises in time to slow music. at the sight of her lithe, brown body bending and swaying in time to slow music, zen whistled appreciatively through his teeth. she was almost enough to make him forget nedra. in another room a fat youth was reading a book. he was lying flat on the floor. in a third, a skinny young man with skin the color of old ivory was sitting cross-legged before a shrine. his features were as immobile as a statue of buddha. the same faint smile seemed painted on his face. in another room a beautiful young woman was undressing preparatory to retiring. she hadn't bothered to close the door. "what the hell is this, a glorified whorehouse?" zen blurted out. "a _whore house_? what's that?" john asked. his manner made zen feel like apologizing for having used such words in his presence. "never mind. i withdraw the question. who keeps tab on where the boys and the girls spend the night?" "no one," john answered, astonished. "is somebody supposed to?" he was startled at the idea. "oh, you are concerned about sex. you are also new here. sex is no problem here, as you will learn." "no problem? don't you engage in it?" "we have other, and more important things, to do," john answered. his words were lofty but his tone was kind. zen heard the words but he filed mental reservations about accepting their meaning. silently he wondered if these kids had all their marbles. apparently they had not even learned about the birds and the bees. "anything else i can tell you?" john asked. "you've already told me too much," zen answered. "i'm afraid to ask you any more questions." the toilet had no flush plumbing. _after use, press the button_, a sign above it said. zen did just that. no sound of running water followed but the colonel had the dim impression that intensely bright light had flared for a moment. he did not have the courage to look and see what had happened. in some ways, this toilet which disposed of its contents in a flash of light was more significant and possibly more productive of concern than cuso's blooper or cuso's lieutenant had been. if the new people found it convenient to disintegrate their sewage, rather than dispose of it by the conventional method, what else could they do? zen shook his head to indicate to himself how amazed he was. john thought he wanted more information and started to ask a question, which the colonel hastily interrupted. "don't tell me any more. there are limits to what my liver and lights will stand." "what have your liver and lights to do with this?" "nothing at all. that was only a figure of speech." as they returned through the gallery, he saw that the bronze girl was still going through her rhythmic dance in time to the slow music. the sight of that perfectly formed nude body slowly swaying in the small room sent such a surge of excitement through kurt zen that he hastily turned his eyes away. if he was going to live in this place very long, they would have to make some new rules. how could any human being stay in bed alone when that beautiful bronze creature was going through her swaying dance? "what is she doing, learning to be a strip-tease dancer?" he asked. "perfect muscular control. this is one of the exercises we all learn," john answered. "what's a strip-tease dancer?" "nothing you ever heard of," zen answered. "but while she is developing her muscular control, what is she doing to the endocrinal system of every male in the place?" "not a thing," john said, astonished again. zen had grave doubts that the tall youth knew what he was talking about. john selected a single book from the top of the double-decker bed, and anxiously inquired if there was anything more he could do to make the colonel comfortable for the night. upon being told there was not, he departed with the book. zen thought of the book benignly. if the tall youth was going to spend the night with nedra, at least there would be a book between them. he slid off his heavy pack and set the lieutenant's sub-machine gun where he could reach it readily. his counter told him there was no radioactivity present. books were in a niche in the stone wall behind the bed. the author of one caught his eye: jal jonner. the name was enough to hold his attention. jonner was known to have written books, but few had survived. even the library of congress did not have them, but there was no library of congress in any sense of the word any more. when washington had left the planet, the library had gone with it. glancing at the introduction, zen forgot all about his fatigue and where he was. one glance at the words and he knew he was in contact with the living waters of life itself. _introduction_ _in the beginning, i am going to make an inaccurate statement. i am going to say that the reading of this book may open a new life for you. now let me explain why this statement is inaccurate._ _in the first place, it is inaccurate because this is not the start of your life. that took place millions of years ago--more millions of years than i care to mention here._ _so your life did not start with the reading of these words.--now as to the use of the word "new." this, also is inaccurate. to you, the ideas expressed here may seem novel and new. but they are not new in the sense that they have just been created, or even that i have created them. they were implicit in the formation of the first molecule of protoplasm that came into existence on this planet. they are, therefore, as old as life._ _the pattern which you may, or may not follow, was laid down in the first molecule of protoplasm which appeared on this planet, as the law of growth._ _however, there is no law which requires that one species on this planet, or even all combined species, the total life spectrum here, shall survive to grow to full stature. the possibility of growth is implicit in every form of life; it is latent, and capable of development, in every species. however, the species that fails to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered, if it fails to develop its potential, must inevitably give earth room to the species which is developing. in their day, the dinosaurs ruled the planet. they had their chance, but they failed to develop._ _where, now, are the dinosaurs?_ _the law is--grow or die. this law also applies to man._ _this book may be regarded as a primer, a starting point of your adventure into the coming development of man. it is the first text book that you will receive. it is the beginning of the way._ _how much progress you make upon the way, how well you master the law of growth, is, in large measure, up to you. you will receive assistance, sometimes without your knowledge, but it will not be the kind of assistance that will retard or weaken your development. the new people will not be helped--too much! strength is required of them and strength is only achieved by overcoming obstacles._ _the next upward step that the race takes--if it survives its own self-destructive impulses--will be of such a nature as to require the utmost in strength and courage from those who participate in it._ _this step, it is fair to state, is in the direction of a higher development of consciousness._ _good luck--and god go with you._ _jal jonner_ _the big sur_ _july 1971_ written in 1971, the book was now 49 years old, zen decided after a rapid calculation. the war had started in 2009. the time was now 2020. eagerly, he turned to the first chapter. it seemed to him that his life was just beginning, that everything that had ever happened to him and all that he had ever done was in preparation for this moment, when life would begin. after reading two pages, he reached the conclusion that, if this was a primer, the text that was to follow must be difficult indeed. the book started with mathematics that was twice as difficult as calculus. trying to concentrate, he found the symbols blurring before his eyes. then, as fatigue finally overwhelmed him, the whole page blurred and was gone. he was asleep. but he wasn't really asleep. the body slept. but he was not the body. he was the consciousness that animated the body. this never slept. he awakened at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. ix coming back to conscious awareness, kurt zen simultaneously realized that something which he had been experiencing, and which had been very important, faded out of his memory like a gray ghost sliding silently away into a pearl-colored mist. nedra was shaking him by the shoulder and was smiling down at him. "wake up, sleepy head. you've been snoozing for eighteen hours. that ought to be enough even for a growing boy like you." her face was radiant and alive. she looked as if she had just stepped out of a cold shower and had rubbed her beautiful body with a rough towel to bring the blood close to the surface of the skin. "you look wonderful," zen muttered, remembering what john had hinted. "did you have a good night's sleep?" "a couple of hours." "no more than that?" "i needed no more." "mm?" zen said. he started to add another word, "alone?" but managed to catch the question before it was out of his mouth. he examined her thoughtfully. "you look very contented," he said, without adding that in his experience women who looked so contented had only one reason for it. "why shouldn't i look contented? after spending so much time in the wilderness, i'm back on the stairway to heaven." "what's the wilderness?" "the world down below." she swept her hand in a gesture that included the unseen ranges and the plains below. "ah, yes," he yawned himself to wakefulness. "i was reading the most fascinating book before i dropped off to sleep. here. i'll show you." the book was not on his blanket. it was not in the wall niche. nor was it behind the bed. "hey, it's gone," he said. his eyes went around the room. he discovered other things that were missing. "the lieutenant's gun! and my pack!" "perhaps you just dreamed you had been reading a book." "i didn't dream the gun and the pack. i carried both of them in here." "i can explain about them. they were taken." "hunh? why?" "weapons are not permitted here. your gun and your pack were both taken for this reason." "hunh?" a growl came unbidden into his voice. he put these items out of his mind with the resolve to speak to someone about them at a later time. something more important had happened. what was it? a memory of his dream flicked through his mind but was gone before he could grasp it. a frown on his face, he said, "i know--" as he tried to speak, what he had intended to say slid out of his mind. "you know what?" nedra asked. "everything." her face showed surprise. "this is a great deal for one man to know. are you sure?" "yes." "positive?" "hell, yes!" an emotion that was like a curtain opening and closing slipped across her face. "well, in that case, tell me things." "i would, except i can't remember 'em." doubt came into the violet eyes. "what you need is some breakfast. your blood sugar levels are too low. breakfast will take care of that." her voice was firm and sure. "that's one thing i need," zen said, his voice equally firm. "but there is one thing i don't need--an examination by a head shrinker." "a what?" "a psycho," he explained. "i call 'em head shrinkers because that is what they do. oh, maybe i need such an examination but i have no intention of submitting to it." breakfast consisted of cornmeal mush, fried to a golden brown, and served with butter and honey. there was no coffee but he had long since learned to do without it. he ate ravenously. "i'm hungry right down to the marrow of my bones," he said. "where does all this grub come from?" "we get it," nedra answered evasively. "what do you do, raid the low country for supplies, like cuso's men?" "no, colonel, hardly that. we are not thieves." her face showed displeasure. "well, where do you get it? i don't know how many of you are here, but if you have as many as a hundred, keeping this place supplied calls for some doing." he was fishing for information on the number of people hidden in this old mine. "actually, very little food is needed." "how come, don't they eat?" "are you reading my mind?" the girl demanded. "if so, you might as well learn right now that this is not considered good manners here!" momentarily, she was angry. "and besides, if you do it again, i'll close off my thoughts to you." zen, with a forkful of mush halfway to his mouth, was so surprised that he tried to speak and to swallow the mush at the same time, with the result that he choked. the inference back of her words opened up wide horizons of speculative thought. was mind reading actually commonplace here? "i'm sorry you choked," nedra said. she pounded him on the back. "why don't you put me over your shoulder and burp me?" zen complained. "lay off with that pounding." "do you feel you really need burping?" "aw, shut up," zen answered. if she thought he had read her mind, did this mean that she was actually capable of reading his thoughts? could all of these people read his mind? had the nude bronze girl going through the rhythmic exercises known what he was thinking about her. zen felt himself coloring. it was one thing to have the normal libidinous impulses of the male but it was quite another thing to have every woman know what he was thinking about her. "colonel, i do believe you are blushing," nedra said, a twinkle in her eyes. "i am not," zen said. "actually i was wondering--" "whether or not i could read your mind? i told you it was not good manners here." "good manners or not, you seemed to know what i was thinking." "it isn't necessary to read your mind to know what you are thinking if a pretty woman is concerned," nedra said, primly. "your thoughts are written on your face." "uh!" for a moment, his confusion grew. her understanding was much too acute. was she playing games, making fun? if so, this was a game that two could play. "in that case, since you already know about me--how about it?" he said, looking boldly at her. she understood his meaning. for a moment, the violet eyes showed sadness. they seemed to indicate that she was disappointed in him, that she had hoped for much better from him. then a sparkle came into them. "i told you once before--" "yeah, i know. you are going to wash out my mind with soap. but let's not do it right now. i'm still hungry." "you are one of the most perplexing men i have ever met," nedra said, as she rose to fill his plate again. "also one of the fastest--" "i thought we were going to stay away from that subject," he protested. "i intended to say fastest on his mental feet," she answered. "and if you don't stop interrupting me to make a play on words, i'm going to give you a hit on the head. after that, sam wants to see you." "sam, huh?" he said, with no real enthusiasm in his voice. somehow this morning, he did not relish seeing the craggy man. but there was the matter of the missing pack and gun to be taken up with someone in authority. he suspected that west was that person. the craggy man was alone in the room to which nedra took him when he had finished breakfast. west was standing with his back to them as they entered, staring out of a picture window that was set flush with the wall of the building. turning, he nodded to them, then motioned to them to come and stand beside him. kurt zen looked out on one of the most breath-takingly beautiful scenes he had ever seen. directly below them the cliff dropped away for hundreds of feet, a blank wall of sheer rock. to the left, climbing up into the sky, was the peak of the mountain, solid granite. they were just at the edge of timberline here. lower, the trees began: spruce, fir, and aspen, marching downward tier on tier over a series of rolling hills that concealed more than they revealed. in the distance was the front range, a towering sweep of mountains that looked small but which zen knew to be rugged country. he had climbed them too recently to have any doubts as to how high they were. and how rugged. in the far distance cumulus clouds were visible, thunder-storms beyond the mountains. "_thy purple mountain's majesty above the fruited plain...._" the words of the song came unbidden into kurt's mind. down below him was--america. or what was left of it. a pang came up in his throat at the thought and he felt muscles pull and knot in his stomach. he had loved this land. america had stood for freedom. her sons had fought for it, on battlefields in every corner of the earth, from sun-baked equatorial africa to the freezing bitter steppes of central asia. while her sons had found graves, fighting for freedom, something had happened to the freedom for which they fought. nobody knew quite what had happened, but it had gone away. possibly it had been lost as emergency followed emergency on the international scene, possibly it had been strangled in red tape as regulation followed regulation on the national scene. the time had come in america, too, as it had come to foreign lands, when all actions that were not compulsory were forbidden. thus freedom had died. "do you feel as bad as all that, colonel?" west said softly. the man's face was grave and each ridge on it seemed carved out of another and harder kind of granite. "it seems such a shame," zen said. "i loved this land. it was my country. and i don't feel that i have to apologize for a gulp in my tongue as i talk about it." "it is not necessary to apologize for loving one's own land, colonel," west said, his voice softer still. "you are not alone." "not alone?" zen said. "from you, this talk sounds strange." "we have all loved this land, too, colonel, and the principles for which it stood. that is why we are here." west's voice became softer still, but the gravity in his face seemed to increase. "that is good talk," zen said. "however, if i have learned one thing, it is that talk is cheap. you are outlaws hiding here yet you talk of loving the land that you have failed to serve." he felt his voice grate as he spoke. "bravely spoken, colonel," west applauded. a glint that might have been appreciation and might have been the edge of hidden anger showed in his eyes. "particularly so since you are in the power of these--ah--outlaws." "very brave," nedra agreed. "and very foolish." "you did not bring me here to tell me that i am in your power," zen answered. "nor to comment on my bravery. nor my foolishness." "i think he can read minds," nedra said. "i do not in the least doubt it," west answered. "if he did not possess this ability, or almost possess it, he would not be here." "i, in my turn, think both of you are nuts," zen answered. "i'm not putting on a mind-reading act." "not consciously, colonel, of course," west agreed. "you think your thoughts are your own. often they are. but there are also times when they have originated with somebody else. however, before you tell me that i did not call you up here to discuss your mind-reading ability, or lack of it, i will show you one reason why i wanted you. take the glasses, observe the ridge in the far distance, just under the pines. tell me what you see there." "horses," zen said. "no, mules. with riders. cuso's men going out on a raiding party looking for food, ammo, and women, if they can catch 'em." "quite right, colonel. except that they probably have the additional duty of inspecting the damage their blooper did when it exploded." "i hope they inspect that damage from close range," zen said fervidly. "that area is hot. if they will only spend an hour or so--" he broke off as he remembered that both nedra and west had spent too much time in the same hot zone. "they will not be that foolish," west said. "i know some people who were," zen said. "perhaps the area, at least on the fringes, was not as hot as you had thought," west suggested. "my counter said it was," zen answered. "possibly your counter was in error. now if you will come into this room, colonel." west moved through an archway in the stone wall and into another room, holding the heavy draperies aside so zen and nedra could enter. an opaque screen was set into the wall. several chairs, including one large seat with control buttons built into the arms, were in this room. west closed the curtain over the arch through which they had entered and motioned zen to a chair. the craggy man slid into the chair with the buttons on the arms. nedra sat beside zen. relaxed and at ease in the chair, she seemed to have forgotten that such creatures as colonels of intelligence existed. west pushed a button. light flicked across the screen, danced an erratic pattern there, and vanished. an image began to form. firming, it increased in detail, and became a city. or what had once been a city. the place was blackened now, the buildings lying in ruins. towers had toppled, windows had broken, the ravages of fire were visible. here and there tall buildings had crumbled into streets that crossed and criss-crossed each other at crazy angles. the rubble from the broken buildings still lay where it had fallen. "washington, by thunder!" zen said. "this was their prime target. we stopped their bombers cold but they eventually got through with a guided missile. the city is still hot. you can see it right there on the screen. not a sign of life!" he became excited as he re-lived those first mad moments when the asian federation had struck out of nowhere. in this moment what little freedom that had remained in america had been given up in the face of the seemingly more important necessity of remaining alive. "yes," west said. "now what do you see?" the ruined washington faded from the scene. as it faded, the broken dome of the capitol building--its top had been blown off in the blast--was revealed looking like a mysterious crater on the moon open to the sea of space. another city came on the screen, a mass of broken buildings where two rivers met. "i think that's pittsburgh," zen said. "they were eager to hit us there, to cut down on our industrial production potential. they got gary, indiana, and south chicago, for the same reason. in spite of everything we could do to stop it, they eventually got through to our major production centers. if we hadn't foreseen the possibility of this happening, and had not spread our industry across the country, breaking it up into small parts, they would have crippled us so badly before the war even started that we would not have lasted long. however, even with our production spread, when they hit the sources of our raw materials, they hurt us--bad. our stock piles gave out after a couple of years. since then we've been scavenging for metal wherever we can find it." "yes. i know," west said. "of course, while they were hurting us, we weren't exactly helping them," zen said. "we had a few guided missiles ready in their launching racks ourselves. we weren't exactly defenseless." pride came into his voice as he spoke. "i agree with you there," west said. "would you like to see some of our results." "hell, yes," zen blurted out, surprised. "our photo ships have never gotten really good pics. have to fly too high for that. oh, we have turned loose a flood of pics that purported to show how we had bombed hell out of the enemy, but these were all re-touched, to boost public morale. but--how does this radar work? do you mean to tell me you can actually see what is going on inside the country of the enemy?" puzzled wonder crept into his voice. behind the feeling was a keen interest. if he could use this radar to see into the country of the enemy, it was a very important invention, though west did not seem to realize this. in war, information was always as important as weapons, and sometimes more so. knowledge of the enemy's troop dispositions, of his strength and his weaknesses, was often more than half the battle. west did not answer. another city swam into position on the screen. zen caught a glimpse of a single minaret standing among the bare ruins and hazarded a guess as to the identity of the city. "moscow?" "yes." "good. one of our fast planes sneaked over in full daylight, dumping his load. when the photo plane passed over hours later, the city was still burning. we really blasted the hell out of that dump!" "you sound pleased, colonel. do you know how many millions of people died directly or indirectly in that bomb explosion?" "how many millions died in washington, pittsburgh, and chicago?" zen flared. "granted," west answered. "but after the first man has been killed, does it help the situation to kill a second? or does killing the second one merely make it more likely that a third one will have to be destroyed?" "what the hell difference does it make? this is war." "that is also granted. however, the rules of life do not change because men declare war." "don't be so damned academic that you forget to be realistic. they were striking at our heart," zen said, bitterness deep in his voice. "look, we didn't seek this war. we did everything we could to prevent it. we tried compromise, arbitration, placation, and everything else we could think of. nothing worked. they struck in the dark, without warning." as he spoke, his bitterness turned into deep anger. "that is also granted," west said, while the ruined city was displayed on the screen. "but does it make a great deal of difference?" zen stared at the man, wondering what kind of a human he was. in the dim room, it was difficult to make out west's features. "it makes all the difference in the world. we believed in fairness. they ignored it. we believed in a better world. they would plunge us back into the night of barbarism. we believed in freedom. they wanted slaves. they set up a slave state and threw armed slaves against free men. we had no choice except to fight back." "i see nothing to argue in all you have said," west answered. "nor is it to my purpose to attempt to justify the actions of the western democracies. they need no justification. nor do the actions of the asian federation need justification. in their eyes, they were right." his voice was a low monotone of sound without the trace of an emotion in it. "then what is your purpose?" zen demanded. "first, to point out that the human race is one organism. viewed in its totality, it is just that, an organism. all the billions of individuals who compose it are cells in that organism." "i am familiar with that theory," zen answered. "a few crackpots have always insisted that we are a biological entity. but they have not succeeded in proving this." "haven't they?" west said. the slightest touch of irony appeared in his voice. "not so far as i know." "is it possible, colonel, that you do not know everything?" west asked. "it is not only possible, it is obvious," zen answered, unruffled by the cutting question. "if i knew everything, i wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. i would be out there winning a war." "the point i want to make, colonel, is that the human race is divided against itself. historically, this has been going on since remote ages. war after war after war." "i do not see how america is responsible for the errors of history," zen said. "we tried to avoid them. god knows we tried." emphasis crept into his voice. "i did not say these were errors, colonel," west replied. "i merely said they were history." "but what point are you making if not the one that wars are mistakes?" zen asked, surprised at the way the other's thinking had gone. "i am making the point that war seems to be the way the entity, the human race as a whole, evolves. the method of evolution revealed by history is the pitting of one part of the entity against another part, then letting them fight it out to see which is the more efficient." a touch of grimness sounded in the voice of the craggy man. in the dimly lighted room, his face was as bleak--and as lonely--as the granite outcropping at the top of a mountain. "this is a very savage philosophy," kurt zen commented. "if i may disagree with you again, colonel, i do not think that this philosophy is necessarily savage. true, a great many men die in fiendishly ingenious ways. a great many women and children suffer. true, this system produces hunger in the world, and a fear so deep and so intense that the heart is hurt even to contemplate it." "how can this be anything but savage?" zen protested. "i don't care whether our side or the other side is doing it--it's still total savagery, utter barbarism!" "but that is a short-term view and one which does not take into consideration all the factors in the equation. what is the purpose back of this savagery, if it is not to force men to learn and to grow? what if this so-called savagery is also the result of ignorance, of an entity trying desperately to learn how to solve a problem, but never quite succeeding?" "but surely there must be some way which does not involve so much suffering," zen protested. he was growing more and more uncomfortable. it was his impression that he was shifting sides in the argument without quite realizing he was doing it. or perhaps west was the one who was shifting sides. this side-changing was producing confusion in his thinking. "i have harbored the same hope," west answered. "however, i know of no way to accomplish this result. in a human being, we have a growing, evolving organism that is possessed of a keen brain and a vast curiosity. such an organism, by its very nature, will have to try every possible road." west pressed a button. again the screen came to life. dim and shadowy, human figures began to move there. kurt zen leaned forward to see them more clearly. x at first, the figures were indistinct and zen could not see them clearly. he mentioned this to west. "they will get sharper in a minute," the craggy man answered. his voice had sunk to a whisper heard from afar. zen glanced at him to make certain he was still there. the colonel had the flickering impression that the chair was vacant but before the impression could firm itself, west, faster than the eyes could follow, seemed to be back in the chair. "note the screen now, kurt," west said. the figures had become clear. it seemed to be a view of some kind of underground cavern where men were working on an object that looked like--zen squinted his eyes, to make certain. "a small space ship!" the colonel said. he felt eagerness rise in his voice. like so many kids born in the age of science, he had harbored the dream of the days to come when men would fly beyond the sky, to storied space islands that lay afar. science had promised that this would happen and the fiction writers had embellished this belief with dream worlds. somehow, it had never come to pass. one problem after another had prevented realization of this dream. the war, which should have accelerated development, had stopped it completely. neither side had the materials or the engineers or the skilled technicians to construct a vessel capable of space flight. "no," west said. his voice was toneless and the far-away note was still strong in it. "sorry to contradict you, colonel, but that is not a small space ship, though it is designed to get out of the atmosphere for a short time. look again." "hell, it's a super bomb!" zen gasped, as recognition came to him. "right, colonel!" "a bomb big enough to devastate a continent!" cold currents suddenly flurried at the base of zen's spine. "right, colonel." west's voice was as dry as the nevada wind. "i didn't know we had such a bomb under construction," zen blurted out. "we haven't." "then who--where?" the cold currents at the base of zen's back were flowing down both legs and up his spine. "look at the men, colonel. look closely." west's voice was also cold. "they're asiatics!" shouting the words, zen was out of his chair. "i didn't see the yellow faces and the slanted eyes at first. west, that's a huge guided missile. it's being built to drop out of the sky at thousands of miles an hour, on us!" "yes," west said. he did not move a muscle in his body. on the other side of kurt zen, nedra sat equally silent and motionless. "i have to get out of here," zen said. "this information must be reported to the general staff, at once!" urgency pounded in the tones of his voice. "the new people do not fight," west said. "i thought you were one of us." "it doesn't matter who i am," zen said quickly. "the building of this super bomb must be reported. _it must be!_ extra warnings must be issued. we must alert every z-type fighter we possess and have them in the air constantly, in the hope that we can destroy this bomb before it lands. we've got to follow the construction hourly, so we will know when it is ready to be launched. and that means we've got to have top-flight intelligence men here, to follow the building of that bomb every inch of the way. or we've got to take this super-radar of yours to headquarters and use it there. that's the best solution, if it is at all practical." zen was striding back and forth in the darkened room, planning the steps that had to be taken. "west, do you realize this super-radar of yours will win the war!" excitement tightened the colonel's voice. "with it, the enemy won't be able to make a move that we don't know about in advance." his excitement grew as the vast longing hidden in him for the end of the war tried to come to the surface. "you have tears in your eyes, colonel," west said. "you're out of your mind," zen retorted. but he knew the craggy man was speaking the truth. he swallowed harder. "we've got the asians cold. we'll know every move they make in advance." he exulted as he realized again how much this meant. "i have always known every move they made in advance," west answered. "we'll have them on their knees in--huh? what was that you just said? what was that?" desperation appeared in the colonel's voice. west repeated his words. "then why didn't you warn us?" zen felt each word sting as it left his lips. "why didn't you warn us? why did you let so many of us die so unnecessarily?" west did not answer. the silence in the room grew deeper. cold had begun to appear in the air. on the screen, the silent figures continued busily engaged in the building of their bomb. "don't you realize that your failure to report what you knew is high treason?" zen continued. the silence grew. west sat as solid and as immobile as a mountain. nedra seemed to have shrunk in upon herself still farther. more than ever she looked like a very small girl who had somehow managed to intrude into a world of adults and was tremendously confused and hurt by what was happening here. "don't you hear me?" zen said. "i hear you," west answered. "your loyalty to your country does you credit, colonel. it is to be expected from a person in your stage of development. however, you seem to have forgotten that i am not a citizen of your country. or perhaps you did not know this?" "not a citizen?" zen said. "but this mountain exists in america. i don't know whether it is actually on canadian ground or lies in the united states, but this does not matter. by mutual treaty, the countries have become one nation. a citizen of one is automatically a citizen of the other." "true, colonel." west did not attempt to explain. "then what country do you claim to belong to?" zen felt his voice falter as he tried to grasp what lay back of this very strange man. "you talk like an american." "i was born here." "then you are a citizen." "no. i resigned my citizenship. as to my real country, it is a far land. i am sure you have no knowledge of it. my loyalty, colonel, is not to any nation on the face of the globe, but is to--growth, to the new people who will come into existence one day." as west spoke, the cold that was freezing zen's spine suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a sudden deep warmth. the words seemed to touch some hidden spring of warmth within him. "my loyalty is to the future, to the growing tip of the life force, to what the human race will become, not to what it is today. only the future has meaning, colonel, and to the building of that future i have dedicated my life." in spite of the fact that the words thrilled him, zen knew he had to deny them. "this is sophistry," he snapped. "i think any court in the land would hold it to be evasion of your proper duties. you can't continue living in a country and enjoying its ble--" confusion came into zen's mind. "were you going to say _blessings_, colonel?" west said, almost maliciously. "yes." "would you point out these blessings?" "we had them once," zen said. "and we're going to have them again." "are you?" west nodded toward the screen where the far-off enemy technicians and engineers were busy with their super bomb. "now that we know that it exists, that bomb will never land," zen said. "i'll see to that personally." "how are you going to discharge this responsibility?" west inquired. "i'll find a way," zen answered. "i admire your spirit, colonel, though not necessarily your evaluation of your personal position at this moment. also, there is one other thing that i want you to see." the screen went blank. slowly another scene formed on it. zen, staring, blurted out words. "that's another one. they're making two of those super bombs. i didn't think they had the materials and the technical know-how to make even one! this doubles the problem, and more than doubles the urgency. we'll have to guard the skyways from all directions, including straight up. damn it, west!" zen slapped his fist into his open palm to emphasize his feeling of urgency. "look again, colonel," the craggy man invited. on second look zen saw something that he had missed before. "those are americans! we're building that bomb!" his words were little gusts of explosive sound in the quiet room. "right," west said. his voice was very grim. "then it's a race to see which side gets its bomb built first?" zen asked. he did not know whether or not he liked what his eyes were seeing and the interpretation his mind was giving him. "i am afraid that is true," west reluctantly agreed. "but doesn't that change the picture, colonel?" "how?" zen demanded. "we're going to win a war. we've got to win it." the words were firmly spoken but somewhere a lingering doubt remained as if some point had not been considered. "the other side also thinks it has to win," west pointed out. "to hell with what they think. they started it. we didn't. man, you don't intend to tell me that you are going to sit right here and watch two nations frantically try to destroy each other--and maybe the earth with them--when you have the means to stop it in your hand?" horror exploded in zen's words. "i am going to do just that," west stated. his voice was as firm and as solid as the granite core of a mountain. "but you can't!" zen expostulated. "why can't i?" west demanded. "i am not a citizen of either country and i owe nothing to any nation." "even if you are not a citizen of either country, you're still a human being. you owe loyalty to your own race," zen said. the craggy man showed faint signs of discomfort. but when he spoke, his voice was still imperturbable. "granting your statement, what do you propose i do?" "stop the asians," zen answered promptly. "give us complete information on the location of their super-bomb. we'll make certain we get ours finished first and we'll use it to blow their installation out of existence." at the moment, his plan seemed feasible. "that would create the very danger you are trying to avoid, would it not?" west pointed out. "both super bombs would explode simultaneously. do you think the earth would remain in its orbit if this happened?" "i don't know," zen answered. "that would be up to the astronomers and the astronomical physicists to decide. in any case, if the danger is too great, we'll use ordinary weapons to touch off their super bomb. well get the job done before they finish." "they are working underground, in a cavern at least three thousand feet deep," west pointed out. "do you have a weapon that will penetrate to this depth?" "we'll build one!" "you talk very glibly, colonel." "somebody has got to talk!" zen said fiercely. "even if they are building their bomb underground, they must have an exit for it somewhere. we'll locate their exit and drop an h-bomb on it." "and thus destroy their bomb and the best of their scientists and engineers?" "this is war. you can't have sympathy in war." "this is my point, colonel," west said patiently. "i have no sympathy--with either side." "then what do you propose--to sit here and do nothing?" "i propose to let each side destroy the other as much as they wish and can. then, when they have completely demonstrated the futility of their efforts, when it is utterly clear to the few who have survived that warfare is not the way to the future, then the new people will emerge to show the way to those who have survived." west's voice was calm. he seemed to be considering a situation often pondered and to be stating a conclusion firmly and definitely reached. "but that involves senseless slaughter," zen protested. "this was the reason that lay back of the dropping of the first atom bomb--to stop senseless slaughter." "all slaughter is senseless, colonel, though from the viewpoint of the individual or nation doing it, slaughter is generally considered to be right at the time." zen started to comment on what the craggy man had just said, then changed his mind. was he dealing with a madman? this seemed possible. west's words certainly did not fit any pattern that zen knew. the act of sitting by and letting two nations commit suicide went beyond the bounds of rational thinking. "i beg you, let me report this to the high command," zen said, making one last plea. "in reply, i want to ask one question," west answered. "what would happen to the people here, and to me, if i revealed the existence of this instrument?" "you would be a hero," zen said promptly, and knew he was lying as he spoke. "your people would be protected." "i dislike calling you a liar, colonel, but that is exactly what you are," west answered. "we would all be taken care of, as long as all of us did exactly what the high command wanted. the instant i tried to do anything else, my actions would be called treason and i would be considered a traitor. my equipment would be confiscated, '_for the convenience of the government_,' and i would be lucky if i did not face a firing squad. tell me honestly, colonel, would not this happen?" for the first time, west's words had a tinge of anger in them. or was it sorrow? "sam--" nedra said. "something--" her voice was a whisper from some far-off land. "what is it, nedra?" west asked. in an instant, he had forgotten all about kurt zen. the nurse sat up straight and stiff. all color fled from her face. "something--" her voice was the faintest whisper of sound in this quiet room. "nedra, what is it?" west's tones had alarm in them. instead of answering, the nurse slid from her chair to the floor, in a faint. dim and distant in the silence that followed came a popping sound. _rat-tat-tat-tat-tat--_ zen had heard this death-dealing rattle too often to mistake its identity. "a sub-machine gun!" the drapes that covered the archway leading into this hidden room were shoved aside. a man fell through them. zen knew at a glance that he was another of the kids who lived here in this hidden cavern inside a mountain. blood was spewing from a hole in his back and he was fighting desperately for breath. "they're--coming with guns!" he gasped. west dropped to his knees and took the head of the youth in his lap. his face was dark as he saw the wound on the back. cuddling the youth's head in his lap as one would a frightened child, he asked, "what happened, carl?" "i don't know. they came out of nowhere. there was no one. then these men were here. they came--shooting." blood came out of his mouth as he spoke. he tried to cough it away, and failed. his hand went to his mouth and wiped at the blood, then he lifted his hand to his eyes and saw what was there. "how many are there?" zen asked. carl's eyes wandered until he found the source of this question. "dozens," he said, his voice dull. blood was draining from his mouth across west's legs and was forming a pool on the floor. listening, zen could distinguish three machine guns going now. men were yelling. a girl was screaming. at the sounds, the colonel's lips formed into a line as sharp as the edge of a knife. "how did they get past your fear generators?" he said to west. "i don't know," the craggy man answered. "perhaps they found an unguarded tunnel." zen could not see what difference it made how the intruders had secured entry. they were here. "where are your weapons?" he demanded. in his mind was the thought that the new people would have weapons adequate to defend their own citadel. "weapons?" west did not seem to understand the term. "we have none." "what?" zen said. hadn't west understood him. every farmer, every rancher, and every householder had his stock of weapons. almost all people went armed. "no rifles?" "no." "not even tear gas?" "no, colonel." "then how in the hell did you expect to stay alive?" zen burst out. "you surely knew they would find you sometime." "staying alive is actually not as important as you think. yes, son." west bent again to listen to the youth's words. "good--good--" the whisper was very faint. west understood. "goodbye," he said. "we will meet again. but, goodbye for now." the youth sighed. all pain and all fear went from his face. peace came to him. but when west rose to his feet, his face was bleak. "he was new here," he said as if this explained something that he felt needed explaining. somewhere a woman was screaming. west listened to the sound, then started toward it. zen caught his arm. "the invaders have guns." his tone conveyed the impression that west was at fault because no weapons existed inside the mine. "or do you want to go join him?" he nodded toward the body on the floor. blood had stopped spilling from that body now. the essence of life had gone elsewhere and the tides of life had ceased flowing. "yes," west said bluntly. "i want to go with him." his face had grown more black. heat lightning was dancing in his eyes. zen caught the impulse to say that this made two of them who wanted to join the bronze-skinned youth. he knew how to deal with this reaction. "okay," he said. "good bye." west blinked startled eyes at him. "run along," zen said. "eh?" "i'll take over here and fight the battle you are running from," zen continued. as if he were dispelling a mist from some hidden corner of his mind, the craggy man shook his head. "sorry," he apologized. "however, the call is very strong. only the sense of a job not yet done has kept me from going for--a long time." he shook his head again. "no, i shall not follow him, for another while, though i am positive that he is luckier than we are." "i agree," zen said. stooping, west picked up nedra. she lay in his arms like a tired, sleeping child. had she followed the youth? kurt zen had a moment of heartbreak as the thought passed through his mind before he saw that she was still breathing regularly. "follow me," west said. the heat lightning still danced in the eyes of the craggy man as he moved across the room. the solid wall swung aside into another hidden door. "none of my people know this is here," he explained. "the combination lock is actuated only by my body." as kurt zen went through the door he could hear the girl still screaming somewhere. the passage was narrow. to one side, another passage led into a room where zen caught a glimpse of some kind of electrical equipment in operation, the technical guts of the super-radar, he suspected. ahead, west growled, a sound that came from deep in his throat. he had stopped and was staring down into a hidden opening in the wall. zen saw that the opening, through some hidden arrangement of mirrors, revealed the interior of the big gallery where he had spent the night. hell was loose in there now. xi jake, ed, and cal were part of that hell. each carried a smoking weapon in his hands. a body lay on the floor. somewhere in one of the small rooms a woman was screaming. in the middle of the room stood the man who was obviously in charge of the situation. at the sight of this man, kurt zen felt his breath draw into his body so heavily that it whistled through his nostrils. cuso's lieutenant! the others in the room were the asians who had been with the lieutenant the night before. "i should have slit their throats while they were asleep and in my power last night," zen raged. the only sound in the passage was that of west breathing heavily, like a man who had run a marathon and had lost. no, there were two men! additional shock came up in kurt zen when he realized he was the second man. he seized the craggy man by the shoulder. "west! they can't have that super radar. if we lose that, we have lost the war." the craggy man did not move. anguish grew in zen's voice. "if we lose this one, it will be the first war we have ever lost. and the last one. nothing will remain to come after us except death and desolation." "i know," west said. "the race soul will have to start over, in the swamps and on the mud flats, trying to rebuild the race with tools long since worn out and out of place in time." again the tones of a bell were in his voice. but now the bell was tolling the death of a people, wailing that the glory that once had been was truly gone, wailing that the brave world that some men had tried to build was going into ashes and into doom. "do you believe in the race soul too?" west gasped. "_belief_ is too weak a word. i _know_ it exists." nedra sighed in west's arms and opened her eyes. seeing who was holding her, she lay back in the arms of the craggy man, more than ever like a tired child. "what was it?" she whispered. "what's wrong? i--i took a little nap." west set her on her feet and pointed at the opening. she clutched at the stone wall as she saw what was happening inside. running, the bronze girl who had danced to the slow music the night before, came fleeing from a room. one of cuso's soldiers was pursuing her. she fled like a deer before some great hound that was interested in pulling her down but she did not flee fast enough. the soldier caught her and dragged her back into a room. "west, how many of these kids did you have here?" zen asked. "about fifty," the craggy man answered. "i don't know how many are left nor can i guess how many will choose to stay alive if they are conquered before their training is completed." "and no weapons?" "none." "what about my gun that was taken from me while i slept?" "what good would one gun do now?" "none, i guess," zen said, helplessly. "but as they try to run me down, i'd like to have it in my hands. i'd at least take a few of them with me before they got me." "we will survive," west said, his voice a mumble. zen pointed through the opening to the bodies lying on the floor below them. "they didn't," he said. the craggy man groaned. "if i had time i would try to explain to you that survival does not lie in the body and can never be achieved there." zen answered, "i have no time for metaphysics. for purposes of defense, i'm taking command." he felt foolish as he spoke. what resources were his to command, what troops, what weapons? he knew the answer as the thought crossed his mind. if he only had the remnants of the broken column moving down the mountains after its disastrous encounter with cuso's blooper. an idea came into his mind. perhaps he could have these troops. "where's my pack?" he demanded. his radio equipment was in that. "it went with your gun into the deep hole," west said. "the deep hole is a fault the old miners uncovered here. it's miles deep." he shook his head. "damn!" kurt zen said. the depression in him was as deep as the fault in the mountain. "isn't there any place where we can hide?" "many places," west said. "this whole mountain is a honeycomb of tunnels and shafts. we have explored fifteen separate levels and there are others which lie below the present water line." he did not protest at zen's statement that the latter was taking command, but seemed willing to submit to the colonel's authority, and also interested in seeing how zen would handle the problem. "then find us a place to hide until we can decide what to do to eliminate cuso's men. a hiding hole first, then radio equipment. as soon as i can gain access to short-wave transmitting equipment, i can have a regiment of paratroopers on their way here." "you sound as if you have authority," nedra commented. "i have." "but you gave me the impression you were a deserter." "they haven't discovered that yet, at headquarters. so far as they are concerned, i'm on a secret mission. and i haven't deserted the human race." zen put sting into his words. the implication was that two people present were really deserters. "ah, well, colonel, we shall see about that." west had recovered most of his aplomb. again he seemed to be observing from a great distance the antics of this strange species called human. but his face remained bleak and his eyes had flickers of lightning in them. he started away from the opening. and stopped as metal clanged ahead of them. a door opened there. an asian soldier with his rifle at the ready came through. a second one followed the first. the rifles of both covered west. zen jerked his arms toward the roof. neither the craggy man nor nedra moved a muscle. slowly, west and nedra raised their hands. at gun point, the two soldiers herded them toward the main gallery. at the sight of them the lieutenant hastily called cal to him. "is this the one?" he demanded, pointing at west. "that's him," cal answered. "he's the leader here. he's the one you want." elation appeared as a shock-wave on the yellow face of the asian lieutenant. calling two men to him, he had west step aside, treating the craggy man with respect that bordered on deference but also with great firmness. "you two stand against the wall with the others," he said to nedra and kurt zen. there was no deference in his voice as he spoke to them. "if they move, shoot them!" he ordered his men. as kurt and nedra obeyed, the lieutenant drew west to one side and began a conversation with him. his men were still busy searching the old mine tunnels. now and then they brought more captives to the main gallery. cal, jake, and ed remained in the center of the big room. cal was trying to look important but the expression on his face indicated he was hiding guilt pangs somewhere inside. as soon as he saw nedra, ed's eyes became fixed on her though he did not look at her face. jake's murky eyes were roving the chamber. he did not seem to comprehend what he was seeing but seemed to be living in some other world that was even more confusing and more clouded than this one. the bronze girl, utterly naked, came limping into the gallery from one of the small rooms. she had a dazed expression on her face and she looked around the room as if she could not comprehend what was happening. at the sight of her, the lieutenant left off talking to west for a moment, his eyes glowing. but his conversation with west was more important than his lust. he motioned with his gun for the bronze girl to take her place against the wall. she stared at him as if she did not understand him. he waved the gun again. some dull comprehension of his meaning penetrated her mind. she stumbled to the wall but fell face downward on the stone floor. nedra, with a little cry of pity on her lips, moved quickly to the side of the bronze girl. zen started to move, then stopped, but not because the rifle of one of the guards was swinging up to menace him. nedra gave a quick examination of the girl, then got slowly to her feet. "dead?" zen said. "y-es. but how did you know?" "just a hunch. what caused it, shock?" "i imagine so. after she was violated, she wanted to die. so she really died because she wanted to. i--i--" tears appeared in nedra's violet eyes and ran down her cheeks. but she did not sob, though muscles moved in her throat. west glanced at the bronze girl. he seemed to know, without being told, what had happened. his face became bleak. the lieutenant regarded the body of the dead girl with regret. when the soldier who had violated her came out of the room, the lieutenant ordered him to remove the body. zen got the impression that the lieutenant, even though he was talking earnestly with the craggy man, was waiting. forty of the new people were herded into the room and forced to stand against the walls. bronze striplings, they were. not a one was out of his twenties and several were obviously in their teens. though they were confused, they kept silent. "is this all?" zen heard the lieutenant ask west. the craggy man must have known at a glance the answer to this question but he took the time to count every person. "this is all," he said positively. the lieutenant seemed to believe him but zen would have given odds that the man was lying. the lieutenant continued to wait. a guard, entering hastily, saluted. when zen saw who was following the soldier he realized why the lieutenant had been waiting. cuso came into the gallery. the asian leader was a giant almost seven feet tall and big in proportion. he looked capable of killing a man with his bare hands, and probably was. just looking at him, zen knew why he had been selected to lead the airborne landing in america. radiating power and strength, he was the type for this kind of mission. besides power, he radiated something else. zen sensed this something else as a sickening feeling at the pit of his stomach, a tightening of muscles in the diaphragm. when cuso appeared, the lieutenant stiffened himself to attention and almost broke his arm saluting. he and cuso spoke together in a sing-song dialect that zen did not pretend to understand. as they talked, the lieutenant continued to point at west. a grin broke out on cuso's face. he beckoned the craggy man to him. the craggy man approached, but did not salute. prisoners were not permitted to salute. nor did he get down on his hands and knees, which was not only permitted but required among the asians. west stood arrow-straight. in spite of his disagreements with him, zen felt proud of sam west now. cuso was grinning placatingly but in spite of the grin, west surely knew that he was looking at death, that the slightest show of resistance on his part would have only one result, although cuso might save him until he had wrung all possible information out of him. zen did not in the least doubt that information was what the asian wanted first. after that, there was the tradition of torturing helpless prisoners. "i have heard much about you," cuso said. for an asian, he spoke fair english. "i am greatly honored," west answered. "however, i am curious as to how you heard about me." a sly grin flitted across the asian's face. "we 'ave our sources of information." "spies?" west asked. "we 'ave spies, of course, but they could not find out much about you. there are other ways--how do you say it?" "clairvoyants?" west asked. "yes, that is right." cuso looked pleased to be given the right word. he also looked startled because he had been given the right fact. zen, listening, was surprised too. he knew that the suggestion to use clairvoyants to find out what the enemy was doing had often been made. as an intelligence officer, he had investigated several clairvoyants who had volunteered for this purpose. he knew that such a project had been set up but he did not know what the results had been, if any. however, to learn that the enemy had not only entertained the same ideas, but had used them with some success, startled him. "i suspected clairvoyants," west said. "ah," cuso said. "did you also suspect that the only reason this airborne landing was made on these shores was to capture you?" even west's perfect control of his features could not hide the start of surprise at these words. "i am not that important," he said. cuso smiled deprecatingly and made a little gesture with his hand which said that such modesty was becoming in the truly great. oddly, zen had the impression that the asian leader meant this. "as to that, i have the great privilege of offering you a commission as a field marshal in the armies of united asia." his voice dripped oil and awe, oil because he was selling, awe because he was truly impressed by the rank of field marshal. perhaps as a result of the successful achievement of this difficult mission, even he might have this rank. hunger thickened on cuso's face as he thought of this. west blinked, then smiled back at cuso. "that is interesting. but what makes you think i would be interested in such a commission--or in any commission--in your armies?" "for protection, for one reason," cuso answered promptly. "our reports indicate that you are not a citizen of any country. since this leaves you with no friends to protect you, this is an undesirable position. on the other hand, since you belong to no one, every country feels that you are an enemy. because of this, your life is constantly in danger. however, holding our commission, you are automatically a citizen of united asia, and thus are under our protection." cuso spoke as if being a citizen of united asia was important and that holding a commission in its armies was even more so. "do you think i have no friends?" west asked. "well, you are not a citizen of--" "why do you think i need protection?" west continued. the oily smile slid off of the giant asian's face. for an instant, the wild beast underneath showed through. "perhaps you do not need protection personally. but under the circumstances as i have outlined them, our mantle would automatically extend to the people working with you." his eyes went around the room to the youths standing rigidly against the wall. in this circuit, his gaze flicked contemptuously past the corpses lying on the floor. the face of the craggy man got bleak again. he understood only too well what lay back of cuso's words. "i see what you mean. but what do you wish of me?" his voice carried an intimation of surrender in the face of odds that he recognized as being hopeless. zen, with his back to the wall, tried to keep from squirming. emotions that were causing actual pain were in his body. why would the race mind permit such an outrage as this? the smile on cuso's face went from ear to ear. here was victory, here was the submission of the enemy. here was what his leaders wanted. here was a marshal's baton for him. "really very little." he drew in his breath with a hiss as he addressed west, a sign of deferent politeness. "merely that you show us what you have here. and, of course, that you should explain it all to our scientists and engineers, showing them how your equipment operates." the room got very quiet after cuso had finished speaking. west seemed to muse. "what do you think we have here?" he said. "if i knew the answer to that question, i would not be asking such a stupid thing," cuso answered. "quite true," west agreed. "i was stupid to even ask such a question." "the time is here to end stupidity," cuso said. "again i agree," the craggy man answered. he shrugged. "well, when and where do you want me to start?" the smile on his face was a mixture of fear and resignation. it indicated that he had given up completely. "now you are talking the kind of words i like to hear," cuso said emphatically. "you will start now, and show me, personally, everything that is of importance in this mountain." "very well. follow me." west turned and moved toward the opening that led to the chamber where the super radar was hidden. "wait here," cuso snapped at his lieutenant. "shoot any person who moves." "yes, great one," the lieutenant answered, saluting. this was the kind of order he loved to obey. cuso and west went out of sight. jake, cal, and ed stood in the middle of the room. ed approached the lieutenant, nodded toward nedra, and spoke earnestly to the man. the lieutenant shook his head vigorously, a gesture which seemed to indicate that ed was being very stupid. the bantam grumbled to himself and moved away. out of the corners of his eyes he kept watching the nurse. nedra ignored him. she also ignored kurt zen. as silent as so many statues, the new people stood against the stone walls. they seemed stunned. the impossible had happened to them and they were having difficulty in adjusting to it. john was not in the room. either he had succeeded in hiding or he had been killed. the fat youth was standing directly across the gallery from zen. farther down the wall, clad in pants and a bra, was a shapely blonde. when he was not watching nedra, ed paid attention to her. his actions seemed to irritate the lieutenant. lifting his rifle, he fired a single shot through the head of the bantam. ed collapsed, dead before he hit the floor. two asian soldiers carried the body away. "that lieutenant is hell on lovers," zen whispered. nedra did not answer him. her face was pale and her breathing was shallow. a film of sweat glistened on her forehead. glancing at her, zen had the impression that she was listening. for what? he wondered. the only thing that was left for any of them was the sounding of the trump of doom. zen had no illusions that cuso would keep his promises for any longer than was expedient. first, west and all the others must be pumped dry of information, the whole interior of the mountain must be thoroughly explored, then--more bodies for the deep hole. zen had no illusions that either west or the new people would long survive the information they could be forced to divulge. as to cuso's talk of west being given a commission as a marshal of the asian federation, for protection, the colonel knew that asian field marshals had been listed among the missing before now. a field marshal who fell from grace vanished. across the gallery the fat youth also vanished. one second he was there, the next second he was--gone! xii neither the lieutenant nor any of the asians noticed that a man had vanished. cal and jake, with the memory of ed's death still very fresh in their minds, were engaged in making themselves inconspicuous. as far as zen could tell, none of these clean, tall kids knew anything out of the ordinary had happened. beside the colonel, nedra seemed slightly more composed. her eyes were blank as if she were not seeing. the thin film of moisture was still visible on her forehead. zen started to whisper to her, to ask her if she had noticed anything different, then changed his mind. there was no point in taking such a risk at such a time. a sound was in the room, a thin, high note that was close to the upper limits of hearing. it passed beyond the range of hearing, or diminished in volume, then came again with the frequency of the ears, moving like a microscopically small but very powerful honey bee. had the sound been present all the time? or had it come into existence just before the fat youth vanished? zen did not know about the sound. a face appeared in the middle of the room. about ten feet above the floor, it looked around briefly, then vanished. cal seemed to see it too. a startled expression appeared on the face of the ragged man. his eyes opened wide. he blinked them hastily when the face vanished, then looked furtively around the room. jake said, very loudly, to the face, "hi, bud. long time no see. where you been?" "shut up your crazy head!" cal snarled at him. "but i just saw an old buddy," jake tried to explain. "you saw nothing." "what are you two talking about?" the lieutenant demanded. "nothing," cal answered. he pointed his finger at his forehead and made circling motions in the air, then nodded toward jake. "you know he's a looney, lieutenant." "oh, yes," the asian officer said, as if he had just remembered something. again he lifted the rifle to his shoulder. jake fell dead. the lieutenant slid another cartridge into his rifle. "as long as you needed us--" cal began. "but i no longer need you to help me find the hidden ones," the lieutenant answered. "that makes things different, doesn't it?" "it sure does," cal agreed. "but why did you shoot him?" "i made up my mind months ago to shoot him as soon as i no longer needed him," the asian officer answered. "he was too crazy to trust." "but he found this place for you and he got you past those hell generators," cal said. "that is true. but the place is now found and we are past the odd devices that make weaklings afraid." his tone said that this also made the situation different and that the ragged man had better understand this and guide himself accordingly. cal started to speak, then changed his mind. "what were you two talking about?" the asian asked. "he said he saw a face in the air," the ragged man answered. "i told him that he was nuts and to shut up." "was there a face?" "i didn't see nothing," cal answered. while the two were talking, zen was watching a youth in a loin cloth across the room. standing erect against the wall, looking as if he were being crucified there, but without making any sound, the youth was slowly vanishing. while the youth was sliding away, the violin note throbbed softly in the air. as he vanished, it went into silence, ending on a note of triumph. the lieutenant became suspicious. he scanned the people against the wall. "i thought there were more--" he muttered. slowly he counted them. "thirty-eight," he said. as if to engrave the number on his memory, he repeated it. simultaneously, one of the asian soldiers spoke to him in a swift flow of sound. zen could not understand what was being said, but he guessed from the way the soldier pointed to the spot where the fat youth had stood that he was reporting what he had seen happen. while they were talking the face appeared again in the air high in the middle of the room. the face was that of a man. he was wearing a mustache and he looked around the room with alert brown eyes. nodding to himself with apparent satisfaction, he vanished. down the wall from zen, a young woman vanished. she went rapidly, in the flicker of an eye. a youth standing next in line to her, followed suit. turning, the lieutenant saw that something had happened. hastily he counted those standing against the wall. "thirty-six! who slipped out while my back was turned?" as he asked the question, three of the new people vanished behind him. no one answered him. he turned again, and realized that more blank places had appeared while he was not looking. again, keeping behind him, another one of the new people vanished. watching, zen was treated to the spectacle of seeing an asian officer grow crazy. while the lieutenant was watching one particular person, nothing happened to the one under his scrutiny. but directly behind him a person flicked out of existence. for a time, the lieutenant almost had zen's sympathy. the colonel knew what would happen to this officer when cuso returned and found his prey had been permitted to escape. the asians were not known for leniency to their own men who failed an assigned duty. the lieutenant knew as well as zen what would happen to him. but he was helpless. no matter which way he looked, his back was always turned to someone. the person he was not watching--vanished. unnoticed by the lieutenant, the face that seemed to be directing the vanishing operation appeared and disappeared in the center of the room. it kept directly above the lieutenant's head, moving as he moved, vanishing as he looked up. the note of the violin came into hearing and went out again, repeating this action time and time again. sweat dripped off zen's chin and formed a puddle on the floor under him. he did not know what was happening. terror that was close to panic was in him but he did not move a muscle. for all he knew, the face might look at him and he might be the next one to vanish. where would he find himself if he vanished? _would_ he find himself again? or did these people slide forever into nothingness, into some dimensional interspace where there was no earth, no moon, and no stars? only he and nedra were left along the walls. the others had vanished. the lieutenant had gone completely crazy. sputtering a mixture of chinese and english, he was jabbing his rifle against nedra's stomach and was yelling at her. "_tze!_ go away. i will kill you if you do. _n-oten._ where did they go? i demand an answer. speak!" "i do not know," the girl answered. "speak! i command it. cuso will have my throat slit if i let all of you get away!" "i have already--" the lieutenant jabbed the muzzle of his rifle against her stomach. "if you go away, i will kill you." he meant what he said. smiling at him, the girl vanished. he pulled the trigger of the weapon. the bullets howled madly through the gallery. zen dropped hastily to the floor. death was too close for him to be amazed at the sight of an asian officer shooting at nothing. the lieutenant stopped shooting when the magazine was empty. as he clicked another clip into place, some measure of sanity seemed to return to him. he did not shoot the colonel. instead zen found himself being prodded with the muzzle of the still hot and smoking rifle. "if you go away--" zen got to his feet. "if i knew how to do it, i'd be gone," he said. "where did they go? how did they do it?" fine flecks of spittle were blown from the lieutenant's lips. the sound of hot lead was still strong in zen's ears. at any moment, the lieutenant might start shooting again, for any reason. or for no reason. "i don't know," zen said. "but you've got to know. you're one of them." "would i stand around here and let you shoot me if i was one of them?" zen answered. some of the logic of the question must have penetrated to the officer's mad mind. "no. no, you wouldn't. that is, i guess you wouldn't. but you might be trying to trick me." the thought of being tricked seemed to bring all his fury to the surface. "you did it once before, you and the girl." "how?" zen demanded. "you put us all to sleep, you and that girl? don't tell me you didn't. i was there." "i was there but i didn't have a damned thing to do with it. and neither did the girl." "then who did?" "west. he was outside with some kind of a sleep generator that operated electronically." doubt came over the lieutenant's face. how was he to know if this tall, thin yankee was telling the truth. in his book, all americans were liars. why trust this one? "if you lie to me--" "i know. you'll shoot me. and i'll return from the other world and strangle you some night, while you sleep." the shot went home. like most asians, this officer was superstitious. watching the reaction, zen wondered if this man would ever again dare to go to sleep at night. the deadly _dugphas_, the devil souls of the departed, might strangle him in a spirit noose the instant he closed his eyes. on the other hand, there was cuso. the lieutenant _knew_ what the asian leader would do to him. zen could see him making up his mind that it was better to take a chance on the deadly devils that roam the darkness than on cuso. the night devils might miss. "you lie!" the lieutenant lifted the rifle. at the same instant, cuso and west entered. the lieutenant lowered the rifle. hastily he approached his chief and saluted. then, taking as few chances as possible, he prostrated himself on the floor. reaching for cuso's foot, he tried to place it on his neck as a token of submission. cuso kicked him in the face. the asian leader's eyes ranged the room. he saw instantly that his prisoners were missing. his eyes turned green. he kicked the lieutenant in the face again and demanded to know what had happened. the luckless officer broke into a stream of tight, sing-song language. now and then he waved his hand as if to say that they had been here but had gone away. "the _dugphas_ took them," he screamed in english. cuso kicked him in the throat this time. he had no belief in night devils, he did not think they could spirit live people away, and he was not afraid of them. another burst of broken, impassioned speech came from the lieutenant's lips. listening to the sound, watching the contortions in the officer's body, zen thought with some satisfaction that ed and jake were being avenged. not that they deserved vengeance; they had gotten exactly what was coming to them. west remained aloof. he glanced around the room but no flicker of surprise showed on his face. did he know what had happened here? cuso, listening to his lieutenant, glanced once at the craggy man, a look that was pure suspicious hatred. if it had been possible, cuso would have had west skinned alive then and there. too much was at stake for that. a flayed man could not reveal his secrets. he could only die. cuso left off kicking his lieutenant and trying to listen to him at the same time. he turned to west. "it seems that your people have--departed," he said. "at least, they do not seem to be here," the craggy man answered. again his voice had the deep boom of a bell in it. "that is interesting," cuso said. "i find it so," west answered. "how was it done?" west spread his hands in a gesture that said something, or nothing. "perhaps it would be best to ask them." "you know." the words were a statement, not a question. "it could be," west answered. "then how?" cuso's words sounded like the snap of a bear trap closing. "i want to know how it was done. no alibis. no evasions. no excuses. just the truth." the tone of his voice carried the threat of violence with it. west smiled. "have i alibied or evaded? did you not see everything in our center here?" "i saw many things. that i saw all i do not know." "you saw what the colonel here--" the craggy man nodded toward zen, "--called my super radar." "did you show him that?" zen demanded. "of course. i have no secrets from the great asian. besides, has he not promised me a commission as a marshal in the armed forces of his land?" the words were easily spoken but zen knew that west was actually stalling for time. what was he waiting for? was it the appearance again of the face that had looked from the air in the center of the room? were the vanished people to reappear, armed with new weapons, and take the asians prisoners? "to hell with his commission!" zen shouted. "he'll never make good on his promise." "shut up, both of you!" cuso shouted. his voice was a bull bellow of sound that roared back from the walls of the gallery and was echoed from the tunnels that led outward. "you are stalling. you are trying to trick me." west was silent. "my dog here says the people vanished." cuso kicked his lieutenant again to indicate who was meant. "howl, dog!" the lieutenant obeyed. he was in such a state of mind that if cuso had told him to die, he would probably have obeyed, as a result of terror and suggestion. "do you want to howl like a dog too?" cuso said to west. "really, the possibility does not concern me," the craggy man answered. "did you have that in mind for me?" the tone was conversational. "west, this is no time to go over," zen growled. "i have no such intention, colonel." "you admitted once that what you wanted most to do was to join the bronze youth. i'm asking you--" "_shut up!_" cuso screamed. "the next person to open his mouth without my permission i will have shot out of hand." "ah," west said. the asian leader started to shout an order at his soldiers to shoot the craggy man, then changed his mind as he realized that even though he had the weapons and the men, there was nothing he could gain by killing the goose that might possibly lay a golden egg. as much as he wanted to have west killed, for defying him, he knew he would have to save this pleasure until later. cuso swallowed his anger. since his rage was so great, he had to swallow several times before he got it all down, after which he looked as if he were going to choke on it. "look, let's be reasonable," he urged. "i'm willing," zen said. "you're not worth a damn to me!" cuso shouted. "he is worth something to me," west interposed. again the asian swallowed. if ever he reached the explosion point, his anger was going to come out as boiling rage. "as i said, let us be reasonable and talk this over together." "glad to," west agreed. "what is more reasonable than a corpse?" the question took cuso aback. but only for an instant. "come to think of it, you're right. nothing that i have ever seen is more agreeable than a corpse, to me, that is. are you still determined to volunteer for that position, or should i say _condition_?" "any time," west answered. "as i told kurt some time ago, i am rather tired of this plane of existence and i would like to see what it's like over yonder. not that i don't already know," he added. "you know what it's like beyond death?" cuso asked, curious in spite of himself. "certainly," west said, in a sure tone of voice. listening, zen again had the impression that the craggy man was stalling for time again. on the other hand, he might be telling the literal truth, he might know what waited at the end of life. if so--zen let this possibility slide hastily out of his mind. he had more to think about now than he had brain cells to use for the task. "then what is it like?" cuso asked. "you have heard of heaven--" "yes." "that's where i'm going." as he spoke, west vanished. a stunned silence held the big gallery. cuso, his mouth hanging open, stood leaning forward. on the floor, the lieutenant dared to sit up. he even dared to speak. "see! that's the way they went. i couldn't stop 'em." cuso shouted an order at his men. zen found himself tied hand and foot. a raging maniac paced the floor beside him. every now and then cuso kicked him. screaming at the top of his voice, the asian leader invited zen to vanish too. it did zen no good to try to protest that he was not one of the new people and that he knew nothing of the method they had used in disappearing. in cuso's mind, he was one of them. he was to be treated as such. xiii at first, the lighted matches under his toe nails hurt like the very devil. he had never known such pain. then he forgot about the matches under his toe nails. they started lighting them under his fingers. "where did they go?" cuso screamed. "how did they do it?" zen had long since ceased trying to say that he didn't know. instead of speaking, he shook his head. this was all he could do. cuso interpreted the head shake as a stubborn refusal to answer. he kicked the colonel in the face. at the kick, the race mind clicked in. this was the effect zen had--as if a third person had suddenly come in on a party line. after that, the pain from the kick did not seem so important. the torture from the matches under his nails seemed to diminish also. not that the contact with the race mind nullified the pain or made it any less real. fire was still fire and torture was still the same. but neither were very important. other things were. zen tried to concentrate his attention on the other things. the room, the shouting cuso, the two asians who were holding him down while the third thrust the matches under his nails, the shivering cal, the lieutenant who was over-eager to obey his leader's orders, all these seemed to become misty and vague. these things were real; there was no question about that. but his mind was contacting another reality which made these things different. time began to lose its meaning. he wondered if he was fainting. another question came across his thoughts, heeled over like a sailing ship moving across the wind. was he dying? there was no shock with the thought. if that was the way it was, then he was more than ready. "you are not fainting and you are not dying," the race mind whispered to him. "come closer to me." "how do i come closer to you?" "let go." the voice of the race mind was like a whisper from the other side of infinity. "let go and come to me." dimly, he wondered how one let go. the answer came with the question. the words meant exactly what they said, the meaning was literal--_let go_. as he performed the action that went with the words, the big gallery, cuso, the lieutenant, and the torturers faded away and became a part of a misty world that seemed to have no real existence. even the pain vanished. "come to me," the race mind whispered, again and again, a luring voice that drew him irresistibly. abruptly, he was back in the gallery. he did not know how long he had been gone but he realized that some time must have passed, enough to allow them to set up a portable radio transmitter in the gallery. the set looked to be very powerful. a yellow-skinned operator was huddling over the controls. "in contact with asian headquarters," zen thought. he knew his thinking was correct. off somewhere in the distance outside the mountain the night shuddered. he knew the meaning of the sound. a rocket ship was either landing or blasting off, probably the latter. a long line of burdened asians was moving through the gallery. at the sight of their loads zen knew what had gone into the hold of that ship. the equipment of the hidden center here. he saw parts of the super radar go past on the backs of sweating asian soldiers, and he knew where this was going. at this knowledge, anguish came up in him. with west's super radar in their possession, no american secret was safe from prying asian eyes, unless some way could be found to shield the frequencies employed. such shielding might work for laboratories, but there was no way to shield troop movements and take-offs and landings. these would be as public as an advertisement. his face was wet. he could not understand this until another bucket of water hit him. an asian bent over him, saw that his eyes were open, and grunted with satisfaction. they started again on his fingers. the radio operator called to cuso, giving him a message. zen could not understand the language but the asian leader was both startled and elated. he shouted at the men carrying loads to work faster. "not much time left. big bomb coming." "what bomb?" zen thought. with the question came the answer. warned by cuso that their preparations were probably known, the asians had decided to launch their super bomb immediately. turmoil came up inside zen at this knowledge. real pain came from his finger tips as the torturers began operations again. "do you want to die?" the race mind whispered in his thoughts. although he couldn't contact it, the race field could reach him. "you have suffered all that is required. you have met the law. you may join me, if you wish." "i--" zen shut off his thinking. this was fantasy, the product of torture and nearing dissolution. his own imagination was tricking him, he thought. "this is not your imagination," the answer came. "this is what you call the race mind." "but--" "how do you know? you don't. at this point, you have to accept me on faith." the thinking flowing smoothly into his mind went into silence, then came again, stronger than before. "do you want to die? you have earned the right." "no," zen answered. he screamed the words again. "no. no!" "the path before you will be difficult." "i don't care how difficult it is. there's work to be done!" again he shouted the words. "very well. it is your choice. you may remain among the living for as long as your strength may last." the voice whispering in his mind went into silence. kurt continued screaming. pain raced through his consciousness again. as he came awake he realized that he was screaming at the torturer to stop. he also realized that the asian had stopped. there was a sound in the gallery. filling the air, it seemed to emerge from the very walls of the mountain itself. the note of a violin! high and sweet and compelling, the sound came from nowhere. every atom in the solid stone walls seemed to pick it up and to rebroadcast it. the molecules of the air seemed to dance in resonance with it. simultaneously, about ten feet above the floor, the face appeared again. the lieutenant's rifle blasted at it. he fired shot after shot at point blank range. red-hot slugs howled from the walls of the big gallery in a cacophony of death. the face smiled at the lieutenant. the lips moved. "keep shooting, old fellow," the lips seemed to say. the officer emptied his gun. in a desperate burst of fear, he threw it at the mocking face. the weapon passed through the face without harming it. "you fool! that's a projection, not a real person!" cuso shouted. he grabbed the officer by the shoulder and spun him backward to the floor. "who are you?" he demanded of the face. it smiled at him. zen repressed the impulse to shout. he knew what was going to happen next. "i said, _who are you?_" cuso shouted again. the crash of something in the gallery jerked his attention away. twisting his head around, he saw that one of the soldiers engaged in carrying the loot of this cavern out to the plane waiting to hurry it to asia, had collapsed on the floor. under ordinary circumstances, cuso would have had the man summarily executed. but with that face smiling at him out of nothing, these circumstances were not ordinary. zen, knowing what was going to happen, forgot the pain of his burned fingers and toes. he could feel it creeping over him in waves. this time he did not resist it: he let his eyes close. when he opened them, the torturer was snoring beside him. every asian in the big gallery was sound asleep. people were crowding around him. the new people. in a sweeping glance, he recognized every person he had met here, except nedra, and he did not see her at first because she was busy bandaging his hands. west was smiling down at him with an expression that was somehow grandfatherly. but back of west's smile was perturbation. zen started to get to his feet and discovered they had not as yet removed the ropes from his legs. as one did this, nedra clucked reprovingly at him and tried to tell him that he was wounded. he said this did not matter. faces were here that he did not recognize. this did not matter either. "you did this?" he said to west. "yes. i designed and built the equipment. others were operating it in this instance." west had something else on his mind. "thanks," zen said. "why didn't you take me with you when you went--wherever it was you went?" "we couldn't," west answered. "you haven't had the training." "why did you come back?" "to rescue you. kurt--" west had something that he wanted to say. "nedra, will you stop fussing with me? i'm all right." "but your poor hands and feet." "i don't even feel them. i won't have them to feel at all unless action is taken. don't you understand. somewhere in asia they're getting ready to launch a super bomb. or maybe it's already on its way." "i didn't know," the girl said. "the big one?" "yes." a flicker of pain crossed her face and she shook her head. "i always wondered what it would be like to live on a mud flat. i wonder if we will be oysters, or eels. or maybe crabs." "what the hell are you talking about?" zen demanded. "after the bomb goes off," the girl said. "what then?" "the race mind will have to start over again," she explained. her manner indicated that she was explaining something that she clearly understood. she seemed to wonder why he did not understand it. "maybe we will be turtles? that will be funny! a turtle that can remember when it was a man! that's the way it will be. except--" "i know all about that." "except that the turtle won't be able to do anything about its memories," the girl continued as if she had not heard him. "it will have flippers and a beak but what it will need will be hands. it won't have them until it grows them itself. a turtle with the memories that it was once a man, knowing that if it had hands, it could rebuild human culture!" a bemused expression appeared on her face. "i wonder how the race mind will solve that problem." again she seemed to muse. "it would be worse to be crabs. or would it?" "shut up!" zen snarled. "we're not turtles yet. or crabs. and we're not back on the mud flats." "but we're on the edge of them," the girl insisted. "one more teeter and we will go totter." zen turned to west. "what the hell has happened to nedra?" "nothing," the craggy man answered. "she has some degree of clairvoyance and it is coming to consciousness. unfortunately, she has not yet had time to develop her talents in that direction." "maybe the turtle wouldn't want to rebuild human culture," the girl interrupted. "maybe it wouldn't want to go back down that blind alley again. perhaps it would decide to go into another channel, to develop into something totally different. in that case, it might not need hands." zen deliberately ignored her. he turned to west. "a bomb will be going off," he said. "that is what i've been trying to talk to you about," the craggy man answered. "this is another reason why we came back for you--so we could talk to you about that bomb." "to me?" zen said startled. "yes, to you." "why?" "because you are a colonel of intelligence and have experience in such matters. also because you are something that none of us are--a fighting man." "i--i don't understand you," zen answered. "i can get you there. but once there, my knowledge fails. i, to my regret, know nothing of fighting." west spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "get me where?" zen asked. "to asia. to the underground cavern where they are getting ready to launch that bomb," west explained. the tone of his voice said this was easy. the hard part came in knowing what to do, and being able to do it, after they were there. "to asia?" zen parroted the words. he had the dazed impression that this whole scene was unreal, that the snoring asians on the floor, cal huddled by the wall, and the new people crowding into the room, would shortly all vanish in puffs of green smoke. "how in the hell will you get us to asia?" "how did we get out of this gallery?" west responded. "how did we vanish? how did the men in the reports you read get into the planes that were about to crash? who landed colonel grant's space satellite? who steered it? who provided the power to energize the motion? who--" "did you know i knew about grant?" "it was obvious that you must know." "and you can get me to asia?" "you and as many others as you choose to take with you!" walking over to the sleeping lieutenant, he picked up the man's rifle, then turned to the group. "who will go with me to asia?" he asked. the group stepped forward as one man. a knot formed in kurt zen's throat at the sight and he gulped to force it down. he knew how much this decision meant to them. they had been trained in the ways of peace, they were searching for the road to the future. fighting meant turning backward on the path that led to growth, it was the last thing they wanted to do. yet do it they would, if it was necessary. in an instant they were scrambling for weapons from the sleeping asians, then they were trying to salute and tell him their names and say they would follow him at the same time. one man saluted well. "red-dog jimmie thurman," he said. pride was in the man's voice. zen caught the man's arm. "red-dog jimmie thurman? but i know you." "maybe you do, suh." thurman spoke with the soft drawl of the old south. "one of the new people appeared in your plane and saved your life!" zen burst out. "yes, suh. that's right, suh." "but you deserted!" "put it another way, suh, let's say i joined the right side." "how did you find this place?" "i just kept thinking and kept trying. eventually we found each other. the psychos tried to make me believe i was nuts. but i knew better. i knew what had happened. and i knew there had to be a reason for it. i kept hunting until i found that reason. the big part of the battle, where i had an advantage over most everybody else, was that i knew from experience that something was going on. knowing this much, all i had to do was keep looking." the man's voice drawled the explanation. his eyes smiled. "at your service, suh." "do you know that going with me may mean death?" "what's death, suh?" red-dog jimmie thurman grinned. "i died over the north pole, suh." "spike larson," another man said. "you were in a sub," zen challenged. a glow was coming up inside of him like nothing he had ever experienced before. he was getting fighting men to stand beside him. "yes," larson answered. "and i will consider it a privilege to stand beside you." like soldiers, they passed in review before him, the fat boy, the tall, lean, brown-skinned youths. somehow he thought there ought to be another one. he looked around for him. grant was talking to west. grant was the man whose face had looked out of thin air in the middle of the room. seeing that zen was staring at him, he left off his talk with the craggy man and came over and saluted. "how was it up in that satellite?" zen asked. "lonely, as hell, colonel," grant answered. "do you want to go with me to asia?" "there's no place on earth i'd rather go. and, the way things stand now i don't have much choice. if they get that bomb into the air--" he left the sentence unfinished. then nedra was standing in front of zen. at the sight of her, it seemed to him that the world stood still. he shook his head. "why?" she challenged. "because i love you," he answered. "then that is the real reason why you should take me with you," she answered. "i don't follow," he said. "if you fail, there will be no tomorrow," she answered. to her, the statement had no answer. "besides, i am a nurse," she continued. "if there are wounded, i can help with them." "but--" "the fact that you love me does not enter into this situation. it is a thing apart. it is a very wonderful thing," she added hastily, the star light shining in her eyes. "and i wish we could bring it to fruit the ways it used to be. but those days are gone. and i am going to asia with you." watching, west smiled. zen spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. he turned to the craggy man. "this sleep thing: i don't know how you do it and don't much care, but you obviously have a portable generator of some kind that you used to put the lieutenant out in the ghost town." "yes," west agreed. "i'd like to borrow the unit," zen said. "gladly, colonel. i wish we had other weapons." "we'll make do with what we have," zen answered. xiv "zero minus one hour," the loudspeaker droned, in a chinese dialect. in a deep cavern in the hinterlands of asia, men responded to the command coming over the speaker system. already driven to the point of exhaustion, they were working harder than they had ever worked before. the moment of victory, for which all true asians had lived, was near at hand. the launching of this bomb would make the asian union master of the world. orders had come through to launch this bomb immediately. "zero minus forty-five minutes," the speaker said. the drone had gone from the voice of the officer watching the time. a rising excitement appeared in the tones as if he, too, had caught the scent of fear rising in the vast underground depot. so much was left to be done. the atomic warhead was already in place, waiting for the day of launching, otherwise the task would have been impossible. the driving engines were complete, but had to be fueled. the steering equipment was almost ready, only the installation of the left gyroscope was necessary. this was at hand waiting to be installed. five technicians constantly got in each other's way as they tried to slip the delicate instrument into place. "zero minus thirty minutes!" the gyroscope was eased into place and tested. it was found to be in perfect working order. in the course plotting room, the final calculations were being made. wind direction and velocity aloft had been noted across half the planet. this had some importance on the launching and landing end but had no significance when the bomb itself was out of the atmosphere. the target had been figured and refigured. actually, the target was anywhere on the continent of north america. if this bomb struck anywhere in the mississippi valley, the whole watershed below the striking point would be scoured clean of all life. water carrying radiation downstream would account for that. "zero minus fifteen minutes!" on the outside of the mountain, in a special observatory constructed for this precise purpose, radar scopes for tracking the rocket were ready. instruments in the laboratory there were for the purpose of changing the course of the super bomb, if it veered too far from its destination. the technicians there were on their toes. they had no guards to encourage them but they needed none. they knew what would happen if this bomb failed to land and the fault was traced to their door. what would happen when the bomb landed? hell would happen! probably the crust of the earth would open up in a hole miles in depth. meteor crater, in arizona, would be the work of a child compared to the result of this explosion. what had happened at hiroshima and nagasaki would be nothing in comparison. the possibility existed that the molten magma of the core of the planet would gush forth. no one knew for sure whether or not this would happen. if it did take place, the result might be the sudden appearance of a lake of over-flowing lava. the shock waves from the bomb would probably be strong enough to pull down every skyscraper that still remained standing in america. the effect on the watershed where the bomb landed would be almost complete catastrophe. if it struck on any of the rivers or streams flowing into the mississippi, the water supply of all cities downstream to new orleans would be contaminated. nobody knew what the effect of the fall-out from this bomb would be. high air currents might carry radioactive particles for thousands of miles from the explosion point, where they would fall as a gentle but very deadly rain upon the earth below. "_zero minus ten minutes!_" the high, thin note of a violin appeared in the vast underground cavern. amid the scurrying of feet, the shouts of the foremen bossing the work gangs, and the occasional cracking of the rifles of the guard, the sound was unheard by the ears. but deeper centers heard it. the first man to go was a fat engineer. sighing, he stumbled and fell. when he did not rise a guard approached him. as the guard determined that the man was snoring, he lifted his rifle. the engineer died without awakening. another shot rang out as another man went to sleep, then continued on to join his fathers. the technician busy filling the fuel tanks of the rocket was the third man to go. he managed to finish closing the filler cap and to lay down his flexible line before the urge to sleep overcame him. by this time the guards knew that something was wrong. silence came over the cavern. in the stillness, the note of the violin flickering up and down the scale could be heard. men looked at each other in growing apprehension. looking, some of them lay down and went to sleep. "sleep gas!" an officer bawled. "shoot all foreigners on sight!" the officer suspected that some spy had slipped into the underground cavern and had released gas there. his command was intended to enable his men to find and eliminate this alien. as such, from a military standpoint, it was a good command. it had this deficiency: when his men did not find any aliens, but their own people continued going to sleep on them, they began imagining foreigners. the guards began to shoot their own technicians and engineers. as panic swept through the cavern, guards began to shoot other guards. soon the people in this huge underground chamber were tearing and destroying each other. and one other thing: they were also going to sleep. the panic grew to hurricane proportions. when kurt zen appeared inside the cavern the whole vast place was as still as a tomb. smoke from the rifles hung in the air, the cavern stank of death and fear. but the bomb still rested in its launching cradle. zen took one long look at that bomb. he felt his sigh of relief clear down to the ends of his toes. at the sight, the last remnant of pain vanished from his toes and fingers. not that the damage done by the matches did not still exist. it did. but in the surge of elation that swept through him, he completely forgot the pain. "we just got here in time," a man said, appearing beside him. it was spike larson who had spoken. awe on his face, larson glanced around the cavern. "they started killing each other. they must have gone nuts." "i don't blame them," zen said. "i damned near did, on the way here." "that trip through nothing is sure a stinker, isn't it," larson answered, grinning and shaking his head. zen agreed with him whole-heartedly. after tuning his body to an instrument in the cavern, hidden so well that cuso's men had not had time to find it, west had punched a button. the machine had vanished. west had vanished. a horrible moment had come when it had seemed that his feet were standing on nothing more substantial than air. what he had felt under his feet had, in fact, been far less substantial than air, which had body. it had been even less solid than space. it had been _nothing_. swishing, colonel grant came into existence on the other side of zen. grant looked fussed, but he gripped the rifle he had taken from one of cuso's men with determination. "just between you and me, i'd rather fly a space satellite to mars any day in preference to facing this jump." "i know what you mean," zen said. as he spoke, another figure came into existence to his left. nedra! she came spinning into reality with a smile on her face. zen wasted a moment wondering what kind of cast-iron nerves this girl had. "it looks as if all we have to do is to tie them up," spike larson said. "this is almost too good to be true." "it is too good to be true," zen said. turmoil was--somewhere. he did not know where but it seemed to him that a vast uneasiness had suddenly come into existence. it had to do, somehow, with the future, with a something that was about to happen. "halt!" grant's voice rang out. zen swung his gaze around just in time to see an asian lift himself to his feet near a control board that stood beside the rocket. "he's walking in his sleep," larson exclaimed. "_zero minus one minute_," the loudspeaker announced. "where in the hell is that man on the speaker?" grant demanded. "the sleep frequency didn't get to him!" "no time to be concerned about him now," zen said. the turmoil that existed somewhere had increased in intensity. somehow it was concerned with the solitary asian who was reeling in circles like a drunken man trying to make up his mind. "shall i shoot him, colonel?" grant demanded. zen hesitated. he knew that west's deepest wish was to avoid violence if that was possible. the split second's delay was fatal. grant's shot rang out--much too late. reeling on his feet, the man reached the control panel, and pulled the single switch there. a heavy thud came from the rocket as a ram drove home inside the heavy metal hull. "get back!" zen screamed. he caught nedra and pulled her backward. beside him, he knew that grant and larson were also reeling backward. inside the rocket a steady rumble of sound was building up. low in frequency but heavy in volume it seemed to shake the foundations of the earth itself. inside the vessel heavy heat charges were building up. smoke and flame spurted backward as the first warming charge let go. for all zen knew this section was to have been cleared before the firing of the first rocket. he did not know whether provision had been made for the elimination of flame and smoke but he knew that heat and smoke hit him as he pulled nedra away. then the main charges let go. rising like some devil spurting upward from the depths of hell itself, the launching cradle carrying the rocket lurched upward. the stone floor shook underfoot, the mountain shook. unless this rocket could be stopped, the whole planet would shake. earth would twitch her skin like an elephant stung by a giant wasp. with a thundering roar the rocket shook itself loose from its cradle and hurled into the sky under its own power. "west," zen shouted. "yes, kurt." the craggy man's reply was as prompt as it would have been if he had stayed in the same room. actually he was in the american center. "we've lost," zen said. "i know," west replied. a sadness as deep as the ocean of space was in his voice. "pull these people back to you." "of course." "me last." the last lingering roars of sound were still pounding down the bore of the launching cradle. "why do you want to be last?" "duty," zen said. "get that miracle device of yours into operation, pronto." "sure. i'm starting now." "hey, guys, you're going home!" zen yelled at the people with him. "what good is it to go home?" spike larson asked. "there won't be any home within an hour," grant added. "or however long that rocket will take to land. why go back to what isn't there?" "that's where we will start the task of rebuilding," zen said. "rebuild what with what?" larson demanded. "there will be something left," zen said firmly. "you are already underground. you will stay that way. keep the good fight going, for years. raise some kids to keep it going after you are gone." he felt very firm and sure about what he was saying. "you're full of hot air," red-dog jimmie thurman said. "besides, you are planning something else," nedra spoke. "you want to get rid of us so you can--" "west!" zen shouted. "yes, kurt." "take 'em away!" zen yelled. "they're trying to rebel on me. take nedra first before she reads my mind." "i'm working as fast as i can," west answered. "this instrument has to be tuned to the individual body frequency. ah--" "i knew there was something--" nedra began. and vanished. zen grinned. he had the impression that she was calling him names that no lady should speak as she went away. time would cure that, if any time was left. in the chamber an asian was stirring. "zen, old man, what are you up to?" grant asked. "take this one next," kurt ordered. grant looked reluctant but resigned as he disappeared. zen was alone in the big chamber. smoke swirled from the ceiling. one asian was already on his feet and a guard was sitting up. "i've got them all here," west's voice came across vast distances. "good." "are you ready?" "yeah," zen answered. "but i'm going that way." he pointed toward the ceiling. "kurt!" west's voice was sharp with sudden pain as he caught the colonel's meaning. "that way or no way," zen answered. "but that's not a passenger rocket." "the hull will hold enough air to keep me alive for as long as i need to be there." "but the rocket is in constantly accelerating flight. it's a moving target." "red-dog jimmie thurman's plane was falling and colonel grant's satellite was moving and spike larson's sub was on the bottom of the indian ocean. don't give me any back talk, sam. somebody got into that plane and that satellite and that submarine. i can get into that rocket. you're the man who can put me there." "but i'm not on that target!" west's voice had a wail in it. "then get on it!" kurt zen sounded like an exceedingly gruff drill sergeant addressing a new recruit, or like a colonel who had his mind made up. "all right. i'll do my best. but something will remain here, kurt, even after the explosion. we'll be safe, in a way, here." "that argument has already been used, by me, to get the others back to you. you and i know, sam, that hell won't hold a hat to the american continent if that whizzer hits." "all right," west repeated. "ah! i'm on the rocket as a target." "good!" zen repressed every muscular tremor everywhere in his body. somewhere there was jubilation, a sensed but not tangible vibration that he could not locate. he concentrated on the jubilation. a layer of smoke floated down from the ceiling like a descending death-pall. the guard had gotten to his feet. he had picked up his rifle and was staring around the room seeking either an explanation for what had happened, or a target. to him, which he got didn't matter. his eyes came to focus on the lean colonel with the bandaged fingers. that uniform did not belong here. the guard raised his rifle. "good luck, kurt," west's voice whispered across the space between two continents. as the gun exploded in his face, kurt zen felt his body vibrate into what seemed to be nothing. again the terror wrenched at his soul. again he experienced the mind-compelling agony of this incredible type of space flight. this time he did not mind these terrors. somewhere in his mind was jubilation. wondering if it was the forerunner of death, he continued to concentrate on that. dimly, as if from some other space, or some other time, he was aware of a roar. the rocket swam into existence ten feet away from him. he was outside it, in airless space. west had made a miscalculation. agony seared every cell in his body. pain clamped at his throat like hands trying to choke him to death. "oops! i made a mistake," he heard west gasp. he was moving with the rocket, on a parallel course. west had matched course and velocity but he had not achieved his exact aiming point. error in the instrument? human mistake? who knew? who cared? _click!_ like a vast ocean of warm, pulsing, sure power, the race mind came into kurt zen. it existed here in space, too! he had never thought of that. in what little thinking he had had time to do, he had considered it as a super special sort of field which possessed intelligence but which was limited to the surface of the planet. here in space, it sustained life in him. he did not know how this was done, this was one of the mysteries which must be left to the future to solve--if there was a future other than the mud flats. it felt to him as if a vast tidal current was flowing into his body. _click!_ he was in the rocket! the smell of overheated oil fouled his nose. as he tried to move, he bumped his head. he was in a narrow passage. ahead was a control panel with automatic devices. he began to crawl in that direction. noise was a thundering roar in his ears. his whole body felt as if it was about to shake to pieces. the passage was narrow. it had never been intended for humans. moving upward, zen found it was too narrow. he got stuck. no matter how hard he tried he could not move an inch forward. the control panel was so close he could spit on it but it could not have been farther out of his reach if it had been on the other side of the moon. air was getting short. he twisted and squirmed, fighting like the devil, but his body was wedged into the narrow passage in such a way that he could not move. something pulled at his arms. nedra was directly ahead of him. she was trying to pull him forward along the passage. "you?" he whispered. "who has a better right than i?" she answered. sweat grimed her face. her hair was awry. fiercely she pulled at him. the rocket yawed, beginning its turn in space. he forced himself forward. and came free. somehow he found the strength to pull himself up in front of the control panel. he was running on nervous energy now and he knew it. no strength was left in his body beyond what he was forcing into it. "send it out to space!" he muttered. "send it out there!" he tried to wave his arm in an outward gesture and bumped his hand on the steel hull. light came through a circular port. he had a glimpse of the earth down below. the planet was very far away. blue seas and green land, the planet was also very beautiful. he fumbled his way over the controls, trying to understand them. somewhere stabilizing gyroscopes were running smoothly. he could hear them. the controls were simple. he decided which way was up, and jammed home the controls. nothing happened. in the confined quarters his laughter had madness in it. nedra stared at him. "what happened?" "nothing. nothing happened. they're locked in place." his eyes grew very wide. "these controls are only for establishing the flight course. once that is established and the rocket launched, they automatically lock in place." "then we can't change the course?" "no." her face puckered and she looked like a small girl about to cry. another panel to the left caught his attention. it had a red button on it. he studied the wiring on it. "by thunder!" the words burst involuntarily from his lips. "what is it, kurt?" "they put a manual control on the warhead. it's got to be that. it can't be anything else." he pointed to the red button. "why do you suppose they did that?" "test purposes, probably, to check the firing mechanism before the warhead was installed. what difference does it make?" nedra's voice was listless. "maybe we can go to heaven." "what do you mean?" he explained very carefully what he meant. "explode the rocket here in space?" "sure," he said. his tone of voice said this was nothing, that anybody could do it. west's voice clamored in his mind again. he ignored it. his hand moved toward the red button. "there's one thing i want you to know," he said, pausing. "what is that?" "i love you," he said. she came into his arms like a tired, frightened child. "i knew that the minute i saw you," she said. he held her close to him and she lay there, seemingly very content. "all right," she said. "i'm ready." her lips sought his. kissing her, he reached behind her back and punched the red button. a relay thudded. darkness closed in. * * * * * kurt zen came out of that darkness to find himself staring upward into the face of sam west. there was something about that face that was familiar, something that he should have guessed long before. he tried to think what it was. "how'd you get to heaven?" he said. "the warhead had a delay relay on it," west explained. "it was about thirty seconds, as near as i can figure it. anyhow it gave us just enough time to snatch both of you out of that rocket before she blew." what he said sounded very important. under other circumstances, zen knew he would have considered it important. but other things seemed more significant now. "did she blow?" he asked. "all of ten minutes ago," west said exultantly. "do you know what this means, kurt? do you know what it means?" "yeah," zen answered. "i won't have to be an eel." there was still this other thing that was important. "say--" "an eel?" for an instant the craggy man was puzzled. then he grasped the meaning. "you're right, kurt. no eels--for any of us." "that's good," zen said. "nedra--" "she's right here beside you, still out from exhaustion. but she will be all right." "good," zen said again. this other fact was still in his mind. as he tried to think what it was, the answer came to him. he looked up at the craggy man. "you're not sam west," he said. "no?" the craggy man said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "then who am i?" "you're jal jonner. nobody but jal jonner could have done all the things you have done." "you're right, kurt. i'm jal jonner. and you're kurt zen. and this is nedra--" zen saw the smile on the face of the craggy man. it was a very good smile, the best he had ever seen. then it faded away as he sank into the deep slumber of exhaustion. he did not even feel jonner place nedra's hand in his as he went to sleep. generously made available by internet archive (https://archive.org) note: images of the original pages are available through internet archive. see https://archive.org/details/raidofdoverroman00ford the raid of dover: a romance of the reign of woman: a.d. 1940. by the author of "a time of terror," "the devil's peepshow," &c. "if that old england fall which nelson left so great----" lord tennyson. london: king, sell, & olding, limited, 27, chancery lane, w.c. portsmouth: holbrook & son, limited. 1910. author's note. _while this forecast in fiction has been running as a serial, the writer has realised that in some respects it may be open to misconstruction. patriotism, not pessimism, is its real keynote._ "this england never did, nor never shall, lie at the proud foot of a conqueror, but when it first did help to wound itself." _that is the crux. england is being wounded by englishmen; and the events imagined in this story are only a concrete example of the possibilities foreshadowed by mr. balfour (jan. 24th, 1910) in the following words:--_ "if the pressure of public opinion is not effected, then i tell you with all solemnity that there are difficulties and perils before this country which neither we nor our fathers nor our grand-fathers nor our great-grand-fathers have ever yet had to face, and that before many years are out there will be a nemesis for this manifest and scandalous folly in saving money just at the wrong time, in refusing to carry out a plain duty." _the history of the rise and fall of nations is only the story of cause and effect. given concomitant causes (1)--the unchecked blight of socialism, (2) the revolt of woman on "democratic lines," (3) weakened maritime power--and the effect is only too likely to be that england will "lie at the proud foot of a conqueror." let it be hoped that the british people will remove the causes and prevent the otherwise probable result._ _it must not be supposed that the writer identifies himself with the views expressed by any of his characters on the subject of woman or votes for women. on the contrary, he thinks that women have been treated with small tact and much harshness. but we already have abundant evidence of the dangerous result of giving the franchise to hundreds of thousands of uneducated men; and if, even short of universal suffrage, the vote should be granted to the other sex on what mr. asquith calls "democratic lines," it would mean that hundreds of thousands of uneducated women might join hands with the existing forces of enfranchised socialism. that way madness lies, and the end of the british empire, "which peril heaven forfend!"_ _the story is, in some sort, a sequel to "a time of terror," in which the sign of the spider may be taken as a reminder of the fabled kraken. the kraken, in turn, may be taken to symbolise the german fleet, "a sea monster of vast size said to have been seen off the coast of norway." oddly enough, pliny speaks of such a monster in the straits of gibraltar,--which blocked the entrance of ships._ contents. prologue. chap. page i. the lost leader i. ii. a prisoner of the mahdi v. the raid of dover. i. how nicholas jardine rose 1 ii. how england fell 6 iii. aboard the airship 13 iv. the star of life 21 v. a threefold pledge 25 vi. the revolt of woman 33 vii. the price of power 44 viii. wardlaw's works 51 ix. the loosened grip 59 x. zenobia's dream 66 xi. the new amazons 82 xii. a secret and a thunderbolt 94 xiii. the raid of the eagles 104 xiv. the fight for the fort 114 xv. in the heart of the hill 122 xvi. signs and wonders 134 xvii. how the raid failed 142 xviii. the wreck of the airship 152 xix. the coup d'état? 164 xx. linked lives 172 xxi. the wrath of sul 179 prologue. chapter i. the lost leader. wilson renshaw, the most brilliant member of the house of commons, was on the verge of a complete breakdown at the end of the memorable session of 1930, a session in which the marshalled forces of socialism, allied with the insurgent women of england, had almost, but not quite, swept the board. the vacation of that year had brought a truce in the fiercest parliamentary campaign known to modern times, and renshaw, under the peremptory advice of medical specialists, left england for a prolonged holiday. he went to egypt, recruited his health at cairo, and then, in pursuance of a long-cherished wish, set out by a circuitous route for khartum. with the exception of jerusalem, the nubian capital was regarded by the young english statesman as the most sacred spot on earth, sanctified, as it was, by the blood of general gordon, a christian soldier, who, to the indelible disgrace of the political clique then in power, had been left unsupported in the midst of his blood-thirsty enemies, until it was too late to rescue him. that for which gordon had paved the way; that which kitchener and macdonald had gallantly achieved, in these latter days political sentimentalists, englishmen of parochial mind, had gradually undone. egypt, brought to a pitch of high prosperity under the civil administration of lord cromer, had been gradually allowed to lapse back into native hands. there had been no absolute evacuation at the date of renshaw's arrival in the country, but the british garrison had been reduced to insignificant proportions. but renshaw did not come back! he had vanished from the ken of civilization--swallowed up as effectually in the nubian desert as when the earth had opened and swallowed up dathan and covered the congregation of abiram. the history of egypt and the soudan, written in blood at the period in question, only accorded with that written in ink, in advance of the event, by those who in the first decade of the twentieth century foresaw the outcome of little englandism all the world over. the native movement--the strength of which the dominant party in parliament had chosen to ignore--manifested itself in scenes of sudden and overwhelming violence, while at the same time the holy war, preached by a mahdi in whose existence great numbers of people had refused to believe, claimed as sacrificial victims nearly every white-skinned man throughout the length and breadth of the soudan. the caravan with which renshaw was travelling fell into the hands of the mahdi's adherents, betrayed by a treacherous guide, who then spread the news--anticipating what he had every reason to believe would really happen--of the death of the white kaffir, as a consequence of the resistance he had offered to a band of "true believers." the news was received in england with grief and lamentation by those who esteemed renshaw, appreciated his talents, and knew how essential were his services if the aims of the socialist-labour leader, nicholas jardine, and his party were to be defeated. but the public in general saw in the disappearance of the rising statesman the almost inevitable result of a rash enterprise. it came to be regarded only as an incidental episode in the wholesale upheaval of which india, egypt, and other lands once dominated by the british sceptre soon became the scene. all this had happened ten years and more before the critical events of 1940. from time to time during that period little-credited reports reached england concerning a certain white prisoner in the hands of the mahdi, who was believed by some to be none other than renshaw, the missing man. but, except with a few, these rumours carried little weight. it was not the first time that tales of that sort had reached home after the disappearance of well-known men in remote regions of the dark continent. many, recalling the explorations of dr. livingstone, and stanley's expedition for the rescue of emin pasha, said that when renshaw was found and brought home they would believe that he was alive--and not before. meanwhile, in england, nicholas jardine carried everything before him. the constitutional party, leaderless and disorganized, seemed to sink into helpless apathy, and right and left the rapid shrinkage of the british empire bore witness to the ruinous success of new and revolutionary parties in the state. sometimes, in the house of commons, old followers of the labour leader's missing rival asked questions, which, for the moment, attracted marked attention and, in some minds, roused most sinister suspicions. had the president received any information that tended to confirm the rumour that mr. renshaw was still living and undergoing the tortures of a barbarous imprisonment? was it a fact that, after a specified date, the government, or any members of it, had been notified, not only that mr. renshaw was alive, but that on payment of a ransom he might be restored to his country? had any confidential information been received from certain oriental visitors who, from time to time, had come to this country? was it, or was it not, a fact that certain periodical payments of large amount had been made out of secret service funds in relation to mr. renshaw and his alleged imprisonment? these searching questions were evaded in the usual parliamentary manner, and it was observed that never was president jardine--such was his official title as chief of the new council of state--so black and taciturn as when this suggestive topic was from time to time revived in parliament. chapter ii. a prisoner of the mahdi. through all those dreadful years wilson renshaw lived--lived day and night the tortured life of a white man at the mercy of the black. year after year the iron entered his soul, even as the mahdi's fetters ate into his swollen and bleeding limbs. there were others who suffered with him in the barbaric prison-house. what he endured was no less, no more, than they were made to bear. happy indeed were those whom death released from misery and anguish that tongue could never tell, nor pen describe. hell itself, as pictured by maddest brain of the most fiendish fanatic, could not have shown greater resources in the way of physical and mental torture. the black hole of calcutta lacked many of the special horrors of the inner den in which the prophet's prisoners were herded during all the awful hours of night. the bloodstained walls of the tower of london, if walls could speak, whispering of the rack, the thumbscrew, and the boot, might tell indeed of sharper anguish, sooner over. the secret history of the spanish inquisition, if published, would reveal not less ingenuity--perhaps greater, in the refined subtleties of cruelty. but the prison at khartum excelled them all at least in one respect--the prolongation of the agony inflicted. not for weeks or months, but for years, if life endured, the prisoner had to suffer. wearing three sets of shackles, with an iron ring round his neck, to which was attached a heavy chain, renshaw--the white kaffir--the man of culture and social ease in london, but here the reviled unbeliever, when night came was thrust into a stone-walled room measuring some thirty feet each way. a large pillar, supporting the roof, reduced the space available. two prisoners, in chains, were dying of smallpox in a corner; some thirty others, suffering from various diseases, lay about the floor, which reeked with filth and swarmed with vermin. a compound stench, sickening and over-powering, assailed the nostrils, and every moment this increased as more prisoners, and yet more, were driven in for the night. the groans of the sick, the screams of the mad, the curses of others as they fought fiercely for places against one or another of the walls, blended in awful tumult as the door was closed upon the darkness within. yet again and again that door was opened, and more prisoners were crowded in; until, at last, they fought and bit and raved even for standing room. night after night, for nearly four years, renshaw, the man of delicate fibre and refined training, the son of western civilization, lived through such scenes as these, amid incidental horrors of bestiality that cannot be set down. when the uproar in the prison attained exceptional violence, the guards threw back the doors, and lashed with their hide-whips at the heads and faces of the nearest prisoners, and every time that this occurred some of them, struggling to move back, fell to the ground, and were trampled under foot. renshaw was the only white prisoner among the soudanese and egyptians who thus endured the tender mercies of the prophet--the prophet for whom, it was said, the angels had fought and would fight again, until every follower of the cross accepted the koran of mahommed. for, like many of the greatest crimes that stain the annals of mankind, this prison discipline, in theory, was designed to benefit the souls of the captives. the white kaffir, as an unbeliever, a dog and an outcast, was a special object of the mahdi's solicitation. only let him believe and his fetters should be struck off, or, at least, some of them. he had but to cry aloud in fervent faith, "there is but one god, and mahommed is his prophet!" but it was a cry that never passed the lips of wilson renshaw. the lash was tried again and again. fifteen to twenty lashes at first; then a hundred; then a hundred and fifty. but still the bleeding lips in which the white man's teeth were biting in his anguish would not blaspheme. "will you not cry out?" the gaoler asked. "dog of a christian, are thy head and heart of stone?" no answer; and again and yet again the lash descended. if only death would come, kind death to end this pain of mutilated flesh; this still sharper pain of degradation and humiliation! but death came not. courage, indomitable pride of race, a godlike quality of patience, armed the white kaffir to endure the slings and arrows of his dreadful fate. death he would welcome with a sigh of gladness, but these barbarians should never, never break his spirit. at last the rigour of his sufferings was abated. out of the mists of what seemed an interminable period of delirium, he awoke to a change of his treatment that caused him much surprise. no longer was he to be half starved. at night he was allowed to sleep alone in a rough, dark hut in a corner of the prison compound. each day he was permitted, though still fettered, to go down to the river, on the banks of which the prison was placed, and wash in the waters of the nile. from all of these changes it became apparent that his life, and not his death, was now desired. the motive for the change he had yet to realize. a whisper here and there, a chance word from his gaolers, with sundry indications, fugitive and various, at length convinced him that this amelioration of his fate could have but one sinister explanation, and one inspiring motive. if not the mahdi himself, then some of the more covetous of his leading followers must be drawing payment from some mysterious source, a subsidy for holding him secure, here under the burning african sun, remote and cut off from all chance of rescue or escape. yet escapes were planned, for even among these barbarous people there were a few who felt compassion for the hapless condition of the white kaffir; and when it began to be rumoured that he was a man of high consideration in his native country, others, moved by cupidity and the prospect of a great reward, found means of letting renshaw know that, _on conditions_, they were willing to secure him at least a chance of freedom. but every plan fell through. the mahdi's spies were everywhere, and those who fell under suspicion of seeking to aid renshaw to break free from his captivity received a punishment so terrible that he shrank from listening to any further offer of assistance. presently his condition underwent yet further betterment. he became a prisoner at large--though still fettered and still closely watched. employment he had none, save the performance of a few menial offices. books he had none, save al-koran, the volume containing the religious, social, commercial, military, and legal code of islam. but here, in the heart of this dreadful land, among the dark people of the dark continent, he now learned to look upon the book of life itself from a new and startling standpoint. before him was unfolded a new and terrible chapter of history in the making, a chapter which revealed the slow marshalling of millions of the dark-skinned races, eager to wrest dominion and supremacy from the white-skinned masters of the world. the raid of dover. chapter i. how nicholas jardine rose. the fall of england synchronised with the rise of nicholas jardine--first labour prime minister of this ancient realm. when he married it was considered by his wife's relations that she had married beneath her! it fell out thus. in the neighbourhood of walsall an accomplished young governess had found employment in the family of a wealthy solicitor, who was largely interested in the ironworks of the district. her employer was conservative in his profession and radical in his politics. he took the chair from time to time at public meetings, and liked his family to be present on those occasions as a sort of domestic entourage, to bear witness to the eloquence of his orations. on one of these occasions a swarthy young engineer made a speech which quite eclipsed that of the chairman. he carried the meeting with him, raising enthusiasm and admiration to a remarkable height, and storming, among other things, the heart of the clever young governess. the young orator was not unconscious of the interest he excited. bright eyes told their tale, and the whole-hearted applause that greeted his rhetorical flourishes could not escape attention at close quarters. fair and refined in face, with fine, wavy light hair, the girl afforded a striking contrast to this forceful, dark-skinned man of the people; but they were drawn to each other by those magnetic sympathies which carry wireless messages from heart to heart. it would be too much to say that he fell in love with her at first sight. had they never met again, mutual first impressions might have worn off; but they did meet again, and yet again. coming to her employer's house on some political business, young jardine encountered the girl in the hall, and she frankly gave him her hand--blushingly and with a word or two of thanks for the speech which had seemed to her so eloquent. after that, in the grimy streets of walsall and in various public places, the acquaintance ripened, until one winter day, outside the town, she startled him with an unusually earnest "good-bye." the children she had taught were going away to school; she, too, was going away--whither she knew not. "don't go," he said, slowly; "don't go. stay and marry me." she was almost alone in the world, and shuddering at the grey prospect of her life. besides, she loved him, or at least believed she did. within a month they were married at the registrar's office. nicholas jardine did not hold with any church or chapel observances. after the banal ceremony of the civil law, he took his bride to london for a week. then they returned to walsall. his means were of the scantiest; they lived in a little five-roomed house, with endless tenements of the same mean type and miserable material stretching right and left. the conditions of life, after the first glamour faded, were dreary and soul-subduing. all the women in warwick road knew or wanted to know their neighbour's business; all resented 'uppish' airs on the part of any particular resident. they were of the ordinary type, those neighbours, kindly, slatternly, given to gossip. mrs. jardine was not, and did not look like, one of them. she was sincerely desirous of doing her duty in that drab state of life in which she found herself, but she wholly failed to please her neighbours, whose quarrels she heard through the miserable plaster walls, or witnessed from over the road. worse than that, she found with dismay, as time went on, that she did not wholly please her husband. she was conscious of a gloomy sense of disappointment on his part; and she, though bravely resisting the growing feeling, knew in her heart that disillusionment had fallen upon herself. the recurrent coarseness of the man's ideas and expressions jarred upon her nerves. his way of eating, sleeping, and carrying himself, in their cramped domestic circle, constantly offended her fastidious tastes. when their child was born life went better; and all the time jardine himself, though rather grudgingly, had been improving under the refining but unobstrusive influence of his cultured wife. one thing, at least, they had in common: a love of reading. most of the money that could be spared in those days went in book buying. it was a time of education for the husband, and a time of disenchantment for the wife. she drooped amid their grey surroundings. the summers were sad, for the black country is no paradise even in the time of flowers. everywhere the sombre industries of the place asserted themselves, and in the gloomy winters short dark days seemed to be always giving place to long dreary nights, hideously illumined by the lurid furnaces that glowed on every side. jardine himself was as strong as the steel with which he had so much to do in the local works in which he found employment. but his wife found herself less and less able to stand up against the adverse influences of their environment. it came upon him with a shock that she had grown strangely fragile. great god in heaven!--men call upon the name of god even when they profess to be agnostics--could she be going to die? her great fear was for the future of the child; and her chief hope that the passionate devotion of jardine to the little girl would be a redeeming influence in his own life and character. both of them, from the first, took what care they could that their daughter should not grow up quite like the other children of the walsall back streets. their precautions helped to make them unpopular, and "that little obie jardine," as the warwick road ladies called zenobia, was consequently compelled to hear many caustic remarks concerning the airs and graces that "some people" were supposed to give themselves. good fortune and advancement came to nicholas jardine too late for his wife to share in them. the once bright eyes were closed for ever before the trade union of which he was secretary put him forward as a parliamentary candidate. the swing of the labour pendulum carried him in, and jardine, m.p., and his little daughter moved to london. they found lodgings in guildford place, opposite the foundling hospital. the child was happier now, and the memory of the mother faded year by year. life grew more cheerful and interesting for both of them as time went on. members of parliament and wire-pullers of the labour party came to the lodgings and filled the sitting-room with smoke and noisy conversation. zenobia listened and inwardly digested what she heard. sundays were the dullest days. she often felt that she would like to go to service in the foundling chapel, but that was tacitly forbidden. religion was ignored by mr. jardine, and among the books he had brought up from walsall, and those he had since bought, neither bible nor prayer book found a place. jardine had other things to think of. he was going forward rapidly, and busy--in the world of politics--fighting mr. renshaw in the house of commons. when the old labour leader in the house of commons had a paralytic seizure, the member for walsall was chosen, though not without opposition, to fill the vacant place. there were millions of voters behind him now; nicholas jardine had become a power. at last the popular wave carried him into the foremost position in the state. the resolute republican mechanic of miry walsall actually became the foremost man in what for centuries had been the greatest empire in the world. before that great step in promotion was obtained, jardine had removed from london to the riverside house, in which he still resided, when a certain young linton herrick came from canada and stayed with his uncle--jardine's next door neighbour. according to the new constitution, the government held office for five years. the end of that term was now approaching, and every adult man and woman in the land would shortly have the opportunity of voting for his retention in office or for replacing him with a successor, man or woman. he talked much with his daughter of the struggle that was coming, as it had been his custom to do for years. she was his only companion, the only object of his affections, the one domestic interest in his life. chapter ii. how england fell. so much for the man. what of the empire? nicholas jardine had witnessed, and assisted in, its collapse. he had witnessed the result of a "corner" in food stuffs, and discovered that uncle sam was not the man to miss his chance of making millions merely because in theory blood is thicker than water. he had witnessed, also, some of the effects of the great international confidence trick. the feature of the common swindle so described is that the trickster makes ingenuous professions. the dupe, not to be outdone in generous sentiments, places his watch or his bank-notes in the trickster's hands--just to show confidence. the trickster goes outside and does not come back again. so, in the matter of national armaments, germany had avowed the friendliest disposition towards great britain. england, fatuously eager to believe in another _entente cordiale_, obligingly sapped her own resources. germany, with her tongue in her cheek, went ahead, determined that england should not catch up to her. thus had the way been paved for certain disastrous events: the cutting of the lion's claws, the clipping of his venerable tail, and the annexation of vast outlying domains in which the once unchallenged beast aforetime had held his own, monarch of all he surveyed. when germany conceived that the fateful moment had arrived, germany pounced. france was friendly, but not active, russia active and not friendly, italy was busily occupied in abyssinia, and nominally allied with germany. austria had her hands full in macedonia, and was actually allied with germany. spain and portugal did not count. holland disappeared from the map, following the example of denmark. the german cormorant swallowed them up, and german squadrons appropriated the harbours on the north sea, as previously those on the baltic. while these european changes were being effected with bewildering rapidity, our former allies, the japanese, who had learnt naval warfare in the english school, played their own hand with notable promptitude and success. japan had long had her eye on australia. she wanted elbow room. she wanted to develop asiatic power. now was the time, when british warships were engaged in a stupendous struggle thousands of miles away. the little navy that the australians had got together for purposes of self-defence crumpled up like paper boats under the big guns of the yellow fleet. australia was lost. it made the heart ache to think of the changes wrought by the cruel hand of time--wrought in only a quarter of a century--in the pride of britannia, in her power and her possessions. india, that once bright and splendid jewel in the british crown, the great possession that gave the title of empress to queen victoria of illustrious memory--india, as a british possession, had been sliced to less than half its size by those same japanese, allied with pampered hindu millions; and it was problematical whether what was left could be held much longer. the memorable alliance with japan, running its course for several years, had worn sharp and thin towards the end. it had not been renewed. japan never had really contemplated pulling chestnuts out of the fire for the sole benefit of great britain. they saved us from russia only to help themselves; and now that great britain was derisively spoken of as beggared britain, the astute jap, self-seeking, with limited ideas of gratitude, was england's enemy. in south africa, alas! england had lost not only a slice, but all. the men of words had overruled the men of deeds. what had been won in many a hard-fought battle, was surrendered in the house of commons. patriotism had been superseded by a policy of expediency. the great boer war had furnished a hecatomb of twenty thousand british lives. a hundred thousand mourners bowed their heads in resignation for those who died or fought and bled for england. millions had groaned under the burden of the war tax, and then, after years, we had enabled brother boer to secure, by means of a ballot box, what he had lost for the world's good in the stricken field. they had talked of a union of races--a fond thing vainly invented. oil and water never mix. socialists, in alliance with sentimentalists in the swarming ranks of enfranchised women, had reduced the british lion to the condition of a zoological specimen--a tame and clawless creature. the millennium was to be expedited so that the poor old lion might learn to eat straw like the ox. if he could not get straw, let him eat dirt--dirt, in any form of humble pie, that other nations thought fit to set before the one-time king of beasts. in another part of the world, the link between england and canada, another great dominion, as linton herrick well knew, had worn to the tenuity of thinnest thread. canada, as yet, had not formally thrown off allegiance to the old country, but the thread might be snapped at any moment. linton, who had lived all his life in the dominion, knew very well how things were tending. the english were no longer the dominant race in those vast tracts. they might have been, if a wise system of colonisation had been organised by british governments. but the rough material of the race had been allowed to stagnate and rot here in the crowded cities of england. loafers, hooligans, and alien riff-raff had reached incredible numbers in the course of the last five-and-twenty years. workhouses, hospitals, lunatic asylums, and prisons could not be built fast enough to accommodate the unfit and the criminal. meanwhile, the vast tracts of grain-growing canada, where a reinvigorated race of englishmen might have found unlimited elbow-room, had been largely annexed by astute speculators from the united states. the canadians, unsupported, had found it impossible to hold their own. the state was too big for them. as far back as 1906, the remnant of the british government garrison had said good-bye to halifax; and the power and the glory had gone, too, with the once familiar uniform of tommy atkins. at quebec and montreal, all the talk was of deals and dollars. the whole country had been steadily americanised, and sir wilfred laurier, when he went the ultimate way of all premiers, was succeeded by office-holders who cared nothing for imperial ties. for a time they were not keen about being absorbed by the united states, for that would mean loss of highly paid posts and political prestige. the march of events was too strong for them, and between the american and the british stools they were falling to the ground. it was bound to come, that final tumble. the force of things and the whirligig of time would bring in the assured revenges. the big fish swallows the little fish all the world over. it was the programme of socialism that had weakened the foundations of the british empire and paved the way for the troublous times that followed. cajoled by noisy agitators and the shallow arguments of labour leaders and socialists, the working man lost sight of the fact that his living depended on working up raw material into manufactured goods, and thus earning a wage that enabled him to pay for food and shelter. the middle-class had proved not less supine. so long as britannia ruled the waves, and the butcher and baker were in a position to supply the briton's daily needs, all went well. but when a family could get only one loaf, instead of four; and two pounds of meat when it wanted five, it necessarily followed that a good many people grew hungry. hungry people are apt to lose their tempers, their moral sense of right and wrong, and all those nice distinctions between _meum et tuum_ on which the foundations of society so largely depend. moral chaos becomes painfully accentuated when, as the result of a naval defeat and an incipient panic, the price of bread bounds up to eighteenpence per quartern loaf, with a near prospect of being unprocurable even for its weight in gold. all this had happened in these once favoured isles, because the masses, encouraged by self-seeking and parochially-minded leaders, had been more intent on making war upon the classes than on securing their subsistence through the agency of british shipping, protected by the british navy at a height of power that could keep all other navies at a distance. in olden time, when the earth was corrupt and filled with violence, the word came from on high: "make thee an ark of gopher wood." and noah, being warned of god of things not seen as yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark, to the saving of his house. but while the ark was a-preparing, the people went about their business, marrying and giving in marriage, making small account of the shipbuilder and his craze. it had been pretty much the same in the twentieth century, when the british people were warned that another sort of flood was coming, and that they, too, would need an ark, of material considerably stronger than gopher wood. they refused to believe in the flood. but it came. it was bound to come. we fought, yes; when it came to the critical hour, we fought for dear life and liberty--fought hard, fought desperately, but under conditions that made comparative defeat inevitable. and the fight was for unequal stakes. to us it was an issue of life or death. to our foes it was an affair of wounds that would heal. the law of nations, the law of humanity, itself counted for nothing in that deadly and colossal struggle. our merchant ships were sent to the bottom, crews and all. no advantage of strength or numbers served to inspire magnanimity. it was a fight, bloody, desperate, and remorseless for the sovereignty of the seas, a fight to the bitter end. and it was over, for all practical purposes, in a week. the british government did not dare to maintain the struggle any longer. the navy would have fought on till victory had been attained or every british warship had been sunk or disabled. the spirit of the service did credit to both officers and men, for much had been feared from disaffection. socialism had crept into the fleet. political cheapjacks with their leaflets and promises had sown discord between officers and men, and here and there had been clear indications of a mutinous spirit. but when it came to the pinch, one and all--officers, seamen, and stokers--had manfully done their duty. where they were victorious, they were humane. when they were beaten, they faced the fortune of war, and death itself, with firmness and discipline. but all in vain as regards the general result. england's rulers for the time being, alarmed at the accumulating signs of a crumbling empire, daunted by the popular disturbances that broke out in london and the provinces, made all haste to negotiate such terms of peace, and agreed to such an indemnity that the dust of nelson, and of pitt, may well have shivered in their graves. peace, peace at any price! was the cry. peace now, lest a worse thing happen through a continuance of the struggle. germany, however, would not have stayed her hand, and england would have become a conscript province, but for the daring feat of a little band of englishmen. six of them, in the best equipped air-ship that money could buy, by means of bombs almost entirely destroyed the enormous works of messrs. krupp at essen. by this means germany's resources were so gravely prejudiced that it suited her to stay her hand for the time being. out of this act of retaliation sprang the famous air-ship convention, of which the outcome will appear presently. during these dire events the women had votes, and many of them had seats in parliament. their sex was dominant. they heard the cry of the children. the men heard the lamentations of the women, and were unmanned. thus was great britain reduced to the level of a third-rate power--a downfall not without precedent in the history of the world's great empires. but sadder even than the accomplished downfall was the fact that vast numbers of britons had grown used to the situation, had so lost the patriotic spirit and fibre of their forefathers that the loss of race-dominance and of the mighty influence of good which empire had sustained, seemed to them of little moment compared with their immediate individual advantage and petty personal interests. chapter iii. aboard the air-ship. "so you've made the young lady's acquaintance on the river?" remarked the judge, looking amusedly at his nephew. "yes," said linton, "and the president's, ... in the garden." "'youth, youth, how buoyant are thy hopes,'" quoted sir robert, chuckling. "and," added the young man, with a slightly heightened colour, which the gathering dusk failed to conceal, "they've promised me a trip in their air-boat!" sir robert groaned. "air-boats! wish they'd never been invented." he flicked away the ash of his cigar and gazed at the first stars faintly twinkling in the evening sky. they were sitting on the terrace, and the september air was as balmy as the breath of june. "look!" exclaimed herrick, springing to his feet, "don't you see one over yonder?" his uncle gazed and nodded. "and just imagine," he said, "what it will mean when the present law expires and all restrictions are removed. everyone will want to be at liberty to 'aviate'; and as a consequence, we shall want an enormous staff of air-police to control the upper traffic and check outrage and robbery. i tell you, sir, the world's going too fast. the thing won't work!" "everything will settle into shape in time," argued linton, soothingly, his eyes still following the evolutions of the air-boat with its twinkling lights. "well, you're young, and may live to see it, but it won't be in my day," sighed sir robert, "and i don't want it to be. who wants an air-ship calling for his parlour-maid at the attic window? who wants thieves sailing up to his balcony? and as to collapses and collisions overhead--we've had some of 'em already--and it don't add to the gaiety of nations or the comfort and security of the peaceful citizen down below." "it'll all come right, sir," said herrick cheerfully. "perhaps it will and perhaps it won't," was his uncle's comment. "it's not so much a question of individuals as of nations. how are we going to regulate international commerce? the fiscal question, like the eastern question, will assume a wholly different character. you may sail a ship, but you can't build custom houses in the air. what about imports and exports? what about a hundred things that have been governed hitherto by the broad fact that man and merchandise have only been able to move about either on sea or land?" "she's coming this way," exclaimed the inattentive herrick. the little ship, wonderfully swift and graceful in her motions, was crossing high above the river, then circled gradually lower and lower, nearing them, like a bat, at every sweep. "there's a lady in her," said the judge, "perhaps it's miss jardine." the two men, with the electric lights from the dining-room throwing their figures into relief, must have been clearly outlined to the people in the boat. "yes," declared linton. "i'll hail her. boat ahoy! is that the _bladud_?" "aye, aye," answered a man's voice, and then they thought they heard a low laugh from the lady in the stern. the boat circled lower and lower. "gently," said the judge under his breath, "it's the president, it's jardine himself, with his daughter." "would anyone like a sail?" came the question from above. "yes, of all things," was linton's eager reply. "she's not built for more than three, or we would offer to take you too, sir robert." the judge had risen to his feet. "heaven forbid! much obliged to you all the same, mr. president." the fans were at work now, assisting in the delicate process of letting down the boat by slow degrees in the centre of the lawn. she reached the ground gently and lightly, and linton and the judge went forward and greeted her occupants. then linton herrick stepped aboard, and his uncle moved clear of the wings. the _bladud_ rose to a height of about 200 feet. then the elevating apparatus was switched off, and the boat having circled in a few ever-widening sweeps, sped away in the direction of london. until now the president, who was in charge of the machinery in the fore part of the boat, had scarcely spoken. linton sat in the stern beside zenobia jardine, who, so far, also was silent, her attention being required for the steering gear, with which, however, she seemed perfectly familiar. jardine now explained that the _bladud_ needed only one-third of her power for keeping afloat, and two-thirds for propelling her. after that he became unreservedly communicative. whether it was due to the fact of being in the air, instead of upon earth, or to a ready fancy for the young canadian, the president showed himself in a character which seemed to cause his daughter pleased surprise. there was nothing pompous or self-important in his manner. he talked like a man who is delighted to get upon his favourite hobby in company with a sympathetic listener. "it's the birds we had to study, the birds in the air," he said. "when i was about your age i was an engineer, and i used to study birds, because they gave us the best pattern for an air-ship; it's nature's own pattern, and you can't beat nature. there's the breast bone, for instance, provided with a sort of keel to serve as a point of attachment for the muscles that set the wings in motion. there's the small head, with a pointed beak, like a ship's bow. then you've got the light expanding wings that press like a fan on the elastic air waves. those are nature's aeroplanes, mr. herrick, and that's the model we've had to follow. then there's the tail, tapering off--that's nature's rudder." "we get everything except the feathers," ventured linton. "feathers are not essential," was the answer. "there are wings of other sorts. the bat has no feathers. it is fitted with a sort of umbrella frame from top to toe, so to say, that can be expended when required for flying. but for an air-ship we get the best model in the frigate-bird or the albatross--that's what we've aimed at in our newest aeroplanes." "and the best motive power?" queried linton. "the air itself, compressed as we've got it here," said mr. jardine, with decision. "air can do everything. nearly a century ago, 'puffing billy,' the primitive locomotive, proved that the adhesion of the wheels to the rails was sufficient to give drawing power. everybody had doubted it. then everybody doubted whether anything heavier than air could be sustained and move in air. that's why they wasted money and lives in ballooning. the fallacy was disproved. we are disproving it at this very moment. then came another problem--what was the right sort of motor? they tried everything. there were endless difficulties as regards the steam engine. the internal combustion motor was a remarkable source of power. they used it largely in submarines. it gave the necessary electrical energy when the vessel was propelled under the sea. but petrol was not the last word in locomotion. the first and last power, when you know how to harness it, is the air itself. that's what we've come to after many false starts and failures. you see, you get extreme lightness combined with great power. the bursting pressure and the reduced pressure are all calculated to a nicety per lb. to the square inch. you can have power that will serve for a toy-ship--say three-quarters of a minute, for a flight of 200 yards; or you can build upon the same basis for any size, weight, or distance that can be required." "isn't it wonderful!" exclaimed his daughter with enthusiasm; and linton nodded. "wonderful, indeed, yet here it is!" her father went on stolidly: "it was proved many years ago that a flying machine weighing nearly 8,000 lbs., carrying its own engine, fuel, and passengers, can lift itself into the air. an aeroplane will always lift a great deal more than a balloon of the same weight." "i know," agreed linton, "and it can travel at a high rate of velocity with less expenditure of power." "exactly; a well-made screw propeller obtains sufficient grip on the air to propel an air-boat at almost any speed; the greater the speed the greater the efficiency of the screw. we are going slowly at this moment, but i could put her along at 70 miles an hour, if one wanted to." suiting the action to the word, he did increase the speed very considerably for a short distance, and conversation had to be suspended. it was the quickest travelling linton had yet experienced in the upper air, and he turned with some anxiety to zenobia jardine, thinking the pace might tax her nerves. she was perfectly calm, however, and her father set all fears at rest by saying, as he slackened pace again: "the steering with the new gyroscope is almost automatic, just as if she were a torpedo. even in a stiff wind she reverts to a horizontal keel. it is simply like the balancing of a bird." "the _bladud_ is splendid!" cried linton with conviction. "she's hard to beat," was the president's comment. "but, after all, she's only the natural outcome of the air-gun, which has been known for generations. an air-gun is shaped like a rifle, with a hollow boiler or reservoir of power. you force into the reservoir by means of a condensing syringe as much air-power as it will hold. by opening a valve a portion of the air escapes into the barrel of the gun. that's what takes place when you pull the trigger. the released air presses against the ball just as gunpowder would. off goes your bullet without a sound or sign to show that it has been discharged. air condensed to 1-46th of its bulk gives about half the velocity of gunpowder. it's precisely the same principle that's firing us through the air at the present moment." "it's a wonderful discovery!" was linton's comment. "yes," mused mr. jardine, "and yet the thing was always there to be discovered." "just as the air waves were always ready for wireless telegraphy, but unused till marconi came along at the beginning of the present century." the president looked around him at the star-spangled heavens and drew in a deep breath: "yes," he said, slowly, "and there are more secrets waiting to be revealed." "there's a professor of chemistry in one of the american universities who thinks we shall be able to live on air some day," laughed the young man. the president did not laugh. "why not?" he asked. "we know well enough we can't live without it. it's quite conceivable that the atmosphere contains undetected sources of nourishment. they may be generated by vaporisation or by electricity and chemical action within the air itself. no one knew anything about ozone a hundred and fifty years ago, and he would be a rash man who said that ozone is the last word in atmospheric discovery." "it may end in air cakes," suggested linton, rather flippantly. "or begin with air-cakes and end in air-tabloids," said zenobia. "what a glorious idea! only think how it would simplify housekeeping. meat, vegetables, fish, and all the rest, might be superseded, and the butcher's bill would cease to be a terror." "and dyspepsia would be abolished with the weekly bills." "nature, the only universal provider; complete independence of foreign imports. no starvation and no over-feeding. we should no longer go in for a big square meal, but for a small round tabloid." "cooks, with all their greasy pots and pans, would not be wanted. you could carry your meals in your waistcoat pocket and eat them when you pleased." "yes," agreed miss jardine with mock seriousness, "instead of sitting down to a food function--soup, fish, joint, entrée, pastry and dessert, as if it were a sort of religious ceremony! the possibilities are endless." "and the prospect glorious!" chimed in the canadian--then the two young people, having kept the ball of frivolity rolling to their own satisfaction, laughed merrily, and even the grim, dark face of the president relaxed into something like a smile. "but there would be rather a sameness in the diet," added zenobia, thoughtfully. "we could vary it occasionally by harking back to the old fleshpots. besides, discovery would lead to discovery. the constituents of the atmosphere defy the microscope at present, but by and by they may be seized upon and served up in different forms and combinations for the nourishment of man." "and woman." "the greater includes the less. they--oh! i beg your pardon! i was forgetting. the old order is changed. we live in the reign of woman." rather to linton's surprise, instead of hearing a quick retort, he thought he heard a low and rather plaintive sigh. "ozone, at any rate, has a special flavour," remarked mr. jardine. "it resembles lobster, and, like lobster, you can have too much of it. but the plants have always lived on air. man consumes the flesh of beasts, but the beasts have built up their flesh by eating grass or plants. thus, indirectly, we ourselves live on air already, and draw our vitality from the atmosphere. presently we may get it by a shorter cut, that's all. so your air-cakes and tabloids may really come to pass," and mr. jardine nodded. this time there was no laughter, partly because the idea did not seem so wild, and partly because they were now close to london, and the wonder of the lighted capital spreading down below was a strange and solemn thing to look upon. chapter iv. the star of life. the _bladud_ passed swiftly over paddington station, and followed the line of the edgware road to the marble arch. the incessant roar of the traffic below reached their ears, and it was a relief to get over the great, far-spreading park--silent and only faintly lighted by the scattered lamps. to the left, park lane had a gloomy look. the famous residences of the wealthy, like hundreds of great london mansions in the neighbouring squares, were untenanted. people could not afford to live in such palaces nowadays; the governing bodies of the capital had done their best to ruin it by socialistic experiments and over-rating. at hyde park corner, which was soon reached, once more the tumult of the traffic rose into the air, and the long lines of electric lamps stretching eastward along piccadilly, gave the impression of an enormous glittering serpent down below. they followed the route to piccadilly circus, where the blaze of lights and the swiftly changing units in the thoroughfares produced an effect that, seen for the first time by linton herrick, held him in a sort of fascination. trafalgar square and the strand produced the same bewildering characteristics, and to the right the effect conveyed by the illuminated bridges was marvellously beautiful. the _bladud_ circled widely so that linton might take his fill of the spectacle. then mr. jardine headed her eastward again, and for awhile the streets below lay gloomy and silent until they had crossed the city. soon the lights of the commercial road and whitechapel outlined the great thoroughfares of the east end, while in every direction branch streams of flaring, smoky light showed where the hawkers and hucksters plied their evening trade. they had sailed over the isle of dogs and greenwich reach before the president put the boat about; then in the distance, like a lighthouse, the great clock towering over the houses of parliament came into view, the dial shining like a huge, dull moon. in these days it was always illuminated, whether the house were sitting or in recess. "look!" exclaimed zenobia, suddenly. away in the heart of southwark huge flames were shooting into the air, and monstrous clouds of woolly looking smoke rolled slowly from above a conflagration. "a fire," said mr. jardine, "and a big one, too. we'll have a look at it." "not too close, father," said his daughter, for the first time showing nervousness. "keep her to windward," said mr. jardine, slowing down a little, and the girl obeyed. vast showers of sparks rose into the air; they heard the hiss and splash of water, and the pant-pant of half a dozen fire engines as they played upon the burning buildings. the lights shone on the helmets of the firemen--clambering here and there on the roofs of towering warehouses, and dense masses of people seemed to be packed into the streets, on whose pallid, upturned faces the lights produced a strangely weird effect. the sight below seemed full of awe and terror. presently, a sudden gust of wind changed the direction of the smoke column and brought a volley of sparks over the _bladud_. "hard a-port!" cried mr. jardine, "we'll get out of this." in a moment they had veered away from the scene of the conflagration, and were crossing first the river, then cannon street, almost at full speed. the fans were set to work, and they rose to a greater altitude to avoid all risk of colliding with church towers and steeples. a dark, domed mass took shape a hundred feet away, and over it the great cross of st. paul's loomed for an instant into view; a train with faces showing against the lighted windows, crawled across the railway bridge at the foot of ludgate hill; and far away in the west the gleam of another fire lighted up the sky with a sudden threatening glare. from below there now arose the piteous bellowing of cattle. they were passing over the huge markets in smithfield, and the shouts of the drovers blended with the noise made by the doomed and harried beasts, whose flesh was to feed london on the morrow. soon another long row of lights revealed southampton row, running straight, as it seemed, from kingsway to euston. the station clock showed that it was nearly ten. they swept over the quiet west central squares, over the euston road and regent's park, and so onward and away, until the huddled dwellings of the capital gave place to suburbs, dark roads, and silent fields. linton, through the later sights and sounds of the night, was conscious of being in a sort of dream; and in the dream the girl by his side was the principal, nay, the only figure save his own. the end of a light scarf that was round her neck blew across his face; the sway of the _bladud_ brought her arm against his own, and each slight contact seemed to thrill him. once or twice he glanced at her face, almost inquiringly; for now he had the oddest feeling that she was no stranger; that in reality they knew each other and had only met again; that in the past, somehow, somewhere he knew not when, there had been a kinship or a tie between them. from the first moment of their meeting she had interested and attracted him. of that he was well aware. but not until they sat side by side in this aerial journey had the impression of which he was now conscious crept into his mind or memory. what could it mean? that strange exhilaration of the upper air, the quickening of imagination, wrought by their rapid travelling high above the solid earth and all its limitations, perhaps might account in some degree for the puzzling feeling that possessed him. he glanced at her again; their eyes met, and in hers he read, or fancied that he read, a telepathic answer to his thoughts. suddenly he found himself repeating, as if with better understanding, lines that always lingered in his memory: "our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; the soul that rises with us, our life's star, hath had elsewhere its setting, and cometh from afar." "how odd," murmured the girl in a wondering voice, "the very lines that i was thinking of," and in low tones she finished the quotation: "o joy, that in our embers is something that doth live; that nature yet remembers, what was so fugitive!" chapter v. a three-fold pledge. all through the following day the deep impressions of the previous evening held linton as one is held by the memory of some haunting and impressive dream. everything down below seemed insignificant and irrelevant. they were dining out that evening, and he could not shake off the feeling that in everything connected with that ordinary function he was playing the part of a small automaton on a puppet stage. he and his fellow-puppet, sir robert, got into a little motor-car and rushed over five miles of little roads, between two little hedges, to general hartwell's little bungalow. presently, they were sitting round a little white-covered table, cutting up food with little implements, and taking little sips out of little glasses. how wise and important they thought themselves in the midst of all these little things; how self-satisfied everyone appeared! there were four of them at the dinner-table, the third guest being major edgar wardlaw, of the sappers, a man to whom their host showed great deference and affection. wardlaw talked but little; the look in his eyes and the lines on his broad, fair forehead suggested concentration of thought on some problem remote from those which the others were discussing. the general himself did most of the talking. he was a woman-hater, that is to say, a hater of woman in the abstract. to the individual woman he was gentleness and kindness itself. but rumours of a new and daring forward movement by the vice-president of the council and her party had roused the veteran to a pitch of extraordinary resentment. it was said that lady catherine contemplated forming a regiment of amazons in the twentieth century! it was monstrous. the general boiled over with disgust and indignation. his language at times became absolutely lurid. "a devilish nice pass we've come to at last," he growled. then he seemed to be vainly ransacking his vocabulary for strong language, and gulped down his wine in default of finding an adequate objurgation. the judge laughed with gentle amusement at his fiery old friend. "it's all very well to laugh, herrick, but, damme, sir, it's the last straw, it's the last straw!" roared the general. "just what we've been wanting," said sir robert, calmly. "eh, what d'ye mean?" general hartwell stared. "when people get the last straw laid on, they can't stand any more. so now's the time for the worm to turn." "you're right! by gad, you're right! but how's the worm going to manage it?" cried the old officer, leaning back. the judge fingered the stem of his wine glass and gazed thoughtfully at the table-cloth. major wardlaw turned his gaze on him as if suddenly recalled from the regions of mental speculation. linton, also self-absorbed as yet, began to listen and to wonder. "you have strong views about women. you don't exactly love the sex," said the judge. "how can a man love 'em when he sees the mischief they've done by their ambitions and pertinacity?" demanded the general. "my dear fellow, you are too sweeping. they're not all alike. there are plenty of good women left in the world." "show me where they are, then! i don't say they all set out to break the ten commandments. but it's their love of power, their restless ambitions, their confounded unreasonableness, that have played the deuce with us. they want to rule the world, sir, and they weren't meant for it, and it's not good for them, and they know it!" they all laughed at the general's vehemence, and extending a wrinkled forefinger, he went on, with unabated powers of declamation: "men ought to have nipped it in the bud, that's what they ought to have done. instead of which we gave place to their insidious aggressions. we gave 'em an inch and they took an ell. we gave 'em the whip hand, and they weren't content with it in little things. by heaven, they're chastising us with scorpions. and there'll be the devil to pay before we can put 'em back in their proper place. but, mark you, it'll have to be done, if we want to call our souls our own, it'll have to be done. why! my blood boils when i think of the misery shrewish, self-willed women have inflicted on some of the best fellows in the world. i know cases. i've seen it done among my old friends. i knew a man, he was a retired colonel with a splendid record. what do you think? his scold of a wife used to send him out to buy cream for the apple-tart. it's not always the wife. sometimes it's the mother-in-law. sometimes it's a sister. now and then it's a daughter. i know an old school-fellow, a parson; the poor beggar has three plain sisters quartered on him; great, gaunt women who talk about 'dear robert,' and badger dear robert out of his life. his only happy moment is when they're all gone to bed. he'd like to marry; but he's too soft-hearted to send 'em about their business. i tell you the man's afraid. i know another fellow, too ... but there--what's the good of talking!" major wardlaw was raising from his seat. "excuse me for two minutes, general!" "yes, yes, to be sure," assented his host, and when the major had closed the door behind him, he dropped his voice and leaned across the table. "now there's a man! the best engineer the british army has produced for thirty years. that man, sir, designed the great fort they built at dover to guard the channel tunnel. he's got a big brain and a great heart, but in one way he's shown himself a fool. what does he do but go and marry a garrison flirt, sir, a little thing with a pretty face and fluffy hair, and the tongue of a viper. the poison of asps was under her lips. i can tell you she led wardlaw a life. now she's dead and gone, and i do believe he's sorry! he worships the child she left him,--little miss flossie. she's upstairs at the present moment. wardlaw's gone to say good-night to her. he worships the ground she walks on, and that child takes it all for granted. by heaven! she orders him about. she's got her mother's blue eyes and fluffy hair, and i'd wager she's got her temper too. by-and-by she'll lead her father a pretty dance. he wouldn't come here to stay with me--and, mind you, i'm his oldest friend,--no, he wouldn't come without miss flossie. oh these women! by heaven, they raise my gorge." "my dear hartwell," said the judge, calmly, "you go too far. you're prejudiced...." "prejudiced!" exclaimed the general, "were thackeray and dickens prejudiced? look at becky sharpe and the way she treated that big affectionate booby, rawdon crawley. look at that girl blanche amory, the little plotter who ran after pendennis. and if you come to dickens, what about rosa dartle,--a woman as venomous as a serpent!" "types, my dear fellow, types; but not a universal type." "there's lots more like 'em," nodded the general. "and many more unlike them. you see, we old fogeys...." "fogeys, by gad! speak for yourself, herrick." "i do," said the judge, "it isn't that i feel like a fogey any more than you do. it's the label that the world insists on fastening on men of our age, and it is apt to make us feel bitter. we're supposed to have had our time and finished it. it's not what we feel, hartwell, it's what we look that settles it, and i'm afraid, my dear fellow, sometimes when our hair turns grey our tempers turn bitter. it's the way of the world...." "it's the way of the women, i grant you." "come, come, let us leave the women alone for a bit. they've brought things to a crisis. it's the last straw. well and good. doesn't that suggest an opportunity?" "now, you know, you've got something in your lawyer's head. come, man, what the deuce are you driving at?" "we haven't drunk renshaw's health yet," said the judge with apparent irrelevance. they rose and raised their glasses. linton--who had taken no part in the recent discussion--now watched his uncle expectantly. "renshaw, god bless him! and bring him back to england!" "by the way," said sir robert, casually, as they resumed their seats, "is wardlaw with us?" the general, who had taken his old friend's lecture in good part, nodded: "of course he is. isn't nearly every man, in both services? do you suppose we want an army of amazons armed with lethal weapons to keep in order?" "what about the corps of commissionaires?" "being their commander, i ought to know. seventy per cent. of 'em, at least, are dead against petticoat government. they're good chaps, and they've seen good service. they don't like the way the country is being run any more than you or i do. you take my word for that." the judge mused for a moment, tipping the ash from his cigar. "what about the old household troops?" he asked. "same story. but what can we do without a leader in parliament? and suppose, after all, poor renshaw is dead?" sir robert herrick suddenly abandoned his careless bearing, threw away his cigar, and took from his pocket a letter written on foreign notepaper. "listen," he said, "both of you," and lowering his voice, he read the letter, slowly and distinctly so that every word was understood. then he twisted it into a spill and burnt it bit by bit. they sat for a few moments in silence. then from the general, whose fierce little eyes seemed starting from his head under the bristling white eyebrows, there came a sort of gasping exclamation: "god bless my soul! why not?" then, after a pause, dropping into the familiar style of their early days: "you know, bob, there's risk in it. i'm with you to the last. i'm with you; but there's risk in it, we must remember that." "yes, there's risk in it," answered sir robert, gravely. "we must count the cost. but the risk and the cost are not half what they were in other days, when men were ready to die for their country and their cause. if tower hill could talk it could tell many a tale of men who were faithful unto death. if the block could unfold its secrets; if the red axe could speak, there'd be some stern lessons for modern men to ponder on. did you ever read how balmerino faced the headsman after culloden? come what may, we shouldn't have to face the axe, hartwell." "hanging would be no improvement," growled the general. "still, mind this, i'm with you heart and soul, if we can work it out." "i don't think we should have to face the hangman either," said the judge quietly. "we might, perhaps, have to spend the evening of our days behind prison bars. even that is doubtful. nothing succeeds like success. what's treason under one rule becomes loyalty under another. history has illustrated that over and over again?" "what age would renshaw be by this time?" "why, not forty, even after ten years' captivity. he is the only man who can bring back the ancient glory and prestige of the kingdom. once in our midst, the people will rally round him with enthusiastic loyalty. if well organised, it will be a bloodless revolution, hartwell, a glorious and thankful reversion to the old system of man's government for man and woman. it is best suited to the british nation. we've tried something else and it's proved a failure." "a d----d failure," agreed the general, heartily. "we've given way to cranks and noisy, shrill-voiced women; to vapouring politicians; to socialism and all the other isms. we had a notion that we could ante-date the millennium and work the scheme of national life according to ideas of equality and uniformity. it can't be done. experience proves that anomalies work well when logical systems fail. it's a conceited age, a puffed up generation. we are not really wiser than our fathers, though we think we are. let us try to revert to first principles." "i'm your man, heart and soul," said general hartwell, and the two old friends grasped hands across the table. "i knew you would be!" there was a shine as of tears in the judge's eyes. "but you and i can't work this thing alone. we must have colleagues; not many, but some, or at least one," and he looked at linton herrick. "i'm with you too, sir," said the young man simply, "show me the way, that's all." "we three alone at present, with loyal hearts and silent tongues," said sir robert, gravely. "the three musketeers!" ventured linton. "by jove, yes," agreed the old officer. "and we undertake everything that serves the state," added sir robert, solemnly. they rose by mutual understanding and clinked their glasses. "all for one! and one for all!" they cried with one accord. and major wardlaw, opening the door at that moment, stared amazed. chapter vi. the revolt of woman. england was agitated by two items of the latest intelligence. the same journal which announced the sudden and serious illness of president jardine also recorded a bold move in the campaign of the lady catherine kellick, vice-president of the council of state. enormous interest was roused, not so much by the advertised notice of a public meeting on affairs of state, as by the rumours of its real object. ostensibly, the people of london were invited, so far as the accommodation of the queen's hall would permit, to hear a statement as to the position of public affairs and to consider questions of national importance. but it was well understood that the real aim of the convener of the meeting was to strengthen her grip on the helm of state by means of her rumoured forward policy, in the interests of the sex which she claimed to represent. long before the hour fixed for the meeting, multitudes of people of both sexes approached langham place by every converging avenue. the doors of the hall were besieged by an enormous concourse, and the police on duty soon found themselves entirely powerless to preserve order. as evening approached, the crowd became more and more dense, extending southward far into regent street, and northward into portland place. every window in the langham hotel was crowded with wondering visitors, looking down upon the immense assembly, from which rose angry shouts as mounted constables forced their horses through the outskirts of the crowd in the vain effort to keep the people on the move. when darkness rendered the situation still more dangerous, urgent representations were made to the managers of the hall, and the doors were suddenly thrown open. a wild yell of relief or eagerness rose from thousands of throats, and a scene of indescribable violence and confusion followed, as men and woman pushed, struggled, and fought their way towards the entrances. in a few moments every seat had been seized, every inch of standing room occupied. the attempts of the attendants to attend to the angry demands of those who held tickets for reserved seats were absolutely futile. every gangway was blocked by pushing and struggling humanity, and those who, alarmed by such a condition of things, sought to force their way out were prevented from doing so by the swarms of people who were already wedged in the corridors. a babel of voices arose on every side, but at length the audience was weeded out to some extent, and the great numbers that remained settled down in patient expectation, solaced, after a time, by the music of the grand organ and the singing of the songs and choruses. tier after tier at the back of the platform, usually occupied by musicians, had been reserved for members of parliament and officials of state. not one seat was vacant save the chair of the vice-president. when the hour appointed for the meeting struck on the clocks of the neighbouring churches, there was a great clapping of hands, and an excited waving of hats and handkerchiefs. a tall thin figure, wearing a flowing robe of scarlet, now advanced from the right-hand side of the platform, and, on emerging from behind the rows of palms and ferns, came into full view of the audience. although she had become so great a power in england, the vice-president was only known by means of pictures and photographs to a great number of those who were present. they gazed at her with wonder and interest. there was character in every line of her face. her grey hair, swept back from the broad low brow, made her look older than her actual years. her eyes were rather prominent and staring. the upper lip was so long as to betoken a marked degree of obstinacy, and her chin, square and firm, with the flesh bagging a little on either side, accentuated the general indications of hardness. when she spoke, her greatest charm was made known. her voice was excellent, it had that kind of purring intonation which reminded some of the older people of the celebrated actress sarah bernhardt; her friends said that it was partly because of the "purr" that she had acquired the popular nickname of "lady cat." there were no formal preliminaries. raising her hand for silence, she began to speak, and her first sentence was well chosen and arresting: "the amazon is the greatest river in the world!" puzzled glances were exchanged, and here and there was heard a wondering titter. were they in for a lecture on geography? the speaker went on without a pause, and swiftly undeceived them: "the amazon flows from the andes with such stupendous force, in such enormous volume, that its waters are carried unmixed into the atlantic ocean." they now had a dim idea of what was coming, and the impression was speedily confirmed: "there are other mighty forces in the world besides that river, and i for one, speaking for the sex to which i belong, would glory in the name of amazon. call us amazons, if you will. let those laugh who win; women are winning all along the line!" shrill applause went up from hundreds of women in the audience. the men, in a minority, were silent and uneasy. "the time has come for facing facts, for examining claims and titles. man's title to be lord of creation is full of flaws, and we dispute it." frantic cheers and handkerchief-waving came from the women; a few deep groans from the men. "it is no use trusting to recent history. the men by force and fraud got into possession of all the good things, all the power that life has to offer, and thousands of us have meekly acquiesced. if you are content to be regarded as the weaker vessel, if it satisfies you to be compared with men as water is compared with wine, or moonlight unto sunlight, be it so; we who are wiser must leave you to your fate. but some of us have already advanced a stage or two towards the position we claim rightfully as our own. yet, you women of england, mark this, the stages already covered are nothing to what we can and will achieve." excited applause for a few minutes prevented the speaker from proceeding. a fierce disturbance broke out at the back of the hall, but was promptly quelled. "one thing all men and women here to-night must realise. there cannot be two kings in brentford, no, nor a king and queen. of the two sexes, one alone can reign. which shall it be?" shrill cries of "ours, ours!" broke from the speaker's supporters. "yes," she cried triumphantly, "our turn has come at last; it _shall_ be ours, if women only stand to their guns. but there can be no halting half way. forward or retreat!" "forward, forward!" came from the now enthusiastic audience, with eager cheers and shouts, and again the cry went up: "forward, one and all." "forward let it be. but, remember, the race will be to the swift and the battle to the strong. to-night i call you to arms. to-night i remind you that among the ancient races of the world there were women who set us the example that we need. the story of the amazons of old is no fable. they lived--they fought for supremacy. they won it and they held it. so can we!" tumultuous cries, blended now with angry hisses from the men, disturbed the meeting. but so great was the ascendency which the vice-president already had acquired over most of her hearers, that a wave of her hand stilled the uproar, and she was enabled to proceed. at the same moment, on a screen at the back of the platform, was thrown a startling life-sized picture of an amazonian warrior: "behold!" cried the orator, grasping the dramatic moment and extending her arm, "behold thalestris--queen of the amazons!" for an instant the vast audience paused--surprised, staring, almost bewildered. "you are asking yourselves who was thalestris," the speaker continued. "the amazons founded a state in asia minor on the coast of the black sea. herodotus will tell you how they fought with the greeks; how they hunted in the field and marched with the scythians to battle. well, thalestris became their queen. they styled her the daughter of mars. she set the men to spin wool and do the work of the house. the women went to the wars, and the men stayed at home and employed themselves in those mean offices which in this country have been forced upon our sex. the amazons went from strength to strength; they built cities, erected palaces, and created an empire. and there were other amazonian nations. all of them acted on the same principle. the women kept the public offices and the magistracy in their own hands. husbands submitted to the authority of their wives. they were not encouraged, or allowed, to throw off the yoke. the women, in order to maintain their authority, cultivated every art of war. for this is certain--all history proves it: force is the ultimate remedy in all things. that was why the amazons of old learnt how to draw the bow and throw the javelin." "for shame! for shame!" roared a man's voice from the balcony. "there is plenty of cause for shame," was the speaker's swift retort, "but the shame is on the men, the swaggering, bullying, self-sufficient men who in times past held women in subjection. why, there were men in england not so very long ago who would put a halter round a wife's neck and bring her into open market, for sale to the highest bidder. it used to be the law of england that men might chastise their wives with a rod of specified dimensions...." "we don't do it now," shouted the same voice. "no! because you cannot and you dare not. it used to be said that there was one law for the rich and another law for the poor. but it was always a much more glaring truth that there was one law for men and another law for women. it was so in the divorce court until we women altered it. it was so in respect of the results of what was called a lapse from virtue, and we are going to alter that. it was so in regard to votes and representation, and you know we have changed all that!" loud and vehement applause from the majority of the audience greeted this allusion to the suffrage. "more than half the nation is no longer disenfranchised. but we must not rest content. like alexander, we seek more worlds to conquer, and conquest will be ours. while women have grown, men have shrivelled. athletic exercise and a freer and more varied life have given our women thews and sinews. but the men are decadent, degenerates who have led indolent, self-indulgent lives. they have given up the battle of life. thousands of them are as enfeebled in body as in intellect. we see around us an undeveloped, puny, stunted race. what? call these creatures men? i tell you they are not men, they are only mannikins!" immense uproar broke out again in every part of the heated, crowded building. when it was subdued, the speaker resumed in scornful tones: "better masculine women than effeminate men! better the amazon than the mannikin! read the story of boadicea, of joan of arc, and of joan of montfort! read what history will tell you about margaret of anjou! worthy successors were they of the amazons of the caucasus and the amazons of america, the noble women who gave their name to the greatest river in the world. like the women of old, let the amazons of the present century--the amazons of england--learn to arm, and learn to fight." there was a moment's pause. then the vice-president, in tones now piercing and tremulous, cried out: "who will join the first regiment of the amazons of england?" the electrified audience saw the speaker raise her hand, and at the signal twenty girls in smart military uniform marched on to the platform, saluted, and stood at attention. each amazon's hair was cut short, but not too short to be frizzed. on each small head was worn a helmet like that of thalestris. the braided tunic was buttoned from shoulder to shoulder in the napoleonic style, and the two rows of gilt buttons narrowed down to the bright leather belt that encircled the waist. "bloomers" completed the costume, and a light cutlass and a revolver furnished each amazon's warlike equipment. laughter, applause, and shouted comments greeted the entrance of the girl-soldiers. it became a scene of indescribable confusion. then once more the vice-president vehemently appealed to the audience: "who will join the amazons of england?" shouts of "i will, i will!" came, first, from the body of the hall; then from every part of the building, until, at last, the women seemed to answer in a perfect scream of eagerness. many minutes passed before silence was restored. then it was announced that all recruits could give in their names as they left the hall, and the vice-president went on to move in formal terms a resolution declaring that this meeting was firmly persuaded that the cause of the nation and of woman required that the women of england should take up arms, and pledged itself, first, to support the establishment of a new body of militia to be recruited from the ranks of the young women of england; and, secondly, to claim from the state the same rate of pay that hitherto had been paid to men alone. a thin young woman with hectic cheeks and excited manner sprang to her feet on the right of the platform and seconded the motion. she only made one point, but it went home. "i'll ask you one question," she exclaimed, in tones so shrill that here and there a laugh broke out: "are we inferior to poor tommy atkins?" the aggregate answer was so ready and so violent a negative that the opposing element was momentarily subdued. storms of applause broke out as she resumed her seat. but with equal readiness another speaker was on her feet on the other side of the platform. in clear high tones her voice rang out over the noisy assembly: "i oppose it!" another storm--a storm of remonstrance now arose. cries of "shame, shame," were hurled towards the platform. then, as some of the audience recognized the new speaker, they exclaimed to the people near them: "it's the president's daughter! it's zenobia jardine!" "order, order!" roared a minority of the audience, now somewhat encouraged, and in a few minutes, while zenobia waited--her eyes bright, her lips firmly set--order was secured. the vice-president had sat down. she looked at her young opponent with no friendly eye, taking no trouble to secure her a quiet hearing. but there was a section of the audience that had only waited for a champion, and meant to see fair play. "i oppose it," repeated zenobia, "because i believe that to arm women and train them to fight will be a mad and wicked act. it would mean a return to barbarism. it would be adding a monstrous climax to the progress of a great cause. instead of being the final exaltation of our sex, it would lead to our political extinction and our ruin. let us have none of it." the vice-president's face wore a wicked look, and her thin lips tightened as this appeal drew a loud cheer from the men and from a certain number of the women in the excited audience. "it has been said that the empire of women is an empire of softness, of address. her commands are caresses, her menaces are tears!" "no! no!" came from the throats of the vice-president's supporters. the vice-president herself arose. "will the speaker favour us with the authority for her quotations?" she asked in loud and cutting tones. "rousseau...." began zenobia nervously. "an effeminate authority indeed!" exclaimed the vice-president. "we are not all in love" she added sneeringly. she seemed for the moment to have won the audience back to her cause. but zenobia was not beaten. "very well!" she cried, "i will give you an english author. doctor johnson, at least, was not effeminate. what did he say? 'the character of the ancient amazons was terrible, rather than lovely. the hand could not be very delicate that was only employed in directing the bow and brandishing the battle-axe. their power was maintained by cruelty; their courage was deformed by ferocity'.... besides, the whole thing's impossible." conflicting cries broke out in every quarter, and the rest of the sentence became wholly inaudible. there was a slight lull when the vice-president rose and raised her hand. "is it your pleasure that this lady be heard further?" she demanded. the hint received a ready response, and shrieks of "no, no!" drowned the protests of the minority. in a moment, the vice-president put her resolution and called for a show of hands. in another moment, she had declared the motion carried by an overwhelming majority. at a sign, the organ gave forth a trumpet note, and then burst into a rushing volume of sound, which drowned all cries and counter-cries, and ended the meeting in a scene of unexampled tumult and excitement. chapter vii. the price of power. after the great and epoch-making meeting in queen's hall, the disturbed state of public feeling was accentuated. it was generally felt that the sex-conflict which the revolt of woman had brought about now was shaping towards some new and startling climax. a crisis was at hand. moreover, at the same time, the appearance and rapid development of a serious and unfamiliar epidemic created widespread alarm. at first people had laughed at the "new disease," but the laughter was shortlived--like great numbers of those whom the epidemic attacked. harley street described it professionally as a recrudescence of _plica polonica_; and just as at an earlier period people had contracted influenza into "the flue," they now went about asking each other how about the "plic." it was a malady which at one time had prevailed extensively in poland, and but little doubt could be felt that it had now been introduced into england by the polish jews, whose alien colony in whitechapel and other parts of the east end had attained enormous proportions. the peculiar feature of the plic. was that it attacked the hair of the head, matting it together and twisting it in hard knots, to touch which caused the most exquisite pain; this symptom was often accompanied with manifestations of acute nervous disorder. the patient speedily became feverish, and in most instances showed signs of derangement in the functions of the brain. as the malady developed sleep was banished, or, when obtained, would be disturbed by dreadful dreams. profound depression weighed upon the spirits, and the bare sight of food and drink excited strong repulsion. gouty pains in arms and legs caused acute agony to some of the sufferers, and in many cases there were fits of giddiness and an affection of the optic nerve that produced temporary blindness. the disease more often than not proved fatal. physicians were at a loss for radical cures, and a course of thermal baths was found to be the most efficacious palliative that the faculty could recommend. under the advice of harley street, great numbers of patients, in the early stages of the disease, flocked to bath for the water-cure. not since the days of the georges had the famous city of the west harboured so many afflicted visitors. every hotel was crowded from basement to attic. the lodging-house keepers exacted monstrous prices for the most indifferent accommodation. local doctors drove a roaring trade, and every other woman in the street seemed to wear the familiar garb of the hospital nurse. among the distinguished persons who had been advised to have recourse to the healing properties of the famous baths was the foremost man, officially speaking, in the country. nicholas jardine was declared to be suffering from a severe attack of the prevailing epidemic, and the papers announced that the president would at the earliest possible moment leave london for bath. this intelligence caused far more anxiety throughout the country than might have been anticipated. it was not that the president was particularly beloved, but that among a large section of the community the vice-president was distinctly unpopular. her ambitions and the determination of her character were well known. hence the prevailing apprehensions. what might not lady cat accomplish in the temporary absence of the president? and, worse still, what might not she dare and do, as the champion and inciter of woman, if the head of the government should die? the instrument of government provided that supreme executive authority should be vested in one person--the president, or his deputy for the time being, in conjunction with the commons in parliament assembled. the functions of the lords had long since been abrogated. the president, or his deputy, in the circumstances stated, with the assistance of the members of the committee or council of state, had the fullest powers as the executive, and, in effect, presided over the destinies of the nation. from the president the judiciaries and magistrates derived their honours and emoluments. in him was vested civil command of the national forces both by sea and land. with the sanction of the council, he could maintain peace or declare war. these powers were to some extent checked by the enactment that no law of the realm could be repealed, suspended, or amended without the consent of parliament; but in parliament the vice-president had powerful support. in the event of the death of the president, the other members of the council could immediately nominate his successor. it was well known that the "cat" had striven to ally herself in marriage with nicholas jardine, with the object, as most people believed, of indirectly grasping the reins of government. it was known also that, foiled in that design, she treasured feelings of animosity against the president and his daughter. what, then, would be likely to limit her revenge or curb her ambition if an opportunity like the present could be made to serve her purpose? it was widely felt that a crisis impended; that events of dark and threatening character were shaping for some great struggle or convulsion, the issue of which no one could foresee. the men of england, though in the course of years they had yielded inch by inch before the persistent aggression of the other sex, were not wholly forgetful of their past, nor blind to the possibilities of the future. the more virile among them remained rebels against woman's dominion, struggling, like strong but despairing swimmers, against the rushing tide that was sweeping them away. but such men were in a notable minority. vast numbers seemed to have lapsed without resistance, if not without reluctance, into the position of underlings. relieved of various responsibilities, they acquiesced in the position which the other sex had gradually assumed. they had grown lazy and half-hearted. with a shrug of the shoulders they accepted the widely-held dictum that their own sex was decadent. in point of numbers that was beyond denial. the entire birth rate of the country had fallen, year after year, but more notable than that was the emphasis given to the dominant note of the age by a steady diminution in the percentage of new-born males. the more vital question arose, what view would the women themselves take of any new departure on the part of their leading representative in the councils of the state? but such a question could not readily be answered. it might be hazarded that most of those who had displaced the male competitor or who were already in the way of promotion, would be for holding the ground and making any further bid for supremacy that occasion should suggest. but still there were known to be great numbers, patient and, so far, inarticulate women, who viewed the existing state of things with deep regret, and anticipated the future with positive alarm. if the men and the women were in opposite camps, "the sex" undoubtedly was divided in sentiment; for the change of the old order of things had brought many developments that told against the grace and charm of woman's life. she had gained something; but she had lost more. the protective character which in former times man had felt bound in honour to assume for the benefit of the weaker vessel had been largely discarded. chivalrous feelings were blunted by the competition in which woman had engaged with man. if the grey mare was bent on being the better horse, she must accept the conditions of the competition. however reasonable and welcome this might seem to the mature or hardened woman, it was far from agreeable to the young and charming girl. for still there were charming girls in england, girls who wanted to be wooed and won; girls whose hearts fluttered at the sound of a certain footstep; girls who did not want to rule their lovers, but to lean on them; girls to whom romance was the spice of life. such girls as these, and it was whispered that they grew in numbers, shrank from the harsh conflict of the battle of life, in which it seemed to be expected that each and all would readily engage. they found in the open doors of professional business or political life inadequate compensation for the deference, tenderness, and delicate consideration which had been accorded by men to earlier generations of women. the forward faction with their facts and figures, could count on great numbers of adherents. but certainly there were others, and perhaps the best and sweetest in the world of women, who looked with growing distaste and resentment upon the leaders who had brought the business and the pleasures of life to such a pass. there was one english girl who, in the trouble that had come upon her by reason of her father's illness, discovered and pondered on these momentous questions. what would it profit a woman to force herself out of her ordained place in the plan of creation? and what should she give in exchange for that submissive tender love of wife for husband which the sacred book declared to be the law of god? zenobia jardine, turning for the first time to the bible, pondered over mysterious passages of the early scriptures, which came to her with all the greater force because they had not been weakened by parrot-like familiarity. it was a revelation. historical or allegorical--regarded either way--the story of the garden of eden and the first parents of the human race was imperishable in its power and significance. therein lay the true lesson of life. the waves of the centuries had vainly surged around it. like pygmies biting on the rock, the newest of new theologists, and the latest of scientific discoverers, had left the rock still standing, impregnable in its eternal strength. the voice that spake to the woman in the garden seemed to be speaking still: "what is this that thou hast done?" and the woman's answer was: "the serpent beguiled me, and i did eat." the enmity that had sprung from that far-off and typical wrong-doing was bearing bitter fruit. the bruising of the heel had been renewed through all the history of man and woman. the woman now was bruised in her affections. in the homeric story, thetis took her son achilles by the heel and dipped him in the river styx to make the boy invulnerable. the water covered him save where the heel was covered by his mother's hand. and it was through the heel, that one vulnerable spot, that ultimately death assailed the hero. so, also, it seemed to the reflective girl, the heel typified her heart. all the armour of life that she had taken to herself under the auspices of her father would not avail against the enemy who assailed her in that one weak spot. there were times when she felt that she had discredited her training and fallen below her appointed level. there were other times when she felt instinctively convinced that in woman's weakness lay her truest strength--her greatest victory in her ordained defeat. chapter viii. wardlaw's works. to counteract the dangers arising from the channel tunnel, long since an accomplished fact, and to soothe the apprehensions of a large section of the public, new defence works of enormous strength and intricacy had been constructed on the heights of dover. always a place of vast importance by reason of its position, the ancient stronghold now had become more notably than ever the key to england. as a watering place it had steadily dwindled in importance. its neighbour, folkestone, easily held the palm for all pleasure-seekers; but the commercial development of dover as a port of call for the great liners had been remarkable, just as its strength for naval purposes had been vastly augmented. the completion of the admiralty harbour by the construction of the east arm and the south breakwater now afforded a safe haven for the largest warships in the british navy. here they might ride at anchor, or safely come and go, always protected by the monster guns which had been mounted in the various forts. the commercial harbour had been provided with a huge marine station, where transatlantic passengers in ever-increasing numbers were enabled to land or embark under shelter, continuing their journey either on land or sea with a modicum of inconvenience. it was the great aim of competing steam and railway companies to simplify the methods of travel and enable everybody to go everywhere and do everything with the greatest possible amount of comfort. those who could not trust themselves, invaluable as they were to themselves, amid the chops of the channel, now might travel by tunnel to and from the continent, and thus avoid the risks of nausea or the inconsiderate assaults of wind or wave. by one means or another thousands upon thousands of passengers of all nations and tongues streamed through dover year after year. it was before all things a place of passage--in so far as it was not a place of arms. if one had repeated to most of these globe-trotters gloster's question in king lear: "dost thou know dover?" the answer would probably have been: "well, i just caught a glimpse of it." from the channel, shakespeare's cliff, to the westward of the admiralty pier, certainly was found less impressive than most people had expected. like english life, as a whole, it seemed less spacious than it was considered to be in the days of good queen bess. but then, of course, shakespeare, with his cloud-capp'd towers and gorgeous palaces, was always such a very imaginative dramatist. still, there was the ancient, though slowly-crumbling, cliff remaining in evidence to remind english folk and foreigners of the splendid story of england's past. there, too, on castle hill, the ancient roman pharos--adjoining st. mary's-in-castro--reared its roofless walls towards the clouds. the mariners of england and of gaul no longer needed the lights of the pharos to guide them in the channel, and, of course, the venerable bells that used to ring for matins and evensong were silent many a year before admiral rooke removed them to portsmouth parish church. the great castle, close at hand, was visited by very few excursionists. the climb between castle hill and the western heights was found fatiguing. more americans than englishmen appeared to interest themselves in the story of the castle; its occupation by william of normandy after the battle of hastings, its associations with king john's craven submission to the papal legate, its victorious defence by hubert de burgh, the french attack--fruitless again--of 1278, and other incidents of historic interest. the long gun, known as queen elizabeth's pocket-pistol, still pointed its muzzle sea-ward, and the inscription in low dutch, very freely translated, rashly adjured the current generation to- "load me well and keep me clean, i'll carry my ball to calais green." but inspection of the castle was not encouraged, and tourists of foreign appearance who showed a disposition to take snapshots in the vicinity were promptly checked in their pursuit of the pleasing but too common art of photography. yet it was certain that, pigeon-holed in every war department, of continental and, perhaps, of certain eastern powers, there were full details, or nearly full, of the elaborate defence works with which dover was provided. it was known that castle hill was honeycombed with subterranean passages and galleries, and that the castle (nowadays a barrack rather than a fortress) was thus connected with the modern forts in its immediate vicinity. fort burgoyne, to the north of the castle itself, was, until recent times, the strongest link in the chain of defence, its guns being of great calibre, and commanding a vast range over land and sea. but far more powerful, and better equipped with modern armament and military resources, was fort warden; such being the name given to the works which had been specially constructed as a safeguard against possible attack by means of the channel tunnel. the very hill had been hewn and carved and moulded to meet the needs of such a danger. commanding the gradual sweep by which the railway descended towards the tunnel, the great guns of fort warden were always trained upon the gaping archway from which the incoming trains were constantly emerging. the highest battery of the fort occupied a dominating position overlooking all the _enceinte_ fortifications, which were armed with machine guns and small cannon. there was a subterranean passage connecting the fort with the waterworks of a large service reservoir in a hollow of the hill, which had been constructed in modern times to ensure an adequate supply of water for the troops and the duke of york's school. fort warden was complete in itself; but, linked up with the other fortifications, it formed, as it were, the citadel of a composite fortress where, in the event of attack, the last stand would be made by england's defenders. round the fort extended a double row of trenches, and within these was a moat. strong wire entanglements defended the trenches, and the loopholes in the breastworks were protected by 3/4-inch steel plates with a cross-shaped opening for the rifles. in addition, strong bomb-proofs were provided for the reserves, with wide bomb-proof passages leading to certain of the other forts. in all directions on the hill were placed howitzers and mortars, most of the battery positions and gun epaulements being ingeniously masked and difficult for an advancing enemy to locate. the military scientist who had designed most of the elaborate defences and put finishing touches to those of earlier construction was major edgar wardlaw of the royal engineers. his old friend general hartwell held that from the point of view of an invading enemy, this quiet, unassuming officer was the most dangerous man in all the british army. major wardlaw certainly knew better than anyone else of what dover castle hill was capable. the military authorities were very chary of rehearsing its possible performances, because, in the vulgar parlance of an earlier period, it would give the show away. it was a "show" that must be closely reserved and kept dark in times of international peace and quietness. meanwhile, the hillside showed but few signs of life; the winds of heaven blew over it, the rains descended, or the sun shone. birds hopped about, and people came and went. often there was hardly a sound to break the silence of the hill. a visitor who had climbed the heights could gaze over the town of dover and the hills and valleys behind it, or look right across the channel to the coast of france, quite undisturbed by human voice or sound of busy life. but major wardlaw could have told that visitor that on the instant, at a signal, this placid scene could be converted into one of awful violence and furious sound; that in a flash the hill would vomit forth, as if from many avenues of hell, wholesale, fiery death and indiscriminate destruction. on every side would rise the roar of monster ordnance, the ceaseless rattle of machine guns, the deafening crack of musketry. woe betide the foe that dared to rouse the sleeping monster of the hill! such were wardlaw's works, as they were called throughout the british army. when the major retired from active service, he still lingered in the neighbourhood of his _magnum opus_. in a charming bungalow, perched on the hillside of folkestone warren, he and miss flossie spent unruffled days amid eminently healthy surroundings. the warren, a bay of much natural beauty, had been rescued from neglect. a station on the line from folkestone proper to dover afforded easy access to the bay; trees had been planted and roads cut in the hillside. everywhere on summer nights the lights gleamed from villas and bungalows, and down below on the new jetty, and at the mastheads of scores of pleasure craft. the place suited major wardlaw admirably, and even little miss wardlaw, who was by way of being exacting, seemed quite satisfied with her surroundings. her father kept a small cutter in the bay, and frequently took the young lady for health-giving sails upon the dancing sea. usually their port of call was dover. the major was always going to dover. he couldn't keep away from it. when the cutter was laid up for the winter, he went by train, or sometimes walked across the wind-swept downs. dover town itself had no particular attractions for him. the magnet lay on castle hill. in short, wardlaw could not keep away from wardlaw's works. even when he was not visiting the works, he was always thinking about them. when military friends of his came over from the castle or from shorncliffe, they seemed to talk of nothing else but fort warden--all that it was, and all that it would be if the critical hour of conflict or invasion ever came. flossie wardlaw disapproved of the whole thing. it annoyed her--this constant absorption, this ever recurring topic of conversation. personally, she refused to discuss the works, and had it been possible would have forbidden all allusion to the fort when those tiresome friends dropped in and talked "shop" with her father. poor wardlaw, torn with conflicting emotions, knowing that the child was jealous of the works, used to look at her apologetically when one of his cronies started the everlasting topic. but flossie was not easily to be mollified. with her little nose in the air, she would glance severely, disdainfully, at the author of her being, tossing back that mass of silky, sunny hair from which her pet name was derived. and now the hated subject of the "works" was more to the fore than ever, for the military movement among the women of england had brought fort warden into prominence in the newspapers. the vice-president of the council, in pursuance of her policy, was turning the fort to unforeseen account. the first amazons, as they were popularly called, had been "enrolled and uniformed," and now the fighting girls (as some people styled them) were to have this wonderful fort placed at their disposal for the purpose of training and instruction in the art of war. the idea was very popular among the amazons. some two hundred of them were to spend a fortnight in the fort, and then give place to another batch, the fort meanwhile being vacated by the artillerymen, save only a handful of gunnery instructors and lecturers. so the men marched out of the tortoise-backed "works," and the amazons, very smart in their new uniforms, and full of gleeful excitement, briskly and triumphantly marched in. it was a picturesque episode in martial history which afforded excellent scope for lively descriptive reporting. great numbers of people seemed to be pleasurably interested in the event, just as they used to be in the volunteer military picnics on easter monday. there were others, however, who, like general hartwell noisily, and edgar wardlaw quietly, condemned the whole thing as monstrous, unseemly, and fraught with danger to the nation. the majority, however, laughed at the minority. what was there to be afraid of? there was not a cloud in the international sky. england's difficulties, they said, now were purely domestic. greater britain had been so cut up and divided that we had nothing further to fear. surely no greedy jezebel would dream of stirring up a continental ahab to covet and lay violent hands on the remnant of naboth's vineyard. chapter ix. the loosened grip. "bladud, the son of lud, founded this bath three hundred years before christ." it was a far cry from bladud to nicholas jardine! a goodly span, too, from the time when a great statesman was carried through the streets of bath, swathed in flannels; his livid face, peering through the windows of the sedan chair, the fierce eyes staring from beneath his powdered wig. one can almost see his ghost in milsom street, and hear the whisper spread from group to group: "there he goes! the great commoner, mr. pitt!" and now through the streets of the same town they wheeled a very different sort of statesman; and yet, perhaps, the product, by slow processes of inevitable evolution, of that very time "when america thrust aside the british sceptre, when the ingenious machine of dr. guillotine removed the heads of king and queen in france, when ireland rose in rebellion, when napoleon grasped at the dominion of the western world, when wellington fought the french marshals in spain," and when, god be thanked! nelson triumphed in trafalgar bay. just as the inhabitants and visitors of bath used to take off their hats to william pitt in his sedan chair, so now the new generation saluted nicholas jardine, when, seated in his bath-chair, he was drawn through the streets to the baths. for though times were changed, the president in his way was a great personage--such a remarkably successful man; and in all times it has been proved true that nothing succeeds like success. jardine, when he acknowledged these salutations, showed an awkwardness unknown to those to the manor born. it disconcerted him to be stared at, especially now that he was ill. he hated traversing the public streets, and often sat with closed eyes until his chair entered the bathing establishment. once there he became alert and interested--but not in the reminiscences of georgian functions and the manners and customs of the fops and flirts of that vanished period. what appealed to him, as a trained mechanic, was the heritage of far remoter days. the brain of the roman engineer and the skilled hand of the roman architect and mason had left these signs and wonders for future generations to look upon. the great rectangular bath had only been uncovered about sixty years earlier. the goths and vandals of an earlier period had built over it their trumpery shops and dwelling-houses. but the present bath, with its modern additions, actually was built upon the ancient piers. the very pavements, or scholæ, that bordered it were those which the roman bathers had trod. the recesses or exedræ corresponded with those at pompeii, and had been used for hanging the clothes of the roman bathers or for resting places. the floor of the bath was coated with lead, and in all probability that lead was brought from the roman mines in the mendip hills, where had been discovered the imperial emblems of claudius and vespasian. the president was not without a sense of the beautiful. the scene around him awakened his imagination. he knew that the wooded slopes of the stately hills, the stone hewn from the inexhaustible quarries, and the broad river--formerly spanned by bridges and aqueducts graceful in outline and noble in proportions--each and all had furnished the means which skilful hands had put to glorious uses. yet all these ingredients of beauty might have remained unused but for the wonderful thermal waters which here, for untold centuries, had risen ceaselessly from fathomless depths, streaming ever from rocky fissures, filling the pools and natural basins, and still overflowing into the rushing river. but this beneficent spring and these now verdant hills must have had their remote origin in some terrible concussion of natural forces. mother earth had laboured and brought them forth, far back in her pre-historic ages. subterranean fires, begotten by the portentous union of iron and sulphur, had waited their appointed time. drop after drop, the hidden waters had filtered on inflammable ingredients, until the imprisoned air at last exploded, and the earth, rending and rocking in appalling convulsions, opened enormous chasms and brought forth, amid fire and smoke and vapour, the embryo of all this lovely scene. the city was the offspring of seismic action; the earth had travailed and brought forth these wooded hills. the smiling valley, where now stood the city, was but the crater of an extinct volcano, perpetuated in memory by the steaming waters that still gushed upward from the mystic depths. below the streets and houses of the modern town were the original baths of the city of sulcastra, of many acres in extent. here, indeed, in this most wonderful of spas, history unfolded itself page by page--the city of sul in the grip, successively, of roman, saxon, dane; dynasty succeeding dynasty, sovereign coming after sovereign, statesman after statesman, until now, when a walsall mechanic in a bath-chair was all that england had to show by way of substitute for absolute sovereignty and sceptred sway. and with nicholas jardine, too, the relentless law of time was at work. the sceptre was falling from his grasp. the grass withereth; the flower fadeth. man passes to his long home, and the mourners go about the street. would it be his turn next? every day zenobia seemed to see in her father's face signs of a slowly working change. she witnessed the melancholy spectacle of waning strength, of failing interest in those things that once had absorbed his thoughts and energies. it wrought in her a corresponding change, a protective tenderness which she had never felt before, a deepening sense of the transience and sadness of human pomp and circumstance, a broadened sympathy with all the sons of men. a great silence seemed to have fallen upon the man who in the past had made so many speeches. a brooding wistfulness revealed itself in his expression. there was a haunting look of doubt or question in his eyes, a look as of one who, without compass and without rudder, finds himself drifting on an unknown sea. the land was fading from his sight. the solid earth on which he had walked, self-confident, self-sufficient, no longer gave him foothold. his nerveless hands were losing grip on the only life of which he knew anything, the only life in which he had been able to believe. and day by day, and night by night, there came to his mind the memory of his earlier life, of the faith that he had seen shining in the dying eyes of the woman who had believed while he had disbelieved. vividly he recalled to mind--albeit with a sense of wonder and irritation--an occasion when he had sat beside her in the old cathedral at lichfield. the sun was setting, and its glory illumined the huge western window; the words of the great man of action, who was also the man of great faith, were being read from the lectern, and at a certain passage his wife had turned and looked at him with sad and supplicating eyes: "if in this life only we have hope in christ, we are of all men most miserable." if in this life only ...! all other hope he had scorned and rejected. no other hope had seemed needful to his happiness and success. but now? already _this_ life was dwindling and departing. he felt it; he knew it in his inmost being, as his steps faltered, his hands grew thin and pallid, and his brain, once so busy with a hundred projects and ambitions, now refused to work, or brought to him only recurrent recollections of things which in the prime and strength of his manhood he had scouted and despised. if in this life only ...! sometimes a great restlessness possessed him, and zenobia, in the silent watches of the night, heard him moving heavily and slowly about his room. on one of these nights, anxious and alarmed, she hurried in and found him standing at the window in the darkness. the furnished house they occupied was on bathwick hill, and the night scene from the windows was one of striking mystery and beauty. the blackness of the valley in which lay the ancient city, and of the towering hills on every side, was studded with myriads of lights--shining like stars in an inverted firmament. "father!" she crossed the room and laid her hand upon his arm; but, scarcely heeding her, the sick man still stood by the window, looking as if fascinated on the magical scene of the night. zenobia also gazed, and gazed steadfastly; but the impression made upon herself was wholly different. with him it was a sad impression of farewell. but in zenobia's brain there suddenly sprang up an extraordinary sense of recognition. there was a subtle, haunting familiarity in the scene she looked upon--this valley and these hills, in and about which all that was modern, save the lights, was quite invisible. thus might the valley of sulcastra have looked under the darkened sky two thousand years ago. thus might the lamps of roman villas, temples, baths, and public buildings have twinkled when a vestal virgin, maintaining sul's undying fires upon the altar, looked down upon the silent city. the puzzled girl caught her breath, half sighing, unable to shake off the belief that at some remote period she had gone through precisely the same experience that was now presented to her. and, doubly strange, in connection with the scene, though she could see no reason for it, her thoughts flew instantly to linton herrick. she became oppressed, almost suffocated, with a sense as of pre-existence--a bewildering sensation, almost a revelation--that seemed to tell of the mystery of the ego, of the indestructibility of human life. * * * * * it was the last time that nicholas jardine looked down upon the old city, by night or by day. the next day he remained in bed, and the day after, and all the days that were left to him. the afternoon sunshine came upon the walls, the shadows followed, night succeeded day. the demarcations of time became blurred. his calendar was growing shorter and shorter. the world mattered less and less to him, who had played a leading part in it; and already he mattered nothing to the world. death was not close at hand. nevertheless he was dying. "for this losing is true dying: this is lordly man's down-lying: this his slow but sure reclining, star by star his world resigning." chapter x. zenobia's dream. the night which followed her heartsearching experience of feeling on looking down upon the sleeping city of bath, zenobia had a dream. it was a vision of extraordinary vividness, and strangely circumstantial. beneath her eyes the golden light of a summer sunset was flooding the temples, the baths, the stately villas of ancient "rome in england"--the city of sulcastra. garbed as a priestess of the temple, she stood upon a plateau, high on the hill of sul on the east side of the valley. behind her rose the temple of the goddess, and by her side stood one whom she knew to be the sculptor lucius flaccus, son of that centurion who was charged to carry paul from adramythium to rome. he had been telling her in graphic phrases of his association with the great apostle; how for the first time he had heard him on mars' hill at athens boldly rebuking the listening and resentful throng who had erected there an altar _to the unknown god_. then with a gesture of repugnance which horrified the priestess, the narrator, quoting the christian preacher's words, had turned and pointed towards the temple in which she with other vestals kept ever burning the sacred fire of sul. "forasmuch, then, as we are the offspring of god, we ought not to think that the godhead is like silver or gold, graven by art or man's device...." thus far he had spoken when her own voice interrupted passionately: "do not blaspheme the gods!" "the gods are dead," he answered sternly, "nay, rather, they have never lived. our roman gods have eyes that see not, ears that hear not, they are but silver, gold, or stone--the work of hands like these." thus speaking, he held forth his hands, delicate and mobile, in one of which was grasped the chisel of his ancient art. the priestess stood for a moment looking in his eyes, silent, terror-stricken. "yet," he went on, bending his gaze upon the city with a sigh, "sulcastra is beautiful." he knew and loved each particular feature of artistic beauty in the city. its architecture afforded him a delight that never failed. the symbolic work of the chisel was evidenced on every side. the noble columns that supported the terraces; the pavements resembling those of pompeii; the graceful friezes and delicate cornices appealed irresistibly to every votary of art. indeed, the thermæ of sulcastra were held by many of the cultured romans to be not less splendid than the baths at scipio africanus, or even those built at rome by caracalla and diocletian. for here, too, the lofty chambers were ornamented with curious mosaics, varied in rich colours and infinitely delicate in design. and here, also, the medicinal waters were poured into vast reservoirs through wide mouths of precious metal and egyptian granite, while the green marble of numidia had been brought from afar to give variety to the native stone from the adjacent quarries. the fame of the wonderful waters went back for eight centuries before the birth of christ. here, according to tradition, bladud, son of lud the british king, father of king lear, had found a cure for his foul leprosy. yonder had stood the first temple of minerva, dedicated by that same bladud to the goddess. had he not sought by magical aid to soar aloft like the eagle, only to fall and be dashed to pieces on minerva's altar? the sculptor shaded his eyes against the slanting rays of sunlight, and turned his gaze upon the vast stadium in which at stated intervals the people of sulcastra witnessed the elaborated games of mighty rome. such an occasion recently had occurred, a scene of splendid pageantry and power which invariably moved the spectators to superstitious awe, and often to wild excesses of fanaticism. young and old had implored the favour of the gods, and pledged themselves to maintain unbroken the religious observances of the rome people. in the darkness of night, mystic sacrifices had been offered on the banks of the river; and the whole city, as the sculptor and the priestess now looked down upon it, still seemed to be fermenting with the excitement which the great celebration had occasioned. at that very moment an imposing procession was seen to be advancing towards the temple of minerva. trumpet note after trumpet note echoed round the hills. chariots full of garlands and branches of myrtle approached the shrine. a large black bull was being led to the sacrificial altar, and youths and maidens, chanting a hymn to minerva, carried in procession costly vases full of wine and milk to be poured as libations to the goddess, while others bore cruets of wine, oil, and perfumed essences to anoint the pillars of the sacred monuments within the temple. lucius flaccus looked down upon the procession with sad and moody eyes. the vestal's eyes were bent no less sadly on the sculptor, as if divining all his thoughts. they sprang, she doubted not, out of the subject of their conversation, and she turned uneasily towards the pillar-altar on which the sculptor's skilful hands had been at work. it stood upon the turf at the entrance to a little grove which gave access to the gates of the temple of sul, the temple in which she herself ministered as priestess. a cloth lay over the graceful monument, to the inscription upon which the young roman had but just now put the final touch. his work upon the monument, screened from view, had long excited the interest and curiosity of the romans and the slaves who passed that way, but reverence for the goddess and respect for the sculptor himself had served to arrest all questions. the work of art, it was thought, would be unveiled in time; and doubtless it would prove to be another and a worthy tribute to the goddess who presided in a special manner over the fortunes of the city. lucius flaccus had studied in a great and noble school. he had gazed long and often on the famous statue of the olympian jove modelled in ivory by the master hand of phidias. he had marked every curve and feature of the minerva--standing sixty cubits high--on whose shield the great athenian sculptor had so marvellously represented the wars of the amazons. there were those, indeed, familiar with the work of the young roman who foretold for him an imperishable reputation as an exponent of the noble art to which he was devoted. lucius flaccus had been welcomed in sulcastra as one who was likely to add to the beauty of the city, and the honour of the special goddess of the citizens. the sculptor's art, like the ten commandments, was written on tables of stone. it was for all time; nearly five hundred years had passed since the chisel dropped from the hand of phidias, but the glory of his work remained. it was indestructible. so also, thought some, might the handiwork of lucius flaccus be handed down from century to century. the cult of sul was scarcely distinguishable from that of vesta. like vesta, she was a home-goddess, a national deity, whose vestals were solemnly pledged ever to maintain her altar-fire, lest its extinction should bring disaster on the people. sul, also, was a fire deity. according to the kindred mythology of scandinavia, the goddess was so beautiful a being that she had been placed in heaven to drive the chariot of the sun from which she took her name--that glorious sun, the rays of which were now illuminating the city of sulcastra. sul, in the eyes of the romans, was more exalted than soma, daughter of the moon, though in the east soma was held in the highest reverence as the mother of buddha. soma was the sovereign goddess of plants and planets. in the vedic hymns she was identified with the moon-plant which a falcon had brought down from heaven. its juice was an elixir of life. to drink it conferred immortality on mortals, and even exhilarated the gods themselves. but even greater virtue and miraculous power did the romans attribute to the waters of sul, and with better evidence of their potency. for here, in sulcastra, century after century, and ever at the same temperature, the magical, unfathomable well had poured forth its mystic waters for the healing of the people. the temple of sul, like that of vesta, was circular, to represent the world; and in the centre of the temple stood the altar of the sacred flame, ever burning to symbolise the central fires of mother earth, just as the sun was deemed to be the centre of the universe. there were nothing strange or unusual in freedom of conversation between the priestess and the sculptor--who, in former years, had added many decorations to the temple. the virgin priestesses were permitted to receive the visits of men by day; by night none but women were suffered to enter their apartments, which adjoined the sacred building in which they ministered. each priestess was pledged to continence for thirty years. during the first ten they were employed in learning the tenets and rites of their religion. during the next ten they engaged in actual ministrations. in the final ten years they were employed in training the younger vestals, and after the age of thirty they might abandon the functions of the temple and marry. few exercised that option. custom, when such an age was reached, had become ingrained, the impulses of youth frozen, and the honour paid to their office became more valued than the prospects of marriage. the reverence shown to them was very great, but so also was the punishment that followed a lapse from the letter or the spirit of their duties. the least levity in conduct, the smallest neglect of ministerial duty, was dealt with by the pontifex or the flamens, and visited with great severity. the loss of virginal honour, or the failure to maintain the sacred fire, involved a penalty of inexpressible terror. the condemned priestess, placed in a litter, shut up so closely that her loudest cries were scarcely audible, was carried through the city in the order, and with the adjuncts, of a funeral procession, a journey of death in life--its goal the niche or narrow vault in which the living vestal was to be immured. the sculptor's story. the dreamer knew these things, and still dreamed on. it seemed as if her own voice broke the silence: "fain would i know more of this same paul of whom you speak." then she paused, but looks still questioned him. presently the young roman spoke again-"my father, the centurion julius, was charged to carry him to rome, and i had planned to bear him company. we took ship to sail along the coasts of asia; touched at sidon and afterwards at cyprus, the winds being contrary. later we transhipped at alexandria, and thus reached crete. the seas grew dangerous, and the sailors feared. scarcely had we sailed when there arose that strong, tempestuous wind they call euroclydon. the ship, being caught, could not bear against the wind, and we let her drive. then, near the island of clauda, we were like to be driven on the shore; and fearing quicksands, we struck sail, and so were driven again. the tempest tossed us, and the ship was lightened. we cast adrift the tackling; but still the tempest held us; neither sun nor star appeared for many days, and all that time the ship was driven before the storm, until at length the shipmen deemed that we drew near to land. they sounded and found twenty fathoms. again they sounded and found five fathoms less. then, fearing we should be upon the rocks, they made all haste to cast four anchors from the stern, and waited for the day." "the storm had lasted long?" "for fourteen days and nights." "and there were many in the ship?" "two hundred, three-score and sixteen souls; and everyone was saved. land lay before us, though we knew it not. but we discovered close at hand a creek. so they took up the anchors, loosed the rudder-bands, hoisted the mainsail to the wind, and made for shore. she ran into a place where two seas met, and went aground. the forepart held and seemed immovable, but soon the hinder part was broken by the violence of the waves. the soldiers then would have killed all the prisoners, lest they should escape, but my father stayed their hands. those who could swim sprang first into the sea. others on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship, made for the land, and i, with all the rest, came safe ashore." "the gods be thanked; the gods be thanked for that." the words came fervently from the vestal's lips. he turned on her and sighed. "what! still the gods?" she pressed her hands upon her brow. "is there no more to tell?" he paused a moment. "already i have told too much if told in vain. the island we had reached was melita, and publius, the chief man of the place, received us courteously. paul healed his father of a grievous sickness, and many others also, ere we departed in a ship of alexandria. we touched at syracuse, and then at rhegium, whence we went towards rome. there many brethren greeted paul with joy, and there in reverence and sorrow did i part from him." "and he--this paul himself?" "remains at rome, having his own hired house, receiving all who come to him, preaching of the heavenly kingdom, teaching with all confidence, of the coming of the christ--no man yet forbidding him." deep silence fell between them, and the only sound came from a droning that in sulcastra never ceased by night or day--the voice of the rushing river as it poured across the weir. now they stood erect; each was tall and nobly framed; each face had beauty intellectual and physical. yet in the sculptor's features and his deep-set eyes there was the look that visionaries wear, the stamp of those who nourish great ideals. the gaze the priestess bent upon him told a different tale. the dreamer knew this woman loved this man, while he, as yet, had found no passion in his soul for her. she raised her hand in gesture of adieu, and moved with slow steps towards the temple. then, as if stirred by sudden impulse, she turned to him again. "and this paul--tell me--what teacheth he concerning women?" "he teacheth that man is the image and the glory of god, and woman the glory of the man. that man is not of the woman, but the woman of the man: neither was man created for the woman, but the woman for the man. he commandeth that women keep silence in the christian churches, and in all things be subject to their husbands, for the husband is the head of the wife." "then he forbiddeth not to marry?" "is not paul the apostle of him who blessed the marriage feast of cana?" "in whom thou dost believe?" "in whom i do believe," he answered steadfastly. "i tell thee that the banner of the cross shall one day float above the capitol of rome itself." the priestess took two swifter steps towards him. "then why, o lucius flaccus, hast thou built here an altar to our goddess sul?" she pointed to the pedestal beside them; and he, answering not a word, stretched forth his hand and drew away the covering that concealed the apex. there, in the fading light, there stood revealed the hated emblem of the christian faith. "a cross!" she cried, "a cross!" the sculptor raised his eyes and clasped his hands: "the cross of him who died for all the world!" the vestal's fate. the spirit of the dream had changed. a sense of horrible foreboding agonized the dreamer. no longer did the sculptor and the priestess look down upon sulcastra. yet the dreamer knew all that had happened and was happening still. the city was in tumult. the baths, the public schools, the temples were deserted. people thronged the streets. there was but one thing spoken of--an outrage on the goddess whom they all revered. lucius flaccus, the favoured sculptor of sulcastra, son of julius the centurion, had erected on the threshold of her temple an altar to the god-man of the nazarenes. nor was that all. the sacred fire that should have been kept burning in sul's temple had been suffered to die out, if indeed it had not been deliberately extinguished; climax of all--verenia, priestess of sul, had been found in the broad light of day kneeling with bowed head before the hated emblem that profaned the grove. amazement had given place to fury. the cry went up for punishment--a cry redoubled when it became known that the augurs foretold dire calamity for sulcastra and the citizens, as the inevitable consequence of an outrage so profane. the people feared the vengeance of the gods! yet there were some who kept a grief-stricken silence in the midst of all the raging of the citizens, for each of the offenders was well esteemed, and both belonged to honoured roman families. the dreadful fate that lay in store alike for the sculptor and the priestess moved many hearts to awe and anguished apprehension. in each case the appalling penalty was as certain as the dawn of day. lucius flaccus would be carried to the rock of sul, high on the steepest hill that overlooked the valley, and thence cast headlong on the rocks below. for verenia, the priestess, a yet more awful punishment was prepared--the slow starvation of a living tomb. the dreadful preparations were complete. the vestal's grave was ready--a narrow niche in the massive stone foundations of the temple--the temple of that goddess whose worship she had mocked. in this tiny cell was placed a pallet, a lamp that when lighted would burn for forty hours, and a small quantity of food. all knew what course the funeral ceremonies would follow. the pontifex would read some prayers over the doomed priestess, but without the lustrations and other expiatory ceremonies that were used at the burial of the dead. when the last prayer had been uttered, the lictors would let her down into the vault, the entrance would be filled with slabs of stone, then covered up with earth. the awful hours, the agonizing days, would slowly pass. the lamp would flicker and the light expire. deep silence that no shriek could pierce would shut the buried vestal from the ken of all who loved her. the food would fail; then, slowly, hour by hour, and day by day, the dreadful sentence of the law would be fulfilled. no father, mother, lover, friend, could save the victim, or by one iota lessen the torture of starvation, or that still greater torture of the brain to which her judges had condemned her. did not the crime of which she was convicted strike at the root of the religion of the people? the maintenance of the sacred fire as a pious and propitiatory observance was not peculiar to the romans. the hebrews held it a divine commandment: "the fire shall ever be burning upon the altar, saith the lord; it shall never go out." undying fires were maintained in the temples of ceres at mantinea; of apollo at delphos and at athens; and in that of diana at echatan. a lamp was always burning in the temple of jupiter ammon. the ancient custom came from the egyptians to the greeks, and from the greeks to the romans, who had made it a vital, essential feature of their faith. like the veil of astoreth in the temple of the moon-goddess at carthage; like the sacred shield which, as numa pompilius avowed, had fallen from heaven, the altar-fire of sul safeguarded the domestic prosperity, the political wisdom, the military supremacy of rome in britain. and this gross insult to the mighty goddess had been perpetrated in the midst of the festival; on the very eve of the ceremony of the blessed waters used specially on that occasion for purifying the temple of sul. it was a local event of paramount importance, for then the statue of sul was covered with flowers and anointed with perfumed oil. the salii marched through the city carrying vessels, richly decorated and of beautiful design, containing water from the sacred spring. the feast lasted for three days, and during that time the romans undertook no serious or important business. the banquets with which the festival was concluded were magnificent and costly. the edict of numa pompilius enjoining reverence to the gods remain unrepealed. it was obeyed in sulcastra as in rome itself. inscribed on tables of stone, it could be read in all the schools and temples: "let none appear in the presence of the gods but with a pure heart and sincere piety. let none there make a vain show and ostentation of their riches but fear lest they should thereby bring on themselves the vengeance of heaven. "let no one have particular gods of his own, or bring new ones into his house, or receive strange ones unless allowed by edict. let everyone preserve in his house the oratories established by his fathers, and pay his domestic gods the worship that has always been paid to them. "let all honour the ancient gods of heaven, and the heroes whose exploits have carried them thither, such as bacchus, hercules, castor and pollux. let altars be erected to the virtues which carry us up to heaven; but never to vices." these dread laws the sculptor and the priestess had impiously broken and defied. the climax was at hand. a strange, loud clangour beat upon the ear, pierced by the wailing cry of weeping women. the dreamer heard the tramp of many feet; then saw a long and closely packed procession emerging from the centre of the city. slowly and solemnly the multitude advanced. the first section of the great procession reached the narrower road which wound amid the trees that beautified the hill of sul. high up on the barer slopes of the great hill stood out the jutting rock from which the sculptor was to take his last long gaze upon the sunlit world. a band of lictors headed the procession. behind them, with head erect, walked lucius flaccus on the road to death. the trees swayed gently in the morning breeze, the birds were singing in the groves; the glory of the summer decked the land. yet the tenderness of nature and all the splendour of the world seemed but to mock the tragedy of that slow procession. on every side was life, life, strong, abundant, free; but this one lonely man, bare-headed and white-faced, who climbed the hill, had done with life. with each step of the slow advance he drew nearer and nearer to the gate of death. the second part of the procession was lead by twelve salii, each of whom carried a shield on his left arm and a javelin in his right hand. they were dressed in habits striped with purple, girded with broad belts, and clasped with buckles of brass. on their heads they wore helmets which terminated in a point. from these men the clangour came. sometimes they sang in concert a hymn to sul; sometimes they advanced with dancing step, beating time with their javelins on their shields. next came many mourners, women and children, weeping and wringing their hands as in a funeral procession; and then a closely-curtained litter, with priests on either hand followed by the pontifex, magnificently habited and carrying a staff or sceptre in his hand. priestesses, with bowed heads and clasped hands, followed the pontifex. then came another body of lictors, followed by a miscellaneous multitude of citizens and their families; and, finally, a tall centurion leading a company of soldiers. the road grew steeper, narrower, winding round the hill; and the first body of lictors, with their prisoner, had passed out of view of the company that followed, when suddenly arose a violent outcry and the clash of arms. the sculptor had turned upon his guard, seized a javelin from one of them, and mounted the steep bank beside the road. the whole procession halted in confusion. disconcerted priests whispered and gesticulated; the crowd closed up and filled the narrow way from side to side. "romans! hear me!" the appeal, in high-pitched, fervent tones, came from lucius flaccus, and was not unanswered by the people: "hear him! let him speak!" the lictors at the bidding of the pontifex half turned, but being few in number were daunted by the strenuous cries of the excited crowd. the sculptor seized the moment of their irresolution and raised his voice again: "romans! spare her." he pointed to the litter. "you who have sisters, daughters, restrain your rulers from an act that would disgrace a barbarous nation." murmurs and conflicting cries were raised. the priests sent messengers to the soldiers at the rear of the procession. but the crowd, closer and closer packed, rendered it difficult for the messengers to pass. above the tumult, the pontifex cried in shrill excited tones: "the gods demand her death!" thus incited, many in the crowd shouted in assent, while others cried again: "hear lucius flaccus, hear him!" once more the sculptor raised his voice: "the gods are names for priests to conjure with...." for a moment indescribable tumult prevailed. the centurion sought in vain to force a way through the dense, now struggling, mass of people. again the sculptor made a passionate appeal: "i implore the aid of the roman people. i call upon my fellow citizens to save a woman. to what purpose do we expose our lives in war? why do we defend our wives and sisters from a foreign enemy if rome has tyrants who incite the people to violent and vindictive acts? soldiers in arms, do not endure these things! free citizens, exalt yourselves by being merciful." the frantic appeal now met with no response. lucius flaccus looked wildly round, despair and desperation in his face. he raised the javelin, and for the last time his voice was heard: "then thus, and thus only, can i save her from a crueller fate!" in an instant he sprang upon the lictors who confronted him, and, striking left and right, actually reached the curtains of the litter. a shudder of horror ran through all the crowd. the women shrieked. the people swayed and struggled, and the next moment it was seen that the sculptor had been beaten back, though not yet secured. he sprang upon a rock beside the road and raised the javelin high in air. "then, romans, if infernal gods there be, let them accept another sacrifice!" down flashed the steel, the sharp point plunged into his heart; and, throwing out his hands, he swayed into the lictors' arms. a dreadful silence fell upon the people. then from within the thickly-curtained litter came a despairing and half-stifled shriek. * * * * * with that wild, agonizing cry zenobia awoke. the cry from the litter was her cry. it was her own voice that died away, and what was this mysterious sound--rising from the valley with the mists that melted at the break of day? the sound was the same that the sculptor and the priestess had heard nearly two thousand years ago; the voice of many waters as they swept across the weir, insistent, unceasing--the monotone of doom. chapter xi. the new amazons. on every side the continued rivalry between the sexes in their struggle for supremacy in national life was producing lamentable results. to this general evil now was added the new move inaugurated by the vice-president of the council in the matter of military training. the unfortunate illness of president jardine had facilitated the schemes of that daring leader of the women, and it soon became apparent that preparations for enrolling large bodies of amazons, though hitherto kept secret, in fact had been very far advanced before the memorable meeting at queen's hall. recruits flocked in from every quarter. the idea of military service or a military picnic for a few months in the amazonian militia appealed to all sorts and conditions of girls and young women. those who had reached the age when the resources or pleasures of home life had begun to pall, those who saw no chance of getting married, those who had met with disappointments in love and were stirred with the restless spirit of the times, those who rebelled against parental rule, domestic employments, or the monotony of days spent in warehouse or office, one and all caught eagerly at the idea of a course of military training in smart uniforms, with the possibility of encountering experiences and adventures from which parents and guardians had sought to withhold them. ready pens were at the service of the new amazons. history and tradition were ransacked by industrious scribes in search of precedents and raw material for "copy." the _epoch_, (the unofficial press organ of the vice-president) boldly vaunted the capacity of women to bear arms. who would dare to deny that women were as brave as men? in modern times the dahomey amazons had been a force in being. an eminent professor had made researches which went to show that the amazons of old were real warriors. humboldt refused to regard american amazons as mythical, and other trustworthy authorities had confirmed his view. then there were the shield maidens of the vikings, to whose existence witness was borne by historical sagas. the ancient literature of ireland set forth as a fact that "men and women went alike to battle in those days." did not a certain abbot of iona go to ireland to organise a movement against the custom of summoning women to join the standard and fight the enemy? in europe, not so very long ago, the montenegrins and albanians called their women to arms in the hour of national extremity. the _epoch_ presented the 1st amazons of england with a silken banner, embroidered with a representation of thalestris the amazonian queen, and pointed out that, however fabulous might be the achievements of the women warriors of ancient times, modern warfare need make no similar demands on the physical strength of woman. war had become a feat of science, rather than of endurance. it was no longer necessary for contending champions to engage in a trial of muscular strength. macbeth and macduff were not called upon to "lay on" until one of them cried: "hold! enough." battles were fought and victories won at long range. thin red lines and balaclava charges belonged to ancient history. and if by any chance it should come to fighting at close quarters, had woman shown herself lacking in courage, or even in ferocity in such encounters? why, in every memorable riot in which the civil population had been in conflict with the soldiery, the women, again and again, had proved themselves to be the foremost in attack and the most fertile of hostile resource. thus argued the _epoch_ and other press advocates of the new amazons, at the same time citing many instances of the prowess exhibited by individual women on fields of battle. vast numbers of young persons, supremely ignorant of life in its uglier and more dangerous aspects, thus encited, discovered that they were not, and could not be, happy at home all the year round. they wanted variety; they pined for change and excitement; and all of them were firmly pursuaded that they knew much better than their elders what was good for them. in their eyes all things were not only lawful, but all things were expedient. they stood up with stolid looks, deaf to remonstrances and appeals, and expressed an obstinate wish to join the amazons. numbers of them, being more self-willed than their parents, got their own way, and were enrolled; while still larger numbers were put back as physically ineligible, but with liberty, in some cases, to renew their application at a future time. that the movement had "caught on" nobody could deny. that it was full of dangerous possibilities became more and more apparent every day. zenobia, who came to london to attend the queen's hall meeting, had returned to bath to nurse her father, whose illness showed increasingly alarming symptoms. linton herrick, meanwhile, was not wholly without occupation, for there were sundry private conferences between his uncle and general hartwell at which his presence was required. these discussions and reports became of the more importance in view of certain news from the east and of the complications likely to arise at home in the event of the illness of the president proving fatal. nevertheless, there were times when linton found himself mooning about his uncle's house and garden in a state both of mental and physical restlessness. he missed zenobia, missed a glimpse of her on the river, or a flash of her as she sped away in the _bladud_ to london. they had met often, and it seemed to him as if they had known each other all their lives. he would have given anything to hear the yelping of her dog peter next door, because it would have betokened the presence of peter's mistress. before mr. jardine's departure for bath, the young canadian had sat with him and talked on many topics and on several occasions. the enormous strides which canada had made, and was making, in the way of prosperity greatly interested the president. linton, however, was astonished to find how little the man whom fortune had pitch-forked into a foremost position in england really knew about colonial affairs. he frequently fell into amazing geographical errors, mistakes quite comparable with that of a certain duke of newcastle who announced with surprise to george ii. his discovery that cape breton was an island. linton liked the president, not wholly for the president's sake, but partly for the same reason that he had developed a friendly feeling towards peter the dog. the president, on his part, certainly had taken a fancy to him, and in those bedside conversations talked with far less reserve than he was in the habit of employing in conversations with englishmen, particularly young englishmen. these conversations gradually impressed linton with the belief that this hardheaded and successful mechanic, who found himself, thanks to the strength of a numerous and well-drilled party, at the head of the state, actually was discovering his own deficiencies--the educational deficiencies, the intellectual deficiencies for which doggedness and powers of oratory were no true substitute. in a word, it seemed as if, in that time of inactivity and reflection which a bed of sickness enforces, nicholas jardine had begun to realise his own shortcomings as a ruler of men--his unfitness to direct the destinies of a nation great in history, and still great in possibilities of recuperation if only well and wisely led. "if you should be down west, come and see me at bath," were the president's parting words. "indeed i will," said the young man heartily, and there was something in his eyes as he turned to say good-bye to zenobia that made her colour. nothing seemed more probable to both of them at that moment than that linton would find himself down west, and nothing more certain than that there would be only one reason for his going there. the young man had fought his way into queen's hall on the night of the great meeting, solely and wholly because he had heard that miss jardine was likely to be present. but he had no idea what line she was likely to adopt in reference to the momentous question under discussion. yet the one drawback that hitherto he had found in her was her attitude, or what he feared was her attitude, towards the question of woman's ascendency. in the crush of the hot and noisy meeting, he had failed to see zenobia on the platform, and when she rose to speak his feelings were strangely blended--of admiration at her bearing, and of dread less she might say something than ran counter to his own convictions. but her actual utterance astonished and delighted him; and the hostile method of the "cat" provoked in him such feelings of fierce resentment as he had never felt towards womanhood before. yet there was one sentence that fell from the vice-president which caused him to be sensible of emotion of another sort. that sneering suggestion that the younger speaker must be in love excited him strangely. he felt an intimate personal concern in that scornful imputation. in love with whom? and now he had ample time in his uncle's riverside house, with the empty dwelling and silent garden on the other side of the hedge, to ponder the same question. the _bladud_, however, proved a great boon. it had been left at his disposal, and wilton, the jardine's engineer and skipper, was always ready to accompany him in an air trip. wilton was a hard-featured little man with a soft heart and a shrewish wife, who kept the domestic nest in so spick and span a condition that poor wilton could never take his ease at home, and therefore appreciated any good and sufficient reason for getting out of it. wilton confessed to linton herrick a treacherous thought. it concerned the wife of his bosom and the new amazons. "seems to me," said the little man, "as this here scheme may be a good thing in a manner of speaking. there's girls, and, maybe, there's wives too, that wants a bit of a change. well, that's right enough. why not?" "what do you mean?" asked linton, wondering and amused. "wot i mean, under pervisions, mind, under pervisions...." linton laughed, but wilton was quite serious, his thoughts engaged in a great domestic problem, his hands busy with the machinery of the _bladud_, in which they were just about to go aloft. "well, it's like this, i wouldn't be for letting women jine a reg'lar army, but militia's different. they'd get a 'oliday at government expense. when they come back they'd be more contented-like with their 'omes; and while they was away, well, there...." rubbing his head with a pair of pincers. "and while they were away the men would have a quiet time, eh?" laughed linton, who had heard of wilton's family history. "you've 'it it, sir, you've 'it it," said wilton, without the vestige of a smile. "not but what women has a lot to put up with, mind you; and there's times when they're as kind as kind. still, wot i say is, a lot of 'em's never content unless they can have the upper 'and, and that's what's wrong with england." * * * * * meanwhile, at bath, the condition of nicholas jardine had given zenobia cause for increasing anxiety. in the hushed and tranquil days that sometimes come with october, the leaves fall of their own volition, and with scarcely perceptible sound. their hour has come, and, with a faint whisper or rustle of farewell, one by one they flutter down to mother earth. thus also, the leaves of human life are ever falling--the sighing souls of men, obedient to the immutable design, passing from out the bourn of time and space. in those last days, when the certainty of the end came home to him, jardine, for the first time, began to ponder on problems to which he had scarcely given a thought in the active years of his remarkable career. perhaps in the silence of the days, and in the deeper silence of the nights, he asked himself unconsciously those same questions which, thousands of years ago, the son of sirach had framed for all time in language so expressive: "what is man, and whereto serveth he? what is his good, and what is his evil? as a drop of water unto the sea, and a gravel-stone in comparison of the sand, so are a thousand years to the days of eternity!" "all flesh waxeth old as a garment; for the covenant from the beginning is: thou shalt die the death. as the green leaves on a thick tree, some fall and some grow: so is the generation of flesh and blood, one cometh to an end, and another is born." "every work rotteth and consumeth away, and the worker thereof shall go withal!" one day the president startled zenobia by asking for a bible. she brought it wonderingly. he signed to her to read. and as she read to him, the sick man and his daughter looked up into each other's eyes with something like bewilderment. "father," cried the girl passionately, as she closed the book, "why did you keep it from me? why did you do it?" the dying man looked into her face with troubled gaze, and whispered something very faintly. was it the word "forgive?" a yet stranger and more terrible ordeal was in store for zenobia. to her lot it fell to hear from her father's lips a confession that seared her to the very soul. this confession presently was embodied in his will, which two days later he dictated to his daughter. his mind was perfectly clear, though his hand could scarcely hold the pen. as a matter of precaution, he insisted that the doctor and the nurse should be the attesting witnesses. the will was sealed in an envelope, and placed under lock and key. when that was done, zenobia, with set face, hurried to the nearest telegraph office and sent the following message to linton herrick: "i implore you to come immediately. a matter of life and death." meanwhile, jardine had settled his affairs, and finished with the business of life. like the king of old, he turned his face to the wall. yet startling things were occurring close at hand--strange occurrences within this very city of bath. to others they were sufficiently alarming. indeed, there had been something in the nature of a panic. the first manifestation had taken place at the grand pump room hotel. the king of bath, if he could have come to his realm again, would have encountered not a few surprises, and would have found the famous hotel transformed beyond all recognition. the examples of london, paris, and new york had been diligently followed. there was a stately palm court, with marble columns and gilded cornices. oriental rugs and luxurious fauteuils had been lavishly provided. on a raised marble terrace, during the dinner hour, a stringed band furnished an undercurrent for the banal remarks of the diners. there were rooms in the adams style, rooms in the louis the sixteenth style, a charles ii. smaller dining room, and a smoking room in the elizabethan style--with ingle-nook and heavy ceiling beams in oak. but the people who dined and chattered and smoked amid these surroundings were not elizabethan, stuart, or georgian in style. they were the product of the twentieth century, and were of no style at all; they lacked repose and dignity; they were self-conscious, self-assertive; believers, and encouraged to believe, in the powers of the almighty dollar, hustlers and bustlers, who rushed hither and thither, and did this or that without knowledge and without appreciation, and solely for the purpose of being able to say that they had done it. everything inanimate in this twentieth-century bath hotel was very beautiful. there were skilful imitations of adams, sheraton, and chippendale; there were coloured marbles, trophies, garlands, ornamentation of all sorts in gilt and bronze; decorative panels, with consoles and mirrors everywhere,--everything being in elaborate imitation of something else and something older. but in one corner of the grand dining hall was one thing real and old--a fountain of sulis water, which had been brought into a decorative niche and enshrined amid elaborate allegorical figures which nobody understood. it was typical of england. she had gained in some ways, she had lost in many more. she had acquired electric appliances, telephones, and air-ships, but lost in grace and picturesqueness. frequenters of bath no longer wore wigs, laced coats, and buckled shoes. they no longer settled their little difficulties with the rapier. the ladies had discarded powder in any appreciable quantities, and patches altogether; but people of quality had vanished from the once familiar scene. quantity had taken the place of quality everywhere. money had proved the great key and the great leveller. there was a dead level in style and tone and appearance. society had to be taken in the mass, instead of in the class, and notabilities were far to seek. such were the people upon whom the panic seized, amid the clatter of knives and forks, the rattle of plates, and the popping of corks--inseparable accompaniments of the _table d'hôte_ dinner hour. the visitors started to their feet with cries of dismay. an astonishing thing had occurred. the fountain of sulis water in the grotto at the end of the great dining hall had suddenly burst its bounds! the pipes were forced from their position. great volumes of orange-tinted, steaming water began to flood the room. the members of the string band, whose seats and music stands were placed among the ferns and palms, in immediate proximity to the fountain, grasped their instruments, and beat a precipitate retreat. ladies, uttering shrill cries, jumped upon chairs. there was a scene of uncontrolled confusion. in a few moments, water, almost boiling, covered the floor to the depth of several inches, and male guests and waiters, carrying the ladies on chairs or in their arms, made all haste to escape into the vestibule. at the same time the springs in the roman baths displayed extraordinary activity. everywhere the water rose in enormous and unprecedented volume. all the baths were hastily cleared of occupants and closed to the public, and the most astounding reports spread like wildfire through the city. the corporation officials speedily came upon the scene, and trenches were hastily cut for the purpose of carrying the overflow of water direct into the river. to the intense relief of everybody, in the course of a few hours the flood slackened. two days later, when people had begun to think there had been no sufficient reason for their fears, came other sounds and signs of abnormal activity in the earth itself. faint tremors shook the surrounding hills, more especially lansdown, and these signs were succeeded by sundry landslips, which sent many of the hillside residents flying in terror from their houses. a huge crack presently opened in the high plateau of the hill, and from this fissure arose at intervals strong puffs of curious, reddish-tinted vapour. chapter xii. a secret and a thunderbolt. president jardine was dead. low lay the head, and still the form of the man of whom flatterers had often spoken as the uncrowned king--an oliver the second, the cromwell of the twentieth century. his, indeed, had been the power symbolised by the ancient crown, the sceptre, and the orb. the vanished majesty of great dynasties--the normans, the plantaganets, the tudors, the stuarts, and the house of hanover--had but paved the way for the practical rule of this man of the people. even yet, it is true, the jealousy of political parties had preserved--none knew for how long--the title of king for a descendant of queen victoria. but a grudging socialistic democracy had left the legitimate monarch little more than the dignity of an august pensioner. the king was shorn of regal authority, deprived of all real prerogative of royalty, and neither expected nor allowed to take any real part in the government of his shrunken empire. and now that the lifeless hand of the president had dropped the real sceptre, whose hand was to take it up? was the reign of woman to be inaugurated on new and bolder lines; or would man, in the nick of time, re-assert himself? the women had their leader in catherine kellick, a daring, unscrupulous and energetic champion. but where was the leader of men? everywhere the lament was uttered: "if only renshaw were back at westminster!" and everywhere the question was asked: "where is he? is it true he is still alive?" zenobia's telegram was delivered late at night, and in the absence of wilton it was impossible to start immediately. before daybreak on the following morning linton was knocking at the door of his cottage, and in half-an-hour the little engineer had got the _bladud_ into working order. it was very early, on a calm autumn morning, when linton, at a sign from wilton, stepped on board. the _bladud_, rose rapidly into the air, but at first there was nothing to be seen. the atmosphere being charged with the vapour of the night, the air was warm, and the sky veiled with a misty curtain of cloud. in eight minutes they had risen a thousand feet, and the earth below was hidden from them by a woolly carpet of mist. rising and rising still, at a height of 5,000 feet, the _bladud_ emerged from the clouds, and away in the east was seen a long, long line, bright as silver. the day was breaking, and the shadows fled away. every moment the great silver bar lengthened and broadened, a moving miracle of the empyrean, at which the young canadian gazed in fascination and in awe. but the marvel of marvels was to come; and it came swiftly, in that deep silence of the spheres, which is as the silence of him by whom all things were made. yes, all created things, thought linton, filled with wonder--the earth beneath them, still partly hidden from sight, the limitless realms of the air through which they moved, and this great orb of day that was rising as if from the depths of some immeasurable crater. presently the sun, as it climbed above the cloud rim, began to flood with pure and glorious light the rolling tracts of vapour that surrounded them, like an illimitable molten sea, whose billows glowed and gleamed beneath the darting beams. higher and higher rose the _bladud_, a tiny speck in the midst of the immeasurable clouds, which ever broke and crumbled into new shapes and shreds in full light of the broadening sunshine. already the morning mists below were in some measure dispelled, and through the breaking vapour glimpses of the earth became more plainly visible. at a height of 9,000 feet, the surrounding oceans and mountains of vapour assumed a hue of roseate violet that far transcended the beauty of anything upon which linton's eyes had ever looked before; while from the east a thousand golden rays--pathways of light and glory--were darted forth above the sleeping world. when they had reached a height of 13,000 feet, the air was almost clear, and far down below london became visible--london so mighty, yet now so insignificant! linton could see a railway train creeping out of paddington like some little caterpillar on a garden path. the steam from the engine was but a thin serpentine mist, like smoke from a man's pipe. everything below was flat and dwarfed to one mean artificial-looking plane. away east, the dome of st. paul's seemed scarcely more important than a thimble. the docks were merely an elaborate toy in sections; the rolling thames a winding ditch; the ships like little playthings for young children. yet the range of view had become enormous, and as the morning cleared wilton pointed out hills and church steeples that were a hundred miles away. in that solemn and wonderful hour linton herrick felt within himself, as goethe did, the germs of undeveloped faculties--faculties that men must not expect to see developed in life as it is, so far, known to us. yet there was the aspiration in his heart and soul. how glorious for the astral body to plunge into the aerial space; to look unmoved on some unfathomable abyss; to glide above the roaring seas; to mount with eagle's strength to heights unthinkable! looking upon the supernal grandeur of the sunrise, he realised that he was in the presence of god's daily miracle. it steeped his soul in faith and thankfulness. * * * * * linton, guessing that the president was _in extremis_, nevertheless had hoped to be in time to bid a last farewell to the taciturn man who had shown him much friendly feeling, and of whom, as zenobia's father, he was anxious to think the best. but when the _bladud_ descended on the spacious lawn of the house on bathwick hill, the blinds were down. the whole place wore that sad and subtle air which impresses itself upon a scene of death. there was no need to ask questions. linton understood. a faint, half-hearted yelp from peter was the first sound that greeted him. presently, inside the darkened house, he awaited the coming of peter's mistress. the door opened very quietly, and zenobia entered; a slim, sad figure, the blackness of whose dress in that dim light heightened the pallor of her face. her hand was in his own. he looked into her eyes; the gaze of the lover softened and chastened to that of the tender and compassionate friend. "you understand how much i feel for you," he said. "yes," she answered gratefully, "it was good of you to come. but, in a sense, it is too late." he waited quietly for what she chose to say. "i mean," she added "that i hoped you could come before ... before the end. but at the last it was sudden, so sudden." "you have something to tell me. there is something i can do for you in your trouble?" zenobia paused for a moment. then, with some effort and a faint tinge of colour coming to her cheeks, continued: "if you had come while my father lived, i could have told him...." she looked down, and drew a long deep sigh of distress. "i could have told him," she then went on with greater firmness, "that you, if you were willing, could help us, though so late, to do an act of justice to another. mr. herrick, it grieves me to tell you...." she turned away and rested her elbows on the marble mantelpiece, unable for the moment to proceed. "perhaps i know more than you suppose," he said very gently, "and, perhaps, i can guess the rest." "no," turning towards him, "i won't ask you to guess. why should you help me, unless i tell you all, everything--everything, fully and frankly? will you read this?" he look the paper the girl placed in his hands, but did not immediately unfold it. "i am willing to do anything you can wish, asking no questions," he said. she looked at him with eyes that seemed to shine with grateful tears. "you are good to me. i have no other friends." "i am your friend," said herrick, not without a tremor in his voice, "yours to command, always and in everything." for the moment she could not speak, but held out her hand to him impulsively. holding the slim fingers tenderly, he bent and kissed them. "that paper," she said, "is my father's will. will you read it, please!" then she sat down and turned away her face. linton read the will. the sheets rustled as he turned them over. he folded and returned them. "i knew something of this," he said quietly. "now i understand all. you need tell me no more." "is mr. renshaw still living--is it _really_ true that he is still alive?" she said looking up anxiously. "quite true." "thank god. oh! god be thanked for that!" "it is not too late." "only too late for him to know and seek forgiveness." "you mean your father?" the girl bowed her head. then she burst out vehemently: "it must not be softened down. i know, i feel, the horror, the wickedness of what was done. i must accept the shame, the punishment. the sins of the fathers must be visited on the children. it is the law of nature and the law of god! i want to make atonement; yet nothing can undo the past, the cruelty and wickedness of all those years of suffering and imprisonment." "renshaw will not harbour revengeful or vindictive feelings, i am sure of that," linton answered soothingly. "he is a man of noble character, and a christian gentleman." "and it was he, a man like that, whom my father...." she paused, biting her trembling lips. "oh it is horrible, horrible!" "but he repented, he was sorry--the will proves it," said linton. "yes, it is written there, a public confession, the dying declaration of his sorrow and his shame. there shall be no concealment. he did not wish it at the last. the truth must be made known to all the world." "if renshaw wishes it. but i do not think he will." "where is he now--is he ill, is he safe?" "he is recovering, getting back his strength, in a monastery in herm, one of the smaller channel islands. arrangements are being made for his return to england at the right moment." she stood up, interested and excited. "yes, yes?" "a society has been formed--the members call themselves the friends of the phoenix. my uncle and general hartwell are at the head of it. the aim is to restore renshaw to power. he is the only man who can save the country in the present crisis." "and you are helping--you are one of them?" he nodded. "i am to bring him back to england in the _bladud_ if i have your permission." "don't lose an hour," she cried, "don't lose an hour!" "not a moment, when the time is ripe. i am waiting orders. they will reach me here." "if only my father could have known of this before he died." she sighed and looked at him wistfully, then said appealingly: "you will come upstairs?" linton bowed his head and followed her. upstairs in the room from which the president had looked out on the lights of bath for the last time the sheeted figure lay upon the bed. they paused for a moment side by side. then linton gazed for the last time on the cold and rigid face of nicholas jardine. three days later, the sun, shining through the windows of the ancient abbey church, fell upon sculptured saint and heavenward-pointing angel, revealed the lettering on many a mural tablet dedicated to long-departed men and women, illumined the sombre crowd of black-clothed worshippers, and gleamed on the silver coffin plate of the dead president. deep organ notes rolled beneath the fretted arches as choir and congregation, with heads bowed low, raised in mournful cadence the wail of the _dies iræ_. apart from the girl, by whose side linton herrick knelt, perhaps there were few present who really mourned for nicholas jardine. but, as people do at such a time, they mourned for themselves, they mourned for humanity; and recent local events--the strange convulsions of nature, with the apprehension of more terrible possibilities to come, served to accentuate the feelings of the worshippers. for the moment, at any rate, they believed in the life of the world to come. they recognised in the burial of the dead that dread passing through the gate of judgment to which man, frail man, has ever been predestined. the air was full of lamentations: "day of wrath! o day of mourning! see fulfill'd the prophets' warning! heav'n and earth in ashes burning! oh, what fears, man's bosom rendeth, when from heav'n the judge descendeth, on whose sentence all dependeth! wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth, through earth's sepulchres it ringeth, all before the throne it bringeth!" verse after verse the solemn litany continued: "ah! that day of tears and mourning, from the dust of earth returning, man for judgment must prepare him; spare, o god, in mercy spare him." the funeral march pealed forth as the body was borne from the church. slowly the congregation dispersed, until at last only one figure remained, the solitary kneeling form of zenobia. * * * * * within an hour after linton had left the cemetery, he received a telegram in cipher from sir robert herrick. he gave immediate instructions to wilton, and sent a message to zenobia. she came to him at once. linton looked at her with troubled eyes. there was something infinitely pathetic in the aspect of this slim, fair girl with the sunny hair, on whose face suffering and distress of spirit suddenly had set so sad a stamp. "good-bye," she answered, "god grant that you may both come safely back. when mr. renshaw is in england, i must see him, i must tell him all." with a final pressure of her hand, he turned away. however much his heart might be wrung at leaving her, however hard to keep back the words of love and tenderness that rose to his lips, he must be silent for the moment. there was a task to be performed. it was the hour for action. great issues were involved. a national crisis was at hand. that much linton knew. but as yet he did not know that the crisis was to assume a double and appalling complexity. a thunderbolt had been hurled against england from an unexpected quarter. a swift and staggering blow, well timed in the hour of jardine's death, had been levelled against the remaining pillars of her once proud empire. chapter xiii. the raid of the eagles. it was the suddenness of the calamity that staggered humanity. one day not a cloud in the over-seas sky, and the next a catastrophe that petrified the nation. in london the hoarse croaking notes of the news-vendors--the ravens of the press--filled the streets and squares, and flaring placards, displayed in every quarter, attracted the notice of ever-increasing crowds. men wrangled, and even fought, over copies of the papers, and edition after edition was reeled off to meet the enormous public demand. it was the news from dover that created this unparalleled excitement. an inconceivable thing had happened. by means of crafty strategy, a mixed body of american and german troops had seized and were in possession of fort warden! immediately the wildest and most conflicting accounts were in circulation. but, separating the chaff from the wheat, the more responsible of the london journals presently set forth a bald statement of the facts--facts that were alleged to be beyond dispute. the statements published by these papers, indeed, were said to be authorised by the chiefs of the intelligence department at the war office. further details, however, constantly were coming over the wires, and it was known that large bodies of regular and territorial troops were being hurried to the aid of the garrison at dover. the first report, viz., that foreigners had obtained a foothold by means of the channel tunnel was officially contradicted. the simple truth was as follow: on the previous evening a hamburg liner had entered the commercial harbour, and some hundreds of her passengers at once had landed on the jetty. there was nothing remarkable or suspicious in such an occurrence. the great german liner was a familiar and frequent visitor to the port. though it was noticed that a large number of passengers came ashore, that circumstance was plausibly explained by the statement of the ship's officers, who said that something had gone wrong with her machinery. it would take the engineers two hours or more to put right the defect. what more natural than that most of the passengers should land and fill up the time by the inspection of the points of interest in the town? the harbour officials estimated that altogether some three hundred men had come ashore. they had the appearance of tourists. the evening was cold, and, wearing travelling caps and capes or ulsters, the visitors passed briskly across the jetty and disappeared, in little parties of eight or nine, into the town. the townspeople, as they were putting up their shutters, noticed the strangers as they passed through the streets. it was remarked that they spoke to each other in low tones or not at all, also that they did not loiter or stare about them like ordinary sightseers. the general impression was that they had only landed to stretch their legs, and meant to climb the hill and then come back again. they certainly did climb the hill, but none of them returned. it was not until an hour later that an amazing rumour spread throughout the town. the story was brought by bands of excited amazons belonging to those to whom fort warden had temporarily been given up for gunnery practice. their pale faces and distraught appearance at once made it clear that something very serious had happened. yet the townsfolk were incredulous. the thing seemed so absurd, so impossible! these girl-soldiers, they thought, were the victims of some monstrous practical joke or of hysterical hallucination. who could possibly credit such a tale? but the amazons, in trembling tones and with nervous gestures, declared that it was true. their numbers rapidly increased; some of them came tearing down the castle hill in uncontrollable alarm. all of them, in one way or another, verified the amazing story. it was this: a band of foreigners, comprising 150 americans and 150 soldierly germans, armed with revolvers, had "rushed" fort warden. the approaches were open at the time, and guarded by only a few artillerymen. it was visitors' day, and the visitors were departing as the foreigners arrived. the struggle was of the briefest. those of the artillerymen who showed fight had been instantly shot down. the others had been secured, together with the chief gunnery instructor and the head of the chemical department--a non-combatant from whom the foreigners had violently forced such information as they needed. as for the amazons themselves, they had not been maltreated--but, what was worse, many had been insultingly kissed or roughly caressed by the invaders. with all speed and no ceremony, they had been contemptuously bundled out of the fort--and here they were to tell the tale! a staff-officer at the local head-quarters, to whom the report was carried by a breathless tradesman, lost no time in ringing up fort warden. for some time there was no reply. he rang angrily again and yet again; at last came some unintelligible response. he swore irritably, and then roared an inquiry: "are you there? who is it?" still no reply. "why don't you answer? what's this i hear about the fort?" the only answer was an inarticulate growl. "why the devil don't you speak? who are you?" then, at last, came an intelligible response--in english with a strong american intonation: "guess you'd better come and see!" * * * * * how and why had this dastardly combined attack on england come to pass? the story can be briefly told. great britain had long been regarded by america as old and stricken in years--not merely as the old country, but as a country that was in its dotage--old and played out. america was young and lusty, and quite persuaded that the old folk at home were too feeble to retain the management of the old estate. already the united states, in the scramble for british possessions, had pocketed some nice little pickings. the west indian islands, the bermudas and british guiana, had been virtually surrendered to washington. england for years, but in vain, had sought to placate this big and blustering branch of the ancient race whenever family friction had arisen. again and again weaker members of the clan, poor relations, like newfoundland, had been sacrificed to the demands of the united states. but some appetites are insatiable, some ambitions unbounded. a new order of american politicians had arisen, men who aimed at a great federation of the anglo-saxon race, with america not as the junior partner, but as the head and ruling spirit of that federation. when the possessor of a great estate becomes imbecile or lapses into second childhood his affairs are taken out of his hands--for his own good and for the due protection of his solicitous relations. that, argued the plotters, was just what was needed in the case of great britain. the indications of decrepitude had been slowly but, to keen observers, convincingly manifested during a period of more than thirty years. thirty years ago englishmen would have scouted the idea of an american invasion, or the idea of america in alliance with germany against great britain. monstrous! was not blood thicker than water? were not the american people our own kith and kin? yes, but times had changed, while human nature had remained the same. america had become a cosmopolitan country. from all parts of europe--and especially from germany--men had emigrated to the united states. thither, too, swarms of the yellow from china and japan, had insidiously made their way in spite of opposition; and year after year the black population of the great continent had enormously increased, while the anglo-saxon birth-rate had rapidly declined. the british element in america thus had been absorbed, submerged. the old and consolatory theory of family ties, like other popular fallacies fondly cherished in spite of the march of events, at last had been convincingly exploded by the raid on dover. signs of the coming times had not been wanting. england, fearing a german invasion, had kept her fleets in home waters. the great scheme of imperial defence, much discussed in 1909, had not been perfected. as far back as the earthquake of 1906 in jamaica, the growing inability of england to look after her outlying possessions had been strikingly instanced. no british squadron was near at hand in that hour of trial to succour the afflicted islanders. was it not an american, not an english, admiral who had come to the rescue of the british colony? had not the english governor been summarily suppressed by the home government because he had ventured sarcastically to point out that american assistance, however kindly meant, was not required, and had not been regulated by the accepted law of nations? from that day forth--and there had been other similar examples--the more enterprising politicians of washington took an increasing interest in british affairs, and dreamed dreams in which the old familiar colours on the map of the world--where once upon a time red was so predominant--underwent some radical and striking alterations. of course, there was one part of the british dominions, and that very near to the centre of british government, in which america had taken the closest interest for more than a century. there was ireland, the emigrated population of which had become part of the mixed population of the united states. the irish vote, moreover, had become of increasing importance to those who wished to hold the helm at washington; and, in truth, it was the old and long cherished idea of planting the american standard on irish soil that gradually had led up to this daring exploit, the news of which the great guns of fort warden were booming out to all the world. it was not really surprising that men with so marked an aptitude for commercial enterprise as the american wire-pullers should have turned covetous eyes towards the isle of erin. ireland was the great junction for the ship-line between the old country and the new, an unexploited island of noble harbours, rich in mountain, lake, and river. a certain senator hiram p. dexter, a prince of tammany, who had become president of the united states, crystallised the idea thus: "england had colonised america. why should not america re-colonise depopulated ireland. she could then dominate her former senior partner in the ancient british firm and make things hum!" the idea was "cute," inspiring. nevertheless, it was certain that, however anxious she might be for peace and quietness, britannia could never tolerate another flag so near to her own centre of government. the line must be drawn somewhere. hiram p. dexter and his friends realised that for dominion in ireland, even under the jardine dispensation and in the reign of woman, england must needs fight, fight to the bitter end; unless, indeed, by some master-stroke of policy and daring she could first be disabled by the strong man armed. hence the plan of campaign--by unscrupulous strategy to seize the key of the castle, the stronghold of dover; while, at the same time, the squadrons of the two eagles menaced the coast of ireland itself and landed troops at various points. it was an infamy; it was a dastardly and fratricidal act; it was a combination worthy of herod and pilate! all these things were said. but history is not made or unmade by the aid of epithets. history reckons with great national forces, race problems, and the bed-rock of accomplished facts. abundant precedents could have been cited, and nothing succeeds likes success. in this case, if the attempt should fail, it might be explained away as the mad raid of a band of freebooters. those who survived might be nominally called to account, just as had happened fifty years earlier after the futile raid of a certain dr. jameson, and others, when one kruger was "king" of the transvaal. in either event, whatever england might think and say of this stab in the back, there were millions in the states who would applaud the blow as smart beyond anything that had ever been attempted by american presidents, and hiram p. dexter would go down to posterity as a napoleon of enterprise--the man who realised that even america was not big enough in these mid-century days for the mixed peoples of the states; that the dominant race in that massed population needed more room to turn round in; more scope for hustling; fresh fields and pastures new for the feverish multiplication of the almighty dollar. but there was another nation to be reckoned with. the two greatest competitors for world-power and commerce were germany and america. and germany and america did not want to fight--at present. a system of mutual concessions--with mental reservations--better suited the provisional purposes of berlin and washington, at any rate for the time being. clearly, nothing could be done by way of aggression in europe without taking germany into account. so the business-like president of the states had engineered with the germans what brokers and auctioneers describe as a big "knock-out." they had come to an understanding--about england--an understanding provisional and tentative. again, thirty years ago englishmen would have scouted such an idea. but nothing stands still. we ripe and ripe, and then from hour to hour we rot and rot. so also with the empires of the world. the law of the survival of the fittest operates in all created things. britain herself had been one of the chief exponents of this immutable law. not by means of peace conferences and a tentative reduction of armaments, coupled with pious platitudes concerning methods of barbarism--otherwise war--had her great empire been built up. with the strong hand, in past times, we had belaboured effete and wealthy spain. with force of arms we had driven from the seas holland--once our great and powerful rival for the trade of the world. we had humbled napoleon and the pride of france on the field of waterloo. india had been taken with the sword. with shot and shell and reeking bayonet these and other things were done. and as we had done unto others, by reason of the necessities of national existence, so might we rationally have expected that others in their turn would do unto us. history, though in our self-absorption we forget it, is full of dramatic surprises, and suddenly develops startling situations. the rise of japan had been a staggering surprise--both for europe and america, and, indeed, had become a great factor in the latest departure of american policy. there had been other shocks, and there were more to follow. over all the white nations there hung a dark and ominous shadow, ever increasing, caused by the rise and rapid expansion of the yellow and black. the east was filling up, and inasmuch as great britain still held much coveted territory in the west, and had money in her banks, it was around and against the british isles that the spirit of annexation still watchfully hovered--ready to pounce. the raid at dover--whether failing or succeeding--therefore must be viewed as a sign, a lurid, awful sign, of altered times. the hour was well chosen. nicholas jardine, the man of the people, lay dead. the nation was in the throes of a domestic crisis, the champion of the women straining every nerve to take the dead president's place, and pursue a programme which would satisfy the special aspirations of her sex. yet it could not be believed that such a nation, a race originally so splendid in fibre, so dogged in courage, would take the onslaught of her rivals lying down. england, surely, now at the eleventh hour, would be roused to action. england would fight, and even dying breathe defiance to her foes. but, alas! england sorely needed leadership--the potent magic of some great personality to inspire her people with courage and enthusiasm. and in this hour of dire distress, renshaw, the only leader who could have commanded a widespread patriotic following, was lost to england--lying scarred and beaten, it was said, chained like a dog in the prison of the mahdi. so thought most of those who thought of him at all. yet, even while his name was on their lips, the phoenix was reviving. sir robert herrick knew it. general hartwell and linton knew it; and there were others, quick of hearing, keen of sight, who already heard the flapping of the wings; saw the phoenix rising from the ashes of the past and speeding from afar towards our violated shores. chapter xiv. the fight for the fort. the enemy still held the fort. all through the night a terrific bombardment had been maintained, and even when the first grey line of dawn began to creep across the downs the insistent fury of the guns increased rather than diminished. major wardlaw estimated that during the last twelve hours over eleven thousand shots had been fired from the big guns of fort warden, while thousands of shrapnel hurled against its fortifications from the various encircling field batteries manned by british gunners were beyond all definite calculation. at the height of the bombardment not less than 80 per minute must have been directed by way of return against the british batteries, and in this onslaught the great guns (of which there were seven at work in fort warden) contributed the most overwhelming and terrible results. this deafening and incessant rain of fire was directed mainly against the castle and fort burgoyne, but, incidentally, it had wrought ruin and convulsion on every side. shells falling into the town of dover had already reduced it to heaps of tumbled masonry. here and there great volumes of smoke rose from the wreckage of shops and houses. the town hall--the ancient _maison dieu_, founded by hugh de burgh, constable of dover, in the reign of john--having escaped destruction during the night, caught fire about daybreak, the flames, rushing upward in the morning air, watched by thousands from the western heights, to which the terrified inhabitants had fled for safety. on the castle hill the bluish haze caused by the ceaseless bursting of shells and shrapnel in some measure veiled the central scene of conflict; and this haze, spreading far and wide over the landscape, presently assumed the most delicate and beautiful colours as the sun rose up and threw its shafts of light on hill and dale. when the light grew stronger, cloud after cloud of smoke was seen to rush aloft from the contending forts, and every moment the sun, with growing glory, painted these rolling billows with glorious hues of burnished gold or bronze. here and there, while the people watched, columns of earth and chalk rose high into the air, as shot and shell ploughed deep into the soil, while flashes of fire from the bursting shells, the pale smoke rushing like steam from the shrapnels, and the leaping fountains of soil, all combined to give the beholder the impression of some terrific convulsion of nature. so extraordinary and ghastly was the general effect produced that many of the spectators believed they were witnessing a volcanic eruption allied in some way with the seismic disturbances reported to have occurred at bath and other inland watering-places. yet towards the awful crater of this man-made volcano, british troops were now advancing. it had been fondly hoped by the british staff that the tremendous bombardment from the big howitzers, maintained ceaselessly during the night, would have disabled fort warden to such an extent that an infantry attack in the morning would meet with but feeble resistance. very few of the officers, however, had any true conception of the enormous strength and staying power with which wardlaw had endowed his military master-piece. yet the onslaught had to be made. to the highlanders--brought over from shorncliffe--was entrusted the honour of leading the attack on one side, while the royal marines, from chatham; were simultaneously to advance on the other. the hour of trial came. firing not a shot, but with heads bent low, creeping forward, and taking advantage of every inequality in the ground for cover, the attacking force approached the flaming portals that confronted them. it was but a short distance, for during the night the saps had been carried close to the first circle of wire entanglements. some of the wires, moreover, had been destroyed, leaving gaps through which the highlanders were ordered to drag light scaling ladders and approach the moat, while others pushed sandbags before them to take the invaders' fire. suddenly the word of command broke hoarsely on their ears. as it came from the commanding officer, a bullet struck him in the heart. he fell with a groan that was hardly audible. at the last word of their beloved commander the highlanders sprang up, and with an angry yell rushed headlong towards the moat. but narrow though the space they had to cross, the withering fire from the machine guns made it impossible to traverse it. the leading ranks, officers and men alike, were beaten down by lead as hail beats down a field of waving corn. the rest wavered, turned, and in a moment the ill-starred regiment, all that was left of it, rushed down the hill in desperate flight. attempts to rally them were futile. neither man nor devil could, or would, stand against that awful overwhelming hail of shot and shell. on the other side of the fort, the marines had approached somewhat nearer to success. here the gaps in the wire entanglements seen at close quarters afforded some encouragement. with an inspiring cheer, the men dashed forward, their bayonets fixed; but suddenly, as if from the earth itself, sprang up an opposing line of bayonets. the gaps in the entanglement were filled with german soldiers, and in an instant the combatants were engaged, man to man, in a furious hand-to-hand encounter. deep groans and screaming blasphemies blended with the tumult of the guns. here and there in the mêlée, men whose bayonets were broken off clubbed their rifles and savagely battered at each other's faces; but still more ghastly than the injuries thus exchanged was the hellish work effected by the hand grenades, of which the fort contained large quantities. these explosives, now used for the first time on english soil, blew men literally to pieces. neither skill nor courage could avert these horrible results. the methods of the anarchist had been allowed to find scope in the warfare of civilized peoples. the bombs, wherever they struck, made mincemeat of humanity. the marines, like the highlanders, had been driven back, and there came a ghastly interlude when the germans sought to rescue their wounded and distinguish and carry in the dead. those who had been butchered by the hand grenades had to be hastily shovelled into sacks and baskets before their remains could be removed. no pen could dare describe in detail all the revolting sights which this small battle-field in a few brief moments had revealed. severed heads rolled down the hill, the eyes wide open, the features fixed in horror. in one spot from ten to fifteen corpses, friends and foes together, involved and twisted in a shapeless mass, were suddenly discovered in a hollow. in many instances the force of the explosions had torn the clothing from the bodies of the soldiers. arms and legs had been wrenched from their trunks and blown away. from pyramidal heaps of mutilated english corpses stiffened fingers pointed towards the sky. many of the marines who had escaped the hand grenades had had limbs clean amputated by the knife-like fragments of the high explosives ere the rush was made. in some instances the upper halves of bodies lay on the hill without marks of injury, the lower limbs having wholly disappeared. yet terribly and suddenly as death had come to these devoted men, far more awful was the fate of those whom shell and bomb had shattered without absolutely killing. these slowly dying fragments of humanity lay moaning in their tortured state, praying as they had never prayed before for that last agony which should release them from sufferings that no tongue could utter and no imagination even picture. already the havoc wrought in human flesh had been accompanied with inconceivable disaster in all directions. fort burgoyne, its guns silenced by the more modern ordnance, was little better than a heap of ruins--ruins piled high above the dead and dying gunners. the more exposed batteries on the western heights had been dismantled long before the inhabitants of dover climbed the hill and gazed across the valley. when, after the repulse of the british attack, the fury of fight was abated for a brief period, and the smoke of battle temporarily rolled away, the appearance of dover castle itself filled the spectators with amazement and dismay. so great was the destruction and the transformation that it was difficult to believe that what they now looked upon had any association with the great towers and massive walls which had been familiar objects to them all their lives. the norman keep, with walls more than 20 feet thick, had been so battered as to present the appearance of a jagged range of rock. peveril's tower had disappeared. the cotton gate, rising as it did to a height of 90 feet and 460 feet above sea-level, by some miracle had escaped all damage; but the constable's tower was reduced to half its former height. the upper half, it was conjectured, lay crumbling in the moat below. what had happened to the duke of york's school, which the boys had evacuated overnight, or to the batteries that had been placed in northfall meadows and on the golf links, could only be a matter of surmise. the pharos and st. mary's church so far seemed to be untouched, possibly because the gunners in fort warden had not deemed it worth while to waste their fire on either. in all the awestricken throng that stood upon the western heights and gazed across the ruined town towards castle hill, none had feelings that corresponded wholly with those of major wardlaw. scanning the field of operations through his glasses, his face twitched as if in actual pain. the attention of the uninformed lookers-on was constantly diverted from one thing to another, the wreck of the castle, the crash of a roof as it collapsed in the town below, or the woolly clouds caused by bursting shrapnel, which still was being fired at intervals. but wardlaw heeded none of the more picturesque effects. his mind, his powers of observation, his poignant feelings, were intent on causes, not effects. every inch of the scene of operations was known to him. he knew the position and capacity of each fort and field battery. he could distinguish, where others knew no distinction, between the work of the big guns, the siege guns, howitzers, mortars, and field artillery. a sudden and terrific detonation told him that a huge naval gun had been landed from one of the great ships in the admiralty harbour. it must have been a work of enormous difficulty to get that gun ashore, during the night, and a still more terrific task to drag it into position to play with full effect upon fort warden. it was the work, as he knew, of british seamen--british seamen at their best, which happily still meant that there were none better in the world. but, more than all, his thoughts ran on fort warden--the fort itself. nearly all his life the study of fortification had obsessed him. while he looked at people, or even talked to them, his mind had been at work on parapets, banquettes, palisades, scarp and counter-scarp. all the technicology of the art of war and of the scientific defence of permanent positions was as familiar to this engineer officer as are household words to household people. fort warden, as already indicated, was the outcome of his concentrated mental labours and his soldier's instinct. in his younger days superior officers had looked rather coldly on his zeal. he had shown that he was a young man with ideas, and ideas are unwelcome to officials who love red tape and well-established grooves. but as years went on and slow promotion at last came to him, he had gained the ear of men in military power. thus advanced in confidence and authority, he had been allowed almost a free hand in designing the modernized defences of castle hill. it was so desirable to sooth the public mind that public money had been spent upon the works without any sort of stint. everything that the major thought fort warden ought to have was there. in construction his plans had been faithfully observed. he had been allowed to make experiments of every kind. not satisfied with earthworks, moats, wire entanglements, and bomb-proof shelters for the trenches, wardlaw had adopted a novel system of armour plates for the protection of the fort--plates that were produced by the use of tantalum ore alloyed with steel. this hardy metal, imported from australia, had been proved to possess the most remarkable qualities. in itself it was heavier than iron, and could be so treated as to increase by 30 per cent. the resisting power of any armour plates previously in use for naval or military purposes. the success of wardlaw's designs, the wisdom of his carefully-considered plans, the selection and apportionment of warlike material (in the preparation of which the chemist played a more important part than the armourer), had been only too amply justified. results affirmed the first principle of fortification and of the art of gunnery, which principle lay in creating and arming a position of such strength and such resources that it could be held by a body of men greatly inferior in numbers to those by whom they were attacked. fort warden, the great outcome of the major's career, the splendid achievement on the strength of which he had retired from active service, thus stood justified beyond all cavil or dispute. yet, as he gazed towards the work of his hands, wardlaw's heart was full of grief and bitterness. there stood the fort in all its pride and strength; around it lay the victims of its fury; within it less than three hundred foreigners still defied thousands of british troops on british soil. above it floated, so far, in victory, two foreign eagles--the flags of germany and the united states. chapter xv. in the heart of the hill. while the dead were being buried and the wounded removed, there was a long cessation of the savage struggle. indeed, the long lull in the firing almost led some people to believe that it would be heard no more. crowds on the western heights glanced curiously, anxiously, towards fort warden, with some idea that its picked garrison would now abandon their desperate and daring attempt to hold the position. it became known that the enemy's plans had been in part defeated--either by reason of some official blunder or through the watchfulness of the french at the other extremity of the channel tunnel. the german troops that were to have raided the french terminus, and then poured into england, under the protection of the guns of fort warden, already seized by their advance guard, had not arrived, and could not now approach to aid their countrymen. movements of foreign warships and transports were hourly reported by telegraph and wireless messages, but the british fleet had by this time formed a deadly barrier of iron and steel around the coast line of kent and sussex. there must be a great battle and a great defeat of our squadrons before another foreigner could set his foot on kentish shore. the brooding day wore on, tense with suspense and fear. in the stillness that accompanied the deepening of twilight, hundreds of field-glasses were finally directed towards the silent fort to discover whether the american and german flags had yet given place to the white flag of submission. any such anticipation, however, proved unfounded. for suddenly, as the dusk increased, the roar of artillery was heard; the masked batteries of the british once more had opened simultaneous fire upon the fort. instantly the challenge was accepted. fort warden roared its defiance. the big naval gun thundered its repeated demand for surrender; the siege guns crashed in unison; the howitzers savagely chimed in, barking as in sudden fury, like monster dogs of war; and fifty field guns combined to swell the dreadful, deafening chorus. presently the fire from the fort slackened. it seemed clear they were husbanding their strength for work more crucial. or could it be that they were running short of ammunition? perhaps, it was conjectured, more damage had been done to wardlaw's works than the british had supposed. such speculations cheered the spirits of officers and men. but the wiser among them only shook their heads. they appreciated the mettle of the men who held the fort, realised that they had counted the cost, expected no quarter, and meant to win or die. the british staff knew that it would be folly to cry until they were out of the wood. they realised that many a man must bite the dust in agony before the british standard floated over wardlaw's works again, if, indeed, it ever fluttered there at all! the invaders would, and must, hold the fort till their last gasp--not because they in themselves could hope for ultimate triumph over the increasing forces that now surrounded them, but because to them time was everything--time for their countrymen to develop elsewhere the work of conquest; time for the american and german combined squadrons to land troops at unprotected spots of great britain and ireland, while they, the daring three hundred, monopolised the attention of the flower of england's troops. the plans of the allies were elaborate. this was but their first great move. meanwhile, imperative orders had been given for the british to attack the fort again. the attempt was to be made directly darkness had set in, and it was only to pave the way for a new and even more determined onslaught that the guns had broken forth in the renewed bombardment already chronicled. troops, regular and territorial, still were pouring into kent. no drum or bugle note disturbed the evening air; an interval of ominous silence, pregnant with dreadful threats and dire potentialities, preceded the renewed attack. when the hour had come, the word of command, uttered in a whisper, was whispered on from rank to rank. in open order, the swarming infantry battalions crept swiftly up the hill, simultaneously making for the fort on every side. they reached a certain point, then paused under the last scrap of cover that remained available, while the field telephones sent swift messages to certain batteries. the signals served their purposes, and as the guns burst out again, the men sprang to their feet and doubled forward. those who were advancing from the south stopped almost instantly, dazzled and confused. the powerful searchlight of the fort glared into their faces with bewildering suddenness, and the insistent racket of rifles and machine guns told them that their advance had been discovered. the doomed and blinded soldiers fell in scores, in hundreds, before a withering storm of bullets. then, just as suddenly as it had been revealed, the flashlight was concealed; but only to glare forth again on the british supports that were hurried to the front. thus, brilliant light and deepest darkness alternated in swift and bewildering succession, and through both alike the leaden messengers of death mowed down the advancing troops. rank after rank reeled back upon their climbing comrades. on the south side, once more, the attack had failed, and failed at heavy cost. north, west, and east, the result had been the same--repulse, defeat. the night was now illumined with extraordinary brilliance. star-shells, rising high into the air above the fort, burst in quick and dazzling succession. the blinding glare lighted up the hill, the sea, and every field and building, revealing, too, the fleeing figures of the retreating force and the prostrate forms of hosts of dead and wounded. a hail of bullets from the maxims persistently pursued the remnant of the fleeing soldiers, and swept the plateau and the hillside clear of living things. pom, pom, pom! the murderous machines of wholesale destruction continued their deadly work until the men who worked them could find no living thing to put to death. broken and beaten--many of them desperately and horribly wounded--the panting remnant of the attacking force heard, as, at last, they halted, a shrill shout of triumph from the jubilant defenders of the fort. but the night's work was far from finished. the fort must fall--cost what it might, the fort must fall. if it could not be captured above ground in the staring light of star-shells, the attack must be made by burrowing in darkness through the hill itself. preparations for this desperate and dangerous work had been already started, and much progress made. for twelve hours or more, during what appeared to be a suspension of hostilities, the sappers had worked in relays with furious and unremitting energy. while their comrades above ground were being repulsed, while the star-shells went up in a rapid succession, and the implacable searchlight swept the hill in all directions, the picks of the engineers, yard by yard, were steadily hacking a way towards the very foundations of the fort. these tunnelling operations would have been infinitely more tedious and more arduous had not an elaborate system of subterranean passages already been provided by major wardlaw. various cunningly devised galleries bad been secretly cut in the hill in order to furnish the garrison of the fort (on the assumption that the garrison would be english and acting on the defensive), with the means of taking an attacking force in the rear, and of laying mines for the destruction of any besiegers. but the tables had been turned, though how far, if at all, the invaders were aware of these hidden avenues and the method by which they could be made available, remained a matter of doubt and anxious speculation to the british staff. meanwhile, hour after hour, deep in the heart of the hill, the sappers sweated at their work. nearer and nearer they approached to the spot at which a mine, if exploded, might be expected to shatter at least a section of the fort, and open a way for british bayonets to enter. a few more yards and the vital point would be reached. then, suddenly, the sapper who was wielding a pickaxe in advance of all the rest paused in his work, listening intently. he raised his hand excitedly, and the officer in command of the party instantly crept forward, and with an imperious gesture stopped the work. the sappers, their faces shining in the lantern light, at first wondered what it meant. but soon enough they heard and understood. faintly, as through a massive wall, there came to their ears the fateful sound of tapping--the click, click, click of other pickaxes. it came from below the tunnel they themselves were cutting. one thing, and only one, could explain the sound. the invaders had found out, or someone had betrayed to them, one of the secret tunnels of the hill. the sappers, pale as death, gazed in each other's faces. in a flash they realised the awful jeopardy in which they stood. the invaders were counter-mining at a lower stratum! beneath their very feet. at any moment--while a breath was drawn or glances were exchanged--they might explode their mine! there was an awesome pause, then the officer gave a sharp, half-whispered order. instantly, boldly, the picks were at their work again. it was a desperate race for time--here in this cramped tunnel--in the smothering depths of mother earth; and no man's life was worth a moment's purchase. yet iron self-discipline prevailed. the sappers worked with almost frenzied haste and vigour. after ten minutes of furious, exhausting labour, they were allowed to pause. the chests of the toilers heaved painfully; some of them tried to hold their breath; others shook their heads impatiently, as if to stop the singing in their ears. they wanted to listen, to hear, and know their fate. no sound reached them. it was a moment of agonizing tension. then, nearer than before, they heard the picks again. suddenly the sound ceased. the invaders had completed their work. there was no time to lose. at a sign from the officer, who brushed a handkerchief across his face and drew a laboured breadth, a grim-faced sergeant began to crawl back swiftly to the distant opening of the tunnel for the dynamite. another and more torturing pause ensued. which mine would be exploded first? it was an affair of minutes, then of seconds. their mine was not yet ready. but duty held them to their ground. though hell should burst upon them on the instant, the flaming portals must be faced. out in the open, those who watched and waited suddenly heard a thunderous detonation. a huge mass of earth and chalk rose high in the air, and clouds of whitish smoke spread skyward in the full glare of the searchlights. three engineers, half doubled up, now came rushing from the tunnel to the outlet, bursting among a little group of officers, who staggered back with horror in their faces. "done for ... countermined!" one of the sappers gasped out the fateful words, then sank exhausted on the ground. "my god!" exclaimed helmore, the officer in charge of the relief party, falling back a pace. then, promptly recovering his self-control, he cried: "forward to the rescue. some of our men may be alive!" he himself dashed into the tunnel, followed by half a dozen men. at a little distance, the narrow avenue was blocked. the miners were entombed! but an indirect opening had been made by the concussion, which gave the rescuing party access to another tunnel. following this, and finding it intact, helmore, in advance of the party, raised his lanthorn and saw in the distance an exposed angle of a massive concrete wall. he understood at once that the exploded mine, working in a lateral direction as well as upward, had exposed the caponiere, or covered lodgment under the counter-scarp, which wardlaw had sunk in that position designedly for the protection of the fort. therefore, the holders of the fort, in a measure, were hoist with their own petard. their mine had exploded first, but at the same time it had exposed a point against which a subterranean attack now might be directed. the moat encircling the fort was twenty-eight feet wide and eighteen deep. strongly fortified everywhere, a special feature of its strength lay in the caponiere gallery. the walls of this gallery, constructed beneath the entire counter-scarp, were some seven feet thick. on this, the south side, as also on the east, the gallery was divided by concrete partitions into five communicating cells or chambers. these chambers, as lieutenant helmore knew from the confidential plans of the defence works, communicated, cell with cell, by low and narrow doorways. from the last of the five cells, by a narrow flight of steps, could be reached a door of massive steel, and on the other side of that door a passage five feet wide passed beneath the rampart and the moat into the interior of the fort itself. this communication, of course, was intended to enable defenders of the fort to reach the caponieres which jutted into the moat at intervals, and thence fire upon any troops that sought to bridge it. the enormous importance of his discovery made helmore forget for a moment the fate or peril of his ill-starred comrades--buried as they were in the adjacent débris. indeed, it was apparent that nothing could be done for them. their dreadful fate was sealed, and the faint groans that at first reached the ears of the would-be rescuers soon entirely ceased to be heard. helmore, after a moment's pause, sent a man back with news of the discovery to his commanding officer, who instantly grasped the requirements of the situation. he issued certain rapid orders, and a hundred men darted down the hill in prompt obedience. meanwhile, the relief sappers, guided by helmore, crept through the narrow tunnel into which an opening had been forced by the explosion. without losing an instant, the engineers began to chisel several holes in the exposed section of the concrete wall. a charge of dynamite was passed along, and all made ready. the men rushed back and waited. the crack and crash of a violent explosion followed, and the sappers, hurrying forward, followed by other troops, found that a broad gap had been made in the gallery of the caponiere. through this breach they crept and crawled, to find themselves in the first of the five cells, or gallery-sections, that have been described. opposite to them was the arched doorway leading into the next chamber. but already the defending force had occupied it. foreseeing that the entire gallery might be rushed chamber by chamber, they had brought heavy sandbags and piled them high, close to the first doorway. against these obstacles the attacking party hurled themselves, furiously but in vain. half a dozen engineers immediately commenced to break through the wall itself, in the hope of thus reaching the adjoining chamber. only a few men could work in so confined a space, and while they hacked against the solid wall, the german defenders now thrust their rifles between the gaps of the sandbags and fired at random. four englishmen fell dead, or desperately wounded. their comrades dragged them back, making room for others. the colonel's orders had now been carried out, and hand grenades were passed along from man to man. these fearful engines of destruction were only to be used in case of dire extremity; because, closed within these walls, beneath the hill, the explosives might well prove as fatal to the men who used them as to the enemy. for the same reasons, doubtless, the german soldiers engaged in this subterranean struggle, so far, had made no use of bombs. the sappers having found it hopeless to cut a wider entrance through the wall into the adjoining chamber, another plan was quickly thought of and attempted. a can of kerosene was passed along and poured upon the sandbags; then another and another. the moment a light was applied, the soaked sandbags began to burn with so fierce a flame that the soldiers on each side were driven back, and for a brief space the chambers on both sides of the archway were left quite tenantless. then, with a half stifled cheer, a dozen british soldiers, their rifles clubbed, dashed across the chamber and thrust the burning mass into the inner cell. the germans in the opposite entry already were hastily piling more sandbags in position, but the gap was not wholly filled when the attacking party rushed upon them impetuously and with an excited shout. bayonets crossed bayonets now, but neither side could get free play either for attack or for defence. over the waist-high sandbags in this second archway, the combatants with desperate fury thrust and stabbed. groans and savage oaths blended with the flash of steel. the place grew slippery with blood. men fell and could not rise again. comrade trod comrade under foot and heeded not. only one lanthorn now remained alight, half revealing the intent and savage faces of the combatants. the germans seemed to have no light at all. and poor helmore, who held the solitary lanthorn aloft to guide his men, thus helped to direct the fatal thrust that laid him low. with a hoarse cry, one of the germans had hurled a bayonet through the doorway. it pierced deep into the lieutenant's throat. the lanthorn dropped from his upraised hand, and he fell against the wall. blood gushed in a torrent from his mouth, even while he bravely strove to utter the last word of command: "forward, men, forward!" he gasped, then spoke no more. a young soldier who heard him had marked well the position of the archway, ere darkness hid it, and, maddened at the fall of his officer, he hurled a hand grenade towards the opening. the effect was instantaneous and terrific. the dreadful shock was succeeded by a still more dreadful silence. when a light was struck it was seen that every german in the inner chamber had been blown to pieces. a moment's hesitation in face of the ghastly sight, then, as the light went out again, the british sprang into the inner cell to find, or rather feel, that it was splashed and smeared with blood and clogged with spongy fragments of the mutilated dead. cell number two, by some freak of the explosive, had not been affected, and as the third chamber thus was gained, a sergeant, shouting in the darkness, gave the eager word: "forward again! we'll have the fort! by god, we'll have the fort!" again the men pressed forward, but this time no defenders barred the way. in the distance there was a sound of hurrying footsteps. the germans had retreated down the stone stair which led to the steel door of communication. reinforcements had now reached the gallery, and fresh lights were brought. well might the newcomers shudder and turn sick at what those lights revealed in chamber number three. at the moment it was quite impossible to carry the dead and wounded to the rear. officers and men were swarming in, and none could leave the gallery. but word was passed along for surgeons to be sent, and the wounded were laid against the walls, leaving a clear gangway. then the advance was cautiously continued. another officer--carlow, who had just obtained his company--now took command. promptly but slowly, he headed the advance, for this silence, this sudden cessation of resistance, might betoken some deadly ambuscade. the men went forward, two and two. chambers four and five proved to be quite deserted. they reached the farther archway of cell number five, and there carlow, halting, peered down into the darkness of the narrow stair. as he stood, gazing, listening, strange and pungent fumes crept up between the walls. he gasped for breath and staggered back. the men behind him did the same. the fumes were rising, spreading--permeating the low gallery with extraordinary rapidity, travelling swiftly into every chamber. only a few understood how this awful sense of suffocation was occasioned; and some who guessed that from an air-pump down below the germans were pumping asphyxiating gas into the gallery guessed it too late. a few, before the gas had wholly overpowered them, fought their way back to the open, but more than a hundred men dropped where they stood in the close chambers--dropped and died. chapter xvi. signs and wonders. that important person, miss flossie wardlaw, was extremely angry! events were interfering with her plan of life, and upsetting all her theories of fitness. the preoccupation, the infatuation, shown by the only other member of her family for something outside domestic life was too exasperating. that tiresome fort at dover was absorbing all her father's thoughts. he grew paler and more haggard day by day, bestowing less and less attention on the far more important interests that concerned his little daughter and the familiar programme of her daily life. flossie told herself that she was not unreasonable. she had been quite ready to make allowances. alarming things, she knew, had happened close at hand. impudent foreigners had seized fort warden by stealth. the ceaseless boom of the big guns disturbed the current of existence in the bungalow. things were tiresome; indeed, quite worrying when they kept on like that! it was dreadful, that englishmen, her father's soldier-friends, should be killed by foreigners--killed in england too, only ten miles away; usually they were only killed a long way off, and that seemed different. but, of course, it could only end in one way; the offenders would be turned out and most severely punished. meanwhile, the repeated and prolonged absence of her father at dover, and his preoccupied behaviour when he was at home, filled flossie with mixed feelings of annoyance and sympathy, in which the former ingredient became more and more predominant. her queenly power seemed to be undermined. her faithful subject had deserted her. oh! that horrid fort! miss flossie nursed the personal sense of injury, and husbanded her growing grievance, to the exclusion of thoughts concerning the national questions that arose. so much depends upon the point of view; and that, in turn, so much depends upon one's age. nevertheless, the issues of the struggle at fort warden were vitally important. they riveted the attention of many millions of the population of the world. here in england itself the seizure of the fort had assumed a colossal significance, shaking the nation out of the ever-narrowing grooves of parliamentary and municipal party conflict, compelling men to look back to a great history and forward to an era of littleness that gave pause even to the most selfish and complacent. cost what it might, the enemy must be driven out. our flag must wave above that fort again. a spreading feeling of fury and resentment arose against the government. to this complexion had we come! pushing politicians, self-seeking wire-pullers of both sexes, had dragged england in the dust. so much for petticoat government! so much for the amazonian craze, this make-believe of women-soldiers and girl-gunners. woman had largely ousted man from place and power, and this was the result! a handful of foreigners had been emboldened to assail us on our own sacred soil. popular anger expressed itself afresh by breaking out viciously into the old doggerel:- "old nick and the cat, with johnnie and jan, have brought poor england under a ban!" truly, man was needed at the helm to which at this crisis woman clung so obstinately. man was wanted in his old authority, and, behold! in every department of control woman was clinging to his coat-tails, hindering his action, dividing his counsels, prating of peace when there could be no peace, and exhibiting a rudimentary unfitness to grapple with an unprecedented and desperate situation. the outcry came not from the men alone, but with increasing vehemence from the very sex that had struggled for supremacy. women out of office--necessarily the vast majority--now began to discover that those aggressive or more fortunate representatives of their sex who had obtained salaried posts or prominence of some sort in public life, were in many cases frauds and failures. this rule of woman that had come to pass was not what the great mass of her sex had contemplated or intended. they confessed it to husbands and brothers; and husbands and brothers nodded in wise and ready acquiescence. their faces plainly said: "i told you so." thousands of women ruefully admitted the impeachment. successful rivalry--mostly vicarious--had brought them no real joy. they had gained power and lost love; and in their inmost hearts they knew that love was worth the world. always it had been part of woman's character to strive for her own way, and always she had ended by despising the man who permitted her to gain it. yes! woman's collective triumph in this new age, as she now sadly realised, had cost her dear. with the gradual abandonment of man's protective affection had gone the true ingredients of her happiness; much that made up the grace and joy of life, tenderness and chivalry, caressing mastery, the rightful dominance of the stronger sex. yes! love was worth the world. the heel of woman disclosed her weakness--and revealed her strength. fool and blind! grasping at the sceptre she had lost the kingdom; the kingdom of the heart, encircled and protected by the strong arms of a lover as the guardian-sea encircles england's shores. like an electric spark this spirit of regret and discontent flew through the land. a little more, and it would mean a revolution. away with the unnatural dominion of woman! back to the reign of man! it would have been idle to expect unanimity where pride and personal interest were so closely involved. the pushing leaders of social democracy and the vice-president and her following were not likely to submit without a struggle to the restoration of hereditary authority. woman in office and power throughout the state would be sure to cling desperately to her foothold, and no one could yet foresee the outcome of the swiftly dawning struggle. the hands of a little band of energetic men, however, were busy throwing wide the floodgates, and no two men were more active than those veterans, one of the army, and the other of the law--general hartwell and sir robert herrick. to them it seemed that the signs of the times were full of deep significance, and pregnant with the highest hopes. they knew that there were still some men with grit in england, men who saw with bitter wrath the pass to which the nation had been brought. in their eyes the governance of this once glorious land had become a byword and a mockery. and it was because of this that the present humiliating spectacle was to be seen at dover. nor was that all. in the midst of these alarms, there was something else that shook and terrified the people, filling the minds of thousands with forebodings and distress. strange symptoms of seismic disturbance had been reported not only from bath, but also from other parts of england. such awe-inspiring tremblings of the solid earth must ever produce a sense of apprehension which at any moment may grow into a universal panic. it was noticed that, so far, these disquieting indications were confined to the neighbourhood of thermal waters. at matlock, harrogate, leamington, and woodhall spa, there had been a marked increase in the volume of the rising waters, with other signs of an abnormal earth activity. what did these things betoken? signs of the times, they were variously interpreted. as in the days of noah! the great multitude of men and women laughed at the shipbuilder and went about the business of their daily lives, so now hosts of dull and unimaginative persons remained unmoved in their obtuse philosophy. others there were who believed a providential influence was at work--conveying an admonition and a warning by some such solemn signs as those predicted to occur before the last great change of all. were there not to be signs in the heavens, and signs in the quaking earth, the sea and the waves roaring, nation rising against nation, creation, animate and inanimate, preparing for the awful armageddon foreshadowed in the page of holy writ? events were moving fast. a fanatic named richards, stalking wild-eyed through the land, broke out into fierce prophetic utterance, mocked and jeered at by many, but followed by rapidly increasing numbers. this strange man entered on a pilgrimage from one to the other of the inland watering places, where symptoms of earthquake had been felt, everywhere inspiring awe and wonder in breasts of thousands. in south london, which he first visited, he was followed by enormous crowds, consisting to a great extent of women. here, on the surrey side, there had been a corresponding departure from the normal, for the old forgotten spa of bermondsey had developed a new and disturbing energy. while this ancient spring rose in unexampled quantities, and at high temperature, the once famous spa at epsom, only some twenty miles away, exhibited a like activity. the argument was irresistible that such far-spread manifestations of the same character must necessarily spring from a common cause. if so, then these mysterious subterranean workings also pointed to the pending evolution of some common result; it might take the shape of some terrific upheaval and convulsion that would reduce the british isles to their primeval form, submerge them in the sea, or even change the face of western europe. still these were but dark shadows and dread potentialities. time alone could show whether events would verify such grim forebodings. but, meanwhile, there was one concrete and absorbing fact--the presence in england of the invading foreigner. this, at least, was a stern reality, pressing and predominant. the terrible three hundred still held the fort; the great guns still roared and boomed, the pom-poms worked incessantly. stiffened forms in increasing numbers strewed castle hill; the numbers of the dead and dying mounted daily. the highest military authorities now were constantly engaged in vehement and anxious conference with major wardlaw. the discussions, renewed again and again, early and late, had dealt with all aspects of the existing problem, had touched on and passed by many suggested expedients. one project, in particular, had excited much difference of opinion. urgent advice had been given officially and through the newspapers to call the air-ships into play. fort warden, turtle-roofed, was supposed to be entirely bomb-proof, but it was argued that if all the air-ships in england--some 200--were to concentrate above the fort and pour down bombs and explosives in great quantities, the result could hardly fail to terrify, if not to annihilate, the obstinate defenders. but edgar wardlaw shook his head. he alone knew the enormous resisting power that he had built up against this very contingency of warfare. moreover, there were the obligations of treaties to be remembered. air-ships were not to be used in warfare. international compacts on the subject of aerial navigation must be respected. to set a dishonourable example by disregarding them for our own immediate purpose might lead to disastrous international results. two, and more than two, could play at such a game as that! and even, while the idea was being mooted, its immediate adoption became impossible. in a single night every english air-ship, the whereabouts of which was known, sustained mysterious, and, in most cases, irreparable damage. such a discovery could not be concealed from the public. it was clear that some great and elaborate conspiracy was afoot, that the agents of the enemy were numerous, active, and daring, here in the very heart of england. it was clear, too, that the government had been caught napping, and only too probable that worse surprises might yet befall the country. the police, it is true, made several arrests of suspected persons, but prevention, not cure, was the national desideratum. while the grass grew the steed might starve. of what avail the slow formalities of legal, investigation, the jog-trot of red-tape routine, when the enemy was already at the gate, aye, in the heart of the citadel? in this crisis it transpired that the _bladud_ was the only air-ship unaccounted for. there were conflicting statements about her recent movements; but presently it became known that she had been lent by the late president to a young canadian friend named linton herrick. mr. herrick had been seen to go up with wilton, the engineer, and it was believed that subsequently the _bladud_ had been identified with an air-ship that had been seen travelling rapidly, and at a considerable altitude, over the english channel. chapter xvii. how the raid failed. flossie had spoken. silent resentment, obdurately nursed for quite two days, had given place to voluble reproaches. he was naughty, she told her father; never before had she known him quite so naughty. why! he had hardly opened his lips for days and days; he had not taken her out, nor brought things home, or done anything. waking that morning very early and very hungry, she had found nothing--not a thing--under her pillow--no, not even a lump of sugar; and he knew perfectly well that there were always lumps of sugar in the sideboard. no! he had forgotten. he did not love her, that was quite clear. his head was fuller than ever of that horrid fort. if he did not look out he would go there and get killed himself presently, and that would be a nice thing to happen, wouldn't it? under the shower of these reproaches, major wardlaw hung his head. his silence and submissiveness slightly mollified the stern young lady. like many others of her sex, flossie must needs scold and then be sorry for the object of her reproaches. to-night there was something in her father's looks and bearing that arrested her vehemence. why! goodness gracious! what was the matter? "you know," she said shrewdly, looking at him as she stood between his knees with that steady gaze of youthful eyes that is often so disconcerting, "you know, if you weren't a great big man, i should say you were going to cry." "nonsense, nonsense," her father answered, and hugged her closely in his arms. "mind my hair," said flossie sharply, "i'm very tired and i'm going to bed. i hope you won't be naughty any more. promise!" he nodded with a queer look in his eyes. "_you_ look tired, too! come up early. to-morrow we'll be just the same as ever, won't we? you shall be very nice, and i shall forgive you, because, after all, i do love you, don't i?" "that's right," he said gravely. "yes, but you're not right. i've never seen you quite like this. i'm sure there's something. where's my book?" he picked up the story-book and she tucked it under her arm, smothering a yawn that suffused her blue eyes and showed all her pretty teeth. "good-night; be good," she said, and kissed him. "yes! but you've forgotten your hymn." the child looked at him searchingly. his manner puzzled her more and more. his voice seemed hardly natural; he was grave, intensely grave, yet trying to cloak his seriousness by speaking in ordinary tones. "must i, to-night?" she asked, half closing her sleepy eyes. "yes, dearest, please, to-night." she glanced down at the story-book under her arm, and her father understood the look. flossie wanted to reserve her few mental energies to finish a chapter in bed. but with a little sigh of resignation, she began in drowsy tones the recitation of the hymn. the theme was resignation. wardlaw seemed to hang upon the well-known words: "if thou shouldst call me to resign what most i prize, it ne'er was mine; i only yield thee what is thine; thy will be done." he bowed his head. flossie, too heavy-eyed to notice, turned away. her father looked up quickly. "kiss me again, darling." he held her by the arms in front of him, firmly but lightly. the child roused herself to sudden alertness. "one for you, and one for me, and one for both together. that's three!" she observed after the third kiss--"just for a treat." his eyes followed her as she crossed the room. at the door, she turned and nodded warningly. "something nice to-night, mind, and don't stay up too late." wardlaw held his breath and kept his seat while flossie went slowly, languidly, up the stairs. then, with clenched hands and tortured eyes, he started to his feet. the last time! god in heaven, could it be truly that? never to know the kiss of her childish lips again, never to feel her warm, clinging little arms around his neck! with bloodshot eyes and still clenched hands he paced the room. away in the distance the booming guns broke out again with their dreadful monotone, recalled inexorably the work he had to do. he had weighed it well, pondered it, as he told himself, too long already. the fort must fall! all other means had failed. blood had been poured out like water, and to no purpose. yonder on the hill, thousands of men, obedient unto death, his brothers in arms, had braved the weapons which he, wardlaw, had stored within those impregnable defences, weapons which had been turned against his own country and his own people with such terrible results. england could not wait while the foreigners were starved into surrender. the fort must fall without delay. he, wardlaw, knew the master-key of the position, and also knew that he who used it must be prepared to lose his life. why had he not used it before? there were reasons which would satisfy reasonable people: the surprise of the situation, the slowness of the military authorities in inviting his assistance, the probability that, finding themselves without support in a hostile country, the invaders would throw up the sponge. but none of these probabilities had been verified. the fort was still held by the foreigner; and the fort must fall! edgar wardlaw was a scientific soldier--not one of those men of bull-dog courage who, obedient to orders, would hurl themselves without thought into a bloody struggle. the mind that can devise and perfect death-dealing armaments is not necessarily, or even probably, a mind that inspires and braces the fighting quality of the every-day soldier. the red badge of courage can indeed be won by men of high-strung nerves and delicate organisation, but it is won at most tremendous cost. wardlaw had been slow in coming to his resolution, but he would never recede from it. they were arms of love that had enchained him, at the last--the arms of a little child. but now he was breaking even those fond links asunder. he was ready--almost ready. pacing the room, he glanced at his watch. it was nearly ten o'clock. soon she would be asleep. he went over to the sideboard and made a quick yet careful search, finding a small fancy cake, some fruit, and sugar; as flossie had said, there was always sugar, though other things might fail. he must delay no longer. carefully and on tiptoe he went up the creaking stairs. the servants were chattering and laughing in the kitchen, but in the child's bedroom there was not a sound. he entered cautiously. yes, she was asleep, long lashes resting on the delicately flushed skin, lips slightly parted, one arm thrown out upon her open book. wardlaw moved cautiously across the room and stood looking down upon the sleeping child. he looked long, and who shall say with what poignant and unutterable agony of spirit. then he slipped the paper bag containing what he had brought with him under the pillow, and gently moved the book, lest it should fall upon the floor and wake her. the volume contained two stories, bound up together--"sintram and his companions," and "aslauga's knight," stories whose leaves come out of the old saga-land, bringing with them the romance and adventure that charm the children, while also they reveal to older folk the mystic conflict of the human soul. sintram's companions, as wardlaw knew, were sin and death, companions of us all. with death by his side, sintram had to ride amid the terrors of the narrow mountain gorge--just as the pilgrim of the immortal progress had journeyed through the valley of the shadow. his eyes rested on the open page of the story-book:- "when death is coming near, when thy heart shrinks in fear and thy limbs fail, then raise thy hands and pray to him who smoothes the way through the dark vale." he bowed his head and closed the book quietly, placing it near the child's pillow. downstairs the clock chimed a quarter after ten--cheery little chimes, ticking off the flight of time as if endless days and years still remained for all who heard them. and yet for him who listened only a few hours of life remained. death called him--not in the heat and excitement of battle, but in this still hour of cool blood and calm reflection. it made it vastly harder to obey. never again would he hear those familiar tinkling chimes. this was his last farewell to all that he held dear. death coldly beckoned him, as sintram was beckoned at the entrance of the gorge. his hour had come to pass into the shadow. the stern implacable demand of duty was ringing in his soul, and he dared gaze no longer on his sleeping child. if she should wake and look into his eyes, courage, honour, duty, all that makes man obedient unto death, might fail him even now. he dared not press his lips upon her cheek; he dared not even touch her hand. she stirred and muttered something in her sleep. he quickly raised and kissed a few strands of her lovely hair; it was the last touch, the final leave-taking! the father turned away. the child slept on. * * * * * a hundred yards from the bungalow--appointed to stay there, so that flossie should not hear and wonder--a motor-car awaited him. the chauffeur belonged to his own corps--the engineers. the man saluted him and looked anxiously at the drawn--white face, on which the lamp-light fell. not a word was spoken. wardlaw took his seat, and immediately the car, like a sentient thing let loose, sped swiftly on the road to dover. it was a night of starshine and soft breezes. as they climbed the rising ground, the pure air from the sea grew stronger. bracing, health-giving, breathing life, it fanned the face of the silent man who was rushing towards his self-appointed doom. stiff and rigid, he sat, staring into the night, but conscious of nothing around him or before him. all his thoughts were of what was left behind--the dainty bedroom with the shaded light, the rosy sleeping child, the delicate dimpled face that he should see no more, his one ewe lamb of all the world. "if thou shouldst call me to resign...." the burden of the hymn was ringing in his brain, insistent, agonizing. on and on sped the car. away to the south the flashlights were sweeping the channel, and, ahead, the first outlying lights of dover soon came into view. every moment the dull, dogged voices of the guns grew louder. still wardlaw remained rigid and voiceless, as one who is paralyzed by some dreadful nightmare, while ding-dong in his mind the words of the hymn persisted and repeated: "if thou shouldst call me to resign.... if thou shouldst call me to resign." ... they were close to dover now. the car sped down from the heights. ahead of them on the hard white road a lanthorn was swinging to and fro, and the chauffeur slackened speed to answer the challenge of the guard. he gave the password, and again the car tore forward. houses on either side now were numerous. presently the car wound down into the town. silent, half-ruined, the unlighted streets gave an inexpressible impression of melancholy and disaster. here and there the vibration caused by the passing car brought down loosened stone and brickwork with a sudden clatter. at one spot some fragments of mortar flew out and struck wardlaw in the face. they pricked him into consciousness. he shook himself and gave a brief order to the chauffeur. the car turned down a side street, and presently drew up before a large house standing in the shelter of the castle hill. there were lights in all the windows; shadows passed and repassed across the drawn blinds. a strained air of animation and activity pervaded the place. a group of orderlies stood about the entrance, and through the open doorway there were glimpses of officers hurrying from room to room with clank of spur and rattle of accoutrement. this house, the head-quarters of the military staff, contained for the time being the brain of the british army--foiled, so far, but still feverishly bent on devising means for the expulsion of the obstinate invader. as the car stopped, a tall officer hurried out and grasped wardlaw by the hand. it was a grasp that told more than words could utter--a grasp that recognized the arrival of a supreme moment, at once the grip of friendship and the clasp of greeting and farewell. "the general's expecting you. i'll take you to him at once!" wardlaw nodded, and, still as one that dreamed, followed the aide-de-camp into the house. * * * * * on the following day great news was wired throughout the length and breadth of england, and cabled far and wide throughout the civilised world. the newspapers of london and the provinces, in eager competition, issued special editions in quick succession. everywhere great placards announced in heavy type and infinite variety of colours, a gladdening fact: the fort had fallen! the hero of the hour was major wardlaw, but no sound of joy or triumph could ever reach his ears--wardlaw was dead. the published particulars, though brief, were all-sufficient and convincing. the major had calmly and deliberately laid down his life for his country and his comrades. what shot and shell and bayonet had failed to do, he, single-handed, had achieved. the episode was all the more tragic and impressive by reason of its great simplicity. a method was known to major wardlaw, as the designer, by which he could flood the fort. the enemy would be drowned like so many rats in a gigantic trap. the master-key was in his hands, and though--high honour be to them--there were other volunteers for the fatal work, he had steadfastly refused to let another british soldier lose his life in that prolonged and dreadful struggle. he was prepared, resolved, to die--and death had come to him. single-handed he had gone into the heart of the hill. the furious inrush of the water stored in the reservoir, which his own hand had deliberately let loose, claimed him, as he knew it must, first victim of the overwhelming flood. but the fort was ours again! it was a counter-stroke with which the enemy had not reckoned; a danger which the invader was wholly unable to avert. as the waters of the red sea overwhelmed the egyptian warriors; as that ancient river, the river kishon swept away the foes of the armies of israel, so, in a new and terrible way, the water floods had destroyed the invaders of england. with a dull, elemental roar, with a suddenness that allowed of no flight, and a force that admitted of no resistance, ton after ton of water poured into the interior of the fort. the sealed fate of its occupants was almost instantaneous. of the survivors barely twenty men escaped with their lives, and these immediately fell into the hands of the encircling troops, and became prisoners of war. chapter xviii. the wreck of the air-ship. the little island of herm possessed only one building of importance, a monastery of french refugees. in the great walled-in courtyard, there was present an object of special and curious interest to the monks. the arrival of the _bladud_ had been observed with astonishment by all the inmates of the monastery, who naturally associated its coming with that of a certain mysterious visitor--a sun-scorched, iron-grey emaciated man--who had recently landed on the island, coming, it was said, from the coast of france. the visitor, who remained in complete seclusion in the building, sedulously nursed back to health and strength, was treated with extraordinary deference and respect by the superior. that much the monks could not fail to know; but any sly inquiries and surmises on their part were met with the sternest and most peremptory discouragement. excitement was quickened, therefore, when, only a few hours after the arrival of the air-ship, preparations were made for the distinguished visitor's departure. linton stood in the courtyard, glancing anxiously at his watch, while wilton, the engineer, put some finishing touches to the gear. the little man had proved himself a model of discretion. he asked no questions, but now and then threw quick glances towards the tall, thin stranger, who, at a respectful sign from linton, had taken his seat in the stern of the boat. whether wilton knew or suspected the identity of wilson renshaw, who now calmly waited for the voyage to commence, linton could not tell. he suspected that he did, and, little guessing what a few hours would bring forth, he registered a mental promise that the silent, faithful little engineer should not go unrewarded. it struck him that there was a good deal of nervousness in wilton's manner, as he threw upward glances at the sky. while the preparations were being completed, the superior of the order stood close at hand, addressing in subdued tones his deferential and earnest farewells to mr. renshaw, and herrick, raising his eyes, saw the peering faces of at least a score of monks at the upper windows of the monastery. glancing higher still, he noted with some uneasiness that the scurrying clouds, copper-tinged from the setting sun, betokened the coming of a wild and stormy night. fervently he breathed a prayer that the aerial voyage might have a happy issue. but by this time he knew enough of air-ships to be aware that there were perils which no scientific inventions, and no precautions, can wholly nullify: risks from defects and mishaps with machinery, dangers from both combined, that at any moment might bring about some irreparable catastrophe. yet, to-night, everything must be hazarded. not an hour, not a moment must be lost. the time had come. to let it pass unseized would be to miss the tide at the flood, to sacrifice the touchstone of fortune. he glanced at wilton: "ready?" the engineer gave a quick nod and lifted a grimy finger towards his cap. linton, raising his own cap, turned towards the illustrious passenger: "shall we start, sir?" "at once, please," was the answer. linton stepped aboard and grasped the helm. wilton took his place forward, and the superior, bowing obsequiously, moved to a safe distance from the aeroplane. the faint preliminary throbbing of the engine instantly commenced. the boat began to rise, slowly at first, then more rapidly, as the elevating power obtained freer play. every window of the monastery now was plastered with wondering, eager faces, intent on the _bladud_ as she soared aloft. the superior made angry and imperious gestures, but the monks did not, or pretended not to, see. this mounting of the aeroplane with such a passenger must not be missed. it was a spectacle the like of which they would not see again. higher and higher climbed the _bladud_, beating the air with her flapping wings. the cold breeze rushed through the wind-harp on the mast with a sighing, mournful sound as the boat swept in swiftly widening circles through the air. the passenger, impressed but not perturbed, glanced sharply round him; then, feeling the growing keenness of the wind, he drew his fur coat across his chest. when they were high enough, herrick, with one eye on the compass, put the tiller over and gave an order. wilton lightly moved a switch, and immediately the _bladud_ headed at high speed for the open sea. * * * * * as the hours passed, night fell dark and thick about them; the wind became more violent, and ever and again chilly, sleety squalls affected to some extent the equilibrium of the boat. no one spoke, except for an occasional query from herrick, to which wilton responded by act or gesture only. not one of the three men on board knew of any definite cause for anxiety, yet in the minds of at least two of them there was a growing sense of tension and disquietude. the muscles of wilton's face twitched as he sat in silence, his eye watchful and his hand ready. yet, so far, all went well. to avoid prolonged dangers of the open channel, they tacked northwards towards the coast of france, intending to resume the sea course as nearly as possible above the straits of dover. nearer land the air grew less cloudy. the twinkling lights of habitations far below became visible like distant glow-worms. from the numbers of these lights they could form an idea of the size of the towns and villages over which they passed. some thirty-five were counted. presently the silent passenger himself identified the locality and said that they were passing over the highlands between cape blanc and calais. it was time to give the ship a different course; and once again below them lay the wide expanse of sombre, tossing sea. but the _bladud_ now encountered the strength of a growing gale from the north-east, and soon it became apparent that she was being dangerously deflected from her proper course. it was a discovery silently made, but fraught with the fears of potential disaster. if they should be blown out to sea, there was but one ultimate certainty--death for all on board. the store of motive power could only last for a given number of hours, and already much of the power had been expended. their hope must lie in reaching dry ground within a period that grew perilously shorter and shorter even while they thought of it. entrusting the helm for a moment to the passenger, herrick crawled forward, and while the rising gale shrieked above them and around them, held a hasty, whispered conversation with the now excited engineer. "we'll never do it, sir, we'll never do it," wilton said, hoarsely. "st. margaret's bay; why, see! we've left it far behind already. no landing there to-night. what's the best air-ship that ever was built against a wind like this?" "land us anywhere, anywhere," was herrick's vehement answer. "yes, if we can," muttered wilton, gloomily. "i'm afeard there's something wrong with her, and that's the truth, mr. herrick." "good god!" exclaimed herrick, with an anxious glance towards the figure in the stern. "see that?" gasped the engineer, as a strong gust from the north drove the bow of the boat farther sea-ward. "see that, sir? i tell you, she can't stand it." again and again the same thing happened. the gale, so far as it was easterly, drove them westward along the coastline, and ever and again the fierce gusts from the north forced them away from it. linton crept back to the stern. thirty minutes passed--minutes of increasing suspense. at the end of that time they had lost their bearings. the _bladud_ became more and more beyond control. "is there danger?" renshaw asked the question very softly. "i am afraid there is, sir," said linton. the other nodded: "i thought so. what part of the coast is that down there?" he asked after an interval. linton peering over, pondered a minute before he answered: "dover's left far behind by this time. we've passed hastings. those must be the lights of brighton." "we can't get down?" "impossible at present. we must drive straight ahead. inside the isle of wight there'll be a chance for us--more shelter and more ships. wilton knows that part." "can we last as long?" "i think so--i hope so." a long silence fell as the _bladud_ battled with the wind. then there came a startling, rending sound that indicated some defect in the machinery. the boat began to veer erratically. "steady, sir, steady," roared wilton, making a trumpet of his hands. "for god's sake head her north!" from below there rose a sullen, surging sound, the threatening monotone of angry waves breaking upon a rocky shore. the sound grew fainter. they must be travelling inland--across the isle of wight. now, then, was the time for a descent. dimly in the forepart of the boat, wilton's bent form could be discerned, his face peering, his hands at work in the complex box of the _bladud's_ machinery. suddenly he threw himself back, sitting on his heels, and herrick thought he saw his hands raised with a gesture of despair. the _bladud_ lurched and swayed violently, and for a moment it seemed as if the gyroscope had wholly failed to act. if that were so, in a moment the boat might lose her equilibrium, and all would end. but that was not the trouble. linton now realised that it was the lowering apparatus that would not work. the _bladud_ still rushed madly forward. with unchecked speed, they flew across the island. another coast line then came into view--the long low line of lights stretching from portsmouth, across southsea to eastney and fort cumberland. there was hope, then, or if not ground for hope, at least a fighting chance! but the _bladud_ now by some inexplicable perversity of the machinery made obstinately for the eastern extremity of the line of lights. that, again, might serve if only they could descend on the wide common of hayling island. they were nearing it every moment. presently from below there rose a new menace, an angry sound--grating and monotonous, that linton could not understand. "what's that?" he shouted. "the woolseners," bellowed wilton, in reply, and made a wild gesture with his disengaged hand. he knew the deadly peril--those shifting banks of shingle churned in the shallows by the ceaseless action of the tides and waves. the woolseners were as fatal as the goodwin sands to every ship or boat that found herself among them. with a desperate effort, aided by renshaw and directed by wilton, herrick forced over the helm. another ominous crack reached their ears, but for the moment they were successful, and a sudden squall from the east aided their combined efforts. they now were heading straight for portsmouth harbour. all might yet be well! still travelling at great speed, they traversed nearly half the distance, it now being wilton's design to bring the _bladud_ down on southsea common. then, suddenly, the horizontal movement of the boat absolutely ceased. all the motive power that was left in her began through some terrible mishap to be expended in the development of rapid elevation. the frantic efforts of wilton to check the upward rush were unavailing, the boat went up and up with terrible velocity. this last catastrophe was paralyzing, overwhelming. climbing higher and higher, the boat would rapidly exhaust her small remaining store of compressed air. then, in an instant, would commence a reversal, and the _bladud_ would rush down through space--the end for all on board, inevitable death. linton again left the helm in renshaw's hands. it was useless to retain it. he scrambled forward to assist wilton in his desperate efforts to right the machinery. a dreadful feeling of sickness began to overpower him as the air-ship swayed and waltzed in the upper air-currents, lurching and righting as if struck by successive waves, but ever mounting higher and yet higher. it grew intensely cold. feathery flakes of snow began to envelop them. their lungs laboured. it became more and more difficult to breathe. linton gasped enquiries which either wilton did not hear or could not answer. he glanced back at their ill-starred passenger, who had set out to recover power and a great position and now was rushing to an awful death. he saw that renshaw's head rolled limply on his shoulders. already he seemed to be insensible. filled with terror and alarm, he shouted to wilton though the man was close to hand, but his voice, though the effort of utterance was so great, sounded even to himself quite faint and far away. by the light of the protected spirit lamp fixed to the tiny engine house, linton saw that the recording instrument already registered an altitude of 20,000 feet. a dull indifference began to take possession of his mind. his faculties were slowly freezing. even his eyesight now began to fail. he could scarcely see the column of mercury in the glass, or the minute hand of his watch. he felt that consciousness would soon completely desert him. his right hand was resting on the gunwale of the boat; he found he could not raise it. he could scarcely move his lower limbs, and, turning once more to glance at the barometer, his head fell forward helplessly. by a violent exercise of his muscles and his will, he raised his face a little, but for an instant only. it drooped again. he slid down into the bottom of the boat. his fading gaze sought that of wilton. they looked into each other's eyes, like dying men bidding one another silent, sad farewells. the mists of death already seemed to be closing on them, when a sudden variation of the temperature, or, it may be, some magnetic current partially revived them. but the _bladud_ still rushed upward, ever upward. they had reached a height of four miles above the earth, and the temperature had fallen to 24° below freezing point of water. to this appalling altitude the _bladud_ had ascended with almost incredible rapidity. upward, and upward still, they went, until five miles, then six, was reached above the surface of the vanished earth. out of the void a muffled voice reached linton's ears, the welcome voice of a living fellow-creature. it was wilton trying to rouse him, wilton speaking with urgency and vehemence. gradually he came out of his swoon; familiar objects close to him revealed themselves again. wilton was lying in the bottom of the boat. he was striving in vain to reach linton. the piercing cold had almost paralyzed him. his hands were freezing. what did wilton want? what was he trying to do? as far as could be judged, they had now reached an altitude of 37,000 feet--nearly seven miles. the mists closed in again. the thread of life was on the point of breaking. linton became half conscious that a thick crust of ice had formed upon his clothes, his breath was freezing on his lips and in his nostrils. he glanced again with an agonizing effort at the moving record of their elevation. another 1,000 feet, and then 2,000 feet. needles of ice were pricking at his eyes. close to him the prone form of wilton seemed to be covered with minute crystals from head to foot. linton tried to stretch out his hands to touch him, but found that they were helpless, numbed. what, he vaguely wondered, was wilton doing now? what mad idea was this? with an exhausting effort the engineer had just smashed the lens of his telescope. then his hands seemed again to fail him. watching him helplessly, linton felt that everything was useless, hopeless, lost. it would soon be over. but wilton had gripped the broken glass of the telescope between his teeth. what was he doing now? why was he sawing frantically, convulsively, at that tightened cord? ah! that was it! well done, wilton. but it was hopeless, quite hopeless, after all. linton rolled his head feebly. they had climbed another 1,000 feet, and they were mounting still. no! what was this? there was a change. something had happened. linton was sensible of a strange eddying, a pause, a feebler flapping of the aeroplanes. merciful god! the boat had ceased to rise. now she was sinking, sinking, with appalling speed, yet checked to some extent by the broad aeroplanes, just as a bird would be when, with extended wings, it floated down to earth. he tried to frame some words; tried to touch wilton with his hand; failed to do either. wilton lay motionless, with bleeding lips. * * * * * out of the blur of mental chaos, linton herrick found himself roughly dragged back to consciousness. kneeling in the boat, he discovered that he was submerged in water to the waist; flecks of salt water smote him in the face; all around there was a welter of wild, tossing waves. in his ears, to add to his distraction, there sounded a harsh and melancholy bell. it was tolling, tolling, close at hand. the _bladud_, water-logged, tossed feebly in the trough of the angry sea. built on a theory that she could float for a considerable period, it nevertheless rushed in upon linton's mind that in a few minutes she would sink. he struggled to his feet, grasping the rigging as he did so. something arrested his attention. what was that silent log-like thing the waves were rolling yonder in the semi-darkness? it must be wilton, poor wilton, who had saved their lives--or tried to save them, only to lose his own. wilton! dead! a voice hailed him. it came from renshaw, his companion. he also was on his feet, swaying from side to side as the boat, settling deeper and deeper in the water, plunged and lurched beneath them. "look!" cried renshaw, "the buoy! we must swim for it!" as he spoke he plunged over the side and struck out for a towering object that rose and fell in the waves only a few yards away. linton realised that that was where the clangour of the bell was coming from--the refuge of the shipwrecked--the bell-buoy close at hand! before he fully knew what he was about, he, too, was struggling in the waves. he was a strong swimmer, but, clogged with his wet clothing, another yard or two would have been too much for him. he shouted some incoherent words of encouragement to renshaw, and struck out with all his small remaining strength. the tall frame-work of the spit-buoy rose out of the sea just in front of him. from its apex came louder than ever the noise of the iron clapper beating on the metal, as the tossing sea roiled the huge buoy this way and that. his hand touched something hard. he grasped an iron rail. slowly and laboriously he drew his dripping form out of the sea. then, panting heavily, he threw himself down face downward, full length, on the deck of the buoy, and stretched out both hands to the other swimmer. renshaw's strength seemed well nigh spent. he was making futile struggles to rid himself of his heavy coat. as he rolled over helplessly, almost swept beneath the buoy, linton grasped his collar. the next moment he had drawn him to the rail. a breathing space, and then another effort, exhausting and prolonged. two panting men, half drowned but saved, lay side by side upon the buoy, fenced from the greedy sea by rusty, dripping iron bars. above them, in the stormy mournful night, ding dong! the bell kept clanging to and fro--this way and that, with every wave and motion of the singing sea. chapter xix. the coup d'état. while the fierce struggle for fort warden was proceeding, and while nicholas jardine lay dying, the vice-president of the council and her adherents were engaged in desperate efforts to strengthen the grip of woman on the governance of england. to wrest to their own advantage the crisis that would arise on the expected death of the president was of paramount importance to the kellick party. to turn it to their destruction was the anxious object of their political opponents. thus was foreshadowed--for the critical hour--a fierce and crucial struggle for supremacy. the chief directors of the counteracting movement, general hartwell, the woman-hater, and sir robert herrick, wise in counsel and learned in law, were in constant conference. they met daily, and their conferences and study of reports often lasted far into the night. the outcome of their labours was to be seen in the creation of an association, which linton had mentioned to zenobia. it embodied both men and women, who styled themselves, as a bond of union, the friends of the phoenix. the general aim of this association was to re-establish man in his proper position in the state, and the particular aim to bring about the restoration of the long-lost leader, wilson renshaw. the last mentioned feature of the programme, though at first received with natural incredulity, presently acted with magical effect in quickening public interest; and when secret, but authoritative, assurances were forthcoming that renshaw still lived, had been released by the mahdi, and was about to return to england, vast numbers speedily enrolled themselves as friends of the phoenix. the great strength of the movement lay in the voluntary enlistment of hosts of disciplined men. the police, the regular army, and the territorials, furnished many thousands of recruits. the old household troops followed general hartwell almost to a man; the corps of commissionaires followed suit. these men, in turn, rendered excellent, because unsuspected, service as propagandists among the humbler classes of the civil population. evidences of disgust and discontent with the aggressive dominion of woman were found on every side. the time was almost ripe. it looked as if but a match were needed to produce a vast and far-reaching conflagration; and the main problem that exercised the minds of general hartwell and sir robert was how, when the moment came, to use the ready instruments of revolt without incurring the risk of bloodshed and the development of civil war. every possible precaution was taken. the friends of the phoenix pursued their plans with the utmost secrecy, it being realised that, in order that the projected _coup d'état_ might succeed, it was essential that it should take the kellick faction completely by surprise. finally, it was decided to seize the occasion of a banquet in the city, at which it was known that the vice-president would make an oratorical bid for a new mandate from the nation. this banquet, postponed from time to time in consequence of events at dover and the president's illness, was to take place shortly after mr. jardine's funeral. it was announced that reasons of state and public convenience rendered further delay impossible; "reasons of state" meant the interests of the kellick faction; "public convenience" had reference to the opening of a new london railway tube. an extension of the old tube from the post office, via gresham street, to the guildhall, had long been a cherished scheme of the city fathers. the old approach through king street and cheapside to the head-quarters of the corporation was only suitable for use in fine weather. but whatever changes and chances had befallen london during the first forty years of the twentieth century, british weather had developed but little alteration, and certainly no improvement. that state processions and civic functions should be spoilt by drizzle, rain, or fog, as so frequently had happened to pageants of the past, was felt to be not merely inconvenient, but quite uncalled for. the new alternative route presented many advantages. celebrities and non-celebrities bound for the city on great occasions would be enabled to enter a special train at the west end, and could come to the surface in guildhall yard. the feast of oratory and the flow of champagne might thus be attained without the disadvantage of a preliminary journey through the rain-swept streets of the murky city. in like manner the members and officers of the corporation would enjoy similar immunity whenever official occasion required them to go westward. the feminine note in politics had something to do with the project; for woman, advanced woman, in her hours of ease and finery did not like to have her feathers and laces spoilt by london smuts and drizzle; and woman, of course, had become very much in evidence in the city of london. facetious persons went so far as to say that the city fathers had been superseded by the city mothers, and further justified their views by treating the male minority as indistinguishable from a set of old women. the arrival of woman as a member of county councils and other public bodies, not to say in parliament itself, long ago had rendered it practically certain that the conservatism of the city must ultimately yield to the onslaughts of the sex. in the fulness of time a woman took her place on the bench as chief magistrate of the city of london. a wondering world was called upon, for the first time, to do honour to a lady mayoress, who shone with no reflected light. she herself was the sun of the city firmament. lord mayor for some years there was none. the lady mayoress who held office at the critical period that had now arrived was a devoted ally of the vice-president, and bent on advancing in every possible way the authority and interests of her sex. to this end the corporation, which had largely subsidised the new branch tube, had solicitously waited the opportunity to entertain the acting representative of government in honour of the occasion. on the day of the banquet, the principal city streets presented their normal appearance to the eyes of all ordinary observers. the vice-president and her supporters were to travel to the guildhall by the new route. there was no occasion, therefore, for decoration, or for the special services of the military, or even of the police. nevertheless, large numbers of uniformed men might have been observed moving through the side streets in small parties. in the neighbourhood of the general post office and of the guildhall these numbers rapidly increased as the hour appointed for the function drew near. at the same time there were similar musters in the immediate vicinity of the houses of parliament, the war office, the admiralty, and other public offices. there was no apparent connection between these various groups, but in reality they were acting in complete unison. they had the same password--"the phoenix"--and were directed from one and the same centre. in a word, one and all, these men were friends of the phoenix. towards afternoon, when londoners began to look for the early editions of the evening papers, which were expected to contain a summarised report of the vice-president's speech in the city, extraordinary rumours began to spread throughout the capital; and in the clubs, the restaurants, the railway stations, and in the streets groups of men and women engaged in eager and excited discussion. the impatience of the public became uncontrollable. crowds besieged the news-vendors' shops, and clamoured at the railway bookstalls. even the newspaper offices were invaded, and when, at length, copies of the evening journals were available, hosts of people struggled fiercely to secure them. scenes of extraordinary tumult were witnessed. the newsboys, tearing through the streets on their bicycles, were waylaid. men fought and scrambled for copies of the papers, and as placard after placard appeared, public excitement was augmented until it reached the verge of frenzy. a coup d'état. reign of woman ends. renshaw returns. wild cheers and shouts broke out when lines like these were read by gaping multitudes. people came hurrying to their doors and windows; drivers of cabs and omnibuses stopped their vehicles, staring, laughing, shouting, questioning, and adding to the general babel and bewilderment. the streets were blocked. the news ran through the town like flame, evoking everywhere unbounded enthusiasm and the wildest joy. the climax was reached when overhead were heard the wind-harps of a fleet of air-ships. fifty or sixty of the official craft had been repaired and brought into the service of the phoenix. sweeping over every district of london, they scattered tens of thousands of cards bearing renshaw's portrait, and containing the same three-lined announcement that figured on the placards of the leading newspapers. at the same time, throughout the populous provincial centres, as well as in the capital, similar cards in enormous numbers passed from hand to hand, and were scattered lavishly in every public place. but it was at whitehall that the interest and excitement culminated. for there, riding through the streets, bare-headed and gravely acknowledging the plaudits of an enormous concourse, renshaw himself was seen, passing on his way to the house of commons, supported by general hartwell and sir robert herrick, and escorted by a jubilant army of the friends of the phoenix. the friends already were in possession of all the public departments. officials who withstood them or protested were quietly but summarily displaced. everywhere the plan of campaign had worked like clockwork and without a hitch; and nowhere was the bloodless revolution more complete than in the city itself. the vice-president's expected speech had not been reported because it was never uttered. the friends of the phoenix, in strong force, had taken possession of the post office station of the new tube directly the train carrying the city's distinguished guests had passed into the tunnel. at the same moment, another body of the friends had seized the guildhall terminus. only those in the secret knew of what was happening in the depths of the earth. the city went about its business, the banquet waited, but no guests arrived. at both ends of the avenue the approaches to the tube were completely blocked. the force available to maintain the blockade was more than sufficient. a handful of resolute men could easily have prevented access to or from the level of the streets. the lifts, by preconcerted signal, had been disconnected; the narrow winding staircases from the subterranean stations were effectually blocked. no violence was used; none was necessary. behind the barriers at the top and at the bottom of the staircases stood resolute men, determined and trustworthy friends of the phoenix, who turned a deaf ear to all appeals and protests. no one was allowed to go down; no one was permitted to come up. questions, clamour, threats from the imprisoned vice-president and her party availed nothing. it was necessary to isolate certain people for a certain time, and isolated they were. meanwhile, london learnt about the great and new situation. the friends of the phoenix carried out welcome change, and the nation got a firm grip on the to the letter the plans of their leaders, and wilson renshaw, saved from all perils, acclaimed throughout the capital, was triumphantly restored to a position of power from which no enemy or rival could displace him. but he had a message for the nation, and for all nations, and the speech in which he delivered it thrilled the white man's world. he warned the peoples of europe and america of a coming conflict, which would dwarf to insignificance all the international struggles, however stupendous, hitherto known to history. the white peoples, he declared, must abandon their mutual rivalries and ambitions. the sexes in civilised countries must check their suicidal competition for supremacy. each and all must prepare, with united and unbroken front, to face the common foe. they were threatened with annihilation. not so long ago the british nation alone had embraced 360 millions of the coloured races of the globe. vast numbers of these had passed under other sceptres; but the change had only served to accelerate the rising of the dominated natives, who, far and wide, had learned to realise the overwhelming strength with which the weight of numbers had endowed them. no longer would the black man submit to their absolute dominion. no longer would the yellow and the tawny accept as their predestined masters the little band of pale-faced rulers by whom they had so long been held in subjection. the revolt was imminent. the mahdi had proclaimed a holy war. the crescent would be in the van, and north and south, and east and west, the coloured races would rise against, and seek to overwhelm, the recreant children of the cross. chapter xx. linked lives. linton herrick, losing not a day nor an hour in london, had carried the great news to zenobia. much that wired and wireless messages could not convey, he, as one of the inner circle, was in a position to explain. but the triumph of the friends of the phoenix and the restoration of wilson renshaw did not exhaust the subject of their conversation. linton was charged with an impressive and confidential message from renshaw himself. the restored minister entreated the daughter of the dead president to resort to no act of public reparation; he besought her to let the dead past hold its dead. the story of her father's crime need never be given in its fulness to a censorious world. against his enemy the rescued rival nourished no resentful bitterness. his feeling, rather, was one of sorrow that the temptations of power and ambition and the weakness of human nature had wrought the moral ruin of a man in whom he had discerned many admirable and striking qualities. zenobia jardine was greatly moved. she recognised the nobility of renshaw's attitude, but she still had misgivings as to her own path of duty. the messages reached her at a time when she was torn with conflicting feelings, bewildered by new sensations, impressed with new aspects of human life, agitated by complex thoughts and emotions to which hitherto she had been a stranger. it was a crisis in her life. subtle but masterful influences were at work upon her inmost being. scales had failed, as it were, from her eyes, and her soul looked out upon possibilities of which in her unenlightened days she had never even dreamed. love, duty, religion--each and all had acquired for her a deep and wonderful significance, and in her heart she feared to be presented with the problem of choice. could these things be reconciled in the light of the revelation that had come to her? would they be her armour and her strength wherewith she could go forward to some great predestined goal; or, if she chose the one, must she of necessity eschew the rest? one thing she knew for certain when she again held linton's hand and looked into his face. this was the man she loved and always would love--stranger still, it seemed as if he were a man she always _had_ loved. but she knew now of his daring, his fidelity, his narrow escape from death, and realised his clear, though unspoken devotion to herself. and he, for his part, had known no peace until he found himself at her side again. renshaw had placed at his disposal the _albatross_, one of the swiftest of the government air-ships, and another engineer had succeeded to the place of poor wilton. westwards he had rushed on the wings of the _albatross_, leaving the lights of london, its crowded streets, its shouting and excited multitudes, far behind. and now, side by side, he and zenobia and peter, her dog, engaged in dog-like explorations on the route, went slowly across the quaint bridge with its low-roofed shops that spans the avon, and passed through the streets of ancient bath. "what would you do? what is your advice?" the girl asked, turning to him suddenly. they had been silent for some time, but each knew well what occupied the other's thoughts. "respect renshaw's wishes," was linton's firm reply. "but the will--the confession is in the will," said zenobia. "the will need not be proved. with or without it, what your father left belongs to you, his sole next of kin." she looked down thoughtfully. "it is your advice?" she asked, quietly. "yes, mine as well as his." "then i shall follow it." when next they spoke it was upon another subject. "this place strikes me oddly," said linton, looking round as they went up the slopes of victoria park. "i have never been here before, and yet i have a curious feeling...." she turned quickly. "how strange! i know what you are going to say." "i believe you have the same feeling--as if we had been here before, you and i together, as if all that surrounds us were familiar." "is this the first time you have felt like this?" she asked eagerly. "no, but i have never felt quite what i am feeling now." again, with puzzled brow, he glanced round. "once," she went on, hesitatingly, "the first time we went up in the _bladud_, you remember that night ...?" "yes, yes, i felt it then," cried linton, pausing. "and the other night," zenobia continued, seriously, "when i looked from a window down on the lights of bath i had a strange sensation as if it were a scene which i had always known, and after that i had a dream in which that feeling was confirmed." "curious," said linton. "do you believe in the theory of pre-existence?" she asked, abruptly, "do you think it possible that in some former state of being you and i or others can have met before?" "it may be so," he answered gravely. "wise men have held the theory. who can limit the life of the ego--fix its beginning, or appoint its end?" "if the breath of god is in us," said zenobia solemnly, "all things must be possible. we, too, must be eternal. we may sleep and we may wake, but all the time we live. the soul does not belong to time, but to eternity, and eternity is an everlasting now." "yes," said linton, "why should not the spirit have an all-pervading presence:- "whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, and the round ocean, and the living air, and the blue sky, and in the mind of man!" while they were speaking thus gravely, they entered the botanical garden on the slope of the hill. opposite the bench on which they sat down they noticed a sundial of curious construction. on the face of the dial, fixed at an angle, was an iron cross. they looked at the sacred emblem, at first vaguely, and then with growing attention. below it was an inscription. "what mysteries, what mysteries enfold us," murmured zenobia. she turned to him with a smile and a sigh that were pathetic. "what, i wonder, is the true philosophy of life?" she whispered. linton sat silent for a moment. then he leaned forward, and as he did so one hand closed upon and held her own. "i think we have it here in this inscription:- "the hours are found around the cross, and while 'tis fine, the time is measured by a moving line, but if the sky be clouded, mark the loss of hours not ruled by shadows from the cross." "ah! the cross! the cross!" sighed zenobia. linton repeated the word in a pondering and half-puzzled tone, raising his hat with instinctive reverence. "i feel more than ever that this place is not new to me," he added, rising and looking round with wondering eyes. "and i, too, have the same persistent sense of memory," half whispered zenobia. "there is a tradition that perhaps explains my dream--do you know it?--that in the days of the romans there was a heathen temple here, where we are sitting, and that an early convert to christianity, a sculptor of great skill, erected a cross upon its threshold." "and the sculptor was put to death! i have read it, or did i dream it?" he turned and looked down upon the city, as if seeking some clue or inspiration. "there was a priestess," he said slowly, "a priestess...." zenobia had risen to her feet. "a priestess of the temple of sul. yes! she, too, was put to death. they buried her alive." she pressed the backs of her hands to her brow; her gaze assumed an almost tragic intensity. "she had listened to the sculptor. they found her kneeling by the cross, and in the temple of sul the sacred fire had gone out...." she paused. each looked into the other's eyes. a flash of inspiration came to both of them. "your face," she said, "is the face of the sculptor in my dream." * * * * * heavy clouds had been rapidly gathering overhead; the atmosphere had grown strangely oppressive. so full had they been of other thoughts that no reference had been made to the developments of natural phenomena which had lately caused so much dismay in the locality, and, indeed, throughout the country. it was known that the signs of disturbance already chronicled had gradually diminished, and for some days the volume of water rising from the thermal spring had been little more than normal. the emission of smoke or vapour arising from the fissure on lansdown had entirely ceased. but at this moment the sombre clouds that had gathered over the city seemed to be heavily charged with electricity, and there was a peculiarity in the sultry atmosphere which suggested some threatening association with the abnormal signs that lately had caused so much alarm. the day, throughout, had been exceptionally hot for the time of year, but it seemed to linton as if the mercury must now be mounting up by leaps and bounds. an unnatural, brooding stillness had spread over the whole town. the few people who were walking in the park did so languidly and in silence; a heavy weight pressed irresistibly upon the spirit. all things, animate and inanimate, seemed to be subsiding, drooping, under the pressure of some gloomy and mysterious influence. peter, returning from sniffing explorations in the undergrowth of the gardens, came whining to his mistress's feet, as if seeking for the consolation of close companionship. zenobia sat down and patted the dog affectionately. "peter is frightened," she said, "there must be a storm coming." linton looked around, but answered nothing. but he realised that the signs within and without were such as people who lived in tropical countries had more than once described to him. peter sniffed the air, and then gave voice to a long and piteous howl. "we had better be going," said linton, while zenobia, still stooping, tried to soothe the dog. when she looked up there was an expression on linton's face that puzzled her. she rose quickly and laid her hand upon his arm, following his gaze upward and around. "what does it mean?" she asked, breathlessly. "if this were not england," he replied, with hesitation, "i should think it meant...." as he spoke a low but formidable rumble became suddenly audible, coming not from above, but from below. fraught with indescribable awe and menace, it produced an instantaneously petrifying effect. they stood rigid, holding to each other, waiting, listening for the coming climax. it came as in a flash. the rumble grew into a thunderous roar. a blue flame suddenly shot into the heavy clouds above them, and beneath their feet the solid earth rocked and swayed, again and yet again, as if with the rolling motion of a mighty wave. chapter xxi. the wrath of sul. the earthquake, in the twinkling of an eye, had changed the face of all nature around them, and while it did so it annihilated stereotyped manners and conventional restraints. to zenobia it did not seem strange that linton's arms should be folded protectingly about her, or that she should cling to him, face to face and heart to heart. the moment of the earth's convulsion had bridged a gulf and wrought a revelation. they knew themselves, beyond all doubt, for what they were, lovers and twin souls, pledged to each other by unspoken vows. the dreadful shock had come and gone, but the external changes and terrors which the catastrophe had brought about could not be immediately realised. presently they discovered that the ground had moved with them, and that they had been swept to a considerable distance from the plateau on which they had been standing. a great gap yawned where the sundial had stood. peter had disappeared. they themselves had been saved from falling by the trunk of a giant tree--one of the few which had not been up-rooted--while below them, on the slope of the hill, new spaces were revealed where other trees had crashed down to the ground. the air was full of a strange echoing din, caused by the collapse of buildings outside the limits of the park and in the town below. in the midst of these reverberating sounds, and in strange contrast, was heard the prolonged wail of terrified women and the shrill cry of a frightened child. gasping, and looking up the hill, they could see, rising from lansdown, dense volumes of sulphurous smoke, through which shot vivid gleams of forking flame. elsewhere a greyish veil began to spread across the land. a steaming, suffocating atmosphere choked their lungs. "there may be another shock! we must escape for our very lives," linton whispered hoarsely. zenobia, white to the lips, made a faint gesture of assent. "hold my hand! we must find a way across the river," he said quickly. again she made an obedient sign; and linton, guiding her, they moved cautiously forward in the strange grey twilight which began to enfold them. awe-inspiring sounds had been succeeded by a silence which was scarcely less terrible. a sense of horror half paralysed their faculties as they cautiously moved forward down the slope. almost at their feet had opened a chasm which revealed many solid blocks of masonry, such as had been used of old in the construction of the roman baths. the rending of the earth had exposed to view a section of what looked like the foundations of an ancient and imposing temple. between the massive walls, at the bottom of some steps, they observed a narrow cell or chamber, and as they stepped past the shadowy opening, zenobia's foot came into contact with an ancient roman lamp. of these things neither of them was fully conscious at the moment. they were mental photographs, vivid experiences unconsciously stored in memory and fraught with a strange confirmatory significance not yet to be appreciated. hand in hand, picking their steps apprehensively, they made their way between the fallen trees down to the broad avenue leading to the lower gate of the park. here, at the gate, for the first time they encountered evidence of death and disaster in the town itself. houses had collapsed on every side; distracting moans and piteous cries from unseen sufferers assailed their ears. for a moment they paused before a monumental heap of stone and timber, impelled to render help in answer to these vague but terrible appeals. "we can do nothing," groaned linton, in answer to zenobia's questioning pause. "come," and he led her quickly round the wreckage of the houses. stumbling, half running, they made their way by a devious route down towards the heart of the town. in queen square there was a frightened crowd. women and children, weeping and sobbing, were kneeling on the roadway with hands upraised in prayer. men came running towards them shouting unintelligible warnings ... questions. terrified faces appeared at many upper windows. they saw a frenzied girl leap from the parapet of a tottering house and disappear behind a heap of ruins. in the lower streets the destruction wrought was less noticeable, but a new terror was revealed. the sound of rushing waters reached their ears, and every moment white-faced men and women tore past them, crying in shrill tones: "the spring! the spring!" then they saw eddying streams of steaming, orange-tinted water creep round street corners, overflow the gutters, and spread into the road. the water rose so rapidly that they had to turn aside and once more take to higher ground. they found themselves crossing milsom street, and as they did so a loud explosion sounded at the upper end, accompanied with an over-powering smell of gas. screams rent the air, and another crowd of men and women, some of them carrying children in their arms, came rushing helter-skelter down the street. none of the houses at the lower end had fallen, but several were bulging forward and appeared to be deserted. and here already the predatory instinct was at work. linton caught the arm of a filthy-looking tramp just as he raised an iron bar to smash the plate glass window of a jeweller's shop. he hurled the thief aside, then grasping zenobia's hand again he dragged her forward, making for the nearest bridge. but once again their way was barred. from a great crack in the roadway a fountain--a geyser--of the yellow, steaming water suddenly leaped into the air. to avoid it they were compelled to make another circuit. they hurried down some narrow streets and reached the open space in front of the theatre. fighting their way through excited and gesticulating groups of people, they passed the hospital, and, turning to the right, reached the front of the grand pump room hotel. limping and enfeebled invalids, who could scarcely move unaided, were streaming from the the building, appealing eagerly for guidance to a way of escape from the perils that surrounded them. tremulous but unheeded questions were heard on every side as linton and zenobia crossed the road and reached the colonnade. to their right, from the doorways of the grand pump room itself, another flood of tinted steaming water was pouring rapidly over the broad pavement and stealing into the abbey church. by keeping close to the opposite wall they escaped the stream, and leaving the great church, which so far seemed intact, upon their right, they soon reached the space in front of the guildhall. only a little distance and they would gain the bridge! "this way!" cried zenobia, as linton, who knew nothing of the town, stopped in hesitation. but as she spoke, the pavement, barely ten yards away, bulged suddenly, then split apart, and with a violent rush another geyser burst into the street. they drew back just in time, and hurried breathlessly towards the station road. on their left rose the tall building of the empire hotel; behind them was the abbey. a sudden shout impelled them to look back. a third geyser had opened in the middle of the roadway, and in an instant columns of steaming water were spouting high into the air. "quick! quick!" urged linton. his voice was scarcely audible, for as they approached the river a mighty roar was coming from the weir, dominating the multitudinous sounds of terror which filled the air on every side. in this appalling crisis earth and air and water seemed united as in a ruthless conspiracy for the destruction of humanity. in the presence of these vast, mysterious, and irresistible forces, man, the boasted master, lord of creation, was subdued and helpless. the effect produced on the inhabitants of the city was that with which the struggling atoms of the race, accustomed only to a calm and ordered system, ever encounter nature in her moods of unfamiliar violence. in tempests of the deep, in the awful hurricane, when winds and seas mix and contend in a titanic conflict, nature ignores the puppets tossing on the helpless ship, or half drowned on the surging raft. what is man in presence of the waterspout that towers from the ocean to the clouds? how shall he face the unfathomable whirlpool that yawns for the frail boat in which he is compelled to trust? whither shall we fly, when, as now, the earth vomits forth from unimaginable caverns the scalding water floods that she has stored within her depths throughout uncounted centuries? none can stand unmoved when the hills smoke and the earth trembles; when darkness, a darkness that may be felt, spreads in a sinister and all-pervading veil over a world that seems abandoned to the powers of evil? powdery ashes were falling everywhere upon the doomed city. from lansdown a vast vaporous column, a dreadful blend of water, bitumen, and sulphur, rose high into the clouds. as the great column branched and spread, assuming the form of an enormous pine-tree, the darkness deepened, save where, above the hill itself, red-coloured flames slashed hither and thither through the cloud at frequent intervals. terrific explosions accompanied these manifestations; and linton, as he half carried zenobia towards the river, was possessed with the fear that the great hill might be completely riven and pour forth streams of boiling water or of lava, that would not only submerge the town itself but destroy all life within a radius of many miles. conceivably, indeed, it might be the beginning of the end--the end, at least, of england; for what were the british isles but the summit of some vast mountain whose foundations were buried deep in the unfathomed sea? it had been forgotten that great britain with ireland and its giant's causeway, afforded incontrovertible evidence of volcanic origin. these islands, with the hebrides, the faroe islets, and, finally, iceland, in fact constituted a vast volcanic chain, with mount hecla as its seismic terminus--a focus more active than vesuvius itself. and here, at the other end of the chain, was bath, where for thousands of years the waters of sul had maintained a disregarded warning of that inevitable convulsion which, at last and in the fulness of time, had come to pass. in the midst of these flashing thoughts and fears that darted through his brain, linton was possessed with the conviction that their only possible hope of safety lay in crossing the river, the surging roar of which each moment became more audible and threatening. others in great numbers were animated with the same belief. linton and zenobia, indeed, found themselves involved in a madly-rushing crowd of panic-stricken men and women. swept this way and that, they were in danger of being hurled to the ground and trodden underfoot by thousands of hurrying fellow creatures bent on self-preservation and on nothing else. still supporting zenobia with one arm and fighting his way forward step by step, linton presently managed to turn the angle of the tall hotel. on their right the river, swollen enormously by the inrush from the hidden springs, had almost reached the level of the parapet. boiling floods had poured, and still poured, into the avon, blending with the normal stream; and the soul-subduing terror of the scene was augmented by the great clouds of steam that rose from the surface of the hurtling river. with desperate exertions, still supporting his half-fainting companion, linton reached the turning towards the bridge. the narrow entrance was choked with a dense and struggling crowd, through which half a dozen men, lashing frantically at rearing horses, strove recklessly to force a passage. screams and oaths blended with the angry roaring of the weir. the struggling people swayed hither and thither in dense compact masses, while a body of firemen from the station close at hand, seized the heads of several horses and forced them back to give the foot passengers some slight chance of escape. individual efforts were futile in the midst of this confused and fighting crowd. by the impetus and weight of numbers, however, linton and zenobia, holding closely to each other, were swept as in a human eddy on to the bridge itself. the same contributory force of numbers, close packed between the windows of the shops, carried them rapidly towards the other side. again and again there was a crash of glass as the terrific pressure forced in one or other of the windows; but far more ominous was the angry, roaring voice of the invisible river beneath them. rising higher and yet higher every moment, it buffeted the bridge with unceasing and increasing violence, the torrent whirling round the piers and buttresses, fiercely impatient for greater destruction, as it tore upon its way towards the thundering weir. it was a question of time, and the time must needs be brief. the bridge must go. half way across, beneath the feet of the scrambling, sobbing crowd, the roadway split and cracked. there was a sudden lurch that sent linton and zenobia, with a dozen others, into the open doorway of a right-hand shop. like all the rest of the bridge buildings, it was but one storey high, and at the end of the short passage a narrow stairway gave access through a trapdoor to the leads. linton, breathing heavily from his exertions, gasping a few words of encouragement to zenobia, pondered in a flash the possibilities of the position. those who had been swept into the deserted shop with them were making frantic and futile efforts to force their way back into the endless crowd that still streamed across the bridge in such maddened haste. but a place once lost in that dense multitude never could be recovered. in truth, there was no choice, and in a moment his resolve was taken. "the roof," he whispered, half to himself, "the roof!" mounting the steps, he swept back the trapdoor, and, reaching down his hand, drew zenobia after him. they emerged upon the flat roof of the shop. only a dwarf party wall divided it from the rest. below, on their left, the rushing and tumbling tide of humanity pressed forward to the bathwick side. below, on their right, they beheld the terrifying river, curdled in foam and throwing off increasing clouds of heavy steam. they scrambled forward quickly, passing on from roof to roof. behind them came the sudden sound of rending masonry. a dreadful scream, a wild cry of despair from the multitude, pierced the powdery air. the bridge was slowly yielding to the enormous pressure of the swollen river; but linton and zenobia had safely reached the other side. raising the trap door of the last shop in the row they descended rapidly and gained the road. here the congested throng spread out across the wider space, and hurried onward to great pulteney street. as they paused there came a sound--terrible, arresting, never-to-be-forgotten--the united wail of despairing voices, rising above the crash of the collapsing bridge as it carried with it, down into the boiling flood, hundreds of helpless and entangled fugitives. zenobia, clinging convulsively to her protector, drew sobbing breaths at those appalling sounds. but for his supporting arms she would have sunk fainting to the ground. "courage," he whispered. "courage still." for the moment he himself believed that on this side of the river they were safe. but at that instant they felt again beneath their feet the quaking of the ground--a long and undulating throb. they reeled against a wall and stood there panting, until a quickened sense of peril impelled them once again to hasten forward. turning up edward street, and leaving the church upon their left, they climbed the hill, until exhaustion compelled them to sink down upon a roadside bench and ease their labouring lungs. thick grey smoke, heavy with choking particles and powdery ashes, was spreading everywhere; and from this higher ground, looking back towards the fiery summit of the volcanic hill, they could see cloud after cloud of fire-torn vapour mounting with spiral motion towards the darkened heavens. wearied though they were, they struggled to their feet, and once more set their faces towards the hill. linton fully realised that the area of disturbance was far wider than he had at first supposed. safety, if attainable at all, could only be secured by placing many miles between themselves and the volcanic district. it was no time for weighing small considerations. silently he decided what to do. they reached the house in which the president had spent and ended the last days of his life. the hall door was wide open; darkness and silence reigned in the interior. the servants, obviously, had fled. linton shouted, but no answer came. it was clear to him that the engineer of the _albatross_ was in full flight with the rest. bidding zenobia rest a minute in the hall, he opened the glass doors on the inner side and ran down the steps into the garden. there lay the _albatross_, ready, as he knew, for an immediate aerial journey. his own knowledge of the mechanism of an air-ship, though not complete, was now sufficient, or, at any rate, it must be trusted. the boat was rather smaller than the _bladud_, and in some respects contained improvements. a swift examination of the machinery satisfied him that the _albatross_ was fit for flight. hurrying up the steps he called zenobia. she came to him obediently and instantly, calmness restored to her, and in her look a ready submission to all that he thought best. "will you trust yourself to me?" he asked very tenderly, taking her hand. "the boat is ready. i think you will be safe." "i trust you in all things," she answered. "i am ready." he led her down the steps into the garden and helped her to her seat on the stern-bench of the _albatross_. "you can steer?" he asked. "yes, if you direct me." "all's ready, then. keep her before the wind. now, up and away!" he himself stepped into the boat and immediately switched on the motive power, adjusting the gear to suit the plans he had already formed. the _albatross_ rose steadily into the air, then, gathering speed in a few rapid circles, began like some huge bird to wing her flight from the dread scene of the catastrophe. behind them as they sped upon their way arose another violent detonation. suddenly the clouded air was rent with vivid lightning, and this revealed the falling pinnacles of the abbey church. then, as the thunder crashed above their heads, linton beheld a vast and fiery chasm open in the labouring hill. out of its lurid depths the waters of sul leaped upwards in a mighty column, a fountain, as it were, of liquid fire. then darkness settled on the scene, and all was still. the end. _by the same author._ the devil's peepshow. _by the author of "a time of terror."_ morning post.--"_the devil's peepshow_ is a remarkable book.... its interest is never in doubt.... the causeries of this little company afford just those opportunities for political criticisms and shrewd moralising in which the author is singularly felicitous.... but the political lessons are not framed in epigram alone.... the delightful and erudite essay on the 'weird of the wanderer' is, perhaps, the best thing in the book, and strikes the undercurrent of mysticism with fine suggestiveness.... whoever the author is, he is a man of nice penetration, and a philosopher worth listening to." westminster review. "love and politics in equal proportions form the main ingredients of _the devil's peepshow_, ... and the lurid title ... serves as a fitting preliminary to the series of sensational episodes that make up this story with an unmistakable purpose." liverpool daily post. "the volume is as thrilling as its predecessor.... the central theme of the story, that of a strong man of high qualities and noble ambitions, who falls a victim to the lures of an enchantress, is well developed. the author has force of style." irish times.--"the most impressive passages are those regarding the unfortunate position of some of the middle classes." yorkshire dally post.--" ... it is a very up-to-date story of london society during the season 1906, in which all the prominent politicians and personages of the day take part.... the novel is, however, no mere sensational melodrama, for the author makes it the medium for expressing very freely his ideas on politics and religion, which are by no means complimentary to the present government, whose individual members he ridicules unsparingly and not without power ... the very strength of the contrast gives it relish." a time of terror (second edition). evening standard.--"a politico-social romance of london and england--prophetic, of course, sensational and thrilling." scotchman.--"truly a time of terror, and the anonymous author has a clever enough pen with which to expose the vices--some of them real enough--of the opening years of the twentieth century." outlook.--"the story of a man's revenge against a nation, our own. after war and internal anarchy, the capture of the kaiser and the death of the avenger ends with a national thanksgiving. very eventful." the tribune.--"whatever the cause, the occurrences are certainly terrible; ... beside the lurid vision, enormous in range and horrifying in nature, the accumulated sensations of a score of 'shilling shockers' pale into insignificance.... the book is written with much spirit." yorkshire post.--"the details are worked out so cleverly that there is a thrill on nearly every page. this is the work, one would say, of a practised writer, and the lover of sensational literature should not omit to read it." literary world.--"this is a well-written, and in many respects a powerful story.... there are many sensational scenes, and plentiful satire of the social and political world of to-day." aberdeen free press.--"the unaffectedly hair-raising title is indeed a fitting preliminary to a series of as startling episodes as have stirred the body corporate of english fiction for many a day.... the whole book is, it is true, sensationalism, but it is sensationalism with a purpose.... some passages contain a fine plea for the christian faith. it is a most original book, and at its lowest value an excellent entertainment." newcastle daily journal.--"_a time of terror_ is original in conception and vividly effective in development. its author is sure to be heard of again, and a later work from his pen will be eagerly awaited." third (sixpenny) edition now on sale. hurst & blackett, ltd. doctor jones' picnic by s.e. chapman, m.d. san francisco the whitaker & ray co. publishers copyrighted 1898, by s.e. chapman, m.d. all rights reserved preface. i must confess that i offer this romance to the reading public with no little trepidation. i am fully aware of having transcended the ordinary rules and paths of legitimate romance, and that i have presumed to broach fearlessly the deep things of god. the scope of the work is infinitely beyond the remotest thought of the writer when he began this labor; but as it grew, deepened and broadened upon his hands from day to day, like noah's dove he could find no rest for the sole of his foot, and found it impossible to stop short of the millennium. the author is ready to substantiate the marvelous cures performed by dr. jones, for they are cases from practice. one of the objects of this work is to stimulate scientific investigation of the law of cure which guided the worthy doctor in his selection of the remedy in a given case. as to whether silver cloud and her achievements be possible or not, i am not specially concerned. and whether there are air currents in the "upper deep," as described within these pages, is a matter of little or no consequence. we are desirous of being fair and magnanimous, and will let the burden of proof rest upon the "other fellow." when we come to the consideration of the means by which the grand finale was brought about, then i stand by my colors, and claim to have delineated the only way "out of the woods" for the suffering world. and, further, the denouement is but the inevitable result of the adoption of golden ruleism by the world. no thinking man can fail to see that there is something fearfully and radically wrong in this world of ours. the few are getting too much, and the millions are getting far too little. the cry of the poor fills the earth, and many are the plans that have been devised for the relief of the innumerable sufferers; but there is an essential defect in each of them, nor is there relief to be obtained short of the power of almighty god. this is fully comprehended in what we have been pleased to call golden ruleism, in the 2nd and 3d volumes. many students and writers upon the signs of the times take an extremely pessimistic view of the situation, and believe that we shall witness "blood to the horses' bridles." no one can deny that things are desperately bad, and that something must be done soon to relieve the strain or the very worst may be apprehended; yet the author prefers to see things through optimistic eyes, and believes that god will raise up a moses, (or doctor jones, if you please,) who will lead us to a higher and better state than this world has yet ever known. the old adage 'it is always darkest just before dawn,' is beautifully applicable to the present state of the world. so i take courage and launch my book out upon the tempestuous sea of humanity, trusting that it may be welcomed as the harbinger of a better and happier era. i am sure that it bears to the world the olive branch of peace. as is usual with prefaces, this one is anticipatory and can only be appreciated after one has perused the book. so i make the request of the reader that he re-read it after having become acquainted with the scheme and scope of the work. this volume is to be immediately followed by volumes two and three, which complete the set. s.e. chapman, m.d. napa, cal., dec. 13th, 1897. index. page. chapter i. "figures don't lie." 1 " ii. two men resolve to go picnicking. 7 " iii. mrs. jones offers some objections. 10 " iv. mrs. jones dictates terms. 14 " v. the government joins the picnickers. 18 " vi. off on a shoreless sea. 22 " vii. a gunpowder tea party. 25 " viii. relating how the beautiful picnic progressed. 32 " ix. in the heart of labrador. 38 " x. a message from the skies. 49 " xi. is the world growing better? 54 " xii. greenland's icy mountains and the russian bear. 63 " xiii. beauty and the beast. 75 " xiv. doctor jones commits treason. 83 " xv. a model teacher and an ideal student. 94 " xvi. the count steps over the line. 100 " xvii. farewell to beauty and the beast. 108 " xviii. woman locates the north pole. 118 " xix. the planting of the flagstaff. 125 " xx. battle of missionary ridge and lookout mountain. 135 " xxi. things material and spiritual. 143 " xxii. familiar scenes and faces. 151 " xxiii. the world at the feet of doctor jones. 164 " xxiv. ho! for the south pole! 175 doctor jones' picnic. chapter i. "figures don't lie." the north pole! that spot upon earth so environed with trackless fields of unbroken snow and mountains of ice; with an atmosphere so cold that none but the bravest and hardiest of mankind can breathe it and live. and yet these apparently insuperable obstacles have but stimulated men to do and dare all things, so that they might but reach that _ultima thule_. in vain have our utilitarians cried, "qui bono?" god has planted within man the spirit of lordship and domination; and, true to that spirit, he will never rest until nature shall have yielded up to him her last secret, and his restless foot shall have trodden the wildest and farthest spot of earth. then, and not till then, will he stand crowned "lord of creation." in this faithful history of the discovery and exact location of the north pole, it is not necessary to bring before the reader in historical review the many illustrious names and grand heroisms of former explorers of arctic regions. they did marvelous deeds, beyond the comprehension of those who did not actually participate in them. they sacrificed thousands of noble lives, and undoubtedly did all that could be done with the means at their command. ah! there we have struck the keynote. the means at their command were inadequate, and nothing but failure and disaster could result from their best laid plans and efforts. dr. jonathan jones sat in his office in the populous, thriving city of r----, situated in one of our western states. he occupied an easy chair, heels upon a low, flat-topped writing desk, newspaper in hand, reading an account of the failure of dr. nansen to reach the north pole. that renowned and hardy explorer proposed reaching the spot by floating on an ice floe. we are all familiar with the fact that he did actually get to within about three hundred miles of the coveted spot, but was obliged to turn back for want of dogs and sledges. dr. jones laid the paper down with a groan. "will they never learn?" he apostrophizingly cried to a bust of hahnemann that rested upon a bracket in a corner of the room. "they can never get there on any such lines. i believe it to be a perfectly feasible scheme, if worked out on simple scientific principles. if i had capital, i would try it." he sat with the points of his extended fingers touching each its mate of the opposite hand, and mused for several moments. suddenly he seized a pencil, and rapidly jotted down figures, lines, and characters that meant nothing to any mortal but himself. "figures don't lie!" he shouted to aforesaid bust. "that depends, doctor, on whether they are legitimately used or not. sometimes they are made to represent the vilest untruth," said a voice behind him. the doctor wheeled about and encountered the genial countenance of mr. a.l. denison. "hullo! denison. just the man i wanted to see. sit down." "what's up now, doctor? anyone hurt or seriously sick?" inquired denison, as he occupied a chair. for answer the doctor read aloud the account of dr. nansen's failure to reach the north pole, and then said: "i do not wonder that he failed. no one will succeed upon any such lines or plans." "well, doctor, you don't suppose that anyone will ever get there and back alive, do you?" "whether they will or not, i do not know; but that it is a perfectly feasible and rational undertaking, under proper conditions, i as firmly believe as i do that i am alive," and he brought his fist down upon the desk by way of emphasis with a whack that made the various loose articles in the little office rattle. even the bust upon the bracket moved about uneasily, whether by way of approbation or not, this truthful chronicle ventures no opinion. denison looked at the flushed face and glittering eyes of the doctor, moved uneasily in his chair, and said: "what's up, doctor? i never knew you to drink. getting off?" tapping his _os frontis_ with his forefinger significantly. "denison," replied the doctor, unheeding the innuendoes of his friend, "i tell you that i have a plan for going to, and returning from, the north pole with perfect safety, absolute certainty, and a degree of comfort that will reduce the whole expedition to the level of a glorious picnic." denison indulged in a long, low whistle. "draw it a little milder, doctor. go to and return from the north pole with perfect safety, certainty, comfort, and pleasure! what do you mean? i never heard of anything so preposterous in my life!" "hitch up to the desk here, and i will soon tell you what i mean," cried the doctor. denison complied, and the doctor, seizing a pencil, drew upon a leaf of the scratch book, with a few vigorous strokes, a sketch of a globe, thus: [illustration] "there," said he, as he gave a few finishing touches. "there you have the idea." "well, go on." "this sketch represents a mammoth globe of aluminum, two hundred feet in diameter, as you will notice. "i see," assented denison. "we have, then, a great hollow globe, consisting, as i said before, of aluminum. i have chosen that material for two obvious reasons; lightness and strength. the globe is simply to be floated by heating the atmosphere within it." "what will you heat it with, and how long do you suppose it will be before your globe returns to the earth?" asked denison. "your questions are quite practical, and i am ready to answer them. there are to be three skins or coverings to our globe, with a foot of space (or air blanket, if you please) between them. this affords us two air chambers that materially prevent the radiation of heat. once heated, a very little fuel will keep the interior of our great air-ship at the desired temperature. you see, at the inferior or lower part of the ship, a square apartment attached, plentifully supplied with windows. that represents the living and store rooms. the living rooms are to be comfortably furnished, and no reason can be alleged why we should not enjoy in them absolute comfort. in our store-rooms, we will carry one year's supply of food. and in tanks of sufficient size, petroleum (or whatever combustible we conclude to be most suitable) for heating and cooking purposes. see?" "i see," said denison. "you will observe that so conservative of heat is this arrangement that every particle of caloric created in the living rooms, or cabin below, helps by that much to float the great globe. all the warmth from cooking and heating; the heat and smoke from our pipes and cigars; yea, even the animal heat which radiates from our bodies, all subserve the one great purpose and function--keeping up the temperature and buoyant effort of the globe. do you begin to catch on?" fairly shouted the enthusiastic doctor. "well, it looks very well so far," returned denison slowly. "but, my dear sir, i foresee one difficulty that in your enthusiasm you seem to have overlooked. you can never guide or steer this immense ship. it must go with the wind, and you are just as likely to go to the south pole as to the north, and very unlikely to go to either. you must excuse me, but this last is certainly an insuperable obstacle to your making anything practicable of your idea." "i admit at once that this great body could not be steered, nor in any degree guided by any apparatus that we could devise," assented the doctor. "but that we should be obliged to float aimlessly, hither and thither, altogether the creatures of chance, i do not for a moment admit. the equator, receiving as it does, the vertical rays of the sun, is by far the hottest portion of the earth. the atmosphere at that quarter, being constantly superheated and correspondingly rarified, ascends into the vault above. this creates a semi-vacuum below, and the cooler atmospheres north and south of the equator rush in and fill the aforesaid vacuum. pouring in from opposite directions with an impetus that often amounts to hurricanes, they boil up as they meet, miles into the firmament above. they then set off in two strong currents toward either pole. what is the natural inference? the navigators of our air-ship have the power to raise and lower at pleasure. obviously, there is but one thing for sensible men to do: let her rise until we strike a northerly current, if necessary, and remain in it so long as it is favorable; when it changes, rise or lower until another favorable current is found, etc. do you happen to think of any more 'insuperable' obstacles, my dear sir?" "well, i must say that while i am not convinced of the practicability of your scheme, still you meet my objections in a way that is quite surprising, and which shows that you have given the matter much thought; yet i am not sure that you will not run upon difficulties that will make it altogether impossible. for instance, there is the cost of so vast an undertaking. it would cost hundreds of thousands, at the least calculation." "now, denison, you have struck the only real difficulty that i can think of. i really have no idea of who will furnish the money. i had not thought even of asking anyone to do so." patients came in at this juncture, and denison took his departure. a few days later, however, he returned, and when the doctor was at leisure, opened the conversation by asking if anything had developed with regard to the air-ship building. "o, ho!" cried dr. jones, "you are getting into my way of thinking on that subject, are you?" "well, to tell you the truth, i have thought of it considerably since i saw you. i would like, at least, to see it tried." "there is but one way to do: if you get interested sufficiently to wish to take hold, we will see if we cannot stir up our friends and form a stock company. or, failing in that, we might have a working model built, and i think we could induce the government to take hold of the matter." denison called frequently during the following month, and it was evident that he was fast becoming imbued with the doctor's ideas and enthusiasm. chapter ii. two men resolve to go picnicking. one afternoon, the doctor being at leisure, he and denison talked long and earnestly of their never-failing theme, the aluminum globe. denison finally said: "you know, doctor, that i never go into anything without due consideration. i have studied this matter over carefully, and am willing to chance it with you. we have been acquainted a great many years, and i never knew you to make any bad breaks. i have nothing else to do at present, and have a few thousands that i am willing to risk in this business. if i lose it i shall let it go for experience and blame no one but myself." "denison, you know very well that i would not lead you into anything that would do you an injury, financially or otherwise, for anything in the world. i had not thought, indeed, of asking you to take any part or stock in this scheme. i believe in it with all my soul, but had not allowed myself to seriously think of promoting or investing in it. you had better think of it for a while longer." "as i told you," returned denison, "i have given it very serious thought for several weeks. i have every confidence in the world in you, and my mind is thoroughly made up now that i wish to go with you into this enterprise. you know that since my wife died i have done little or nothing. i have no family to occupy my mind, and this is the first time since her death that i have felt any interest in anything. it took something extraordinary, like your scheme, to wake me up. so here i am, doctor, yours for the north pole!" "well, old friend, you are a man of the right spirit," said dr. jones, taking him by the hand, "and i am willing to do with you what we can to get the government interested in this matter. what shall be our first move?" "how can you leave your business or get any time to do anything in this undertaking?" asked denison. "i will tell you: i have been right here, at the old stand, for twenty-odd years. in all that time i have never taken a vacation of any sort. i have for years been intending to do so, but something always prevented. now i have an opportunity to put a good man into my place, and i feel the necessity of taking a rest of a year or so. this looks like just the chance for me. so you may consider that question settled. now, what shall be our first move?" "since we are each determined to take hold of this venture, doctor, i suppose that the first thing will be to get an architect to figure on the thing, and give us necessary figures and data. and i have just the man--will marsh, office on main street. he is an extraordinary fellow, a real genius, and a gentleman in every sense of the word. let's see him right away. i'm catching your spirit of enthusiasm, doctor, and what does a man amount to without enthusiasm in this age of the world?" "well, of course, the enthusiast is numbered with the cranks," replied dr. jones. "but, denison, the cranks are the only men who accomplish anything of note in this world. i have really great respect for cranks, if they only are honest and not too abusive. so we may as well anticipate the dear public, and enroll ourselves among the cranks." "all right," returned denison, "'sail on!' as joaquin miller has columbus say to the faint-hearted sailing master. 'the north pole or bust!' is my motto now." "that's right, that's right," grinned the doctor, amused to see the enthusiasm he had aroused in his friend. "and now let's to business. i am ready to go with you and see the architect." so together they walked to the office of that gentleman. they found him in and at leisure, and they immediately opened their business to him. the doctor took the lead, denison occasionally offering a suggestion. mr. marsh proved to be a good listener, jotting down the items as they were given him, and they made excellent progress. evidently dr. jones had studied the subject very thoroughly, for he gave measurements and specifications with a readiness and accuracy that were surprising. "and now, mr. marsh, there are doubtless some important points that have not occurred to me, and which you will discover. what we want at present is an approximate estimate of the cost, carrying and floating capacity of our globe. i think you have the idea as nearly as we can give it, and please let us know all about it as soon as possible," said dr. jones as they were about to depart. "i will do so, sir," replied the architect, "but you understand that your project is so extraordinary--if i may be allowed to say so--that it will require several days before i can give you any definite information. i must go to the city and ascertain the prices of material, etc." "we understand that, mr. marsh; only please do not neglect to attend to it immediately." with this parting injunction they bade him good-day and departed, each to his home. chapter iii. mrs. jones offers some objections. but dr. jones met great opposition in a quarter that was not so easily disposed of. he had a wife. mrs. jones was a very intelligent and lovely woman, younger by some fifteen years than the doctor. she must be consulted. he broached the subject very cautiously, now and then expatiating upon the extreme ease and comfort with which the trip to the north pole might be made. he bought histories of the many arctic explorations, and read them aloud to her. at first she listened indifferently, not dreaming for a moment that the doctor was burning with a desire to become an arctic explorer. day after day he enlarged and dilated upon his plan. denison often dropped in of an evening, and the conversation invariably drifted into the old topic, the aluminum globe and the trip to the north pole. one evening the architect, mr. marsh, with a large paper roll in his hand, came with denison to the doctor's residence. after the usual greetings the doctor said, "mrs. jones, i think we will take possession of the dining-room, as we wish to use the table. come in with us, for i am sure that you are greatly interested in the business we have on hand to-night." mrs. jones good-naturedly complied, and sat engaged with some knitting, while the roll brought by the architect was spread upon the table, and weights laid upon its corners. the two schemers gave a cry of delight as a truly magnificent sketch of the globe unfolded before their eyes. floating in the firmament, thousands of feet above the earth, with a panoramic view of forests, lakes, rivers, mountains and hill elevations, fruitful valleys thickly dotted with towns, villages, farms, little specks that represented houses, green fields, etc., fading away into indistinctness in the far distances of the horizon, all done with such patient and faithful regard for detail and artistic appreciation of color and perspective, that mrs. jones joined in the chorus of expressions of unqualified admiration. it was done in water colors, and the enraptured doctor seized one end of it and cried: "take hold of one end, denison, and help me hold it up against the wall. there, maggie! denison! did you ever see anything so absolutely beautiful?" they declared that they never had. the artist, meantime, stood with flushed cheek, his arms folded across his breast, modest and quiet. "get tacks and a hammer, maggie, and we'll fasten it to the wall; then we can all sit and enjoy this glorious panorama." the painting was quickly tacked up in a position for inspection, and all sat admiringly before it. "by the way, mr. marsh, you must have done something in the line of aeronautism, or you never could have made that painting," observed the doctor. "no, doctor, i have never made any balloon ascensions, but i have climbed many mountains, both in europe and america, and have made numerous sketches from vast elevations. i have simply drawn upon these for my material, and in this painting you have a blending of several of them. of course, i have taxed my imagination to some extent. the central object, the globe, air-ship, or whatever you may be pleased to call it, is your own conception, or my conception of your idea." "well, i am more than pleased with your work. your execution has so far transcended my idea that i take no credit at all in this instance. but now we must never rest until we have materialized this splendid conception." so they sat admiring and chatting over the painting some little time. "well, marsh, have you anything more to show us to-night?" asked denison. "yes," he replied, "i have some figures and data that i received from the city a day or two since." drawing their chairs about the table, mr. marsh read from a small memorandum-book estimate prices of materials, amount and weight of same, cost of labor, and finally what he deemed to be the approximate cost of the globe complete, furnished and equipped for a one year's voyage. "i have some suggestions to offer, doctor. you spoke of having three skins or envelopes of aluminum, with air chambers between them that would prevent the radiation of heat. now, i think that we can do better than that, though without doubt your idea is practical and would answer the purpose; yet i have a plan to offer that will dispense with one envelope, and will more effectually conserve heat. zinc is the best nonconductor of heat that i know of. one thin layer of this metal within a few inches of the external covering of aluminum will serve you a much better purpose and will greatly reduce the cost of construction." this suggestion met with the immediate approval of the doctor and denison. they talked and planned until quite a late hour. after the departure of the two men mrs. jones said: "are you seriously thinking of going into this wild scheme, doctor?" "well, maggie, what do you think of it? don't you see how perfectly feasible and beautiful it is?" "why, so far as i know, it may do well enough. but how can you do anything with it, and what good would it do you if you could?" "my dear maggie! how can you ask such a question! think of the glory of accomplishing that which has defeated some of the best and bravest men that the world has ever produced. and think of the importance this accomplishment might be to science. is the undying fame that would attach to such a deed to be lightly esteemed? oh, my dear wife! you know how steadily and conscientiously i have labored all these years. more than a quarter of a century have i devoted to the care of the sick, with scarcely a moment's recreation. the time has come when i feel that i must take a vacation. further than this, i feel that i can do the world greater service with my idea of reaching the north pole, besides settling a question as to the possibility of aerial navigation for long distances. how can i better spend a year or so than in the promotion of this idea? be a good, brave little wife, as you always have been, and don't oppose me in this thing upon which my heart is set." "and who is to sail this great balloon, or air-ship?" "well, as the dutch captain said when the harbor inspector asked 'who is the captain of this ship?' 'i ish de feller!'" with these words he assumed a melodramatic attitude. but mrs. jones was not to be won by any facetiae, and walked up to him, placing her hands upon his shoulders, said: "do you think for one moment that i will ever consent to your going off on so fearfully perilous an expedition as this? how i should feel to see you sail off into the blue sky, with an almost absolute certainty of never seeing you again! i should go insane. what would my days and nights be, even though you went and returned in all the safety you anticipate? i should go insane in less than a week with anxiety. do as you please so far as promoting the construction of the globe is concerned, but never will i consent to your going in it." "maggie, maggie, don't be so foolish. i do not intend going until i have perfectly satisfied you that i am not more safe in our home than i should be in our great ship." "all right!" she cried. "you are not to go, then, until i freely consent." "o, hold on!" he answered. "don't construe me so ungenerously. i only said that i would first convince you of my safety." "that you can never do, and you may as well give it up. it cannot be a safe undertaking. it makes me faint to even think of it. just imagine yourself in that cabin now," pointing to marsh's painting that still hung upon the wall. "i wish to heaven i was," growled the doctor. "i just won't hear another word of it!" and she flounced out of the room to bed. chapter iv. mrs. jones dictates terms. several months have passed since the meeting recorded in our last chapter. the enthusiasm of the three men (for marsh was now a member of the company) increased as the days went by. a considerable amount of canvassing had been done among the moneyed men of the community, but with no success. no one could be found who was willing to risk any considerable amount of wealth in an enterprise whose outcome was so problematical. fame is all well enough, but there is very little sentiment about capital. after many consultations by the three, it was agreed that nothing further could be done at home, and the next move would be a trip to washington. the idea of building a model was abandoned, as the beautiful drawings and paintings of the architect completely obviated its necessity. the doctor had said but little to mrs. jones upon the subject that lay nearest his heart since the time recorded in our last chapter. though he went about his professional duties as usual, yet that astute little lady thoroughly understood that he was far from laying aside this great ambition of his life. and she also realized that a crisis was approaching when quick, sharp work must be done, and she had determined what she should do. the doctor, meantime, furtively watched day by day the lovely face of his wife. but he might as well have spent the same time studying the face of the sphynx. he could not decide whether she was acting a part most beautifully, or had dropped the matter as settled. it cost her a great struggle to keep from smiling as she looked into his troubled eyes, and at times would be obliged to put her handkerchief to her mouth to keep back the smiles that dimpled about its corners. she knew that the crisis was at hand, and so persevered in her part; and, better than all, she knew that she should come off victor. all things were ripe for the assault upon the government board of science. "meet at my house to-night, gentlemen," said the doctor. "my arrangements are all made, and i could start to-morrow morning if my wife would consent. i feel more concerned about getting her acquiescence than i do about getting the government interested. i really fear that she is like sambo's mule: 'when he so quiet an' still like, yo' look out! he templatin' trouble den, shuah!' there's something up, and i must have it out with her to-night; and i want you to stand in and say all you can to help me out. we must convince her that there is not nearly so much danger in our globe as there is aboard a train of cars or a steamship." so that evening in the dining-room, and upon the same table, marsh spread the drawings and specifications that represented the smallest detail connected with the construction of the globe. mrs. jones entered into the conversation, made suggestions as to the furnishing of food, bedding, furniture, etc., until the three men winked and grinned slyly at one another, delighted to see the interest she displayed. "now, maggie, i am sure that you cannot see any element of danger in this trip," said the doctor, fixing his eyes upon her very anxiously. to his surprise and delight she unhesitatingly said: "no, i do not see why it should be at all dangerous." "that's my brave little wife!" shouted dr. jones, catching her in his arms and kissing her upon both cheeks. "what an old lunkhead i have been all this time! why, maggie, do you know that i have been terribly worried lest you should prove foolish and obstinate and would do all you could to prevent my going?" "i knew it all the time," she replied. "just listen to the demure little sinner! knew that i was worrying all this time and never let me see that she understood me at all! what a little hypocrite you are! but i forgive you, since you are so reasonable." "but my dear hubby, do not jump at conclusions. there is a condition connected with my consent." "and it is granted now, my dear. what is it?" "oh, it is a real easy one!" "i am sure of that, dear maggie, for you are the most reasonable woman alive. isn't she, gentlemen?" of course the conspirators loudly assented. "that is very nice of you, gentlemen," said she, bowing gracefully to them, "but i know about how much allowance to make for 'soft soap' in this case." "but what is the condition, maggie?" asked dr. jones. "i go with you." "to washington? certainly you shall, honey." "i go with you in the globe, to the north pole, or any other place the wind may blow us." "you--what!" "i have said it." the doctor dropped into a chair with a groan. "i knew it! i knew she meant mischief all the time." "but my dear woman," cried he, jumping from his chair again, "don't you see the utter impossibility of your going on so hard and perilous a voyage? you could never endure it in the world." "hardships and perils, indeed!" said she mischievously. "haven't you said over and over in my presence that this was simply a beautiful picnic trip and perfectly safe?" "well--er--er," stammered the doctor, "but, maggie, it would be no place for a woman, you know." "i beg your pardon, sir, but i do not know anything of the kind. do you suppose that i have sat here all these months listening to you men talk of this scheme without becoming a convert to your theories? no, doctor, i am as enthusiastic as any of you in this matter. the north pole fever is like the measles, very contagious, and i have a severe attack of it. now you have all agreed that i am the most reasonable woman living, and you cannot accuse me of being unreasonable simply because i wish to go with you on this safe, comfortable and perfectly beautiful picnic excursion." this turn of affairs was so complete a surprise to the three men that they sat silent with consternation for a few moments. "come to think of it, gentlemen, i am pleased for one that mrs. jones wishes to accompany us. why should she not?" said marsh. mrs. jones beamed upon him so warmly that he blushed to his ears. "one vote for me," she gayly exclaimed. "now, mr. denison, on the score of old friendship, i claim your franchise." "and you have it, my dear madam," cried denison. "yours for the north pole, mrs. jones." she gave a hand to each of her coadjutors, and turning to dr. jones, said: "don't you see what a splendid lobbyist i am, doctor? you will need me when you get to washington." the doctor's face was a study. at length he said: "woman is the most unaccountable creature in the universe. i expected to-night to have made the plea of my life, and i declare for it, if she hasn't turned the tables completely upon me, and actually stands there imploring to go with us, instead of going into hysterics and making no end of opposition. well, honey," putting his arm about her waist, "i took you for better or worse, but i did not expect to take you to the north pole. i yield to the inevitable, gentlemen. allow me to introduce you to no. 4, north pole aluminum globe co." chapter v. the government joins the picnickers. not many days later found our friends comfortably located in a hotel in the national capital. the doctor was quite well acquainted with the representative from his congressional district, and was supplied with letters of introduction from influential parties to members of both houses. by a judicious use of these, they managed to obtain a hearing before the scientific and geographical departments of the smithsonian institute. so thoroughly had dr. jones and mr. marsh mastered the details of the subject that they immediately made a favorable impression upon that learned body. after some weeks spent in investigation, they unanimously voted in favor of the project, and recommended that congress grant appropriations for that purpose. after a certain amount of lobbying (in which, i am glad to say, no. 4's services were not required), an amount in accordance with the architect's estimates was passed by both houses, and duly signed by the president. nothing could exceed the joy and satisfaction of the four friends. they now hurried to their homes and made arrangements for permanently moving to washington. a few weeks later, we find them settled in a pleasant home in the capital, "a busy lot of happy cranks," as mrs. jones expressed it. the building contract was awarded a washington company, whose foundries and shops are located upon the potomac, adjacent to the city. the work is being done under the general supervision of marsh and the three friends. it is not long before the vast scaffolding that is built up as the long, slender, silver-like ribs of the aluminum framework are put in place, begins to attract the attention of the surrounding populace. and well it might, for as the beautiful globe began to assume shape, certainly nothing so colossal of the kind had ever been seen before upon earth. and as one stepped inside the mighty ball and looked up through the vast network of aluminum rods and braces that ran in every conceivable direction, looking like silken threads in the great distances above, the feeling inspired was one of awe and unbounded admiration. the work was pushed forward with all possible expedition. the summer passed rapidly away. as winter drew near, a vast roof was built over the globe, and all was securely shut in from the inclemencies of that inhospitable season. all winter the hundreds of hammers, busily riveted the sheets of aluminum and zinc into place, and by spring the globe, the splendid creation that had existed in the brain of dr. jones, was an actuality. language is inadequate to describe the sensations of the little company of promoters. they said but little, but would often stand in a group, gaze upon it, then into each other's eyes, and smile and wag their delighted heads. the newspapers were not slow, meantime, in keeping the public informed of all that could be learned of the unique enterprise. reporters besieged the projectors, in season and out. our friends freely gave them all possible information, and no little interest was excited all over our great land. people came from every quarter of the union, many from europe to see the mighty, glistening sphere. the crowds were so vast that work was impeded, and it became necessary to restrict admission. a nominal entrance fee was charged, but that only seemed to stimulate the eager sightseers. so the public were, of necessity, finally entirely excluded. then the roof of the building was removed, and the whole structure gradually, except so much of it as was absolutely necessary to maintain the globe in position. the cabin was attached to the bottom of the globe, forty feet square, with ten feet between the floor and ceiling. it was divided off into several bedrooms, sitting and dining-rooms, kitchen, smoking-room, store-rooms, oil tanks, etc. in the center was a room, fifteen feet square, that was called the engine-room. everything that could be thought of that could add to comfort had been supplied, always with reference to compactness and weight. not an ounce of superfluous weight would the architect allow. he had calculated very carefully and knew to a pound, almost, just what his great ship would carry, and how much fuel would keep her afloat a certain number of hours. but the thing that aroused the admiration of the public was the aluminum shaft that passed from the floor of the cabin straight up through the center of the globe, and extended on above it full ninety feet. and from this dizzy height, floated "old glory," constructed of fine wire of that same beautiful, evershining metal, aluminum. round and round this splendid shaft, up through the globe, wound a delicate stairway. from its top stair, one stepped out into a small observatory, well supplied with windows upon its four sides. the stairway was protected from the hot air of the interior of the globe by a zinc coating, so that the mast and stairway really passed up through the center of a zinc tube standing on end, and about six feet in diameter. already it is an inspiring sight to stand in the observatory, situated exactly upon the top of the sphere, and look away into the surrounding country, up and down the potomac, and over the lovely capital city. but what will it be when suspended in the air, thousands of feet above terra firma? "do you feel no fear, maggie?" asked the doctor, as they stood with marsh and denison and looked from this great height. "not the slightest tremor," she replied, and she looked so brightly and bravely into their faces that denison said: "i really believe, doctor, that she will prove to be the best sailor of the lot." "i wish we had a female companion for you, maggie. i have a great mind to advertise for one," said dr. jones. "i beg you to do no such thing. she will be sure to be finical, cowardly, or disagreeable in some way. and then such a host of all sorts of creatures as would reply to your advertisement. we shall do very well without her," replied mrs. jones. "but i am sure it would be much pleasanter for you, maggie. don't you know of a female acquaintance that you would like to have accompany you?" persisted dr. jones. "well, let me think. if mattie bronson could go, it would afford me the greatest pleasure." "the very thing!" declared the doctor in his usual emphatic way. "mattie is a lovely, brave, all-around nice girl. let it be mattie, by all means." denison and marsh expressed their entire satisfaction with this arrangement. "i will write her immediately to come and visit us, and then i am sure that we can prevail upon her to go with us," said mrs. jones. they then descended the long, slender stairway, and returned to their home. chapter vi. off on a shoreless sea. about the middle of april appeared the following in one of the leading papers: "last night our citizens, and a tremendous overflow of visitors were treated to the most magnificent sight their eyes ever beheld. the great aluminum globe, about which all the world has been agog for so long, arose and stood for three hours above the city, some two hundred and fifty feet. the whole mighty sphere was ablaze with myriads of electric lights, from the ball of the tapering flagstaff to the beautiful cabin below. as it hung suspended above the city, connected with the earth by but a slender aluminum chain that looked like a thread of silver piercing the skies, a great hush fell upon the hundreds of thousands of gazers below. all nature seemed auspicious to the occasion. scarcely a zephyr was stirring, and the stars shone brightly down upon the scene from cloudless skies. one hundred people, consisting of the president and cabinet, senators, congressmen, editors, scientific and literary men and women, were the favored party who occupied the gigantic ship. "suddenly there fell upon the ears of the waiting multitude the glorious soprano voice of mrs. jones. so far above, yet so thrillingly sweet and distinct, one could scarcely refrain from imagining that the pearly gates had opened, and we were listening to the voice of one of the redeemed. but that illusion was soon dispelled, and we recognized the familiar strains of "star spangled banner." and when the whole hundred voices swelled the splendid chorus, a great shout arose from the multitude like the sound of many waters, beginning directly beneath the globe, and spreading away in every direction like billows from a great rock, dropped into the center of a quiet lake. "and so, under the direction of professor marsh, brother of the architect of the globe, a beautiful and appropriate musical program was rendered, lasting nearly an hour. "we venture the assertion that no performance was ever rendered to so great an audience, and certainly not to one more appreciative. and we predict that there will be a great demand for liniments and plasters for some weeks to come. for standing two hours or more with the back of one's head resting upon the cervical portion of one's spinal column, and screaming at the top of one's lungs a good portion of the time, with eyes unblinkingly and unwinkingly set upon the inconceivably splendid globe, all this we assert to be highly conducive to stiff neck and sore throat. and it is a question whether many of that innumerable, entranced audience will be able to keep their hearts and minds upon things terrestrial for a considerable time to come. from the bottom of our hearts, we commiserate every member of the race who missed the sights and sounds of last evening. "all arrangements are now completed, and day after to-morrow, weather favorable, dr. jones and party expect to sail at the hour of noon, away for the north pole. nothing has been omitted that could insure the success of the expedition, and we feel confident of all that could be hoped for, or desired by the enterprising doctor and friends." the hour set for sailing had arrived. the day was beautiful, and a moderate breeze was blowing toward northwest. with proud, happy hearts the party of navigators stood upon the balcony that ran about the four sides of the cabin. this balcony was one of the chief embellishments and conveniences of the cabin. it was five feet wide, and extended, as before said, about the four sides of the cabin. a balustrade four feet high was built along its outer edge. a more exhilarating promenade could not be conceived, and right well did our friends enjoy it during the notable voyage which we are about to record. the party consisted of professor j.q. gray, the scientific representative of the smithsonian institute; miss mattie bronson; professor fred marsh; our four friends with whom the reader is acquainted; and last, but not least, so far as bodily comforts were concerned, ah sing, the cook. as the globe arose slowly to the length of its cable, five hundred feet, it seemed to the little company upon the balcony as if the universe had assembled to see them off. on the streets, public squares, housetops, decks of all ships upon the river, were crowds on crowds of people; people anywhere, everywhere; far as the eye could reach was one vast, countless host. what wonder that the heart of the doctor swelled and quickened as he looked upon the ocean of upturned faces below, and realized that from his fertile brain had sprung the mighty object of all this attention. how it pulled and surged at its silver-like cable, as if it were a thing of life, and desired to be away toward its destination, the north pole! the hour of noon was announced by hundreds of bells and whistles. the doctor waved a flag over the balustrade, the anchor was cut loose from its fastenings, and away bounded the colossal sphere toward the ethereal blue. upward and still up it arose to the height of three thousand feet, trending slowly toward the northwest. the voices of the multitude sounded like the roar of the sea, and as it grew fainter and fainter, the stout-hearted little party realized that they were effectually cut off from the world--off on a limitless sea, alone with god. chapter vii. a gunpowder tea-party. nothing could be completer nor daintier than the cabin and its furnishings, divisions, and subdivisions. the rooms of necessity were small, but sufficiently large for convenience and comfort. a choice selection of best authors had been added by the doctor. mr. will marsh, the architect, had not forgotten a painting, sketching, and photographing outfit. professor fred marsh had brought a good supply of vocal and instrumental music, and a small aluminum organ of exquisite tone and splendid volume. professor gray, as a matter of course, was abundantly supplied with books, charts, instruments, etc. the ladies did not forget to bring knitting, crochet, and sewing work with them. "for we cannot be continually craning our necks out of our little nest, sightseeing," said mrs. jones. "and then i suppose that we shall be above the clouds a good share of the time, with nothing but a fog bank to look at," added mattie. dr. jones carried a plentiful supply of drugs and instruments. "i have not given up practice," said he. "there is no telling how many patients i may encounter outside of our little crowd, before we return." but we cannot stop to enumerate all the conveniences and appurtenances of the wonderful sky-ship, now hastening toward its destination. more of that later on. washington and its crowds of excited people were fast disappearing in the distance. to say that no fear was experienced upon the part of any of the company would not be strictly true. the ladies were pale and silent, and stood with their arms about each other. very little was said by any one, for the sensation of skimming through the air at the rate of more than twenty miles an hour at this elevation was too novel and thrilling to admit of conversation. all experienced more or less of vertigo and nausea, but the doctor promptly controlled these disagreeable symptoms with medicines from his case. all stood at their post for something near an hour, sing excepted. he was rattling about among his pots, pans, and kettles as unconcernedly as if in the best appointed kitchen in washington. finally a general conversation was entered into as the first qualms of fear and sickness began to wear off. "i am delighted with the performance of our ship," said will. (we shall take the liberty of using the given names of the two brothers hereafter, will and fred.) "yes," returned the doctor, "how easily and smoothly we are going. when one looks inside, it is hard to realize that we are flying at the rate of nearly thirty miles an hour through the air, three thousand feet above the earth." "and notice how steadily we are moving. not a tremor nor movement of any sort appreciable. how decidedly superior to car or steamboat traveling. here we have no jar, noise, nor dust," continued will. "nor any kind of danger of shipwreck or collision," added professor gray. "well, i'm sure that we are a peculiarly favored lot of travelers," said fred, turning to the organ and playing "away with melancholy," with great spirit. "how does the temperature in the globe keep up?" asked the professor of will. "i am astonished, professor," he replied, "it has scarcely varied a degree since starting, now two hours, and we are burning no fuel at all at present." "that is truly wonderful," answered the professor. "at this rate we are not likely to run out of fuel." "no," said will, "we are safe on that score." the doctor and will now ascended to the observatory. professor gray and denison sat beside the ladies upon the balcony. each was studying the topography of the country with the aid of their field glasses. "see the people everywhere and all waving their handkerchiefs at us," exclaimed mattie. "how distinctly we can see their white upturned faces, and how they do shout," remarked mrs. jones. "i can see photographers catching snap shots at us," said denison. "i dare say that the telegraph and telephone wires are being kept busy over us," said fred, who had just joined the group. "not a doubt of it," answered the professor, "not only in america, but all over christendom." dr. jones and will now returned from their aerie, the observatory. "whew!" exclaimed the doctor; "if that isn't exercise for you!" "what is the temperature now?" asked the professor. "one hundred and thirty degrees," replied will. "it has cooled off a few degrees." "yes, we have descended to the twenty-five hundred foot level," remarked the professor, after consulting the barometer. "she will skim along many hours before we need to fire up," returned will. "and how is the view from the observatory?" inquired denison of the doctor. "that is the sight of a lifetime," cried dr. jones. "language is utterly inadequate to describe it. with the vast, unobstructed view on all sides, far as the eye can reach, the great glistening rotund sides of the globe rolling away from beneath your feet, giving one a sensation as if about to slide off into the awful chasm below, i assure you that it is something fearful. but i cast my eye up the shining mast and saw the stars and stripes floating there so calmly and serenely, and i remembered our glorious mission, and instantly i felt the everlasting arms about me. i realized as never before in my life, the utter littleness of man, and the almightiness of god. here, floating thousands of feet above the earth, we can rest just as implicitly on his promises as we ever did in our lives." these words were said by the doctor with so much earnestness and solemnity that a hush fell upon the company for a few moments. then mrs. jones sat at the organ and began singing in a low, sweet voice, kelso carter's splendid hymn: "standing on the promises of christ my king, through eternal ages let his praises ring; glory in the highest, i can shout and sing, standing on the promises of god." every one of the seven were trained vocalists, and, very happily for the pleasure of the company, the four parts were so nicely balanced that their voices blended in sweetest harmony. the doctor and will and denison sang bass; fred and professor gray tenor, mattie alto, and mrs. jones soprano. mattie possessed an exceedingly rich contralto, while mrs. jones' soprano was strong, sweet, and clear as a bird's. they all joined in the chorus, and when the hymn was finished, ah sing, who stood in the doorway with his white cap and apron on, encored loudly. "velly good. me heap likee," was his verdict. "it takes the 'children of the skies' to sing that hymn!" cried denison. "hear! hear!" said mrs. jones, clapping her hands. "isn't that poetic and appropriate? the children of the skies! that was an inspiration on your part, mr. denison." several more pieces were sung, and the newness of their position began to wear off toward evening. after this the rooms were assigned to each by the doctor, who was by common consent, recognized as captain of the ship. himself and wife occupied the largest of the sleeping apartments, a beautiful bedroom, twelve feet square. how pure, sweet, and clean they all were! the ceilings, walls, floors, and furniture, all of that marvelous metal, aluminum. rugs laid about as required were the only covering upon the floors. at six o'clock, sing announced dinner. as they repaired to the dining-room and sat in the dainty aluminum chairs about the aluminum table, set with a complete service of the same metal, they could not repress their expressions of delight. they sat with bowed heads while dr. jones invoked the divine blessing upon the food of which they were about to partake, and asked his special protection and care during the unknown perils before them. as the meal progressed, they grew quite talkative and merry. "this is high living in more senses than one," remarked fred as he finished a plate of soup. "yes," returned mrs. jones, "we have picked up a jewel of a cook." "how are you getting along, girls?" cried the genial doctor, from the lower end of the table where he sat carving the meat. "just splendidly, doctor," replied mattie, gaily. "your picnic is turning out to be a grander success than you ever could have dreamed of." "i don't know," he returned as his eye swept about the room and out of the window. "i had my ideas up pretty high, but i must admit that this rather exceeds my highest flights of imagination." "my ideal of pleasure, so far as eating goes, used to be that of sitting in a pullman dining-car, flying at the rate of forty miles an hour or more. i have spent an hour at such a table more than once, looking out of the great windows as i ate, and thought i knew all about it. but ah! i had never dined with the 'children of the skies,'" said will. and so they pleasantly chatted through the meal. mrs. jones, who sat at the other end of the table, poured the tea. "it may be imagination, but everything seems to taste better than common aboard this ship," said professor gray. "now, this tea is remarkably fragrant and delicious. it is a beverage that i do not as a rule care much for. what particular variety of tea is it?" "it is the very best quality of ceylon. i have forbidden the use of any other kind by my patients. the ceylon tea possesses little or no tannic acid, and is not nearly so deleterious to weak stomachs as other varieties. speaking of teas, i suppose that you have all heard of one brand of tea called 'gunpowder.' i could tell you a very good story about gunpowder tea if you wish to hear it." a general desire being expressed to hear it, the doctor began: "my maternal grandfather left new york state and moved to the vicinity of cleveland, ohio, in 1830. cleveland at that time was a small, unimportant lakeport and my grandfather was offered his choice between a tract of land upon what is now the most beautiful residence street in the world, euclid avenue, and a piece at what was called brighton, several miles farther from town. it speaks but little for the old gentleman's foresight, but he chose the latter, and so remained a comparatively poor man all his life, instead of becoming a millionaire. but, by dint of hard work, grandfather prospered as well as his neighbors, and was content. in course of time, a hired man became a necessary fixture upon the farm, and for many years pete wiggs, an honest, hardworking german, was grandfather's right-hand man. but pete, jewel of a farmhand though he was, possessed one serious flaw: he _would_ have a periodical spree. but, so considerate was he, that he always chose a time for his sprees when 'dere really vos notting else to do, uncle ezra,' as he assured my grandfather by way of extenuation. so it became an understood arrangement that pete was to be allowed, and expected to have, a 'blowout' every spring and fall. one spring day, the crops being all in, pete began making arrangements for one of his semi-annuals. 'now, pete,' said my grandmother, 'before you get drunk, i want you to be sure and not forget to buy me a pound of the new tea i have heard of. they call it 'gunpowder tea.' now attend to this for me before you get to drinking. 'all right, aunt lois, so i vill,' replied pete. four or five days later, pete returned as usual, semi-intoxicated, and looking very much the worse for wear. 'give me dish, aunt loish, and i gif you dot gunpowder dee. paper proke in mine bocket.' so out of his coat pocket he began to fish great handfuls of tea leaves, and a fine, black, granular substance. grandmother looked at the strange mixture critically, and concluded that the reason the tea was so called was because part of it so much resembled gunpowder. so she thanked the thoughtful dutchman most kindly, and set it away carefully. a few evenings later she invited a number of her neighbors, old cronies, to drink gunpowder tea with her. none of them had ever seen the new variety of tea, and all were there, expecting a very great treat indeed. it was soon poured out and upon the table. grandmother noticed that its color was black as ink, and she felt a thrill of anxiety run down her spinal column as she poured it into the cups. aunt joanna, my grandmother's sister, was the oracle of the settlement on social matters, and by tacit consent, all awaited until she had first tasted the new beverage. each felt that a great event was at hand, and the fate of gunpowder tea was about to be settled, once and forever, in that settlement. so aunt joanna, fully alive to a sense of her position and responsibility, with great deliberation took a generous sip of the candidate for social favor. her eyes filled with tears; she coughed furiously behind her handkerchief, and a spasm of disgust and nausea went to her very toes. then she sat straight, grim, and silent as death. each of the other old ladies went through about the same motions. and now grandmother, who had been puttering about, waiting upon her guests, noticed that something was wrong. 'well, joan, how do you like gunpowder tea?' 'taste it, lois,' was all aunt joan would condescend to reply. she complied, taking quite a generous swallow. 'oh! my stars!' she fairly screamed, 'what horrible stuff is this? waugh!' 'why, that is gunpowder tea, lois,' said aunt joan with grim sarcasm. 'beautiful, isn't it?' 'there is some awful mistake about this,' said grandmother. 'i'll see that drunken pete about it.' pete was called in. grandmother brought the box of tea out before him and said: 'pete, what is the matter with this tea? it has nearly poisoned us all to death. what is this black stuff mixed up with the tea?' the dutchman looked at it stupidly for a moment, then his mouth expanded from ear to ear, and he roared with laughter. 'dunder und blixen, aunt loish, but dot vos a goot choke on you. dot vos gunpowder dee mitout any mishtake,' and again he howled with laughter. "the long and short of the matter was, that pete had bought a pound of tea and a pound of gunpowder, and had put the two packages into the same pocket before getting drunk. during his drunken brawling and fighting the papers had become broken, with the result related." the evening was balmy and beautiful, and they promenaded about the balcony until the shades of night had set in. the twinkling lights of the towns and farmhouses began to appear. they were passing over the mountainous region of southeastern pennsylvania, and the globe had ascended to the four thousand foot level. the wind had shifted to nearly due west. "where are we now, doctor?" asked mattie. "we are crossing the southern portion of pennsylvania. we are traveling nearly due west. i shall seek a more northerly current to-morrow morning if this wind does not become more favorable by that time." they finally tired of walking and sat conversing until nearly ten o'clock, when, by general consent, they retired, except will, who remained up to keep a lookout, and to watch the barometer and thermometer. chapter viii. relating how the beautiful picnic progressed. shortly before six o'clock all arose. the doctor and his wife, at her earnest solicitation, ascended to the observatory to witness the sunrise. mattie had manifested symptoms of vertigo that morning on first looking out, and decided not to go up with them. the exertion of climbing that long flight of stairs flushed the lovely face of mrs. jones, and her cheeks were like twin roses when they reached the observatory. once there, she was glad to sit and rest. the doctor opened the windows and then sat beside her. mrs. jones sat quiet and dumb, hands clasped, looking out upon the most glorious scene her eyes had ever beheld. the sun was just peeping above the horizon. the painting of the clouds; the variegated face of the earth; the pure, balmy atmosphere; the great globe beneath their feet; the exquisitely graceful shaft that pierced the vault nearly one hundred feet above their heads, bearing our beautiful symbol of liberty; all these, combined with the inspiration that always attends looking out upon the works of god from great elevations, thrilled the souls of the two spectators as they had never been before in their lives. thus they sat in silence drinking in the beauties of the morning for nearly a quarter of an hour. approaching steps upon the stairway broke the spell, and the professor and fred stepped into the observatory. as they looked out upon the transcendent loveliness of the scene, the professor raised his hands above his head and cried: "'what is man, that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that thou visitest him? thou hast made him little lower than the angels, and crowned him with glory and honor.' you told us yesterday that you never felt so little as when you looked out from this magnificent aerie; but i declare to you, doctor, that i feel now that god has made man a wonderful being. as we go thus sailing through these roseate skies in this most splendid creation that ever came from the hands of man, i feel like crying with old elisha, 'my father! my father! the chariot of israel and the horsemen thereof.'" they sat a few minutes and then descended to the cabin. mattie, will, and denison were upon the balcony, speculating as to what city they were rapidly approaching. dr. jones looked at it through his glasses, and said: "that is columbus, the capital city of ohio. those great stone buildings you see there, inclosed by high stone walls, constitute the state prison. it contains at present, i believe, nearly three thousand convicts." "the poor things!" said mattie. "just think of the contrast between sailing so smoothly and easily as we are doing, away above the world with all its cares and sorrows, and being incarcerated within those gloomy walls, many of them for life. i am sure that if they could become 'children of the skies,' they would all reform in a short time." "no, no, mattie," replied the doctor, "god did infinitely more than that for man. he placed him in the garden of eden, and he transgressed the only restrictive law laid upon him. and he became so vile that the lord was compelled to drown them like so many rats. beautiful and inspiring though our present circumstances and surroundings are, yet they could never change the hearts of the majority of those miserable men." breakfast was now announced by sing. the bracing atmosphere of this upper region seemed to be very appetizing, for they all ate heartily. the ship was acting splendidly, continuing at nearly the same level of the day before, and but little fuel had been burned during the night. the wind had shifted to the south, and they were sailing twenty miles an hour, due north. the doctor rubbed his hands gleefully. "we're getting there now, ladies and gentlemen, we're getting there finely. nothing could be better." the sweet, happy valleys of ohio were so exceedingly beautiful; the little towns appeared so pure and lovely to the voyagers; and the people were out in such crowds, cheering them so lustily, that our friends could do little else than sit through the day and watch them through their glasses. and numerous were the dispatches they wrote and cast from the balcony. they could see the people rushing eagerly for them, as they reached the earth. "i wish we had a morning paper," sighed fred. "i do not doubt that we receive some mention in it." "that is about the only thing i have missed so far," said the professor. "but we can well afford to forego that luxury for what we are now enjoying." "and i really do wish we could attend church sunday mornings," said mattie. "oh! we will have a church service," replied denison. "i notice that the doctor has brought with him a book of sermons and a bible. then we have an organ, and the best choir i ever heard. the doctor or professor can act as parson; and, to make the thing realistic and homelike, i will pass the contribution box." "i will see that he uses a bell punch," cried fred. this suggestion was immediately rejected as unworthy of one of the children of the skies. the professor sat consulting a map. "we are heading straight for cleveland," he remarked. "i am really glad of that," said dr. jones. "that is my old native town, and i have not seen it for many years. the population has doubled several times since i left it, immediately after the war." an hour or so later, as he stood upon the balcony, the doctor suddenly shouted, "there's cleveland! and that town this side of it is berea, the great stone quarry place. do you see on the north side of the town those brick and stone buildings in a campus? that is baldwin university, where i attended school several years. you didn't dream, dear old girl," said he, tenderly and apostrophizingly to said institution of learning, "that you would ever turn out such a sky traveler as i am, did you?" all the glasses were turned upon the university. "we shall pass directly over it," said fred. "they have sighted us!" cried the doctor excitedly. "see the students pouring out of the buildings! let's give them some messages." this they did in a liberal shower. they had lowered to the five hundred foot level, so that a good view might be taken of the beautiful metropolis of ohio--cleveland. they were just about passing over it. "what a splendid city it has grown to be," said professor gray. "yes, indeed," replied dr. jones. "that portion of the city," continued he, pointing with his finger, "was formerly called brooklyn center. i was born a mile or so from there. yes!" he cried, looking earnestly through his glass, "i am quite sure that i can see the old two-story farmhouse where i was born. it is, sure as shooting! there is grandfather's farm where the 'gunpowder tea' party was held that i told you of. and off here are the heights, or south cleveland. in 1862, when i joined the army, that was camp cleveland. it was then covered with rough wooden barracks, but now you see that it is densely built up with houses. my regiment, the 124th o.v.i. was in camp there three months before we went south." "you must have been a very small soldier at that time," said mattie. "yes," he replied, "i was but fifteen years old at that time. i didn't do much good or harm, for i was but a snare drummer the first two years of my soldiering, and the last year i was detailed as mounted orderly at brigade headquarters. but just see the people! give them some messages! we shall be out of 'yankee doodle' land very soon." so the half million (more or less) of clevelanders were treated to a shower of greetings. "if i had thought sooner, i would have dropped anchor here and given my old townies a handshake," said the doctor. "too late now, doctor. we have passed the principal portion of the city, and will be above lake erie in two or three minutes." "yes, yes, i see," sighed the doctor. "but we may see you again. good-bye, cleveland." the blue water of lake erie was now rolling beneath them. steamers and sail vessels thickly dotted the face of the beautiful lake; for the traffic and travel upon these great inland seas are exceedingly large. the canadian shores were visible, and when sing announced dinner, the splendid domain of her majesty victoria, ontario, lay widespread before them. it was hard to realize that they were not still in their own land, so much like it did the peaceful towns, villages, and farms appear. after dinner, the five men, in the little smoking-room, lighted their pipes and cigars, and entered into a general chat. "if this wind holds, we shall be in the arctics in two or three days," said will. "i suppose that we shall then be obliged to get out our furs," replied fred. "no," returned the architect. "these walls are double as well as the floor, with air chambers between, and i can turn hot air into them at pleasure. the windows and doors are all double, also, and jack frost can never penetrate this cabin." "what a contrast between this luxurious sail through the sky, and the buffetings upon sea and land, the hunger, cold, and oftentimes death, suffered by former arctic explorers," said the professor. "and, doctor," he continued, "if we make a successful trip, the matter of aerial navigation will have been settled. what a power this ship would have been in the late war of the rebellion." "the war would have been very quickly terminated if our globe had been in existence at that time," returned dr. jones. "we could have sailed above the reach of their best guns and dropped bombs upon them that would have destroyed their forts, gunboats, and armies at will. but i am glad things were as they were. we fought a fair fight to the finish, and settled forever the question of human slavery in america. had the first few battles of the war been won by the north, the south might have laid down their arms, and have been permitted to retain their institution of slavery. when lincoln issued his emancipation proclamation, i remember that even we soldiers in the field received the news with a sort of shock, and thought our president over-bold. we had not thought of that extreme measure as a result of the war. we were simply out to preserve the union." "and right well you did it, doctor," said denison. "i have always noticed in reading the history of that war, that in the latter part of it you fought with much greater skill and judgment than you did in the first year or two." "that is quite true, and nothing more than what might have been expected," replied dr. jones. "it is marvelous what we accomplished with an absolutely empty treasury, no credit, no standing army to speak of, and our little navy scattered to the four ends of the earth. the vast, splendidly drilled armies which we brought into existence as if by magic, were the wonder of the world. we had everything to learn, both north and south, in the matter of logistics. long lines of communications had to be kept open, and such splendid raiders as john morgan, forest, mosby, etc., were not slow to break them frequently, so that i remember going to bed supperless many times after a hard day's march, because our rations had been captured and burned. our wagon trains were something immense, while the big bell tents were in use; but after what were called by the boys 'pup tents,' or 'dog tents,' were introduced, the wagon trains were cut down at least three-fourths. for the pup tents we carried upon our backs, and so dispensed with the great bell tents that were hauled in wagons. our trains had been so large and cumbersome that military movements were inconceivably slow, and the war could never have been fought to a successful issue by the north on those lines." "i suppose, doctor, that you were in some of the great battles?" asked fred. "yes, i was in the battles of chickamauga, missionary ridge, through the atlantic campaign; then under general geo. h. thomas we marched back into tennessee, fought a desperate battle at franklin, and a few weeks later annihilated the army at nashville. while we were doing this, sherman was making his renowned march to the sea. but i'll spin you some of my experiences before we get back home. let's join the ladies." "i should never tire hearing your war stories," said fred. "yes; and you would be the first one to go to sleep if i should tell you of the battle of chickamauga or missionary ridge." this fred stoutly denied. "all right," said the doctor. "i'll test you one of these evenings." "the sooner the better," replied fred. "and now let's have some music." they sang several anthems and choruses, and all retired at an early hour, except denison, who stood watch. chapter ix. in the heart of labrador. the central room of the cabin was called the 'engine room.' it was fifteen feet square, with a hole three feet in diameter in one corner, now securely covered. it was used for lowering or hoisting objects through while the globe was at anchor. an aluminum frame or cage, attached to a windlass by a chain of the same material, was used for this purpose. a powerful coil steel spring operated the windlass. in each of the other corners of the room were anchors of aluminum, also attached to windlasses and worked by steel springs. there was a dynamo that afforded abundance of light for the ship. this, too, was run by spring power. the rooms of the cabin were brilliantly lighted, and the spiral stairway, from the foot of the mast which stood upon the center of the floor of the engine-room, was illuminated by several lights, up to the observatory itself. at the top, or ball of the mast, was a light of thirty-two hundred candle power. altogether, the ship must have been at night an object of terrific splendor to the observer below. will was the originator of the steel-springs motor idea, and he daily attended to winding them with great faithfulness and pride. and it was a most invaluable adjunct to the comfort and success of the expedition, as will be seen before the end of this history is reached. at daylight, on the following morning, all were up and looking out upon wild canadian forests. here and there were small towns and settlements, but they realized that they were fast hastening beyond the pale of civilization. the wind had moved during the night into the southwest, and the professor informed them that they were sailing at the rate of more than thirty miles an hour. "if this wind will only continue, we shall not be long reaching our destination," said the doctor. "while i am enjoying the trip splendidly, yet i am anxious to reach the pole as soon as possible. after that we will start on a general sightseeing tour. but until i have planted our aluminum shaft exactly upon the north end of the earth's axis, sightseeing is but incidental and secondary." all day they skimmed like a frigate bird across the face of canada, at an altitude of about two thousand feet. all were delighted with the behavior of the ship. her capacity for floating and retaining heat far exceeded their most sanguine expectations. it was interesting to watch the fast changing appearance of the country, and they could note that the timber was rapidly growing smaller. clearings and settlements became more and more rare, and as the day closed they were looking upon primitive, unbroken forests, known only to hunters, both white and red. another night passed without incident. the wind held all night in the same quarter. on the following morning the beautiful ship was enveloped in a dense fog. "we are in the midst of a great cloud," said professor gray. "i think we will rise a few hundred feet and see if we can get out of it," replied dr. jones. the temperature within the globe was raised a few degrees, and the ship rapidly rose to twenty-five hundred feet altitude. this carried them high above the clouds, and it was with new and strange sensations that our aerial navigators looked down upon the dense cloud that obscured the face of the earth from their view. the sun, meantime, was shining with what seemed to them greatly increased splendor in this super-cloud region. "well, girls," cried the doctor, "i am for some exercise. who will mount with me to the observatory?" they each assented, and a few moments later were sitting in that elevated place, very warm and breathless from the unwonted exercise of the long climb. this was mattie's first visit to the observatory, and her eyes dilated with terror as she looked over the rolling sides of the massive globe. "o, doctor, doctor! isn't this perfectly awful! think of what the very slightest mistake or mishap would do. we should go flying down through those clouds, and be dashed to pieces in those uninhabited canadian forests. and i suppose that our friends would never hear of us again. "tut, tut, mattie. cheer up, little girl," said the doctor, very soothingly, and patting her head with his steady, strong hand. "no mishap is possible. we cannot explode, collapse, burn, collide, nor capsize. no enterprise ever entered upon by man possessed so much of interest and importance, and was attended by so little of the element of danger. you were never safer in your life than you are at this moment. think of it! here we are above the clouds, the world with all its care and heartaches shut out, basking in this glorious sunlight, sailing on in this clear, bracing, microbeless atmosphere. the clouds beneath our feet, the sun above our heads, and god's empyrean all about us. what can be more inspiring and grand? how does the chorus of that old hymn run? 'let us look above the clouds, above the clouds, above the clouds; up above the stormy clouds to fairer worlds on high.'" the doctor sang this simple chorus in his great sonorous voice that rang out over the clouds like a bugle blast. "well, i declare doctor, you will not let me get into a real good fright," cried mattie, smiling through eyes filled with tears. "no, indeed, i will not, mattie. the only fear i have now is that we may keep breakfast waiting. let's descend." the forenoon passed away very uneventfully. about the middle of the afternoon they were treated to a splendid spectacle. a terrific thunder storm raged beneath them; and as they looked below into the inky depths of the thunder clouds, pierced and riven by jagged lightnings, followed by deafening bellowings and crashings of thunder, and then cast their eyes up to the sun shining in full-orbed splendor over all, they realized as never before the presence and majesty of omnipotence. at four o'clock, p.m. the storm clouds cleared away, and the bleak, uninviting face of labrador was plainly visible. the ship had settled to an altitude of fifteen hundred feet, and was moving northeasterly at the rate of thirty miles an hour. "isn't that a settlement i see ahead a few miles?" asked will. the doctor and professor gray decided that it must be a fort or trading post. the ship, meantime, was lowering quite rapidly, and was but eight hundred feet above the earth. "i have a mind to drop anchor at that fort for the night," said dr. jones. "some fresh meat, especially game and fish, would not be at all bad to take. what do you all say?" a general desire was expressed to do so. they could see that the inhabitants of the place were greatly excited, and were running to and fro. the globe was lowered to within three hundred feet of the earth. as they neared the spot, two of the anchors were dropped, and soon caught in the birch tree tops. the ship strained tremendously at the cables for a moment or two, and then rode easily at anchorage, three hundred feet above the buildings. "fort ahoy!" shouted the doctor. "ahoy!" replied a hoarse voice. "what fort is this?" "this is not a fort, but constance house." "well, we are a party bound for the north pole, and we wish to buy some provisions." "all right. come down, and we will do the best we can for you. but i think you have scared everybody on the place about to death." the spring power was turned on, and the windlasses drew the globe to within one hundred feet of the earth. then the doctor and denison descended in the cage. they met a splendidly built, large man, dressed in a semi-arctic suit of woolens and furs. the two voyagers introduced themselves, explained their business, and they were received very cordially by this man, john barton, the proprietor and owner of constance house. he invited the whole company to descend and make themselves at home as long as they desired to remain. so two by two they descended, sing also joining the group below. the anchors were lashed to the trunks of the trees to prevent accidents from sudden gusts of wind. they found constance house to be a large one-story stone building, which served for both residence and storeroom. one-half of it was devoted to the storage of provisions, clothing, and such other goods as are required by hunters and trappers. these mr. barton exchanged for furs with said hunters and trappers. hunting, trapping, and fishing constituted the sole business of the simple-minded inhabitants. here they are born, live, die contentedly, knowing little of and caring nothing about the great world which the most of us are so anxious to possess. barton's family consisted of a wife, two strapping sons, who were hunters and trappers, and a daughter. the daughter's name was jennie, aged eighteen. she was a strong, healthy, beautiful girl. nothing could exceed the loveliness of her skin, the whiteness of her even teeth, or the graceful shapeliness of her form. mrs. jones and mattie were immediately drawn to her. she met their advances freely and frankly, though her manners showed at once that she was not accustomed to such society. but she was so unaffectedly sweet and pure that the two ladies loved her all the better for her unsophistication. mrs. barton was an invalid, and they did not see her that evening. after a bountiful supper the whole party drew up to a vast fireplace. in it roared a huge fire, for the night was very cold and frosty. for a time the air-ship and the object of their voyage was discussed. the admiration of barton and the inhabitants of constance house for the globe was unbounded. the wind had lulled away to a very gentle breeze, and the superlatively splendid globe hung above them so majestically, and glistened so beautifully in the moonlight, that it is not wonderful that these people, who saw and knew so little of the outside world, should be struck dumb with wonder and astonishment as they looked upon it. "i must say," said barton, "that i never experienced such sensations in my life as i did when your ship hove in sight. i have been mate of some good ships in my time, and have traveled over a good portion of the earth. i have seen many strange sights on land and sea, but this beats them all by so much that i shall never mention them again. and you are going to make the north pole beyond a peradventure. nothing could please me so well as to make one of your party. but my poor, poor wife!" he dropped his face into his hands, and tears trickled down upon his massive grey beard. the two sons and jennie also participated in their father's grief. "what is the matter with your wife?" asked mrs. jones, very gently. "perhaps dr. jones might do something for her." "no, no, madam; her case is a hopeless one. i took her down to montreal last year, and the best medical men there were consulted. they could do absolutely nothing for her, and i have brought her home to die. i wanted to stay there with her, where she could have more of the comforts of life, but she preferred to come back to constance house." "while i know nothing of the nature of your wife's disease, yet i will say that i have cured many cases of so-called incurables. it is not that i know more of the nature of disease than the average physician, but i use drugs that they know nothing of, will not investigate, look at, nor even touch with the longest of tongs," said dr. jones. "but, doctor, my wife's case is cancer. they showed me the latest and best authorities, and they invariably gave what they called an 'unfavorable prognosis.' you would not undertake to say that this fearful disease is curable, would you?" cried barton, very earnestly. the doctor saw that he had a very intelligent and well-informed man to deal with. he had conceived a liking for the grand old man, and desired, with all his good and kindly heart, to help this noble family in its distress and isolation from the civilized world. so he said slowly and impressively: "mr. barton, i came to you this afternoon like a messenger from the skies. the way in which i came, and the ship in which i sailed, ought to entitle my word to some weight with you. now i am going to say this: i have cured cancers, and believe that a large percentage of them are curable. i would like to see your wife, and if i can do anything for her, i shall be glad to do it." "i thank you, dr. jones, with all my heart. come right in with me," and barton led the way to his wife's room. half an hour later the doctor came from the sick room, went out, jumped into the cage and mounted to the globe. he returned in a few moments and said: "i have here medicine, mr. barton, that is certain to do your wife a great amount of good. and i am quite positive that it will work a perfect cure. her symptoms point so unmistakably and pronouncedly to a certain remedy that i feel safe in assuring you of immediate relief. i shall be much surprised if you do not see less pain, burning, restlessness, thirst--in short, a decidedly better night than she has known for months." constance house was not prepared with sleeping accommodations for so large a company of visitors, and at ten o'clock they mounted to the ship for the night. at seven o'clock on the following morning they all descended again and partook of the substantial breakfast prepared for them by jennie, with the help of a half-breed indian girl. the surprise and delight of the family was immeasurable at the palliative effects of dr. jones' medicine. mrs. barton had rested quite comfortably nearly all night, a thing that she had not done in many months. barton grasped the doctor's hand when he first appeared in the morning, and could not speak for emotion. "that is all right, mr. barton; just what i expected." "doctor, you have inspired me with a degree of hope that i never expected to know again. do you really think you can cure her?" "mr. barton, i will just reiterate what i said to you last night: i have seen some astonishing cures done by the remedy indicated by the symptoms, and in what we call a 'high potency.' i cannot stop to explain all this to you, but you can rest assured that it is the only help or hope for your wife. anxious though i am to be off toward our destination, yet i am going to stop over and study your wife's symptoms more closely, and leave you medicines with written directions as to their use." the joy of the barton family was unbounded at this announcement of the benevolent doctor. after breakfast, denison, fred, and will decided to accompany the barton boys up the river that flowed near constance house, visiting their traps. "what game do you have in this country?" asked denison. "we have reindeer, bear, wolves, foxes, hare, marten, otter, and in the spring and summer we have an abundance of geese, ducks, etc.," replied joe, the elder of the boys. sam was the younger of the brothers, and they were aged twenty-three and twenty-one years respectively. the voyagers were surprised at the correctness of their speech and other indications of education. "our mother is an educated woman, and has taken great pains with our education," said sam in reply to a remark of denison upon the subject. "and she has done as much for father. our long winter nights we always spend in reading, music, and sometimes in such games as chess, backgammon, drafts, etc. mother is a most splendid mathematician. she is also quite a linguist. but i am afraid that mother's days of teaching are over in this world. dr. jones is exceedingly kind, but do you really think that he has any hopes of curing her?" and the two sons looked anxiously into denison's face as they awaited his reply. "well," replied denison slowly, as if carefully weighing his words, "i have known dr. jones more than twenty years very intimately, and i tell you candidly that you may rely implicitly upon his word. he is a physician of remarkable skill, and to my positive knowledge has cured several cases of cancer that had been, like your mother's, given up as incurable. so i should hope a great deal if he gives you encouragement." "god is good, and has heard our prayers," said sam. while this party spent the day until the middle of the afternoon paddling from trap to trap, capturing three otters, and catching several dozen beautiful trout and black bass, the doctor and the professor ascended with mr. barton to the ship. as he passed through the elegant rooms of the cabin, and saw the wonderful degree of comfort, and even luxury, that our voyagers were enjoying, he cried out, like the queen of sheba, "the half was never told!" and the wonderful metal of which everything was composed where practicable--aluminum--excited his special interest. "without this metal you could never have made the trip," he declared. but when he had mounted the spiral stairway, and was standing in the observatory, for some time he was speechless. as his eye ran up the shining mast, then off over the glistening sides of the globe to the earth, three hundred feet below, then away over the trackless wastes of labrador, he finally exclaimed, "this, gentlemen, is too wonderful for me. i cannot give expression to my feelings. if you had told me that you were visitors from venus or mars, i should be obliged to believe you." and so they sat and discussed for an hour or more the object of the expedition, and the probability of success. all agreed that, so far as human thought and judgment could foresee, failure was hardly possible. they descended to the cabin. the aluminum mast especially attracted the attention of the old sailor. "and you intend erecting this magnificent spar at the north pole!" he exclaimed, all his sailor instincts thoroughly aroused. "how do you intend to manage that business, doctor?" "we shall be governed in that matter entirely by circumstances," replied dr. jones. "i do not know what we may find there, and so cannot say exactly what we may have to do. but i shall consider the trip a partial failure if i do not leave this stately shaft, exactly to the quarter of an inch, standing at the north pole, with that aluminum flag flying at its peak, there to float till time shall be no more." "well, doctor, i am a thoroughbred british subject, and can't help wishing that it was the union jack that you were going to leave there; but you deserve all the honor of the occasion, and i am glad to bid you godspeed," said barton heartily. "thank you," replied dr. jones, "now let us go down and see further about your wife's case. i must be off to-morrow morning, bright and early." the doctor and barton repaired to the sick chamber. after nearly an hour they left the house, walked down to the river bank, and talked long and earnestly concerning the treatment of mrs. barton. "i will tell you just what i am doing for your wife, and the grounds i have for hope. i think, under the circumstances, that an exposã© of the rationale of my treatment is due you, for two reasons, first, because i desire to give you a reason for the hope that is within me, and so make you as happy and comfortable as possible by filling you up with a lively faith; secondly, because i delight in instructing intelligent people in what i conceive to be the only rational and scientific system of medicine known to man. "in this pocket-case book, you will observe that i have taken mrs. barton's symptoms very carefully and minutely: "1. a fearful and apprehensive state of mind. she cannot tolerate being left alone. "2. intolerable thirst for cold water. drinks often, and but a sip or two at a time. "3. the pains are very sharp, lancinating, and burning. "4. she is always worse at night, from twelve o'clock until two or three, a.m. the pains then are intolerable, and burning like red-hot iron, so that you are obliged to hold her in your arms to prevent her doing herself injury. "5. great restlessness. "6. skin yellow, or straw-colored, dry and wrinkled. "7. very emaciated and weak. "there are quite a number of other symptoms of less importance, but all are found under but one drug in all the earth, and that drug is arsenic. do not be alarmed at the name, for the doses i give are absolutely immaterial and can do no harm. but they do possess a curative power that is truly miraculous and past the comprehension of man. what gives me greater hope and confidence in your wife's case is the fact that she has never been under the surgeon's knife. operations for cancer not only do no good whatever, but they reduce the patient's chances of cure, so that after the second or third one the case is rendered absolutely incurable. and another thing greatly in her favor is that she has taken but little medicine, and so i have been able to get a clear picture of the case. and i must strictly forbid the use of any drugs whatever, internally or externally, except what i give you." "but, doctor, the terrible odor!" said barton, "must i not use the disinfectant as i have been doing?" "no; nothing but washing with warm castile soap-suds, two or three times daily. the odor will all disappear within a few days." "well, that is astonishing! and is arsenic the remedy for all cases of cancer?" "not by any manner of means. that is the great mistake of the medical world in all ages. they are continually on the lookout for specifics, or medicines that cure all cases of any given disease, irrespective of symptoms. every case must be taken upon its individual merits, and differentiated upon symptomatology alone. and a drug must be prescribed that is indicated by the symptoms. anything more or less than this is unscientific, and a contrariety to one of god's most beautiful and universal laws--'similia similibus curanter,'--'like cures like.' that is to say, arsenic is the remedy for your wife, because, when taken in material doses, it always produces symptoms identical with those manifested in her case. hence i meet them with immaterial doses of that drug. had her symptoms been different, then i should have been obliged to seek and find, if possible, a drug capable of causing this different set of symptoms, whatever they might have been. now this rule of law holds good throughout all the field of medicine, except that which is purely surgical. do you catch the idea?" "i do, doctor, i do; and i declare that it looks very reasonable as you put it. i like the theory, and if it always holds good in practice, then it is certainly one of the most beneficent of god's laws." "thousands of times, barton, in an active practice of more than twenty-five years, i have tested this law; and i tell you, as an honest man, and one who expects to answer for the deeds done in the body at the bar of god, that it never failed me once. i have failed many times because i could not read aright the symptoms of the case; or when it was an incurable affair, rendered so by drugs and surgery," said dr. jones with great earnestness. "but come, i have given you quite a medical lecture. let's look up the girls and see what they are about." chapter x. a messenger from the skies. mrs. jones and mattie had found jennie to be a lovely, intelligent, and more than ordinarily educated girl. while unused to society, yet there was an honest straightforwardness about her that was very charming. the two ladies became easily intimately acquainted with her. her whole soul was devoted to her mother, and the hope that dr. jones had inspired shone from her eyes. she became quite cheerful and merry. and the effect upon the poor invalid was not less visible. she insisted upon sitting in her easy chair by the fireplace, and joined in the conversation. sing, meantime, had installed himself as the presiding genius of the kitchen, and he and the half-breed indian girl were getting along famously together. "how long have you lived in this place, mrs. barton?" asked mrs. jones. "twenty-three years," replied she. "well, have you not found it a very monotonous existence?" "i did at first; but as my children were born, my mind and heart were so taken up by them that time did not hang heavily upon our hands. i really believe that we are much happier than the majority of people in the towns and cities." "o, if mother can but get well, it seems to me that i shall never be discontented again in constance house!" exclaimed jennie, her eyes filling with tears. "my poor girl does long sometimes to see the great world," said mrs. barton, stroking the head of jennie, who was sitting upon a stool at her feet. "well, my dear girl, i believe that god, in his infinite mercy, has sent us help directly from the skies; for i must say that last night, as i lay the first time for many weary months free from pain and awful burning and restlessness, that i thanked god as i had never done before; and my faith went out to him so that i felt a great peace settle upon me. he has blessed the means being used. i shall recover, my darling girl." jennie, in a paroxysm of joy, threw herself at her mother's feet, and buried her face in her lap, weeping as she had never done in her life. at this juncture the doctor, professor gray, and mr. barton entered the room. "tut, tut," said the doctor, seeing the tears streaming down the faces of the four women, "what sort of business is this? you ought to all be laughing instead of crying. there is nothing to cry about, i assure you." "doctor," said mrs. barton, extending her hand to him, "you do not understand. we are rejoicing, and this is just our poor woman's way of doing it." "i see, i see," said the jovial doctor. "well, now wipe away your tears, and give god all glory. he has sent me, a poor weak mortal, simply as a messenger to administer that which will save you from a loathsome disease and death. all glory be unto him." he then began singing softly and reverently, the others joining: "god moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform, he plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm. deep in unfathomable mines of never failing skill, he treasures up his bright designs. and works his sovereign will. ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy, and shall break in blessings on your head." "and now, mrs. barton, you must come out and see the chariot in which the lord sent us," cried dr. jones gayly. the poor invalid stood in the door and looked up at the great globe that shimmered and glistened like burnished silver in the rays of the setting sun. how proudly and serenely it rode above their heads as if conscious of its own unparalleled beauty, and its blessed mission in this present instance. she gazed upon it a few moments in speechless rapture, her poor emaciated hands clasped upon her breast. "this is too marvelous for me," she cried. "what am i that god should send deliverance to me in so glorious and majestic a ship of the skies! i am lost in wonder and praise. glory be to his holy name forever and forever." "amen!" responded the listeners fervently. the canoe party returned at four o'clock, p.m. all were tired and ready to sit about the generous fire; for evening was at hand, and the air was already sharp and frosty. "and how did it happen, mr. barton, that you came to settle away up in this barren wilderness?" asked professor gray. "i do not know that i know myself," returned mr. barton. "i was taken sick at a boarding-house in montreal, and was sent to a hospital. i was at that time master of the bark twilight, a liverpool craft. mrs. barton was then a beautiful girl--don't blush so, mrs. barton. jennie there is a perfect reproduction of you as i first saw you, and i should not be ashamed of our jennie anywhere on earth. well, as i was saying, mrs. barton, named at that time miss constance schmidt, the daughter of a moravian missionary, visited the hospital frequently as an angel of mercy. so far as i was concerned it was a case of love at first sight. she nursed me back to health; and, with the usual ingratitude of man, i married her for her pains. i then gave up the sea after a trip or two, and settled in montreal. but i could not get used to, nor like the conventionalities of city life. so i made a trip into these wilds. i saw an opportunity to do a good business in furs; and so, with wife's consent, we settled on this spot. i built this house, which i named in honor of my wife--constance. i have done fairly well financially, and i am sure that we have been quite happy and contented. until mrs. barton's illness, i was without a care or worry in the world." "but don't you find the winters very long and terribly cold?" asked fred. "on the contrary, we enjoy our winters very much. to be sure, the thermometer runs from thirty to fifty degrees below zero; but if the wind does not blow, we suffer very little from it." "what do you do to pass the time?" asked will. "the boys, when the weather is favorable, trap and hunt. i am getting a little too old and heavy for much of that; so i attend to the chores about the place, trade goods for furs to the hunters and esquimaux. our evenings are passed in reading, one often reading aloud to the rest of us. and we have a great deal of music. joe plays the violin, sam the flute, and jennie the guitar or dulcimer." "by the way," cried fred, "let's have a musical soiree to-night. what do you all say?" this proposition was enthusiastically received. "come, will, let's run up and get the organ. will you go up?" addressing joe and sam. "go up, my sons, and see this alladin's palace," said mr. barton. "you will never see its like again." in half an hour they returned. the young bartons were wildly enthusiastic in their praises of the globe. "jennie, you must not fail to see the wonderful air-ship," cried joe. mattie, jennie, will and fred visited the globe, returning just in time for a splendid supper prepared by the skillful celestial, sing. all that the larders of both constance house and the globe afforded had been drawn upon, and it is doubtful if in all inhospitable labrador a more elaborate and bountiful table was ever spread. the doctor, at mr. barton's request, asked the divine blessing, and all fell to and ate with an appetite that is known only to those of clear consciences and sound digestive organs. having done justice to the really splendid meal, they repaired to the sitting room. the beautiful aluminum organ graced the center of the apartment, and the musicians gathered about it. fred was surprised and delighted to find that the young bartons were all really accomplished musicians, and their instruments blended in sweetest harmony. so they played a number of orchestral pieces that were received with great applause by the audience. then solos, duets, trios, quartettes, choruses, etc., were sung, and it is not probable that the barton family ever spent so delightful an evening in their lives. and let us just contemplate the scene for a moment. how happy, joyous, and innocent they were, just as god intended his children to be. two days before, this lovely family had been in the depths of despair, day by day watching a beloved wife and mother dying by inches of a painful, lingering, loathsome disease. not a sound of music had been heard in the house for many days. the violin, guitar, and dulcimer had lain utterly neglected and unstrung. now a change has occurred that must have delighted the angels of god. through the unselfishness, skill, and noble-heartedness of one man, has come so unexpectedly, as if dropped from the very skies, in the heart of one of the most inhospitable portions of the earth, sweet hope and deliverance. what wonder that their hearts are light and merry? one thought only mars their pleasure: to-morrow morning the children of the skies will sail away in their glorious sky-ship, probably never to return. at ten o'clock the company broke up, the ship company ascending, as before to their staterooms. barton would not hear to anything else than that they should descend in the morning for the last time. how sad these earthly partings are. it will not be so in that better land. chapter xi. is the world growing better? before daylight on the following morning they descended to breakfast. mrs. barton had enjoyed a comfortable night, and dr. jones expressed himself as delighted with her condition. "you have everything to hope for," he said to the family. "i leave you this medicine, with written directions for its use. do not repeat the dose i have given her so long as improvement continues. when it ceases you will do as directed in my written instructions." the hour of departure had arrived. farewells had all been said, and the company had ascended except the doctor and his wife. "i cannot say what i wish to you," said barton, taking each of them by the hand. "i simply look upon you as messengers from god, and i want to give you something more substantial than thanks." he placed a buckskin sack of gold in the hand of dr. jones. "oh! no, mr. barton, my good friend," said the doctor, handing it back; "i won't take a cent. you are ten thousand times welcome to anything i have done. i feel myself richly remunerated in the satisfaction of leaving you all happy." "take it, mrs. jones, as a present from me," said barton, and he pressed it into her hand. "you will really hurt me if you do not accept it." "then i will do so, mr. barton. good-bye," and away they shot up to the cabin. at a given signal joe and sam cast the anchors off, they whizzed up to the engine-room, and the mighty ball bounded skyward like a bird in the clear, frosty morning air. a very brisk wind was blowing from nearly due south, and the voyagers were delighted with the progress they made that day toward their destination. all day they sped at more than forty miles an hour over the vast elevated plains that were but barren wastes, growing every hour drearier and more desolate. "of all the misnomers on earth, the name given this country ranks first," said professor gray. "what is the meaning of the word 'labrador,' professor?" asked denison. "the literal meaning of the word is 'cultivable land.' as to its appropriateness, you can judge for yourselves. i do not know who bestowed upon it this misfit of a name, but it must have been a hardy explorer, who did it in a fit of spleen and wretchedness." "the barton family seems to be comfortable and happy in poor old labrador," said mrs. jones. "yes, but my dear madame, they do not live by cultivating the land," returned the professor. "the seasons are too variable, and the changes of temperature are far too sudden to permit raising of crops of any kind." "mr. barton told me that they did raise a little garden stuff, such as onions, lettuce, and radishes; but potatoes, corn, etc., invariably are nipped by frost, and never mature," said denison. the professor, a few moments before noon, ascended to the observatory with sextant and chronometer, and determined the latitude and longitude of "silver cloud," as mrs. jones had named the aluminum ship. he made the entry in his logbook. "there is our exact position now, doctor," and he placed the point of a pencil on the map of labrador. "in forty-eight hours we will be within the arctics at this rate of speed," cried dr. jones, rubbing his hands with delight. the face of the country was so uninteresting and monotonous, covered more or less with snow, that the voyagers became tired of looking at it, and turned their attention to various pursuits within the cabin. becoming tired of music, they read, played games, conversed, etc. the doctor and professor were each expert chess players, and their games were long and closely contested. victory perched about as often upon the banner of one as the other. fred worked daily upon a composition which he entitled "the north pole march," and declared that the music should be played by himself, while the rest of the company marched around the aluminum flagstaff, after its erection at the summit of the earth, the north pole. the two ladies were greatly interested in fred's composition, and hummed and sang it with him, offering suggestions here and there that were of more or less benefit to him. denison and will spent their time attending to the springs, watching the thermometers and barometer. this, however, occupied but little of their leisure, and they played many games of checkers and backgammon. will took an occasional snapshot with his camera when he saw anything of interest. he had taken some excellent photographs of silver cloud and company, which he had left with the barton family. who can doubt that they were an unfailing source of delight and tender remembrance to this intelligent and interesting family, as they sat about their great fireplace during the long winter nights. and the artist had taken some sketches of constance house and inhabitants, which he had brought with him. he had converted one of the spare bedrooms into a studio, and spent an hour or two daily upon a portrait in oil of jennie barton. the fact of the matter is, the unadorned beauty and grace of the lovely jennie had touched his artistic taste beyond anything that he had ever experienced in his life. and away deep in his heart, almost unknown to himself, was a determination to spend a summer season at constance house, as soon after their return from the pole as possible. silver cloud all this time was hastening with the speed of a carrier pigeon, nearly due north. dr. jones and professor gray could not repress their satisfaction each day as their observations showed them to be moving straight as an arrow toward the object of their journey. the altitude they maintained was very little more or less than three thousand feet, and the wind continued from the south at the rate of twenty or thirty miles per hour. the outside temperature was balmy and bracing during the day, so that the balcony afforded them a splendid promenade, where they spent hours daily, exercising in walking round and round the spacious cabin, and studying the topography of the country. frequent trips were also made to the observatory, and sitting there with the windows open was very inspiring, as well as comfortable. to thus sit in so elevated a place with the windows wide open, while in a state of perspiration, the result of climbing the long stairway, would seem to have been the height of imprudence. but we must remember that such a thing as a breeze or draft of air was never felt on board the silver cloud while in motion. the great ship went exactly with the wind, and at precisely the same rate of speed. so, whether the wind blew one or a hundred miles an hour, it was always a dead calm aboard the silver cloud. "this is the ideal place for all catarrhal and pulmonary cases," declared dr. jones. "i shall always prescribe a trip in silver cloud for this class of patients hereafter." "i fully believe in its efficacy," said professor gray. "but i fear that it will be too expensive a prescription for many of your poor patients." "that's the trouble, that's the trouble," assented the doctor, shaking his head sadly. "millions are yearly dying that might be saved by this and other means on the same line. but the blindness and selfishness of mankind is so absolute and infernal that but little philanthropic work of this sort can be done. there are some noble exceptions, or we should have suffered the fate of sodom and gomorrah long since." "but, doctor, you believe that the world is getting better, do you not?" asked will. "in what way?" "well, in every way. no one can doubt that in the arts and sciences more has been done in the past fifty years than in all the previous history of the world." "granted," assented the doctor. "all right. then let us look at the social, moral, and spiritual sides of the question. socially, certainly, no period of history can compare with the present. we are educating our children, feeding and clothing them better than they ever were before in the world." "i really think we are," again assented dr. jones. "well, then," cried will, glowing with triumph, thinking that he was fairly smoking the little doctor out, "what can you say for _your_ side of the question? was there ever a time when life and property were so protected as now? and were there ever so many bibles and tracts and other religious matter published and disseminated as at the present time? missionaries are going by thousands all over the earth, and the gospel will soon have been preached to all nations." "that's so, that's so," concurred the doctor again. "come, come, doctor; defend your side of the question," cried fred. "i did not know that i had committed myself to either side," returned he. "but i will say this much: while i am not pessimistic as to the outcome of this struggle going on between god's and satan's forces in the world, yet we should not overlook the fact that the devil is fearfully active in these times. while i have admitted all that will has said, yet there is another side to the question. let me call your attention to the fact that there never was a time when there was so much rum and tobacco used in the world as to-day. the amount consumed per capita is increasing tremendously. remember that with every missionary there are sent in the same ship from seventy-five to one hundred gallons of intoxicants, and tobacco galore. never has this world seen so vast preparation for war. the people of all europe are groaning beneath the taxation imposed upon them for the support of vast armies and navies. at no time has money been piled up in the hands of the few as at the present. hundreds of millions in many instances are held by a single individual. by no sort of philosophy can he be entitled to it, and by no system can he come into possession of it without robbing thousands of his fellowmen. and as to inventions: surely no man delights more in the splendid achievements of our age in this direction than i do. but i declare to you that i believe labor-saving machinery to be a mighty curse to mankind, because the laborer is being driven closer and closer to the wall by the innumerable inventions that are driving him out of every field of labor. the great money kings are taking advantage of every such invention, and what the end is to be i do not dare predict. ignatius donnely's fearful picture in his work, caeser's column, i hope and believe to be terribly overdrawn. and, as i said before, i am not pessimistic as to the final outcome; but let us beware of crying 'peace! peace! when there is no peace!' the fact is, gentlemen, i cannot help thinking that st. james referred to these very times, when he said in the fifth chapter of his epistle: "go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for the miseries that shall come upon you. your riches are corrupted and your garments are moth-eaten. your gold and silver is cankered; and the rust of them shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. ye have heaped up treasure together for the last days. behold, the hire of the laborers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth: and the cries of them who have reaped are entered into the ears of the lord of sabbaoth." see james, 5-4. i cannot, in the light of these prophecies, see that the world is growing essentially better rapidly, if at all." "but, doctor," said will, "you cannot deny that the children of these times are incomparably better clothed, have more and better books, live in more comfortable homes, and are enjoying privileges never known to children of former generations." "while i must assent to what you have said, yet all these advantages are not unmixed blessings. in my experience as a physician, i have seen very many precious lives go out, simply because they could not endure the high pressure system of our modern educators. i feel so strongly upon this subject that i would prefer that a child of mine should live and die absolutely illiterate, than that he should sacrifice one particle of health for any conceivable amount of mere book-learning. i once had an uncle who was a man of wonderful learning. he was a collegian, a master of half a dozen or more languages, and for all this he paid the price of his good health. all his life, he suffered the pangs of an outraged stomach and nervous system. he could never make any use of his splendidly cultivated brain, and was a miserable, unhappy burden to himself and friends to the end of his life. his end was sad, tinged with the element of ridiculousness. he was sitting in a field one day, resting during a short walk, when a great vicious hog attacked him, tossed him about, rooted him here and there, and would have certainly killed him outright if his cries had not brought assistance. he never recovered from the effects of the injuries received on that occasion. suppose poor old uncle could at that time have traded all his dead and modern languages for a pair of good stout legs, would it not have been a grand bargain for him?" "but could not your uncle have been more judicious and systematic in the prosecution of his studies, and have done the same amount of work without detriment to his health?" asked professor gray. "i do not doubt that he might. but our schools are run nowadays upon, as i said before, a high-pressure system. too many children are packed into imperfectly ventilated schoolrooms, and the poor teachers are miserably overtaxed. but the schools are graded, everything cut and dried, the curriculum made by state or county board; and, like the tyrant's bedstead, those too long must be cut off, and those too short must be stretched. all must fit the bedstead. that great story-teller, charles dickens, tells the story exactly in his picture of dr. blimmer's system of teaching. that poor babe, paul dombey, might as well have been fed to an insatiable ogre as to have been placed in the hands of that pompous idiot. and our country is full of little paul dombeys, blossoming for eternity. how much better to have let the poor little fellow play in the sands upon the beach with his sister florence and old glubb. but the precocious innocent must be murdered by this same senseless system, because of the inordinate vanity of a foolish father, and the stupidity of his teacher. in vain have i warned hundreds of parents, when i saw their children thus being hurried to premature graves. but they are so proud of the precocious darlings that they seldom heed until it is too late. faugh! the whole business makes me sick." "well, doctor, admitting all you say, what do you suggest as the remedy? i have known many statesmen who could see and point out the evils, present or imminent, of society or state, with great sagacity and accuracy, but when it came to prescribing the remedy, were utterly impracticable," said professor gray. "that is right, professor gray. it is very little benefit to a sick man to tell him that he is sick, or even to make for him a scientific diagnosis, if it be not supplemented by the remedy. i have remedial measures to suggest. in the first place, i would build schoolhouses upon strictly scientific principles; a certain number of cubic yards of pure air should be allowed each scholar, and the most perfect system of ventilation should always be used. further, by way of homely illustration, i should treat the children upon the same principles that we do our horses. some horses are calculated for heavy draught business, others for light draught, roadsters, racers, etc. i need not mention the folly of attempting to drive these animals out of their respective classes. now children differ as essentially in their mental capacities and requirements as do horses physically. you can by no possible means make a mathematician of a scholar who is deficient in the organ of calculation. it is a manifest injustice to hitch such a one beside another who is a perfect racer in the mathematical field. it is not fair to either of them. i claim that each child should be treated upon his individual merits, and in accordance with the natural gifts that god has bestowed upon him. the graded school system is in direct opposition to this idea, and is wholly wrong and unscientific." "well, as to the curriculum, doctor," said will, "suppose you were called upon to abridge the list of studies in our public schools, where would you begin and end? isn't it a pity in this age of the world, to shut off from the children any one of the branches of science or learning?" "indeed, that would be a great pity, and far be it from me to do anything of the kind. i would not abridge the curriculum for any child; it should simply be taught that for which it has a capacity. a teacher who is not capable of so discriminating and anticipating the wants of each pupil, is not a teacher in the best sense of the word, any more than a man is a horse trainer who cannot differentiate between a heavy draught-horse and a light roadster. i might say considerable as to methods of teaching, but i presume that you have heard enough for once." "yes, but we have not settled the question as to whether the world is getting better or not," returned will. "i am willing to admit that our school system is defective. but what do you say as to the safety of life and property at this time, compared with any other age of the world?" "really, now, i wish an intelligent armenian were here to answer that question." "but that is not fair, doctor. the armenians are in the hands of the turks and we know that they are capable of any conceivable inhumanity. i supposed that we were discussing the world so far as civilized. i really think that it is a clear case of 'begging the question,' when you introduce the armenian case into the discussion." "do you, indeed! and let me inquire, my dear boy, who is responsible for this wholesale slaughter of a people whose only crime is that of being nominal christians? five or six centuries ago the combined governments of europe would have made common cause against the infamous turk for much less than the murder of a christian nation. but to-day there is so much less of manhood in europe than there was in the days of chivalry, that the civilized world is sitting calmly by and permitting this unspeakable crime to go on at the sweet will of the bloody-handed turk. and do you not think that god will hold the nations of europe to a strict account for this villainy that marks the closing decade of the nineteenth century as the blackest page in human history? god will surely avenge armenia, and woe to europe when he treads the wine-press of his wrath!" as will offered no reply, the discussion closed. chapter xii. greenland's icy mountains and the russian bear. upon the morning of the third day from constance house the wind shifted almost due west. silver cloud was in latitude 65 deg., longitude 70 deg. 13 min., and they were driving rapidly toward greenland. "we are still two or three points north of east in our course, and will let her drive as she goes for the present," said dr. jones. "and you wouldn't mind seeing greenland's icy mountains, about which you have sung so many years, would you, girls?" "o let us see greenland, by all means, doctor!" cried mattie. "what noted travelers we will be when we get back to washington," and he placed an arm about each of their waists and galloped them up and down the little sitting room several times. "i do believe that you grow to be more of a boy every year of your life," panted mrs. jones, as she smoothed her rumpled hair. "you are quite right, maggie; and what is worse, i do not expect to ever improve a bit on that line. give me the heart of a boy while i live. and now, professor, i am ready to give you revenge for that last game or two of chess that went to my credit." while these two were oblivious to the world in a very closely contested game, mrs. jones sat knitting while mattie read aloud to her from a late magazine. denison and fred were pacing the balcony for their "constitutional." will was working on his oil painting of jennie barton, and so beautifully had he succeeded in bringing out the lovely features, and trusting, fearless spirit that beamed from a pair of dark blue eyes, that all the company, even to sing, expressed their unqualified admiration. "me sabe," said the acute mongolian. "ah! will heap likee miss jennie." the artist blushed, and they all laughed uproariously at his confusion, and sing went chuckling to the kitchen. the following morning silver cloud had nearly crossed davis strait, and the bold headlands of the western coast of greenland were in plain view. they crossed the western boundary line of that land of perpetual winter, just a few miles north of the arctic circle. "hurrah!" shouted dr. jones. "in the arctics at last!" the wind held still a little north of due east, and silver cloud rode at an elevation of between 3,500 and 4,000 feet. the surface of greenland was cold, dreary, and uninviting to a degree. vast tracts of ice and snow stretched in every direction, far as the eye could see. away in the interior a range of mountains broke the monotony of the landscape. toward morning a violent snowstorm gathered below them and hid the face of greenland from view until next morning. silver cloud, meantime, was sent up to nearly 5,000 feet altitude, so that they might not collide with any mountain peak during the night. "upon my word," said professor gray, as he stood on the balcony the following morning, and looked out over the white and ghastly picture of desolation, "i thought labrador the most inappropriately named country upon the earth, but think of calling this picture of all that is inhospitable and forbidding--greenland!" by noon they were crossing swiftly the ridge that runs the length of greenland, so far as is known. silver cloud swept within three hundred feet of one lofty peak, covered with eternal ice and snow. then on and on, swift as an eagle, over the high plateaux and steppes of eastern greenland. early the following morning they arose to find the arctic ocean beneath, and greenland disappearing in the misty horizon behind them. the wind bore a point or so more easterly, and dr. jones was tempted to seek a more favorable current. he descended to the 2,000 foot level, but experienced no perceptible change. "well, we'll stick to my original plan. anything north of due east or west is good enough for us," said he. but he grew restless as they hour after hour steadily continued upon nearly the same latitudinal line, and descended to 1,000 feet elevation. there was some change for the better at that altitude for many hours. one thing that specially pleased them was the wonderful sensitiveness of the globe to the slightest variation of the temperature within its interior. the doctor's plan of using hot air alone as the floating power had been modified to the extent of dividing one-half of the globe's interior into several compartments by thin sheets of aluminum, and these were filled with hydrogen gas. the gas fell but little short of the power necessary to float the ship, so that a slight elevation of the temperature in the air chamber above that of the external atmosphere was sufficient to float the vessel. when it was desirable to descend, a trap being opened in the upper and lower parts of the air chamber caused the hot air to rush out and the cold air in, and the descent could be made rapidly or slowly, at the will of the commander. by virtue of the zinc lining of the air chamber the temperature would remain at a given point for many hours without the consumption of a particle of fuel. the doctor and will together had devised a most ingenious method of heating the hot-air chamber instantly. by the use of a small air pump hundreds of atmospheres could be compressed into a very strong aluminum chest or cylinder. beneath this cylinder were a number of burners that heated the compressed air several hundred degrees. as we said before, when they desired to descend, an upper and lower trap were opened, the hot air rushed out above and the cold air in below, causing the globe to descend with great rapidity. this descent could be arrested at any level by closing the trap, and a certain amount of the air let off from the hot-air chest, and any temperature desired could be attained at once. all this could be done at an expense of oil that was ridiculously and incredibly small. while they could by no means steer or guide this ship, yet, if the doctor's theory of air currents should prove to be scientifically correct, then they were by no means entirely at the mercy of any and every adverse gale. and, at the worst, when a favorable current could not be found, they could descend to the earth and anchor until a fair wind prevailed. one thing further should be explained. when it became desirable to ascend suddenly or rapidly, the hot-air chest was thrown completely open, and the vast chamber was instantly filled with air at any temperature required. when this operation was from any cause necessary, the upper trap was closed and all the lower apertures opened. the hot air from the chest immediately mounted to the upper end of the air chamber, and forced the excess of cold atmosphere out through these lower traps. the effect upon the globe was marvelous. it would bound skyward like a rocket. by a series of experiments will had ascertained just the amount of pressure per square inch and the temperature that was necessary to send the ship to a given altitude. the rate of ascent was under perfect control by letting off the hot air slowly or rapidly. "what a mighty engine for good or evil in the world this ship would be, if it could be guided or steered," remarked professor gray. "i doubt if that can ever be done," replied will. "the surface presented to the current of atmosphere is too great to allow any sort of device to operate satisfactorily." "the government is making experiments with what is called the aeroplane, and the indications are that it is the coming method of aerial navigation. but the degree of comfort that we are enjoying can never be an attendant of that plan. i shall never cease to wonder at the speed with which we are traveling over these arctic regions in perfect comfort. i never felt better in my life, and i have grown to feel as safe as i ever did in my home in washington," said professor gray. they occasionally saw whales spouting, and it was exceedingly interesting to watch the great icebergs that floated here and there over the face of the deep. some of them towered like crystal mountains, hundreds of feet into the air. "just think how incomprehensibly great these masses of ice are," observed professor gray. "it is estimated that but one-eighth of the berg protrudes above the surface. now look at that monster! not less than eighteen or twenty miles long, and from five to six hundred feet high, making it in the neighborhood of a mile in thickness. ah! see that big fellow turning over! did you ever see anything so grand! i don't wonder that navigating these seas is next to impossible." they were all standing upon the balcony when they beheld this startling scene. for two whole days the beautiful ship continued steadily upon nearly the same course. the professor pointed out their position upon the map at latitude 70 deg. 35 min., and longitude 50 deg. 20 min., east greenwich. at this point they encountered a terrible gale from the north. the doctor raised higher and higher, until they reached an altitude of ten thousand feet. still they flew at amazing speed toward the south. he ascended to fifteen thousand, then twenty thousand feet elevation, but on they went into the heart of russia. will went up into the globe and hurriedly returned. "you must lower, doctor! the strain upon the rods is tremendous! the outside atmospheric resistance is so slight at this elevation that we shall certainly explode if you ascend any higher." "then we will descend and anchor at the first favorable spot, and there await a south wind. there seems to be a great demand for air at the equator just now. well, let them have it," said he grimly, "but we are sure to get a regurgitation in our direction before many days. so down we go to study russian habits and customs." the upper and lower traps were opened in the air chamber, and they rapidly descended to within five or six hundred feet of the earth. they could plainly see that the foliage was being thrashed with great violence by the gale. "how shall we manage to safely anchor in this awful wind, doctor?" asked will anxiously. "do you see that high range of hills just ahead?" "yes." "well, they run east and west. we will drop immediately upon the other side of them. there it must be comparatively calm. but sharp is the word! we are there now!" downward dropped the great ship behind the sheltering crest of the hills, and she, in a moment or two, was skimming quite easily along, just above the treetops. in what appeared to be a great park, the anchor was dropped into the top of a tree. it held securely, and will and denison descended in the cage and made a very strong aluminum cable fast about the trunk of the tree. after all was made secure, dr. jones and professor gray also descended. the little company then began looking around for signs of life. "i see a large stone building down this avenue," cried will. "the professor and i will prospect the place, while you two had better remain here until our return," said the doctor. accordingly they set off at a lively pace toward the building. as they approached it they looked in vain for signs of human life. they found it to be a massive ancient castle, standing in the midst of an extensive grove or park. they were somewhat awed by the deathlike silence that pervaded the place. they, however, stepped up to a massive oaken door, and dr. jones seized the ponderous iron knocker and struck several vigorous blows. they waited two or three minutes, but could hear no sounds within. "we have struck an enchanted castle, and i must see if i cannot awake the sleeping beauty within," said dr. jones, and he was about to apply the knocker again, when a deep bass voice from a window above addressed them in a language with which they were unfamiliar. "we cannot speak your language. do you speak english?" asked dr. jones. "are you men, angels, or devils, and what do you want," returned the voice in fairly good english. the doctor hastened to give the desired information, and told who they were, etc., concisely as possible. "what is that fearful and wonderful silver ball or globe in which you dropped from the skies among us?" after further explanations the bars were removed, and the massive door swung slowly open. there stood before them a large, black-bearded man, holding by the collars two large russian hounds. the brutes growled and showed their horrid fangs in a way that made the visitors cringe and draw back. "please restrain your dogs, sir, for our mission is a perfectly peaceful one," said dr. jones; and he smiled so blandly that the man seemed to dismiss his apprehensions. he gave a signal which summoned two men, to whom he consigned the dogs, and they were led away. he now invited them to enter, and gave them seats in an adjoining room. "gentlemen, i am count icanovich, and this is my castle. i welcome you to its hospitalities. you must excuse the reception we gave you, for i must confess that i have never been so startled in my life as when i saw your extraordinary ship come swooping down upon us a few moments ago. half my people are in fits, or hidden away in all sorts of holes and corners." "i am exceedingly sorry, count, to have come so abruptly and informally among you, but i assure you that we are here very much against our own wishes. we are bound for the north pole, but this terrible gale from the north necessitated our anchoring for the present. but since fate has cast us among you, i am very happy to make the acquaintance of count icanovich. i am dr. jones of washington city, united states, and this is professor gray, of smithsonian institute, same city." the count shook hands with them very cordially, and asked, "how many are there of your party?" upon being told, he immediately desired that they all be brought to the castle. "we see but little of the world in this place," said he, "and we hail this break in the humdrum monotony of our life with extreme pleasure." the two gentlemen returned appropriate acknowledgments of the count's kindness, and arose to return to the globe for the company. "will you accompany us to the ship?" asked dr. jones. "i thank you, but i am a victim of sciatic rheumatism, and can do but little walking," returned the count. "i hope, however, before you leave us, to be able to inspect your wonderful air-ship." "is your sciatica of long standing?" inquired dr. jones, all the instincts of a good physician being aroused at the presence of suffering; and running over in his mind a list of remedies from force of long habit. "about three years. i contracted it from getting wet when warm. i am incurable, and must grin and bear to the end." "do you feel better quiet, or when moving about?" "oh! i must move about. i usually put in hours at night hobbling up and down my room." "the bed feels so hard that you cannot find an easy spot to lie on. you are always worse before storms. after sitting a little while you stiffen up, feeling much better after moving about. the tendons of your legs have a drawing sensation, and feel as if too short. there is more or less of numbness and paralysis, and a wooden sort of feeling of the leg when walking. you also have lightning-like shocks of pain through the limb, now and then. your attacks come on every few weeks, and it is the left limb that is affected. you can be cured." the doctor rattled these symptoms off with great volubility. the count looked at him with open-eyed wonder. the professor was not less astonished at the positiveness with which dr. jones thus detailed the count's symptoms without any previous knowledge of the case. "whether you be angel or devil, i do not know; but certain it is that you have told my symptoms better than i could have done myself. but you make a bold assertion when you say that i can be cured. do you know, man, that i have had the best advice in europe, and have spent a fortune seeking relief?" "are you taking medicine now, sir?" "no. i have thrown physic to the dogs, and may god have mercy on the dogs. i am thoroughly disgusted with physic and physicians. and why should i not be? several years since, i saw my wife die of pulmonary consumption. and now my only child lies in a chamber above, well advanced in the same terrible, wholly incurable disease. as if this were not enough, i myself am suffering the pangs of h--l with a lingering, incurable complaint. why shouldn't i detest the whole lying, infernal business?" he roared, striking the floor savagely with his cane. "sure enough, sure enough," said the doctor soothingly and sympathetically. "i do not blame you in the least. but we will see if something cannot be done for you, count. i believe in my soul that i can cure you, and that right speedily. let us now hasten back, for our people will be alarmed at our long absence." they found them indeed wondering and anxious. all immediately descended and repaired to the castle. the count met them at the door, and, after a formal introduction to each, led them to a large, quite modernly furnished drawing-room. "now," said the count, "please make yourselves at home. i intend that you shall be my guests while you remain in this vicinity. you will be shown to your rooms in a few moments. you will please excuse me now, and i will see you at dinner, which will be at six o'clock." he was about leaving the room, limping painfully, when dr. jones stepped up to him, and, pulling a small vial from his vest pocket, said: "put out your tongue, count; i wish to give you a dose of medicine that will cure your sciatica." the count looked at him suspiciously a moment, then sat down as requested, and put out his tongue. dr. jones shook a grain or two of powder upon it. "you will suffer less to-night than you have done in a long time. it is very possible that this one dose will cure you perfectly and permanently." "i tell you frankly, sir, that i have not a particle of faith in your minute, tasteless dose affecting me in the slightest," said the count with a half angry glare in his deep-set black eyes. "i do not care a fig for your faith, sir," replied dr. jones in his independent american manner. "happily for you, this is not a christian science cure that i am performing. you have the indicated remedy in your circulation now; and with all due respect, believe what you please." the company of friends were looking on anxiously, fearing that the doctor was too brusque with the nobleman. but that individual smiled, and really seemed quite pleased and amused at dr. jones' positive, straightforward way of doing business. "evidently _you_ are not deficient in the element of faith, doctor, and i can but wish that your faith may not be in vain in this instance." after the count had withdrawn, professor gray said: "dr. jones, i do not at all understand how you could tell the count his symptoms as you did, without any previous knowledge of the case. does sciatic rheumatism always present just the same picture, or set of symptoms, that you should be able to so rapidly and correctly tell his purely subjective sensations?" "not by any means, professor. a scientific prescription, like a stool, must have at least three legs to stand upon. you will remember that the count had already told me that moving about, especially at night, mitigated his pains; that he contracted his ailment from getting wet; and i noticed that he favored the left leg in walking. these were the three legs for my stool, or prescription. i felt positive that the remedy indicated was rhus toxicodendron. so i merely mentioned the leading characteristics of that drug, and i was not mistaken. you see, then, that i did nothing marvelous nor supernatural. now, any one of many other drugs might have been indicated if the symptoms had been different from what they were. the symptoms of the disease must always be the same as those that the indicated drug is capable of producing in crude doses. rhus tox. will cure the count because, in every case of poisoning by that drug, there will be produced the symptoms found in his case. like cures like. this is a universal law of god. i feel quite sure that the count will experience great benefit from the one dose i have given him." "i shall watch this case with the greatest interest," said the professor. "you will make a convert of me to your system if you perform a cure of so obstinate and painful a disease with an infinitesimal dose of medicine." "all right, my dear sir. i always feel confident of a cure when the symptoms are clear cut as in this instance." a general conversation was now entered into for a few moments, when servants entered and signaled them to follow, and each was conducted to a comfortable apartment. they shortly after assembled again in the drawing-room and awaited the announcement of dinner. fred opened the piano, and he and the ladies sang a trio. they were glad when a servant appeared and signaled them to follow him to the dining-room. the count was the only russian present who could speak english. so he watched carefully and interpreted the wants of his guests to the servants, and but very little trouble was experienced. they found the cooking very palatable, and their mode of living aboard silver cloud in the frosty atmosphere of the arctic region had sharpened their appetites enormously. the count talked with them about their journey, and was much interested in the graphic accounts given by the different members of the party of their experiences. will explained the plan and construction of the globe. the count was a good listener, and seemed deeply impressed with all that was said upon the subject. "it seems to me incredible that you were so short a time ago in washington city, u.s., and are now sitting at my dining table in the heart of russia. and think of the circuitous route by which you came! still i am prepared to believe anything when i look at yonder wonderful silver globe, and remember how you dropped among us from the skies as you did to-day." after dinner will and denison borrowed a lantern and went to see that silver cloud was all right for the night. the wind swayed the monster ball back and forward gently, and there seemed to be no great strain upon the cables. "i think we had better get out the other two cables," said will. "i do not feel quite safe. a heavy gust might tear it away, and that would be a calamity indeed." so he ascended to the engine-room and passed the cable ends to denison, who made them securely fast to adjoining trees. a very enjoyable evening was spent in the great drawing-room. of course music constituted the chief source of pleasure. fred brought his anthem and glee books from the cabin of silver cloud, and the old walls of the castle certainly seldom, if ever, rang with such music as was discoursed there that night. the domestics had so far recovered from their fright that they now crowded the adjoining hall to hear the singing. so ravishing was the harmony to their semi-barbaric ears that, conjoined with the marvelous manner of their coming among them, these poor creatures were ready to fall down and worship them as heavenly visitants. the count himself seemed to enjoy the music exceedingly, and encored long and loudly. when they separated for the night, he shook hands cordially with each, and said: "my good friends, i cannot sufficiently thank you for the pleasure you have afforded me this evening. you may be sure that my invalid daughter has enjoyed your delightful music. she desired that the door be opened so that she has heard it all. she was an accomplished vocal and instrumental musician before her illness. perhaps she may feel well enough to see you in the drawing-room to-morrow evening." turning then to dr. jones, he said: "well, doctor, whether it be your medicine or music that has charmed away my pains, i do not know; but it is certain that i have not been so free from suffering for a long time. i bid you all a very good night." after a consultation it was thought best that two should sleep aboard silver cloud every night so long as the party remained with the count. so will and denison took upon themselves this duty, and immediately repaired to the cabin for the night. chapter xiii. beauty and the beast. on the following morning all were up early, and enjoyed a long walk before breakfast in the park. they did not see the count until breakfast time. he was in a very pleasant mood, and, after inquiring how they had rested, turning to dr. jones he said: "i have always made a point of rendering credit to whom credit is due. i slept eight consecutive hours last night, solidly and dreamlessly as the dead. i have had no such rest for years, and this morning, but for the stiffness of my limb, should be tempted to challenge you for a foot-race. if this be the effect of your medicine, you are the most wonderful healer i ever met." "i am truly happy to hear that you feel so well this morning, count icanovich. but remember that you do not believe at all in my infinitesimal dose, and should not prematurely render me credit. your present improvement may be but a simple coincidence," and the doctor's eyes twinkled mischievously. "that is right," said the count good-naturedly; "i deserve your sarcasm." "now," interposed mrs. jones, "i do not think that the count deserves any reproach or sarcasm at all. here we come among you, total strangers; and dr. jones, before we have been here two hours, in his usual insinuating manner, gets you to swallow a dose of medicine for what you have good reason to consider an incurable complaint. i think it quite unreasonable to expect you to have the slightest faith in his one little dose." "thank you, mrs. jones," said the count, bowing to her gravely; "but you will allow me to ask," and he set his great black eyes upon her very earnestly, "do you think that the doctor can cure me?" "do i think so!" cried she, flushing with pride and enthusiasm, "my good sir, _he has done so already_!" the count looked at her in astonishment for a moment, then dropped his knife and fork upon the table, threw his head back and roared with laughter. it was so hearty and contagious that all joined it in spite of themselves. "excuse me, friends," said he, wiping the tears from his eyes, "but i have not laughed so for years. and this lady's vindication of your skill, dr. jones, inspires me with greater confidence than anything else could have possibly done. all i have to say, madam, is that i accept your diagnosis of cure, and shall throw crutches and canes aside." after breakfast the count said: "i have a stable full of horses which are at your service. i should esteem it a favor if you would use them as your own. there are many sights of interest about here. a few miles away is the town of p----, a nice little city of about five thousand. no doubt you would like to make some purchases. i will accompany you any time and act as interpreter." they thanked him, but concluded not to visit town that day. he then led dr. jones into his private room and said: "doctor, i am desirous that you should see my daughter. i fear that you can do little more than palliate her condition, but even that would be very much for us. she is a great sufferer, and i shall be extremely grateful for anything you can do for her." the doctor immediately signified his readiness to see her whenever it pleased the count. "that north wind is still howling, and i am only too happy to be of service to your daughter, or any of god's suffering children while i am with you. keep me busy as you like, count. my greatest delight is to cure the sick, and the world is my field since i started on this trip for the pole." the count touched a bell, and a female servant entered. he gave her some orders in russian. she returned in a few moments and spoke to him. "my daughter is ready to receive us. will you go up to her now, sir?" "this is my daughter feodora, doctor jones," said the count as they entered her room. a tall, graceful young lady of twenty arose from a couch upon which she had been lying, and extended a thin feverish hand to the doctor. she spoke to him in beautiful english, and dr. jones expressed surprise in his face so that the count said: "i spent several years in london, and feodora became very proficient in the language there." they were all seated, and, after a few casual remarks, dr. jones requested feodora to relate to him the history of her illness, and as she did so, he carefully noted her symptoms in his case-book. he interrupted her as little as possible, preferring to take down the history in her own language. after she had finished he made a physical examination of her chest. first, he carefully percussed both lungs; that is, laid the fingers of the left hand upon the chest and tapped them lightly with the finger ends of the right hand, thus producing a more or less resonant or hollow sound. he could thus detect any consolidated tissue that might be in the lung, or abnormal resonance where there chanced to be a cavity. he then, with a stethoscope, ausculated the lungs, or listened to the respiratory sounds. he noted the temperature; rate and other qualities of the pulse; looked at the tongue and sputa. having now a complete picture of the case or what he termed the "totality of the symptoms," he said: "i must consult my library a few moments. i will be back within an hour." he hastened to the cage, ascended to the cabin, and in a few moments was oblivious to everything but the salvation of this precious young life. he transcribed from his case-book to a sheet of paper the most prominent, unusual, and persistent symptoms. they were: 1. weeps much, and cannot bear to be left alone. fears she will die. 2. great difficulty in breathing; worse from exertion and after coughing. 3. dry, teasing cough, more or less day and night. in paroxysms from tickling in the throat, with tenacious mucus, which she cannot raise, and must be swallowed. sputa sometimes consists of pus, mixed with blood. 4. lower third of the right lung particularly affected. she cannot lie upon the right side on account of sharp, stitching pains through the lung. sometimes the sharp pains extend through the left lung, with violent palpitation of the heart. 5. all these symptoms, cough, pains, etc., are invariably worse at three o'clock, a.m., and continue one or two hours. 6. very profuse night sweats, etc. there were other concomitant symptoms that we will not stop to enumerate. dr. jones prepared a powder from a vial labeled kali carbonicum (cm), and descended and hastened to the castle. his heart was jubilant within him, for he knew that he should save this lovely girl. he fairly burst into her chamber, glowing with the pleasure he thus felt in bearing the gospel of healing. "praise god!" he fervently ejaculated, "i have found your remedy. take this please." she opened her mouth and he shook from a tiny vial a dose of a white granular powder, just as he did the night before with her father. "now, i want you to cheer right up, and dismiss all thought of dying from your mind. i expect that within a very few days you will experience great relief. these sharp stitching pains will almost immediately disappear, i am sure." and so he talked to her for a little time so brightly and cheerfully that the poor invalid seemed to catch his enthusiastic, hopeful spirit, and smiled and chatted in a way that lifted the count to the very skies. "whether there be any efficacy in your powders or not, doctor jones, there is certainly wonderful potency in your sanguine manner of giving them." "now, to-night," continued the doctor, acknowledging the count's compliment with a smile and nod, "i desire to see you in the drawing-room. you must have pleasant, cheerful company. no more tears and sighing in this dismal room. throw open the curtains and blinds, let god's sunshine and fresh air in. take no medicine except what i give you. i must bring my wife and mattie to see you, and you and they must romp all over this country in a few days--providing a favorable wind does not set in. for i must hie away to the north pole at the earliest practicable moment." "please bring your ladies up soon, doctor. i desire very much to know them, and i am sure that company does me good. i am afraid to be alone a moment. it has been too quiet in this great castle with no one to talk with but the servants. do send for them immediately, please." a few moments later they appeared and were introduced to feodora. they were shortly upon very good terms, for each of them was exceedingly well bred and possessed of purest womanly instincts. "i heard your beautiful singing last night, and how i did wish to join your company. and do you know that yesterday i had been suffering terribly with stitching pains in my side, and i was so tired and miserable that i asked god to help me or take me home. just then your great silver ship sailed across my window so that i could see it as i lay upon my couch, and do you know that i believed, for a time, that god had sent his chariot for me. i did not seem the least frightened, though i could hear the screams of the servants in different parts of the house, and my nurse had crawled under the bed. i just closed my eyes and awaited the summons. i confess that i felt really disappointed when they told me the truth of the matter. but now, do you know," grasping the good little doctor's hand, "that i believe this to be god's messenger, and through him i am to be restored to health again." "the lord grant it," said dr. jones. "but now we must leave you a few hours. you have had quite enough excitement for once. i expect to see you in the drawing-room to-night." so they withdrew, leaving her smiling and happy. count icanovich joined the doctor a few moments later and asked him to sit with him in his private office. "you will understand, doctor, that i am exceedingly anxious to know your opinion of my daughter's condition. you have inspired us with a degree of hope that we have not known for a long time. indeed, hope spread her wings and left this castle long since, and it has been little better than a charnel-house until your appearance. now i ask you to tell me candidly whether you entertain any hope of my feodora's ultimate recovery. you may lay your heart open to me, for i should receive her as one raised from the dead if you save her. do not, as you love your own soul, attempt to deceive me." "count icanovich," answered dr. jones, "i am hardly prepared to give you a definite answer. i certainly see great reason to hope all that could be expected or desired. a certain remedy is so positively and clearly indicated in her case that i shall be greatly disappointed if the most distressing of her symptoms do not immediately disappear. after that, so much depends upon the hygienic and dietic management that i do not feel justified in making an absolutely favorable prognosis." "what if she were under your immediate supervision for a certain length of time?" "i should, under such circumstances, feel quite sure of restoring her to perfect health." "then, doctor, if money be any object to you, you shall have your own price for remaining until you pronounce her well." "i am extremely sorry, count, but that cannot be. my government has built yonder aluminum air-ship at enormous expense at my express desire and instigation, with the understanding that i sail with it to the north pole. my obligation is to do so with all possible dispatch. i will leave medicine and explicit directions, so that in all probability you will do just as well as if i remained." the nobleman said no more upon the subject, and they joined the company in the drawing-room. will, fred, and denison repaired to the stables, selected saddle-horses and rode to the town. there they were objects of great interest to the inhabitants. the news of the great silver globe--for they all believed it to be of silver, and the strangers to be fabulously rich--with its load of voyagers that came so suddenly and mysteriously among them the day before, had spread rapidly. the superstitious people were half inclined to regard them as celestial visitors, and looked upon them with awe and wonder. the doctor and the professor, with the ladies, took a long walk through the park. they met many of the natives, who were coming from every direction to see the marvelous silver ship. "i declare," said mrs. jones, "that i can hardly realize that all this can be true. i have to pinch myself sometimes to see if i am not enjoying a long beautiful dream." "it is romantic to the last degree," replied professor gray. "the wind still holds in the north," remarked dr. jones, scanning the skies and treetops. "i see that it has veered a few points to the west. we will surely get a favorable wind before many days." "isn't it a pity that you cannot stay with that lovely girl until she is out of danger?" sighed mrs. jones. "yes, it grieves me exceedingly to be obliged to leave her, but i have no option in the matter. if that globe were my private property, i would not leave her until she was out of danger. but, under the circumstances, i cannot do so. after all," said he, brightening up with the thought, "she will probably do as well without me." "she is the loveliest creature i ever saw," said mattie. "how gentle, beautiful, and patient she is. much as i desire to visit the north pole, still i would gladly remain here six months or a year if it would do her any good." the day passed away without incident. after dinner all met in the drawing-room, and the invalid girl occupied an easy chair among them. she extended her hand to dr. jones with a grateful smile, and said: "doctor, i have not passed so comfortable a day for a very long time. i shall get well. your medicine has done wonders for me already. you are, no doubt, in great haste to reach your destination, but you must not leave me until i am better. if you do, i shall die." "o, no! my dear miss feodora, you will not die. i shall leave you medicines that will help you through nicely." this the doctor said with all the assurance and cheerfulness he could command. but she instinctively detected a slight shade of anxiety or uncertainty in his tone. the physician must be a consummate actor who can deceive a patient whose perceptions are preternaturally acute as were feodora's. he saw that he had not deceived her, and cried: "do not let us think of that subject to-night. this unfavorable wind may last many days, and i promise to see you better before i go." she smiled sweetly and gratefully as he gave her this promise, and abandoned herself to the enjoyment of the music, conversation, etc., of the evening. instrumental and vocal music constituted the principal source of amusement, and the audience awarded unstinted praise and applause. the singers were in the best possible form, not one of them complaining of cold or hoarseness, as is customary. nothing could exceed the sweetness and richness of mrs. jones' voice. it seemed to fill the gloomy halls and rooms of the castle to its farthest confines. and mattie's contralto beautifully and nobly seconded the soprano. the tenor and bass could scarcely have been better, and altogether it was a concert worthy of the praise of that, or any other, audience. "you will never know what a change your coming has made in our home," said feodora to mrs. jones and mattie as they sat beside her. "before your coming, all was so still and dark, and scarcely a sound could be heard in the rooms or halls all day. now see the servants sitting and standing about the halls, chatting and laughing as if nothing had ever been wrong in the house. and look at papa talking and laughing as if he were not the saddest man on earth only two days ago. as for myself, i am simply astonished beyond measure. i have really forgotten for a time this evening that i am not perfectly well. o, what a beautiful, beautiful change! and it is perfectly heavenly to have a respite from pain, even if it be but temporary." the two ladies, one sitting upon either side, smiled their sympathy and happiness, and pressed her poor emaciated hands between their own cool, soft, plump ones in a way that went directly to her heart. "let us help you up stairs," said mrs. jones, "for i am sure that you must be getting tired." she assented, bade the company good-night, and retired with the two ladies. "now you must let us do everything we can for you while we are here," said mrs. jones. "you know that we are to see you better before we go away, and i have so much confidence in dr. jones' system of medicine that i am positive of your recovery." leaving her then to the nurse, they retired for the night. chapter xiv. doctor jones commits treason. as they met at the breakfast table next morning, they found the count joyous and jubilant. feodora had spent a comparatively comfortable night. at the regular hour, 3 o'clock, a.m., the stitching pains and cough recurred, but were so much less than usual, and lasted so much shorter a time that she was radiant with joy, and thanked dr. jones so sweetly that the good man was obliged to hem and cough and wipe his nose and eyes, and complain of a slight cold which he had contracted. as for the nobleman himself, he declared that he was the happiest and soundest of all the czar's subjects. "i cannot understand this matter, doctor," said he. "i have absolutely exhausted the medical science of europe without the slightest benefit. here you come from the united states, a new country, and supposed to be very much behind in all matters of science and letters, yet you have done for me and my daughter, as if by magic, what the accumulated science and knowledge of europe have not been able to do at all. is your science a mystic or esoteric affair, and are you the only one in possession of the secret?" "no, indeed, count icanovich. so far from my system being esoteric or exclusively my own, i have for many years taught and exemplified to the best of my ability the law by which i am governed in the selection of the remedy. and there are a noble few in my country who are like children sitting in the market, crying, 'we have mourned unto you and ye would not mourn; we have piped unto you and ye would not dance.' by every possible means we have endeavored to induce the dominant school of medicine to investigate our claims, but they simply deride and laugh us to scorn." "but surely, doctor, they cannot deny the evidence of their own senses! if you cure that which they cannot, they certainly must heed you. anything else is unthinkable," exclaimed the count. "my dear sir, human nature is past finding out in its capacity for stupidity and foolishness. god gives every man the power to choose good or evil, and no amount of evidence can dispossess him of this elective franchise. hence he is the arbiter of his own fate. abraham said to dives concerning his brethren, 'if they believe not moses and the prophets, neither will they believe, though one arose from the dead.' jesus christ healed the sick, raised the dead, restored the lame, the halt, the blind, in the presence of priests, lawyers, and doctors, the scientists of those days; and they put him to death in precisely the same spirit that they expatriated samuel hahnemann for discovering and promulgating the only law of cure in god's universe. human nature has not changed a particle since the days of adam and eve, and it never will be any more nor less than what it is now, except as it is regenerated through the atonement." "this is marvelously strange," said the count musingly. "i do not remember to have heard of your system more than a few times in my life, and then but as something ridiculous or foolish. cannot something be done to bring it before the public?" "so far as i know, count icanovich, there is not a school in europe where the tenets of our system are taught. the dominant school of medicine has used its power, and legislation effectually bars us out in every european country. only in america have we colleges, and even there whatever privileges we enjoy are the results of deadly and uncompromising warfare. so you will understand the difficulties under which we labor." "it seems, then, that it is simply a matter of ignorance with the laity that your system has not become universally adopted," interposed professor gray. "and the 'regular school,' as they style themselves, is exceedingly active in keeping them thus ignorant." "that is the state of affairs exactly," cried dr. jones. "to illustrate the fact that we have a law of cure, while the so-called regulars have nothing like it, a certain physician, a number of years ago, sent out twenty letters, ten to prominent men of each school. he sent to each the ordinary price of a prescription, and represented himself as a patient. he detailed precisely the same symptoms to each. now, if medicine is worthy of being called a science, why should there not have been an answer, and but one answer, as to the remedy indicated in this case?" "so i have said a thousand times," exclaimed the count, excitedly. "and i can foretell the denouement so far as the regular school is concerned: you received as many prescriptions that were totally unlike as there were men of that school who prescribed for you." "right, you are, my lord!" shouted the doctor. "but eight of them responded. no two of their prescriptions at all resembled each other, and the aggregate number of drugs prescribed by them was somewhere near seventy, if i remember correctly. if all these drugs had been put into a jug, the compound would have been a mass of incompatibles that would have poisoned any miserable wretch who was fool enough to take it." "but how did the men of your school do, doctor?" asked professor gray. "did they do any better?" "did they!" again shouted dr. jones, swelling and flushing with pride. "every one of them prescribed lycopodium pollen, which was the indicated remedy." "how many physicians of your school are there in america?" asked the count. "something like twelve thousand, i believe." "and would each of them have prescribed the remedy you mentioned?" "all worthy of the name would have done so." "and are not all worthy?" "i am forced to say no! not by a great many. like every other representative system of truth, our greatest source of danger is from within. no chain is stronger than its weakest link, as has been said many times. the world judges us by our weaklings. every good thing has its hordes of counterfeits." "well," said the count, "i am deeply interested in this matter. i must hear more of it, doctor." "and i also am desirous of information upon this all important subject," added professor gray. the wind had veered around to the west-nor-west. it had materially abated in violence, but was still unfavorable for our navigators. and, in truth, the doctor was not nearly so anxious to depart at this time as was professor gray. the good doctor's mind was divided between a desire to be off for the arctics, and a professional interest in, and friendly solicitude for, the beautiful feodora. nothing could exceed the delight with which he noted the manifest curative power of the dose which he had given her. and he had pledged his word that he would not leave her until material improvement was apparent. so it was with a considerable degree of resignation that he saw the wind continue northerly. the matter stood about thus between him and professor gray: while dr. jones was really commander of the expedition, yet the professor represented the government's interests, and he kept a strict record of every day's occurrences. these must be subjected to the inspection of the proper authorities upon their return to washington. the fact that dr. jones had interested himself in a sick girl in the heart of russia, even though she was the only child of a count who stood high with the emperor of all the russias, could not excuse him to his government for holding in abeyance the mighty interests of the expedition upon which it had projected him. for two more days the northerly winds prevailed. then came the hoped-for, yet dreaded, change. at six o'clock in the morning, the professor rapped upon dr. jones' chamber door. "come, doctor," he cried. "ho! for the north pole. a glorious breeze from due south." the doctor joined him in a few moments, and they walked into the park. the aluminum flag fluttered straight toward the north. the doctor expressed his delight, but there tugged at his heart the thought of leaving the poor girl who clung to him for her life. but he did not dare to mention this fact to professor gray. he knew that no merely sentimental grounds would have any weight with that gentleman, and that he (the professor) would hold him strictly accountable to the government for any unnecessary delay. so, with a sigh, he announced to his party that they would sail as soon after breakfast as possible. the count looked very much distressed, but said not a word. after breakfast the doctor and count repaired to feodora's room. she had rested beautifully all night, and received them with a glad, smiling welcome. but when dr. jones announced that he must sail within two or three hours, her face became exceedingly sorrowful, and she said to him so gently and simply that it touched the hearts of the men more than tears could have ever done: "and do you know what goes with you in your beautiful silver cloud?" "i do not know that i do. what do you mean?" "my life." this unexpected reply caused the doctor a terrible shock. "o no! my dear young lady, you are doing splendidly. just carry out my written instructions and you will do as well without me as you would with me." "dr. jones, i appreciate your situation, and know that you have no right to remain here for my sake, or anyone's else. i will not try to persuade you to stay; but i know that when you have gone, hope will have accompanied you, and i shall certainly die." "my god! my god! dr. jones, i cannot endure this," groaned the count, and great tears coursed down his cheeks. "let me talk with you a few moments privately," said the doctor. the count led the way to his office, and when they were seated the doctor began: "count icanovich, i cannot leave you, and yet you see my situation. professor gray will not consent to an hour's unnecessary delay, and will hold me in strictest account to my government." "cannot he be brought to consent to remain a few weeks?" asked the count anxiously. "not all the gold in russia would tempt him one moment," declared the doctor emphatically. "but you must not go and take my darling's life with you!" cried the count desperately. "say 'shall not,' and you will hit it exactly," replied the little doctor, winking shrewdly at the count. "what do you mean?" "have you no special power or authority in this section?" "i have very great power if i choose to use it. do i understand you to advise me to detain you by force?" the doctor grinned, gave a little frenchy shrug of the shoulders, and said: "it would be treason to my country to advise you to do so, sir; but if you permit us to go, surely you cannot blame me for going. i very much prefer to stay, but only absolute force can prevent my going." "i understand you perfectly, doctor, and you need say no more," replied the count, smiling grimly. "it had not occurred to me to treat my guests with such discourtesy; but you americans have an adage, i have heard,--or is it english?--that a hint is as good as a kick. well, you needn't kick me--unless i let you go. now go up to my daughter and cheer her up with the news that you are forcibly detained, and will not sail till she is cured." here the two men clasped hands, threw open their mouths to their widest extent, and laughed long and--silently. "but now run up to feodora; she needs you badly, and i have some very important business to attend to." so the doctor again ascended to feodora's room. he found there his wife and mattie, all three in tears. "come, come, girls, wipe your eyes. please leave me alone with miss feodora a few minutes. i will join you down stairs directly." "and now," said he, "cheer right up. we are not going to leave you until your father consents. i have made the arrangement with him, but it must not be known to anyone else. you understand, do you not?" "i do, doctor, i do," she cried; "and i promise to get well as soon as i can, so as not to detain you any longer than necessary. i shall get well! i shall get well!" and she pressed his hand to her lips in the ecstacy of her joy. "there, there," said he, a little sheepishly, withdrawing his hand, "go to sleep now, and come down to the drawing-room this afternoon." he had been in the drawing-room but a moment or so when the professor and will rushed in, each very excited. "doctor!" cried will, "what do you suppose the count has done?" "i don't know, i'm sure. what's the matter?" "well, by jove, if he hasn't padlocked our cables, and very coolly informed us that we cannot sail until he gives us permission!" "what can he possibly mean!" exclaimed the doctor in well-assumed astonishment. "we must see about this matter. where is he?" "we left him at the globe," said the professor. "i cannot comprehend the meaning of this. let us go at once and see him." "surely he must be joking you," said the doctor, as they walked rapidly toward silver cloud. they found a group standing beneath the globe; and, as will had said, every anchor and cable was heavily padlocked. dr. jones stepped briskly up to count icanovich and said with all the sharpness he could command: "what is the meaning of this, sir count? why have you padlocked these cables?" "evidently i could have but one object; to prevent your casting them off." "but why? what right have you to do so?" "simply the right of might. but come," said he, looking over the company, "let us talk this matter over together. shall we return to the castle?" "suppose we ascend to the cabin," said the doctor. "there we can talk without interruption." so, two by two, they all ascended to the sittingroom of the cabin. the doctor and count were the first to go up. "i shall make a great demonstration of anger, and may talk pretty sharply, count, but you will know my meaning," said the former, as they landed in the engine-room. "i perfectly understand; act your part, doctor." when they were all seated in the sittingroom, the doctor immediately reiterated the question: "what is the meaning of this high-handed proceeding, count icanovich?" "it simply means that i cannot consent to let you go at present, doctor jones." "and do you really mean to detain us by force?" "i do, if necessary." "will you kindly tell us your object, and by what authority you dare to delay a united states' expedition? do you not know that our government will demand heavy reprisals for this action upon your part?" "allow me to answer your first question. when you landed among us a few days ago, you found us a despairing lot of invalids. we were simply waiting death as the only possible escape from our pains and distress. the change that you have brought about by your medical skill and knowledge is known to you all, and i need not dwell upon it. our hearts are bursting with gratitude, and it pains me beyond measure to be thus obliged to use coercion; but my daughter's interests--her life--compel me to detain you. she declares that she cannot live if the doctor leaves her, and i cannot and will not permit her only chance of recovery to thus fly away in the air. she is all i have on earth, and i swear that you shall stay until she consents to let you go." "but, count icanovich, do you not see how impossible it is for us to remain?" asked professor gray. "no; i only see how impossible it is for you to go." "but look at the vast amount of money that our government has intrusted us with for an express purpose. having accepted this trust, our first and only duty is to that government. and i tell you that whoever dares to detain us will have a heavy account to settle with a great and powerful nation." "i perfectly appreciate all that, professor gray, and am ready to settle any indemnity that may be demanded of me. i tell you, one and all, that i count these things as but dross when compared with the life of my feodora. she shall not die if any high-handed outrage that i can commit will prevent it. you have heard me." the voyagers looked at one another in dismay. here was a predicament that no one could have foreseen. "how long is this delay likely to last?" asked will. "just as long as the interests of my daughter's health demand it," returned the count. the doctor gave a hypocritical groan that would have made his fortune upon the stage. "how long will that be, doctor?" asked will. "three months, at least," was the reply. the professor duplicated the doctor's groan with such emphasis that the party could not repress their smiles, and the two conspirators did not dare look at each other. "well, professor, we'll have to accept the inevitable," said dr. jones. "let's go down again and continue our studies of russian customs and habits." "allow me to say, gentlemen, before we descend, that it is best that we should have a thorough understanding. i desire to treat you as my honored friends and guests, and to allow you every possible liberty and pleasure while here. pledge me your word that you will not attempt to sail without my knowledge, or seek governmental interference, and all i have is at your command." "before i accede to your proposition, i wish to put one question: if dr. jones will consent to remain, will you permit the rest of the party to depart with the ship?" asked the professor. "i shall be delighted if you can make any such arrangement," quickly returned the count. "what do you say, doctor?" cried professor gray, turning to him. the doctor pondered a moment or two, and then said: "it is very great to be the discoverer of the north pole, but it is very much greater to save a human life. my wife and mattie will remain with me, but the rest of you may depart immediately if you wish." "as for me," said denison, promptly, "i shall stay with dr. jones." will and fred looked at each other a moment, then fred burst out: "let's stick together. the north pole will be there just the same a few months later, and i do not blame count icanovich for detaining the doctor under the circumstances. to use a beautiful americanism, we may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. in one, in all." "i stand with the majority," said will. "well, gentlemen, i do not see but that i am in a hopeless minority, and must accept the count's terms," sighed the professor. "but say, doctor, let me suggest one more idea before settling the matter definitely. are there not men in russia who practice your system, and who could fill your place satisfactorily in this case?" "i presume there are, but i am unacquainted with them." "but, gentlemen, my daughter will accept no substitute. i suggested the same idea to her, but she would not listen to it. it is dr. jones or nobody with her. there is no alternative. dr. jones must stay." this the count said so decisively that further argument was mutually dropped as unavailing. "well, sir count, since fate is against our sailing until the recovery of the fair feodora, i only hope her return to perfect health may be unprecedentedly rapid, and i hereby give you the required pledge." with this the professor extended his hand to the count. the latter seized it cordially, then shook hands with each of the rest of the company, saying: "i am so glad that this unpleasant matter has been so easily and amicably adjusted. let us go down now, and the only command that i put upon you is that you use my castle as your own, and that you come and go as you please." they all thanked the noble count, and the whole party set out for the castle. when they reached the drawing-room the professor dropped into a chair and said: "i used to be of the opinion that the stories of the enchanted castles, sleeping beauties and beasts were all childish fiction and romance. but, as the darky said, 'heah we is.' we have the castle, the beauty, and the beast. though i must say of the beast that he is a very amiable old fellow, after all, and i would do just as he is doing under the circumstances. this beauty must be awakened, and dr. jones is the prince of physicians who can do it." "thank you, professor. and now, girls, take off your hats and cloaks," cried the doctor. "we have concluded to stay with the count a few months." they looked at him to see if he were not joking. "what do you mean, doctor?" asked his wife. "did you say that we were to stay here a few months?" "yes, my dear. the count has persuaded me to remain until feodora is so far recovered that we can safely leave her." "well now, i will tell you the truth; i am really glad to hear it." then turning to the company, she proudly said: "this is just like him. i am sure that he would not only give up the north pole, but the whole earth to save a human life." "come, come, sis," said the doctor, blushing and confused, "you make me feel silly. scatter off, now, and make yourselves at home. we must make the count glad to get rid of us." chapter xv. a model teacher and ideal student. the days and weeks flew swiftly by. the fame of the great air-ship spread far and wide, and thousands of visitors came to inspect it and the wonderful voyagers. but what especially drew the people, and was talked of more than all else, was the marvelous skill of dr. jones as a healer. the beautiful feodora improved from day to day, so that she daily drove with her devoted and constant companions, mrs. jones and mattie. she began to eat heartily, gained flesh rapidly, and her cough had nearly left her. roses of health assumed the place of hectic flush, and she was the talk and wonder of everyone who knew of her former hopeless condition. many were the consultations held by dr. jones, with the grateful and goodnatured count for interpreter. money and honors poured in upon him, though he never made any sort of charge for advice or medicine. the better class of patients invariably left upon the table one or more pieces of gold. "maggie, do you know that i have no idea of what to do with all this money? if it keeps on this way, i shall be obliged to found a college and hospital when we get back to washington. wouldn't it be grand if i could break down the prejudices and legal barriers in this great country, and establish our school upon an even footing with the old school?" "the count must have influence at court. i should think that he might be of great help to you," suggested mrs. jones. "that is a good thought, and i will have a talk with him upon the subject at the first opportunity." the count, meantime, was closely watching the doctor's methods and the results. he was delighted to note that many chronic cases recovered under the treatment; and acute diseases yielded as if by magic to his all-powerful infinitesimal doses. "this is something utterly incomprehensible," he said to the doctor one evening, as the friends sat with him in his office, smoking and talking. "your medicines are working wonders, and yet i cannot understand how it is possible for so minute a particle as is contained in one of your doses to act so potently and profoundly upon a great mass of blood, flesh, and bones, like the human body. that it does so is beyond question. i have watched you carefully, and am thoroughly converted to your system." "wouldn't it be a glorious thing for russia if this system of medicine could have at least an opportunity of being heard, and of exemplifying the fact that it is founded upon science, and that beside it there is no other?" cried dr. jones. "suppose you had an opportunity, by what method would you prove this system to be what you claim for it?" asked professor gray. "by the only method that can satisfy the human mind--practical experience and demonstration. nothing else will do. theory is all well enough, but if it cannot stand the test of experiment it is of no sort of use. there is not a crowned head nor potentate in europe before whom i would not gladly and fearlessly put my system to such test. give me but a clear cut case--one that has not been spoiled by massive dosage or surgery, and i am willing that the system shall stand or fall by the result." "that is perfectly fair, and i know, doctor, that you would succeed," said the count. "and i will say, further, that i am at your service to promulgate your system in russia. i have influence at court, and i can put it to no better use than to help you present the system of medicine which you represent to those in a position to open our door to your school." "if you will do that, sir, i shall never regret our having been blown out of our course into russia. if i can thus be instrumental in the salvation of countless thousands of god's suffering children, i shall feel that i have not lived in vain, whether i ever reach the north pole or not. do not think, professor, that i have in any degree lost interest in our original enterprise. but, meantime, i must do what i can for humanity when opportunity occurs." "you are doing that, doctor, and i heartily sympathize with you in your labors," answered the professor. "i only insist that, when permitted by the fair feodora, we sail immediately for our destination." "that we will, professor, and i promise not to enter into any arrangements that shall prevent our going as soon as possible," replied dr. jones. "excuse me, gentlemen," interrupted the count, "but i wish to ask the doctor for information. as you know, i have had a considerable amount of experience with the regular school of medicine, and you also know that i was thoroughly disgusted with it when you came so opportunely. i have carefully observed your methods, dr. jones, and i notice this essential difference between the two schools: the old school physicians are exceedingly particular in their examinations and explorations. they seem extremely worried about naming the disease and knowing the exact condition of the diseased tissues, but they do not appear to be able to manage the practical part of the business--cure. you, as a representative of the other system, do not lay so much stress upon these things, but do take cognizance of the symptoms in each case with surprising particularity. and i notice that you appear to base your prescription solely upon what you term the 'totality of symptoms.' how nearly am i right?" "count, you have apprehended the exact condition of things. it is well enough to know all we can of the state of the organ or organs that we are treating; but suppose i spend hours examining a patient with all the appliances known to medicine, and have determined to a certainty the name of the disease with which my patient is afflicted, i am now no nearer knowing the remedy indicated in this case than i was before i made the examination. i must go back and take all the symptoms into account, both subjective and objective before i can intelligently prescribe." "i do not see, then, that it makes any difference whether you know all about the condition of the organs, or can name the disease or not," said will. "good boy, will," smiled the doctor. "you're learning fast. it is an absolute fact that some of the best shots i ever made were where neither i, nor any living man, could make what we term the diagnosis--that is, name the disease. i will give you a case in point: a good many years ago, when i was quite a young physician, there came into my office a man who desired me to go with him and see a sick babe. i found the most miserable looking three months' old child i had ever seen. nothing could exceed the emaciation and puniness of the little creature, and the mother was carrying it about upon a pillow. for six weeks it had cried night and day, almost incessantly, except when under the influence of opiates. five old school doctors had done what they could, and at last had declared that it could not live. they had not been able to establish the diagnosis, and so were at sea as to treatment. i sat beside it and studied the case as closely as possible for more than an hour. there was but one peculiarity or symptom upon which to base a prescription. it was this: it would lie a few moments apparently asleep, then it would give a start and begin to scream with all its puny power. this would last one or two minutes, when it would as suddenly fall asleep again. this, they assured me, was the way it had performed all through its illness, except when opiated. 'pains come and go suddenly.' that was all i had to go on. i could not locate the pains, nor by any possible means know what the cause of them was; but i did know, thank god, what was of infinitely greater importance: i knew the drug that had that particular symptom, and that was belladonna. into half a tumblerful of water i dropped five or six drops of the two hundredth dilution of that drug, and put a few drops of this medicated water into the poor little thing's mouth." here the doctor stopped, knocked the ashes from his pipe, arose and started as if to leave the room. "hold on, doctor," cried fred; "i am very much interested in that baby. how did it come out on your belladonna solution?" "o yes! i should have said that it immediately went to sleep, and did not awaken for several hours. it never cried again, received no more medicine, and in a few weeks would have made a model picture for a patent baby food company. it only received the one little dose that i gave it." "i declare," said the count, laughing heartily, "that it sounds absurd beyond anything i ever heard in my life. yet who has greater reason to know it to be absolutely true than myself. go on, doctor; i am prepared to believe anything you are pleased to tell us of your miraculous system." "before i go i think i will spin you one more story," said the doctor, reseating himself. "this is what might be termed the reductio ad absurdum of prescribing merely for the disease by name, irrespective of symptomatology. i was called to see a poor dutchman who was in the last stage of pulmonary consumption. he had just been brought home from a certain city, where he had been in a hospital for two or three months. "well, hans," i said, "how did they use you at the hospital; they are very scientific there, you know, and must have done great things for you.'" "o doctor!" he groaned, "dondt speak aboudt dem fellers. dey vos de piggest lot of shackasses i efer saw." "why, hans, i am surprised at you! what did they do that did not please you?" "vell, i tells you. ven i goes into dot hoshpital, dey oxamines mine lungs. den dey puts me into a pedt mit a pig card hanging ofer mine hedt, und dere vos on dot card in pig letters, de vird, consumption. i tink dey puts dot card dere to encourage me ven i looks at him. und in a leedle pox py mine hedt, dey puts a pottle of medticine und say to me, 'you dakes a teaspoonful of dot efery dree hours.' so i do dot. it vos awful stuff but i sticks to him aboudt dree veeks. den i can no more dake it. it makes me so seek to mine stummick dot i gan no more eat anyting. so i say to de steward von morning, 'i gan no more dake dot medticine. i must haf some oder kind.' vell, sir, you should haf seen dot feller look at me. he lifts up his hands und says, 'i shoost adtmire you, hans.' 'what for you adtmire me?' 'pecause you vos de piggest kicker dot efer comes into dis hoshpital. now look at yourself. you vos oxamined und put into de ped to which you pelong. dere ish de card hanging ofer your hedt vot tells vot vos der matter mit you. und den dere ish der medticine for consumption in de pottle py your hedt. dot medticine is doctor smith's favorite prescription for dot disease. und mit all dot you kicks. vot more do you want?' 'vell,' i say, 'i gan no more dake dot medticine. it makes me awful seek.' 'now, hans, dondt be so unreasonable. you pelongs to dot ped, und whoefer goes into dot ped dakes dot medticine. dondt you see?' 'but i dells you dot i gan no more dake dot medticine. it vill kill me. if no oder medticine goes mit this ped, put me in some oder ped dot has a tifferent pottle, i cares not what it is.' but no, sir! dey keeps me in dot ped. so i spidts doctor smith's tam stuff into de slop bowl, und comes home so quick as i gan." "i could hardly credit hans' story, and told it as a joke to an old school physician who was familiar with the hospital where hans had been. to my surprise he did not seem to see any joke in it. 'can it be possible,' said i, 'that hans told the truth?' 'well,' said he, 'in all but one particular i think that he did.' 'and what was that particular?' i asked. 'the card above his head did not have on it, 'consumption,' but 'phthisis pulmonalis.'" chapter xvi. the count steps over the line. the silver cloud's crew, if we may so term it, had busied themselves in various ways, according to their several dispositions and bents of mind. dr. jones was occupied more or less of the time with the invalids, who came to him from far and wide. the most inveterate cases of chronic diseases constituted the bulk of his practice, and the cures that he made were truly marvelous. the patience and interest of the count never flagged a moment. he continued at his post and interpreted for the doctor with surprising fidelity. dr. jones was so pleased with him that he explained to his noble student every case for which he proscribed, told him the name of the drug and precisely why he gave it. surely here was a model teacher and an ideal student. let it not be inferred that our doctor was infallible, nor that he always cured. "there are many cases that are incurable, sir count, and we must learn to know them almost by intuition. the causes of failure are numerous, but you will notice that they are always to be found in the physician or patient; never in the law of cure. if i be not able to apprehend and duly estimate the symptoms of a given case, i must, of necessity, fail to cure. or if the patient be unruly, stupid, or willful, he must pay the penalty. frequently, the case has been rendered incurable by massive dosage or surgery. my system cures all that is curable when intelligently applied. and you will notice that in some instances there is an absolute dearth of symptoms. you also observe that i give them a dose and tell them to return in a week or ten days. when they return they often exhibit a splendid crop of symptoms, and i experience no trouble then in finding the remedy. these cases usually have a history of suppressed eruption. at some time in their lives the itch, or eczema, or some other skin trouble has been driven into their system by external medicaments in the form of ointments, washes, etc. lifelong ailments, over which the old school have no control, are the result. a large percentage of chronic diseases are due to this cause alone." and so, during their leisure hours, sitting in the count's office, or peripatetically as they walked together in the park, the enthusiastic doctor taught his willing and attentive pupil. "just see those two inseparables!" cried feodora to mrs. jones and mattie, as they sat by the front reception-room window, looking out upon the park. the doctor and count were promenading before the great building, the former with head erect, hands extended before him, lecturing upon his favorite theme. the towering figure of the count strode along beside him, hands clasped behind and head bent well forward, listening attentively to every word. "i do believe that my father will be so enthusiastic a convert to the doctor's system, that he will get books and medicines and practice upon our poor people when you are gone," said feodora. "and he could not do a better thing," answered mrs. jones. "i have known laymen who made very fine prescribers. the count could do a vast amount of good with a set of books and medicines." "then you can rest assured that he will do so," returned feodora. "my father is a very benevolent man naturally, but was fast becoming a misanthrope when you came among us. i shall never cease thanking god for the northern gale that blew you here." "nor shall i, dear feodora," said mrs. jones, kissing her with great affection. "and i really dread the time when we must leave you. but you are improving so rapidly that we must go before many weeks." "i am glad to get well, but i do feel sorry to think of your going. but i do not give up ever seeing you again. you will go to the north pole in a short time, and then return home. you will write me from there, both you and mattie, and then my father and i will visit you and bring you home with us. you must spend a winter with us in our capital city. it is the most beautiful and gayest city in europe in its season." "and you shall spend a winter in washington," returned mrs. jones. "i have never seen anything so beautiful as washington," said mattie. and so the friends chatted and cemented their acquaintance and friendship day by day, planning for future enjoyment of each other's society. the count and feodora were greatly interested in their account of their visit with the barton family in labrador. "by the way," said mattie, "let's go up to will's studio and see his painting of jennie barton." feodora readily assented. "i have been longing for some time to see the interior of your beautiful cabin," she said. they slowly walked to the cage and mounted to the cabin, a distance of but fifty feet. they found will at work upon a local landscape. he was delighted to receive the ladies, especially feodora. "this augurs well for our sailing soon, miss feodora. and i cannot tell you how glad we all are to see you recovering so rapidly." "i told feodora that you had made a fine painting of jennie barton. we have told her all about our visit in labrador, and she wishes to see your painting of jennie," said mattie. "i am only too proud to show it her," answered will, and he removed a cloth from the painting that rested upon an easel. "what a sweet, lovely face!" exclaimed feodora. "i have never seen anything sweeter in my life." will hastened to assure her, though he flushed with pride, that it lacked very much of doing the fair jennie justice. "there is something so good and pure in that face, that it rests one to look at it," said the fair russian. "would you accept it from me as a present?" asked will. "o mr. marsh! would you really part with it?" "i shall feel greatly honored if you will accept it from me. i intend painting another immediately. whether i shall ever reach my ideal, i do not know." "i fear that you never will until you return to constance house," said mattie slyly. "now mattie, that is very unkind of you," cried will with a well-assumed severity. feodora thanked will sincerely for his present, and declared that it should be hung in her room where she might see it the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night. "surely nothing could be sweeter and more interesting than the romance connected with this lovely painting," said she. professor gray, meantime, had not been idle all these weeks. he and denison had developed an affinity for each other, and spent many hours together, the former teaching the latter much of the geology, botany, etc., of the country round about. and with rod and gun they kept the count's table well supplied with game. they also did much riding, and for many miles they became familiar objects to the inhabitants. the professor made copious notes of all he saw of interest, intending it as subject matter for a future scientific work. and fred busied himself with his music. he had discovered among the visitors at the castle a young russian who spoke english tolerably well, and who was more than an ordinary violinist. they immediately formed a friendship, and daily sought each other's society. fred became a great favorite among the local talent, and many were the concerts they held in the castle. surely, for prisoners in a foreign land, restrained from going about their legitimate business, our friends were enjoying themselves wonderfully. the count and feodora were never so happy as when doing something calculated to enhance the comfort and pleasure of their guests. the days flew so swiftly by that the time for their departure was near at hand before they were aware of it. feodora's recovery was uninterrupted, and she had gained many pounds of flesh. all apprehensions concerning her health had about disappeared. the count continued his medical studies and investigations with unabated zeal and interest. the action of the infinitesimal dose was a knotty question. he could not deny the fact that they exhibited marvelous power over disease, but their immateriality staggered his faith at times, in spite of all that he had seen and experienced. but there came a time when he stepped over the line forever. he was "born into the kingdom," as the doctor expressed it. there came a messenger at midnight one dark, stormy night, from a castle several miles distant. a letter to the count from a certain russian prince, implored him to bring the american doctor immediately to see his wife. the count awoke the doctor and told him that he would accompany him, if he would go; and he would esteem it a personal favor if he would attend the call. "certainly, i will go," said dr. jones heartily, and he hastily prepared himself for the journey. the rain poured in torrents, and the heavy covered carriage in which they rode lumbered uncomfortably over the rough country roads. "you should introduce the horseless carriage into your country," said the doctor as he bounced about upon his seat. "you would then agitate the subject of good roads." at last they reached their destination, and were hurried to the bedside of the suffering princess. she was a woman of fifty-five, large and fleshy, sitting bolt upright in the middle of the bed. her distress was terrible. the doctor took the symptoms hurriedly as possible. they were: violent palpitation of the heart. the bed fairly shook with the action of that organ. expectorating large quantities of frothy blood. breathing exceedingly labored; could not lie back in the least degree. stomach and bowels enormously distended with gas; so much so that she could not lean forward at all. eructations of gas in large quantities, which gave no relief; the least particle of food or drink excited these eructations. a very profuse cold sweat that saturated her clothing and bed. great thirst, drinks little and often. lower extremities restless, could not keep them quiet. very nervous and despairing. here was a terrible case, and the little doctor studied it with the greatest possible care. he learned that the princess had been an invalid for many years. she had taken vast quantities of crude drugs, and the time had come when her stomach rebelled and would tolerate no more drugging. the great physicians of europe had been consulted, without permanent benefit. her regular medical attendant, with his assistant, was now present. dr. jones was introduced to them, and such courtesies as were possible under the circumstances were extended by each. they gave such information as possible through the count, and declared that the princess must die within a few hours. they now stood powerless by, very curious and observant of everything the doctor did. he had carefully written out the above symptoms, and now retired for a few moments with the count to an adjoining room. the two russian physicians were asked to join them, as a matter of professional courtesy. "this is a desperate affair," said the count, "and i fear that your infinitesimals will do her very little good." "don't be so sure, sir count. you may see something to-night that will remove your last remnant of unbelief," returned the doctor, as he turned over the leaves of a materia medica that he had brought with him. "there is undoubtedly organic disease of the heart, and other complications that i have not time now to investigate. i have the totality of symptoms before us, and i have found the remedy that covers them precisely." he read to the count each symptom, and showed how exactly they were covered by the drug. some degree of explanation of this was made the native physicians, but it was evidently something new to them which they did not at all comprehend. "and now let us hasten to administer a dose of this drug." they returned to the sick chamber. dr. jones from a small case vial dropped a single minim into a teaspoon and wiped it off upon her tongue. it seemed so simple and wholly inadequate a thing to do in this very urgent affair, that the count and the two medical men could not repress their smiles. but the doctor said, "wait and you shall see the glory of god." not more than three minutes later, the royal patient, who was sitting perfectly erect, eyes closed, suddenly threw up her hands and cried out in the russian tongue, "my god! what have you given me? i'm drunk!" and fell back upon her pillow as if shot. she almost immediately began snoring as if sound asleep. the prince, count, and two physicians sprang forward in great alarm, and were about to raise her to her former sitting posture. but doctor jones said commandingly, "let her alone! do not touch her!" "but she is dying!" cried count icanovich. "no, my dear count, she is sleeping beautifully. to awaken her now would be fatal. i wish all to leave the room but her nurse." several moments later the doctor followed them to the parlor. the count was greatly agitated, and stepped up to him immediately as he entered. "how is she now, doctor?" "sleeping as peacefully as a child." "and is it a natural, healthful sleep?" "perfectly so." "doctor, you have conquered my last prejudice. the modus operandi of the action of your infinitesimals i shall never comprehend. but that they do operate, immediately, powerfully, and beneficently, i can no longer doubt. now please let me see the vial from which you poured the wonderful drop that you gave her highness." the doctor complied, and the count held the tiny vial to the light and read the label, "cinchona officinalis, 30x." the prince also took the vial into his hand, looked at it with curiosity, and made a remark to the count. "his highness suggests that this must be a poison of fearful power," said the count to dr. jones. "please say to him that it is not a poison in any sense of the word. i could swallow every drop of it with perfect impunity," replied dr. jones. nothing could exceed the interest and curiosity of the two physicians. they looked at the vial and asked questions almost without number. the old familiar look of incredulity crept into their eyes when they came to an understanding of the immateriality of the dose. they were familiar with the dogma of "similia similibus curanter," or "like cures like," and repudiated it at once. but they said nothing of it to the prince or count at this time. the count again addressed dr. jones. "his highness is lost in wonder at the magical effect of your medicine, and desires me to express his heartfelt gratitude and thanks." the prince, with tears in his eyes, took the doctor's hand, and said something to him in his own language. "he says that he can never repay you for what you have done to-night, and that you may command him for anything in his power," interpreted the count. "say to him that i am more than repaid for anything that i have done. let him give all the glory to god." after ascertaining that the princess still slept quietly, the doctor and count retired for the remaining hours of the night. chapter xvii. farewell to beauty and the beast. the royal patient slept soundly until eight o'clock the following morning, or six consecutive hours. this was so entirely new and different from anything she had experienced for a very long time, that nothing could exceed her own and the astonishment of everyone who was acquainted with the facts. long and painful had been her nights, sleepless and full of misery, unless under the influence of a narcotic. and, as we said before, she had reached a point where her system would endure no more of crude drugging. she always awoke unrefreshed and miserable from these unnatural, forced sleeps. so when she awoke this morning, refreshed and rested, her gratitude was boundless. dr. jones received her grateful expressions with the simple, modest dignity that is characteristic of the good and intelligent the world over. he made now a critical examination of the heart, and found it incurably affected. and there were complications of the digestive organs, etc., that we need not stop to mention. he acquainted the prince with the conditions he had found, and showed him why she could not be cured. but he assured his royal patron, that she might be kept comfortable, and her life indefinitely prolonged by treating her case symptomatically as occasion should require. he remained at the castle several days. in two weeks the royal lady who had been devoted to immediate death by that school of medicine which arrogates unto itself the terms, "liberal," "regular," and "scientific," walked in her garden! the effect upon the count was past our powers of description. "doctor jones," he cried, "i am converted not only to your system, but to god! i realized, as i witnessed the astounding power of the infinitesimal dose in this remarkable case, the wisdom and goodness of our heavenly father. and i now say to you, that i am devoted to your cause, and i shall never rest until your school of medicine shall have free course throughout all russia. and you can rest assured that the prince's influence, conjoined with my own, will have sufficient weight at court to break down all barriers and opposition to the propagandism of your blessed system of medicine. this shall be my life work, and i only wish that you were going to stay with me. but i will not urge that point, as i know that you are pledged to prosecute your effort to reach the north pole. you will succeed in that enterprise, and the world will ring with your praise. but far grander than all this is your simple, sublime faith in god, and in the beautiful law by which you are guided in the selection of the remedy in the treatment of the sick. i am a far better man, physically, morally, and spiritually for having met you." "if my visit to russia shall effect the recognition of my school by your government, i shall forever thank god for sending me here. this is probably the entering wedge that shall open europe to us, and induce the inquiry and investigation that we crave. let our system stand or fall upon its merits." and so the friends conversed and laid their plans for the introduction of the new medical system into europe. the prince also joined them in their plans, and his enthusiasm quite equaled that of the count. among other items, the two noble converts made arrangements to purchase a complete stock of books and drugs. dr. jones daily taught them the art of "taking a case," as he called it; or the examination of a patient and writing down the symptoms. the three months had expired and feodora's condition was far above the danger mark. she was beautiful, rosy, and blushing, romping about with mattie, like a great school-girl. so now the morning of their departure was set. the news was heralded far and wide that the great air-ship would sail upon a certain day if the wind were favorable. the morning had arrived, the wind was blowing within a point or two of north, and every preparation had been made for hoisting anchors. a vast concourse of people had assembled to witness their departure. the many friends of the voyagers were present in force, and they loaded them with presents, many of them very costly. dr. jones' practice had been lucrative beyond anything he had ever dreamed of. he found himself suddenly made a wealthy man. the gratitude of the people was boundless; and the simple-hearted man scarcely knew what to do with all the money that poured in upon him. so he caused a considerable portion of it to be distributed among the poor peasantry in the vicinity of the castle. he felt a great sense of sorrow as he looked upon the many faces that he had learned to love. but all was ready and he must away. "i have spent some of the happiest hours of my life with yourself and daughter, my dear count, and truly hope to visit you again and enjoy your hospitality. good-bye, and god bless you all." he had shaken hands with all those immediately about him, among whom were the prince and princess, and stepped with mrs. jones into the cage. it shot up to the engine-room, the anchors and cables were cast off, and the splendid globe, so long bound in chains to the earth, arose majestically into the blue vault above. loud and mighty were the cheers that followed them. silver cloud, as if impatient at the long delay in russia, rapidly ascended three thousand feet, and flew northward at tremendous speed. "could deliverance have come to your house and mine more appropriately than from the skies, and in yonder silver chariot?" asked the count of his two royal friends, while they stood watching the rapidly disappearing silver cloud. "the deliverance has not come to us alone, but to the suffering millions of russia, count icanovich. and all through the faithfulness and earnestness of that modest, yet wonderful little man, doctor jones. but as he said over and over again, 'let us give god all the glory,'" replied the prince. the company, meanwhile, though much regretting the parting with their new found friends, yet were exhilarated with the idea that they were again rapidly rushing toward the object of their expedition. their supplies of food, fuel, clothing, etc., had been fully replenished so far as was necessary, and nothing should now prevent their reaching the pole at an exceedingly early date. this they were the more anxious to do, as the season was getting well advanced, and they desired to be out of the arctic region before winter should set in. this was not a matter of so much concern to them, however, as it had been to all previous explorers of these frigid regions. the navigators of silver cloud had no frozen seas nor icebergs to contend with, and could soar above all clouds and storms. and the matter of temperature was of little consequence to them; for, as will had said, the cabin was so constructed that frost could never penetrate its beautiful aluminum walls. so they were jubilant and happy. even sing--whom, by the way, we have shamefully neglected during the past three months--joined in the general hilarity, and treated them to many russian dishes that he had picked up in the kitchen of the castle, where he had spent his time during their stay there. the wind continued all day from the south, so that by evening they sighted the city of archangel away to their left. all night they sped at express train speed toward their destination. when they looked out in the morning from the balcony, the northern coast of russia was indistinctly seen in the southern horizon, and they were again floating over the floes and bergs of arctic seas. "we have crossed the 70th degree of latitude," said the professor at breakfast. "we are heading directly for franz joseph land. we should sight that island by noon at our present rate of speed." all expressed themselves as delighted at the marvelous performance of silver cloud, and denison declared that he should never be contented to settle down to slow going terrestrial life again. "i move that we set out for the south pole as soon as we get back to washington," said he. "i second the motion!" cried mattie. "i don't know whether women have the elective franchise in this country or not," laughingly replied dr. jones. "at all events, let's get back to washington before we plan any more expeditions. i do not doubt that the south pole will be our next objective point." "just imagine the american flag flying at the two poles of the earth!" cried professor gray. "what could be more appropriate and grander! i believe denison's motion to be strictly in order. as to mattie's second, i am for female suffrage, here and everywhere upon earth. without it woman is but a slave, and can be but what her lord and master, man, permits her to be." "hear! hear!" cried the ladies, clapping their hands. "what an old bluebeard of a husband you have, haven't you?" said the doctor to mrs. jones. "oh! you are fishing for compliments," she returned archly, "but i tell you, sir, that i have my eye upon you. did you all notice how the princess, feodora, and a lot more of those russian ladies cried over him when we were parting from them?" and she shook her finger at him from the lower end of the table, and tried so hard to look jealous and mad, and made so dismal a failure of it, that they all laughed heartily. and so they merrily chatted through the meal. the men then resorted to the smoking-room, and when all had lighted their cigars or pipes, fred asked: "which of the battles of the war of the great rebellion do you consider to have been the hardest fought, doctor jones?" "chickamauga is conceded by the majority of our historians to have been the most savagely contested of the great battles of the war. something near forty per cent of the men engaged were killed, wounded, or taken prisoner." "were you in that battle, doctor?" "i was." "i would be glad if you would tell us about it; that is, i mean, your own personal experiences." "well," returned dr. jones, taking a look out of the window by which he sat, "we are spinning along at a rattling gait toward franz joseph land, and i don't know that we can do any better than tell war stories to pass away time. "i believe i told you that i was fifteen years old when i enlisted. the battle of chickamauga occurred september 19, and 20, 1863, one year after my enlistment, so that i was a lad of sixteen at the time of the battle. you cannot presume that a boy would have seen much that would be of historical value, where all was horrible roar of musketry, booming of cannon, confusion, and blood-curdling yells of charging battalions. "the morning of september 19, 1863, dawned upon us beautiful and bright. i shall never forget that lovely morning. throughout the rank and file of our army there was a feeling that we were upon the eve of a great battle; but we did not dream that the armies of bragg and longstreet had combined, and we were opposing from fifty-five thousand to seventy-five thousand men. but our confidence in our commander, general rosecranz, was so great that we would have fought them just the same if we had known of the great odds against us. "heavy skirmishing began quite early in the morning along the picket lines. this gradually swelled into the incessant roar of pitched battle. at about nine o'clock we were ordered to the front at a double-quick. we crossed a field, then into a wood where we met the fire of the enemy. being a musician i was counted a noncombatant, and my duties during battle consisted in helping the wounded back to hastily extemporized hospitals. "so on we charged into the woods, already densely filled with smoke. then the bullets flew swiftly about us, and men began falling along the line. i set to work helping the wounded to the rear. i had just been to the hospital with a poor fellow from my company, and hastened back to where i had last seen the regiment. they had made a flank movement to the left, but i, supposing that they had advanced and were driving the enemy like chaff before them, traveled straight on through the woods, and out into an open field. what a sight was there! dead and wounded confederates lay thickly strewn in every direction. i was really in what had just been the confederate lines, and was in imminent peril of being shot or captured. "several of the wounded spoke to me, 'o yank! for god's sake, give me a drink of water,' i felt alarmed at my position, but i could not resist the appeals of these poor fellows. so i gave water to many from the canteens that i found scattered about the field. i spread blankets for others who asked me; dragged some of them into the shade, for the sun was very hot. and so i spent a considerable time among them, doing such little offices as i could. for these services they were very grateful, some of them calling down the blessings of heaven upon my head. i have always been glad that i incurred this risk of life and liberty for these dying men. but at last i felt that i dared not stop longer, and started to retrace my steps to the woods, when i heard a terrible wailing and moaning a few yards to my right. i rushed to the spot and saw a poor confederate boy, about my own age, at the foot of a great poplar tree, in the midst of a brush heap, trying to spread his blanket. i did not at first see what the cause of his terrible outcry was. 'what is the matter, johnnie?' i asked. he lifted his face to me, and i shall never forget the awful sight! a bullet had shot away the anterior part of each eye and the bridge of the nose, and in this sightless condition he was trying in the midst of the brush heap to spread his blanket and lie down to die! as he moved about upon his hands and knees the ends of the dry twigs, stiff and merciless as so many wires, would jag his bleeding and sightless eyeballs. i could not leave him in this condition, and so helped him from the brush heap to a smooth, shady place, spread his blanket for him, put a canteen of water by him, and then ran for the union lines, not a moment too soon. "all day the battle raged with terrible fury until long after the shades of night had fallen. indeed, the heaviest musketry i ever heard occurred some time after pitch darkness had completely enveloped us. my supper that night was a very plain one. a piece of corn bread, or hoe cake, that i had abstracted from the haversack of a dead southerner, and a canteen of cold water constituted that simple meal. i really felt a sense of gratitude toward the poor confederate, who had undoubtedly baked the corn bread that morning, little thinking that it was destined to be eaten by a miserable yankee drummer boy. but such is the fate of war. "it had been very hot during the day, but the night was bitterly cold. there was a heavy frost that night, and under a thick blanket upon the bare ground, i slept by fitful snatches. let me tell you, friends, that the most terrible place upon earth is a battlefield at night. the groans of the wounded men and horses are awful beyond anything i ever heard. all night i could hear their heartrending cries, but in the pitch darkness could do nothing to help them. how many times i thought of my far away northern home during that awful night. should i live through the morrow? for the battle would certainly be resumed with the return of daylight. should i ever see mother, brothers and sisters, home and friends again?" here the doctor sang softly and slowly part of the pathetic old war song: "comrades brave around me lying, filled with thoughts of home and god; for well they know that on the morrow some must sleep beneath the sod." the little party were deeply impressed, for the doctor was a good story teller, and was himself much affected at this point. "the much longed for, yet dreaded, daylight dawned at last. it was sunday morning. for some reason hostilities were not immediately resumed. the sun rose in beauty and splendor, warming our chilled bones and blood in a way that was exceedingly grateful to us. for a little time all was so quiet and still that it only lacked the sweet tones of church bells, calling us to the house of god, to have made us forget that we were enemies, and have induced us to rest from our fearful, uncanny works for this holy sabbath at least. but no! soon the battle was on again with greater vigor, if possible, than ever. before noon our flanks were completely routed; and, but for that magnificent man, the peer of any soldier of any nation or age, general george h. thomas, it is doubtful whether i should be here now, telling my little story. while rosecranz, whipped and beaten, fled to chattanooga and telegraphed to washington that everything was lost, and the cumberland army a thing of the past, general thomas, with a few thousand men, checked and held at bay this great southern army, flushed with victory though it was. how the mighty host rolled and surged against this single army corps, but could not break nor beat them back. while crittenden's and mccook's corps were completely routed and disorganized, thomas with his 14th corps thus stood the brunt of battle, and saved the army of the cumberland from total annihilation. well may we call him the rock of chickamauga! "my father was quartermaster-sergeant of the regiment and i saw him for the first time during the battle on sunday morning. we were trudging along with the rout--for it could not be called _army_ that sunday afternoon--toward chattanooga. we knew that we had sustained defeat, but we did not realize how desperate the situation was. a brigadier-general was passing us, when a private rushed up to him and asked, 'o general! where is the 87th indiana?"--i think that was the regiment he mentioned. 'there is no 87th indiana. all is lost! get to chattanooga!' he shouted, and galloped toward the city, unattended by any of his staff. "'did you hear that, john?' asked my father. "'i did,' i replied. "'well, if you expect to ever see your mother again, you must do some good traveling now.' "as we had an intense desire to see her again we started down the road at a good pace. we distinctly heard the confederate cavalrymen crying, 'stop, you blankety blanked yankees!' but we felt that our business in chattanooga, demanded immediate attention, and we had no time to spare them. "passing a certain place, i saw general thomas standing upon the brow of snodgrass hill, or horseshoe ridge, field glass in hand, intently watching the movements of the troops. i distinctly remember his full-bearded, leonine face, and little did we know that the fate of the cumberland army, or possibly of the nation, rested upon that single man that terrible sunday afternoon. what a mighty responsibility! but there he stood, a tower of strength, the rock of chickamauga indeed! with but a single line he repelled charge after charge of longstreet's consolidated ranks. "and so we fought the most sanguinary battle of modern times, yet utterly bootless so far as immediate results were concerned. one hundred and thirty thousand men were engaged with a loss of nearly fifty thousand, or a little less than forty per cent. this battle should never have been fought. rosecranz here lost his military prestige that he had so splendidly won at stone's river. thomas alone achieved on this field immortal glory, and was the one great hero of the occasion. the confederates claimed it as a victory, but they should daily thereafter have asked a kind providence to keep them from any more such victories. "the next day thomas followed us into chattanooga, and bragg and longstreet perched with their armies upon lookout mountain and missionary ridge. from these elevations they watched us with argus eyes. our supplies were completely cut off and we were soon reduced to the point of star--but here, you fellows are getting tired, and so am i. i will tell you about the siege of chattanooga and battle of missionary ridge some other time." chapter xviii. woman locates the north pole. silver cloud hastened on with the favoring gale from the balmy south. by noon the coast of franz joseph land could be seen. they were now near the eightieth degree of latitude. during the afternoon they crossed that land of eternal winter. monotonous mountains, hills, and plains of everlasting snow and ice wearied the eye, and caused a sense of seasickness and vertigo if looked upon too long. the doctor had treated these symptoms in each as they occurred, and our friends had experienced but little of the inconvenience due to this cause that is suffered by most aeronauts. they had entirely lost their sense of insecurity and fear, and nothing could be more comfortable and pleasant than were the accommodations of the cabin of silver cloud, even in this exceedingly high latitude. and oh! those walks about the balcony of silver cloud! how invigorating and healthful! so vast were the proportions of the globe that there was no swaying, shaking, nor trembling ever perceptible. it was as if the splendid structure were a rock, and all the world a swift flying panorama far beneath them. very strange and weird was the sight of the sun, traveling in one continuous circuit but a few degrees above the horizon, never rising nor setting during six months of the year. the atmosphere was particularly clear and frosty, so that as they promenaded the balcony, or sat in the observatory, they were obliged to don their beautiful sealskins, a complete outfit of which count icanovich had presented to each member of the company. all were exceedingly happy and jubilant. the wind continued very nearly as before, and within twenty-four hours, nothing preventing, they would stand at the coveted spot--the north pole. at dinner time franz joseph land was far behind them, and they were sailing over the dark blue waters of the arctic ocean, more or less filled with great floes and icebergs, illustrating to the voyagers the terrible perils and hardships through which arctic explorers had passed, and amidst which so many of them had died. "what wonder," said the professor, as he scanned the unnavigable seas with his glass, "that man has thus far utterly failed in his attempts to overcome these insuperable obstacles. think of the cold, hunger, and awful wretchedness these poor fellows have suffered. and doctor, see! is not that a ship i see yonder? it is! it is!" cried the professor excitedly, pointing to an object sailing in a bit of open sea, her nose pointing stubbornly toward the north. "we can hail them," cried the doctor. the upper and lower traps of the air chamber were opened, and silver cloud settled like a great roc toward the toiling little ship. they passed nearly directly over it, and at an altitude of but 300 feet. "ship ahoy!" shouted the doctor through a speaking trumpet. "ahoy!" came from the vessel. "where are you bound?" "north pole!" "sail due west twenty miles and you will find an open sea to the north. all closed ahead. good luck to you! good-bye!" "aye, aye, sir! good-bye!" came cheerily from the quarterdeck of the little ship, and they had passed beyond hailing distance. "poor, brave fellows," sighed the doctor. "they have reached an amazingly high latitude," said the professor. "they have crossed the 83rd parallel, very nearly as high as nansen got with his expedition last year." "i declare that i am sorry for them, and really dislike to take the glory of the discovery from them. but we cannot stop now, and it is utterly impossible for them to get there anyway." "they would have soon been shut in, and probably forever as they were heading," observed will. north and east, as they could distinctly see from their elevation of two thousand feet, far as the eye could reach, all was one vast field of huge piles of ice, exceedingly rough and broken, with here and there towering spires that seemed to reach up toward the globe like grizzly arms that would prevent them from penetrating the secrets of the north that had been held for untold centuries. as the doctor had informed the captain of the ship, away to the west was a certain amount of open sea, but it was of limited extent, and the prospects of the poor fellows getting much farther looked more than doubtful. "and what is to become of them if they cannot get through?" asked mrs. jones. "i cannot tell," returned the doctor, "but the chances are that they will be crushed in the ice." "o dear, what a fate!" cried mrs. jones. "can we do nothing for them?" "nothing at all, my dear. they are beyond our reach, and it is not likely that they would desert their ship if we could offer to take them with us. such men are not easily turned from their purpose." "all we can do then is to pray that god will preserve them, and permit them to return safely home," said the sympathetic little woman. "and let us ask him that this favoring gale may continue a few hours longer," added dr. jones. there was no thought of retiring as the usual hour for doing so arrived. they all felt impressed with the thought that they were now looking upon scenes never before seen by mortal eye, and that they were very near the object of their journey. how their hearts warmed and palpitated with the thought! "we have crossed the 85th parallel," said the professor, "and in six or seven hours will reach the pole at this rate." "this is the lord's doings, and it is marvelous in our eyes," quoted the doctor with great fervency. busy feet climbed and descended the spiral stairway many times that night, but could see nothing but a frozen sea in every direction. the wind blew from due south, and they were flying at tremendous speed directly toward the pole as if drawn there by a great magnet. the cold was intense--the thermometer registering more than 60 deg. below zero. but as we said before, no wind was ever felt aboard silver cloud, and it has been ascertained that man can endure almost any degree of cold if it be quiet and still. at midnight they all sat down to a good substantial supper that had been prepared by sing. the aroma of the coffee filled the little dining-room, and was grateful to the senses. how merry and happy they were! and they ate and drank with appetites that were very complimentary to sing's cooking, and the faithful mongolian was well pleased to see the food thus disappearing. "there is no place like the arctics for getting hungry and giving food a relish. i declare that i have not eaten so since a boy," exclaimed denison. "i really eat until i am ashamed of myself," said mattie. "well, it agrees with you, mattie," replied denison. "just look at her plump cheeks, and the beautiful roses upon them!" "indeed, i never saw you look so well as you do now," said mrs. jones, looking at her admiringly. "and i am glad that i can return the compliment," replied mattie. "i am of the opinion that a trip to the arctics in silver cloud would cure any case of dispepsia in the world," said dr. jones. "what a wonderful stimulant coffee is," remarked the professor, as he sipped a cup of that beverage. "i never realized that fact so much as when in the army," replied dr. jones. "after a long day's march we would get into camp so tired that we could scarcely move. we would start our camp-fires, and very soon after you could hear a musical clink, clink, clinking in every direction. it was the sound produced by the soldier boys, pounding their coffee fine in their tin cups with the butt of their bayonets. and the effect of a pint of that hot government java coffee was perfectly marvelous. it would almost instantly take the aching and tired feeling from the muscles, and we could have marched all night if necessary." "i cannot realize that this is midnight," said mattie, as they stood upon the balcony, well wrapped in furs, looking over the vast fields of ice and snow. "one would hardly know when to get up or go to bed in this wonderful country." the time rapidly passed; they reached the 86th, 87th, 88th, 89th degrees of latitude, and the strain upon their nerves grew to be tremendous. the doctor and professor could not rest anywhere but in the observatory, glasses in hand. each was pale with excitement. "i believe that to be land ahead," said the doctor, pointing to a high elevation directly before them. the professor looked at it earnestly a few moments and replied: "it is, doctor, and we have settled the fact that the north pole is situated upon an island. the open sea at the pole is a myth, as i always believed it to be." the rest of the party was notified of the fact that land was near at hand, and that very shortly the north pole would be reached. so they all assembled upon the balcony, except sing. that individual could not be enthused upon so small a matter as the discovery of the north pole; and after washing the supper dishes and cleaning up the kitchen and dining-room, retired as unconcernedly as if nothing unusual were at hand. rapidly and unerringly as a dart flew the beautiful ship to the place of all places upon earth to our exultant voyagers. nearer and nearer grew the elevation before them. "we are within less than half an hour of the pole," announced the professor in a low constrained voice. "glory be to god!" said dr. jones with great solemnity. "i never felt his presence more than at this moment. to him be all the praise." "amen!" responded every one of the little company. they were now passing over the island. they could see that it was several miles in diameter, and nearly circular in form. almost exactly in the center arose a conical hill or mountain, about one thousand feet in altitude. "upon the summit of that mount i am of the opinion we will find the north pole," said professor gray. "and we are heading directly for it!" cried dr. jones. "just a few moments more, dear friends, and we shall have reached our journey's end. now get ready to drop the anchor when professor gray gives the signal." silver cloud was lowered as they neared the mount. they were just over the summit at but fifty feet from the surface. the signal was given, the anchors dropped. at first they dragged upon the frozen snow, but soon the flukes caught in the crevices of the icy masses, and the great globe was securely anchored at the north pole! they instantly prepared to descend in the cage. the cold was terrible, so much so that they could not have endured it at all but for provisions that dr. jones had made for this very event. besides their splendid silk-lined and padded sealskin suits, he had brought a large number of japanese fireboxes. the punks in these were lighted, and when all were very hot they were wrapped in flannels and distributed about their persons inside their sealskins. with this arrangement, jack frost's chances of nipping their persons were very slim indeed. the thermometer registered seventy degrees below zero. having taken every possible precaution, the doctor and professor descended. their feelings cannot be described as they stepped upon the solidly frozen surface, and realized that they were the first human beings who had thus stood upon the summit of the earth! after looking about a few moments, professor gray said: "we must settle the globe to the earth, and from the observatory i can make observations that will locate the pole exactly." this was accordingly done. from the observatory with a sextant he made an observation every six hours, making allowance for the declination of the sun, meantime. this was an exceedingly delicate problem, but the professor was fully equal to it. at the end of twenty-four hours he and the doctor again donned their furs, stepped over the railing of the balcony and walked out upon the snow. the rest of the party had amused themselves while awaiting the professor's observations by setting up little mounds of ice, upon what they guessed to be the spot where the learned professor would declare the geographical pole to be. his mind, meantime, was too engrossed with the momentous business in hand to pay the least attention to their frivolities; and, utterly unmindful of the fur-clad figures that stood scattered about, each by its respective ice mound, he measured a certain number of lengths of a sharp pointed steel rod which he carried in his hand, directly to mrs. jones, and with a side swipe of his foot he swept aside her pile of ice lumps, raised the steel rod in both hands and drove it down with all his force just where the ice mound had stood, and cried with all his power in a fur-muffled voice, "the north pole!" and mrs. jones jumped up and down as nimbly as her load of furs and fireboxes would permit, banged her great sealskin mittens together, and cried, "goody! goody! i guessed it! i am the discoverer of the north pole! i always knew that a woman would be the first one there!" chapter xix. the planting of the flagstaff. the whole of the party now shouted--sing always excepted. that individual was strictly attending to his business in the kitchen during the excitement. they ran--or waddled, for they moved with difficulty, loaded as they were--to the spot where the two men and mrs. jones were standing. they gathered in a circle about the steel rod that marked the exact spot for which the boldest navigators and explorers have longed, and striven, and died by thousands during many decades of the past. the doctor broke out in his sonorous voice, the rest immediately joining him in the familiar doxology, "old hundred," "praise god from whom all blessings flow." when they had finished, at a signal from the doctor, they all kneeled upon the icy pavement, and he offered up a fervent prayer of praise and thanksgiving for the preservation of their lives, and for the wonderful success that had attended their enterprise. then in unison they repeated the lord's prayer. and what could be more appropriate? the echoes first awakened in this ultra-frigid region by the human voice were praises to god in song and prayer. the ends of the earth had bowed the knee to the father almighty, and it seemed to the little band to be the beginning of the good time foretold, when the glory of god shall cover the earth as the waters do the face of the deep. "now let us see what sing has for breakfast, lunch, or whatever meal it may be. i have been so interested in our work the last few hours that i have paid no attention to time," said dr. jones. a few moments later they were seated about their dining table, and no happier company could be found in christendom that day. "did anyone note the time that we arrived here?" asked will. "at 7 o'clock, 45 min., 20 sec., august 6, 19--, we located the north pole, and planted our steel rod as marker thereof," replied professor gray. "what is the next thing on the program, doctor?" asked denison. "we will immediately set about planting our aluminum flagstaff. we are liable to a terrible storm at any moment, and might be driven away before we had accomplished that important ceremony. it would possibly be months before we should encounter so favorable a gale again. let us not rest until we have finished all we came to do, then away for home." "it is all very well to say 'plant the flagstaff'; but how on earth can we possibly set up a 300 foot metal pole at this extremity of the earth, without derrick, blocks and tackles, or any machinery whatever?" returned denison. "i'll show you a yankee trick in a short time," cried dr. jones. they hurried through the meal and prepared again to go out into the terribly cold atmosphere. the fireboxes were again lighted and distributed about their clothing as before. all then went out and assembled again about the rod. "i must get through this crust of ice and see what depth of snow there is below," said the doctor. with the sharp-pointed steel rod he picked and worked several minutes, but made very little progress in the flinty ice. "get a hammer, denison," said he. the tool being procured, they hammered upon the upper end of the rod, and drilled as miners do in rock. after some time of this work the doctor said: "this will never do. we have evidently a great thickness of ice to go through, possibly more than we can ever penetrate. we can do no work in these fur suits, and we should instantly freeze if we took them off. we must settle the globe upon this spot, then we shall be within the cabin and can throw off our coats and go to work. we have a big job on hand. let's pull the ship over at once." the wind had subsided to a nearly dead calm, and it was remarkable how all nature seemed to be auspicious to the occasion. she had been forced to yield up her secrets, fast locked and frozen by the chill hand of jack frost so many centuries, and now seemed disposed to surrender them with a good grace. the globe was raised a few feet from the earth. two of the anchors were carried to the opposite side of the pole, and will turned on the spring windlasses. thus they easily drew the ship to the desired spot, and it was slowly settled down so that the "manhole," as they called the hole in the floor through which the cage operated, came directly over the steel rod, the rod standing precisely in the center of the manhole. "now, my hearties, furs off!" cried the energetic little doctor. he doffed his own suit hurriedly, pulled on a pair of woolen gloves in lieu of the sealskin ones, pulled the steel rod out and laid it aside, grasped an axe and began chopping into the ice with all his might. the ice chips flew about the engine-room in a shower. he was soon obliged to stop for breath. will shoveled the loosened ice out, then seized the axe and worked for a short time with the same spirit that animated the doctor. and so by turns they kept the axe and shovel flying, making very rapid progress. they soon were too deep to use long-handled tools, and resorted to mallet and chisel, and a short-handled hand axe. slowly and more slowly progressed the work as the shaft grew deeper. finally the head of the man in the shaft disappeared below the surface, being now nearly seven feet deep. "we shall have to devise some plan for hoisting before long," said dr. jones. "can't we use the windlass?" suggested denison. "so we can!" cried the doctor. "the steel springs forever! will never did a better thing than when he invented the spring power windlass. we may have to go twenty-five or thirty feet. but we will hoist by hand for awhile yet." they had reached the depth of between eight and nine feet, when will, who was in the hole, shouted, "hurrah! i've broken through!" and he tossed up a handful of snow. "good boy!" cried the doctor. "now try with the rod and see if there be another layer of ice within reach." the rod, which was six feet long, was easily passed its full length into the underlying snow. "all right!" said dr. jones. "the flagstaff will settle sufficiently deep to hold it there forever. fire up, will. i want to rise forty or fifty feet above this hole." this was accomplished in a very few minutes. "now let us get the foot of the mast precisely over that hole. i mean to let it drop from this height, and its weight will sink it 25 or 30 feet into the snow. that, with 9 feet of ice, will hold it for centuries. we will fill the space in the ice shaft about the foot of the mast with the ice chips that we have taken out, ram them down good and solid, then pour water in. this will instantly freeze, and all the gales that ever howled can never blow down the finest flagstaff that ever stood upon the face of the earth." the plumb-line was lowered and cables tautened here and slackened there until the butt of the great mast stood precisely over the shaft. the spiral stair had been so constructed that it nowhere touched the mast. at its entrance into, and exit from the globe, heavy collars connected the mast with the ship. these were removed, and a heavy trap door, upon which the foot of the flagstaff rested, was its only support. a massive bolt alone held the trap in place. will and the professor were by the ice shaft, watching the plumb-line. at a signal, the doctor struck the bolt a heavy blow with a sledge, the trap fell, and the beautiful mast shot like a flash of lightning down through the frosty atmosphere, entered the ice hole precisely in the center, and sank to the depth of 35 feet into the snow, which, added to the 9 feet of ice, made a footing of 44 feet for the towering flagstaff. the globe was again settled to the foot of the mast, the ice chips filled in and rammed solidly, the water poured about it, and their work was completed. the ingenuity displayed by the doctor upon this occasion showed him to be a born leader of men, and the little band of associates so acknowledged to him upon the spot. dr. jones shut off their effusive demonstrations as quickly as possible. he did not appear to be possessed of any degree of love of praise; on the contrary, it always embarrassed and made him uncomfortable. "and now let us eat again," said dr. jones. "we must get away from here before we sleep." so they sat down to a hearty dinner, all tired and very hungry. but the coffee and smoking food immediately reinvigorated them, and they arose from the table anxious to complete their work and be off for home. "shall we rest a few hours, or go on with our celebration, and immediately sail for home--or wherever the wind may carry us?" asked dr. jones. "o, let us go on by all means! plenty of time for rest and sleep," was the unanimous decision. "all right," he replied. "that suits me perfectly. this good weather will not last long. the arctics are subject to fearful and sudden storms, and we must be ready to go at any instant. whatever we are to do, let us do quickly." "i think we should have a patriotic piece or two at the foot of the mast, and then our north pole march. i have had in my mind that it would be fine to raise the globe up ten feet or so, and beneath it we will have our concert." "but how can we sing with our mouths all wrapped up in furs? we shall instantly freeze if we expose our faces to the cold. see, the thermometer now marks nearly 70 degrees below zero." it was mattie who put this poser. "i will tell you the only thing we can do," said will. "we have an abundance of coal oil. we will set all the pots, pans, and kettles aboard ship in a circle around the mast at a sufficient distance from it for our purpose. we will fill these dishes with coal oil, set fire to them, and within this charmed circle you may sing to your hearts' content." "aye, aye, will!" cried dr. jones. "you've struck it!" the globe was adjusted, the vessels of oil set in place, the oil instantly congealed, but will had taken the precaution to place into each vessel several wicks. he lighted these ends, and in a little while the temperature in the circle rose very perceptibly. the organ was then brought down and placed by the mast. they threw back their hoods and sang america with deep solemnity and feeling. when they had finished, professor gray said: "i now propose that we have a speech from doctor jones. but first, three cheers for the projector of this glorious enterprise and discoverer of the north pole. hip, hip, hurrah!" these cheers were given with all possible zest and enthusiasm. "friends and fellow citizens," began the doctor, smiling good-naturedly upon them, "i sincerely thank you for your expressions of good will. i did not suppose that i was on the program for a speech. my heart is too full for utterance when i contemplate the fact that we now actually stand, safe, sound, and comfortable, at that spot so long sought by the bravest men of all civilized lands. that the world will receive us with open arms, and will heap honors and riches upon us, i do not for a moment doubt. but all this will do us no good, on the contrary, much harm, if we allow ourselves to become puffed up thereby, and cease to give to god all the glory and honor. as for myself, i am only proud of this achievement by so much as it shall prove a blessing to mankind. i believe that true happiness is found alone in working for others. selfishness is the direct source of all the unhappiness upon earth, and is the chief or only difference between a devil and an angel. but i see that our fires are fast burning low, and i must hasten. "so by right of discovery, i claim this island for our great republic, the united states of america; and its name shall be, owing to its position upon the top of the earth, summit island!" this speech was received with great applause. fred then struck up on the organ the music of the north pole march. the company began to circle about the mast, keeping step to the inspiring notes and singing the four parts. by the time this music was ended the fires were nearly burned down and the temperature within the circle lowered rapidly. the vessels were hastily gathered up and all entered the cabin. as they were about to hoist the anchors, professor gray said: "i am not perfectly satisfied as to the location of our pole being exactly correct. and, to tell you the truth, it has been demonstrated that the pole is not a fixed, unchangeable spot, but really swings about in a circle, varying from six to thirty feet in diameter, just as the upper end of the stem of a spinning top does when it begins to run down or lose its momentum. now i am positive that our flagstaff stands within this circle. but i would like, by another very satisfactory experiment, to verify the one we have already made. it will require another twenty-four hours." "by all means, professor," answered dr. jones, "do so. let us do everything possible to establish the fact that we are scientifically correct in our location of the pole. what would you have us do now?" "i will explain what i intend doing, and then we will understand and we can work intelligently together. i wish to photograph the stars directly above our heads. if we were here during the winter season, when the sun was below the horizon, we could see the stars distinctly with the unassisted eye. but from march 21st to september 21st we cannot do that because of continuous daylight. now you are probably aware that looking up from the bottom of a deep well or shaft in the daytime, the stars are visible, even in the sunlight. and that is what i purpose doing." "well, and where is your shaft that you intend looking up through?" inquired dr. jones. the professor significantly laid his hand upon the zinc tube which enveloped the flagstaff. "o ho!" cried the doctor, "why did not i think of that?" we should have explained before that the spiral stairs ran up between two zinc tubes, the one six feet in diameter, and the other two feet in diameter. the latter surrounded the mast, and after the globe should rise from the flagstaff this tube would indeed be a shaft two hundred feet in depth, or two hundred and ten feet, for it extended to the top of the roof of the observatory. accordingly, the burners were lighted, the globe arose until the ball of the mast was just below the level of the floor of the engine-room. upon looking through the tube after all light had been excluded from the engine-room, a bright star could be seen shining down upon them with resplendent brilliancy. "now, will," cried professor gray, "i wish you could go up and lower a plumb-line from the exact center of the top of the shaft. i want to see if our tube stands perpendicularly. if it does, and the plumb-line points straight through the center of it to yonder star, then we are at the exact spot we seek." the line was lowered, and after a little adjustment of the cables, the lower end of the plumb-line passed through the exact center of the tube. the professor ran his eye up the line and smiled with satisfaction. "look at it, doctor," he said. "well, that is wonderful!" cried dr. jones. "look at it fred, denison. the line runs precisely in alignment with the star." "and now," said professor gray, after all had verified this last statement, "let's not lose a moment's time. get your camera out. we want a twenty-four hours' exposure through our shaft, and photograph that star. if we be exactly at the pole, it will describe a perfect circle upon the sensitive plate. if we are not so located, the line upon the plate will form an ellipse." the camera was set as suggested by the professor, and then the party retired for the night. we say "night," but the reader will constantly bear in mind that this term is not used with reference to daylight or darkness, simply to the clock, or time of day. there was an absolute, dead calm during the following twenty-four hours after will had set the camera. nature was so extraordinarily kind to dr. jones during the time that we almost tremble for our reputation for veracity as we record the last-mentioned fact. any swaying of the globe by the wind would have effectually prevented anything like a good negative being made. but the globe remained in the exact position, the atmosphere in the hot air chamber being kept up sufficiently so that a steady strain was maintained upon the four cables. at the end of the time mentioned the professor examined the negative with a magnifying glass, and pronounced the test perfectly satisfactory. the globe was lowered down the mast for the last time. denison and will ran out and loosened the anchors slowly the ship then glided up the beautiful mast. the flag, which had been wrapped about the small upper end of the staff to prevent injury being done it while passing through the tube, was shaken out at the moment it left the floor of the engine-room. its fastenings to the peak had been made doubly secure, and it was tenderly manipulated through the final opening by loving hands. the whole company involuntarily shouted at the inspiring sight. the ship was lowered as it moved away, and the patriotic voyagers were treated to a side view of the most beautiful, thrilling sight upon earth--the american flag flying at the north pole at the peak of the loftiest flagstaff ever erected! well might their hearts swell with pride and their voices break forth in songs of triumph and praise. the star spangled banner! emblem of liberty! how exquisitely meet that it should be thus planted forever at the summit of the earth, a terror to tyrants, and a never-failing beacon of light and freedom to all people of the world! the professor pointed out certain conformations of the mountain's summit, and said: "this island is of volcanic formation, and this mountain an extinct volcano. yonder flagstaff stands upon the center of a crater that has been filled with many centuries of ice and snow. at some future time i hope to return prepared to penetrate this coat of mail and determine, if possible, whether summit island has ever been the habitat of any form of life, animal or vegetable." professor gray had made such observations by the aid of instruments as should be of interest to science. this he did while the others were sinking the ice shaft, and during the time of the photographing of the star. they were straining their eyes from the observatory to catch the last glimpse of "old glory," when a sudden storm gathered about the island, and it was shut out from view. they involuntarily cast their eyes up to its former place, and they realized that silver cloud had been dismantled of her chief beauty and glory. "this will never do," exclaimed dr. jones. "silver cloud is like a bird of paradise with its tail feathers all plucked. we must replace that pole and flag as soon as we return to washington." "it seems like a cruelty to leave them in such a fearful place," said mrs. jones. "think of the awful storms that will gather and howl around them for ages." "they will outlast them all, praise god!" replied the doctor. "as a 'government of the people, for the people, and by the people shall not perish from the earth,' so shall our flag and staff defy all the arctic storms that ever blew." then they descended to the cabin. "i think it is about time to see which way we are heading," said the professor. "we are pointing straight for alaska, as nearly as i can judge," he said a few moments later. all retired but dr. jones. he said that he really preferred to sit and rest awhile before going to bed. so he sat for several hours, looking occasionally at the barometer, thermometer, etc. toward morning he called denison to "take the helm," as he jocosely termed it. chapter xx. battle of missionary ridge and lookout mountain. will had not neglected to take numerous photographs of summit island, the flag and staff; and with his kodak he had stepped outside the circle and taken a "shot" at them as they circled about the mast, protected from cruel jack frost by a wall of fire, as they awakened the echoes in these hyperborean regions in the lively strains of north pole march. he exhibited this photograph to them on the following day, and all were delighted with it. "oh, i wish you would give me several of these, mr. marsh!" cried mattie. "i wish to give them to my friends." "you shall have all you want of them, mattie, upon just one condition," he answered. "and what is that?" "don't call me mr. marsh again on this trip. no formalities should be allowed among the children of the skies." "agreed, mist--will," replied mattie, gaily. "you may put me down for one dozen on those terms." "well, won't they be a sensation, when we show them in washington?" said will, viewing the picture critically. "i really think i will make it the subject of an oil painting." "and i want that painting at any price, if you will ever sell it," cried the doctor. "i will paint one for each of the company--except sing. that apathetic heathen would not care half so much for it as he would for a highly colored chromo." "don't be so hard upon poor sing. i am sure that he would be just delighted with one of those paintings," said mattie. "call him in and let's see. if there is a particle of the aesthetic about him, i have failed thus far to see it," declared will. so mattie called sing from the kitchen. he looked so neat in his white apron and cap that will began to fear that he had slandered the poor fellow. he was shown the photograph, and mattie said: "you sabe that picture, sing?" "yes, me sabe." "what is it?" sing grinned a moment as he looked slyly around upon, the company, and answered: "allee samee makee foolee lound flagpole." all roared with laughter. "that is about what we did, and no mistake," said the doctor, wiping his eyes. "well, sing," said mattie, looking her very pleasantest at the wily mongolian, "i have called you in to prove that you heap likee pretty things. now, you would likee a pretty oil painting, big picture, allee samee that?" pointing to the photograph. sing's face was a picture of indifference, and he said, "me no care." "what! not care for beautiful oil painting?" cried mattie, desperately, seeing will's eyes twinkling with fun and triumph. "well, there is something in the world that you think pretty, isn't there sing?" "o, yes!" promptly replied sing, his face breaking out in smiles, "me tinkee miss mattie heap pletty. me heap likee miss mattie." this open avowal of admiration was more than mattie had bargained for, and she blushed furiously. the whole party clapped their hands and laughed, while will fell upon the floor and rolled about in an ecstacy of fun and laughter. "didn't i tell you, mattie, that he was an incorrigible case?" cried will, as he assumed a sitting posture on the floor. "and do you mean to say that sing has no taste at all, simply because he admires me?" said mattie very severely. "o, no! mattie. i really admire sing's taste, and acknowledge that i have shamefully abused the poor fellow," said will, rising to his feet. "but the way he turned the tables on you and made you blush is the best fun i have seen on the trip." and so they indulged in light hearted conversation, music, reading, painting, chess, etc., as they sped over the frozen seas, homeward bound. toward evening a strong north wind set in and the professor declared that they were heading straight for the mouth of the mackenzie river. "in two or three days we shall be in the united states if this gale continues," said the professor. "we are traveling at tremendous speed--nearly sixty miles an hour." "i only hope that it continues, for i do not doubt that the friends have long since given us up as dead," replied dr. jones. "we have been gone now nearly four months, and have had no opportunity to communicate with them since we left. what a glorious time it will be when we get back and tell them how easily and comfortably we accomplished our object." and so they enjoyed many an hour in anticipation of their reception by friends who were mourning them as lost forever. and they were assured of hearty expressions of admiration from a generous public. and the government would make proper acknowledgments. "doctor," said fred in the evening after dinner, "i wish you would tell us about the siege of chattanooga, and battle of missionary ridge and lookout mountain." "all right," returned the doctor. "if agreeable to all, i don't mind spinning a war yarn. let me see; i left off at our entrance into chattanooga. well, bragg's army was sitting upon the surrounding hills and mountains, watching us with eagle eyes. they cut off our lines of communication and supplies, and we soon began to feel the pangs of hunger. i saw stalwart men upon their hands and knees in the mud hunting for grains of corn that had rattled from the army wagons into the road. i saw horses in a battery adjoining my regiment gnaw nearly through great oak trees in the torments of hunger. and when they were fed their miserable pittance of corn, guards were necessary to keep the gaunt, hungry men from stealing it from the perishing brutes. "desertions became exceedingly frequent; so much so that nearly every roll-call noted one or more missing from each regiment. what with sickness, deaths, and desertions, our ranks were becoming rapidly decimated. a council of war was held. general sheridan, commanding at that time the 2nd division, 4th army corps, volunteered to make an example of two captured deserters in one of his regiments. his offer was accepted, and a morning or two later the whole army was notified to witness the execution of these deserters. such extremities had not been resorted to for simply running away home (for they had not attempted to desert to the enemy), and we could not believe that they would be shot. but we did not know phil sheridan. "who could have dreamed on that morning that this trim little man, who sat his horse like a centaur as he watched with critical eye the carrying out of the horrible details of this double execution, was soon to take rank among the greatest generals in the world's history? "at the appointed time we gathered informally in a great mass in an open plain south of the town. the brigade to which the doomed men belonged was formed into the three sides of a hollow square, two ranks, open order. two graves were dug in the fourth side of the square, and there the execution was to occur. soon were heard the unearthly wailings of dead march in saul, played by a brass band. behind the band were two coffins in a hearse, draped in black. following these walked the condemned men, surrounded by guards with fixed bayonets. the firing party brought up the rear of the procession. they marched slowly around the three sides of the square between the silent ranks, finally reaching the graves and upon the edge of each was set its respective coffin. the two men were marched up beside the coffins, and who can imagine their feelings as they thus looked down into their deep, cold graves, where they were to lie a few moments later, until the trump of god should resurrect their dishonored dust to stand before his dread tribunal! one would have thought that under these awful circumstances they surely would have cried to god for mercy! one of them did; and kneeling near his coffin the poor wretch received the last rites of the church of rome. but the other scornfully refused the consolations of religion in any form, and cried out a few moments later, as he sat blindfolded upon his coffin and heard the ominous clicking of the cocking of the muskets that he knew were aimed at him, 'boys, take me there!' accompanying these words he tore open the bosom of his shirt, exposed his bare breast, and a moment later each fell upon his face to the ground--a corpse! thus ended the most tragical event i ever witnessed. "and so the weary siege dragged on. we made a night descent upon the enemy in boats. they were encamped upon the river a few miles below chattanooga, where they effectually cut off our communications with bridgeport. we attacked them in the blackness of a very dark night, and completely routed them. this opened up communications with our base of supplies, and our rations were greatly increased from that time on. "on the morning of november 23d, a little before noon, the 3d division of the 4th army corps, the one to which i belonged, was ordered into the open plain that lay between us and missionary ridge. here we deployed into line of battle. sheridan's division followed and formed on our right. the eleventh corps, commanded by general o.o. howard, massed in the rear. then followed the 3d division of the 14th corps, general baird in command, while the 1st division of the same corps, under general johnston, stood at arms in the rear of the center in the intrenchments. "from their aerie upon the surrounding hills the confederates complacently viewed the magnificent pageant, mistaking it for a grand review. so secure were they in their apparently impregnable positions that we carried orchard knob and captured nearly the whole picket line before they realized that we were not dress parading. and so, under the immediate eye of general grant, who stood upon fort wood, a very commanding position, from which he could see every man of us, we carried two miles of the enemy's first line of defense. probably a more inspiring sight was never seen by mortal eye. upon us were the eyes of a whole city, many of our own comrades, and tens of thousands of brave and vigilant enemies. "so we rested upon orchard knob that night, having taken thus the initiative in the great battle of missionary ridge and lookout mountain. that night was a busy one all along the lines of both armies. mystic signs were written upon the skies all night by the signal corps of each army. hooker upon the right was preparing to assault lookout mt. we of the center spent the night strengthening our line of breastworks upon orchard knob. sherman, on the left, succeeded in crossing the tennessee river before morning in small boats with two divisions of his army, the remaining two divisions crossing early in the day upon a hastily constructed bridge. "and the confederates were equally active. all night long their signal torches were working upon the mountain and hilltops. the southern commander, general bragg, evidently considered lookout mountain impregnable, and withdrew many troops from that point, concentrating them upon his extreme right, in anticipation of sherman's attack. "lookout was enveloped in dense fog the first part of the following day, which enabled hooker to dispose of his troops from that point as he desired, preparatory for attack, with little or no opposition. at eleven o'clock the fog began to lift, the attack commenced, and to us below was unveiled one of the grandest, most soul-stirring exhibition of courage and love of country ever witnessed! thousands of blue-coated boys pressed their way up the steep slopes of this mighty mountain, in spite of the desperate resistance of a foe well worthy of their steel. well might we below raise a great shout of exultation and sympathy. the guns of wood and adjacent forts thundered out salvos of praise and encouragement. on they went, step by step, until far into the night, and achieved that victory that immortalized every man of them. the following morning we beheld 'old glory' proudly waving from the great barren rock, point lookout, and it seemed as if we should burst the very skies with the shout that went up from thousands of loyal throats. "while hooker and his boys were thus making one of the most glorious pages of history, sherman had completed preparations for an assault upon bragg's right wing. nearly all day on the 25th, the third day of the battle, sherman vainly endeavored to turn the enemy's right flank. they were strongly entrenched, and hurled the union forces down the slopes of missionary ridge time after time, though the assaults were made with the utmost courage and determination. grant, thomas, and sheridan, from orchard knob, watched these desperate efforts upon the part of sherman. he was sent all the reenforcements that could operate, and baird's division was returned because there was not room for them to participate. "all day long we of the center of this great battle line had stood at arms, watching the grand spectacular movements of the two wings, expecting momentarily to be ordered forward. the sun was getting well down the western slope when we received the signal from fort wood to charge the lower line of works at the foot of missionary ridge. this we did easily, but the cross-fire from the second line midway up the ridge was so galling that the position was untenable. one of two things must be done: retreat or carry the ridge. the first alternative i do not think occurred to anyone, for they leaped the breastworks, and in spite of the enemy's utmost endeavors and natural obstructions, the second line in a few moments was ours. but not a moment did they stop, and in an incredibly short time the ridge was carried, the captured artillery wheeled about and was pouring shot and shell into the fleeing ranks of the enemy! "as the visitor now stands and contemplates the acclivities, and considers what it meant to charge such a foe so well fortified, if he be a bible student, he will be reminded of the case of the edomites. they were the direct descendants of esau, and inhabited mount seir. this mount is an immense pile of rock in the southern part of palestine. here the edomites dug out their homes in the solid rock, and so fortified themselves that they were the gibraltar of ancient times. from these mountain fastnesses they made predatory incursions upon their neighbors, and for ages easily repelled all efforts at reprisal. and so they came intolerably insolent, and feared neither god nor man. but one day jeremiah prophesied of them: 'thy terribleness hath deceived thee, and the pride of thine heart, o thou that dwellest in the cleft of the rock, and holdest the height of the hill! though thou shouldst make thy nest as high as the eagle, i will bring thee down from thence, saith the lord.' "he is but an indifferent reader of history who does not see the hand of almighty god displayed upon the side of liberty and union throughout all this tremendous war. even so great a man as w.e. gladstone, the 'grand old man' of england, said that the eighteen millions of the north could not subdue the eleven millions of the south. but he did not know that the edict had gone forth from the court of heaven that these who arrogantly held the height of the hill must come down from thence. and so we fought and won this grandest battle of the war--and perhaps of the world." here the doctor paused and looked around upon his audience. he had worked himself into a fine glow as these splendid reminiscences passed before his mind. to his horror he found his hearers fast asleep, except the professor, and his eyes were winking and blinking suspiciously. "well, if you are not an interested lot of fellows!" cried dr. jones. fred roused at this juncture and said: "go on, doctor. that is the most thrilling story i ever heard." "do you really think so?" asked the doctor very sarcastically. "o yes! doctor, i assure you that i heard every word of it." "and what was i just talking about?" "um--ah--o yes, i remember. it was where the two deserters were sitting on their coffins and were just about to be shot. i want to hear that out," and fred looked the picture of anxiety and interestedness. "do you, though!" snorted dr. jones. "if i served you right, i would drop you through the manhole, just to wake you up." chapter xxi. things material and spiritual. the wind continued all night as last noted, and silver cloud, without a tremor or swaying motion of any kind, was scurrying across the barren wastes of the arctics at marvelous speed. at noon upon the second day from the pole, professor gray took an observation, and announced that they then were at latitude 68 deg., 20 min., longitude 120 deg. 16 min., west greenwich. "we are about crossing the arctic circle. we are just above the barren grounds north of great bear lake," said the professor. "shortly after breakfast to-morrow morning we will cross the northern boundary of the united states at our present speed." "what great body of water is that i see ahead?" asked denison a little later. "that is great bear lake," replied professor gray. "see how the vegetation begins to show up." the weather was superb, and the lake lay calm and smooth beneath them as a mirror. while they were tearing through the skies at express train speed, their elevation being a little over 3,000 feet, they could plainly see through their glasses that small birch trees and evergreens upon the banks were nearly motionless. "now you see an illustration of my theory," cried the delighted doctor. "here are we in a gale; below, scarcely a breath of air is stirring. it did not work in russia, and we were obliged to anchor. but i shall regard that as a providential affair and shall stick to my theory. i would not for anything have failed to plant the good seed which we left there. great good will come of it, and it may be the commencement of a general recognition throughout all europe of god's great law of cure. if so, i shall count that as of infinitely greater importance than the location of the north pole." the wind veered to the northwest toward evening, and a consultation of the map showed that they were heading precisely as they wished to. on the following morning, they crossed what the professor informed them was the lake of the woods. "before noon we shall be well into northern minnesota. we are peculiarly favored upon this trip. it is very doubtful whether we would encounter so many favorable gales in any number of future trips." "we are not home yet, professor, and we may have an opportunity to test the doctor's theory as to air currents," said will. soon after breakfast a further change in the wind occurred, and they found themselves going due east. they watched through their glasses the foliage below, but could see no difference in the direction of the lower atmospheric stratum. "we will go as we look for a time," said the doctor. "what do i see yonder!" cried denison. "a train of passenger cars, sure as you live! that must be the canadian pacific." "it is," replied professor gray. "and away to the south, you see lake superior. we are passing along its northern coast." "don't those little settlements look beautiful!" said mrs. jones. "see the little white church yonder with its tiny spire! it just seems to me as if i should like to stop and attend service in that pretty little church." "see the people rushing out to look at us!" observed dr. jones. "suppose we lower to within a few hundred feet of them, and give them a good sight at the ship." accordingly silver cloud settled rapidly as it neared the little town. they crossed the village at a height of about 500 feet. they could see that the people were terribly frightened. some were lying upon the ground as if dead; others were upon their knees with their hands stretched toward the globe that glistened like a star in the sunlight. many were rushing screaming into their houses. a few could be seen fleeing from town, afoot or horseback, at the top of their speed. "don't be alarmed, good people," shouted dr. jones. "we are only aeronauts who have been to the north pole. good-bye!" "i won't do that again," said he. "some of those people may die from the effects of this fright. but here we are again for home." silver cloud had again mounted skyward and encountered a splendid breeze from the north. a few moments later the blue, crystal waters of lake superior were undulating beneath them. "just see the shipping!" ejaculated denison. "i sailed to the upper end of this great lake to duluth, twenty-five years ago. then but few steamers came up so far, and not many sailing vessels except those in the iron and copper trade. now see them in every direction! i am astonished at the amount of traffic on these lakes." only those who have been away from their native land, and especially if their travels have extended over the barren wastes of the extreme north, can fully appreciate the immortal scott: "breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said; 'this is my own, my native land!'" they traveled so rapidly over upper michigan that by evening they were across the strait of mackinaw. then the wind lulled to a ten-mile breeze and veered a point or two easterly. the great pine forests below were a cheerful contrast to the illimitable fields of ice and snow and uncultivable lands which they had so lately traversed. the farms and villages grew thicker every hour and their twinkling lights were pleasant sights to the voyagers as the night came on. after dinner, all being tired from a long day of sightseeing, they gathered in the little smoking-room for their usual evening chat. for some reason, this time the conversation took a turn not unusual among creatures who have to do with two worlds, the spiritual and material. "i would like to ask you, dr. jones," said the professor, "if you ever encountered, or had any experience with what you were positive was supernatural?" "i have," answered the doctor. "well, doctor, i confess that i never saw or heard anything in my life that could not be explained upon natural principles. it is not that i am especially skeptical, but my life has been spent in the study of things material, and the laws that govern them. so it may be that i have not been in a state of mind to apprehend spiritual phenomena, as i might otherwise have done. however that may be, i am very desirous of hearing a relation of your experiences on that line." "there is nothing, professor gray," replied dr. jones, "that i am more positive of than that we are constantly surrounded by, and in actual contact with, spiritual forces. and further, that if we were but in a receptive condition, or were in the attitude toward god that we should be, we might, like elisha's servant, see the hosts of the lord camping upon the hills round about us. but my individual belief would be of no value if not based upon experience. "the first thing i ever saw that i recognized as purely spiritual in its character was at the deathbed of a four year old boy. i was myself at this time but twelve years old, but i received an impression that i can never forget. i was standing at the foot of his little bed, his father and mother and three or four brothers and sisters were ranged along the sides and by his head. he was gasping in the last struggle with the grim monster, when he suddenly threw his hands toward the ceiling and cried out in a clear, strong voice, 'o papa! see there!' his little face that had been so distorted with suffering lightened up with the glory of the better world. his arms gradually sank to his side, and he was dead. but that heavenly smile remained upon his face long after death. one may explain away this glory-burst through the eyes of a dying child, calling it hallucination of a fevered or diseased brain if they will, but to me it was a revelation of spirit land. "a few years ago i was permitted again to get a glimpse of the pearly gates, and this time it was the hand of a sweet little girl who lifted aside the veil for her sorrowing friends and myself. she was in the last extremity with diphtheritic croup. her face was bloated and blue-black with suffocation. her eyes were nearly bursting from their sockets, glassy and staring; and her face, always so sweet and beautiful, was now distorted so that her mother could not endure the sight, and cried in her agony, 'my god! is this my little bertha? i cannot believe it!' bertha, in her expiring effort for breath, had raised upon her knees in bed, when suddenly, as in the other case, she raised her hands, her face illumined with the 'light that is not seen upon sea or land,' and she said in a strong, clear whisper--for her vocal cords were so involved in the diphtheritic membranes that her voice was gone completely--'o mamma! i see jesus!' the ecstasy lasted a moment or so, and then i laid her back upon the pillow--dead! here again is an opportunity for the agnostic to cavil and reject such evidence. but of one thing you may be sure: if he derives as much pleasure from his unbelief as i do in believing, then he is a very happy man. "and now i will relate what to me was still more startling and wonderful on the line of spiritual evidence or experience. i practiced medicine a few years in the sierra mountains, california. i was called one afternoon to see a patient in a mining camp some twelve or fifteen miles away. i rode a faithful, sure-footed little mare, and chose a short cut over a dangerous mountain trail. i had a deep caã±on to cross, and was coming down into it on my return, when night set in. it became so dark that i could not see the trail, but fully trusted my little mare. i dropped the reins upon her neck and let her choose her own way and gait. we were on the most dangerous part of the trail, where it was not more than twelve or fifteen inches wide, and upon my left hand was a black chasm, some fifty or seventy-five feet deep. i was singing a hymn as unconcernedly as i ever did in my life, when suddenly something said to me, 'get off that horse!' i did not stop to reason or ask questions, but promptly threw myself off on the right side and stood a moment by the animal, not knowing what the meaning could be. it was not an audible voice that had spoken to me, yet it was none the less distinct and unmistakable. i stood two or three minutes thus, waiting for further developments. then i stepped down in front of mollie--as i called the mare--into the trail, and started to lead her. i did not dare to get into the saddle again, though i could not imagine what was coming next. i had not proceeded ten feet, when i came to an exceedingly steep pitch in the trail. i had gone down this pitch but a few feet when something held me and i could go no farther. i nearly fell over the obstruction which i felt holding my legs. i reached down and found a heavy wire drawn very tightly across the trail, just above my knees. you will never know the feelings i experienced at that moment. i saw in an instant that my heavenly father had interposed and saved me from a violent death." "what was that wire, and how came it there?" asked fred. "it was a telegraph wire. the pole on the opposite side of the caã±on had been washed from its footing, and was hanging by its full weight from the wire, thus drawing it very taut across the trail." "could not this warning which you received be accounted for from a psychological standpoint?" asked professor gray. "i will answer your question by asking another: if we reject the spiritual side of man's nature, then we have nothing left of him but the material. now i ask you as a physicist, what is there in the laws governing matter that could in any degree account for the phenomenon that i have just related?" "nothing," answered the professor. "that is right, professor. and i prefer to recognize the hand of god in this, and to believe that he exercises a special care over his children; that not a hair falls from the head of one of his believing children without the father's notice. it is so much better to simply trust and believe. nothing is so detestable as the spirit of skepticism abroad in the land to-day. the ministry itself is more or less permeated and honeycombed with the abominations called 'higher criticism,' 'evolution,' etc. they would have us believe that the bible is filled with interpolations, and that wicked men and devils, careless translators or copyists have been allowed to destroy to a very great extent the validity of that book. now i simply take this stand: god has created you and me, and has endowed us each with an immortal principle which we call soul. he has placed us in this probationary state and has set before us two ways: the straight and narrow way that leads to eternal life, and the broad way that leads to eternal death. in order that we may know his will and so be able to fulfill the conditions of salvation, he has given us the holy bible. he is responsible for the validity of that book, and we may defy all the smart alecks and devils in the universe to invalidate a single essential word of it. the gist of the whole matter reduces to a simple syllogism. "the major proposition is: believe on the lord jesus christ and thou shalt be saved. "the minor proposition: i believe on the lord jesus christ. "the conclusion: therefore i am saved. "this is my faith, and he is able to keep that which i have committed unto him, bible and all, till that day. i have given you several experiences that are not to be lightly explained away, nor scoffed aside by skepticism. i could relate you another still more wonderful experience, one on a par with saul's conversion as he went to damascus to kill the saints. i refer to my own conversion. but i think that you have had enough for once." "let me ask one question further, doctor," said the professor. "as we have disposed of the psychological hypothesis in explanation of the source of the impression that you received upon the trail, and which without doubt saved your life, we must accept the spiritual. i wish to ask, then, if it might not have been the spirit of a departed friend who thus warned you?" "no, sir!" replied the doctor with great emphasis. "departed spirits have no such functions. on the other hand, we are told that 'he giveth his angels charge concerning thee to keep thee in all thy ways. they shall bear thee up in their hands lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.' and again: the angel of the lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them. also: are they not ministering spirits sent forth to minister to them who shall be heirs of salvation? it means infinitely much to be the child of a king. angels to bear us up in their hands and to minister unto us if we will but comply with the terms. so there is no need of spooks, wraiths, and ghosts of departed men in our lives. god gives us all the light necessary. he lighteth every man that cometh into the world." "well, doctor, there is still another difficulty that i think you have not met or settled. i have acquaintances that i know are sincere in their belief that they receive communications from departed friends. they are people who do not accept the christian faith, and you have established the fact, from a biblical standpoint, that he giveth his angels charge over those who are christians, or heirs of salvation. if, then, the spiritualist receives communications from the spirit world, and they come neither through angels nor departed friends, from whom do they come?" "the devil!" "what!" "the devil, or one of his legions of imps." "excuse me, doctor, but how is one to know whether his communications be from a good or evil spirit? how, for instance, do you know whether your communication which warned you of the wire across the trail was from an angel or devil?" "that question is not worthy of you, professor gray. in all the history of this poor, sin-cursed world, the devil never did one kind act to a human being. he never wiped away a tear of sorrow, or mitigated a heartache or pain, nor ever will. jesus settled that matter when the jews accused him of casting out devils through the prince of devils, beelzebub. if satan be divided against satan, his kingdom cannot stand. when satan warns one servant of god of danger, and saves him from death his kingdom will fall. but say, let's to bed. we must be out by daylight in the morning." chapter xxii. familiar scenes and faces. silver cloud was wafted by a gentle breeze to the center of lower michigan. for two or three hours after sunrise there was nearly a dead calm. then a brisk breeze from due east arose, and they started for lake michigan at a great speed. "this will never do," said dr. jones. "we will go down and get fresh supplies and the morning papers. there lies a good-looking town a few miles west. we will anchor there. stand by the anchor, boys." in a few moments silver cloud, with her characteristic swiftness, descended upon the town, and soon was safely anchored to several large trees in the center of it. it proved to be the thrifty little town of l----r, of between three and four thousand inhabitants. silver cloud was drawn to within fifty or sixty feet of the earth, and the voyagers rapidly descended in the cage to the main street. that all the men, women, and children crowded to the vicinity of the globe, and that our friends were the cynosure of thousands of wondering eyes will be readily believed. and the glistening sphere that gently oscillated in the breeze above the city excited the unbounded astonishment and praise of all. newspaper reporters gathered eagerly about the party, and plied them with questions concerning their trip and adventures. all, of course, were acquainted with the facts concerning their sailing from washington four months previously, and a few of them had witnessed that notable event. the travelers were informed that they had been mourned as lost for many weeks past, and government was fitting out a party to seek them as soon as possible. the general opinion was, that the globe had collapsed or exploded, and that the foolhardy explorers had all perished in the forests of upper canada. this was the accepted theory, and nothing could exceed the severity with which the editors of the papers politically opposed to the administration censured it for the extravagance and all-round idiocy of the whole "aluminum bubble scheme," as they termed it. dr. jones was voted a lunatic, and the balance of the party was commiserated in the "ahs!" and "dear me's!" and "poor things!" of the whole nation. and we can well imagine that the telegraph wires were kept busy that day all over the land. and the papers which in their previous issues had inveighed so cuttingly and mercilessly against the government and dr. jones, and everybody in any way connected with the aluminum globe bubble, now came out in flaming double headings, under telegraphic dispatches and in editorials, sounding the praises of dr. jones and company in unbounded terms of commendation. they had always predicted their speedy and triumphant return, so they had, etc. telegrams and phonograms poured in upon them until they were really unable to attend to them. very numerous were the offers of engagements to dr. jones and professor gray for a course of lectures at liberal prices. "i was satisfied, professor, that we should stir them up," said dr. jones, perspiring and glowing with the excitement and hurry, "but i did not look for this avalanche. i would rather be off into our native element, the deep blue sky, than to be smothered in this fashion." "keep cool, doctor," replied professor gray. "you may as well get used to being lionized, for you will get no end of it at washington." "all right, professor. i'll do the best i can, but i really do not enjoy so much of it. suppose we give the people a reception at the opera house." "o good!" cried mattie. "and let's give them a concert. we can render them an hour of music that i am sure will please them very much." "good girl!" shouted fred, who was always in for anything in the line of music and innocent pleasure. all instantly agreed, and the town and neighboring places were informed of the fact of the intended reception that night. all necessary preparations were made, and it is needless to say that the building was packed to its utmost limits long before the appointed hour. at eight o'clock the curtain raised, and our friends marched upon the stage and sang in their best form an anthem of praise and thanksgiving to god. all were in the pink of health, free from all carking cares and vanities of life, and they sang as if inspired. such singing had never been heard by the audience; and this fact, added to the romance connected with the occasion, carried the thousands of listeners completely off their feet. the encore that went up at the conclusion of the piece was tremendous beyond description. nor would the excited audience cease an instant until our friends had rendered another song. then dr. jones stepped forward, and raising his hand to invoke silence, said: "your mayor will now address a few words to you." the mayor, a typical aldermanic looking person, advanced to the front of the stage and began a set speech after the stereotyped fashion. he was thoroughly imbued with the idea that the navigators of the great aluminum ship had premeditatedly visited their important city before going on to washington, and it was no matter of surprise to him that they had done so. he thanked them, however, etc. he was discussing the landing of the pilgrim fathers and was evidently wound up for an hour, and the audience was beginning to move restlessly. a low murmur of disapprobation ran through the house as the untimely, uninteresting speech dragged its weary length, when a gallery god cried out: "did you bring that thing from the north pole, dr. jones? trot it off and give us some more music." the audience received this shot with shouts of laughter and approval, and they did not stop until the crestfallen mayor backed off the stage. an hour was then spent in solos, duets, quartettes, choruses, etc. then dr. jones made a speech of a few moments' length, in which he gave an account of the leading incidents of their wonderful trip. he especially dwelt upon the planting of the aluminum flagstaff at the north pole, and when he assured them that the flag of our union, as they sat in that comfortable opera-house, was flying at the peak of that superlatively splendid shaft at the very apex of the earth, the emotions of the assemblage could not be restrained, and they broke forth in thunders of applause. their return to the ship was a triumphal procession. the streets were packed with people who waited to see them ascend to their cabin. early the following morning the wind had shifted to the northwest, and the anchors were hoisted immediately. how beautiful the little town and surrounding country appeared to the aeronauts in the early morning light from their one thousand feet elevation. "i had no conception of the beauty of this world until i saw it from the balcony of the silver cloud," observed professor gray. "there is but one trouble in this beautiful world, and that is with its inhabitants," replied dr. jones. "we should have the restoration of eden immediately if all men would but serve god and observe the golden rule. not another tear or sigh would ever be seen or heard again upon earth. but o the pity of it! man, willfully blind, goes stumbling on through the short span of life, blighted and blighting everything about him with unbelief. full of misery and heartaches here, he goes into eternity to stand at the bar of god, naked and undone, and hears the fearful sentence, 'anathema maranatha!' or 'cursed and banished from god!' and all this in the lovely world that lies spread out before us this morning like the primitive garden of the lord, fresh as it came from his bountiful hand. it fills my soul with sadness when i think of our infinite foolishness. i do not wonder that jesus wept over jerusalem." the whole company were assembled upon the balcony, and drew in long inspirations of the balmy morning air. "what a panorama!" cried mrs. jones. "i am forever spoilt for living a terrestrial life again. we are children of the skies, and those low vales are well enough for those who are contented therewith. but this is our native element!" and she spread her hands toward the upper blue. "why, if i were to be confined to that humdrum existence again, i should be like--like--" "--a fish out of water," suggested fred. "now that is real mean," pouted mrs. jones. "i was trying to give expression to the inspiration excited by this lovely scene in the form of poesy, but you have spoilt it all with your prosaic comparison." "i am just too sorry for any use at all," returned fred, looking anything but regretful. "but, really now, mrs. jones, how could you possibly express the idea better?" "we are moving straight for washington," said the professor, consulting a map in his hand, "and at this speed we shall not be far from it at bedtime to-night." "we can prepare ourselves for a grand reception," remarked denison. "the good people of l----r gave us an earnest of what we may expect." "it is rather pleasant to be lionized, but we shall be obliged to draw the lines somewhere," said dr. jones. "we can always retreat to silver cloud when tired of being interviewed, wined, and dined," interposed will. "let's plant another flagstaff at the south pole, doctor," cried mattie. "i never feel so well as when afloat upon this boundless sea." "well done, mattie," returned the doctor, patting her on the head. "what a bold little navigator you have grown to be! and boundless sea is quite poetic, too. but as to starting immediately for the south pole, i do not think we can do so. perhaps we may, however, and you can rest assured that this sort of life suits me amazingly. i shall favor sailing for the south pole at the earliest practicable moment." "one thing is certain, and that is, that if we are to be the first to reach the south pole, we cannot put the expedition off too long," said will. "others will imitate us and get there before us if we give them time. we must sail within a few weeks at farthest." "that is true," assented dr. jones. "but let us see what sing has for breakfast." so they entered the dining-room and ate with appetites known to but few terrestrials. and why shouldn't they? their sanitary environments were perfect; their minds were free from all worldly cares. ennui and monotony were entirely unknown aboard silver cloud, because of the constantly changing panorama of land and sea. there were no heartaches nor burning envies among them, for all were pure-minded and lived as god's children should live the world over. why shouldn't they be plump and pure and clean, inside and out? "we have all outgrown our clothes," as dr. jones expressed it. it was a busy day aboard ship. the whole country was on the lookout for them. the doctor lowered to within five or six hundred feet of the earth, and the cries of the multitudes that gathered in every town and country corner continually rang in their ears. "detroit lies directly in our course. do you see it yonder?" said professor gray. "o yes!" cried mrs. jones. "i am glad that we shall get a good view of the beautiful city of detroit. away to the left is lake st. clair, isn't it?"' "yes," answered the professor, "and that is the detroit river. there is the city. across upon the opposite side is the city of windsor. just see the crowds of people! we are being well advertised by telegraph." the squares, streets, and housetops of detroit were black with people. such cheering was never heard in that city as when silver cloud majestically passed over it. the guns of the fort below the city poured out thundering salutes of welcome. "the poor, dear people!" said mrs. jones. "i am so glad that we can give them a few moment's pleasure." "and yet we have done nothing marvelous," returned dr. jones. "we have only made use of one of god's laws, and without any hardship or special exertion, have been to the north pole and back through the kindness of providence, who furnishes us with extraordinarily favoring gales. the people, as well as ourselves, should give all the glory to god." "you are too modest by far, doctor," replied professor gray. "you may as well prepare yourself for unstinted praise and honor. what you have done is simple and easy enough now that it has been accomplished; but it is the conception of the idea, and courage and faith that you have exhibited, that the world will honor. it was precisely so with christopher columbus. to cross the atlantic was a comparatively easy affair after he had led the way. you may as well prepare yourself to stand in the niche beside the discoverer of america. you are in for it, sir, and i am exceedingly pleased that you are. for i know that you are worthy of these honors, and will not become spoilt and puffed up thereby. accept my heartfelt congratulations, doctor jones," and the two shook hands cordially. "and mine," said denison, also shaking the doctor's hand. so they all expressed their spontaneous and sincere respect for the hero of the expedition who had so evidently excited the praise and honor of the entire civilized earth. the little man was deeply affected. "i should be but an arrant humbug to affect to despise the honor that the world seems disposed to bestow upon us. i say us, for i cannot and will not take it all to myself. i may have been the originator of the idea, but i could have done nothing without your co-operation, dear friends. but this is very unprofitable conversation. let's talk about something else. there's my old duck pond, lake erie. scores of times have i sailed from one end of it to the other; and hundreds of times have i bathed in its limpid waters. there is no spot on earth that i love as i do beautiful, historic lake erie." this was the grand and peculiar feature of dr. jones' character--an utter disregard for his own aggrandizement and self-interest, and a sincere desire to make everybody about him happy and comfortable. and, underlying it all, was a sublime faith in almighty god. these three essentials make the great man: modesty, unselfishness, and faith in god. anyone is great who possesses them, and no one is great who lacks either of them. if the reader has not gathered that dr. jones' character was a most happy combination of these cardinal virtues, then we have in no degree done him justice. and while he was kind and loving to all about him, yet he was terribly severe with the incorrigibly mean and vicious. if he had a great fault, it was in this particular. no one could be more loving and tender with a penitent; but the stiff-necked and haughty, the oppressors of the poor, were an abomination unto him. "i used to fear that i was too savage when i came into contact with such people," said he; "but one day, while reading the 15th psalm, i received a flood of light upon the subject. this psalm begins by asking: 'lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill?' in enumerating the qualifications of such person, the psalmist says: 'he that contemneth the evil man, but he honoreth them that fear the lord,' now that word 'contemn,' for the first time, attracted my special attention. i had read it scores of times, but had never realized how strong a term was here used. no stronger is to be found in the language. it means to despise, detest, spurn, etc. i was startled, but i was at the same time glad. i could not help it, but i always did despise and detest a man who would grind the face of the poor, or who would keep back the wage of the laborer. not that i would judge him, or take vengeance upon him; and i must forgive him and receive him as my brother when he repents. but until he does turn from the evil of his ways, and does his best at making restitution, i can do a jolly good job at 'contemning' him." the blue south shore of the lake soon became visible. a more entrancing picture than that of silver cloud floating swiftly over the great lake, so thickly dotted with steamers and sailing vessels, cannot be imagined. the exhilaration of the occupants as they looked from their commanding altitude upon this delightful scenery was extreme. many adjectives are used in describing the scenery and experiences connected with this notable voyage, but language is far too feeble to do the subject full justice. the doctor pointed out the various islands, lakeports, etc., with all of which he was perfectly familiar. the wind became more westerly, and they passed into ohio away to the east of cleveland. "i would have been glad to have stopped a little while at cleveland," said dr. jones, "but we must hasten on while the wind is favorable." "is it absolutely necessary that we take silver cloud to washington?" asked denison. "suppose the winds should be contrary for a considerable time, could we not anchor, and professor gray, the ladies, and yourself take the train for the capital?" "yes, and we will do that if necessary. but i much prefer that we sail there together. it would then look as if we could come and go as we liked, and give some degree of color to my theory, that we can find any current we wish by hunting for it." "that is all right in america, but doesn't hold good in russia, doctor," said will, laughingly. "never mind, sonny," good-humoredly replied the doctor. "all rules have their exceptions, and we happened to strike a full-grown, lusty one that time. but i shall always be thankful that my rule failed for once. i think more of the seed i sowed there than i do of our planting the flagstaff at the north pole." the wind continued very brisk, a little north of west, and the ship was heading considerably north of washington. "we are pointing straight as a gun barrel for new york city," said will, who was consulting a map. "new york is considerably east of washington," remarked the doctor, looking over the map with will. "i will tell you what we will do. if the wind continues as it now is we will go on to new york and await a favorable wind. what do you all think of that proposition?" "nothing could be more appropriate, since we must anchor, than that it should be at the metropolis of america," answered professor gray. so it was agreed that they should make new york their next anchorage if possible. along in the afternoon they were near the center of pennsylvania and were approaching a large town. the people were evidently looking for them, for immense crowds could be seen gathered in many places. "i think that i will send a telegram from here to the mayor of new york that we will try and make that city to-night. at what time should we arrive there at our present speed?" he inquired of professor gray. the professor consulted his watch and map a moment, and replied, "about eight o'clock this evening, doctor." the telegram was written accordingly. silver cloud descended to within four hundred feet of the earth, and when over the center of the city, the doctor leaned over the balustrade and shouted, "will you please forward this message for me?" as he said this he dropped the message, wrapped about a silver half dollar. one of the thousands of willing hands caught it, and a voice answered, "aye, aye, doctor jones!" "they all have your name, doctor. you are the best known man in america to-day. and i doubt if there is one in the world so much talked of as you are," said professor gray. "and that just shows how small a matter makes one famous. a few months ago i was an humble, inconsequential country doctor. my greatest delight and ambition at that time was to find the indicated remedy, and see the sick recover. and i declare to you now, that while i enjoy this racing through the skies, and the roar and acclamation of the multitudes, yet all these are but secondary and insignificant to my mind, when compared with that other great ambition of my life--the recognition by the medical world of the fact that there is an immutable law of god for our guidance in the selection of the remedy for the sick. and my daily prayer now is that my father will keep me humble, so that he can use me to this end. for i tell you, friends," and the doctor struck the table near him a mighty blow with his fist by way of emphasis, "that god can use no man who feels his own importance, and is inclined to take all the glory to himself. he is simply a weak-minded bungler, who gets into the way and frustrates whatever designs god might otherwise have worked through him." the doctor was upon his favorite theme--the propagandism of the peculiar system of medicine of which he was so faithful and successful a practitioner--and they had left the city far behind them, when he again paid attention to the rapidly changing scenery below. the wind had increased to a strong gale, and they were crossing the full length of pennsylvania at astounding speed. they passed over the mountain ranges of the eastern part of the state, with as little concern or thought as if they had been level plain or water. so greatly had their speed accelerated, that by six o'clock the smoke of the great city was discernible immediately before them. the beautiful hudson looked like a silver ribbon trending away to the north. new york bay with its shipping from all quarters of the earth, liberty lighting the world, the suspension bridge, and the tall buildings of the city, were all distinctly seen by the voyagers at a great distance. the booming of cannon announced to our friends that they had been sighted by those upon the lookout for them. a few moments later they had crossed the river and were skimming over the housetops, looking for an anchorage. "there is central park. we shall pass over the south end of it. that is the place for us to drop anchor," said the professor. "all right, professor. stand by boys! let them go!" cried the doctor. down to the earth went two anchors. they almost immediately caught in the strong limbs of the shade trees and silver cloud was again safely anchored. it was well that this immense park had chanced to be their stopping place, for the people were wild with excitement, and poured into it like a mighty flood. the shout that went up was deafening as the doctor and professor descended to the ground. the whole party came down, two by two, the fastenings of the globe were made doubly secure, a posse of policemen put in charge of it, and then they submitted themselves to the committee of reception appointed by the mayor. carriages awaited them, and they were conveyed to a hotel as rapidly as the densely crowded streets would permit. no conqueror ever received a more tremendous ovation! frequently the carriages were brought to a dead standstill, and only the most strenuous efforts of scores of policemen could make a passage for them. but finally their enthusiasm broke through all barriers. the horses were taken from the vehicles, and hundreds of friendly hands grasped the ropes attached to the ends of the tongues, and then better progress was made. the doctor bore his honors with gentle dignity, taking off his hat, and bowing frequently to the right and left to his excited and enthusiastic countrymen who thus delighted to do him honor. if mrs. jones' eyes filled with tears of pride and delight as she witnessed this outpouring of the hearts of the people to the man whom she loved above anything upon earth, surely no one will censure her for that. the travelers had met with some hearty receptions, but never with anything like this. it was not the male portion only who were demonstrative, but the ladies were equally active in their expressions of appreciation. the carriages were literally filled with rich bouquets of flowers that rained into them. and when they could bring them to a standstill, the crush about the vehicles almost threatened their destruction. they shook hands with as many as climbed up within reach, not a few of whom were ladies. "upon my word, girls, i don't know but they will eat us up," said the doctor to his wife and mattie, who sat beside him in the leading landau. but all things earthly have an end, and the party finally landed at the entrance of the hotel. here the press was tremendous, and it was with extreme difficulty that they at last reached the parlor, where the mayor and many distinguished citizens awaited them. "i fear you have had a rough passage through our streets," said the mayor. "i give you my word, sir, that we have been in more danger during the last half hour than in all the balance of our voyage," replied dr. jones. "you have stirred the world, and turned it upside down, and you will have to stand the consequences of your unprecedented popularity. it is so refreshing to see a man do the impossible with the nonchalance and ease that you have displayed that you must not complain if we nearly kill you with the best intentions in the world. but i promise that we will endeavor to make it as easy for you as possible, while with us." "i have lived all my life in new york, but i am sure that i never saw our city so excited as it is to-night," said another gentleman. "just listen to them! come out upon the balcony and look at them." as they stepped out and looked up and down broadway, far as they could see the great thoroughfare was filled with people. the voyagers were instantly recognized, and such a roar as went up from that vast multitude! it continued until the mayor stepped forward and raised his hand to command silence. "speak to them a few words, doctor, and send them home," said he. the doctor stepped forward and cried at the top of his powerful voice: "friends and fellow countrymen. of course, i expected you would be glad to see a party who travel in so splendid a chariot as the great aluminum ship. and i take it for granted that you are all aware that silver cloud, as we have named the globe, carried us to the north pole and back safely and pleasantly. and to-night, as we stand in the great metropolis of the western hemisphere, there flies from the most splendid flagstaff upon earth, located precisely at the northern extremity of the earth's axis, the flag of our union! (at this point, the patriotic enthusiasm of the hearers could not be restrained, and for several minutes the doctor stood and awaited the subsidence of the cheering.) but i have a proposition to make you. the mayor desires that you all retire now to your homes, and i promise you that to-morrow night we will tell you all about our trip, and show you how we planted the flagstaff at the north pole. i bid you all good night." "that was good, doctor, and i think that now they will disperse quite satisfied," said the mayor. "you are the city's guests, remember, and we are extremely desirous of rendering you every possible honor and pleasure. i do not doubt that you are all fatigued with so much excitement and sightseeing as you have been through to-day, and we will let you retire. good-night." chapter xxiii. the world at the feet of doctor jones. the following morning our friends were up be-times and were soon engaged in the busiest day of their lives. the wind was still unfavorable for their passage to washington, and they abandoned themselves to the numerous duties that pressed upon them, and hospitalities of the friendly gothamites. messages almost innumerable and visitors by thousands poured in upon them. mrs. jones, mattie, and denison acted as secretaries for dr. jones, while will and fred performed the same office for professor gray. reporters by scores besieged them at all hours. the doctor disposed of these importunate visitors by appointing an hour when he met them in a body in a private room, and there answered their numerous questions. at three o'clock p.m. the mayor called, and through a private exit the whole party was led to carriages, and shown a considerable portion of the better part of the city. they drove to the globe and found it surrounded by thousands of admirers. silver cloud proudly floated above them, gently oscillating in the breeze, slightly bowing to the right and left, as if complacently acknowledging the admiration and praises of its visitors. the carriages were driven as near as possible to the globe. will and denison worked their way to the cage and ascended to the cabin. the vast throng watched this proceeding with intense interest, and made the welkin ring with their shouts as the two men safely entered the manhole. they examined the thermometer, trimmed the burners that were necessary to be kept alight, wound up the motor springs, and then descended with a rapidity that caused the spectators to hold their breaths. after several hours' driving, during which time the mayor pointed out many objects of interest, they were driven to their hotel and left to rest and prepare for the evening's entertainment. they had been informed that the largest building in the city had been engaged, and the whole party of arctic explorers were earnestly requested to meet the public that evening in said building. this they consented to do. there was not the slightest snobbishness about dr. jones, or it certainly would have manifested itself now when the world was at his feet. but the little man was as kind and unaffectedly friendly now as ever in his life. he was a close student of human nature too, and thoroughly understood that they were fully capable of crying "hosannah!" to-day, and "crucify him! crucify him!" to-morrow. human nature is not different from what it was thousands of years ago. it is no better and no worse. unregenerate man is out of harmony with his maker; and being possessed of a finite mind, he can never be right, do right, nor keep right until he places himself unreservedly into god's hands. "just as i am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me, and that thou bidst me come to thee, o lamb of god! i come." "when i would do good, evil is ever present with me," was st. paul's experience. it is yours and it is mine, gentle reader. there is no escape from it, except through the blood of christ. then shall we commit all our ways unto him, and shall never be moved. this is the one great cause of man's inconstancy. he is constantly seeking after that which shall satisfy the cravings of his never dying soul, but refuses the light which god gives him. he sips from every cup of worldly pleasure, and madly rushes after the sensation of the hour, be it good or bad. one after the other, they pall upon his wearied senses, and he dashes them from his lips in disgust. happy alone is he who listens to that voice, 'come unto me, and i will give you rest.' that evening, before many thousands of people, our friends did what they could to please them. they sang as they never had done in their lives. it is unnecessary to say that their efforts were received with tremendous rounds of encores by the delighted host. the music was interspersed with appropriate speeches from the mayor and other civic dignitaries. they all spoke in unlimited terms of praise of the man who had conceived the idea of the aluminum globe, and who had had the courage of his convictions. he had added undying glory to the land that bore him, and now that land delighted to honor him by every means within her power, etc. the doctor and professor each spoke at some length, giving the history of the expedition and the importance of it to the scientific world. the doctor told them of the planting of the aluminum flagstaff in terse, graphic language, and concluded by saying: "and now friends, we will conclude the evening's performance by giving you an exact representation of how we marched about the flagstaff and sang professor marsh's composition, 'the north pole march.' you must imagine the thermometer sixty or more degrees below zero in order to appreciate the scene." a fair representation of the foot of the flagstaff had been improvised, and the stage was made to look like a field of snow and ice. in a circle about the pole were set vessels of burning oil. within this circle the friends marched to the beautiful music that fred played upon the aluminum organ (for even that instrument had been brought by denison and will from the globe, that the scene might lack nothing in realism.) and so real was the scene as they marched in their sealskin suits--poor sing among them, though he could not sing--and so inspiring was the music, that the vast assemblage sat still as death, every sense strained to the highest tension, that they might not lose a movement nor note. when they finished, the shout that went up was a tremendous lungburst that was simply deafening. men, women, and children jumped upon their feet, waved their handkerchiefs, and screamed and shouted themselves hoarse. nor would they cease until the lights had all been turned low, and they realized that the children of the skies would appear no more that night. they had improved the opportunity while the multitude thus encored to make their escape in their carriages to the hotel. "i don't know, doctor, but you will be responsible for many cases of lunacy among our people," said the mayor. "i never saw them so utterly carried away as they were with your company and the globe. all you have to do is to take to the stage and you can bankrupt the nation." after a quiet supper with a select party of notables of the city, our friends were permitted to retire for the night. "i am anxious to get on to washington. this is very pleasant, but i much prefer the cabin of silver cloud, with you, my dear friends, to all this hustling, cramming, and jambing. the people are kind as they can be, and are doing everything for our comfort and pleasure, but i never could endure being crowded. give me plenty of elbow room or give me death!" cried dr. jones. "who would have thought that our march about the pole would make such a sensation!" said mrs. jones. "your north pole march will make your fortune, fred. you should immediately copyright and publish it. you could sell thousands of copies to-morrow." "all right, mrs. jones; i will profit by your suggestion," answered fred, gayly. "dear old silver cloud is making us all famous and rich. strike while the iron's hot;' 'make hay while the sun shines;' etc. my next attempt will be the silver cloud waltz. this is the tide in my affairs, and i must be thrifty enough to take it at its flood." on the following morning after breakfast it was observed that the wind was from the nor-nor-east, or nearly exactly toward their destination. "shall we sail to-day, or accept further hospitalities of new york?" asked dr. jones of the company. the unanimous decision was that they sail immediately. the mayor was telephoned that they would sail within one or two hours, the wind being favorable. a few moments later that gentleman appeared in the parlor where they were sitting and said hastily: "my dear doctor, we cannot let you go to-day. we have a splendid program laid out for you, and our people will be greatly disappointed if you do not stop at least another day. besides, great excursions by steamers and rail are expected to-morrow. we cannot let you off for two or three days yet." "my dear sir, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to remain as long as you desire. but my commands are peremptory from washington to report there at the earliest practicable moment. so i really have no option in the matter, and must sail this very morning," replied dr. jones. "such being the case, doctor, i am too good a citizen to urge you to disobey orders. we will say no more about it, but thank you for the pleasure you have given us, and wish you 'bon voyage.'" "you may do better than that, sir. we should be exceedingly pleased to have you and your family accompany us to washington. we can promise you the sensation and pleasure of your lifetime," returned the doctor. "o do come, sir!" cried mrs. jones. "bring your family and give them the greatest treat this world affords." "i will consult them, immediately. but i fear that they are poor sailors, and can hardly be persuaded to venture a trip in an air-ship." "i will see that they do not suffer from seasickness," said the doctor. "prevail upon them to come if possible, for i know you will never regret it. now shall we remain here, or meet you at the globe?" "remain here, please, and i will return with all possible expedition." a half hour later he returned with his wife and two daughters, the latter being stylish, lovely girls of about mattie's age. all three were in a state of more or less nervousness and trepidation at the idea of a sail through the sky, and yet they could not resist the desire to go. "o mrs. jones! miss bronson! don't you feel awfully frightened away up there, thousands of feet from the earth?" asked one of the girls. "not the least bit!" replied mrs. jones. "so far from that, will you believe me, i feel better and fully as safe in the cabin of our silver cloud, five thousand feet from the earth, as i do in this parlor." "do you hear that, mamma?" cried the elder girl. "and what an appropriate, beautiful name--silver cloud. well, i am determined to be a good sailor, and enjoy this trip as i never did anything in my life." "i will meet you within an hour at the ship," said the mayor. "i must attend to some business before i can go," and he hurried away. an hour later they were all standing upon the balcony of silver cloud, excepting will and denison. they were standing by the spring motors to hoist and stow the anchors. the news had spread that the great globe was about to sail, and people were rushing by thousands to witness its departure. the signal was given, and silver cloud arose so majestically and beautifully above the great city that the people roared like another niagara at the transcendently glorious spectacle! it rose to the height of eight hundred feet, and moved rapidly toward the southwest. they maintained this comparatively low altitude on account of their visitors manifesting symptoms of extreme terror, especially the young ladies. but mrs. jones and mattie soothed and petted them, and assured them so positively of their perfect safety that by degrees they became quiet, and in a short time were enjoying the scenery, and watching through their glasses the main objects of interest. "mrs. jones." said the mayor's wife, "i do not wonder that you prefer the cabin of this ship to the parlor of our grandest city hotel. this is the most inspiring scene i ever witnessed, and one that i should never grow tired of. how cool and pure this atmosphere is! i am sure that nothing could add to the beauty of the scenery or your splendid ship." "o madam! but you should have seen silver cloud before we robbed her of her chief ornament, the flagstaff. that was her glory, as a fine head of hair is a woman's," replied dr. jones, who had overheard the lady's remark. "i shall never be satisfied until we have replaced it." the ship, meantime, was hastening at a forty mile gait toward the capital. the trip was one long thrill of excitement and pleasure to the visitors. the doctor had settled all symptoms of nausea with his well-selected remedies, and nothing more could be desired to add to their pleasure and comfort. at the hour of noon they sat down to lunch. they ate but little, the excitement having more or less destroyed their appetites. but they sat a considerable time at the table and talked animatedly upon various topics; principally, though, of the ship and their voyage to and from the pole. the ladies could not sufficiently admire and praise the beauty, cleanliness, and comfort of the cabin. fred was seated beside grace, the younger of the sisters, and they were discussing music. she praised his north pole march in unstinted terms, until he blushed to the ears with delight. she and her elder sister, rose, were musicians of a high order, and had graduated at the leading musical conservatories of america. they had besides spent several years in europe in the pursuit of knowledge in that line. fred asked grace to promenade the balcony with him. she immediately accepted the proposition, and they were soon oblivious to the world in the discussion of their favorite theme--music. no doubt the inspiring scene below and all about them drew out all the finer sentiments of their beings. and what could two handsome, heartwhole, sentimental young beings do but fall--- "not over the balustrade!" o no! but into love! the whole company now came out upon the balcony, and they slowly promenaded about the four sides of the cabin. we cannot describe the witchery and beauty of the fast-flying panorama below. our pen falters, and the picture must be left to the imagination of the reader. the mayor was very familiar with the topography of the country, and pointed out the various rivers, mountain ranges, cities, towns, etc. about three o'clock the capitol buildings, washington monument, and other tall structures about the city hove in sight. they were immediately seen, for the great guns in all the forts about the city fired thundering salutes. "they are loaded to the muzzle for us, doctor," said professor gray. "it appears so," he replied. "i only wish it was all over with." "what park is that?" he asked a few moments later, pointing to one that lay directly in their course. the professor mentioned its name, and thought it a very convenient place for anchorage. accordingly, silver cloud swooped down upon it with a velocity that fairly took away the breath of the mayor and family. a few moments later, silver cloud was safely anchored, after her voyage of many thousands of miles, at her starting point. in a little less than four months they had made the most extraordinary trip known in the world's history, that of columbus not excepted, and were now safely returned! two by two they descended to earth, and, as in new york, carriages awaited them. evidently preparations for their reception had been made upon a colossal scale. the air was thundering and riven with the voices of the innumerable hosts, brass bands on every hand in full blast, so that it was impossible to hear a word said by the nearest neighbor. the police, fire, and military forces were out in full strength. the voyagers, mayor of new york and family, were seated in landaus, and with ropes the girls of all the public schools, each dressed in pure white and bearing in her hand an american flag, drew the vehicles through the principal streets of the city. each of the little maids wore upon her bare head a chaplet of flowers, and the scene was one of indescribable beauty. and as they walked they sang in sweetest harmony, "see, the conquering hero comes." dr. jones was affected to tears at this sight, and could scarcely contain himself. at last the procession stopped before the grand central entrance of the capitol building. upon the top steps they were met by the president and his cabinet, many members of both houses, though congress was not in session at this season. ministers and plenipotentiaries from nearly every court in the world were also there. judges, statesmen, and journalists were in attendance by scores. nothing was left undone that could in any way add to the honor and glory of the hero of the day. the modesty and unaffected dignity with which he received it all, clothed him as with a garment, and was a marvel to even those who knew him best. but it would prove tedious to the reader if we were to relate in detail all the speech-making and public receptions tendered our friends. the doctor and professor before vast audiences told the story of their journey, the planting of the pole, the scientific value of observations made by professor gray, etc. the concert and north pole march were rendered several times. in a week or so the furore began to subside, and the company were glad to settle down to a comparatively quiet life in a large furnished house, which the doctor rented. callers were coming and going continually during several hours daily, and invitations to parties, dinners, concerts, operas, etc., were very numerous. the mayor and family returned to new york after spending a week with the friends. they declared that they envied them their trip to the south pole, and should never be satisfied until they had enjoyed another sail in silver cloud. the doctor and professor were kept very busy in consultation with governmental officials and scientific men. the naval and military departments were especially interested in the probabilities and possibilities of the use of air-ships in warfare. an arrangement was made to take a party of military men on a trip in silver cloud. a very successful and brilliant voyage of several hundreds of miles to the south and return was made, during which the doctor actually encountered an opportunity to exemplify his theory as to air currents. while they were driving rapidly south at an altitude of but four or five hundred feet, he rapidly rose several thousand feet and encountered a splendid northerly current that carried them back to their starting point in a way that pleased the little man wonderfully well. this was a great triumph for the doctor, and impressed the governmental party as of vast importance, and added immensely to the effectiveness of the ship in the art of war. the government made will a very liberal offer to act as architect and constructor of another ship similar to silver cloud, with such improvements as experience had suggested to him. he accepted the offer, and would enter upon his duties immediately after their return from the south pole. the government had immediately acquiesced to their proposition to seek the south pole, and even urged that they get out as soon as possible. the aluminum pole, a fac-simile of the one already planted, was being constructed. one day, a month after their return, mrs. jones and mattie were summoned to the parlor at an early hour for callers. they found there a large elderly gentleman and two ladies. "o mattie!" cried the younger, "don't you know us?" "why! is it possible that you are our friends from constance house? it is, maggie, it is! and this is jennie barton!" "i declare that i was never so surprised and delighted in my life! can this be mrs. barton?" and then such kissing and handshaking. "and how do you do, mrs. barton? i would not have known you. how you have improved!" and mrs. jones scanned her face very critically. "are you entirely recovered?" "she is so much better that we no longer consider her an invalid. but i was desirous that the doctor should see her again, and so we have come down. we were in montreal when i saw in a paper an account of your return to washington. that was the first we had heard of you since you sailed from constance house, and you can well believe that we were exceedingly pleased to hear of your safe return. so we made up our minds that we would run down and see you at once," said mr. barton. after they had conversed a few moments and had inquired after joe and sam, mrs. jones conducted them to two chambers, insisting that they must be her guests while in the city. the doctor and other members of the party were delighted to met the bartons. dr. jones was well pleased with the progress that mrs. barton had made. he considered her cure but a question of a short time, but insisted, in order that no chances might be incurred, that she should remain during the winter at washington. he did not anticipate that they would be gone more than thirty days on their south pole expedition, and certainly not more than two months. and so they arranged that they should stay at least until the return of the expedition. "and that settles it that we are to remain here until next summer, for it is very late even now for us to return to constance house. so i will write the boys to that effect, and shall settle down to the study of american politics," said john barton. chapter xxiv. ho! for the south pole! silver cloud, meantime, had been returned to the place of her birth, the great iron works upon the potomac river. another shapely three hundred feet mast had been manufactured and erected. one morning about the middle of september, the globe arose above the glittering mast and slowly settled upon it. the fastenings were soon adjusted, the flag of aluminum nailed to the peak, and silver cloud was herself again, ready for another trip to the ends of the earth. will had made a number of additions and alterations, among which was an increase in the size and strength of the coiled springs that were used for hoisting purposes and running the dynamo. a powerful searchlight had been added, and the electrical appliances greatly increased. among other things, he had a two horse power steam engine set up. this was to be used for winding the springs. good old john barton was never happier in his life than at this period. his interest in the globe was intense, and he daily spent hours with will at the iron works. he made several valuable suggestions, and his hard common sense and experience were of no little value to the architect. "if i were not getting so far along in years, and mother was perfectly well and willing, i should like nothing better than to go with you this trip," said he to dr. jones. "but we will stay and keep house for you until your return." "and that will be but a very few weeks, i am quite sure," answered the doctor. "it is not likely that we shall be made prisoners three months this trip. and that reminds me that i received a letter from count icanovich this morning, maggie, and it inclosed one from feodora to you." the letters were hastily read. they were well, and feodora had never been better in her life. the count had been studying and practicing the new system of medicine, and, to his unbounded delight, had made some center shots. his enthusiasm was steadily increasing, and he implored the doctor to return to russia and co-operate with him in introducing this god-given system into that vast empire. he assured him that they had everything to hope for. the princess was getting on quite comfortably, and the fame of what dr. jones had done for her had become national. numerous physicians of note had called upon and written the prince and himself to ascertain the facts concerning the marvelous cures that had been reported to them. the prince and princess sent their sincere regards, etc. feodora wrote in a lively strain to mrs. jones and mattie, and urged them to return to their castle for a good visit as soon as possible. these letters were answered promptly, the doctor giving advice concerning a case or two that the count had found puzzling. he promised them a visit as soon after their return from the south pole as possible. two or three mornings later washington was again packed with visitors to witness the departure of silver cloud for the southern extremity of the earth. greater enthusiasm than before was expressed by everyone, for now there were no skeptics, and everybody cheered with might and main. as on the previous occasion, the hour of noon was selected for sailing. this gave people from the surrounding country an opportunity to come in and witness the magnificent scene. it was declared a holiday by general consent, and it is no exaggeration to say that nearly the whole earth was represented in the unnumbered hosts that filled the streets, covered the housetops and surrounding hills, and every spot and place that afforded any possibility of seeing the ascent of the globe. the friends and acquaintances that the company collectively and individually had formed were out in full force. numerous and hearty were the handshakings; "good-bye," and "bon voyage," were heard on every hand. the globe was anchored at but fifty feet from the earth. the cage had been enlarged so that the voyagers now ascended four at a time. this they did a few minutes before noon. the organ was taken out upon the balcony, and "god be with you till we meet again," was sung by our friends. the three bartons stood just below and opposite the choir, tears of friendship and gratitude streaming down their faces. we will state here (quite privately be it understood) that will and jennie had come to an understanding that seemed to be very satisfactory to them, and their leavetaking was more affectionate than is usual with mere acquaintances, or even intimate friends. it is the old story. cupid has done his work again. well, god bless them, and may a parson step in and complete the love god's work very soon after silver cloud shall have returned. and fred visited grace at the mayor's house in new york. there may be trouble of the same sort brewing there. but the bells and whistles have announced the hour for bailing. the anchors were tripped, and silver cloud arose with the majesty of the queen of night, nearly perpendicularly above the city to the height of three thousand feet; there, to the extreme satisfaction of dr. jones, a brisk breeze from the northeast was encountered, and away sailed the beautiful globe until the straining eyes of the multitude saw it as a bright star-like point in the heavens, and then it disappeared--bound for the south pole. the end. the world masters _ready shortly_ _by the same author_ sidelights on convict life _with numerous illustrations taken from life_ crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. john long, publisher london the world masters by george griffith author of "_the angel of the revolution_," "_brothers of the chain_," "_the justice of revenge_," "_a honeymoon in space_," "_captain johnnie_," _etc. etc._ london john long 13 and 14 norris street, haymarket 1903 [_all rights reserved_] the world masters prologue the moment of triumph high above the night-shrouded street, whose silence was only broken by the occasional tramp of the military patrol or the gruff challenges of the sentries on the fortifications, a man was walking, with jerky, uneven strides, up and down a vast attic in an ancient house overlooking the old fisher's gate, close by where the river ill leaves the famous city of strassburg. the room, practically destitute of ordinary furniture, was fitted up as a chemical and physical laboratory, and the man was doctor emil fargeau, the most distinguished scientific investigator that the lost province of alsace had produced--a tall, spare man of about sixty, with sloping, stooping shoulders and forward-thrown head, thinly covered with straggling iron-grey hair. it was plain that he was in the habit of shaving clean, but just now there was a short white stubble both on his upper lip and on the lean wrinkled cheeks which showed the nervous workings of the muscles so plainly. in fact, his whole appearance was that of a man too completely absorbed by an over-mastering idea to pay any attention to the small details of life. and such was the exact truth--for these few mid-night minutes which were being ticked off by an ancient wooden clock in the corner were the most anxious of his life. in fact, a few more of them would decide whether the great experiment, for which he had sacrificed everything, even to his home and his great professional position, was to be a success or a failure. on the long, bare, pine table, beside which he was pacing up and down, stood a strange fabric about three feet high. it was round, and about the size of a four-gallon ale jar. it was covered completely by a closed glass cylinder, and rested on four strong glass supports. from the floor on either side of the table a number of twisted, silk-covered wires rose from two sets of storage batteries. within the four supports was a wooden dish, and on this lay a piece of bright steel some four inches square and about an inch thick, just under a circle of needles which hung down in a circle from the bottom of the machine. a very faint humming sound filled the room, and made a somewhat uncanny accompaniment to the leisurely tick of the clock and the irregular shuffling of the doctor's slippered feet. every now and then he stopped, and put his ear near to the machine, and then looked at the piece of steel with a gleam of longing anticipation in his keen, deep-set, grey eyes. then he began his walk again, and his lips went on working, as though he were holding an inaudible conversation with himself. at last there came a faint whirr from the clock, a little window opened, and a wooden bird bobbed out and said "cuckoo" once. the doctor stopped instantly, took out his watch and compared it with the clock. "now, let us see!" he said, quietly, in his somewhat guttural alsatian french, for in this supreme moment of his life he had gone back to the patois of his boyhood, which he had spoken in the days before the teuton's iron hand had snatched his well-loved native land from france and begun to rule it according to the pitiless doctrine of blood and iron. he pulled the platter out from under the machine, picked up a little wooden mallet from the table, and, with a trembling hand, struck the steel plate in the centre. it splintered instantly to fragments, as though it had only been a thin sheet of glass. the doctor dropped the mallet, lifted his hand to the window that looked out over the river towards the citadel, and said: "it is done! and so, germany, stealer of our land and oppressor of my people, will i break the great fabric of your power with one touch of this weak old hand of mine!" then he threw open one of the old-fashioned dormer windows that looked out over the northern part of the city towards france, and began to speak again in a low, intense tone which rose and fell slightly as his deep breaths came and went. "but france, my beautiful mother france, thou shalt know soon that i have done more than given thee the power to turn on thy conqueror and crush him. i can make thee queen and mistress of the world, and i will do it. the other nations shall live and prosper only at thy bidding, and they shall pay thee tribute for the privilege of being something more than the savages from which they came. "those who will not pay thee tribute shall go back to the stone age, for i will show thee how to make their metals useless. only with thy permission shall their steam-engines work for them, or their telegraphs record their words; for i have found the soul of the world, the living principle of material things, and i will draw it out of the fabric of nature as i have done out of that block of steel. and i will give it into thy hands, and the nations shall live or die according to thy pleasure. "and you, adelaide, daughter of our ancient line of kings, descendant of the grand monarch, you shall join hands with my victor after he has flung off the livery of his servitude, and together you shall raise up the throne of saint louis in the place where these usurpers and republican canaille have reigned over ruined france. the prince of condé shall sit in the seat of his ancestors, and after him adelaide de montpensier--and victor, my son, shall stand beside her, ruler of the world! "a miracle, and yet 'tis true! possible, for i have made it possible. it is only for france to believe me and spend her millions--millions that will buy her the empire of the earth, and it is done--done as easily as i worked that seeming miracle just now. i have risked much--all--for i have hazarded even honour itself; but my faith is justified, and i have won--and now, let me see how i stand before the world for the present." he went and sat down before the only piece of ordinary furniture that the laboratory contained, an old oak bureau, on which stood a little shaded reading-lamp. he unlocked a drawer, and took out a little wash-leather bag. he undid it and emptied it into his hand. there were ten twenty-mark pieces--just ten pounds and a few pence in english money. in his pocket he had perhaps twenty-five marks more. "it is not much," he whispered, as he looked at the gold in his hand; "not much at the end of a life's work, as the world would call it. but the world knows nothing of that!" he went on, half-turning his head towards the machine on the table. "as the world takes wealth, this is all that is left of fortune, lands, and savings. everything is gone but this, and that--ay, and more also. yes, it was a hard fate that forced me to do that. still, science showed me how to alter the figures so that not even the filthy jew weinthal himself could tell if he had the draft in his hand. that he will never have; for it has a month to run, and before that france will have made me rich. it was not right, but the scoundrel only gave me half what the last farm was worth, and i had to have more to finish my work. yet, is it not honourable even to sin in such a cause! well, well, it is over now. i have triumphed, and that atones for all; and so to bed and good dreams, and to-morrow to paris!" chapter i it was the 27th of january, the kaiser's birthday, and the reception-rooms of the german embassy, on the nevski prospekt, overlooking the snow-covered quays and ice-bound waters of the neva, were filled with as brilliant a throng as could have been found between the ourals and the english channel. it has been said that petersburg in the winter season contains more beautiful women than any other capital in europe; and certainly the fair guests of his excellency the german ambassador to the court of the white czar went far towards proving the truth of the saying. the dresses were as ideal as they were indescribable, and the jewels which blazed round the softly moulded throats and on the fair white breasts, and gleamed on dainty coiffures of every hue, from ebony black to the purest flaxen, would have been bad to match even among the treasures of oriental princes. the men, too, were splendid in every variety of uniform, from the gold-laced broadcloth of diplomacy to the white and gold of the imperial guard. not a man was present whose left breast was not glittering with stars and medals, and, in most cases, crossed with the ribbon of some distinguished order. the windless, frosty air outside was still vocal with the jingling of the sleigh-bells as the vehicles sped swiftly and noiselessly up to the open doors, for it was only a little after ten, and all the guests had not yet arrived. precisely at half-past a sleigh drawn by three perfectly black orloff horses swept into the courtyard, and a few minutes later the major-domo passed through the open folding-doors and said, in loud but well-trained tones: "his highness the prince de condé, duc de montpensier! mademoiselle la marquise de montpensier!" at the same moment two lacqueys held aside the heavy curtains which hung on the inside of the doorway, and the latest arrivals entered. the announcement of the once most noble names in europe instantly hushed the hum of conversation, and all eyes were turned towards the doorway. they saw a tall, straight, well-set-up man of about fifty, with dark moustache and imperial, and iron-grey hair still thick and strong. a single glance at his features showed that they bore the indelible stamp of the old bourbon race. the high, somewhat narrow, forehead was continued in a straight line to the end of the long thin nose. the somewhat high cheek-bones, the delicate ears, the thin, sensitive nostrils, and the strong, slightly protruding chin, might have belonged to the grande monarque himself. he was in ordinary court dress, the broad red ribbon of the order of st vladimir crossed his breast, the collar and jewel of the golden fleece hung from his neck, and the stars of half-a-dozen other orders glittered on the left breast of his coat; but, though he bore the greatest name in france, there was not a french order among them, for louis xavier de condé was a voluntary exile from the land over which his ancestors had once ruled so splendidly and so ruinously. for three generations his branch of the great family had refused to recognise any ruler in france, from the first consul to the president of the third republic. in his eyes they were one and all usurpers and plebeian upstarts, who ruled only by the suffrages of an ignorant and deluded mob. in short, his creed and the rule of his daily life were hatred and contempt of the french democracy. on this subject he was almost a fanatic, and in days soon to come this fanaticism of his was destined to influence events, of which only three people in all that crowded assembly were even dreaming. the girl at his side--for she was not yet twenty-one--might well have been taken for a twentieth-century replica of marie antoinette, and to say that, is to say that among all the beautiful and stately women in that brilliant concourse, none were quite so beautiful and stately as adelaide de condé, marquise de montpensier. of all the hundred eyes which were turned upon this peerless daughter of the line of st louis, the most eager were those of a splendidly-built young fellow of about twenty-eight, dressed in the blue and white uniform of the uhlan regiment of the german army. captain victor fargeau, military attaché to the german embassy in petersburg, was perhaps the handsomest, and, at the same time, manliest-looking man in all that company of soldiers and diplomats. at least, so certainly thought adelaide de condé, as she saw his dark blue eyes light up with a swift gleam of admiration, and the bronze on his cheeks grow deeper as the quick blood flushed beneath it. it was a strange bond that united the daughter of the bourbons with the soldier and subject of the german kaiser, and yet it must have been a close one. for, after the first formal presentations were over, her eyes sent a quick signal to his, which brought him instantly to her side, and when their hands met the clasp was closer, and lasted just a moment longer than mere acquaintance or even friendship would have warranted. "can you tell me, captain, whether the gentleman who calls himself the french ambassador has honoured us with his presence to-night?" said the prince, as he shook hands with the young soldier. "no, prince, he has not," he replied. "i hear that, almost at the last moment, he sent an attaché with his regrets and excuses. of course, as you know, there is a little friction between the governments just now, and naturally, too, he would know that your highness and mam'selle la marquise would honour us with your presence--so, on the whole, i suppose he thought it more convenient to discover some important diplomatic matter which would deprive him of the pleasure of joining us." "ah," said the marquise, looking up at him with a glance and a smile that set his pulses jumping, "then perhaps sophie valdemar was right when she told me this afternoon that his excellency had really a good excuse for not coming--an interview with count lansdorf, and afterwards with no less a personage than the little father himself! and, you know, sophie knows everything." "ah yes," said the prince; "i had forgotten that. you told me of it. i should not wonder if the subject of their conversation were not unconnected with an increase of the french fleet in chinese waters. and then morocco is----" "chut, papa!" said the marquise, in a low tone, "we must not talk politics here. in petersburg ceilings have eyes and walls have ears." "that is true," laughed victor; "not even embassies here are neutral ground." at this moment a lacquey approached and bowed to captain fargeau. "pardon me a moment," he said to his companions; "i am wanted for something, and i can see a good many envious eyes looking this way. ah, there goes the music! they will be dancing presently, and there will be many candidates for mam'selle's hand. but you will keep me a waltz or two, won't you? and may i hope also for supper?" "my dear victor," she replied, with a bewildering smile, "have i not already told you that you may hope for everything? meanwhile, _au revoir_! when you have done your business you will find us in the salon." as he moved away, the curtains were again drawn aside, and the major-domo announced: "his excellency count valdemar! the countess sophie valdemar!" the count was a big, strongly-built man in diplomatic uniform. his face was of the higher russian type, and heavily bearded. his daughter, the countess sophie, was a strange contrast to him, slight and fair, with perfectly cut features, almost grecian in their regularity, golden-bronze hair, dark, straight eyebrows, and big, wide-set, pansy-blue eyes. the only russian trait that she possessed was her mouth--full-lipped and sensuous, almost sensular, in fact; and yet it was small enough, and the lips were so daintily shaped that it added to, rather than detracted from her beauty. they were lips whose kisses had lured more than one bearer of a well-known name to destruction. some they had sent to the scaffold, and others were still dreaming of their fatal sweetness in prison or in hopeless exile; for sophie valdemar, daughter of count leo valdemar, chief of the third section of the ministry of the interior, had been trained up from girlhood by her father in every art of intrigue, until even he was fully justified in calling her the most skilful diplomatic detective in europe. to her friends and acquaintances she was just a charming and brilliantly-accomplished girl of nineteen, who had reigned as undisputed queen of beauty in moscow and petersburg until adelaide de condé had come from vienna with her father, and, by some mysterious means, unknown even to her, had been received into instant favour at court, and in the most exclusive circles in the most exclusive city in the world. in fact, the enigma which it was the present object of her life to solve was how this could be possible--granted the tacit alliance between the russian empire and the french republic, and the prince's openly expressed contempt for all modern things french and republican. there were, indeed, only three people in europe who could have solved that riddle, and she was not one of them. as she entered she saw victor coming towards her. instantly her eyes brightened, and the faintest of flushes showed through the pallor of her silken skin. he stopped for a moment to greet them, but his clasp on her hand was nothing more than the formal pressure which friendship expects, and she looked in vain for any gleam in his eyes answering that in her own. when he had passed in towards the door she flung a swift glance round the room, and as the soft pansy eyes rested on the exquisite shape and lovely face of adelaide de condé they seemed to harden and blacken for just the fraction of a second. the next moment she and her father were greeting the prince and the marquise with a cordiality that was only tempered by the almost indefinable reserve which the place and the situation made indispensable. "my dear marquise," she said, in that soft, pure french which, outside france, is only heard in russia, "if possible, you have excelled yourself to-night; you are a perfect vision----" "my dear sophie," laughed the marquise, "what is the matter? you seem as formal as you wish to be flattering; but really, if it is a matter of compliments, it is not you, but i who should be paying them." "quite a waste of time, my dear children," laughed the count, gruffly. "imagine you two paying each other compliments when there are a couple of hundred men here with thousands of them crowding up to their lips. still, prince," he went on, "it is better so than rivalry, for rival beauty has always worked more harm in the world than rival ambitions." "there can be no question of rivalry, my dear count," replied the prince. "why should the evening envy the morning, or the lily be jealous of the rose?" "put like a frenchman and a statesman, prince: that was said as only one of the old regime could say it," said sophie, with a little backward movement of her head. "how is it that the men of this generation never say things like that--or, if they try to, bungle over it." "perhaps they are too busy to revive the lost art of politeness," laughed adelaide. "but come, papa; they are playing a lovely waltz, and i am dying for a dance, and so is sophie, i daresay." "and, by their looks, many of these young men are dying of the same complaint; so suppose we go into the salon," said the prince, offering his arm to sophie. it was nearly half-an-hour before victor found adelaide disengaged in the ball-room. the first waltz that she had saved for him was just beginning, and, as he slipped his arm round her waist, he whispered under cover of the music: "if you please, we will just take a couple of turns, and then you will give me a few precious minutes of your company in the winter garden." she glanced up swiftly at him with a look of keen inquiry, and whispered in reply: "of course, my victor, if you wish it; especially as it is getting a little warm here--and no doubt you have something more interesting for me than dancing." "i think you will find it so," he said, as they glided away into the shining, smoothly-swirling throng which filled the great salon. after two or three turns they stopped at the curtained entrance of the vast conservatory, whose tropical trees and flowers and warm scented air formed a delicious contrast to the cold, black, russian winter's night. almost at the same moment sophie valdemar said to her partner, a smart young officer of the imperial guard: "i think that will do for the present, if you don't mind; i don't feel very vigorous to-night, somehow: suppose you find me a seat in the garden, and then go and tell one of the men to bring me an ice." they stopped just as victor and adelaide passed through the curtains. they followed a couple of yards behind them, and sophie quickened her step a little, her teeth came together with a little snap, and her eyes darkened again as she saw adelaide look up at her companion and heard her say softly: "well, what is your news--for i am sure you have some?" "yes, i have," he replied; "and the greatest of good news; you know from whom?" "ah," said adelaide, with a little catch in her voice, "from him; and has he----" "succeeded? yes; and to the fullest of his expectations. he goes to paris to-morrow, and then----" the rest of the sentence was lost to sophie as they turned away into the garden. her companion found her a seat under a tree-fern, and left her leaning back in her long-cushioned chair of russian wicker, looking across the winter garden, through the palms and ferns, at victor and adelaide, as they moved along, obviously looking for a secluded corner. during those few moments her whole nature had, for the time being, completely changed. the jealous, passionate woman had vanished, and in her place remained the cold, clear-headed, highly-trained intriguer, with incarnate and unemotional intellect, thinking swiftly and logically, trying to find some meaning in the words that she had just heard, words which, if she had only known their import, she would have found pregnant with the fate of europe. "i wonder who has succeeded beyond his best expectations? someone closely connected with both of them, of course! and paris--why should his success take him to paris? victor fargeau, alsatian though he is, is one of the most brilliant of the younger generation of german officers, a favourite of the emperor, a member of the staff, and attaché here in petersburg. and she, my dear friend and enemy, is a bourbon, an aristocrat of the first water, the daughter of an open enemy of our very good and convenient ally the french republic. paris--he who has succeeded is going to paris. well, i would give a good deal to know who he is and why he is going to paris." chapter ii "and so, monsieur le ministre, i am to take that as your final word? i have given you every proof that i can--saving the impossible--the bringing of my apparatus from strassburg to paris, which, of course, you know is an impossibility, since it would have to cross the frontier, which was once a french high road. i have shown you the facts, the figures, the drawings--everything. can you not see that i am honest, that i love my country, from which i have been torn away--i who come from a family that has lived in alsace since it was first french territory--i who am a frenchman through five generations--i who have sold my son to the prussians--i who have masqueraded for years in the prussian university of strassburg, once the queen of the rhine province--i who have discovered a secret which has lain buried since the days of the great faraday--i who have discovered, or i should say re-discovered, after him the true theory, and, what is more, the actual working of the magnetic tides which flow north and south through the two hemispheres to the pole--i who can give you, monsieur le ministre, and through you france, the control of those tides, so that you may make them ebb and flow as the tides of the sea do--prosperity with the flow, adversity with the ebb, that is what it comes to--ah, it is incredible! "once more, not as a scientist, not as an inventor, but only as a loyal son of france, let me implore you, monsieur le ministre, not to regard what i have told you as the dream of an enthusiast who has only dreamt and not done." "if you have done as much as you say, monsieur," replied the french minister of war, leaning back in his chair and twisting up the left point of his moustache as he looked coldly and incredulously across his desk at doctor emil fargeau, late professor of physical science at the university of strassburg, "how comes it that you have not been able to bring actual, tangible proofs to me here in paris? why, for instance, could you not have performed the miracle that you have just been telling me about in one of our laboratories in paris? if you had done that--well, we might have investigated the miracle, and, after investigation, might have some conviction--a conviction, if you will pardon me saying so, which might have enabled us to overcome the very natural prejudice that the government of the republic may be expected to have against a man of ancient family, whose ancestors had been french subjects for, as you say, five generations, but who has become himself a german subject, and has permitted his son, his only son, to enter the prussian service, and has endured the shame of seeing him rise year after year, rank upon rank, in the favour of the man who is destined to be to germany what the great napoleon was to france. "no, sir, i cannot believe you; i can understand what you have told me about what you call your invention, but understanding without conviction is like hunger without a good dinner. i am not satisfied. bring your apparatus here; let me see it work. convince me that you can do what you say, and all that you ask for is yours; but without conviction i can guarantee you nothing. "with every consideration that is due to the position that you have occupied in what may be called the enemy's country, the stolen provinces, i must take leave to say that very few days pass without an interview of this kind. i assure you, my dear sir, that saviours of our country and regainers of the lost provinces are to be counted by hundreds, but we have not yet found one whose scheme is capable of sustaining a practical test." "but, monsieur le ministre, i can assure you with equal faith that this is not a scheme, a theory, a something in the air. on the contrary, it is a theory reduced to fact--solid fact; what i have said to you i can do before you. i can convince you----" "exactly, my dear sir, exactly," said the minister; "you will not think me discourteous if i say that within the last six months i have had visits from inventors of air-ships who could create aerial navies which would assume the dominion of the air, annihilate armies and fleets, and make fortifications useless because impotent. others have come to me with plans which, if the theory could only have been translated into practice, would have given us a submarine navy which in six months would have sunk every cruiser and battleship on the ocean. in fact, in one of the drawers of this very bureau i have a most exactly detailed scheme for diverting the gulf stream through the much-lamented panama canal into the pacific, and so reducing the british islands, the home of our ancient enemies, to the conditions--i mean, of course, the climatic conditions, of labrador. that is to say, that nine months in the year london, southampton, plymouth, liverpool, glasgow, to say nothing of the ports on the east and the south, would be frozen up. the british navy--that curse of the world--could not operate; britain's shipping trade would be paralysed, and after that her industries. they are free-traders, and so they don't believe it; but it would be if it could be done. but it could not be done, monsieur; and that is the objection which i have to this most splendidly promising scheme of yours." "but, monsieur le ministre, i assure that it is only a question of--well, i will say a few thousand francs to convince you that i am not one of those scientific adventurers who have perhaps imposed on the credulity of the government before. what i have described to you is the truth--the truth as i have wrought it by my own labour, as i have seen it with my own eyes, as i have finished it with my own hand." "tres bien, monsieur! then all you have to do is, as i said before, to bring your apparatus here, perform the same experiment before a committee of experts, and if you break the piece of steel as you would a piece of glass--voila, c'est fini! we are convinced, and what you ask for will be granted." "but, monsieur le ministre, nothing could be fairer than that; only you have not remembered what i told you during our last interview. i have spent hundreds of thousands of francs to bring this idea of mine to perfection. i have spent every centime----" "pfennige i think you should call them, professor," interrupted the minister, with a perceptible sneer. "i am afraid you are forgetting your new nationality; and, since you are a german subject, living in german territory, as it now is, it is permissible for me to ask why this wonderful invention of yours was not offered first to germany--that is to say, if it has not already been offered and refused." as the minister of war spoke these few momentous words, accentuating them with his pen on the blotting-pad in front of him, doctor fargeau arose from his seat on the other side of the desk, and said, in a voice which would have been stronger had it not been broken by an uncontrollable emotion: "monsieur le ministre, you have spoken, and, officially, the matter is finished. through you i have offered france the empire of the world. through you france has refused it. you ask me to bring my apparatus here to paris, to prove that it is a question of practice, not of theory. i cannot do it, and why?--because, as i told you, i have spent every centime, or pfennige, if you like, in making this thing possible. "everything is gone: the farms and vineyards that have been ours since the days of st louis are mortgaged. we are homeless. i have no home to go back to. i have borrowed more than i can pay; i trusted everything to you, to the intelligence and patriotism of france. i have not even enough money to take me back to the home that i have ruined for the sake of france and her lost provinces. it was impossible to think that you would disbelieve me. a thousand francs, monsieur le ministre, would be enough--enough to save me from ruin, and to make france the mistress of the world. even out of your own pocket, it would not be very much. think, i implore you, of all that i have suffered and sacrificed; of all the hours that i have spent in making this great ideal a reality----" "and which, if you will excuse me saying so, monsieur," replied the minister, rising rather sharply from his seat, "has yet to be proved to our satisfaction, to be a concrete reality instead of a dream--the dream of an enthusiast who does not even possess the credit of having remained a frenchman. if, indeed, your personal necessities are so pressing, and a fifty-franc note would be of any use to you--well, seeing that you were once a frenchman----" as he said this the minister took his pocket-book out, and, as he did so, doctor fargeau sprang from his seat, and said, in quick, husky tones: "mais, non, monsieur le ministre! i came here not to ask for charity, but to give france the dominion of the world. those whom she has chosen as her advisers have treated me either as a lunatic or a quack. very well, let it be so. through you i have offered to france a priceless gift; you have refused it for the sake of a paltry thousand francs or so. very well, you will see the end of this, though i shall not. i have devoted my life to this ideal. i have dreamt the dream of france the mistress of the world, as she was in the days of la grande monarque. i have found the means of realising the ideal. you and those who with you rule the destinies of france have refused to accept my statements as true. on your heads be it, as the moslems say. i have done. if this dream of mine should ever be heard of again, if it should ever be realised, france may some day learn how much she has lost through her official incredulity." emil fargeau left the minister of war a broken man--broken in mind and heart as well as in means. in youth it is easy, in early manhood it is possible, to survive the sudden destruction of a life's ideal; but when the threescore years have been counted, and the dream and the labours of half a lifetime are suddenly brought to nought, it is another matter. it is ruin--utter and hopeless; and so it was with emil fargeau. he had risked everything on what he had honestly believed to be the certainty of his marvellous discovery being taken up and developed by the french government. in fact, he was so certain of it, that, before leaving his laboratory at strassburg, he had taken the precaution to destroy the essential parts of his accumulator, lest, during his absence, his sanctum might be invaded and some one stumble by accident on his discovery. in a word, he had staked everything and lost everything. to go back was impossible. everything he had was sold or mortgaged. he had been kept by official delays more than a fortnight in paris, and he had barely a hundred francs left, and even of this more than half would be necessary to pay his modest hotel bill for the week. and then, worse than all, there was that fatal indiscretion into which he had permitted his enthusiasm to betray him--an indiscretion which placed him absolutely at the mercy of a german jew money-lender, who, under the rigid laws of germany, could send him to penal servitude for the rest of his life. no, there was no help for it; there was only one way out of the terrible impasse into which his enthusiasm, and that moral weakness which is so often associated with great intellectual power, had led him, and that way he took. he went back to his hotel, and spent about an hour in writing letters. one of these was directed to captain victor fargeau, german embassy, petersburg. another was directed to reuss weinthal, judenstrasse, strassburg. the third, without date or signature, he placed in a little air-tight tin case, with the complete specifications of his discovery. he took off his coat and waistcoat, and fastened this to his body so that it just came in the small of his back. then, when he had dressed himself and put on a light overcoat, he took a small handbag, for appearance's sake, walked to the nord station, and took a second-class ticket to southampton, _via_ le havre. at midnight the steamer was in mid-channel, and emil fargeau was taking his last look on sea and sky from the fore-deck. for a moment he looked back eastward over the dark waters towards the land of his ruined hopes, and murmured brokenly: "my beautiful france, i have offered you the empire of the world, but the dolts and idiots you have chosen to govern you have refused it. 'tant pis pour toi'! now i will give the secret to the fates--to reveal it or to keep it hidden for ever, as they please. for me it is the end!" as the last words left his lips he took a rapid glance round the deserted deck, and slipped over the rail into the creaming water that was swirling past the vessel's side. in another moment one of the whirling screws had caught him and smashed him out of human shape, and what was left of him, with the little tin box containing the secrets of a world-empire lashed to it, went floating away in the broad wake that the steamer left behind it. chapter iii it was a lovely may morning on the english channel, and the steam yacht _nadine_ was travelling under easy steam at about eight knots an hour midway between guernsey and southampton. her owner, ernest shafto hardress, viscount branston, eldest son of the earl of orrel, was taking his early coffee on the bridge with his college chum and guest, frank lamson, m.a. of cambridge, and doctor of science of london, the youngest man save one who had won the gold medal in the examination for that distinguished degree. in fact, he was only thirty-two, and the medal had already been in his possession nearly a year. the morning was so exquisitely mild, that sea and sky looked rather as though they were in the mediterranean instead of the channel. they were sitting in their pyjamas, with their bare feet in grass slippers. "well, i suppose it's time to go below and shave and dress; miss chrysie and lady olive will be up soon, and we'll have to make ourselves presentable," said lamson, getting out of his deck-chair and throwing the end of his cigarette overboard. "hello, what's that? here, hardress, get up! there's a body there in the water, horribly mangled." "what!" exclaimed hardress, springing from his seat and going to the end of the bridge where lamson was standing. "so it is! poor chap, what can have made such a mess of him as that?" "fallen overboard from a steamer, i should say, and got mopped by the screw," said lamson, in his cold, bloodless voice. "it's a way screws have, you know, especially twin screws." "that's just like you, lamson," said hardress; "you talk about the poor chap just as if he was an empty barrel. still, he's been a man once, and it's only fair that he should have christian burial, anyhow." as he said this he caught the handle of the engine telegraph and pulled it over. "stop." the yacht slowed down immediately, and he went on: "lamson, you might go and send the stewardess to tell the ladies not to get up for half-an-hour or so. this isn't exactly the sort of job a woman wants to see. mr jackson, will you kindly lower away the quarter-boat?" the young viscount was right--for the object that was hauled in from the sea could hardly even be called a human corpse, so frightfully was it mangled out of all mortal shape. when it was brought on board, a careful search was made through the tattered remnants of clothing that were still attached to it for some marks of identification; but nothing was found. a couple of pockets, one in the waistcoat and one in the trousers which were left intact, contained nothing. there was no mark on what was left of the linen. the upper half of the head was gone, and so there was no use in photographing the remains. in short, the ghastly spectacle was the only revelation of a secret of the sea which might never be further revealed. "i'm afraid it's no good," said lamson; "there's nothing that anybody could recognise the poor chap by. in fact, it looks to me like a case of deliberate suicide by someone who didn't want to be identified. he's evidently fallen overboard from a steamer, and people don't do that by accident with empty pockets. for instance, that inside coat pocket was made to button, and would probably have had a pocket-book and tickets in it. from what's left of them i should say the clothes were french, and, judging by the locality, i should say he might have been a french passenger from le havre--perhaps to southampton on one of the south-western boats. hello, what's this? perhaps this is a clue to the mystery." as he spoke he put his hand on the back of the body, where the sodden clothes outlined an oblong shape, a few moments after it had been turned over. "it feels like a box, or something of that sort. at any rate, we'd better see what it is," he went on, taking a sheath-knife from one of the sailors and ripping the cloth open. "tied to the body. by jove! why, this is mystery on mystery! nothing in his pockets, no mark on his linen or clothes, and this thing tied to his body! well, i suppose we may as well see what there is in it; and as you're the owner of the yacht and deputy-lieutenant of your county, i suppose i'd better hand it over to you." as he said this he cut the cords and handed the tin box to viscount branston, who said as he took it: "of course, we shall have to open it, and we'll do it together after breakfast. now, mr jackson, oblige me by having the body sewn up in a bit of canvas. i don't want the ladies to see it in that horrible state. and you may as well put on full speed; we don't want it on board any longer than we can help. now, lamson, come along and dress." when they came out of their state-rooms they found the ladies already on deck, taking an ante-prandial stroll arm-in-arm. lady olive was a tall, perfectly-proportioned young woman of about twenty-five, not exactly pretty, but with a dark, strong, aristocratic face, which showed breeding in every line, and which was lighted up and relieved most pleasantly by a pair of soft, and yet brilliant, irish eyes. when her features were in repose, some people would have called her handsome; when she smiled, others would have called her, not pretty, but charming--and they would have been about right. her companion, miss chrysie vandel, daughter of clifford k. vandel, president of the american electrical storage trust of buffalo, n.y., was an absolute contrast to her. she was about an inch shorter, exquisitely fair, and yet possessed of a pair of deep blue eyes, which in some lights looked almost black. her brows were several shades darker than her hair, which was golden in the sun and brown in the shade. she was not what a connoisseur would call beautiful, for her features were just a trifle irregular, and her mouth was just ever so little too large. still, taken as a whole, her face had that distracting and indescribable piquancy which seems to be the peculiar property of the well-bred american girl at her best. both were dressed in grey serge, short-skirted yachting suits, and each had a white duck yachting cap pinned to her hair. "well, shafto," said lady olive, as the two men took their caps off, "and what is all this mystery about? chrysie and i have been speculating all sorts of things." "why, yes, lord branston," chimed in miss chrysie. "i got out of my bath and fixed myself double quick, half expecting to come on deck and find ourselves held up by a french torpedo-boat, after all that talk we heard in jersey about the trouble between you and france and russia over china." "i am happy to say it is not quite so serious as that, miss vandel," said hardress, "and i hope we shall be able to get you safe to southampton before the war starts. the fact is, about an hour ago, while lamson and i were having our coffee on the bridge, he saw--well, the body of a man, terribly mangled, floating in the water. so we stopped to pick it up. it was frightfully mutilated, and, of course, it was nothing for eyes like yours to look upon, so we've had it sewn up in canvas, and we're taking it to southampton to give it a decent burial." "now, i call that real good of you, viscount. i guess you british have finer feelings in that way than we have. i don't believe poppa would have stopped his yacht if he'd struck a whole burying lot afloat." "well," laughed hardress; "that is what a busy man like your father might be expected to do. in fact, i suppose most englishmen would have done so; but, as it happens, in this case virtue was rewarded--for we have discovered what may be a mystery." "a mystery! oh, do say, viscount. that's just too lovely for words--a yacht, dead body at sea, and a mystery----" "yes," said lamson; "and in a tin box, attached firmly by cords to corpse aforesaid." "don't, mr lamson; please don't," interrupted lady olive, somewhat severely. then she went on, with a little shiver, "i hope, shafto, you will get us to southampton as quickly as you can. i don't want to be shipmates any longer than i can help with--with--ah--remains. it isn't lucky at sea, you know." "my dear olive," replied her brother, "about the first thing i thought of was that very idea; that is why we are now steaming full speed--twenty knots instead of eight--so that you and miss vandel may be relieved of this disquieting presence on board as soon as possible. and now, by way of passing the inconvenient hours that our new passenger will be with us, suppose we go to breakfast." "a nice appetising sort of remark that, i must say, viscount," said miss chrysie; "still i suppose we may as well go. this morning air at sea does make living people feel alive; i guess that's why i'm so hungry." "and after breakfast, shafto," said lady olive, "i presume that you will tell us all about the mystery of the tin box." "my dear olive," replied her brother, "it may be anything or nothing; and, as lamson found it and gave it to me, instead of having it buried with the unknown deceased, i've agreed with him that we shall go through the contents, whatever they are, together; and, of course, if there's anything really interesting in them, then we shall tell you all about it." "now, that's real kind," said miss chrysie. "i guess if we don't have quite an interesting conversation over lunch it'll be the fault of our new passenger." "my dear chrysie," said lady olive, frigidly, "how can you! really, you remind me rather strongly of what kipling says about the americans." "and what might that be, lady olive?" she replied, looking up, with the flicker of a smile round her lips, and the twinkle of a challenge in her eyes. "i don't think i remember the exact words just now, but i've got the 'seven seas' downstairs," replied lady olive; "but i think it's something about the cynic devil in his blood that bids him mock his hurrying soul." "thanks!" replied miss chrysie, with a toss of her shapely head, and an unmistakable sniff; "i think i've read that poem, too. isn't there a verse in it that runs something this way?- "'inopportune, shrill-accented, the acrid asiatic mirth that leaves him careless 'mid his dead, the scandal of the elder earth.'" she repeated the lines with such an exquisite exaggeration of the "shrill accent" that the two men burst out laughing, and lady olive first flushed up to her brows, and then also broke into a saving fit of laughter. "that's a distinct score for miss vandel, olive," said hardress. "if you knew the whole poem a bit better, i don't think you'd have made that last remark of yours. but, of course, miss vandel will be generous and allow you to take the only way there is out of the difficulty--the way to breakfast." "why, certainly," said miss chrysie, who was trying hard not to laugh at her little triumph. "kipling's good, but breakfast's better, in an air like this." and so, as she would have put it, they "let it go at that," and went down into the saloon to breakfast. chapter iv during breakfast it had been agreed that lamson, as the discoverer of the mysterious tin box, should open it by himself, and, after examining its contents, report on them to hardress. this was a speculative suggestion, made by lady olive, seconded by miss chrysie, and so, perforce, agreed to. and thus it came about that all the essentials of doctor emil fargeau's great discovery fell into the hands of a man who, by virtue of imagination, intellect, and scientific training, was the one man in europe, perhaps in the world, who could either use it or abuse it to the best or worst advantage. he took the box into his cabin, and opened it as carelessly as though it might have contained a few old love letters, or the story of some obsolete anarchist conspiracy. but as soon as he had read the first page of the closely-written manuscript, he got up from his chair and locked the cabin door. as he went back to his seat, he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. it looked almost strange to him; so he stopped and looked at it again. "good lord!" he muttered, "is that me?" and then he said aloud: "you infernal scoundrel!" he didn't go back to the little table on which the manuscript was lying. he looked at the pages as a man might look at a cheque that he has just forged. his hand, which had never trembled before, trembled as he took his cigar-case out of his pocket; and as he lit the cigar he could hardly hold the match steadily. he dropped full length on the sofa, looked sideways at the fatal sheets of paper on the table, blew a long stream of smoke up towards the port-hole, and began to talk with his own soul. "the empire of the world. i've read enough to see that it comes to that. yes, faraday was right; and so was this poor wretch that we fished out of the water this morning. a frenchman, an alsatian, who has made the biggest discovery that ever was made, who has practically achieved a miracle, offers the result to his country and gets refused, and then, for some reason or other, commits it and his body to the deep! "curious, very curious, from anything like a scientific point of view. what an infinite mercy it is for us, who have reason to believe that we possess a little brains, that the majority of men are fools, and that the official person is usually a bigger fool than the man in the street. now, suppose our unknown and deceased genius had put even that first page that i have read before our good friend clifford k. vandel instead of, i suppose, the french minister of war. jump--why, he'd have got into it with both feet, as they say in the states. a man worth millions. oh, millions be hanged! how many millions could buy that? of course, that's one way of looking at it--but frank lamson, as i said before, you're in the way of becoming an infernal scoundrel. perhaps i'd better interrupt this little monologue, and read the rest of what our deceased genius has to say." he reached out and took the papers off the table, and for an hour there was silence in the cabin. he read the sheets over and over again, making rapid mental calculations all the time. then, after a long look at the open port-hole over the sofa, he folded the sheets up, and stuffed them into the hip-pocket of his trousers. then he got up, and looked at himself in the glass again. "you scoundrel!" he whispered at the ghastly image of himself. "you thief--you utter sweep--who would accept the hospitality of an old college chum, and then, when the possibility of illimitable millions, when the empire of the earth, the means of enslaving the whole human race, the absolute control of every civilised power on earth, gets fished up by accident out of the waters of the english channel, you think about robbing him of it. you are not fit to live, much less to----" he flung himself down on the sofa again, with his hands clasped hard over his brow, and there he remained, without moving a limb, until he was called out of his waking dream by a rap on the cabin door and the sound of hardress's voice saying: "come now, lamson, buck up! are you going to be all the morning getting through that tin box? the women folk are on the point of mutiny with curiosity to know what there is in it. hurry up!" and then, with a sudden drop in the tone, "you're not ill, old man, are you?" "all right, hardress," he replied, in a voice which, by a supreme effort of will, he managed to keep steady. "i have had a bit of a shock--heart, i think. i wish you'd tell evans to bring me a brandy-and-soda, will you?" as he said this, he unlocked the cabin door, and as his host saw him he exclaimed: "my dear fellow, you do look bad; sit down, and i'll get you the b.-and-s. myself in a moment." he disappeared, and lamson sat down again on the sofa. again he looked up at the open port-hole. there were only a few moments left him now to decide what might really be the fate of the human race. no man had ever been face to face with such a tremendous responsibility before. no mortal had ever passed through such a terrible temptation as he had done during the last hour. should he fling the priceless papers, the warrant for the mastery of the world, into the sea and be done with it? should he keep them in his pocket and make untold millions out of the power that they placed in his hands? after all, he had discovered this priceless treasure-trove. but for him it would have been buried with the hideous relics of humanity lying in the forward hold sewn up in a canvas sack. was it not his by right? did any human law compel him to share it with anyone? but, again, ought he or anyone else to be entrusted with such a tremendous power for good or evil as this?--the power, literally, to reduce mankind to slavery. he was a man of average morals himself; he had lived a clean, hard, studious life, and no man could say that he had done him a mean action. hardress, too, was well up to the high standard of the british aristocracy--but his partner had married an american girl--the daughter of a man who had made millions out of railway developments after the civil war. he was either in love or falling in love with the daughter of another american millionaire who had made his millions out of electrical storage. the first thing hardress would do would be to take the papers over to america and put them before him. clifford vandel would grasp their gigantic possibilities instantly, a trust, commanding millions of capital, would be formed, and the world would become an american dependency. "here you are, old man," said hardress, coming into the cabin with a long glass in his hand, "i've made it pretty stiff, because you look as if you wanted it. why, what's the matter?" lamson took the glass, and as he put it to his lips hardress saw his hand tremble and heard the glass rattle against his teeth. he drained it in two gulps, put it down on the table beside the sofa, threw himself back on the cushions at the end, looked once more at the open port-hole with the fate of a world on his soul, and said in a shaking voice: "lock the door, hardress, and sit down. i've something to say to you." "why, my dear chap, what's up? you look positively ghastly," said the viscount, as he closed the door and locked it. "i don't suppose you'd look much better if you'd spent an hour in hell, as i have." "an hour in--oh, come now, old fellow," hardress interrupted, with a look which lamson instantly interpreted as a query as to his sanity. "don't you think you'd better turn in for a bit? you really do look ill; just as if something had shaken you up very badly. is it anything to do with that infernal tin box?" he went on, pointing to it on the table. "yes," said lamson, pulling himself together with a struggle, and sitting up on the sofa. "i wish to heaven i hadn't got up just at that moment on the bridge and we'd left our unknown deceased to the mercy of the waves. but, even then, somebody else might have discovered it." "discovered what? the corpse?" "yes; and----look here, hardress, i've been horribly tempted--tempted, perhaps, as no other man ever was; but my father was a gentleman, and i'll do the straight thing. how would you like to be master of the world?" "master of the--oh, look here, lamson, this won't do at all, you know. you're as pale as a ghost; your eyes are burning, and your hands are shaking. you must have got a touch of fever, or something of that sort. take a dose of quinine and turn in. we'll be at southampton in two or three hours, and then you can see a doctor." lamson laughed. it was a laugh that wouldn't have done anybody much good to hear, and hardress shivered a little as he heard it. "i see what you mean. you think i'm a bit off my head. to tell you the truth, i almost wish i were, or that this infernal thing were only a dream--nightmare, i should say." "what thing?" "this," replied lamson, putting his hand into his hip-pocket and pulling out some crumpled sheets of paper. "you thought i was mad when i asked you if you'd like to be master of the world. when you've read that you'll see that you can be. they're what i found in that tin box. there's no name or address or any mark of identification on them, but they were written by a man, a frenchman, who has discovered a means, as one might say, of soaking up all the electricity of the earth in one huge storage system, and then doling it out to the peoples of the earth like gas or water or electric light." "great scott, what a gorgeous idea!" exclaimed hardress, jumping from his seat and holding out his hand for the papers. "why do you want to get ill over a thing like that, man? don't you see there are millions in it if it's true, and of course you'll come in on the ground-floor? great caesar's ghost! it'll be the very thing for old vandel. the morgan steel trust won't be in it with this." "i thought you'd say that," said lamson. "that's the american blood talking in you. now, i'll tell you candidly that i've only given you those papers from a sense of honour and friendship. i admit that my first impulse was to throw them out of the port-hole; and my second," he went on, after a little pause, "was to keep them to myself, and tell you some lie about the box being empty." "you might have done the first, old man, but you couldn't have done the second," replied hardress, putting the papers into his hand. "there, take them back; i don't suppose i should understand them. anyhow, you can make a better use of them than i can; and if there's anything in it we'll share alike. in fact, after all, the whole thing really belongs to you, for if you hadn't discovered the body, it might have drifted around till it went down to feed the fishes. really, i don't see what there is to be so upset about in it." "my dear fellow, hasn't it struck you yet," said lamson, "that if this discovery works out all right, as i'm certain it will, it will really mean, as i said just now, the mastery of the world? for instance, to put the thing into a nut-shell: here we are, on this seven-hundred-ton yacht of yours, steaming at a speed of eighteen or twenty knots, engines working smoothly, and so on. now, if this man's scheme were put into practice, the _nadine_ would be, as i might say, for want of a better word, electrolised. that is to say, every atom of metal in her would lose its tone; the boilers would burst, the engines fly to pieces, and even the hull would splinter up into a thousand fragments, just as though she were made of glass, and she got hit with a hundred sledge-hammers at the same minute." "is that really so, lamson? are you quite serious?" said hardress, gravely, for he was just beginning to grasp the enormous possibilities of the discovery. "do you really mean to say that that is actually feasible? of course, i know what a swell you are at these subjects, and i don't suppose for a moment that you would say it if you didn't believe it; but are you quite sure that your--well, that this scientific imagination that i've heard you talk about hasn't run away with you?" "my dear hardress," replied lamson, getting up from the couch, "there is no imagination whatever about this. i can assure you it is just a matter of hard facts and figures. whoever that poor fellow was that we're going to bury at southampton, it's quite certain that the world has lost one of its most brilliant physical scholars. the man who discovered this scheme and worked it out in these papers was a second newton or faraday. in short, i can tell you in all seriousness--i will pledge my reputation, such as it is--that, granted the necessary capital, which would certainly run to a million or two, i could work this scheme out myself. i could construct works that would mop up the electricity out of the earth as a sponge takes water. i could change climates as i pleased. i could hurl my thunders where i chose like a very jove. i could make myself arbiter of life and death on earth. in fact, i could be everything that a mortal ought not to be." "there; i can't say that i quite agree with you," said hardress. "personally, i can't see why a man shouldn't be all that he can be, and there's no reason why you and i and the governor and chrysie's dad shouldn't syndicate this business and run the earth. you say it's possible. that's good enough for me. we'll find the millions and you'll find the brains, so we'll consider that settled. fancy picking a thing like that up out of the sea on a pleasure cruise! talk about luck! well, come along; let's go and break it as gently as we can to the girls." chapter v the _nadine_ had been lying for a fortnight in southampton water, and all that was mortal of the man who might have been master of the world was resting in a nameless grave in the cemetery. in the oak-panelled dining-room of orrel court, an old rambling mansion, dating partly from reformation times, and standing on the lower slopes of the south downs overlooking the distant solent, there was a little dinner-party in the process of eating, drinking, and chatting, which was a good deal more pregnant with the fate of nations than many a cabinet meeting. at the head of the long, massive table sat a man of a little over fifty, tall and rather squarely built, and still erect. a man, still handsome and capable of attracting the attention and even the admiration of many fair ladies, who would have been only too glad to occupy the place at the other end of the table which was now occupied by the owner of the _nadine_, for harry shafto hardress, eighth earl of orrel, came of one of the oldest and proudest stocks in the country, and, thanks to the millions which his dead american wife had brought him, the broad, fat acres that he owned in half-a-dozen counties were absolutely unencumbered, and he possessed a personal fortune that yielded more than twice his goodly rent-roll. miss chrysie vandel sat at his right hand, and, next to her, doctor lamson, faced by lady olive and a tall, angular, square-headed, keen-featured man of about the earl's own age, with a heavy, well-trained, iron-grey, moustache, and an equally well-ordered, little tuft of hair on the square chin. this was clifford k. vandel, president of the empire state electric storage and transmission trust of new york and buffalo. he was commonly known throughout the states and europe as the lightning king; and he controlled not only the power distribution, but also the whole system of etherography or wireless telegraphy throughout the continent of north america. he had come over post-haste from new york in response to an urgent cable from lord orrel. he was an uncle of the late lady orrel, and he and the earl had already done a good deal of business together on both sides of the atlantic. the cablegram had contained the words "urgent business," so he had taken the first available steamer and arrived in southampton that afternoon. during dinner only ordinary topics had been touched upon, but when the cloth was removed and the butler, with a ceremonious care that was almost reverential, had placed the ancient decanters and jugs containing the port and claret and madeira, for which the cellars of orrel court had long been famous, his lordship told him that they were not to be disturbed until he rang; and, when the door had closed behind him, he said: "well, now, vandel, we can talk. miss chrysie, a glass of port--allow me--and, if you will, pass the decanter. mr lamson, this is the same seal as before. olive, you will make the coffee later on, won't you, in that patent concern of yours? you certainly do it much better than they do downstairs; and i don't see why for once we shouldn't have our smoke here, since our--what is it they say?--revolting daughters both indulge." "revolted, if you don't mind, my lord," remarked miss chrysie across her wine-glass. "though i don't see much what olive and i want to revolt for; and i guess if two girls ever had more easily managed poppas they'd be curiosities. what do you say poppa? you haven't tried to run me much, have you?" the iron-faced man of millions, the commander-in-chief of armies of hand and brain workers, the ruthless wrecker of industries which stood in the way of the realisation of his gigantic schemes, looked smilingly at the living likeness of his dead wife, and said, with that soft intonation and hardly perceptible accent which evidenced his old southern descent: "well, chrysie, i don't know that either of you ever wanted very much running; and as for smoking, well, your mothers and grandmothers did it down south two generations ago, and i guess what was good enough for the south in those days is good enough for anywhere else." from which speech it may be gathered that clifford kingsley vandel was one of those americans who, although he had come in with the union, and made many millions out of it, still cherished the traditions of the old southern aristocracy. in fact, in his heart of hearts, no man, saving only perhaps louis xavier de condé and his present host, had a greater contempt for all democratic institutions than he had; a contempt which is amply shared by nine out of ten of the dollar despots of the great republic. he helped himself to a glass of the pale ruby-coloured port, and passed the decanter to hardress. lady olive was taking claret. "and now," said lord orrel, raising his glass, "suppose we begin in the good old-fashioned way. here's success to the storage trust and all its future developments." "which, from what i've heard of them, will be big and go far," said the lightning king. "even unto the running of the earth, and all that therein is. is that good american, chrysie?" "not quite," she laughed, in reply. "i must say that your ladyship seems to have considerable difficulty in picking up the american language. however, the sentiment's all right, so we'll let it go at that. what do you say, doctor? somehow you don't seem quite as enthusiastic about this as a man who knows everything might be." "if a man knew everything, miss vandel," replied lamson, rather gravely, "he would probably be enthusiastic about nothing. still, i confess that, as i said at first on board the yacht, i do look upon this scheme, splendid and all as it is, and perfectly feasible from the scientific point of view, as something just a little too splendid for human responsibility. after all, you know, to make oneself the arbiter of human destiny, supreme lord of earth and air, dispenser of life and death, health and sickness, is what is popularly described as a somewhat large order." "well," chimed in miss chrysie, "i guess if it enables you to reform the british climate, by way of a start, and give this unhappy country some weather instead of just a lot of ragged-edged samples, you'll not begin badly." "and if we can also do something with the furious, untamed, american blizzard," laughed hardress, nodding at her over his glass, "we shall also confer a certain amount of blessing upon a not inconsiderable proportion of the anglo-saxon race. what's your idea, mr vandel?" "we could do about as well without them as london could do without fog, or the british farmer do without a week of january shifted on into may," replied the lightning king. "i've often thought that a syndicate which could control the british climate, and educate your farmers and railroads into something like commonsense, would make quite big money. maybe that's what we'll do later on." "an excellent idea," laughed lord orrel. "i have suffered from both of them--as well as from our free-trading amateur politicians who make it as expensive for me to bring a ton of my own wheat from yorkshire to london as to import a ton of yours from chicago. however, we shall be able to alter that later on. and now, suppose olive brews the coffee, and we have a cigar, and then, perhaps, mr lamson will oblige us by shedding the light of his knowledge on the subject before the meeting. i suppose, mr lamson, you have not found, on more mature study of the question, that there are any serious objections to the scheme, saving, of course, the one which your modesty has created?" "no, lord orrel," he replied, with one of his grave smiles. "during the last week or so i have worked out, i think, every possible development of the scheme, and i am bound to say that the unknown genius whom we buried the other day has left nothing to chance. there is not even a speculation. everything is fact, figure, and demonstration. given the capital, and the concessions from the canadian government, there does not appear to me the remotest chance of failure. the ultimate consequences of putting the scheme into practice are, of course, quite another affair--but on that subject you already have my opinion." "my dear lamson," said hardress, "that, if you will pardon me saying so, is merely one of the characteristic failings of the scientific intellect. it has too much imagination, and therefore looks too far ahead." "i'm with you there, viscount," said the lightning king. "this is just a question of dollars first, last, and all the time. of course, we've got to see the other side of it; but we're not concerned much with what there is beyond--or back of beyond, for that matter. so, as practical men, we'll just respect the doctor's scruples all they deserve, and take all the help he can give us." "exactly," said lord orrel; "you put the case with your usual terseness, vandel. and now, if you won't have any more wine, olive will give us some coffee, and we may light up and get to business." "and, lamson, you will consider yourself on deck for the present," added hardress. "i can see that mr vandel is just dying to know the details, in spite of that cast-iron self-control of his." "my dear viscount," laughed the multi-millionaire, "i'm among friends, and i'm not controlling any just now. still, i'll admit that i'm just about as anxious to know the details of this scheme as chrysie was to try on her first ball-dress, and that was no small circumstance, i tell you." "i should think not," laughed lady olive. "there's only one thing more important in life than that, and that's a wedding-dress. but if these people are going to immerse themselves in facts and figures, chrysie, suppose we have our coffee up in my room. i want to have a good talk with you about the presentation dresses." "an even more weighty subject," laughed hardress, "than the wedding-dress--which may never be worn. i mean, of course----" "i guess i wouldn't try and explain, viscount," said miss chrysie, as she got up and went towards the door. "wasn't it your lord beaconsfield who said that the most dreary duty of humanity was explanation? reckon you'll find it pretty dreary work explaining that remark away." hardress looked distinctly uncomfortable, for there was a flush on miss chrysie's cheeks, and a glint in her eyes which, although they made her look distractingly pretty, were not of great promise to him. "i'm awfully sorry----" he began. "my dear shafto," laughed lady olive, as lamson opened the door for them, "don't attempt it. a man who could make a remark like that could not possibly improve the situation by an apology." with that they disappeared, and lamson shut the door. when he got back to his seat he took a lot of papers out of the breast-pocket of his coat, put his plate aside, laid them on the table, and said: "well, then, since i am in the chair, i may as well get to business. as mr vandel has not yet been made fully acquainted with the details of the scheme, perhaps it will be as well if i begin at the beginning." "quite so," said lord orrel, with a nod; "and your kindness will have the additional effect of refreshing my own memory, which, i must admit, is not a particularly good one for technicalities." then doctor lamson began, and for a couple of hours or so expounded with every possible exactness of detail the discovery made by the man whose mangled remains had been picked up by the _nadine_ in mid-channel, and which might have made france mistress of the world. when he had finished, they went into the library, where they were joined by lady olive and miss chrysie, and the conversation gradually drifted away into topics more socially interesting, but of less imperial importance. but when clifford kingsley vandel went to bed that night he spent half-an-hour or more walking up and down his big, thickly-carpeted bedroom, with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the floor, and his lips shaping inarticulate words which would have been worth millions to anyone who could have heard them. then he stopped his promenade, undressed, and got into bed, and just before he dismissed the whole subject from his perfectly-trained intellect and addressed himself to the necessary business of sleep, he said: "well, that's just about the biggest scheme that mortal man ever had a chance of bringing to a head; and i guess we'll do it. masters of the world, givers of life or death, lords of the nations, makers of peace or war as we please! that's so, and now, clifford vandel, i have the honour to wish you a very good night--a very good night indeed--about the best night you've ever had." and then the masterful brain ceased working, like an engine from which the steam had been shut off, and he fell asleep as quickly and as peacefully as a little child. chapter vi miss chrysie's european visit had come to an end, and she and her father had accepted hardress's invitation to take a trip home in the _nadine_. doctor lamson was also a guest on board, and during the trip many of the details of the great scheme were exhaustively discussed. each of the three men was going on a special mission. clifford vandel had definitely accepted the position of president and general financial and business manager of the international magnetic control syndicate, as the newly-formed company had been provisionally named. he was going to the states to do the necessary financial part of the work, buy up rights and patents which might be necessary to the furtherance of the scheme, and to perfect the organisation of the great combine of which he was president--a combine whose influence was now to extend not only over the united states, but over the whole world. doctor lamson was going to make a personal study of the electrical machinery to be found in the states, so that he might be in a position to design the great storage works to the best advantage and with the greatest possible economy of time and money. hardress, armed with introductions from the highest official sources in england, was going northward, after leaving his guests at new york, to montreal, to obtain a lease of a few square miles of the desolate, ice-covered wilderness of boothia felix, which, as a glance at the map will show you, is the most northerly portion of the mainland of the american continent. further, in its scanty history, you may read that there sir john ross discovered the magnetic pole of the earth, and named the wilderness after his friend sir felix booth, who had furnished most of the funds for his expedition. his ostensible object in obtaining the lease was the foundation of an observatory for the examination of magnetic and electrical phenomena; one of which was the possible solution of the so far unsolved riddle of the northern lights. he also stated to the dominion authorities, by way of giving something like a practical air to his mission, that a remoter possibility of the scheme was the establishment of a magnetic centre for a world-wide system of wireless telegraphy. the few square miles of ice and snow and rock were absolutely worthless, and so the dominion government had not the slightest hesitation in accepting his offer of a thousand a year for ten years for the exclusive use and possession of the peninsula, with right to import materials, construct works, and do whatever might be necessary for the development of the scheme. if he had not been the heir to an ancient peerage and the son of one of the wealthiest men in england, he would probably have been looked upon as a harmless crank who was wanting to lose his money in a vain attempt to harness the electrical energy displayed in the _aurora borealis_ and make thunderstorms to order out of it. as it was, he was treated indulgently as a man who had big ideas, and who was conducting at his own expense a great scientific experiment which he could very well afford to pay for. thus, after very brief negotiations, consisting of one or two interviews, two or three dinners, and the handing over of a cheque, the canadian government in all innocence parted with what was soon to prove the most precious piece of land, not only on the american continent, but in the whole world. but this was not the only concession that shafto hardress took back to england with him. for when he returned to new york and took a run up to buffalo on the empire state express, with the lease of boothia land in his pocket, to talk matters over with president vandel, he had a brief but momentously interesting interview with miss chrysie, at the close of which she said, as her hand rested in his: "well, viscount, i'm not going to say 'yes' right away. you're a gentleman, and i like you. you're going to be a peer of england some day, and, if this scheme of yours works out all right, one of the masters of the world. as my father's daughter i have no natural objection to being a peeress of england and mistress of the world, but i am also a natural-born woman, and i want a little more than that--i mean something that a man could not give me if he owned the solar system. i want to know for certain that you love me as a man should love a woman, and that i can love you as a woman should love a man if she is going to marry him. i like you; yes, i like you better than any other man i've ever seen. i tell you quite honestly it hasn't been a case of love at first sight with me, and i guess i haven't known you quite long enough to give you something that i can never take back. go to your work and do it, and while you're doing it we shall get to know each other better, and meanwhile you may consider that you have the option of another piece of half-discovered territory." before releasing her hand he stooped and kissed it, saying, with a laugh that bespoke a certain amount of satisfaction: "that, you know, is--well, we will call it the seal on the contract. this is my act and deed, you understand--as people say when they conclude a contract with an option. a definition of kissing which i once read describes it as equivalent to syllabus." "syllabus!" she said, releasing her hand and raising it to her brow, pushing a fold of hair back by the motion and smiling up at him in a somewhat disconcerted fashion. "and what might that mean in your dictionary of kisses?" "it was defined as kissing the hand of the girl you want very badly instead of----" her red lips smiled an irresistible challenge at him, and the next instant his arm was round her waist, and he said: "after all, i don't think that contract was properly signed, sealed, and delivered; at least, the seal was in the wrong place, and the delivery was not quite complete." "now i call that real mean, viscount," she said, a moment afterwards. "i only gave you an option on the territory, and you're starting to occupy it right away." "well, then," he said, taking her hand again, "suppose, instead of the territory, we call it a reserve. how will that do?" "not quite," she said, drawing back a bit. "to some extent i've been taken by assault, but i've not surrendered at discretion yet. that sounds a bit mixed, i know--but it's pretty near the truth." "and at that," he said, gravely smiling, "i am quite content to leave it." and so, with the magical touch of her lips still thrilling through his blood, he left her, more than ever determined to fulfil to the utmost the tremendous destiny which chance had cast in his way. to him there could have been no more delightfully satisfactory ending to his mission. in blood he was himself half-american, and in him the old-world aristocrat was strangely blended with the keen, far-seeing, quick-witted, hard-headed, and perhaps, in one sense, hard-hearted man of business. it was to this side of his nature that the physical charms, the keen wit, and sprightly spirit of miss chrysie had first appealed; but later on the aristocrat in him had recognised that she too was a patrician of the new world, whose ancestry stretched back into the history of the old, and so gradually interest and admiration had grown into a love which completely satisfied all his instincts. the very way in which she had received his proposal had increased both his love and his respect. if she had surrendered at discretion there might have remained the possibility of a suspicion that, after all, she had been tempted to take hold of a magnificent opportunity, not only for placing herself in the front rank of european society, but also of wielding through her husband a power such as no woman had ever exercised before. but she had given him frankly to understand that these things were as nothing in her eyes, great and splendid as they were, without that certainty of mutual love which could alone induce her to give herself, body and soul, into the hands of any man, however powerful or nobly born; for chrysie vandel was a woman in the best sense of that much-meaning word, and she knew that for her there was no choice, save between the complete independence of thought and action which she had so far enjoyed, and an equally complete surrender to the man to whom she could render, whole-hearted and unreserved, the sweet service of love. after dinner that night he had an equally satisfactory interview with the president, who, when he had heard his story, just got up from his chair and said: "viscount, we'll shake on that. my girl's free to choose where she likes, or not to choose at all, and you are not going to have any help from me in the way of persuasion; but if she does choose, why, i'd sooner she chose you than any other man i know." "i ask for nothing better, i can assure you," said hardress. "thank you a thousand times." and so they shook. the next day by noon the _nadine_ was steaming out past sandy hook. allowing for difference in longitude, it was almost at the same moment that the night mail pulled out of the petersburg station. two of the sleeping-compartments were occupied by prince xavier de condé and his daughter; and so, from the ends of the earth, both travelling towards an obscure little watering-place hidden away in the depths of the german forest land, were approaching each other the man and the woman whose destinies had been, all unknown to themselves, so strangely linked together by the last despairing act of the man whose country had refused to permit him to make her the mistress of the world. chapter vii the village of elsenau, which has hardly yet risen to the dignity of a town, lies somewhere midway between the hartz mountains and the thuringia wald, which, as everyone knows, stretches away in undulations of wooded uplands and valleys southward to the black forest. its most recent possession is the fine hôtel wilhelmshof--an entirely admirable creation of the german instinct for catering, facing south-west, and sheltered north and east by uplands crowned with stately pines. southward it has smooth, new-made lawns, dotted with clumps of firs and parterres of flowers, shielded by curves of flowering bushes. the lawns slope down to the edge of a long narrow lake, which, on the evening of the day after the prince and the marquise left petersburg, lay smooth and blue-black beneath the cloudless azure of the summer heaven. but the principal attraction of elsenau, which, indeed, had given the luxurious hotel its reason for existence, and which had raised the little village of charcoal-burners and woodcutters to the dignity of a kur-anstalt, was a spring, accidentally discovered by an enterprising engineer who was looking among the mountains for a water-supply for the city of ilmosheim, some three miles away to the south. the waters had a curious taste and a most unpleasant smell. learned chemists and doctors analysed them, and reported that they contained ingredients which formed a sovereign remedy for gout and rheumatism--especially the hereditary form of the first. they were bottled and sent far and wide, and soon after their qualities had been duly appreciated and commented on by the medical press of europe and america, the hôtel wilhelmshof rose, as it were, with the wave of the contractor's magic wand, hard by the little limestone grotto in which the spring had been discovered. about eight o'clock on a lovely evening in july, lord orrel and lady olive, under the broad verandah of the wilhelmshof, sat drinking their after-dinner coffee and watching the full moon sailing slowly up over the black ridges of the pine-crowned hills which stretched away to the southward. "i suppose the prince must have missed his train, or else the train was behind time and missed the coach," said lord orrel, taking out his watch. "it is rather curious that i should have met him regularly every year at homburg or spa or aix, and that somehow you have never met him; and now it seems from his letter that we have both discovered this new little place of evil-smelling waters together. i am glad that he is bringing his daughter with him." "ah, yes; his daughter--she is the second marie antoinette, isn't she?" said lady olive, putting her cup down and taking up her cigarette. "the most beautiful woman in europe, the last daughter of the old house of bourbon--i mean the elder branch, of course. and the prince?" "the first gentleman in europe, in my opinion," replied the earl, flicking the ash off his cigar. "a man who, granted the possibility of circumstances which, of course, are not now possible, might mount the throne of louis xiv., and receive the homage of all his courtiers without their knowing the difference. a great man, my dear olive, born four generations out of his time. if he had succeeded the grand monarque--there would have been no french revolution, no napoleon----" "and therefore, my dear papa," laughed lady olive, "no peninsular war, no wellington, no waterloo, no nelson, no nile and trafalgar, and so none of that expiring british supremacy which you were arguing about so eloquently the other day in the house of lords." while she was speaking, the double doors giving on to the verandah were thrown open, a lacquey, gorgeously uniformed in blue and silver, came out, with his body inclined at an angle of thirty degrees, and his arms hanging straight down, and said, in thick swiss french: "your excellency and madame la marquise will find milord and miladi on the verandah here." as lady olive looked round she heard a rustle of frilled skirts on the planks of the verandah, and saw a tall, stately gentleman and the most beautiful woman she had ever seen coming towards her. the gentleman's eyes brightened and his brows lifted as he raised his hat. the woman's face might have been a mask, and her eyes looked out upon nothingness. "ah, my dear prince," said the earl, rising and going towards him with outstretched hands. "delighted to renew our acquaintance in a new and yet a very charming place. i was hoping that you would get here for dinner; but, of course, once off the main line, you can never trust a german train to get anywhere in time. and this is mam'selle la marquise, i presume. this is fortunate. you see i have my daughter olive taking care of me, so perhaps they may help to entertain each other in this out-of-the-way place." "yes," replied the prince, as they shook hands, "this is my daughter of whom i have spoken to you so often; and this is yours, the lady olive. mam'selle, i have the honour to salute you. adelaide, this is the daughter of lord orrel--an old friend, and one of the ancienne noblesse." olive had risen while he was speaking; the mask melted away from the marquise's lovely face, her lips softened into a smile, and a swift gleam of scrutiny took the place of vacancy in her eyes. lady olive's met hers with a frank though involuntary look of challenge. she certainly was what the gossip of half-a-dozen countries called her--the most beautiful woman in europe. she possessed an exquisite grace of form and face and manner which made her indescribable. when one woman honestly admires another it is always with a half-conceived sense either of envy or hostility. lady olive was herself one of the best types of an english patrician, and the blood in her veins had flowed through ten generations of the proudest lineage in britain; but in adelaide de condé, the daughter of the most ancient aristocracies of france and austria, she instinctively recognised her equal, perhaps her superior. she put out her hand in a frank, english way, and said, in the most perfectly accented french: "my father has told me so much about yours, and they are such good friends, that i hope it isn't possible that we can be anything else." "quite impossible!" smiled the marquise, taking the hand of the new-made friend who in days to come was to be an enemy. "since our fathers are such old and good friends, why should we not be new friends and good ones too?" and then, turning round to her father, she said: "voila, papa, since we find ourselves in such good company, and we have missed the dinner, and cannot eat till they get something ready, why do you not have your vermouth and a cigarette? in fact, as we are so entirely 'chez nous' here in this delightful retreat, you may order one for me too, i think." the prince lifted his eyelids, and the lacquey approached and took his order, and then the party proceeded to make friends. a little after tea the same evening, when lady olive and the marquise had retired to lady olive's sitting-room for a chat on things feminine and european, lord orrel and the prince were strolling up and down the moonlit lawn, smoking their cigars and exchanging the experiences that they had had since their last meeting at homburg the year before. their friendship had begun by a chance acquaintance some six years before at aix-les-bains. both of them aristocrats to their finger-tips, it was not long before they struck a note of common sympathy. the once splendid name which the prince bore appealed instantly to the englishman, who could trace his descent back to the days of the first plantagenet, and it was not long before they found a closer bond than that of ancient ancestry. one night, when the beach at trouville was lit up by just such a moon as was now floating high over the pines on the hills round elsenau, he had told the prince the story of his life--the story of an elder scion of an ancient line devoted rather to literature and the byways of science than to the political and social duties of his position, and, moreover, a man who had never found a woman whom his heart could call to his side to share it with him. he had devoted his after-college days to study and travel. his younger brother, a splendid specimen of english chivalry, had found his mate in the daughter of his father's oldest friend. he was a soldier, and when the franco-german war broke out, nothing, not even the longing, half-reproachful looks of his betrothed, could keep him from volunteering in the french service. he had fought through the war with brilliant distinction, a private at saarbruck and a captain during the siege of paris. then, captured, badly wounded, by the germans after a brilliant sortie, he was cured and released, only to be murdered by the communards on the eve of his return to england. a year or two after, the earl abjured his vows of celibacy under the fascinations of a brilliant american beauty, and so had accepted the responsibility of perpetuating his race. so these two men had met on common ground, and nothing was more natural than that they should have become such friends as they were. to a very great extent they stood apart from the traditions of their times. they were aristocrats in an age of almost universal democracy. both of them firmly believed that democracy spelt degeneration, national and individual. both of them were, in fact, incarnations of an age that was past, and which might or might not be renewed. this was, indeed, the subject of their conversation as they strolled up and down the smoothly-shaven lawn under the sheltering pines, chatting easily and comparing in well-selected phrases the things of their own youth with those of the present swiftly moving and even a trifle blatant generations of to-day. "i quite agree with you, my dear lord orrel," said the prince, as they turned at the end of their walk. "democracy is tending now, just as it did in the days of greece and carthage and rome, and to-day in my own unhappy france, to degeneration, and the worst of it is that there is no visible possibility of salvation. our rulers have armed the mob with a weapon more potent than the thunders of jove. the loafer of the café and the pot-house has a vote, and, therefore, the same voice in choosing the rulers of nations as the student and the man of science, or the traveller who is familiar with many lands and many races. i often think that it is a pity that some means cannot be found for placing--well, i will call it a despotic power--in the hands of a few men--men, for instance, if i may say so without flattery or vanity, like ourselves--men of wide experience and broad sympathies, and yet possessing what you and i know to be the essentials of despotism--that something that can only be inherited, not acquired." "my dear prince, i agree with you entirely," replied lord orrel. "our present civilisation is suffering from a sort of dry-rot. sentiment has degenerated into sentimentalism, courage into a reckless gambling for honours, statesmanship into politics, oratory into verbosity. in short, the nineteenth century has degenerated into the twentieth. everything seems going wrong. the world is ruled by the big man who shots his quotations on the stock exchange and the little one who serves behind his counter. it is all buying and selling. honour and faith, and the old social creed which we used to call noblesse oblige, are getting quite out of date." "not that yet, my friend, surely," the prince interrupted, quickly gripping his companion's arm; "not that, at least, for us. i confess that we and those like us are, as one might say, derelicts on the ocean of society--we, who one day were stately admirals, to use the old phrase. and yet, as you said just now, if only some power could be placed in the hands of a few like ourselves, a power which would over-ride the blind, irresponsible, shifting will of the mutable mob which changes its vote and its opinions with the seasons, the world might be brought again into order, and the proletariat might be saved from its own suicide. "and," he went on, turning at the other end of their promenade, "perhaps you will not believe me, but only a few weeks ago there was such a power in the hands of a frenchman--of an alsatian, perhaps i should say, but a man who had preserved his loyalty to france--a scientist of european reputation--a man who had discovered that this earth had a spirit, a living soul, and who could gain control of it--so complete a control, that he could draw it out and leave the earth dead--a man who--but there, i am wearying you; i am sure you must think that i am telling you some fairy tale." "by no means, my dear prince," said lord orrel, doing his best to keep his voice steady, and not quite succeeding. "in the first place, i am quite sure that you would not speak so seriously on a subject that was not serious; and, in the second place, i can assure you that i am most deeply interested." "a thousand pardons, my lord," said the prince. "of course you would not think that of me. we have both of us lived too long to indulge in romance, and yet, if i could tell you the whole story, you would say that you have never heard such a romance as this." "and, if it is not trespassing too far upon your confidence, my dear prince, i should be only too happy to hear you tell the whole story," said his lordship, with an unmistakable note of curiosity in his tone. "i can tell you part of the story," replied the prince; "but not here. it is so strange, and it might have meant so much, not only to france, but to the world, that i can only tell it to you where no other ears than ours can hear it, and even then only under your solemn pledge of secrecy." "as for the first condition, my dear prince," replied lord orrel, "i will ask you to take a glass of wine with me in my sitting-room. as for the second, you have my word." "and, therefore, both conditions are amply satisfied. let us go, and i will tell you the strangest story you have ever heard." chapter viii by the time the prince had ceased speaking there was not the slightest doubt in lord orrel's mind that, in some most mysterious manner, he was connected with the discovery which hardress had made when he took the mutilated body out of the waters of the channel. perhaps even the unknown dead might have been someone near and dear to him. it seemed to him utterly impossible either to doubt the prince's word or to believe that two such discoveries could have been made by two men at the same time, or even that there could exist at the same time on earth two men whose genius, once put into practice, could make them rival masters of the world. and supposing that he knew part of the story which the prince was going to tell him--the sequel, and, from a practical point of view, the all-important portion--ought he to tell him what he knew too? he was under no actual pledge of secrecy to his associates in the great trust, but still he felt that he was under an honourable obligation to keep the story of the discovery to himself. on the other hand, granted that the prince knew the first half, would it be right--would it be honourable, according to his own exact code of honour, to keep the sequel from him? perhaps the prince even had a definite personal interest in the scheme; and, in that case, to keep silence would be to rob him of his prior rights. what was he to do? he had been a minister of the crown for a short term of office, and by the time they reached his sitting-room, and he had locked the door, after the wine had been placed on the table, diplomacy had come to his aid, and he had made up his mind. when he had filled the glasses he took out his cigar-case, selected the best it contained, and said: "prince, i'm going to ask you to allow me to take a very great liberty." "my dear lord orrel, there is nothing that you could do that i should consider a liberty. thank you, i will; i know that your cigars are always most excellent, and now we will make ourselves comfortable, and you shall take your liberty." he took the proffered cigar as he spoke, snipped the end, and lit it. lord orrel did the same, and when they had saluted each other over their wine, in the old-fashioned, courtly style, he began: "my dear prince, the liberty that i am going to ask your permission to take is a very great one, because it is a liberty of anticipation; and few men, even the most chivalrous, care to be anticipated, especially when they have an interesting story to tell. in other words, i, too, have a very strange story to tell you. in fact, the strangest that ever came within my experience. and there are reasons, which i will explain to you afterwards, why i am asking the favour of your permission to tell it before yours." the prince looked puzzled, and his dark brows approached each other for just the fraction of a second. he took a sip at his wine, leant back in his chair, and blew a long whiff of smoke up towards the gaudily-painted ceiling. then he said, with a barely perceptible shrug of his shoulders: "my dear lord orrel, you are not asking me any favour. on the contrary, you are merely requesting that you shall entertain me before i try to do the same by you. moreover, as it is quite impossible that there can be any connection between our stories, there can be no question of anticipation; so, pray, proceed. i am all attention." "as i said," began lord orrel, settling himself in his chair, and taking a long pull at his cigar, "the story is a very strange one, and it is also one which could not well be told from the housetops, because it involves--well, what may be something almost as wonderful as what you hinted at in the garden just now." "ah," interrupted the prince, with a visible start and a sudden lifting of the eyebrows, "then, in truth, it must be strange indeed; and so i am more than ever anxious to hear it; and if, as i divine, you wish me to treat it in confidence, you, of course, have my word, as a gentleman of france, that no detail of it shall ever pass my lips." his host felt not a little relieved at being released from the necessity of binding him to secrecy, as, for the sake of his colleagues, he would have felt obliged to do; so he said: "that, my dear prince, it would be quite impossible to imagine; and now, as it is getting a little late, i will get to my story." he began with the finding of the mutilated body by the _nadine_, and the discovery of the tin box containing the momentous papers, and had just given a sketch of their contents and the use that was about to be made of the dead man's discovery when the prince, whose face had been growing greyer and greyer during the recital, at length lost his hold upon the stern control under which he had just placed himself. he sprang to his feet, flung his arms apart, and cried, in a high-pitched, half-choked voice: "mon dieu! mon dieu! it is the same!--what miracle has happened? my lord, you have been telling me the end of the story of which i was going to tell you the beginning. and so france, poor france, through the stupidity of the ministerial puppets that the mob has placed in the seats of their ancient rulers, has refused the sceptre of the world; and i--i, the heir of her ancient royal house, have lost not only the throne of my ancestors, but the power to make her the mistress of the nations. truly, the mills of god grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small. her kings misruled her, and she took other rulers, who have cheated and swindled her, and humbled her before those who once did her bidding; and now, when the hand of fate holds out the means of regaining all that she has lost, and more, infinitely more, she puts it aside with the sneering laugh of contemptuous ignorance. truly it is a judgment that judges even unto the third and fourth generation. ah, yes; and on me, too!--i, who am innocent! mon dieu, mon dieu, it is cruel!" as the last words came from his trembling lips his hands came together on his forehead, and he dropped back into his chair. for a moment of speechless astonishment lord orrel stared across the room at him. then, dropping his cigar on the tray, he got up and went and laid his hand on the prince's shoulder. "my dear prince, my dear friend," he said, in a voice moved by emotion, "i am most deeply distressed that my story should have affected you so painfully. believe me, i had no intention, no thought even----" the prince dropped his hands from his head, and stood and faced him, his face white and set and his eyes burning; but with a perfectly steady voice, he said: "my lord, i thank you. so much emotion, though perhaps it was natural, ought not to have been shown. i should not have permitted it to myself, save in solitude. it was impossible that i should know that your lordship's story was the same as mine, and so, naturally, the shock was greater. and now, may i ask your lordship one question?" "i will answer it, prince, before you ask it," interrupted lord orrel. "but first, let me beg of you to drink your wine; really, you do not look well." the prince took the glass from him and drained it in silence, his hand shaking ever so little as he held it to his lips, and the other went on: "knowing what i did, i felt certain that two such miracles could not have happened at the same time; moreover, some inspiration told me that the discovery you spoke of in the garden was the same that my son made under such terrible circumstances in the channel. now, sit down, pray, do, and let us talk this matter over as men of the world." "men of the world!" echoed the prince, sadly, as he sat down again; "nay, of two worlds. i of the old, you and your son and your great business syndicate of the new; i of the past, you of the present and the future; i who would have revived the glories of an ancient race, the despotism, if you will, of a bygone dynasty, you who would found a new one--despotism a thousand times harder, a dynasty of money, not of blood, the most soulless and brutal of all dynasties. ah, well, it is fate, and who shall question that? no; if you will pardon me, my dear orrel, we will not talk further upon this subject, to-night, at any rate. i confess that what you have told me has affected me deeply. if you will permit me, i will go to bed. the russians, you know, have a saying, 'take thy thoughts to bed with thee, for the morning is wiser than the evening.' to-morrow, perhaps, i shall be able to converse with you on this momentous matter more calmly than i could do to-night." "by all means, my dear prince," was the reply; "and, no doubt, such a course would be better for me too, for i admit that this extraordinary coincidence has upset me not a little as well. and so, good-night, and sound sleep." "ah, yes," replied the prince, as they shook hands at the door; "sound sleep. i hope so. good-night, my lord, and pleasant dreams of the world-empire." he turned away to his bedroom, which was the next but two to his daughter's. the intervening rooms were occupied by his valet and her maid. the valet's door was ajar, and there was a light in the room. he stopped, and said: "i shall not want anything to-night, felix, so you may go to bed. if i require you in the night i will knock on the wall, as usual." "bien, monseigneur," replied the valet, opening the door and bowing. "j'ai l'honneur de vous sous haiter le bon soir, monseigneur." "bon soir," replied the prince, as he passed on to his room. "le chocolat a huit heures." but xavier de condé, prince of bourbon, would never drink another cup of chocolate. as soon as his door closed behind him, a sternly-repressed flood of passion broke out, and he spent half the remainder of the night walking, in his stockinged feet, up and down his big bedchamber, with clenched teeth and tight-gripped hands, his brain seething with a thousand thoughts of passion, and his white, twitching lips shaping unspoken words of rage, bitterness, and despair. it was a cruel irony that fate had wrought on him and his ancient house. the possible sceptre of the world had been offered to his hereditary enemies, the republicans of france, and, if fargeau had held to his compact, the compact for which he had given his daughter to his son, he would have been master of france; and fargeau would have kept it, for he was a loyal frenchman; and his son would have married a future queen of france! and now not only had france refused the sceptre and snatched the crown from him, but the sceptre had passed by some bitter caprice of fate into the hands of france's hereditary enemies. what could he say or do? nothing. it was maddening--worse than maddening. he had pledged his honour, and could tell no one--but even if he could, what then? the secret was out--worse--it was in the hands of men who could make the ideal a reality. they could not even give him back the power if they would, for the knowledge was theirs already, and they could act on it while he could not. the more he thought the faster the fever that was burning in his blood increased. his lips and tongue grew parched. his steps grew irregular and faltering. the veins in his head were beating on his brain like sledge-hammers. the lights began to waver before his eyes. he felt instinctively that madness--that long-inherited curse of his race--was coming. what if he should really go mad and babble not only of this great secret, but also of all the plots and intrigues of which he had been the centre! how many devoted friends and adherents would be consigned to prison and exile--perhaps even to the scaffold! the very thought chilled him back into sanity for the time being. he rapped sharply at the wall, and presently felix appeared, half-dressed, and doing his best to stifle a yawn. "felix," said the prince, who was now sitting in his arm-chair with his head between his hands, "bid marie arouse mam'selle immediately, and request her to dress and come to me. i am unwell--another of my attacks, i fear--and she only knows what to do for me. quick--i need her at once." felix vanished, and within ten minutes the marquise was in her father's room; but by this time the blood was beating on his brain again, and the fierce light of insanity was beginning to dawn in his eyes. with the valet's help she partly undressed him and got him to bed. then she locked the door and braced herself for what she instinctively knew must be a terrible ordeal. she saw at a glance that some terrible shock had thrown his brain off its balance. she had plotted with him and for him, and she knew why it was her duty to lock the door. but what was this? whence had come this blow which had struck him down so swiftly? she soon learnt, as the disjointed words and fragmentary sentences were shaped in the struggle between sanity and delirium for the command of his brain. hour after hour it went on, a piteous jumble of the memories of a long, busy life; but in the end, out of the mental tangle she was able to unravel one clear thread of thought. emil fargeau had given his secret to the sea, and the sea had given it into the hands of the english, the ancient enemies of her country and her race; and it was the son of this lord orrel, the brother of the haughty english beauty sleeping here, under the same roof, who had re-discovered it, and they were even worse than english, they were half-american; and england and america would between them share that empire of the world, that mastery of the human race, which should have been her father's and hers. she had even permitted her troth to be sold to a simple officer in the german army, a spy in the enemy's camp, in order to purchase this new sovereignty for her house. the prince was rapidly sinking; she could see that, and yet she was helpless to save him, for she had promised that no one, not even a doctor, should be admitted into the room. she gave him a dose of an opiate which he always carried with him, and about dawn he was sleeping, but every now and then talking in his sleep more coherently. at sunrise the effect of the drug wore off, and delirium resumed its sway for a few moments. his eyes opened, and with a sudden jerk he sat up in bed, his eyes glaring at the opposite wall, and his fingers clutching and tearing at the bedclothes. his lips worked convulsively for a while, then, with a hoarse, croaking scream he died. "france! o ma belle france, maitresse du monde--et moi ton roi, ton--ah----!" his voice dropped suddenly in a low, soft sigh, his eyelids fell, and his arms shrank to his sides, and he rolled back into his daughter's arms. the fresh rush of blood to his head had broken a vessel on the brain. adelaide knew instinctively that the dead weight in her arms was not that of a living man. she laid him back on the pillows, called up felix and sent him for the resident physician. when he had made his examination, he said, in his guttural french: "mam'selle la marquise, there is no hope. the prince is dead. if i had been called earlier i might have done something. i will make an examination afterwards and certify the cause of death, according to law. accept my most respectful condolences." that evening shafto hardress arrived from paris at the hôtel wilhelmshof. chapter ix in the midst of the desolation which had so swiftly and unexpectedly fallen upon her, the help and solace even of those whom she now knew to be her enemies--enemies perhaps to the death--were very welcome to adelaide de montpensier. every sort of trouble that could be taken off her hands they relieved her of. hardress travelled to vienna, which the prince had made his headquarters, to interview his man of business and to escort back the prince's sister, madame de condé, princess of bourbon, who was now, save adelaide, the only representative of the older branch of the ancient line. the younger had bowed the knee to the republican baal in france, and they were not even notified of the prince's death. lord orrel undertook the arrangement of the funeral and all the legal formalities connected with it, and lady olive was so sweet and tender in her help and sympathy that, in the midst of her grief, adelaide began to love her in spite of herself. the funeral was without any display that might have signalised the rank of the dead man, and louis xavier de condé, prince of bourbon, was laid to rest in an ordinary brick grave on the hillside under the pines of elsenau. both adelaide and her aunt would have applied to the french authorities to permit his interment in the resting-place of his ancestors, but the old prince had given special instructions that while the republican banner waved over france not even his dead body should rest in her soil, and so his wishes were, perforce, respected. the night after the funeral the marquise was sitting at her writing-table before the window of her private sitting-room. the window looked put over a vast expanse of undulating forest land, broken here and there by broad grassy valleys through which ran little tributaries of the weser, shining like tiny threads of silver under the full moon riding high in the heavens. she had drawn the blind up, and for nearly half-an-hour she had been gazing dreamily out over the sombre, almost ghostly landscape. the deep gloom of the far-spreading pine forest harmonised exactly with her own mood, and yet the twinkle of the streams amidst the glades, and the glitter of the stars on the far-off horizon, were to her as symbols of a light shining over and beyond the present darkness of her soul. the night had fallen swiftly and darkly upon her. first the vanishing into impenetrable mystery of the man upon whom rested her hopes and dreams of one day queening it over france as her ancestress marie antoinette had done, and not only over france as a kingdom, but as mistress of the world. and now the veil of mystery had been rudely torn aside, and showed her these english and americans, the hated hereditary enemies of her house and country, in possession of the power which should have been hers. then, last and worst of all, her father and her friend, the only real friend she had ever had, the only human being she had ever really loved--for she barely remembered the mother who had died when she was scarcely out of her cradle--had been stricken down by the same blow that had fallen upon her, and lay yonder on the hillside under the pines, all his high hopes and splendid ambitions brought to nothing by the swift agony of a single night. there was an open book on the table before her--a square volume, daintily bound in padded russia-leather, and closed with a silver spring lock. a gold-mounted stylographic pen lay beside it, and she held between her fingers a little cunningly contrived silver key which she had just detached from her watch-chain. "shall i write it," she murmured, in a soft, low tone, "or shall i keep it hidden where no human eyes can read it? but who can ever read this?" she went on after a little pause, letting her hand fall on the square volume. "after all, are not all my secrets here? and is not this the only friend and confidant that i have now left to me? yes, i am a woman, when all is said; and i must open my heart to someone, if only to myself." she turned the little shaded lamp by her side so that the light fell on the volume, and she put the key in the lock and opened it. about half the pages were filled with writing--not in words, but in a kind of shorthand which could only be read by her father, herself, and three of the most trusted adherents of their lost cause. her eyes ran rapidly over the last few pages. they contained the last chapters in the book of her life which was now closed. before she reached the end a mist of tears was gathering in her long, dark lashes. she wiped it away with a little lace-edged handkerchief, and took up her pen. she scored two heavy lines across the bottom of the last written page, turned over a fresh one, and began to write. "my father is dead, and with him the dreams which for years we have dreamt together. was there ever a more cruel irony of fate than this? was fate itself ever more unkind to man or woman? only a few weeks ago, and i had sold myself, with his consent, so far did our devotion go to serve the sacred cause of our house, to this big, handsome alsatian--a servant of the german emperor, the arch-enemy of our country, the owner of the two provinces which my ancestor louis tore from germany. i did it because in high politics it is necessary sometimes to sacrifice oneself, partly too because no other man had appealed to me as he did. i knew that he was running tremendous risks; i believed--yes, and i still believe, that he was risking everything--rank, honour, liberty, even life itself, by wearing the uniform of his country's enemy so that he might learn his enemy's secrets. "he loves me--yes, if ever man loved woman, he loves me--me, adelaide de condé, marquise de montpensier; and i--ah, mon dieu, is it possible that the daughter of marie antoinette has sunk so low?--i allowed him to believe that i loved him too. he believes it now. i suppose he would still believe it, even if he knew what i know now--that his father is dead, that the secret of the world-empire which he could have given us, that power for which i promised myself to him, so that i might share it with him, has gone, that it is worse than lost, since the fates have given it into the hands of the enemies of our house. "and so it is gone--worse than gone--and so, my friend victor, i am afraid you will have to find out in the course of circumstances that a woman's smiles do not always mean a reflection of the light in her lover's eyes, and that her kisses do not always mean love. it is a pity, because, after all, i believe you are a true frenchman, even if you wear a german uniform; and if that dream had become a reality, and you and i had shared the throne of france, perhaps i should have loved you as well and as truly as most queens have loved their consorts. "but, alas, my poor victor, the sceptre has passed away--for the time being, at least--from the house of bourbon. it is given into the hands of our enemies, and so you, by force of fate, must stand aside. i shall not tell you this yet, because afterwards, perhaps, you may be useful. i wonder what you would think of me--even you, a man who in the old days would only have been a sort of slave, living or dying socially as the great louis smiled or frowned upon you--i wonder what you would think if you could look over my shoulder and read this writing and see a woman's soul laid naked on this page. perhaps you might think me utterly mean and contemptible--you would if you didn't understand; but if you did, if you could see all and understand all--well, then, you might hate me, but i think you would be man enough to respect me. "at least you are diplomatist enough to know, after all, in the great game of politics, a game that is played for the mastery of kingdoms and peoples, to say nothing of the empire of the world, women have to count themselves as pawns. even the cleverest, the most brilliant, the most beautiful of us--that is all we are. sometimes our beauty or the charm of our subtle wit may win the outer senses of the rulers of the world; they may admire us physically or mentally, or both, but even at the best, it is only the man that we enslave. the man goes to sleep for a night, he dreams perhaps of our beauty and the delight of our society, but in the morning it is the statesman that wakes, and he looks back on the little weakness of the night before, and thinks of us as an ordinary man might think of the one extra liqueur which he ought not to have taken after a good dinner. "and now these english--these people into whose hands fate has given my heritage! ah, cruel fate; why did you not make them hateful, vulgar, common--something that i could hate and tread under foot--something that i could think as far beneath me as the bourgeois canaille of republican france? but you have made them aristocratic! lord orrel's lineage goes back past the days of st louis. his ancestors fought side by side with mine in the first crusade. true, they have mixed their blood with that american froth, the skimming of the pot-bouillé of the nations, but still, after all, the old blood tells. "lady olive--how i wish that she were either vulgar or ugly, so that i could hate her!--is a daughter of the plantagenets fit to mate with a prince of bourbon, if there were one worthy of her. lord orrel might have been one of those who went with the eighth henry to meet francis on the field of the cloth of gold, patrician in every turn of voice and manner and movement. and shafto hardress, who will be earl of orrel some day, and master of the world: yes, he is a patrician too; but with him there is something a little different--the american blood perhaps--keen, quick, alert, one moment indolently smoking his cigar and sipping his coffee, the next on his feet, ready to assume the destinies of nations. a man, too, strong and kindly--a man who would risk his life to save a drowning dog, and yet strike down an enemy in his path, so that he might rise a foot or so on the ladder of fame or power. but he is more than that, he wants far more than the empty fame of applause. the fame he wants is that which comes from acknowledged power. you can see the dreamer in his eyes and on his forehead, and you can see the doer on that beautiful, pitiless mouth of his and the square, strong jaw which is under it. "what a man to love and to be loved by! what would he think, i wonder, if he could read what i am writing here! and yet, are not all things possible? is it not the unexpected that comes to pass? why not? behold, i am left desolate, the garden that i called my heart is a wilderness--a wilderness ploughed up by the ploughshare of sorrow and bitterness, and so it lies fallow. would it be possible for him to sow the seed for which it is waiting?--and then the harvest would be the empire of the world shared between us! well, after all, i am not only adelaide de condé, daughter of a lost dynasty. i am a woman, with all the passions and ambitions of our race burning hot within me. if i cannot sit on the throne of the bourbons, why should i not be empress-consort on the throne of a world-wide empire?--why not? it would be a magnificent destiny!" when she had written this she laid her pen down, put her elbows on the table, and, with her chin between her hands, looked up in silence for some minutes at the moon sailing through rank after rank of fleecy clouds. then she took up her pen again, and wrote: "i wonder if there is another woman?" she looked at the last words for a moment or two, then put down her pen, closed the book and locked it, and, as she put it away into a drawer of her writing-table, she murmured: "ah, well, if there is--if there is----" she caught a sight of herself in the long glass of one of the wardrobes, and she saw a tall, exquisitely-shaped figure of a beautiful woman clad in the plainest of mourning. she looked at herself with eyes of unsparing criticism, and found no fault, and she turned away from the glass, saying: "ah, well, if there is--we shall see--and, if there really is, i wonder what she's like." chapter x within a week after the funeral adelaide and madame de condé returned to the late prince's hotel on the ringstrasse in vienna. they had taken most cordial leave of lord orrel and his son and daughter, and, in spite of all their prejudices of race and nation, adelaide de condé had brought something more away with her than the memory of a great sorrow tempered by the kindness of those whom a strange freak of fortune had made friends as well as enemies. even the two or three days that she had spent in his society had sufficed to show her that shafto hardress possessed in an infinitely greater degree those qualities which go to make the rulers of humanity than her big handsome alsatian, whose utmost ambition was the command of an army corps. he had the hard, keen, unemotional common-sense which enabled him to see even the tremendous possibilities of emil fargeau's discovery in a purely practical and even commercial light, but at the same time he possessed sufficient imagination to enable him to see how far-reaching the moral and social effects of the working-out of the scheme would be on the peoples of the world. she had herself said nothing of what had passed during that terrible night. for all they knew, the prince had taken the secret with him to the grave. once lord orrel had very delicately led the conversation up as near to the edge of this supremely important subject as his instincts would let him go, but he had learnt nothing, and an hour or so later he said to his son: "my dear shafto, it is perfectly certain that my dear old friend the prince died without giving her any inkling of the great secret which he took to the grave with him." "either that, dad," he replied, "or she is the most perfect diplomatist in europe. i think i have heard you say that the first essential of diplomacy is the ability to assume a perfect counterfeit of innocence and ignorance--in other words, to convey the impression that you know nothing when you know everything." "well, if that is so in this case," replied his father, "the mask which mam'selle wears is as impenetrable as it is beautiful. really, shafto, i think that rumour did not exaggerate when it called her the most beautiful woman in europe." "yes," said hardress, slowly; "she certainly is very lovely, and, from the little i've seen of her, she seems as gifted as she is beautiful." "then, my dear boy, if you really think that," said lord orrel, "how would it be if you were to repair this involuntary injustice which the fates have wrought upon her? the most beautiful woman in europe, and perhaps the most nobly born, and you one of the masters of the world! why not? there is the realisation of a dream even greater than the prince's; and if i have any skill in reading a woman's face or woman's eyes, it is a dream not very difficult for you to realise." hardress laughed, and shook his head, and said: "no, dad; i'm afraid that's not difficult. it's impossible." the earl looked up sharply, and said: "oh, then, of course, there is someone else in the case; and that can hardly be anyone but----" "you're quite right, dad; it's chrysie vandel. i meant to tell you before, but such a lot of things have happened since i got here, and i didn't really think it was of very much consequence for the present--because, after all, she's only accepted me conditionally--but, lovely and all as the marquise is, i think i would rather rule over the orrel estates with chrysie than over the world with her." "then that, of course, settles it," said the earl, with a certain note of displeasure in his voice. "miss vandel is a most charming and fascinating girl, but you will perhaps pardon me, shafto, if i say that she no more compares with the daughter of the royal line of france than----" "you needn't go on, dad," said hardress, interrupting him with a laugh; "comparisons are always more or less unpleasant; and then, you see, you're not in love with either of them, and i'm pretty badly in love with one." "well, well," said his father, "of course, if that's the case, there's an end of it, and there's nothing more to be said. still, for more reasons than one, i must say that i wish you had met the marquise first. the plantagenets and the bourbons would have made a splendid stock." on the same day that this conversation took place in the gardens of the hôtel wilhelmshof in elsenau, a very different one was taking place in the prince's hotel at vienna between adelaide de condé and victor fargeau, who, on receipt of the news of the prince's death, had obtained a few days' leave, and travelled post-haste from petersburg to vienna. it was after dinner, and madame de condé had retired to her own room with a slight attack of nerves. the marquise and victor fargeau were sitting on either side of the open fireplace, with a little table, holding coffee and liqueurs, between them. adelaide had accepted a cigarette from his case, and he had lit one too. for several minutes after her aunt had left the room she puffed daintily at her cigarette, and looked across at him with intricately-mingled feelings. at length victor broke the silence by saying, with a note of impatience in his tone: "and now, mam'selle la marquise, or, if you like it better, my most beautiful adelaide, i have possessed my soul in patience for nearly two hours. when are you going to tell me this wonderful news of yours?" "wonderful, my dear victor? alas, it is not only that; it is most sorrowful as well." then, bracing herself with a visible effort, she threw her half-smoked cigarette into the fireplace, and, gripping the arms of the big chair in which she was sitting, she went on, staring straight into his eyes: "it is nothing less than the story of how your father met his end, and what became of his great secret." "nom de dieu!" he cried, springing to his feet; "you know that, and from whom?" "from these english and americans--or anglo-americans, as i suppose i ought to call them," she replied; "the people to whom the fates gave the secret with your father's dead and mutilated body; the people who buried him--the man who might have been the saviour of france--in a nameless english grave." she kept her voice as steady as she could while she was saying this; she even tried to speak coldly and pitilessly, for she had made up her mind that the reasons of state for her betrothal to this man no longer existed. she had an even higher stake to play for now, and, in spite of all her pride of blood and racial prejudice, this would not be a sacrifice; on the contrary, it would be rather a victory--and so she hardened her voice, as she had done her heart. "dead! mutilated!" he exclaimed again. "yes; i knew he was dead, for he told me in his letter from paris that he would not, and could not, survive the failure of all his hopes. there were reasons why he should not, but they are of no consequence now. he staked everything, and lost everything, and that is enough. it is not for me to be his judge, now that he has gone to the presence of the highest judge of all." "that was said like a good son and a true man, victor," replied the marquise, with a swift glance of something like admiration at his flushed and handsome face. "but there is something more serious than even the death of one whom you have loved and i have most deeply respected. i heard enough from my own father, during the night he died, to convince me that these people have not only got the secret, but that they are already devoting millions to convert your father's theory into a terrible reality. "this viscount branston, lord orrel's son, has already been across to america, and has leased the land about the magnetic pole from the canadian government. a syndicate has been formed, and even at this very moment the preliminaries of the work are being pushed forward as rapidly as possible. within a few months they will have begun the storage station itself, and then nothing can save the world from the irresistible power which will be theirs." while she was speaking, victor was striding up and down the dining-room, his hands clasped behind his back, and his frowning eyes bent on the thick carpet. suddenly he stopped and faced her, and said, in sharp, almost passionate accents: "perhaps it is not too late after all. my father left me those papers in duplicate. i am weary--sick to death of playing this double game. in a few months war between france and germany will be inevitable. russia will side with us, and the prize of the victors will be--for france, the restoration of the lost provinces, and a good fat slice of china, and for russia the whole of northern china and korea. germany hasn't a friend on earth. the english hate her because she is beating them in trade rivalry; austria has no more forgotten sadowa than we have forgotten sedan. italy is crippled for lack of money, and so is spain. the rest don't matter; and england and america will be only too glad to stand aside and see europe tear itself to pieces. so france and russia will win, and we shall crush our conqueror into the dust." "but how can that be?" she interrupted, "if your father's calculations were correct--as these people have evidently found them to be--for if they had not done so they would not have risked their millions on them. from what you and he have told me of his discovery, once these works are set in operation round the magnetic pole, fighting will be impossible, save with the permission of those who own them. metals, as he proved in his last experiment, will become brittle as glass, cannons and rifles will burst at the first shot, even swords and bayonets will be no more use than icicles; steam-engines will cease to work, and the world will go back to the age of wood and stone. "picture to yourself, my dear victor, the armed millions of europe facing each other, unable to fire a shot, or even to make a bayonet charge. fancy the fleets of russia and france and germany laid up like so many worn-out hulks. no, no, my friend; there can be no talk of serious war while these people possess the power of preventing it at their will." "but war there must and shall be!" he exclaimed. "i have not been a traitor to my country even in appearance, i have not worn this german uniform--this livery of slavery--for nothing. i have not wormed my way into the confidence of my superiors, i have not risked something worse than death to discover the details of germany's next campaign against france, to have all my work brought to nothing at the eleventh hour by these english-americans. no, there may be time even yet; i have risked much, and i will risk more; and you, adelaide, will you help me? will you keep the compact which your father made with mine?" she had been growing paler all the time he had been speaking, knowing instinctively what was coming. she rose slowly from her chair, and said, almost falteringly: "what do you mean, victor? how can i help you, when these people already have the secret in their hands, and have been spending their millions for weeks? what can we do against them?" "we can do this," he replied, stopping again in his walk; "my father pledged his honour as well as everything else he had in the world to insure the success of this scheme. i, his son, can do no less; i will pledge mine in the same cause. i am on leave, and i can wear plain clothes. to-morrow i will start for paris and see if i cannot bring that pig-headed minister of war to something like reason. i think i have a suggestion which he will find worth working out, and certainly he will be interested in other things that i shall put before him. germany i have done with. i have worn the livery of shame too long. henceforth i am what i was born--a frenchman. i will resign my commission to-morrow, even if france lets me starve for it. i can easily do that, for the son of a disgraced man cannot remain in the german army, and my poor father disgraced himself to make france the mistress of the world. a miserable jew in strassburg holds the honour of our family in his hand. i have no money to redeem it, and so it must go." she had almost said, "victor, i am rich; let me redeem it," when she remembered that she was no longer more loyal to him than he was to germany. all the while that he had been talking she had been thinking, almost against her will, of shafto hardress, and comparing him only too favourably with this man, who, however honourable his motives might seem to himself, was still a traitor and a spy. instead of this, she said, rising and holding out her hand, "well, victor, so far as i can help you i will. we are going to paris ourselves in a few days, and, by the way, that reminds me i had a letter from sophie valdemar only this morning, telling me that she and the count are going there too." "ah yes," replied victor; "a mixture of diplomacy and pleasure, i've no doubt. i wonder what the fair sophie would give to know what you and i know, adelaide?" "a good deal, no doubt," smiled adelaide, as they shook hands. "of one thing i'm quite certain; if russia had the knowledge that you are going to give to france, russia would find some means of making those storage works an impossibility." "and that is exactly what i propose to persuade france to do, if possible; but we can talk that over better when we meet in paris. and now, my adelaide, good-night." he clasped her hand and drew her towards him; for the fraction of a second she drew back, and then she yielded and submitted to his kiss; but when the door had closed behind him, she drew the palm of her hand across her lips with a gesture almost of disgust, and said: "no, my victor; that must be the last. you cannot afford a princess of bourbon now. i sold myself for statecraft which is craft no longer; and, besides, there is another now. ah, well, i wonder what will happen in paris? and sophie valdemar, too, and the count! altogether, i think we shall make quite an interesting little party when we meet in la ville lumière." chapter xi ten days had passed since victor fargeau's conversation with adelaide de condé in vienna. he had adhered to the decision that he had come to so suddenly under the spell of her wonderful eyes. he had no family ties now. his mother had died several years before. his two sisters had married frenchmen, and migrated with their husbands into normandy. the estate in alsace, which should have been his own patrimony, was lost, and the german jew, weinthal, held not only that but the honour of his family, the good name of his dead father, in his hands. so he had decided to cut himself adrift from his native land until it had become once more a part of france. he had written to petersburg and resigned his position on the diplomatic staff, and he had also written to headquarters resigning his commission, and telling enough of his father's story to show that, since it was impossible for him now, as a man with a tarnished name, to hold his head up amongst his brother officers, there was nothing left for him but retirement into civil life. a reply had come back, to the effect that the circumstances of his very painful case were under consideration, and that he need not report himself for duty until the general of the division to which he was attached had given his decision. he knew that this was equivalent to an acceptance of his resignation. even though he had asked for it, his dismissal galled him. he knew perfectly well that he had only entered the german army for the purposes of revenge, that in honest language he could only be described as a traitor and a spy--a man who had deliberately abused his position and the confidence of his superiors to get possession of plans of fortresses, details of manoeuvres, lines of communication, available rolling-stock, and points of entry which had been selected for possible invasion. he had, in fact, done more than even dreyfus was ever accused of, and now, since everything else was lost, he was determined to take the last step. he would throw off his enforced allegiance to germany; he would take the wreck of his fortunes with him to france, and he would offer her his services and his information. he knew well enough that they would not be rejected, as his father's priceless discovery had been. what he possessed would be bought eagerly by any of the chancelleries of europe. the french ministry of war would not refuse his services as it had refused his father's. even now some means might be found to checkmate these english-americans. already a scheme, daring and yet practicable, was shaping itself in his mind, and if that succeeded he might still achieve the one desire of his life and call adelaide de condé his own. for the present, although she had said nothing at that last interview, he felt that a change had come into their relationship. her words had been more formal and more measured, and her last kiss colder than before. he felt that he was on his trial; that if he did not achieve something great she was lost to him. and then there was the other--this english-american--who had not only got the great secret, but the millions to put it into practice. he knew her high ambitions. he knew that if she had to choose between love for a man, and the fulfilment of a great project, the man would have but little chance. but he had loved her since he knew the meaning of the word, and he had resolved to risk everything that was left to him to win back what had once been within his grasp. if in the end he failed and the other man won--well, so much the worse for the other man. and then there was sophie valdemar. even if this english-american did take adelaide from him----but that was another matter, the fragment of a possible destiny which still lay upon the knees of the gods. if the worst came to the worst, what would russia not give to know all that he knew and all that was contained in the only legacy that his father had left him. so thinking, he travelled to paris, leaving his uniform behind him, and dressed just as an ordinary man about town, quietly, but with exquisite care and neatness. as soon as he had settled himself in a modest hotel in one of the streets of the avenue de l'opé, he wrote a discreetly-worded note to one of the secretaries of the ministry of war, a former schoolfellow of his, with whom he had had previous communications of a confidential sort, asking him to arrange a private interview for him with the minister at the earliest possible date, and, if possible, to dine with him the next evening. the next morning he called to pay his respects to madame de bourbon and the marquise at the hotel they had taken in the avenue neuilly. he met the marquise alone in the salon. she received him quietly and almost coldly--but this he had expected. "so you have finally decided," she said. "i thought from your letter that you would do so. how very different you look _en civile_! really, although we naturally hate the sight of them, still, it must be admitted that those german uniforms do make a good-looking man look his best." "yes," replied victor, choking down his chagrin as best he might; "to a certain extent it is true, after all, that the feathers make the bird, and so, of course, the clothes make the man. still, i'm afraid i shall have to ask you to tolerate me for the future without my german plumage. as you say, i have made my decision. i have broken with germany for ever. henceforth, i am a son of france--and, adelaide, i have come to ask a daughter of france to help me to serve her." "of france!" she echoed, drawing herself up, and looking at him with a half-angry glint in her eyes, "of what france? of this nation of snobs and shopkeepers, ruled by a combination of stockbrokers, heavy-witted bourgeoisie and political adventurers? or the old france--my france--the france of my ancestors, as it was in the days when the great louis said: 'l'état c'est moi'? the one is not worth saving; the other might be worth restoring." "but this france of the bourgeoisie must first be saved, so that we may make out of it the foundation for the throne of the great louis. if we succeed, adelaide, as it is still possible that we may do, we shall be strong enough to abolish the salic law and to enthrone you as empress of the french." "of france, if you please! my ancestors were kings of france. even the corsican dared only style himself emperor of the french. you seem to forget that i am a daughter of the bourbons, a scion of the older line, and that therefore france is my personal heritage. but come," she went on, with a swift change of tone and manner, "it will be time enough to talk about that when i am nearer to my inheritance than i am now. you said that you wanted my help--how? what can i do now, left alone as i am?" "not quite alone, adelaide," he said, half reproachfully. "have i not given up everything, even, as some would say, sacrificed honour itself, to help you to win back that which is your own by every right? and you can help me as no one else can. i have a friend in the ministry of war--gaston leraulx, one of the secretaries. we were school-fellows and college friends. he is to dine with me to-night, and he will arrange an interview with the minister of war. i shall ask you to come with me to that interview." "what do you say, victor? you wish me, a princess of the house of bourbons to enter the bureau of one of these ministers--these politicians who are ruling in the place of the old noblesse--men whom we might perhaps have employed as lacqueys?" "that is true," he replied; "but remember, adelaide, that time brings its differences. my ancestors were nobles when yours were kings. if the old order of things is to be restored we must use these people as means to an end. i ask you to come with me to the minister of war, so that you may help me to convince him, from your own knowledge, of the terrible mistake that he made when he refused to entertain the project that my father placed before him. "you can tell him that strange story of how my father in his despair committed his body and his secret to the sea; how the sea gave it up into the hands of our worst enemies--the enemies of yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow--england and america; and how, even now, they are spending their millions upon that upon which france would not even risk a few paltry thousands. "when i place my papers before him he will see that they are identical with my father's, and i shall give him others which will make it impossible for him to doubt my faith; and you, you will be there to help me with your knowledge, with the prestige of your name, and with your beauty. the general may be all that you think him, but do not forget that he is a frenchman, and that all frenchmen who are not quite mad respect and admire at least two things----" "and those are--what?" she said, taking a couple of steps towards him, and speaking in a low, earnest tone. "am i to understand you to mean that this man--i know that he is one of the most able men that france can boast of--might perhaps be made an instrument of?" "i mean," said victor, taking her hand unresistingly, "that general ducros is himself an aristocrat, a man whose forefathers served yours well; that he is a frenchman whose spirit will recognise yours as being of similar lineage, whose eyes will not be blind, and whose ears will not be deaf. surely, adelaide, you see by this time what i mean: you see how, with you, i may succeed in everything, and, without you, i may fail. and, remember, if i fail there is an end of everything. this is our last hope. if it is not realised, these accursed english and americans will be masters of the situation, masters of the world, indeed. surely, adelaide, for the sake of all that is past and all that may be to come you will not say no?" "no, victor; i will not," she replied, still allowing her hand to rest in his, and yet thinking the while of that other man, whose face was ever present to her eyes, and whose voice was ever echoing in her ears. "i will visit this minister of yours with you. his name is good, and perhaps he may not be unworthy of it. at any rate, he is not disgraced by one of those new titles of the first or second empire. if i can help you i will; trust me for that. when it is arranged send me a telegram and our carriage is at your disposal. ah, who is this?" at this moment the door opened, and the lacquey announced: "monsieur le comte de valdemar; ma'm'selle la comtesse de valdemar." victor fargeau saw at a glance that the count and sophie were dressed in half-mourning, and instantly divined that their visit was one of condolence. this, of course, gave him a most excellent excuse to make his adieux. there was just a glimmer of taunting mockery in sophie's brilliant eyes as she recognised the dashing young cavalry officer in the sober garb of civil life, but it passed like a flash, and as they shook hands she said: "a most unexpected meeting, captain!" and then, with a look of frank challenge, "no doubt it is most important business that has brought you to paris _en civile_." "it is not without importance, countess, at least to my own poor and presently insignificant self. whether," he went on, with a swift involuntary glance at adelaide, who was receiving the condolences of the count, "it will ever be of importance to others is one of the secrets of fate; and, if so, you, who are no doubt justly credited with knowing half the secrets of europe, will probably be one of the first to discover the fact." "i wonder whether that is intended for a compliment or the reverse," said sophie, with a look of challenge coming back into her eyes. "you see, captain, there are two sorts of people who are supposed to know everything--diplomatists and spies." her voice dropped almost to a whisper as she spoke the last word. victor did his best to preserve his composure, but sophie's watchful eyes saw that the shot had gone home; still, the next moment he replied, with the stiff wooden-doll bow of the german officer, and without a tremor in his voice: "it would be quite impossible that mam'selle could be anything but one of the two." as he raised his head she looked into his eyes again, and laughed outright. "well hit, captain! that was very nicely put. i think you and i would make better friends than enemies, and in proof of my belief, let me tell you a secret which is not of europe. an anglo-american syndicate has for some reason or other leased several square miles round the magnetic pole in boothia land, british north america." "really! and might i ask why? it doesn't seem to be a very profitable investment in landed property." "who knows?" said sophie, with a little shrug of her shapely shoulders. "these english and americans, you know, are always doing the maddest things. i shouldn't wonder if they intended to turn the _aurora borealis_ into electric light for chicago." "nor i," said victor. "and now, if you will permit me, i must say au revoir." "i wonder how much our ex-captain really knows, and if my dear friend adelaide here knows anything or not," said sophie, in her soul, when victor had made his adieux and the door closed behind him. chapter xii it was not until four days later that victor's friend in the ministry of war was able to procure an appointment for him with general ducros. pressure of business was captain gaston leraulx' explanation, and it was an honest one. what he did not know was that on the evening of the day when count valdemar and his daughter paid their visit of condolence to adelaide de condé, general ducros dined with them. they had no other guest, for the best of reasons. countess sophie, the omniscient, by means of a happy accident, had got a fairly clear idea of the outlines of the great storage scheme. the servants of the white tzar are everywhere, known or unknown, generally the latter. a russian trapper happened to meet a french-canadian voyageur in montreal when shafto hardress was making his negotiations with the canadian government. they had a few drinks and a talk over the extraordinary deal that he had made with the canadian government, a deal which had been reported and commented on by the canadian and american journals with the usual luxuriance of speculative imagination. the same night the voyageur and the trapper, both men who were living on the products of their season's hunting and trapping, cabled practically the same details to paris and petersburg. the voyageur's telegram had gone to general ducros; and he, with the instinct of a soldier and a statesman, had instantly connected it with the greatest mistake that he had made in his life, his refusal to entertain the proposal which doctor emil fargeau had laid before him. he saw that he had refused even to examine a scheme which this anglo-american syndicate had somehow got hold of and thought it worth their while to spend thousands of pounds even in preliminary development. as he said to himself when the unwelcome news came to him, "i have committed a crime--for i have made a mistake, and for statesmen mistakes are something worse than crimes." as soon as the russian trapper's message had reached count valdemar, he immediately discussed it with his daughter, who over and over again had given proof of an almost clairvoyant insight into the most difficult and intricate concerns of international diplomacy. the moment she saw it her instinct led her back to the reception at the german embassy in petersburg. "it was all very easy, after all, general," she said, when the dinner was over, and the coffee and liqueurs were on the table. "if you will pardon me saying so, it is in cases like this that the intuition of the woman outstrips the logical faculty of the man. you have asked me how i discovered the connection between the interview between yourself and doctor fargeau, which, as you say, ended somewhat unhappily for france, and this extraordinary purchase of a seemingly worthless landed property by viscount hardress." "ah yes," said the general, knocking the ash off his cigarette. "statesmen are not supposed to make mistakes, but to you, ma'm'selle, and monsieur le comte, i must confess, to my most intense chagrin, the man was an alsatian, and had accepted the new order of things in the provinces, he was a german subject, and his son was a german officer on the general staff. what could i think?" "my dear general," replied sophie, after a long whiff at her yellow russian cigarette, "your conclusions were perfectly just under the circumstances. but when you have had your interview with captain fargeau and my dear friend the marquise, i think you will find that, after all, they were erroneous. do you not think so, papa?" "i fancy," replied the count, slowly, "that when you have made your explanations to the general, he will agree with you." "very well, then, general, i will spin my little thread before you, and you shall see whether it holds together or not. first, there was that snatch of a conversation that i heard at the german embassy reception in petersburg. captain fargeau was talking with the late prince de condé, and he was called away by one of the servants. from another source i knew afterwards that he had received a telegram from strassburg. he came back, and made a pretence of dancing with my very dear friend, adelaide de condé. they went out into the winter garden, just in front of myself and my partner. i heard him tell her that 'he' had succeeded, and gone to paris. "you have told me of his father's visit to you. the chief part of his scheme was the building of these works round the magnetic pole in boothia land. the prince and adelaide go to a little out-of-the-way place in germany, called elsenau. the fashionable papers told us that. they also told us that lord orrel and his daughter were there; and almost the same day arrives this viscount branston, lord orrel's son. the prince suddenly and mysteriously dies--as they say, from the bursting of a blood-vessel on the brain. of course, all the papers tell us of that, and also that viscount branston goes to vienna and brings back madame de bourbon, who is here now, in paris, with adelaide. "before this, you and my father have the telegrams from our good friends out yonder in canada. then the canadian and american papers confirm this, and tell us that this same viscount branston has leased this very spot of seemingly worthless land, which was, as you tell us, essential to the carrying out of emil fargeau's scheme, and that a great anglo-american syndicate has been formed to build an observatory there, or a central station for the control of wireless telegraphy throughout the world; and so on. no doubt the newspaper stories are as familiar to you as they are to us. now, general, do you see the connection between that scrap of conversation i heard in petersburg, and the purchase of that patch of snow-covered rock in boothia land?" "ma'm'selle," replied the general, "it is not a thread, but a chain, and there is not a weak link in it. it is perfectly plain now that there is a connection between this german officer, at present on leave in paris, and these english and americans who have somehow become possessed of the details of the scheme which i so unfortunately rejected. still, until we have heard what captain fargeau and your friend the marquise de montpensier, whom i am to have the honour of receiving to-morrow, have to say, it would not, i think, be wise to conclude that they have entered into a conspiracy with those whom i may describe as our common enemies." "that, general, i do not believe for a moment," said the count. "all their interests lie the other way. they have as much reason to dislike england and america as we have; and, until i know to the contrary, i shall prefer to believe that the marquise de montpensier, a daughter of the bourbons, is a friend to france, and therefore, through france, to russia." "and i believe that too," said sophie. "as far as england and america are concerned, the interests of france and russia are identical. if these arrogant anglo-saxons are ever to be put into their proper place, russia and france must do it: and, to begin with, by some means or other, this scheme must be frustrated. and now, general, i have given you a little information to-night, and i am going to ask a little favour in return." "it shall be granted, if possible. ma'm'selle has only to ask it." "there is, i believe," said sophie, putting her arms on the table, "a little apartment leading out of your own bureau at the ministry of war?" general ducros could not help raising his eyelids a little, for he knew that neither sophie nor her father had ever been in that room, but he dropped them again instantly, and said: "that is perfectly true, ma'm'selle; it is a little apartment, devoted to my own private use. in fact, to tell you the truth, i am sometimes there when it is convenient for my secretary to prove by ocular demonstration to some more or less important personage that i am not at home, and that, in consequence of my unavoidable absence, an undesirable interview has to be postponed." "exactly," laughed sophie. "such things are not unknown elsewhere; and i am going to ask you, general, for the use of that room during your interview to-morrow with the marquise de montpensier and captain fargeau. in other words, i wish to be present at the interview without doing anything to interrupt the smooth course of the proceedings." "ma'm'selle knows so much already that there is no reason why she should not know more," replied the general, not very cordially; "but, of course, it is understood, as a matter of honour between ourselves, that in this matter we are allies, as our countries are." "undoubtedly," replied the count. "it would, indeed, be mutually impossible for it to be otherwise." "then," said sophie, "we will consider that a bargain. my father and i will call shortly before the captain and adelaide reach the ministry, and afterwards----" "and afterwards, my dear general, if you will allow me to interrupt you," said the count, "i would suggest that we should have a little dinner here, to which sophie will invite madame de bourbon and the marquise, as well as captain fargeau; a dinner which, if you will permit me to say so, may possibly be of historic interest; an occasion upon which, perhaps, the alliance between france and russia will be cemented by a mutual agreement and arrangement to outwit these english-americans, and secure the world-empire for france and russia." general ducros assented. he saw that, owing to the fatal mistake he had made when he rejected emil fargeau's scheme, he was now, thanks to the subtle intellect of sophie valdemar, forced to share the possibility of obtaining that world-empire with russia, the ally whose friendship had already cost france so dearly, an ally to whom france had paid millions for a few empty assurances and one or two brilliant scenes in the international spectacular drama. no one knew better than he did how worthless this alliance really was to france, and that night he reproached himself bitterly for letting slip the chance of making france independent of her blood-sucking ally. still, by an extraordinary combination of chance and skill, sophie valdemar had got the necessary knowledge of the great secret, and, perforce, he had to share it with her and russia. punctually at eleven o'clock the next morning adelaide de condé and victor fargeau were admitted to the bureau of the minister of war. the interview was very different from the one that he had granted to the man whom his scepticism had practically driven to his death, and so placed the great secret in the hands of his country's enemies. it was also much shorter. when, at the outset, the general had addressed victor as captain fargeau, he replied: "pardon, general, i am captain no longer, nor am i any longer a german. i have resigned. henceforth i am a frenchman in fact, as i have always been in heart. you would not believe that of my father, but i will prove it to you of myself." "my dear sir," replied the general, "no one could be more delighted to hear such news as that than i; and i can promise you that, in that case, an appointment--not, of course, an acknowledged one, since you are not now legally a frenchman--shall be placed at your disposal." adelaide turned her head away as he spoke, and her lips curled into a smile which made her look almost ugly. "so now he is to become a paid spy," she thought. "and he still considers that i am pledged to him. but what can i do till we have either succeeded or failed? ah, if it were only the other one! if he were a frenchman, or if only i could make him love me as i could--well, we shall see. after all, patriotism has its limits. france has broken its allegiance to my house. what do i owe it?" general ducros saw at a glance that the specifications which victor handed to him were the duplicates of those which he had so unwisely and so unfortunately for himself and for france refused to accept from his father. if anything had been needed to convince him of the terrible error that he had made, adelaide's story of the last night of her father's life would have done it. "monsieur," he said, laying his hand upon the papers, "i will confess that i have made a great mistake, even that i have committed a crime against france and your father. alas, as we know now from the story that ma'm'selle la marquise has told us, he is dead; and it is i who, innocently and unknowingly, sent him to his death. i can do no more than admit my error, and promise you that every force at my command shall be used to repair it, if possible. these other documents, which you have been good enough to hand to me, i take, of course, as an earnest of your good faith and your devotion to france." "i wonder what they are," said sophie valdemar, in her soul, as the minister's words reached her ear through the closed door of the little private room. "an alsatian, a german officer, military attaché at petersburg, he resigns his commission, goes back to his french allegiance, and gives the general something which proves his good faith! ah, perhaps a scheme of campaign--sketches of routes--details of mobilisation--plans of fortresses! we must fight germany soon. i wonder whether i could persuade the good general to let me have a look at them, if they are anything of that sort." while these thoughts were flashing through sophie's mind, the general was saying: "and now, monsieur, you mentioned a short time ago that you had a scheme for repairing the error which i have confessed. may i ask for an outline of it? i need hardly say that, if it is only feasible, france will spare neither money nor men to accomplish the object, and to regain what i have so deplorably lost." "my scheme, general," said victor, "is exceedingly simple. these english-americans are going to erect storage works round the magnetic pole, which, as of course you know, is situated in the far north, in a sort of no-man's land, untrodden by human feet once in half-a-century. let france fit out an arctic expedition of two ships. let them be old warships--as the _alert_ and _discovery_ were in the english expedition. their mission will, of course, be a peaceful one, and their departure will cause no comment save in the scientific papers, but in their holds the ships will carry the most powerful guns they can mount, ammunition, and----" "excellent!" interrupted the general, rising from his seat. "my dear monsieur, i congratulate you upon a brilliant idea. yes, the expedition shall be prepared with all speed; the newspapers shall describe the ships as old ones, but the minister of marine and myself will arrange that they shall carry the best guns and the most powerful explosives that we have. they shall be manned by picked crews, commanded by our best officers; they shall sail for the north pole, or thereabouts, as all these expeditions do, and they shall make a friendly call at boothia land. it will not be possible now before next summer because of the ice; but the same cause will delay our friends in building the storage works; and when our ships call and the works are well in progress--well, then, we will see whether or not our friends will yield to logic; and, if not, to force majeure. is that your idea?" "exactly," replied victor. "we will wait till the works are finished, say this time next year, or two years or three years, it matters nothing, and then we will take them. the expedition will carry men trained to do the work under my orders. i have the whole working of the apparatus in those papers. once we possess the works we are masters of the world, because we shall be possessors of its very life. but before that there may be war--the nations of europe fighting for the limbs of the yellow giant in the east. germany, as you will see from those papers, is nearly ready. it is only a matter of a few months, and then she will make her first rush on france. england and america can be rendered helpless if we once seize the works, and russia can, i presume, be trusted?" "without doubt," said the general. "russia is our true and faithful ally." "yes," said sophie again, in her soul; "provided she has a share in that polar expedition, as she shall have." chapter xiii nearly a year had passed since general ducros had dined with count valdemar and ma'm'selle sophie in paris. it was cowes week, and there was quite a cosmopolitan party at orrel court. adelaide de condé and madame de bourbon were the best of friends with count valdemar and sophie. clifford vandel and miss chrysie were good friends with everybody, the latter especially good friends with hardress, whose work was now rapidly approaching completion. in short, it was as charming a cosmopolitan party as you could have found on the hampshire shore, or anywhere else; and none of the other guests of lord orrel, and there were several of them not unskilled in diplomacy, ever dreamt that under the surface of the smooth-flowing conversation, whether round the dinner-table at the court, on the _nadine_, which ran down the southampton water every day that there was a good race on, or at clifford vandel's bungalow at cowes, whose smoothly shaven lawn sloped down almost to the water's edge, lay undercurrents of plot and counterplot, the issue of which was the question whether the dominion of the world was to be committed to anglo-saxon or franco-slav hands. one night--it was the evening after the great regatta--three conversations took place under the roof of orrel court, which the greatest newspapers of the two hemispheres would have given any amount of money to be able to report, since each of them was possibly pregnant with the fate of the world. when clifford vandel came up from the smoking-room a little after eleven he found miss chrysie waiting for him in the sitting-room of the suite of apartments that had been given to them in the eastern wing of the old mansion. "don't you think you ought to be in bed, chrysie, instead of sitting there smoking a cigarette, and--why, what's the matter with you, girl?" he had begun with something like a note of reproach in his voice, but the last words were spoken in a tone of tender concern. she got up from her chair, went to the door, and shut it and locked it, and then, with her half-smoked cigarette poised between her fingers, her face pale, and her eyes aflame, she faced him and said, in low, quick-flowing tones: "poppa, can't you see what's the matter?--you, who can see things months before they happen, and make millions by gambling on them?--you who did up morgan himself over that wireless telegraphy combine--can't you see what's going on right here just under your nose?" "my dear chrysie, what are you talking about? i've not noticed anything particular happening, except what's happened in the right way. what's the trouble?" "the trouble's that frenchwoman--that second edition of marie antoinette. can't you see what she's doing every hour and day of her life? can't you see that she's as beautiful as an angel, and--well, as clever as the other thing, and that she's just playing her hand for all she's worth to get the man i want--the man i half-promised myself to a year ago!" "perhaps i've been too busy about other matters, and perhaps i never expected anything of the sort," replied her father; "and anyhow, men are fools at seeing this kind of thing; but if that's so, and you really do want him, why not promise yourself altogether and fix things up? there's no man i'd sooner have for a son-in-law; and if you want him, and he wants you, why----" "it's just there, poppa, that i'm feeling bad about it," she said, coming nearer to him, and speaking with a little break in her voice. "i'm not so sure that he does want me now--at least, not quite as badly as he did that time when he asked me first in buffalo. don't you see that frenchwoman's bewitched him? and who could blame him, after all? what do all the society papers say about her? the most beautiful woman in europe--the great-great-grand-daughter of louis the magnificent himself, with the noblest blood of france in her veins! how could any man with eyes in his head and blood in his heart resist her? why, i could no more compare with her than----" "than a wild rose in one of these beautiful english lanes could compare with a special variety of an orchid in a hothouse; and i guess, chrysie, that if i haven't made a great mistake about shafto hardress--if he does get a bit intoxicated with the scent of the orchid, if it comes to winning and wearing the flower, he'll take the wild rose. if he doesn't--well, i guess you'll do pretty well without him." "but i just can't do without him, poppa. you are the only one i'd tell it to, but that's so; and before that frenchwoman gets him i'd have her out and shoot her. women in her country fight duels. and there's more to it than that," she went on, after a little pause. "and what might that be, miss fire-eater?" said her father, half-laughing, half-seriously. "i believe that she and that russian girl, who goes languishing around shafto when the marquise or myself isn't around, know more than they should do about this storage scheme. i don't say i've been listening--i wouldn't do it--no, not even for them; but sometimes you can't help hearing; and only the day before yesterday, out in the grounds there, i heard both of them, not to each other, but at different times to count valdemar, mention the name of victor fargeau; and you know who he is--son of the man whose remains shafto picked up at sea--creator of this great scheme of yours--a frenchman who was an officer in the german army. now listen: both these women are friends of general ducros, the french war minister. france is sending out the polar expedition this year that she has been preparing for months--you know that; so has russia. do you see what i mean now?" "i guess you've got me on my own ground there, chrysie," said her father, laying his hand across her shoulders, and drawing her towards him. "you were dead right when you said that a woman's intuition can sometimes see quicker and farther than a man's reason; but on that kind of ground i guess i can see as well as anyone. i admit that i have been wondering a bit why just this particular year france and russia should be sending two polar expeditions out; but it's pretty well sure that if you hadn't seen that this french marquise and the russian countess were after the man you want--and the man you're going to get, too, if he's the man i think he is--i shouldn't have seen what i see now." "and what's that, poppa?" "they're not polar expeditions at all, chrysie; those ships are no more trying to go to the north pole than they're trying to find the source of the amazon. you got the key that opens the whole show when you heard them talking about victor fargeau. they're going to boothia land, that's where they're going to, and they're not going on what the russians generally call a voyage of scientific discovery. i'd bet every dollar we've got in the trust that those ships have guns on them, and there's going to be a fight for that magnetic pole after all. anyhow, there's a cable going across to doctor lamson the first thing to-morrow morning. if there's anything like that going on, he can't be on guard any too soon. and now, little girl," he went on, raising his hand and putting it on her head, "you go to bed, and don't you worry about frenchwomen or russians. shafto hardress comes of good old english and american stock, and he's just as clever as he can be without being altogether american. don't you worry about him. there's not going to be any trouble in his mind when he has to choose between a clean-blooded, healthy american girl and anyone else, even if she has got all the blood of all the bourbons in her veins, or even if she is the daughter of count valdemar of russia, whose ancestors, i guess, were half savages when yours were gentlemen. don't you worry about that, little girl; you just go to bed, and dream about the time when you'll be sitting on a throne that marie antoinette's wasn't a circumstance to. now, i have told you, and that's so. good-night. i'll have a talk with lord orrel to-morrow morning, and see to the business part of the affair." as chrysie crossed the long corridor to her own room she caught a glimpse of a tall, graceful figure which she had come to know only too well, and the sweep of a long, trailing skirt, vanishing through a door which she knew led into count valdemar's dressing-room. "that's sophie," she said. "i wonder if she saw me. she's been with the marquise, i suppose; and now she's going to have a talk with her father, something like mine with poppa. it's mean to listen, and i couldn't do it if i wanted to, but i'd like to give some of those dollars that poppa's going to make out of this scheme to hear what she's going to say, or what she's been saying to the marquise. i reckon i could make some history out of it if i knew; but anyhow, there's going to be trouble with that frenchwoman. i don't think so much about the russian. i believe she wants to marry either lord orrel or poppa; she's just about as mean as she is pretty and clever. i'd just like to say that english swear-word about her." miss chrysie said that, and many other things, in her soul that night after she had laid her head on her pillow; and, even after the demands of physical fatigue upon a perfectly healthy physique had compelled slumber, she dreamt of herself as a modern juno, usurping the throne of jove, and wielding his lightnings, with the especial object of destroying utterly from the face of the earth two young ladies, with whom she was living on apparent terms of the most perfect friendship, and who were even then resting their pretty heads on pillows just like hers under the same roof. chapter xiv sophie opened the door in answer to her father's murmured "entrez," and closed it very gently behind her. she had not noticed chrysie as she slipped into her own room, for her back was towards her, and, happily, she had no suspicion whatever of the conclusions which chrysie's love-sharpened eyes had enabled her to reach. if she had, some skilfully-devised accident would probably have happened. for though but two people among the guests at orrel court knew it, there were spies both inside and around the great house, unscrupulous agents of an unscrupulous government, who would have carried out their orders at all hazards. in fact, they had been brought there by count valdemar, at his daughter's suggestion, to assist in working out the most daring conspiracy that had ever been hatched at an english country house. "well, papa," said sophie, in her soft russian, as she took a cigarette, and dropped into an easy-chair with a motion that was almost voluptuous in its gracefulness, "now that these good people have gone to bed, we shall be able to have a little quiet talk. are you still of opinion that the scheme that i sketched out is feasible?" "everything is feasible, my dear sophie," replied her father, "provided only you have people of sufficient genius and boldness to carry it out. no doubt it would be possible with our own people, and those of the english sailors whom we have been able to bribe, to carry out that brilliant plan of yours, especially as you appear to have wrought such a magical transformation in the allegiance of this impressionable young engineer of yours on the _nadine_. are you quite sure of him?" "sure of him!" said sophie, in a voice that was little above a whisper, and leaning forward and looking at her father with a smile which made even him think her beauty almost repulsive for the moment. "edward williams is as much in love as boris bernovitch was, and is--although he is where he is. i have promised, as usual. he has believed me, as usual, just like any other fool of his sex. day after day i have met him and talked with him in what he calls my adorable foreign english. i have given him rendezvous which would have startled my lord orrel and all his belongings out of that abominable, habitual calm of theirs, and perhaps procured me a request to leave the house immediately. i have fooled him out of his seven senses, and to-night i have performed the supreme sacrifice for russia, and let him kiss me." the cruelly smiling lips changed into an expression of contemptuous disgust as she said this, and the count replied, coldly: "not a pleasant duty, sophie; but for holy russia her servants must do everything. that, as i have tried to teach you almost as soon as you could speak, is our duty, almost our religion. our fortune, our lives, our everything must be devoted to the emperor and to holy russia--soon now, i hope, to be mistress of the world. you as a woman, and a beautiful woman, have your weapons; i as a man, and a diplomatist, have mine. it is your duty to use yours with as little scruple as i use mine. "and so you really think," he went on, after a little pause, "that it will be possible to capture the _nadine_, with all her noble and gallant company on board, and compel her to join our russian expedition to boothia land. certainly, it would be a brilliant triumph if we could. we should have all the heads of the great trust at our mercy--lord orrel, his son, and this most objectionably straightforward clifford vandel, who, it would appear, has so vastly improved upon the original scheme. then we should have the womankind too--lady olive, miss vandel, and the beautiful marquise herself, always dangerous power that might work against us. by the way, sophie, has it struck you that the young viscount is wavering in his allegiance to the fair american under the influence of the beautiful daughter of the condés?" "as well ask me whether i am a woman, father," she replied, with a low, wicked-sounding laugh. "have i no eyes in my head? did not this fair american interfere with my plan for securing the noble shafto to ourselves by making him fall in love with her before i saw him, and have i not done everything, all the thousand and one little things that a woman can do, to help my dear friend the marquise to the attainment of her very evident desires? in other words, have i forgotten the lessons that you have been teaching me since you began to train me to think myself not a girl with a heart and a soul, and living blood in her veins, but only a human machine, fair to look upon, animated by a brain which knows no other duty than the service of our holy russia? you know that if i had loved this man myself it would have been just the same. i should have done exactly as i have done,--at least, i believe so." "ah," laughed the count, softly, "that is the problem, my dear sophie; and that, i tell you frankly, has always been my fear for you. you are young, brilliant, and beautiful; and i've always been a little afraid that out of some of all your admirers whom your smiles have brought to your feet there might be one whom you might love; and when a woman loves she pities, and pity and diplomacy have as much to do with each other as charity and business. still, i am not without hopes that some day you will meet some worthy son of russia; and remember, my sophie, that, if we succeed in this, if we place the control of the elixir vitæ of the world in the hand of russia, you might look even near the throne itself." "and i most certainly should," said sophie, throwing her head back. "i tell you frankly, papa, i'm not doing all this for nothing. i am not forgetting that i am a woman, with all a woman's natural feelings and inspirations, all her possible loves and hopes and pities, only for the sake of serving even russia. if i succeed i shall have my reward, and it shall be a splendid one." "and you will have well deserved it," said the count, looking with something more than fatherly pride on the beautiful daughter who had learnt the lessons of what he was pleased to call diplomacy so well. "still, i cannot disguise from myself that this last scheme of yours is, to say the least of it, a desperate one; for it amounts to nothing less than a kidnapping of one of the best-known noblemen and statesmen in england, his son and daughter, one of the wealthiest and best-known american financiers in the world and his daughter; to say nothing of one of the ministers of the tsar and his daughter. i need hardly remind you, of course, that the failure of such a venture would never be forgiven in petersburg. i need not tell you that the little father never pardons mistakes, and, besides, my dear sophie, have you quite satisfied yourself that such a very extreme measure is absolutely necessary?" "my dear papa," said sophie, getting up from her chair, and raising her voice ever so little, "in the first place, there will be--there can be no mistake about it; and, in the second place, i assure you that it is absolutely necessary if russia is to have undisputed control of the storage works. you see, the outside world knows absolutely nothing about these works. there have been all sorts of stories circulated about them, but no one who has actually seen them has said or written a word about them. in fact, as far as we know, only two men have been there and come back--viscount branston and mr vandel; dr lamson is there still. how do we know what means of defence they've got? they might be able even now, from what victor fargeau and general ducros told us, to demagnetise our ships, stop our engines from working and our guns from shooting; or, on the other hand, what would be almost as bad, this lamson might blow up the works and shatter every plan we've got--perhaps ruin all prospects of the invasion, too, unless we have some means of persuading him not to use his power. what better means could we have than the possession of the heads of the concern? "i have heard hints, too, that he is not without hopes of winning the fair lady olive some day, when he becomes one of the masters of the world. granted now that it is within our power to do what we please with all of them, or, if you like to put it diplomatically, with the heads of this gigantic conspiracy against the peace and security of the world, and plot to destroy the independence of the nations and the freedom of humanity, for it is nothing else, should we not be justified in using any and every means--yes," she went on, her voice hardening, "even to the very last means of all, to snatch this tremendous power out of the hands of these sordid english and americans and give it into those of holy russia. it is kidnapping, piracy, invasion of friendly territory--everything, i grant you, that is criminal under the law of nations; but remember it is also a struggle for the command of the life-force of the world--which means practically the control of the world itself and all that therein is." "and," said the count, smiling, "i suppose you would say that, as these people are our natural enemies, with whom we shall very soon be at war--'à la guerre comme à la guerre'--i suppose you mean that when we have got the _nadine_ and her noble company we shall use them as hostages to prevent any accidents happening to our little polar expedition. really, my dear sophie, your methods have suddenly become almost mediæval; still, if they are only successful, they will be none the less effective for that. let me see now," he went on, leaning back in his chair and putting the tips of his fingers together, "i wonder if i can find any flaw in the arrangements. you know, it is quite essential, my dear sophie, that there should not be any." "my dear papa," she replied, smiling, and leaning her back against the old carved mantelpiece, "try, by all means. if you cannot find one, i don't think there can be much chance of its being anything but practically perfect." "very well," said the count, lighting a fresh cigarette. "in two or three days' time, when the regattas are over, the house-party at orrel court will break up, and a few days after that, say a week in all, lord orrel, with his son and daughter, and the american and his daughter, and ma'm'selle la marquise as lady olive's guest, are taking a trip across the atlantic in the _nadine_, partly in the course of business and partly on pleasure bent; madame de bourbon and her maids return to paris; the _vlodoya_ puts into southampton the day the _nadine_ sails, to take us on our trip to the mediterranean. your good friend the lieutenant has informed you that, although the _nadine_ can make twenty knots on an emergency, she will only take a leisurely summer trip across the atlantic to boston, at about twelve or fifteen. he has given you a chart of the course which she will take. he has also promised you that at a certain spot in mid-atlantic there shall be a little accident to her engines which enable the _vlodoya_ to overtake her. the _vlodoya_, commanded and well manned by good servants of the empire, with a couple of three-pounders and a maxim in case of accident, will overhaul her and give her the alternative of surrender or sinking. that is where the piracy will begin, i suppose." sophie nodded, and, laughing, replied in english: "yes, right there--as our american beauty, as lord hardress thinks her, would say. the _nadine_ is unarmed, and, of course, resistance will be useless; in fact, it would simply be the merest folly. his lordship will accept us and a portion of the _vlodoya's_ crew as self-invited guests; we shall then steam away together, not to boston, but to the rendezvous with our little expedition, and once we join forces--well, the thing is practically done." "i agree so far," said her father; "still, there are one or two accidents that we have not yet taken into account. suppose, for instance, one of these detestable british cruisers, which seem to be everywhere, should happen to be there just then; or that even one of the big liners should come in sight at the critical moment. it seems to me that, for the present at least, secrecy is above all things essential, for if the news of--well, such an outrage, did get back to europe, you know perfectly well that russia would of necessity disown us, and that we and all on board the _vlodoya_ would simply be treated as common pirates." "so i suppose," said sophie, coolly; "but i have provided for that, because the day and place of rendezvous have been arranged so as to avoid the possibility of meeting any of the regular liners, and i have been careful to ascertain that no british warship will just then be under orders to cross the atlantic, either from the north american station or from england. as for the piracy, i don't think we need trouble ourselves about that. before many weeks france must forestall germany's attack; russia will, as we say, maintain the attitude of benevolent neutrality until she hears that we have got the works, then she will demand the surrender of the british concessions in china which conflict with her interests, and there will be war, and our actions, however drastic, will become legal under the law of war. in fact, my dear papa, as far as i can see, there is really only one possibility that i have not reckoned with, and that, as far as i can see, is an impossibility." "and what is that? it is just as well we should see them all." "it is the possibility that these english or americans--you know how quick they are at all practical methods, pig-headed and all as they are at diplomacy--have, by some means or other, guessed that the french and russian polar expeditions have started at rather a suspicious time; i mean just when the storage works--these wonderful works, which are to light the world by electricity for a few pence an hour, and give us displays of the _aurora borealis_, just as we have fireworks at public fêtes, and all the rest of it--have been completed. now that, if you like, would be dangerous; for in such delicate work as ours success depends on surprise. still, as i say, it is hardly possible." "practically impossible, i should agree with you, my dear sophie," said the count, making the greatest mistake of his diplomatic career; "practically impossible. what do they know? what can they suspect?" "unless--unless," said sophie, suddenly, clenching her hands, "our good friend adelaide de condé, who, i tell you, papa, is in love with shafto hardress, if woman ever was in love with man, unless she has hinted at the real meaning of these expeditions. yes; that is a danger which, i admit, i have not counted." "yes, yes; i think i see what you mean," replied the count; "she is a frenchwoman, but her only interest in the destiny of france consists in the restoration of the house of bourbon to power; still, being a frenchwoman, and in love, as you believe, she would also do anything for the sake of the man she loves, even to the ruin of her own hopes. finally, being on this supposition the rival of miss vandel, she would stop at nothing to prove her devotion to him; and, if she did as you suggest, sophie, it would be a very formidable condition of affairs indeed." "then, papa," she replied, coming and laying her hand on his shoulder, "do you not see that that is all the greater reason why this scheme of ours must be carried through? you see that adelaide de condé may herself become a source of the greatest danger; but when we have not only her, but miss vandel and the man they are both in love with, as well as the two papas and lady olive, completely in our power, when, for example, we could land them all on one of those drifting ice-floes, to float away to somewhere where no one but the seals and bears would know what had become of them, the game would be in our hands to play as we please." "my dear sophie," said the count, laying his hand upon hers, "i am delighted to see that you have the courage of your convictions. and now, it is very late, or, rather, early, and i think you may as well go to bed and dream of success, for you have convinced me that failure is, to all intents and purposes, impossible." as sophie valdemar stole quietly away to bed clifford vandel was finishing a long cable dispatch in cipher to doctor lamson, giving him a complete account, so far as he knew, of all that had been taking place in europe during the last few weeks, and concluding with the words: "i have good reason to believe that the supposed french and russian polar expeditions, which will be in your latitude in a few weeks, are really intended for the capture or destruction of the storage works; so take every possible precaution against attack or surprise." chapter xv while all this plotting and counter-plotting had been going on in england and europe, and france, thanks to what some might call the patriotic treachery of victor fargeau, was rapidly preparing for an invasion of germany, which a magnificently-equipped army of nearly four million men meant to make a very different affair to the last one; while russia was swiftly and secretly massing her huge military and very formidable naval forces in the near and far east, and england had, as usual, been muddling along, chattering over reforms on land and sea without getting them done; and while germany, for once about to be taken unawares, was quietly getting ready for the inevitable struggle, a quiet, broad-browed, deep-eyed man had been at the head of an army of workmen, building up what was intended to be the real capital and governing centre of the world. in the midst of a broad, barren plain, broken by great masses of rock, many of them snow-capped and ice-crowned even in the middle of the northern summer, there rose the walls and chimneys of what looked like a commonplace collection of factories, such as might be found in any of the manufacturing districts of europe and america. about four miles to the west, under a rocky promontory which the discoverer of this desolate land had named cape adelaide, little thinking what a connection it would have with another adelaide, there was a small natural harbour, navigable for about five months in the year, constantly crowded with colliers. for over a year it had been packed with them. before the previous winter set in they had been laden with coal and machinery and building materials, and throughout the long winter doctor lamson had relentlessly pushed the work on under rows of electric lights, which rivalled the _aurora_ itself. the men were well housed and fed and lavishly paid, and so, in spite of the cold and darkness, they had worked well and cheerfully, well knowing that it was impossible for them to get back, save in the steamers that brought them. by the time the ice broke and the vessels were released another long line of them was already making its way up through the still half-frozen waters of davis strait and lancaster sound, laden with more coal, materials, and machinery. a telegraph line had been taken from port nelson across hudson bay over rae isthmus, and then through the gulf of boothia to the works, and this put dr lamson in direct communication with winnipeg and the rest of the world. at intervals of two hundred miles, across the icy desert of the north, groups of huge steel masts, three hundred feet high, had been erected, and these had been continued singly or in pairs over all the principal elevations of the north american continent, and also over greenland and iceland to the north of scotland, and thence to the rest of the british islands. it was a miracle that could only have been wrought by millions, but the millions were spent without stint, in the full knowledge that they would be repaid in the days when it was possible to tax the world for the privilege of living. the storage works were in the form of a square, measuring four hundred feet each way. in the exact centre of an interior square measuring fifty feet each way was that mysterious spot of earth where the needle of the compass points neither to north nor south nor east nor west, but straight down to the centre of the globe; and over it was built a great circular tower, forty feet in diameter and a hundred feet in height, which contained a gigantic reproduction of the instrument which had stood on doctor emil fargeau's table in his laboratory at strassburg on that memorable night when he had completed the work which was destined to lead to his own ruin and death and to the revolutionising of the world. from this tower ran underground, in all directions, thousands of copper cables leading to the gigantic storage batteries with which the greater part of the buildings were filled. in the middle of each side of the great square a two thousand horse-power engine was ready to furnish the necessary electrical force in the absorber, as the great apparatus in the centre was called. everything was in order to commence work; in fact, doctor lamson had just decided that he would try his engines together for the first time, when clifford vandel's telegram reached him from southampton. his agent in winnipeg had kept him well informed of the principal events going on in the world during his long isolation, and the sailing of the french and russian polar expeditions _via_ davis straits had not escaped him. for a few minutes after he had read the dispatch he walked up and down the telegraph room, into which no one but himself and austin vandel, clifford's nephew and his own general manager, could under any circumstances gain admission, since none but they knew the combinations of the lock which opened the steel door. austin was sitting at the table where he had received the message, and he broke the silence by saying: "i guess, doctor, that looks a bit ugly. i suppose it's that alsatian frenchman and that pretty frenchwoman you were telling me about that's fixed this up." "there's not the slightest doubt about that," said lamson, whose enthusiasm for the great scheme had quite overcome his earlier scruples. "if we had only known of that other set of specifications, and managed to get hold of them somehow--still that wouldn't have done much good, because even then the frenchwoman, this beautiful daughter of the bourbons as they call her, would have given it away as soon as she guessed what we were doing; and if she hadn't done so--well, fargeau would have done so; so i suppose after all it's inevitable." "then you think we'll have to fight for it?" said austin. "if those expeditions are really armed forces, and their object is to take these works by hook or by crook, of course we must," replied lamson. "poor devils! i wonder what they'll feel like when we turn the disintegrators on them?" "don't talk about those," said austin. "time enough for that when we have to use them to save ourselves--which the lord forbid. i sha'n't forget that experiment of yours on poor hudson's body; but to see it turned on to a living man! great scott!" "yes; it won't be very pleasant," said lamson, whose rather gentle and retiring nature had become completely transformed under the influence of the gigantic possibilities which were now at his disposal. "but suppose they get their ships up to port adelaide?--it's rather curious, by the way, that it should have the same name as that frenchwoman, who, i suppose, is by this time about our most dangerous and determined enemy--but suppose they get them there, and begin knocking the works about with big guns. suppose," he went on, with something like a shudder, "a shell bursts in the absorber, where are we? and, mind you, if they come they'll bring fargeau with them; and if they took us prisoners or killed us, he would have material enough here to make another one--and he would know how to do it. no, no, vandel; if i have to defend the works i'll do it. my whole life and soul are here now, and no frenchman or russian sets foot inside here while i'm alive, unless he comes as a prisoner." "but look here," said austin; "couldn't you paralyse 'em? why not set the engines to work, and mop up this world's soul, or whatever you call it, right away, so that their engines should break down long before they got here, and just freeze them out." "that, my dear austin," replied the doctor, "is a rather more hasty remark than i should have expected you to make. don't you see that if we were to start the engines, and cut off our american communications, as would be necessary, we should not only paralyse the expedition, we should also paralyse the whole of canada and the united states, cut off our communications with england, and make it impossible for our friends to communicate with us, or for them to come here--as they are doing this month." "guess i spoke a bit too soon," said austin. "that's so; and, of course, we couldn't do it." the doctor continued his walk up and down the room for a few moments longer, then stopped and said suddenly, "no; but i'll tell you what we can and will do if there's going to be any of this sort of foul play about. the president and all our friends will be much safer here than in any other part of the world, for if we have to starve the world out they'll be all right here. wire to your uncle; say that we have received his message and are acting upon it, and tell him to bring the whole party here with the utmost speed; call it a pleasure-trip or a tour of inspection, or what they please, but they must come at once, and, above all, they must get here before these so-called polar expeditions." "that's the talk, doctor," exclaimed austin; "you've got right down on to it this time. i'll fix that up in the code and send it right away." there is, of course, neither day nor night during june in boothia land, only a little deepening of the twilight towards midnight, but the message was despatched _via_ winnipeg a little after nine in the evening, according to conventional time, and so clifford vandel was able to decipher it in his sitting-room at orrel court before breakfast the next morning. the carriages were already waiting to take the party down to the _nadine's_ berth at southampton water as soon as possible after an early breakfast, for there was to be a race round the isle of wight for cruising yachts that day, and some of the finest yachts in the two hemispheres were going to compete, the _nadine_ and several other steam-yachts, including the _vlodova_, belonging to the grand duke ruric, were to follow the race, and the day was to wind up with supper at clifford vandel's bungalow at cowes. therefore the moment he had finished translating the cipher, without waiting even for breakfast, he sent his man to ask lord orrel and his son for the favour of a few minutes' private conversation in his lordship's library. this man was the brother of the countess sophie's french maid--deaf, handy, silent, and wonderfully well up to his work. he had engaged him on the count's recommendation, after dismissing his english valet on the instant for, as he thought, trying to learn more than he ought to know from his correspondence. it is scarcely necessary to add that ma'm'selle sophie knew as much about the one as she did about the other; and, as a matter of fact, she had procured both appointments. this being so, it was only natural that within a very few minutes count valdemar and his daughter should have heard of the receipt of the telegram, and clifford vandel's request for an interview with lord orrel and his son. the immediate result was two interviews before breakfast instead of one. "what can it mean, papa?" said sophie, when she had softly locked her father's door. "jules says that the dispatch was brought up from southampton this morning. before he gave it to mr vandel he, of course, steamed the envelope and looked at it. it was in cipher, as one might expect; but it came from winnipeg, and winnipeg is the one point of communication between boothia and the rest of the world. mr vandel translated it at once, and immediately went to talk to lord orrel and the viscount about it. i wonder whether--but no, that's impossible. we couldn't have been overheard, and no one that knows anything of our plans could have any possible inducement to betray us. the marquise told me that she had a letter from fargeau yesterday: i wonder if she has said anything." "my dear sophie," replied her father, "as i told you the night before last, a woman in love is a woman lost to all purposes of diplomacy, unless her interests and those of the man she is in love with are identical. here they are diametrically opposed; a word from her to the viscount would ruin everything--at least, so far as the expeditions are concerned." "all the more reason then," said sophie, clenching her hands, "that we--i mean that the _vlodoya_ should capture the _nadine_ with all these people on board her. if we have them at our mercy we have everything. i would give a good deal to know what there was in that dispatch that clifford vandel had this morning." "and so would i," replied her father; "a great deal. do you think that if your maid were to promise her brother, say, £500, for the transcription which vandel must have made of it, there would be any chance of getting it?" "we can only try," replied sophie. "the old gentleman is very careful about his papers, they tell me; still, we will try." * * * * * "well, gentlemen," said clifford vandel, about the same moment in lord orrel's library, "i think you will agree with me that the doctor would not have sent a dispatch like this without pretty good reason; and if these people mean pushing matters to extremity, why, of course, it might be necessary for him to, as he says here, freeze them out, in which case they couldn't get there. and if they couldn't we couldn't; wherefore it seems good reasoning to say that we ought to be there first--if we're going to get there at all." "my dear vandel," replied his lordship, "it is the best of reasoning; and i am quite sure that doctor lamson would not have dreamt of sending such a dispatch without good reasons, and i think i am justified in telling you that this morning i received a confidential letter from an old colleague of mine in the foreign office, in which he says that, according to reports of our agents, both in france and germany, an outbreak of hostilities may occur at any moment within the next few weeks, without warning--just as it did in 1870." "then," said hardress, sharply, "if that is so, there simply must be some connection between that and the dispatch of these two expeditions. i don't often jump to conclusions, mr vandel, but i think now that miss chrysie was perfectly right. they're not going to try and get to the pole at all. it's the magnetic pole they want, and they'll be there this summer if we don't find some way to stop them; and i quite agree that we ought to get there first. it may be necessary to show europe that they can't get on without us, even in the matter of fighting." "very well, then," said lord orrel, "we'll call that settled; we'll make it a summer arctic trip. how soon can you get us across the atlantic, hardress?" "i can land you in halifax in six days. we'll coal up there; and, if we're not too much crowded with ice, i'll get you to rae isthmus in six days more. meanwhile i will telegraph to lamson to have one of his steamers waiting for us on the other side of the isthmus, and in another week, including the land travel, which may be difficult, we will be at the works. or, if we find the sea fairly clear, we'll steam straight up to fox channel, kury's strait, and take you straight to boothia land. at any rate, the expeditions are only just starting, one from havre and the other one from riga, and, at that rate, we should certainly be there a clear month before them, even if they really are going." "then," said clifford vandel, slowly but gravely, "if that's so, i guess the best thing we can do is to get there as quickly as possible and start the circus as soon as we can. if europe means fighting--well, we can't have a better way of proving our power, and showing france and germany and the rest of them that it will pay them to deal with the great storage trust, than by just making their own war impossible. when they find they can't even fight without our permission, i guess they'll pretty soon come to terms." "i agree with you entirely, my dear vandel," said lord orrel. chapter xvi that same morning, as it happened, adelaide received a letter from victor fargeau, dated from paris, telling her, among other things, that the two alleged polar expeditions would be ready to start in a fortnight's time, and that he had been appointed to, as he put it, the scientific command of the french one. there had been a considerable amount of veiled friction between the french and russian governments as soon as they had both been compelled to admit to each other the true object of the expeditions, and it was even suspected that the russian government was secretly preparing a much more formidable scientific expedition of four vessels--including their celebrated ice-breaker _ivan the terrible_, a vessel built in an english yard for the purpose of breaking up the baltic ice in winter, in order to keep the ports free and the russian baltic squadron always serviceable. with such a vessel to lead it the russian expedition would be quite certain of reaching boothia land whatever the condition of the ice might be, because she would be able to clear a course for her consorts through it. all the probabilities were, therefore, in favour of the russian squadron getting to boothia land first. if they did that, and were successful in getting possession of the works, it was not very likely that russia would be inclined to share the dominion of the world with the ally she had already bled so freely, and in this case france would be once more robbed of the fruits of his father's discovery. soon after afternoon tea on the lawn of clifford vandel's bungalow, adelaide said to sophie, as they sat in their deck-chairs beside each other: "i am given to understand that russia is quite determined to reach the pole, if possible, in this next expedition." "the pole?" laughed sophie, with a swift glance under her half-lowered eyelids. "my dear marquise, surely you are joking with me a little unnecessarily. which pole?" "really, my dear countess, i am speaking quite seriously," she replied, turning her head on her cushion, and looking at her companion with somewhat languid eyes. "i presume, of course, it must be the north pole--because i hear from a quite reliable source that your government is sending out the big ice-breaker--the _ivan the terrible_, you know; and that would hardly be necessary to get to the other pole, the one that you perhaps mean, unless, of course, they wished to make certain of getting there as quickly as possible." sophie would have given a great deal to know the source of this information, which had only reached her father a day or so before, but it was, of course, impossible for her to ask, so she contented herself with saying, in slow, careless tones: "really, that is quite interesting. but then, of course, you know, when russia takes anything like this in hand she generally does it thoroughly, and, of course, the ice may be late this year, as they call it, crowded up in the narrow places i suppose; and in that case, of course, the french expedition will find it accommodating to have a ship like that to break the way in advance--and out again if necessary. i suppose you have quite decided to take the trip across the atlantic on the _nadine_?" "oh yes; that is quite arranged. it will be my first visit to america--that wonderful land." "america--wonderful? well, i should say!" said miss chrysie, coming behind them at this instant, and putting her hands on the backs of their chairs, "it's a pity you can't come too, countess. i guess i could promise you both a pretty interesting time from niagara right away to----" "suppose we say the magnetic pole?" murmured sophie, turning her head back, and looking up at her with a glance that was lazy and yet full of challenge. "well, yes, that might be interesting, too," replied miss chrysie, looking steadily down into her eyes. "those works that the viscount and poppa are getting fixed up there, whatever they mean them for, must be something pretty wonderful, for they're spending quite a lot of money on them. it might not be impossible that we'll be going up to see them some day, and if you'd come across, countess, i dare say i might be able to show you round." "really, that's more than kind of you, miss vandel; but i'm sorry to say that my father's official duties demand his presence at petersburg, and we absolutely must leave when the house-party at orrel court breaks up; but excuse me, i see my father beckoning to me. i will leave you my seat, miss vandel." she got up, and walked away forward to where her father was standing near the verandah. miss chrysie took possession of her seat, clasped her hands behind her head, stretched out her legs till a pair of dainty pointed toes peeped from under the hem of her dress, and said, with a sidelong glance at adelaide, and in a slow drawl: "nice girl the countess, marquise, and very good-looking--very; but, somehow--well, perhaps you haven't noticed it, but i have--she seems to have a sort of way of talking at you instead of to you, and always meaning just something a bit different to what she says." "it is quite possible," said adelaide, slightly coldly, for chrysie's words were just a little too frank to please her taste; "but, you see, she's a russian; and the daughter of a diplomat. all russians of good family are born diplomatists, and diplomacy, you know----" "why yes," laughed chrysie; "diplomacy is the whole art and science of saying one thing and meaning another, and getting the other fellow to believe that you're telling the ironclad truth when you are lying like ananias; and i guess the countess hasn't learnt her lessons very badly." "in other words, miss vandel," said adelaide, with a laugh that had a note of harshness in it, "you think the countess valdemar is, to put it into quite brutal english, a liar." "why no," replied chrysie, looking straight down at her shapely toes; "just a diplomatist, or, i should say, the daughter of one. but we don't want to pull each other to pieces like this. what's the matter with changing the subject? what's your idea, marquise, about these two polar expeditions being started off this year? doesn't it strike you as just a bit curious that they should be going north up davis straits just when our storage works are getting finished? shouldn't wonder if the countess gave herself away a bit when she spoke just now about the magnetic pole." this was a kind of diplomacy that was entirely strange to adelaide, and for a moment or two she hardly knew what to say; then she replied, rather languidly: "really, miss vandel, it is a matter that interests me very little. i believe this is the proper time for setting out on polar expeditions, and you know the russians are very fond of making these journeys in the interests of science and exploration." "mostly exploration of what's going to be new russian territory," replied miss chrysie, with a snap of her eyes. "ah, here's his lordship junior. well, viscount, i've got to thank you for yet one more just entirely delightful day!" before hardress could reply she turned another sidelong glance on adelaide. in spite of all her self-control, adelaide's cheeks flushed ever so slightly and her eyes lighted up as hardress pulled a chair towards them. and she hated her frankly and cordially for it; for she was a girl of absolutely honest feelings, and just as straightforward and thorough-going in her hates as in her loves. "my dear miss vandel," replied hardress, "it is quite the other way about; it is i who have to thank you for the pleasure of giving you pleasure." "after that," laughed the marquise, turning her lovely eyes full on his, "let it never be said that an englishman cannot turn a compliment." chrysie noticed that hardress flushed a little and dropped his eyes slightly under that bewildering glance, and she hated the marquise more intensely than ever. "it was no compliment, i can assure you," he said, looking up at chrysie, "though what the marquise just said may have been. but, by the way, i came to tell you a rather serious piece of news, marquise; and something that may perhaps influence your aunt's plans." "ah, what is that?" said adelaide. "well, from the telegram my father has just received, which will probably be in the papers to-night, there is going to be a tremendous military scandal in germany, which may have very grave results indeed, even to the extent of an european war. the detectives of the military staff at berlin have discovered a sort of teutonic dreyfus--a young fellow holding the rank of lieutenant, and employed as a sort of military under-secretary in the bureau of the minister of war. to a certain extent it's the old story. he had ruined himself with gambling and horse-racing, and, not content with that, had got involved with a very pretty and equally unscrupulous french variety actress, who bled him with apparently more consistency than she loved him. the agents of the french secret service in germany got hold of him and he sold himself. "so far the story is commonplace--that sort of thing happens every week in all countries--but the extraordinary thing about this is that when this young fellow was confronted with proofs, he not only made a clean breast of what he had done, but he told his chiefs that the man who had been mostly instrumental in getting him into trouble, and had, in fact, introduced him to the woman who ruined him, was a brother officer--a staff-captain and military attaché of a foreign court. this man, he confessed, had obtained, partly through him and partly through his own knowledge and other sources, a complete sketch of the german plans, both for invading france and resisting a french invasion, together with all the necessary details as to men, guns, transports, etc. stranger still, a german staff-officer answering exactly to the description, resigned his commission nearly a year ago, and retired into private life. he was not a german, but an alsatian. the german secret agents in paris took up the scent, and found that this very man had been in close communication with the minister of war and appeared to be holding some confidential position in the service of the ministry. now germany, it is rumoured, has demanded his extradition on a charge of treason and desertion; for it seems that his resignation was never officially accepted, although he was allowed to go in consequence of some family trouble which brought disgrace upon his name. france has refused it, and--well, the situation may be described as distinctly strained." "well," said miss chrysie to herself, while he was speaking, "if that's not a pretty good sample of diplomacy, i've got a wrong idea of the word altogether." she had turned her head lazily on the cushion again, every now and then glancing at adelaide's face. hardress had, of course, done the same repeatedly during his narrative, which he had told just as though he were telling some absolutely fresh piece of news to a couple of listeners who would only take an outside interest in it. since her father's death adelaide had given no sign that he had told her anything on his deathbed, or that she was aware of the true nature of the great storage scheme. now she kept her composure admirably under the double scrutiny. chrysie fancied that she changed colour ever so little at the mention of the german staff-officer who had resigned, and of the visits to the french minister of war, but otherwise she gave no sign, she just sat and listened, every now and then drawing the point of her parasol across the grass at her feet, and occasionally looking out over the water dotted with a multitude of crafts coming to an anchor after the day's racing. certainly neither of them found any reason so far to believe that the story had anything more than a general interest for her. when she spoke her voice was just as low and sweetly quiet as ever it was. "certainly that is very serious news," she said, looking straight at hardress. "we know, of course, that there has been great tension between the two countries for some time, and if france refuses to give this man up there can hardly be anything but war; and yet if it is true that france possesses all the german plans, germany would be at a terrible disadvantage, for it would be impossible to change them at the last minute. at any rate, i am very much obliged to you for your early information, viscount. certainly i think it would be better for my aunt to remain in england for the present; and in that case, i am afraid it will be my duty to remain with her." "not at all, my dear marquise," said hardress, with an eagerness which chrysie did not at all appreciate. "you know your aunt was a great yachtswoman some years ago; she's a splendid sailor, and there's lots of room on board the _nadine_. let her come to canada with us. the voyage would do her all the good in the world. we can land you with miss vandel and olive at halifax, and you can have a delightful run through canada and the states under my father's protection, while the president and i pay our visit to the storage works." "a thousand thanks, my dear viscount," replied the marquise; "but that, of course, will be a matter for my aunt alone to decide. for my part, i can only say that i shall be delighted if she says yes." "i sha'n't," said miss chrysie, with great emphasis, in her soul. meanwhile another conversation on the same subject was going on in another part of the lawn. a messenger-boy had about half-an-hour before brought the count an envelope containing a lengthy telegram; and it was when he had read this that he had beckoned to sophie, and she had scarcely joined him when one of the servants brought her a note which had been left by a man at the gate of the grounds. they left the verandah where the count had been standing, and strolled down towards the water. "well, papa," said sophie, "i saw you had a telegram just now. any news?" "news? yes," said the count; "and very serious, too. briefly, the german government has discovered everything about fargeau--that is to say, his treason and his connection with ducros--and has demanded his extradition from the french government. france, having got the plans, will, of course, refuse, and then there will be war--probably in a week or two." "and russia?" queried sophie, looking up at him. "russia, my dear, as you understand, will act as circumstances direct." at this moment the note was put into sophie's hands. she opened it, read it, dismissed the servant, and said in a low voice: "papa, here is even more serious news than yours. this is from my friend the engineer. he tells me that the viscount has suddenly altered his plans; that the _nadine_ is to be filled with coal to her utmost capacity, and all preparations made for crossing the atlantic at full speed, instead of about twelve knots." "and she can steam twenty knots," said the count. "i'm afraid, my dear sophie, that completely upsets your nicely-arranged plan for a rendezvous in mid-ocean. the _nadine_ will be across the atlantic before the _vlodoya_ can get there, for her best is only about sixteen." "no, papa," said sophie, "i've not failed yet. if my engineer is only faithful, and that accident to the machinery happens, we shall get them all the same. i will promise him anything and everything, and he will be faithful. and then i have another plan." "ah! and that?" "the marquise--she will be on board--she's a frenchwoman, she loves this hardress, and hates this american girl. sooner or later she knows that it must be war to the knife between them, and better sooner than later, for they say that he is already half-betrothed to miss vandel. at the same time, hardress is by no means indifferent to her own fascinations. i will make her an ally--for the present, at least. she knows well enough that were the american conveniently disposed of she could soon console the viscount for his loss. i will show her how she may be got rid of, and how she, adelaide de condé, may marry the man who may, as she believes, soon be master of the world. a clever woman with a great end to gain will be of infinite service to us on board the yacht. at present she is half-hostile to us--for she has a suspicion that our expedition is meant to forestall the french one. now i will make her wholly our friend by showing her how she may not only gain the desire of her heart, but also ensure the success of the french expedition; for, after all, you must remember that we are bound to co-operate with them to a certain extent, for they at least have been clever enough to keep the specification of the works to themselves, and till we get possession of them we can do nothing without fargeau, even if we were masters of the works. yes; i think, after all, adelaide, since she must be either friend or enemy, will be a better friend than enemy: and friend she shall be before she sails on the _nadine_." chapter xvii "and so, ma'm'selle la comtesse, it comes to this: you would have me reward hospitality with treachery? you would have me betray my host, my father's friend, and his son, into the hands of russia?--for that is what it would come to. no; i thank you for your kindness and condescension in taking me into your confidence, but i cannot consent to become your accomplice." adelaide de condé had just been listening, in her own sitting-room at orrel court, to sophie's cunningly-worded suggestion that she should go on board the _nadine_ as her friend and ally, and assist in the capture of the vessel by certain means which she pointed out, one of which was a liberal use of drugs on the passengers and crew when the critical moment was drawing near. a few months before she would have entered with repugnance, but without hesitation, into any scheme which bade fair to recover what she considered to be an inheritance which the fates had robbed her off; but since then she had learnt to love shafto hardress as she had never believed she could love any man; and love had wrought its usual miracle. she hated chrysie vandel with the whole-hearted hatred of her impetuous and masterful bourbon spirit; she looked upon her as one of her ancestors would have looked upon an usurper or an invader--something to be abolished or suppressed, at any price and by any means. her father, too, she thoroughly hated--not only through personal antipathy, but as one of those who possessed something that should have been hers. to lord orrel and lady olive she was practically indifferent; and, so far as they were concerned, she would have entered even willingly into any scheme which promised to take from them what they had taken from her. for the franco-russian alliance she cared little, yet she would infinitely prefer to see france sharing the control of the world with russia than that it should be in the hands of an anglo-american business syndicate. moreover, was there not that promise made to her father long ago by an exalted personage, that, since russia would prefer a monarchy to a republic as a friend and ally, she would not look unfavourably on the restoration of the house of bourbon in the person of the prince, should circumstances--such, for instance, as a victorious war fought with russia's aid--make such an event possible. many a time, indeed, she had even been ready to curse this unfortunate love which had come into her life to shake her resolution and spoil her purpose. but for that how easy it would all be, especially with an ally--brilliant, daring, and unscrupulous--like sophie valdemar; and yet, how could she help to betray the man she loved, even to destroy her rival and get him for herself? so, after a long pause of thought, she repeated again, aloud: "no, no; i couldn't do it. it would be too base." "my dear adelaide," replied sophie, familiarly, and almost affectionately, "i hope you will forgive me if i suggest that the attitude you have taken up, dignified and virtuous as i admit it looks at first sight, is really a trifle absurd." "really, countess," replied adelaide, frigidly, "if you are going to forget your manners, i think the conversation may as well end. you have sought to tempt me to an act of treachery, and because i refuse, you begin to forget your manners. you seem to have forgotten, also, that you have put it into my power to warn the viscount and his friends of the danger you have prepared for them." this was, of course, a danger which sophie had foreseen. it was a grave one; but she was accustomed to run risks, and she was ready for this one. "my dear adelaide," she replied, still with the most perfect good humour, "please don't get angry with me. we have always been very good friends, and i think this is the first time you have called me countess for years. don't take the trouble to be formal any more, but just be sensible and listen. i am not tempting you at all. i am simply trying to help you against our common enemy, and i am asking you to help france and russia in the great and good work of wresting the command of the world from these upstart anglo-saxons, and reducing them once for all to their proper place. you are not a friend to the republic; neither am i, nor any of us, for the matter of that. but you are a frenchwoman, who ought to be queen of france, and, if all goes well with us, may be." "what," exclaimed adelaide, taken off her guard for a moment, "do you mean that, sophie? do you believe that russia----" "would not rather have as an ally a monarchy--the old monarchy of france, ruled over by your most gracious majesty, than a republic, managed by a plebeian pack of stockjobbers and shopkeepers? do you know why your lamented father the prince was such a welcome guest at the court of petersburg?" "ah, then you know----" "yes," replied sophie, taking the venture; "i do know, and i can assure you that your majesty, when the day comes, will find no stronger partisan than i shall be. my father, too, is one of your most devoted adherents, though, of course, he can say nothing about it now, and, as you know, there are other personages far more exalted." "yes, yes, i know," said adelaide. "it was almost a promise." "help us, and you shall find that it was a promise," half guessing what the promise was. then, pushing her advantage, she continued: "and, after all, you know, my dear adelaide, is it not a little inconsistent for you to talk of treason or betrayal. do you really think that you would now be a guest in lord orrel's house any more than i should if he knew of your connection with a certain ex-captain of uhlans, or of that visit you paid with him to general ducros? really, you will forgive me if i say that your suggestion as to warning the viscount about my little scheme is a trifle illogical, even if you wished to betray us, which i don't suppose you would seriously dream of. how could you do it without betraying yourself? you would have to accuse me and papa, and, through us, russia, of an act of contemplated piracy. we should be compelled, in self-defence, to prove that you know just as much of the true nature of the storage works as we do, and that you and your ex-captain are the real authors of the french expedition--in short, that you are every whit as bitter an enemy of the trust, and all concerned in it, as we are. i fully admit that you will spoil our scheme for the time being; but, instead of being a guest of the _nadine_, the guest of the man you love, with the power in your hand of abolishing the woman who will certainly marry him, if you don't, you would suffer the indignity of being ordered out of his house as a spy and a traitress." the logic was as exact as it was pitiless, and adelaide de condé saw that sophie valdemar was, for the time being at least, mistress of the situation. she had come to orrel court as a guest, with the full intention of playing a double part. she had played it until one day she had chanced to overhear a few half-tender, half-chaffing words pass between chrysie vandel and hardress. then she had awakened to the full certainty of what, in her inmost soul, she had long suspected--that she loved this man with all the strength of a strong and imperious nature; and since then she had been living in constant dread that he should by some means come to know her as she was. now the crisis had come. sophie valdemar had woven toils round her from which there was no escape; she must play the double part she had chosen to the end. it was the only possible chance of gratifying at once her love and her hate, and of perhaps attaining the object of her ambitions after all. she moved slowly once or twice across the room, with her hands clasped behind her back. sophie waited and watched her with a half-smile on her lips and a gleam of triumph in her eyes. she knew that she had won, for she could read every thought that was passing in adelaide de condé's soul. then adelaide stopped in the middle of the room and faced her, with her head slightly thrown back, and said slowly: "yes, sophie; i see, after all, that you are right. i should be no more a traitor on board the yacht than i have been here, and one should help one's friends and allies rather than one's enemies. it will, of course, be an enormous advantage to our cause if this yacht can be seized. no doubt, too, there will be ciphers on board, which will enable us to communicate with the works, and if there are, that will be an immense gain to us. it shall be part of my business to find that out. yes; i will go, and i will help you as far as i can; but there is one compact, sophie, that you must make with me." "my dear adelaide," replied sophie, warmly, and coming forward with both hands outstretched, "after what you have said i will make any compact you please that does not injure the cause of holy russia. she is the only god, and her service is the only religion i have, and if i make the compact, i swear to you by holy russia that i will keep it. what is it?" "then you must swear to me," said adelaide, taking her hand, "that, whatever happens, whether we succeed or fail, no evil shall come to the viscount or his father and sister, either in person or property. if we get possession of the works, and the alliance conquers england and america after it has disposed of germany, they shall be considered and treated as friends, not enemies; for you must remember that until i reign as queen in paris i propose to reign as mistress at orrel court. as for the american woman and her father, and all the rest of them, the sooner you get them out of the way the better pleased i shall be." "my dear adelaide," replied sophie, "you looked adorable as you said those last words. yes; of course, it shall be so; not a hair of their heads, not a centime of their property shall be touched. they shall be yours, and, as yours, sacred against all ills. that i swear and promise you in the name of holy russia." "then," replied adelaide, looking straight into her eyes, now brilliant with the light of triumph, "i am with you to the end, whether it be good or bad, success or failure, life or death." "and for holy russia and the old régime of france!" added sophie, almost solemnly. "and now, suppose we go and join these good people on the lawn?" as they went out, arm-in-arm, laughing and chatting as though they hadn't a care on their minds, no one would have dreamt that these two beautiful women had been a moment before plotting the ruin, not only of those whose hospitality they were enjoying, but of their country and people as well; but as miss chrysie saw them, her pretty brows came together for an instant, she turned aside, and said to her father in a low tone: "that frenchwoman and the russian girl have been together ever since breakfast--hatching some mischief, i'll bet. i don't like it, poppa--any more than i like the frenchwoman coming across on the yacht. she's coming for no good, i'm sure; but the viscount's about as blind as a wall-eyed mule where that woman's concerned. anyhow, i'll watch her pretty closely; she can bet all her titles and ancient lineage on that." "that's right, chrysie; and i reckon i sha'n't be sleeping much while she's around," replied her father. chapter xviii cowes week was over, and the house party at orrel court had broken up. madame de bourbon had yielded to her niece's earnest persuasions, and consented to become a guest on the _nadine_. count valdemar and sophie had sailed on board the _vlodoya_, _en route_ for the baltic and petersburg. the news which hardress had told to the marquise and chrysie on the lawn at cowes had duly leaked out into the channels of the press, and had been condensed and expanded, embroidered and commented upon with the usual luxuriant facility of the journalistic imagination. meanwhile the _times_ had published a lengthy and weighty communication from m. de blowitz, which, while proving many wrong and some right, pointed unmistakably to a very grave state of affairs in western and central europe. the communication also hinted, indirectly but unmistakably, at other developments which might possibly produce results as astounding as they would be unexpected. "de blowitz has somehow managed to get on to the secret of those two so-called polar expeditions," said hardress to his father at breakfast on the morning before the _nadine_ was to sail. the marquise and madame de bourbon were having breakfast in their own room that morning else he would not have said this. only chrysie and her father were at the table. "he's a wonderful fellow for getting hold of news. that allusion to events proceeding in a far-distant portion of the globe is distinctly significant." "that's so," said clifford vandel, "and i reckon that, under the circumstances, the sooner we respond personally to doctor lamson's telegram the better it will be for all immediately concerned. to tell you the square truth, lord orrel," he went on, looking up from his plate, "i don't quite like the turn things seem to be taking generally." "why, what do you mean, my dear vandel?" asked his lordship; "you've not heard anything unpleasant, have you?" "i've heard something, and i've seen a bit more," he replied. "i don't want to speak disrespectfully of any of your guests, but i'm bound to say i don't altogether like the cordiality that's seemed to work up during the last few days between our russian friends and the distinguished lady who is going to honour us by her company across the atlantic." "oh, come now, mr vandel," interrupted hardress, in a tone which miss chrysie did not exactly appreciate, "surely you're not going to accuse the marquise, the daughter of my father's old friend, of anything like plotting and scheming with russia." "i'm not making any accusations, viscount; i'm just trying to put two and two together and make four of them. we know that if doctor fargeau's discovery had not fallen into our hands, or, i should say that if it had not been thrown into our hands by the stupidity of the french government, this young lady's father would most likely have become king of france instead of dying, of what we will call mental shock, down at elsenau; and we haven't yet got on to whether she knows anything or nothing about the scheme yet." "anyhow, she was in paris at the time when this fargeau, the son of the man whose remains we picked up, had his interviews with general ducros, and these russians were there at the same time. i guess that makes about two. right after that france and russia decide to send two polar expeditions, both by the same route--the only one on this side that leads to the storage works--and both about timed to get there when we are ready to spring our little scheme on the world. i reckon that makes two more; and if you put them together you'll get about four." "i should say five, poppa," exclaimed miss chrysie, putting her fish-knife down somewhat sharply on her plate. "it strikes me the whole thing's timed to fix in with this war that they're talking about. france and russia want to get hold of the works when the war starts. if they do they'll just run creation and halve the world between them; and i reckon that makes five. what do you think, viscount?" she went on, raising her eyes and looking straight at him across the table. "i agree entirely with mr vandel that we ought to get across the atlantic as quickly as we can," he replied, rather more deliberately than she liked. "i hope, and still believe, that your suspicions are without foundation, but, at the same time, of course, we can't afford to take any risks in a matter like this; and as everything is ready, and as it is always wise to do the unexpected in matters like this, the _nadine_ shall start to-night instead of to-morrow morning. that will give us thirteen to fifteen hours' start; and if, as you seem to think, our friends are the enemy, it may help somewhat to disconcert their plans. but, under any circumstances, it won't do any harm." "i think, shafto, that's a very good idea," said lord orrel. "in view of what is taking place in europe and of doctor lamson's telegram, i really don't think we ought to lose an hour in getting across the atlantic as quickly as possible. of course, it is impossible for me to entertain suspicions of the character of people who have been my guests without the most absolute proof, but at any rate it is impossible that anything could happen between here and halifax, where we shall land madame de bourbon and the marquise. there we shall get more definite news from lamson, and the telegram will give us good excuse for leaving them there; but that, of course, will depend upon the nature of the news that we get there. if there is anything really serious--well, we shall have to commit them to the care of the universal cook, who will, of course, provide a special courier for them, and say good-bye as politely as possible." at this moment the door opened and adelaide came in. lord orrel had a somewhat high-pitched voice, and as she was opening the door, in the slow, silent way which society approves, she distinctly heard his last sentence. "ah," he continued, "here is the marquise herself. ma'm'selle, we find that the yacht is ready, and that there is no objection, unless you and madame de bourbon have any, to starting this afternoon instead of to-morrow morning. both mr vandel and myself have somewhat urgent affairs on the other side of the atlantic." "my dear lord orrel," replied adelaide, with a radiant smile, "pray say nothing more; the arrangement will suit my aunt and myself perfectly--and, after all, we are at your service. it is you who are accommodating us. for my part, i think it is always pleasant the first night at sea, especially in summer. one wakes up the next morning to find the sun shining, and the water dancing, and the strong salt breeze ready to give one a most glorious appetite for breakfast. what more would you? the packing, as you call it, is done. for us it is only a question of putting our hats on and going on board--and, voila, c'est fait." she said this with such a delightful air of insouciance, and with such a radiant smile, that miss chrysie felt that she could have shot her there and then. under the circumstances, she just finished her coffee and said: "well, olive, if that's so, i reckon we'd better go and get fixed up too. i quite agree with the marquise that it's better to start out at night on a voyage and wake up nice and fresh next morning, especially if you don't eat too liberal a dinner before you start." "oh yes," said lady olive; "i can be quite ready by this afternoon if you can, and if it's anything like the lovely moonlight night it was last night, we shall have a perfectly delicious run through the solent and past the needles." "and along the coast," added hardress; "the moonlight will last us a bit farther than that. we shall be well away to portland before you want to go to bed i expect. the _nadine's_ got to do her best this time, and we've coaled up for a run across the atlantic at twenty knots. that will be somewhat of an experience for you, marquise, will it not?" "yes, viscount," she said, with one of those smiles which miss chrysie hated so; "it is a very wonderful speed that, and of course it will be an experience." "then that's settled," said lady olive, rising, "we shall start this evening. now let us go and pack." the _nadine_, spick and span, and clean as a new pin, was lying alongside the ocean quay at southampton, her bunkers and half her hold crammed with the finest steaming coal that money could buy, and the steam whistling softly in her pipes. her second engineer, an exceedingly clever young fellow of twenty-five, whose good-looking face was marred by a pair of too-closely-set greenish-blue eyes, was leaning on the rail a little forward of the foremast, smoking a pipe and gazing down the water with eyes that saw nothing material. edward williams was as good a marine engineer as ever went afloat, but unfortunately he was possessed by the idea, too common among his class, that he possessed a creative and inventive genius as well as real cleverness in his profession. he had invented what he considered to be improvement after improvement in marine machinery, and lord orrel had at first helped him generously to put them into practical form; but as he did not possess the genius, he believed he had, they had one after another failed to stand the test of practice, and at length both lord orrel and his son had closed their pockets and given him to understand that he had better devote himself to his profession and leave inventing alone. this produced the usual effect on such a mind as his. he forgot all that they had done for him, and looked upon them as wealthy men whose selfishness deliberately barred his way to the fame and fortune which ought to be his. only a month before he had gone to hardress with the plans of a new type of submarine boat, which he, of course, firmly believed would revolutionise naval warfare. it would only have cost a few hundred pounds to build a model and demonstrate the truth of his theory, but hardress had kindly but firmly refused to do it. this refusal had soured him utterly, and put him in exactly the frame of mind readiest to succumb to the temptation to commit the only crime of his life. sophie had heard something of this in conversations at the court and on board the yacht, and she instantly divined that if she was to find an instrument to work out her scheme she would find it in the disappointed inventor--and she was right. like every man who believes himself to be a genius, and is not, edward williams was intensely vain, and when the beautiful and brilliant countess one day asked him to show her over the engines and explain their working he naturally felt intensely flattered. then sophie had skilfully led the conversation to his own inventions, sympathised with him very sweetly, and assured him that in russia such genius as his would certainly not go unrecognised. "but these english," she said, "are always the last to accept new ideas or properly reward their clever men." after that he had been as wax in her skilful hands. she had even led him to believe she was not indifferent to him personally. after this she had infatuated him still further by giving him appointments in secluded parts of the court grounds; and so she had gradually led up to the proposal which he had now definitely accepted. for reasons of state, it was all-important that the _nadine_ should never reach america. not the slightest harm was to come to anyone on board her: they would simply be brought back and landed in france, free to get home as they pleased. all that was wanted was a delay of a couple of days or so. therefore, if the engines of the _nadine_ broke down at a certain spot in the atlantic, and remained helpless until the _vlodoya_ overtook her, he was to receive five thousand pounds in gold and a lucrative dockyard appointment in russia, which would give him every opportunity of working out his inventions. to such a man, embittered by disappointment and soured by a sense of imaginary wrongs, such a dazzling temptation was irresistible; and that was why edward williams was leaning over the rail of the _nadine_ a couple of hours before she was to start, dreaming dreams of revenge on those who had wronged him, and of fortune and fame among his country's enemies. the party from orrel court drove down to southampton immediately after lunch to enable the ladies to do a little final shopping before going on board. in the course of the afternoon chrysie and lady olive went into the telegraph office to send off a few farewell wires to friends. as they entered, miss chrysie's quick eyes at once caught sight of felice, the marquise's maid, leaning over one of the compartments. she touched lady olive's hand and nodded towards her, and said: "i guess i'd like to see that telegram." and then, in the most unprincipled fashion, she strolled along the compartments as though she were looking for a form, stopped a moment and looked over the maid's shoulder. then she came back and did it again. meanwhile the other compartments had been occupied; so she just stood about until felice had finished, and then took her place. as it happened, felice had been compelled to use one of those adamantine post-office pencils which you have to almost dig through the paper before you can get a legible impression; consequently on the next form on the pad there was a distinct tracing of several words. this miss chrysie tore off and appropriated. then she wrote her own message and went to the counter with it. when they got out into the street lady olive said, a trifle frigidly: "my dear chrysie, don't you think you did a rather improper thing in there? i distinctly saw you look over felice's shoulder. you know, here, we consider a telegram as sacred as a letter." "why, certainly!" replied chrysie, flushing a little at the rebuke: "and so we do over our side: but still, all's fair in--well--in love and war, and i guess you won't think me quite so wicked when i tell you who that telegram's addressed to." "really, chrysie, i don't wish to know, and i don't think you ought to know," said lady olive, still more stiffly. "well," replied chrysie, defiantly, "i am sorry i riled you, but i do know it; and honestly, olive, it's what's you and i and all of us ought to know." at this lady olive's curiosity appealed very strongly to her sense of the proprieties, and she said more amiably: "do you really mean, chrysie, that there's something serious in it--that, for instance, it has anything to do with the works?" "i don't know yet," said chrysie, "but i've got a pretty good copy of it in my satchel, thanks to those awful pencils they give you to use in british telegraph offices. anyhow, it was addressed to count valdemar, _yacht vlodoya_, cherbourg; and cherbourg's not on the way to the baltic, is it? let's go and have an ice and some cakes somewhere, so that i can read what is written." "that's very strange," said lady olive, "and the count professed to be in such a hurry to get back to petersburg. what on earth can he be doing at cherbourg?" "i reckon poppa and the viscount would give something to know that, too," said chrysie, as they turned into a confectioner's. they ordered ices, and chrysie took the telegram form out of her satchel and unfolded it gingerly. her pretty brows puckered over it for a few moments, as she slanted it this way and that to get the light on it. then she put her elbows on the little marble table, and said in a low tone: "it's in french, and it tells the count that the _nadine_ starts this evening instead of to-morrow morning. the last word is 'dépêchez,' and that's french for 'make haste,' isn't it? now, do you think i was right in doing a very improper thing--which, of course, it was?" "i'm afraid you were, chrysie," said lady olive. "it's certainly very mysterious. how is the telegram signed?" "there isn't any signature," replied chrysie. "our friend's a bit too cute for that." "what on earth do you mean, chrysie?" said lady olive, with a note of alarm in her voice. "what friend?" chrysie looked up and said, with a snap of her eyes: "what other friend than m'am'selle felice's mistress--the noble adelaide de condé?" lady olive started. to her straightforward english sense of honour it seemed impossible that a woman so gently bred as adelaide de condé could accept her father's hospitality, and yet send such a message as this to those who might before long be the enemies of his country. "chrysie," she said, "i could not believe that for a moment. it is utterly incredible that the marquise could be guilty of anything of the sort. i admit that it is very suspicious that the _vlodoya_ should be at cherbourg instead of on her way to the baltic, and that adelaide's maid should send such a message; but it seems to me much more likely that felice is in the pay of these russians, and that her mistress knows nothing about it." "well," said chrysie, rising, "we shall see. now i guess we'd better be getting down on board. i shall give this to the viscount, and he can have a council of war on it." "the viscount!" smiled lady olive, as they went out into the street. "how very formal we are, chrysie. why don't you call him shafto?" "because i won't let him call me chrysie--yet," was the reply. chapter xix when the _nadine_ left her moorings, at about four o'clock on a lovely june afternoon, she sauntered easily down to the needles at about twelve knots. for reasons of his own her owner had never put her to full speed in crowded waters, or, in fact, where any other craft was near enough to see what she could do. on deck the principal actors in the tragedy that was to come were sitting in deck-chairs or strolling about, chatting in the most friendly fashion possible, just as though the graceful little vessel was not practically carrying the fate of the world as she slipped so smoothly and swiftly through the swirling water that ran along her white sides. until nightfall she continued at the same speed; but when dinner was over, and the lights were up, hardress lit a cigar and went on to the bridge, and said to the commander: "captain burgess, i think you can let her go now. full speed ahead, right away to halifax. as i have told you, it is most urgent that we should be there in between five and six days. of course, everything depends on the engines, and i think it would be well to work the engine-room staff in treble shifts, just to see that nothing goes wrong. any accident in the engine-room would mean a good deal to me. so you may tell the stokers and engineers that if everything goes smoothly, and we get to halifax by the 15th--that's giving you five days and a bit from now--there will be a hundred pounds extra to be divided among them when we've coaled up again at halifax. you understand, i want those engines looked after as though they were a lady's watch." "certainly, my lord," replied the captain. "i hope, sir, you don't think that anything of that sort is necessary for the working of the _nadine_; but, of course, the engine-room staff will be very glad to accept your lordship's generosity." the captain blew his whistle, and the head and shoulders of a quartermaster appeared on the ladder, looking up to the bridge. "quartermaster, who is on duty in the engine-room?" "mr williams, sir," replied the quartermaster, touching his cap. "ask him to be good enough to step up here for a moment." "ay, ay, sir," and the head and shoulders disappeared. a few moments later edward williams came up on to the bridge. apart from the work of his profession he was an intensely nervous man, and his imagination had instantly construed the sudden and unwonted summons into a suspicion of his contemplated guilt, and his close-set, greenish-blue eyes shifted anxiously from the captain to hardress in a way that at once inspired hardress with vague undefined suspicions, which somehow brought him back to one or two interviews on the subject of williams's patents--which had ended in a way which would have prompted a less generous man to have dismissed him on the spot. it was only a suspicion. still, in another sense, it was the intuition of a keen and highly-trained intellect, and somehow, by some process which hardress himself could not have explained, williams's manner as he came on the bridge, and that sudden shifty glance, inspired him with the thought that this was a man to be watched. "mr williams," said the captain, "his lordship has just informed me that it is most important we should get to halifax in the quickest possible time; and, as you have most of the routine work to do, under mr m'niven, and are, perhaps, more in touch with the men than he is, i wish you to tell the men that from here to halifax the engineers and stokers will work in treble shifts. it'll be a bit harder work, but not for long. and his lordship has kindly promised a hundred pounds to be divided among the engineer's staff at halifax. now, that's not bad extra pay for five or six days work, and i hope you'll see that it's earned." "very well, sir," replied the engineer, doing his best to keep his voice steady, and not quite succeeding. "it is, i am sure, most generous of his lordship, and i am quite certain that the men will do everything in their power to deserve it." "and," said hardress, noting the break in his voice, "you understand, mr williams, i shall expect the officers to do the same. we can take no risks this trip, and there must be no accidents or breakdowns. time is too precious; you understand me, of course. i will see mr m'niven later on. that will do, thank you." mr williams touched the peak of his cap, and disappeared down the ladder, feeling, in his inmost soul as though his contemplated treachery had already been discovered. and yet, if he had seen the matter from another point of view, he might have known that the precautions which hardress had taken were, under the circumstances, just what any man carrying such enormous responsibilities as he did would have taken, for, as he had said, everything depended on the _nadine's_ engines. it was, therefore, the most natural thing in the world that everything possible should be done to ensure their perfect working. in fact, if he had not had the burden of a contemplated treachery on his soul, he would have considered the orders to be not only natural, but necessary. as he reached the deck, it happened that the marquise was strolling forward towards the bridge. williams raised his cap, and by the light of one of the electric deck-lamps, hardress saw from the bridge that she looked hard at him for a moment, and that he replied with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. his brows came together for a moment, and he shut his teeth. his keen intellect saw what his half-intoxicated senses would not have seen. under any normal circumstances, it was impossible that his guest, adelaide de condé, could have even the remotest relations with his second engineer, and yet there was no mistaking what he had seen as she passed under the electric light. "captain burgess," he said, suddenly, in a low voice, "i don't quite like the look of mr williams. i have nothing against him, but i know he has a bit of a grudge against me about those patents of his, and----" "surely you don't think, my lord, that he would do anything?" "no," interrupted hardress; "i say nothing, except that we're taking no risks this voyage; but i shall ask mr m'niven to have a very sharp watch kept on the engines." "may i come up on to the sacred territory?" said a sweet, pleading voice from half-way up the bridge stairs. "and may we too?" said the voice of miss chrysie just behind. "by all means, marquise," said hardress; "and you too, olive, and miss chrysie, certainly; only i hope you've got your caps pinned on securely, because we're going to quicken up." "ah," said adelaide, coming up on to the bridge with her head half-enveloped in a fleecy shawl, "quicken up. does that mean what you call full speed?" "something like it, i reckon," said miss chrysie, coming up close behind her, followed by lady olive, both with white yachting caps pinned more or less securely on to their abundant tresses. "yes," said hardress, with a note in his voice that adelaide had not heard before; "it is full speed. now, hold on to your headgear and you'll see." as he spoke he put his hand on the handle of the engine telegraph and pulled it over from half to full speed. they heard a tinkle in the engine-room, and presently the bridge began to throb and thump under their feet. the sharp prow of the _nadine_ had so far been cleaving the water with scarcely a ripple. now it seemed to leap forward into it, and raised a long creased swirl to left and right. a sudden blast of wind struck their faces, hands instinctively went up to heads, and lady olive exclaimed: "what is that, shafto? it hasn't suddenly come on to blow, has it?" "oh no," he laughed. "we're making it blow. that's only the difference between about ten or eleven knots and twenty--and there's a bit of a breeze against us, about five miles an hour--so that makes it twenty-five miles an hour--in fact, even thirty--for knots are longer than miles." "now isn't that just gorgeous!" said miss chrysie, and she opened her mouth and filled her lungs with the strong salt breath of the sea--"and there goes my cap," she said, when she got her breath again. the breeze had got under the peak of her yachting cap, and sent it flying aft. the pin dislocated the arrangement of her hair, and the next moment she was standing with the loosened shining coils streaming out behind her, unravelling into a shower of golden glory. adelaide, with the instinct of a frenchwoman, had drawn her shawl tight round her head. hardress looked round at the moment, and, if his heart had ever wavered, in that moment the old allegiance was confirmed. there was no more comparison between the tall, deep-chested american girl, with her cheeks glowing, her eyes shining in the sheer joy of physical life, and her long gold-brown hair streaming away behind her, and the slight, shrinking figure of the daughter of the bourbons, cowering behind the canvas of the bridge and gripping the shawl that covered her head, than there might have been between a sea-nymph of the old grecian legends and a fine lady of to-day caught in an unexpected gust of wind. miss chrysie looked natural and magnificent, breasting the gale and breathing it in as though she loved it. adelaide de condé, the exotic of the drawing-room, cowered before it, and looked pinched, and shivered. lady olive, with one hand on the top of her cap and the other holding the wrap she had thrown round her shoulders, gasped for a moment, and said: "yes, chrysie; this is glorious. twenty knots!--that's about twenty-four miles an hour, isn't it, a little bit faster than a south-eastern express train?" "i hope so," laughed hardress; "if it wasn't we should be some time in getting to halifax. and now, i suppose, you've got some coffee ready for us down in the saloon?" "oh yes, it will be quite ready now," said lady olive. "mr vandel and papa have started their chess already; madame de bourbon is still making lace with those wonderful eyes and fingers of hers; and so, if you want to exchange the storm for the calm, come along." a little after eleven that night, when the _nadine_, thrilling in every plate and plank, was tearing through the smooth water of the atlantic at nearly twenty-one knots an hour, a council of three was being held in the smoking-room on deck. the doors and windows were closed, and a quarter-master was patrolling the deck on each side. below in the saloon, miss chrysie, with a dainty little revolver in the pocket of her yachting skirt, was playing poker for beans with madame de bourbon, lady olive, and the marquise. in short, as miss chrysie herself would have expressed it, things were rapidly coming to a head on board the _nadine_. "it seems to me," said the president, "that, all things considered--thank you, viscount, i think i will take just one more peg--we have just got to take every possible precaution. i don't say that i am suspecting or accusing anybody; but, considering that we've got about the biggest thing on earth right here aboard this yacht, i don't think we should calculate on taking any risks. take that telegram to start with. there can't be any doubt about that; and it doesn't matter whether the marquise or ma'm'selle felice sent it, there it is. get it down to plain figures. this boat does twenty knots, and she started fifteen hours before her time. a telegram goes from southampton to cherbourg, as chrysie's duplicate showed, clearly telling count valdemar, on the _vlodoya_ at cherbourg, where he had no business to be, according to his programme, that we were sailing in the afternoon instead of the next morning, and it ended by telling him to make haste. now, what does haste mean? we steam twenty knots, and the _vlodoya_, we know, steams about sixteen. she started from cherbourg, and we started from southampton. the french and russian polar expeditions are perhaps under weigh now, and, from what we know, i reckon that they have a fairly good idea of what we're going across the atlantic for. now, how's a sixteen-knot boat going to catch a twenty-knot yacht anywhere between southampton and halifax?" "and why should count valdemar receive that telegram at cherbourg, as i suppose he did," said lord orrel, "instead of going on to the baltic, when he said he was in such a hurry to get to petersburg?" "that, i think," said hardress, "is the most suspicious fact in the whole business. of course, i don't like to suspect our late or our present guests, but i must confess that i feel there's something wrong. what it is i can't exactly say; but still i do feel that everything is not as it ought to be." "and that," said the president, "i think i can explain in a few words--not my own ideas altogether, because chrysie has given me a good many points. you know, gentlemen, there are some things that a woman's eyes can see through a lot farther than a man's can, and chrysie doesn't always keep her eyes down." he lit a fresh cigar, took a sip of his whisky and soda, and went on: "why should a telegram be sent to the owner of a sixteen-knot boat, informing him of a change of sailing a twenty-knot boat, when the sixteen-knotter is supposed to be going up the baltic, and the twenty-knotter is going across the atlantic? it seems ridiculous, doesn't it? it would, even if they were both going across the atlantic, as they might be. now, those are hard facts; and there's a dead contradiction between them, just as you might say there is between positive and negative in electricity. now, where's the spark that's going to connect them?" there was silence at the table for a few moments, while the president blew two or three long whiffs of blue smoke from his lips; and then hardress, remembering his thoughts on the bridge, and what he had seen from it, blurted out, almost involuntarily: "something wrong with the engines, i suppose?" "you've got it in once, viscount," said the president, flicking the ash off his cigar. "is there any other way that a sixteen-knotter could overtake a twenty-knotter? i don't want to say anything against anyone, but, you know, accidents to engines are easily managed, and we just can't afford to have any right here." "i've seen to that already," said hardress. "i don't think there's any fear of a mishap, accidental or otherwise." "but," said the president, lighting another cigar, "if it should happen that the sixteen-knotter did overhaul the twenty-knotter, wouldn't it be just as well to get that gun mounted? they may have guns on that russian boat, and they probably have; but i don't think they'll have anything that's a circumstance to our twelve-pounder vandelite gun." "well, in case of accidents," said lord orrel, "i think, shafto, that it wouldn't be a bad idea to get the gun mounted at once. if, in spite of any precautions, there is going to be an accident in the engine-room, it might as well be mounted as soon as possible." "i quite agree with you, sir," said hardress. "we will have it out of the hold, and mount it first thing to-morrow morning." chapter xx on the morning of the second day out, when adelaide came on deck, she was astonished, and not a little disquieted, to see nearly the whole of the yacht's crew, under the command of mr m'niven, the chief engineer, engaged in mounting a long, light, slender gun, with a very massive breech, on the flush deck just forward of the foremast. happening to look up at the bridge, she also saw that a light maxim had been mounted at either end of it. what did it mean? guns were not mounted on a gentleman's private yacht, as a rule, unless she was making some dangerous expedition in perilous waters. as for doing such a thing on the most frequented ocean path in the world, it was utterly ridiculous, unless there was some very grave reason for it--and what reason could there be, save one? had sophie's scheme been betrayed? had felice told about the telegram, under the temptation of such a bribe as these millionaires could offer? had williams wavered at the last, and confessed? she knew, of course, that the _vlodoya_ carried guns, to compel surrender, if necessary. was that a reason why these guns were being mounted?--and what would happen if the _nadine_ met force with force, and won? everything would come out; the whole conspiracy, and her own share in it; and then, what would he think of her? she had entered into the plot mainly for the purpose of getting rid of this american rival of hers, so that she might pursue the advantage which she believed she had already gained, without opposition. the discovery would mean utter ruin for herself and all her hopes. while these sinister thoughts were passing swiftly through her brain she heard a light step behind her, and a gay voice, saying: "my, that looks good, doesn't it! seems as if the viscount thought we were going to have a bit of a scrap before we got across. yes, that's poppa's own dynamite gun; the viscount calls it his pocket-pistol. oh, good-morning, marquise; you seem to be interested in the operations!" "good-morning, ma'm'selle chrysie," replied the marquise, sweetly. "how delightfully fresh you english and american girls always look after you've tubbed. yes; i assure you i am very interested; indeed, i am astonished. i was not aware that it was customary to mount guns on a nobleman's yacht in times of peace." "well, no," laughed miss chrysie; "but then, you see, marquise, there is peace and peace. we are at peace with all the world, nearly, but, the fact is, this is a pretty important voyage, and, from what poppa tells me, it hasn't got to be interrupted under any circumstances." "but surely there can be no fear of that," replied adelaide, with a laugh which seemed to chrysie a trifle artificial and uneasy; "the days of piracy are past." "that's no reason why they shouldn't be revived on occasion," said chrysie, turning round and looking her straight in the eyes; "in fact, it seems to me, from one or two hints that poppa let drop, that someone is going to try and stop us getting across this time, and that's why these guns are here. that's a pretty-looking weapon, isn't it?" "really, miss vandel," replied the marquise, rather languidly, "i can assure you i know nothing about such things; and i take, if possible, even less interest in them." "well, marquise, i can assure you that that's a most interesting weapon. poppa invented it. it's loaded with liquid gas instead of gunpowder, and a shell that holds twelve pounds of an improved sort of dynamite--vandelite he calls it. now, of course, you know that when liquid gas is allowed to become gasey gas, it makes things mighty cold round it. well, this freezes the vandelite so that it shan't explode in the gun. then when the projectile hits anything, that develops heat and sets it off. simple, isn't it? and yet that's a thing that inventors have been puzzling about for years. that gun will put twelve pounds of concentrated earthquake into a ship four miles away, and that would knock anything but an armour-clad into splinters. so i guess there'll be trouble for anything that tries to stop us this journey." "still, that could hardly be in these times," said the marquise, with excellently simulated nonchalance. "but, really, your knowledge of gunnery appears to be wonderful, miss vandel. i suppose you take a great interest in weapons of warfare?" "yes, i do," said chrysie; "you see, we make all the best of them over our side. for instance," she went on, pulling an exquisitely-finished little smith & wesson five-shooter out of her pocket, "there's a dainty little bit of bric-a-brac. no, don't touch it, if you're not accustomed to shooters, because it's loaded. doesn't look very dangerous, does it? but i can pick all the spots off a card at twenty paces with it." "dear me, how very wonderful! and how very interesting you young ladies of the new world are. really, the fact of your carrying a loaded revolver in your skirt pocket seems to me quite as singular as mounting guns on a gentleman's yacht. so entirely unnecessary, i should have thought." all adelaide's powers of self-control did not suffice to keep a note of petulance and insincerity out of her voice. miss chrysie's quick ears caught it instantly. she slipped her arm through adelaide's, and drew her away out of hearing of the men who were mounting the guns, and said in a low voice, which thrilled with something very like passion: "i'm carrying this shooter, marquise, for the same reason that they're putting those guns up. i don't know what it is, but there's trouble ahead, and we're outside the law just now, the same as others may be soon; but the man i love is on board this ship, and if there's any harm waiting for him, and quick and straight shooting will save him, i'm going to do my little level best." it was impossible for adelaide not to recognise the frank, direct challenge of her words. for the moment a passing impulse impelled her to snatch the weapon out of chrysie's hand and shoot her; but another moment's thought showed her that such an act would have meant worse than ruin to all her hopes. after what chrysie had said, she would dearly have loved to have done it. it was the first distinct avowal of her love for the man for whom she herself had deliberately engaged to sacrifice the honour of her stainless name, and there was a ring of deadly earnestness in chrysie's tone as she handled the deadly toy, which meant even more than her words did; and so she exclaimed, with an innocent seeming archness which astonished chrysie quite as much as her own words had astonished the marquise: "ah, so, ma'm'selle, then my suspicions were correct. well, well, accept my best wishes for the most delightful ending possible for your romance. nothing could be better, or what the english call more suitable--yes, in every way. and as for me, though i do not know what i have done to deserve so great a confidence----" "i don't know that i ought to let you thank me for it," said chrysie, flushing a little; "i guess i told you more for your good than mine, and i thought it was only right that you should know just how matters stood, in case any mistakes were made later on that couldn't be rectified--and i think that's about all that need be said just here. there is the bell: and there is lady olive come to tell us that tea is ready. suppose we go below, and change the subject." adelaide followed her down the companion way, her face radiant and smiling, and her heart hot and bitter with many thoughts which at present she dared not translate either into words or actions. if only the _vlodoya_ succeeded in her mission--if only the plot to which she had lent herself succeeded--ah, then there would be a difference! if not, well, the sea was deep and clear and cool, and life would have nothing left in it for her. a little before midnight another council of war was being held in the smoking-room, guarded as usual by a quartermaster on either side of the deck, and captain burgess came out of his own cabin under the bridge and went to the starboard door. the quartermaster stopped and touched his cap. "robertson," he said, "tell his lordship that i want to speak to him at once." "ay, ay, sir," said the man, knocking at the door. there was a "click click" of the key turning in the lock, the door opened, and hardress looked out. "oh, captain," he said, "that you? any--do you wish to speak to me? come in." the captain went in, and the door was at once locked behind him. "sit down, captain," said hardress, pointing to a seat. "what's the matter? you can speak quite freely. you know that there are some rather funny things going on; but you, of course, we trust absolutely." "i hope so, my lord," said the skipper, with a touch of dignity in his tone. "i am sorry to say that just before seven bells, when we changed watch unexpectedly, as we are doing in the engine-room, one of the extra men we've put on watch detected mr williams in the act of sanding the driving rod of the low-pressure cylinder of the port engine." "and what would have been the effect of that?" said hardress, quite coolly, as though he expected the news. the words had hardly left his lips before a slight jarring shudder ran along the port side of the ship, and they felt a distinct swerve as though she had swung suddenly out of her course. "the scoundrel, he has gritted the shaft as well!" exclaimed the captain, jumping to his feet and running to the door. "pardon, my lord," he cried, as he opened it. then he said to the quartermaster: "robertson, skip up to the bridge and stop her. mr m'niven's there." then as the quartermaster vanished in the direction of the bridge he locked the door, and came back and said: "my lord, i'm afraid it's worse than i thought. you know what grit means in the bearings of a screw shaft. it means stopping one engine for twenty-four hours, unbolting the bearings and the thrust-blocks, and cleaning the grit out." "and i guess that's just about what was calculated upon by our friends the enemy," said president vandel. "a delay like that would just send us waddling across the water like a duck with a lame foot; and that's how a sixteen-knotter's expected to overtake a twenty-knotter. what's happening to mr williams just now captain?" "under arrest in his room, sir," replied the captain; "he's a good sailor and a good officer, but i'm afraid he's guilty. i never saw a man look more miserable than he did when i sent for him to my room. i don't know who's been working on him, or what the reason of it is at all, but there it is. he didn't confess, but he might just as well have done, for his face did it for him." "then we are to understand, captain burgess," said lord orrel, "that, at the best, we shall be delayed at least twenty-four hours. that will make a serious difference to us, shafto, under the circumstances." "and it may be more than that, my lord," said the captain, "because we don't know yet how much harm's done. mr m'niven will, of course, examine the cylinder and the shafting at once and report to me, and if the worst comes to the worst, why, we may have to go to halifax with one engine. if we hadn't twin screws we'd be disabled altogether. yes, you see he's stopped the port engine, and that means we've dropped down to about eight knots." "yes, of course," said hardress, "that's about what it comes to, father. now, captain burgess, you will kindly keep mr williams in his cabin. let him have no communication with anyone. you can let robertson give him his food, and mount guard over him generally. we can trust him, if we can trust anyone. i don't want to see him, or accuse him of anything. just keep him quiet, and isolated. tell mr m'niven we'll run along as well as we can with the starboard engine, and put all available hands on to repairing the damage to the other. i'll give the engine-room staff another hundred pounds among them if they get it fixed up in twenty-four hours." "very well, my lord," said the captain, as he got up and went towards the door. "we shall, of course, do everything possible; and i hope that the damage is not so bad as it seems." "it appears to me," said the president, as the captain closed the door and hardress locked it, "that our deductions from those few facts are coming pretty correct. this job's going to keep us back twenty-four hours at least, if not thirty-six; and so, granted that the russian yacht started pretty soon after that telegram got to cherbourg, she won't be very far behind us to-morrow evening, and she'll probably overhaul us about by dawn the next day. seems to me the question is now, what we're going to do if she does?" "i say fight," said hardress, between his teeth. "we can smash her into scrap-iron with that gun of yours before she can touch us, if she has guns; and if they do really mean foul play, as it seems they do, i fancy myself it would be better for all of us, women and all, to risk going down with the _nadine_ than to fall into the hands of a pack of russian pirates, for that's about all they will be, if they try anything of that sort on." "how would it be, shafto," said lord orrel, "if, granted we could get the engines repaired, we were to play the lame duck, and turn the tables on them----" "thunder! you've just got it, lord orrel!" exclaimed the president, bringing his hand down on the table. "whether the count and that pretty daughter of his are on board or not, i reckon they'll be a mightily dangerous crew to deal with, and i reckon they'll be safer as compulsory guests on board this boat than if they were free to knock around in their own ship. i feel pretty certain that they know a lot more about this scheme of ours than they would like to say; and if that's so, as i think it is, the less they run around loose about the earth the better for us." "i quite agree with you, president," said hardress. "that's the very thing to do, if we can do it: if it really is the _vlodoya_ that's on our track and she means taking or sinking us; well, we'll play 'possum. we'll have to let her fire on us first, i'm afraid; but i daresay she'll miss, for russians are about the worst gunners in the world. then we'll cripple her, take her distinguished passengers out of her, and make them our compulsory guests. after that we'll play pirate to pirate--empty her coal bunkers into ours, strip her of everything we want, and put the crew into the boats with plenty of water and provisions. they'll be certain to be picked up within a couple of days or so if they go south towards the steamer tracks. then we'll smash his excellency's yacht into scrap-iron, and go straight to boothia land without stopping at halifax at all." "but, my dear shafto," said the earl, "that would be a most flagrant act of piracy on the high seas, wouldn't it?" "my dear dad," he replied, "you must remember that once we are in boothia we are beyond and above the law, and if we like to indulge in a little piracy we can do so. the point really is to catch these people and take them there with us; so that we can be quite certain they're not going to do any more harm." "that, viscount," said the president, "is right on the spot; and your idea of taking the coal out of the _vlodoya_ isn't any too bad. i reckon that's just what we've got to do. a little surprise party for our russian friends right here in mid-ocean, and then straight away to the works. we'll show them some of the wonders from inside that they wanted to see from outside; and i guess we shall also be able to show them something pretty interesting if those two expeditions do happen to discover the magnetic pole instead of the north pole. i reckon it'll be just about one of the most wonderful discoveries that frenchmen or russians ever did make." chapter xxi another two days had passed, during which the _nadine_, instead of swirling through the water at twenty knots, had been waddling through it like a lame duck at eight. adelaide had professed the utmost wonder and concern at the accident, and miss chrysie, who now knew rather more than she did, watched her with unwinking steadiness from the time she came on deck in the morning till the time she retired with her aunt at night. madame de bourbon herself was completely in the dark as to everything that was taking place, and simply looked upon the breakdown of the port engine as one of the ordinary accidents of seafaring. adelaide had not slept for an hour continuously since she had seen the guns being mounted. that had convinced her that hardress, whose suspicion she dreaded more than anything else, already suspected something. williams had kept faith, and had been detected, thanks to the extraordinary precautions that had been taken in the engine-room, precautions which, so her instinct told her, could not possibly have been taken unless some design against the safety of the yacht had been either discovered or very strongly suspected. still, as she told herself when she was lying awake in her berth the night after the breakdown, to a certain extent, the plot had succeeded. williams had done the work he was paid to do, and the _nadine_ had come down from her greyhound speed to the limping crawl of a wounded hare. the _vlodoya_ would certainly overtake her now--but, then, those guns! she knew that the _vlodoya_ was prepared to fight if necessary, and so was the _nadine_, and, now that the question of speed had been disposed of, it would be a question of guns. but, after all, guns would not be of much use without men to fire them or officers to direct the operations. manifestly the time had come for her to play her part in the great game whose prize was to be, for her the man she loved, and for her allies the lordship of earth. the next day just before lunch she was strolling up and down the deck with hardress and lady olive, talking about all that they were going to do when they got to halifax, and she had turned the conversation upon canadian and american hotels and the difference between american and european cooking, when she said: "ah, monsieur le viscomte, that reminds me. will you allow me to give you and also your poor men who have been working so hard at the broken engine a little treat?" "with the greatest of pleasure, my dear marquise," said hardress. "and what is it to be?" "oh, it is nothing very much," replied adelaide, in her lightest and gayest tone; "it is only that my aunt happened to mention last night that she had found in her secretaire the authentic recipe of a punch--what do you call it?--a punch of wines and liqueurs which they used to drink at the suppers at versailles and the trianon in the days of the grand monarque. louis himself drank it, and so did that other unhappy ancestor and his queen----" "who," laughed lady olive, "is at present reincarnate on board the _nadine_. i suppose you mean then to make up a punch some night after this recipe; that would be delightful, if we only have the proper ingredients on board." "oh, they are very simple," replied adelaide; "it is certain that you will have them, indeed it seems from the recipe that the excellence of the punch does not depend so much on the variety of the ingredients as the proportions and the skill in making it." "very well," said hardress, "as long as we've got the things on board, that is settled; and both ends of the ship shall drink to-night in the punch _à le grand monarque_, to the health of his latest and fairest descendant. m'niven and his men really have been working like so many niggers at that engine, and they've done splendidly. in fact, captain burgess tells me we shall be ready for full speed ahead by daybreak to-morrow." "ah," said adelaide in her soul, "then it is all the more necessary that we should have the punch _à le grand monarque_," and she went on aloud, "well then, monsieur le viscomte, that is arranged. if you will tell your steward, your maître d'hôtel, as we call him on french ships, to provide me with the ingredients, i will make it this afternoon, and we will take it after dinner, eh?" "yes," said lady olive, "and i think, shafto, under the circumstances, you might invite captain burgess and mr m'niven to dine with us." "certainly," replied her brother, "that's a capital idea, olive. we will--in fact, we'll have mr vernon, too: he's worked just as hard as anyone else, and it can be arranged for the second officer to take charge of the bridge during dinner. and so, ma'm'selle," he went on, turning to the marquise, "if you will take the trouble, you may brew us two bowls, one for the cabin and a bigger one for the other end of the ship, and the steward shall put the whole of the ship's liquid stores at your disposal." "monsieur le viscomte, i could desire nothing better," she replied, with her most dazzling smile, and more meanings than one. the subject of the punch was mentioned during lunch, and during the afternoon miss chrysie got her father up into the bows, and, after a swift look round to see if anyone was within hearing distance, said: "poppa, are you going to take any of that punch to-night?" "why, certainly, chrysie. why not? what's the matter?" "it may be matter or no matter," she replied, "but i'm not, and i guess it would be healthier for you not to. i'm more than ever certain that that frenchwoman is in it. yes; it's all very well looking like that, poppa, but--you think i hate this woman because she's in love with the viscount. well, i suppose i do; and there'll most likely be trouble between us sometime soon; but i haven't quite lost all my senses because i happen to be in love with a man that another woman wants to get. don't you see, we're going to have that punch just a few hours before we get the engines right and that other boat is to catch us?" "but, great sakes, chrysie, you don't mean the marquise is going to poison us?" "it won't be poison," answered chrysie, very curtly, "because she knows that he'll drink it. i guess some drug's a good deal more likely--something that'll make everybody at both ends of the ship pretty sleepy and stupid when the time for a fight comes around. you see, that's just the natural sequence to the plot to cripple the engine. anyhow, that's what i think it is." "well, if it's as bad as that," said her father, "why not warn the viscount?" "that wouldn't do much good," she replied, more curtly than before. "you see, i'd have to make a definite accusation against her, and i've nothing to go on except what he'd call mere suspicion and we call logical deduction. i'd give her a tremendous handle against me, especially with him; and if she had any suspicion that i suspected her--why, she might call me down pretty badly by not putting anything in the stuff at all. no, poppa, under the circumstances, we can't do anything except not drink that punch. i'm going to have a headache to-night and stop in my berth. you have some of your gastric trouble and drink hot milk or something of that sort: and if you get a show i think you might, as matters are coming to a head pretty quickly, just give a hint to captain burgess and mr m'niven to drink as little of that punch as they politely can." "well, chrysie," replied her father, "you've been right so far, but i do hope you're wrong this time. it's a pretty large order, you know, drugging the whole ship's company." "yes; and a frenchwoman with a lot to win is playing a game for pretty big dollars. of course, there may be nothing in it at all, and i may be quite wrong, but i think this punch of hers has come along at the wrong time, and we can't take any risks. there's one thing, she'll have to drink some of it herself, and that old aunt of hers too. still, she's pretty useless, and doesn't matter; but if anything does really happen, poppa, you'd better go straight and shake the viscount up. i'll have the steward make some pretty strong coffee to-night for me, and i'll keep it hot and you can give it him; and if the doctor isn't dead, too, with the stuff, get a drop of prussic acid from him. that'll bring him round." "it strikes me, chrysie," said her father, looking down admiringly on her flushed and animated face, "as though you're getting ready to run this ship in case of trouble." "it's just that, poppa," she said, with an impatient little tap of her foot on the deck; "that is, of course, with you. i don't say it's altogether disinterested, because it isn't; but i'd do that and a lot more to keep to windward of that frenchwoman, and she knows it. you can work your gun and i can work a maxim, so if there's only the two of us, we can do something with that russian ship. and now i guess we'd better go to the other end and show how friendly we can be with our enemies." "chrysie," said her father, with a very tender note in a voice which could be as hard as the ring of steel, "i don't want you to be a bit different to what you are, but if you'd been a man you'd have been a great one." "i'd sooner be a good woman and get what i want than be the biggest man on earth," laughed chrysie. "when a woman gets all she wants she doesn't want to envy big men anything." and with that they went aft and subsided into deck-chairs in a sort of irregular circle, in which lord orrel was fast asleep, madame de bourbon rapidly subsiding, and the marquise and lady olive making a pretence of reading with drooping eyelids. the punch _á le grand monarque_ was a great success that evening after dinner. it was delicious; and every one regretted that the president's attack of gastritis and miss chrysie's headache prevented them from sharing in its delights. the marquise brewed a little pot of her aunt's special russian tea for them, which the president declined with many apologies, and which miss chrysie, after accepting a cup from the hands of felice, emptied out of the port-hole as soon as her ladyship's lady had left the cabin. captain burgess and the chief had taken the president's hint almost as though they expected it, and the scotsman had said significantly: "i'm obliged to you, mr vandel, though i hope there's nothing in your suspicions; still, this is no time for us to be drinking foreign mixed drinks when i've got to keep my eyes open, looking, as you may say, out of both sides of my head. a drop of good old scotch whisky is as good nourishment as a man can need. what i'm thinking about is the men. we can't forbid them to take it without either insulting his lordship or telling him all the suspicions, which, you say, can't be told him." "no," added the captain; "but i'll see they have a pretty good shaking up at four o'clock, and the cook shall have plenty of strong coffee ready in case of accidents." but for all that, the accident happened, almost, if not quite as well as the originator of it could have hoped. by eleven o'clock everyone who had drunk even a single glass of the marquise's punch, including herself and madame de bourbon, were dead asleep. even the captain and the chief engineer, who had taken somewhat drastic measures to counteract the possible effects, did not wake until daybreak, and even then, strong as they were, they were both mentally and physically incapable for the time being of attending to the work of the ship. the sailors and engine-room hands, who had indulged rather more freely, were all sleeping like logs when the watch was called at four in the morning, and nothing could wake them until mr vernon, the chief officer, who never under any circumstances drank anything stronger than coffee, and who therefore escaped the general paralysis, with the help of the president and the two quartermasters, who had been forbidden to touch anything in the way of liquor during the night, brought them up on deck and turned the hose on them. this revived the majority of them sufficiently to enable them to drink a copious allowance of strong coffee, after which they were very ill, and then much better. the captain and the chief engineer were then carried to bathrooms and treated in somewhat the same fashion, after which they were taken back to their rooms and given a good stiff brandy-and-soda. "ay, man!" said the chief engineer, as he began to get back his grip on things, "whatever was in that stuff it was deadly. no more of your foreign drinks for me. after that, good scotch whisky is going to be good enough for me. it's a mercy she didn't poison the whole ship's crew. captain, if there's any of the men anything like fit for duty you might give them a good strong tot, and let's get to work on that shaft. there's just the bearings and the thrust-blocks to adjust and oil, and then we'll be ready for full speed ahead in three hours." "i'm afraid that would be a bit too late, sir," said miss chrysie, who had been sweeping the eastern horizon with her glasses. "look yonder," she went on; "there's a steamer down yonder steaming for all she's worth, and i reckon she's a lot more likely to be the _vlodoya_ than an east-bound liner." the chief took the glasses she offered him, and had a long look at the cloud of smoke that was rising from the ship. "i'm afraid you're right, miss," he said, handing the glasses back. "that's no liner; she's not half big enough; she's a yacht. still, her stern chase is a long one, even if we are like a seal with one flipper, and we may be ready for her even yet." "i think we shall be able to dodge him, miss vandel," said the captain, who had just come out of his room, still looking pale and somewhat dazed. "put every possible hand on to the shaft, m'niven. steam's up, and we can start the moment you're ready." "and," added the president, "i'll see to the guns. if that's the _vlodoya_ they're not going to overtake us before we are ready." chapter xxii while the captain and the chief engineer were mustering such men as were in any way fit to work the ship, or to help in getting the port engine into running order, chrysie and her father paid a visit to the staterooms. hardress and lord orrel were both sleeping as deeply as ever and breathing heavily. the president tried to rouse them, without avail. their pulses were beating regularly, and, apart from their heavy breathing, there was nothing to show that they were not in a healthy sleep; but they were absolutely insensible to any outside influence; and chrysie found lady olive, adelaide, and madame de bourbon in exactly the same condition. ma'm'selle felice was in great distress about her two mistresses, but chrysie cut her lamentations very short by saying: "you look after your ladies, felice, and don't worry about anything else; your place is down here, and don't you come on deck, whatever happens. there's a boat coming up that may be the same one you telegraphed to at cherbourg from southampton. if it is, you see this?" she went on, taking her revolver out of her pocket. "yes, that'll do; i don't want any theatricals, but you go to your cabin and stop there. if you're wanted you'll be sent for." ma'm'selle felice shrank away white and trembling, and miss chrysie went back on deck to get the maxims ready for action. she met her father under the bridge, and said: "i reckon, poppa, they're all pretty dead down there. we'll have to see this thing through on our own hands." the chief and his men worked like heroes on the shaft, and a good head of steam was by some means kept up, but the other yacht crept rapidly up across the eastern horizon, and by breakfast time it was perfectly plain that she was the _vlodoya_. moreover, both miss chrysie and the captain from the bridge had been able to make out with their glasses that she was carrying a maxim-nordenfelt gun on her forecastle, and two others which looked like one-pound quick-firers on either side, a little forward of the bridge. she was flying no flags, not even the pennant of the imperial yacht squadron, to which she belonged. the _nadine_ was flying the blue ensign and the pennant of the royal yacht squadron. when the _vlodoya_ was within about eight miles, heading directly for the _nadine_, the president sent down to ask mr m'niven how long it would be before the port engine could be used, and the answer came back, "a good hour yet, but everything is going all right." just at this moment the captain was overtaken with another fit of sickness and dizziness, and had to go down to his room; and mr vernon remained in charge of the bridge with miss chrysie, who was walking up and down, with a strange look of almost masculine sternness on her pretty face, and the gleam of a distinctly wicked light in her eyes. for her the minutes of that hour passed with terrible slowness as she watched the _vlodoya_ coming up mile after mile, with torrents of smoke pouring out of her funnels. she was evidently steaming every yard she could make. a quarter, half, and three-quarters of an hour passed, and still she kept on, looming up larger and larger astern, and miss chrysie looked more and more anxiously at the long gun on deck and the two maxims on the bridge. again a message went down to the engine-room, and the answer came back--"another twenty minutes." just then a line of signal flags ran up to the _vlodoya's_ main truck. the chief officer's glasses instantly went up to his eyes, but after a long look he shook his head and said to the president: "that's no regular signal, mr vandel; it's evidently a private one, arranged beforehand, i should say." "then we won't answer it," said the president, "and we'll see what he'll do next. i guess, if he's what we think him, he'll have to declare himself right away." they hadn't very long to wait, for about five minutes afterwards a puff of smoke rose from the _vlodoya's_ forecastle, and a seven-pound shell came screaming and whistling across the water. it was the first time that miss chrysie had ever been shot at, but she took it without a shiver. the chief officer begged her to go below at once. but she only shut her teeth tighter, and said: "no, thanks, mr vernon, i'm going to have a hand in this. i'm the only one on deck just now that knows how to run a maxim, and i can shoot as straight with it as i can with my own little pepper-box; so if you just let mr robertson come and see to the serving of the ammunition, i think we'll be able to give our russian friends just about as good as we get." "say, poppa," she went on, leaning over the front of the bridge, "i reckon that shot broke the law of nations, didn't it? how would it be if you raised his bluff? go him a few pounds of vandelite better?" "there's no hurry about that, chrysie," said the president, who had got his gun loaded, and was squinting every now and then along the sights. "i guess he doesn't want to hit us; we've got too much precious cargo on board. you see, that was a seven-pound shell, and if it got under our water-line--well, we'd just go right down. if our friends are on board, they just want to scare us into surrender, that's all; so i think it would be better for us to wait further developments, and let mr m'niven get his work in on that shaft. i can make scrap-iron out of the _vlodoya_ just as soon as ever we want to do it; so don't worry about that." at this moment another puff of steamy smoke rose from the deck of the russian yacht, and this time a shell came screaming away over the _nadine's_ masts. miss chrysie shut her teeth a bit harder, and walked towards the maxim on the port side, the one which she could at any time have brought to bear on the _vlodoya_. the chief officer meanwhile stood anxiously by the engine-room telegraph. it was also his first experience of being shot at. he was just as cool as miss chrysie or her father, but he didn't like it. he had the englishman's natural longing to be able to shoot back, but he recognised that, trying as it was, the president's strategy was the best. about ten more minutes passed, during which the _vlodoya_ drew up closer and closer, until chrysie, after a good look through her glasses, was able to say: "why, yes; there's the count and sophie on the bridge. poppa, why don't you let 'em have just one little hint that we're not quite harmless?" the last word had scarcely left her lips before another puff of steamy smoke rose from the fore-quarter of the russian yacht, and a second or so after, a bright flash of flame blazed out, about fifty yards on the port side of the _nadine_. "that's a time shell," said vernon. "they evidently mean business: i fancy they could hit us if they liked. don't you think, mr vandel, that we might slow round and give them one from that gun of yours?" "no, sir," said the president, looking up from his gun: "not till we've the legs on her. when mr m'niven----" at this moment the chief came up on to the bridge, black and grimed from head to foot. "all right, mr vernon, you can go full steam ahead now. we've got every bit of grit out, and she'll work as easy as ever she did." "then," said the president, "i reckon that's about all that we want. full steam ahead, if you please, mr vernon; you can let her go both engines." the chief officer pulled the telegraph handle over to full speed. the next moment two columns of boiling foam leapt out from under the _nadine's_ counters as she sprang forward from eight knots to sixteen, and then to twenty. almost at the same instant the maxim-nordenfeldt from the _vlodoya_ forecastle spoke again, and a seven-pound shell, aimed low this time, came hurtling across the water, and missed the _nadine's_ stern by about ten yards. "i reckon that means business," said the president. "full speed ahead, if you please, mr vernon, and hard aport." the _nadine_ made a splendid swerve through an arc of about a hundred and eighty degrees, and then began the naval duel, on the issue of which the future course of human history was to depend. the _vlodoya_ fired three more shots in as many minutes, but they went wide, for she was steaming nearly seventeen knots and the _nadine_ twenty. then as the _nadine_ swung round so that her bow pointed towards the _vlodoya_, the president signed to the two men who were working the gun, a wheel was whirled round, and the muzzle swung slowly until he put his hand up and said: "stop her, if you please, mr vernon, and screw her round as hard as you can." the engine telegraph rang, a sharp shudder ran through the fabric of the _nadine_, the water which had been swirling astern mounted up ahead as her engines backed, and her bow came up, till the president raised his hand again to stop her. at the same moment another shell from the _vlodoya_ whistled over the deck at an elevation of only a few feet. in fact, it passed so near to miss chrysie that she involuntarily put her hand up to keep her hat on her head. clifford vandel saw it. he didn't say anything, but he set his teeth, squinted along the sights of his gun, and touched a button in the breech. five seconds later a mountain of boiling foam rose up under the stern of the _vlodoya_. she stopped like a stricken animal, and lay motionless on the water, lurching slowly down by the stern. "well hit, poppa!" cried miss chrysie, from the bridge. "i guess that's got him on a tender spot. the count won't have much screws to work with after that. oh, they're going to shoot again. suppose you gave them one forward this time." while she was speaking, the quick-firer had already been reloaded, the president moved the long barrel a couple of degrees, and touched the button again. the sharp hiss of the released air was followed by an intensely brilliant flash of light on the forecastle of the _vlodoya_, and when the smoke had cleared away the maxim-nordenfeldt had vanished. "i guess there's not much wrong with that automatic sighting arrangement of mine," said the president; "hits every time." "couldn't be better, poppa! i reckon they're pretty tired by this. suppose mr vernon gives her full speed again, and we go along and have a talk with ma'm'selle sophie and the count. shouldn't wonder if they knew by now that we've raised their bluff, and are ready to see them for all they've got." the president re-charged his gun, and then, leaning his back up against the bridge, said: "well, yes, chrysie, i think we can see them now, if mr vernon will give us full speed ahead for a few minutes." the chief officer nodded, and pulled the handle of the telegraph over. the answering tinkle came back from the engine-room, in which the chief had retired after he had given his message, and the _nadine_ again sprang forward towards the crippled vessel that was now her prey. she described another magnificent curve, and as she rushed up alongside the russian yacht at a distance of about two hundred yards, miss chrysie sat herself down on a camp-stool behind the maxim, and sent half-a-dozen shots rattling through the rigging of the _vlodoya_. then, as the _nadine_ swung in closer, she depressed the barrel of the gun on to the bridge, on which she could now recognise the count and his daughter, and sang out, in a clear soprano: "hands up, please, or i'll shoot. my dear countess sophie, i never expected this of you." countess sophie looked at her father, and bit a russian curse in two between her tightly-clenched teeth, and said to her father who was standing beside her on the bridge: "she has failed--she and the engineer too--and these accursed americans have done it, i suppose. they have broken our propellers and disabled our gun. what are we to do? it is exasperating, just when we thought that everything was going so well. what has happened to adelaide?--has she turned traitor too? surely that would be impossible." "impossible or not, my dear sophie," replied the count, "there is now no choice between sinking and surrender. you see, that gun, one of these diabolical american inventions, i have no doubt, would sink us like a shot, and then----" "and then we shall have to surrender, i suppose," said sophie. "but it is still possible that i shall have a chance to shoot that american girl before this little international comedy is played out, and if i do----" "hands up, please, everyone on board, or i _will_ shoot this time," came in clear tones across about fifty yards of water. sophie looked round and saw miss chrysie looking along the sights of the maxim, with her hand on the spring. her face was hard set, and her eyes were burning. there was no mistaking her intention. in another moment a storm of bullets would be raining along the decks of the _vlodoya_. "we are beaten, papa, for the present," she said, as she got up from her chair, and put her hands over her head. the count looked at the grinning muzzle of the maxim and did the same. "yes," he said, "we are beaten this time, and it is hardly good policy to be sunk in the middle of the atlantic. later on, perhaps, we may retrieve something; but it is strange how these anglo-saxons, stupid and all as they are to begin with, always seem to get the best of us at the end. yes; we must surrender or sink, and, personally, i have no taste for the bottom of the atlantic at present. chapter xxiii the _nadine_ ranged alongside, miss chrysie still sitting at her maxim, with robertson beside her ready to see to the ammunition feed, and the president, leaning over the forward rail, said, as laconically as though he had been putting the most ordinary business proposition: "good-morning, excellency; i guess you and the countess had better come on board as soon as possible. if you'll lower the gangway i'll send a boat; but if there's any more shooting i shall sink you. i don't want to do anything unpleasant, you understand; but that high-toned friend of yours the marquise has half-poisoned most of us, and so the rest have to take charge. are you badly hurt?" count valdemar held a hurried consultation with the captain of the _vlodoya_, and replied, as politely as he could: "the fortune of war is with you, mr vandel, and there is no need for any further concealment. we are crippled, but the watertight compartments have been closed and we shall float. meanwhile, we are helpless and entirely at your service. what do you wish us to do?" in the meantime the _nadine's_ boat had been lowered, and was pulling round her stern to the gangway of the _vlodoya_, which had been lowered, and the president replied: "we'll have to ask your excellency and the countess to be our guests for a bit; so if you'll just come right on board and tell your people to get your baggage fixed up, we'll be able to save you a certain amount of unpleasantness. you will be a lot more comfortable on board here than you will there, because we're going to take what coal you've got and then sink you." as the president said this the captain of the russian yacht nodded towards a man standing by one of the one-pounders on the fore deck. he pulled the lanyard, there was a sharp bang, and a shell bored its way through the plates of the _nadine_ amidships, just missing the engines. the next moment miss chrysie's maxim began to thud, spitting flame and smoke and lead, sweeping the decks of the _vlodoya_ from stem to stern. only those on the bridge were spared. for a full three minutes the deadly hail continued, and there was not a man on deck who was not killed or maimed. the president had jumped back to the breech of his gun, the muzzle swung round till it bore directly on the part of the _vlodoya_ which contained her boilers. he held up his hand and chrysie stopped the maxim. then she swung it on to the bridge, glanced along the sights and touched the spring. there was a crack and a puff of smoke and flame, and the captain of the _vlodoya_, who was standing about a couple of feet away from count valdemar and sophie, reeled half round and dropped with a bullet through his heart. "i guess your excellency and the countess had better come on board right away," said the president, still looking along the sights of his gun. "that's a pretty unhealthy place you're in, and my daughter's only got the patience of an ordinary woman, you know." sophie looked across at the _nadine's_ bridge, and saw chrysie's white face and burning eyes looking over the barrel of the maxim. her thumb was on the spring and there was death in her eyes. she took her father by the arm, and said: "come, papa, it's no use. that she-devil will shoot us like dogs if we don't go. come." and so they went down to the deck, strewn with corpses and splashed with blood, to the gangway ladder, at the bottom of which the _nadine's_ boat was waiting. miss chrysie at once left the gun with which she had done such terrible execution, and went with the chief officer to receive them. to the utter astonishment of both the count and sophie, she held out her hand as cordially as though the meeting had taken place on the terrace of orrel court, and said with a somewhat exaggerated drawl: "well, countess, and your excellency, i am real glad to see you. we sort of thought we should meet you somewhere about here, and i am sure his lordship and the viscount and lady olive, when they get better, will do all they can to make you comfortable. now, here's the stewardess. as she didn't have any of the marquise's punch last night, she's ready to show you to your room. mr vernon, perhaps you'll be kind enough to attend to his excellency. good-bye for the present: i guess we shall meet at lunch." "really, after the unpleasantness that has happened," said the count, "your kindness, and your hospitality are quite overwhelming." "and," added sophie, as the two prisoners of war passed into the charge of their respective custodians, "i must say that to me it is as mysterious as it is charming. if the conditions had been reversed, i should certainly have shot you." "it wouldn't have been quite fair," replied miss chrysie, sweetly. "you see i had a gun, and you hadn't." she watched them disappear down the companion way to the saloon, then she put her hands up to her eyes, groped her way half-blindly to a long wicker chair, dropped into it and incontinently fainted. just then the chief, washed, shaved, new-clad and thoroughly contented with the really splendid piece of work that had been done on one of his beloved engines, came on deck, looking as though nothing very particular had happened. he saw instantly what was the matter. "the lassie has a wonderful nerve," he said to himself. "ay, what a man she'd have made! but she's only a lassie after all, and we'd better get her below. i'll just take her down to mrs evans without troubling the president. he's got plenty to think about. yes; vernon's on the bridge, and he'll see to things." then he picked her up in his arms and carried her down to her own cabin and laid her in her berth, and gave her into the charge of the stewardess. then he went up to the captain's room, and found him just recovering consciousness. "what's the matter, m'niven?" he said. "that infernal punch last night seems to have poisoned me. i seem to have been having nightmare after nightmare, with guns firing and----" "that's all right, captain," replied the scotsman; "if you'd taken less of that infernal punch and more honest whisky, as i did, you wouldn't have such an awful head on you as i suppose you have. still, there's nothing much to trouble about. we've got the engine to rights again; we've met the russian yacht, and fought her, and beaten her. mr vandel smashed her up with his gun, and miss vandel--a wonderful girl that, sir, a wonderful girl--she sat at her maxim as if it had been a sewing-machine, and seemed to think no more of shots than stitches, and then, woman-like, she fainted, and i've just taken her below and handed her over to mrs evans. "and now, captain, don't you think that a wee peg would do you good? mr vernon's on the bridge, the president's holding up the russians with his gun, and the engines are working all right, but half the crew and all the company are still something like dead, with that frenchwoman's drugs, whatever they were." captain burgess took the chief engineer's hint, and a stiff brandy and soda. then he dressed and went on deck, and had a brief conversation with the president, after which he took charge of the operations of clearing all the coal and stores out of the _vlodoya_ before she was sent to the bottom. the president and miss chrysie had to entertain their involuntary guests at lunch, for although the rest of the _nadine's_ company were recovering consciousness, they were still under the doctor's care and unable to leave their berths; but at dinner that evening lady olive, the earl, and hardress were able to welcome them, and they did so with a sardonic cordiality which compelled both his excellency and sophie to admit that these anglo-saxons were, after all, not such bad diplomatists as europeans were wont to think. madame de bourbon was still prostrate, and the marquise had the best of reasons for remaining in her own cabin. it was perhaps as strange a dinner party as ever sat down afloat or ashore, and it was rendered doubly strange by the fact that the last time they had all sat together most of them suspected, and some of them knew, that this very conflict, which had ended in spite of all disadvantages so completely in favour of the _nadine_ and her company, was certain to take place, yet very few references were made to the state of active hostilities which had now been practically proclaimed. count valdemar and sophie were treated on board the _nadine_ exactly as they had been at orrel court. lord orrel and lady olive were just as they had been at cowes, and in the solent. hardress, who had taken a somewhat perilously large dose of the fair adelaide's punch, looked pale and seemed rather sleepy, until he had had two or three glasses of champagne, and then he seemed to brighten up, and began discussing international politics with a frankness and an intimate knowledge which simply astounded their involuntary guests. so far as the party was concerned, there was now no further need for anything like concealment, and not only were the storage works discussed, in their full nature and purpose, but even the advent of the french and russian expeditions at boothia land was anticipated with what the count afterwards described to sophie as brutally disgusting frankness. miss chrysie, eating her strawberries at dessert as daintily as though her hands had never been within a mile of a maxim gun, chatted and chaffed just as she had been wont to do at orrel court, and the president talked gunnery and machinery with the captain and mr m'niven, who had been invited to join the party; and finally, when even the marquise came into dessert on lady olive's pressing invitation, all that she heard about her deliberate attempt to drug the whole ship's company was from lord orrel, who rose as she entered, and said in just such a tone as he might have used in the drawing-room at orrel court: "my dear marquise, i am delighted to see that you have recovered from the same mysterious indisposition that has affected all of us. i am really afraid that there must have been something wrong with the recipe for the punch _à le grand monarque_, or perhaps it was not intended for general use. however, as we are all happily recovered, we need not trouble ourselves any further about that." adelaide entered instantly into the spirit of the comedy that was being played, and she replied: "ah, my lord, it is so kind of you not to blame me! believe me, i am desolated, and have been very nearly killed, and my poor aunt believes too that she is going to die. it is my last performance at punch-making, for i have torn the horrible recipe up and thrown it into the sea." "i am rather sorry to hear that, marquise," said hardress, looking at her with a cold, steady stare, which at once enraged and infinitely saddened her; for it proved that the empire, which until a few hours ago she had hoped to gain over him, and through him the world, was now only a dream never to be realised. still, she kept herself under command marvellously, and greeted the count and sophie just as though the _nadine_ had been lying off cowes instead of being lashed to the _vlodoya_ in mid-atlantic, with the steam winches rattling and roaring over their heads, emptying the russian yacht's bunkers into the _nadine's_ as fast as her own crew and what was left of her enemy's could do it. in short, a most unexpectedly pleasant evening was spent by everybody. coffee and cigars and cigarettes were taken up into the smoking-room, which was well to windward of the coal dust. adelaide went to the piano and played brilliantly. then she accompanied sophie in quaint and tenderly-touching russian folk-songs. then miss chrysie sang coon songs and accompanied herself; and hardress, on her suggestion, made with a wicked humour in her dancing eyes, recite kipling's "rhyme of the three sealers" to her own piano accompaniment. they both did it very well, and more than one person in the cosy little smoking-room could have killed them for it. nothing occurred to give the count and sophie or adelaide and the innocent madame de bourbon any idea that they were really prisoners until they retired for the night. then the chief steward knocked at the count's door and asked if he wanted anything more. mrs evans did the same for sophie and the marquise, and then the doors of the staterooms were locked. they were unlocked again at seven the next morning, and, after baths and early coffee, hardress invited his guests on to the bridge to watch the end of the _vlodoya_. during the night she had been completely stripped of everything that could be useful to her captor. every pound of coal was taken out of her bunkers. the two little quick-firers had been transferred with all their ammunition to the _nadine_. her four boats, amply provisioned and watered, were comfortably filled with such of her officers and crew as chrysie's maxim volley had left alive. there was a southward breeze, and in forty-eight hours at the outside they were certain to be picked up, either by a liner or a cargo boat, and plenty of money had been given them to pay their passages either to europe or america. when they had hoisted their sails and began to bear away towards the steamer-track, the _nadine_ cast off from the _vlodoya_, her screws began to revolve, and the president got his gun loaded. "i reckon we might have a little gun practice, and see how far this pea-shooter really will carry," he said, looking up at the bridge, with a smile in which neither sophie nor her father found very much humour. "will you make it five miles, captain?" the captain rang for full speed. the _nadine_ sprang forward with a readiness which showed how utterly futile the plot to cripple her had been, and in a few minutes the motionless hull of the _vlodoya_ was a white speck on the water. then she stopped and swung round. the president adjusted his automatic sights, waited till she rose on the swell, and let go. there was a hiss and a whizz, and then, where the speck was a bright flash blazed out. two more shells followed in quick succession, and as the last flash blazed out, count valdemar took his glasses down from his eyes and looked at hardress, and said, with a touch of bitterness in his tone: "she has gone! that is a wonderful gun, viscount." "yes," replied hardress, dryly. "that is a twelve-pounder. we have some hundred-pounders at the works, as well as a new weapon which may interest your excellency very much. it destroys without striking. if the french and russian north polar expedition should chance to pay us a visit, you may perhaps see them both in action." "and now, president," he went on, "i suppose we may as well shape our course for boothia land." "there is nothing more to wait for that i know of, viscount," he replied. and so the _nadine's_ head was swung round to the north-west, her engines were put to their full power, and so she began her voyage to that desolate spot of earth which was soon to become the seat of the world-empire. chapter xxiv within ten days of the sinking of the _vlodoya_ europe was electrified by the news, published far and wide through the english and continental press, of what amounted to a pitched battle between two armed private yachts in mid-atlantic. as may well be imagined, the strange narrative of the officers and sailors of the _vlodoya_ lost nothing either in the telling to the interviewers or in the reproduction in the newspapers. the boats' crews had been picked up, about thirty-six hours after the sinking of the russian yacht, by a french liner, which took them to le havre. the officers had taken the greatest precautions to prevent the men from speaking too freely, but it was no use. there were two journalists, one an englishman and the other an american, on board the boat, and they agreed to divide the sensation between themselves and their two countries. both were in the service of wealthy journals, and they bribed as freely as they did unscrupulously, with the result that, in addition to the general gossip of the ship, which was more or less accurate, they each possessed a fairly comprehensive narrative of what had happened on the high seas between the _nadine_ and the _vlodoya_, both of which were speeding over the wires to america and canada within half-an-hour of the liner's arrival at le havre. but the englishman did even better than this, for he practically kidnapped the third engineer of the _vlodoya_, who could speak very good french, chartered a special steamer to southampton, pumped him absolutely dry on the passage, and turned up at midnight at the office of his paper with a column and a half of vividly-written description of the most sensational event that had taken place on the high seas since the affair of the _trent_ during the american war. the presses were stopped, the matter was set up with lightning speed, and by the next morning that journalist had achieved the biggest scoop of the twentieth century. the news agencies immediately wired extracts all over the continent, and meanwhile the news had been leaking out through other sources in france, for passengers will talk, and the captain was bound to make his formal report as to the picking up of the castaways; wherefore, within twenty-four hours the whole continental press was teeming with interviews, more or less authentic, leading articles, and notes on the subject of this astounding occurrence. two russian newspapers published a few meagre details, and were promptly suppressed. the _globe_, in a leader on what it termed the "astonishing intelligence published by a morning contemporary," put the matter very concisely, and with its usual clearness and insight into foreign affairs. "we have here," said the writer, "not only one of the most astonishing, but one of the most significant incidents of modern times--an incident which, almost incredible as it is, is nevertheless the more significant when taken in conjunction with other contemporary events, of which our readers have been kept constantly informed. it is not customary for either russian or english private yachts to carry guns, and it is somewhat unusual for a russian yacht, owned by a well-known russian ex-minister of state, to start, as we know the _vlodoya_ did, from southampton on a cruise to the baltic, stop at cherbourg, and then turn up in the middle of the atlantic. but what is the world to think when this yacht, the property of a nobleman high in favour at the court of st petersburg, deliberately opens fire on a yacht owned by an english nobleman, whose guest the owner of the _vlodoya_ had been but a few days before? perhaps even more amazing is the fact that the english yacht replied in kind; crippled her opponent, took the owner and his daughter prisoners, set the crew adrift, sank her adversary, and vanished. viscount branston's yacht was, we understand, bound for halifax, with two distinguished french ladies on board. a cable just to hand informs us that nothing has been heard of her, although she should have arrived there nearly a week ago. with some reluctance we feel compelled to ask whether there is any connection between this extraordinary occurrence and the mysterious electrical works which, as is well known, are being constructed, at enormous expense, by a syndicate of which both viscount branston and his father, the earl of orrel, are prominent members. there have been many strange and wild rumours current about this enterprise within the last few months, and we confess that this almost incredible incident appears to lend some countenance to them. "in the same connection, it is necessary to call attention to the fact that, just as this enterprise was approaching completion, france and russia both equipped a so-called scientific expedition for the purpose of once more attempting to force a passage to the north pole. we do not profess to have any inside knowledge as to these mysterious proceedings, but we confess that we should not be greatly surprised if it would not be more correct to read 'magnetic pole' for 'north pole'. it is impossible to see anything other than an international significance. noblemen of different nationalities do not nowadays go out on to the high seas to fight naval duels to arrange their private differences; wherefore it appears that either the _vlodoya_ was a common pirate outside the law of nations, and yet owned by a russian ex-minister, who was on board when the act of piracy was committed, or she was a privateer acting under the licence of the russian government. we, in common with the whole civilised world, shall await with the utmost anxiety the immediate development of this wholly unparalleled state of affairs." the world waited for about a week, and heard nothing. the british foreign office made its usual timid and tentative representation, and received the usual snub, to the effect that the russian government was investigating the matter as fully as possible, but had so far only arrived at the fact that the english yacht fired first. but the plots and counterplots and the steady preparations which had been going on for the working out or the defeating of the great scheme were now about to bear fruit, and the world was not to be lacking in sensations such as it had never experienced before. no sooner did the german government learn the story of the duel between the _nadine_ and the _vlodoya_ than its secret agents began to put two and two together, and make their representations accordingly. ex-captain victor fargeau was known to have been an intimate friend of adelaide de condé, who was a guest on board the _nadine_, and, further, to have been in close communication with count valdemar, the owner of the _vlodoya_. he had left his country, taken up his residence in paris, and had been proved to be in close touch with general ducros. all this was significant enough, but when the cleverest of all the german agents in paris found out that ex-captain victor fargeau, late of the german army, had been appointed to the scientific command of the french polar expedition, darkness became light, and a peremptory demand was sent from berlin to paris for his immediate extradition on the previous charge of high treason. to this paris returned a polite but uncompromising refusal, and berlin promptly said that if the expedition sailed with ex-captain fargeau on board, a german squadron would stop it and take him off. to this france replied by mobilising the northern squadron and ordering the admiral in command to escort the expedition to sea and protect it against assault at all hazards. paris also sent berlin a curt note intimating that if the threat were carried out it would be taken as a declaration of war. another note arrived at berlin about the same time from petersburg, informing the german kaiser that these french and russian polar expeditions formed a joint enterprise on the part of the two countries, and that any act hostile to the one would be considered hostile to the other. the note also plainly hinted that, considering the tremendous nature of the issues involved by a breach of the international peace, such a trivial matter as the extradition of a person accused of treason could not possibly under the circumstances afford a valid reason for what would be to all intents and purposes an act of war. within twenty-four hours a powerful french squadron was manoeuvring off the mouth of the kiel canal, just out of range of the forts; the french polar expedition, with victor fargeau on board, was making its way at full speed down the english channel; the russian expedition, headed by the _ivan the terrible_, passed the north cape on its way to the coast of greenland; and four millions of russians and frenchmen of all arms were massed on the eastern and western frontier of germany. at the same moment kaiser wilhelm called upon his brother sovereigns of austria and italy, and the triple alliance stood to arms by land and sea. in a word, the european powder-magazine was lying wide open, and the firing of a single shot would have turned it into a volcano. still the weeks dragged on, till the tension became almost unendurable. according to an old north of england saying, "one was afraid and t'other daren't start," the risks were so colossal. great britain meanwhile kept her own counsel, and went on sweeping up the remnant of the rebel boers in south africa. the only precaution she had taken was to place every effective ship in the navy in commission. it was at this juncture that europe experienced a new sensation. in one memorable week english, american, french, german, austrian, and italian liners from american ports brought packages of the strangest proclamation that ever was issued, and in the mail-bags of the same boats there were similar communications addressed to all the chancelleries of europe, and these were of a character to shake the official mind to its very foundations, as in fact they ultimately did. the communications, both public and private, took the form of a modest circular dated from the offices of the international electrical power and storage trust, buffalo, n.y. those which were addressed to the crowned heads of europe were accompanied by autograph letters respectfully requesting the personal attention of the monarch to the contents of the circular. the circular ran as follows:- the secretary of the international electrical power and storage trust is directed by his board of managers to inform the ruling sovereigns and peoples of europe of the following facts, and to request their most serious attention to the same:- _a._ the directors of the trust view with great concern the formidable military and naval preparations which have lately been made by the powers of europe. in their opinion, these preparations point to a near outbreak of hostilities on such an immense scale that not only must a vast expenditure of blood and money be inevitable, but the commerce of the world will be most injuriously affected. _b._ this trust is a business concern. its directors have no international sympathies whatever, and they don't want war. at the same time, if the powers of europe are determined to fight, the trust will permit them to do so on payment of a capitation fee of the equivalent in the money of each respective country of one dollar per head of effective fighting men in the field per week--fees to be paid into the bank of england within seven days after the commencement of hostilities. a liberal allowance will be made for killed and wounded if official returns are promptly sent to the london office of the trust, 56_b_ old broad street, london, e.c. _c._ prompt attention to the foregoing paragraphs is earnestly requested for the following reasons:--(1) the trust has acquired control of the electrical forces of the northern hemisphere, and is, therefore, in a position to make all the operations of civilised life, including warfare, possible or impossible, as its commercial arrangements may demand. (2) one week from the date above will be given for the powers of europe to settle their differences without fighting or to accede to the terms offered by the trust. failing this, the northern hemisphere, with certain exceptions, will be deprived of its electrical force. the consequences of this will be that cables and telegraphs will cease to work, and all machinery constructed of iron or steel will break down if operated. railroads will become useless, and bridges of metallic construction will collapse as soon as any considerable weight is placed upon them. _d._ finally, i am directed to state that, in addition to these results, it is unhappily probable that the withdrawal of electrical force will very seriously affect the health of the populations of the northern hemisphere. death-rates will very largely increase, and it is probable that a new disease unknown to medical science will make its appearance. it is expected to be fatal in every case, if the terms of the trust are not complied with, but it will first affect the young and the weakly. it is, therefore, to be hoped that considerations of humanity, if not of policy, will induce the peoples and the governments of europe to accede without delay to the conditions which i have the honour to submit. as may well be imagined, this seemingly preposterous circular was received either with derision or contemptuous silence in every capital of europe save paris. there its import was only too well-known, but at the same time it was impossible for france alone among the nations to acknowledge herself the vassal of the trust. in petersburg something of the truth was known; but the government, confident of the success of the two expeditions, just dropped the communication into the official waste-paper basket and went on with its naval and military preparations. everything depended upon the six vessels which were steaming towards boothia land reaching their goal and accomplishing their mission. if they succeeded, europe would be plunged into the bloodiest war that had been fought since the days of napoleon. if they failed, the war would be stopped by an invisible, but irresistible, force, and humanity would be astounded by the accomplishment of such a miracle of science as it had never seen before. chapter xxv every day after the issue of the circular the wire which connected the storage works with winnipeg was kept hot with the news of what was going on in the far-away civilised world, but for some time all that was heard in that land of unsetting suns only amounted to this: everywhere the press of europe had received the pronouncement of the trust with incredulous derision. it had, in fact, provided professional humourists and caricaturists with quite a new field of industry. the governments, as had been expected, took not the slightest notice of it, and general ducros and the french president, who alone knew what a terrible meaning lay in the plain business-like language of the circular, awaited more and more anxiously as the days went by the execution of the dread fiat of the world masters. the sinking of the _vlodoya_ and the disappearance of the _nadine_ had convinced the minister for war and also the russian government that the plot to capture the controllers of the storage trust had failed, but they could do nothing without admitting that they knew and believed in the power of the trust to do as it threatened. moreover, they could not submit to the terms unless all the other powers did, and they had not even deigned to notice the existence of the trust. meanwhile, the preparations for war went on, and on the day before the expiration of the time given by the general ultimatum to france, the french troops crossed the border at verdun, nancy, and mulhausen, and the northern squadron, strongly reinforced, blockaded the mouth of the elbe and the kiel canal. the russian baltic squadron, which had been going through its summer manoeuvres, blocked the exits from the inland seas and threatened the northern coast of germany, while the russian army was concentrating in enormous numbers at several points along the polish frontier. when austin vandel took the dispatch containing this last news into the department at the works which was commonly called the board-room, the president passed it to lord orrel and hardress, who were having a smoke and afternoon chat with him, and said: "well, i reckon the powers mean business, and so, as they haven't had the politeness to answer that communication of ours, i reckon it's about time we showed them that we mean it, too. they'll be fighting by this time." "i suppose so," replied lord orrel; "and of course it's no use waiting any longer under the circumstances." "not a bit," added hardress; "in fact, as you know, my idea was to start a fortnight ago. if we'd done that they might have found it a bit difficult even to start." "but after all, shafto," said his father, "a fortnight matters nothing to us; and the object-lesson will be very much more striking if we allow hostilities to get into full swing, and then bring them to a dead stop. still, we will begin at once, and i propose, president, that when everything is ready your daughter shall do us the honour of starting the engines." "and if that wants any seconding," added hardress, "i'll do it." "i reckon that'll be about the proudest moment of chrysie's life," laughed the president. "and seeing that our guests have pretty good reason to take an interest in the engines, perhaps it would only be polite to ask them to come and assist at the ceremony." "oh, certainly," said lord orrel. "there can't be any objection to that. shafto, suppose you go and invite them. and it wouldn't be a bad idea if we had a little dinner together afterwards, just to celebrate the occasion. you might see miss chrysie also and request the honour of her services." as hardress left the room the president said to his nephew: "austin, you can go and wire to our people here and over in england that the experiment begins to-night. ask them to let us have all the news they can send, and especially to let us know whether any electric disturbances take place in our territories; and you might ask doctor lamson to come over for a few minutes." from this conversation it will be seen that the momentous voyage of the _nadine_ had ended without any further mishap. davis straits and the northern waters had been singularly clear of ice, and she had been able to steer the whole way to port adelaide without difficulty. doctor lamson had received them in the midst of his marvellous creation as quietly as though he had been receiving them in his own house at hampstead. they had all admired and wondered at the sombre magnificence of what was certainly the most extraordinary structure on the face of the globe. but those who are permitted to see them have marvelled still more at the huge engines and the maze of intricately complicated apparatus which the magic of money and science had called into being in the midst of this desolate wilderness. so far, the involuntary guests of the trust had not been permitted to see anything more than the outsides of the engine-rooms and the apartments which they occupied. they had been politely but unmistakably given to understand that, after what had happened, it would be necessary to consider them as prisoners. they would be treated with every consideration--in fact, as guests. but at the same time, they would be closely watched, and any attempt to communicate with any officer or workman employed on the works would be immediately punished by close confinement for all of them. for their part, they had accepted the strange situation with perfect philosophy, and awaited the coming of the expeditions with a great deal more confidence than they would have felt had they known the terrible nature of the defences with which doctor lamson had armed this fortress in the wilderness. within an hour after the president had pronounced the fiat which was to alter the history of the world, everything was in readiness for the making of the great experiment, and, for the first time since their arrival in boothia, count valdemar, sophie, and the marquise were admitted into the great engine-rooms which stood in the middle of each side of the quadrangle. they stared in frank astonishment at the colossal machinery, and the count said to the president as they entered no. 1, or the northern engine-room: "our aims may not be the same, but i am compelled to confess that you have wrought a most astounding miracle in the midst of the ghastly desert." "it's pretty good," he replied; "but, after all, it's just the sort of miracle that dollars and brains can work all the time. this is not the miracle, this is only what is going to work it. the real miracle will be what our friends in europe see and feel. well, now, doctor, are we ready?" "quite," replied lamson. "lady olive, you will send the signal to the other rooms? a man is stationed in each of them, and if you touch that button when miss vandel pulls the lever you will start the other three engines." miss chrysie, looking just a trifle pale and nervous, took hold of the lever and stood ready to perform the most momentous act ever done by the hand of woman. it had been decided to start the engines precisely at six, and the minute hand of the engine-room clock was getting very near the perpendicular. "it seems a pretty awful thing to do, you know, poppa," she said, "just to pull this thing and set half the world dying." "no; i think you are wrong there, chrysie," said hardress, who was standing beside her, and adelaide's teeth gritted together as she heard the name for the first time from his lips. "when you pull that lever you will save life, not destroy it. without us the war might go on for months or years and cost millions of lives: but ten days after you have pulled that lever the european war will be impossible." "then," said miss chrysie, tightening her grip on the handle, "i guess i'll pull!" at this moment the clock struck the first note of six, and at the third she drew the lever towards her. the starting-engine gave a few short puffs and pants. lady olive touched the button, and the bells tinkled in the other engine-rooms. the huge cranks of the steel giants began to revolve. the mighty cylinders gasped and hissed, and the huge fly-wheels began to move, at first almost imperceptibly, and then faster and faster, till each was a whirling circle of bright steel. the hiss of the steam ceased, and the four giants settled down to their momentous work in silence, save for a low, purring hum, which was not to cease day or night until armed europe had acknowledged their all-compelling power. "it is very wonderful, but very weird," said adelaide to chrysie as they left the room, "if only it is all true. to think that you, by just bending your arm should set those mighty monsters to work--and such work! to steal the soul out of the world, to paralyse armies and fleets, perhaps to make governments impossible--perhaps to reduce civilisation to chaos!" "i reckon those engines will cause less chaos than your friends in europe, marquise," she replied, shortly, but not unkindly; "but, anyhow, they should have taken poppa's terms; and if they will fight, they must pay for the luxury. anyhow, we'd better not talk about that; it's no use getting unfriendly over subjects we can't agree upon. what do you say, countess?" "i entirely agree with you," said sophie, frankly. "you know, adelaide, that for prisoners of war we are being treated exceedingly well. and for the present, at least, until our hosts are able to terminate their invitation, i think we might be as nearly friends as we can be." "that's so," said miss chrysie, heartily, yet well knowing that they were both awaiting the moment when, as they believed, the arrival of the expeditions would make the present owners of the works prisoners of france and russia, and that either of them would poison her or put a bullet through her without the slightest hesitation. "yes; that's so. we've got to live here together for a bit, and i reckon we may as well do it as pleasantly as possible. and now, suppose we go to dinner." all things considered, the dinner was really a most agreeable function. the principal topic of conversation was, of course, the effect which the starting of the works would produce on the northern hemisphere in general and the fleets and armies of europe in particular. international politics, too, were discussed, not only with freedom, but with a knowledge which would have astonished many a european minister; but one subject was tabooed by mutual consent, and that was the french and russian polar expeditions, which, if they were really making for boothia land, ought to arrive in about a week's time. the three involuntary guests knew perfectly well that their hosts were expecting them. their hosts knew that they knew this, and, therefore, as a matter of politeness and mutual convenience, the words "polar expedition" were absolutely banished from their conversation. meanwhile, port adelaide had been fast emptying for the time when the colliers and cargo boats could get back, for the time was limited. only the _nadine_ and the _washington_, a passenger boat capable of about sixteen knots, which had brought the staff up from halifax, were kept, in addition to a couple of steam launches and a powerful tug sheathed and fitted as an icebreaker. the _nadine_ and the _washington_ constantly patrolled the coast for twenty miles in each direction, on the lookout for the expeditions. around and inside the works life went on as quietly as though nothing out of the common was happening. the unsetting sun rose and dipped on the southern horizon, and the great engines purred unceasingly, working out the dream of the man whose mangled body lay in a nameless grave on an alien soil. they had been working for six days when europe awoke to an uneasy suspicion that, after all, there must have been something in that preposterous circular which the electrical power and storage trust, of buffalo, n.y., had sent out some five weeks before. on the evening of the fifth day after miss chrysie had pulled the lever over in no. 1 engine-room a series of unaccountable accidents happened in the engine-rooms of the french northern squadron, which was blockading the mouth of the elbe. do what they would, the engineers could not keep the engines working smoothly. little accidents kept on happening with such frequency that the efforts of the whole staff could scarcely keep the engines in working order; and about the same time the officers on the bridges, noticed that the compasses were beginning to behave in a most extraordinary fashion. even when the ships were quite stationary, they wavered two or three degrees on either side of north, and as the night wore on the variation increased. the next morning there happened what, up to then, was the strangest incident in warfare. the _charles martel_, one of the most powerful ironclads in the french fleet, was cruising under easy steam, just out of range of the heavy guns on the canal forts, when the admiral commanding the squadron, who was on the bridge, heard a muffled grinding noise, and felt a shudder run through the vast fabric. the next moment an officer came up from the lower deck, saluted, and gasped: "admiral, the port shaft has broken, and we are only going quarter speed!" he had hardly got the last words out of his mouth before there was another grinding shock, and a dull rattle away down in the vitals of the ship. "ah, there is something more!" cried the officer. "they tell me that the engines have been mad all night." "go and see what it is," said the admiral; "we must put out to sea with one engine." at that moment the chief engineer came up, looking white and scared, and said, in a low, shaking voice: "monsieur, the crank shaft of the starboard engine has splintered as though it had been made of glass. we are disabled!" "nom de dieu!" exclaimed the admiral. "what is that you say?--disabled? and the tide setting in. then we are lost. a few minutes will take us within range of the guns on the canal and at cuxhaven, and in an hour we may be ashore. there is no hope of repairs, i suppose?" "impossible, monsieur l'amiral. it would take weeks in the best dockyard in france to repair the damage." "then," said the admiral, turning to the commander, who was standing beside him, "we must do what we can. we will not be lost for nothing. let everything be ready to return the fire of the forts as soon as we are within range." by this time the german officers on the forts had noted with amazement, not unmixed with satisfaction, that some unaccountable accident had happened to the great french battleship. she was not under steam, she was not steering, she was simply drifting in with the tide as helplessly as a barrel. the tide was setting dead in towards the mouth of the canal, and the commander of the great fort at brunsbüttel, making certain of her surrender or destruction, ordered three of his heaviest guns, monsters capable of throwing a nine-hundred-pound shell to a distance of nearly fourteen miles, to prepare for action. they were mounted on disappearing carriages worked by hydraulic machinery. the guns were already loaded, the mechanism was set in motion, and the giants rose slowly till their muzzles grinned over the glacis of the fort. then, without any warning, the framework of one of the carriages cracked and splintered in all directions, the huge gun came back with a terrific crash on to the concrete floor of the emplacement, and, to the amazement of officers and gunners, broke into three pieces as if it had been made of glass instead of the finest steel that krupp could produce. officers and men stared at each other in silent amazement. were even the guns and their machinery affected by this strange languor which had been afflicting both men and animals for the last day or two? instinctively they drew away from the other gun; but the _charles martel_ was now well within range, and colonel von altenau saw that it was his duty not to allow her to come any closer. in fact, he was almost surprised to see that she had not already opened fire upon the fort, so he ordered the centre gun to be trained on her and fired. as the lanyard was pulled, those on board the battleship saw a vivid burst of flame, and the roar of an explosion came dully across the water, but no shell followed it. the admiral immediately came to the conclusion that some accident had happened in the fort, and he ordered his two forward 13-inch guns to send a couple of shells into it. he went into the conning-tower, and as soon as he received the signal that the guns were ready and laid, he pressed the electric button which should have sent the sparks through the charges. nothing happened, and the guns remained silent. then he called down the speaking-tube connecting the conning-tower with the barbette: "the wire does not act. let the guns be fired by hand." he was obeyed, and the next moment the blast of a frightful explosion shook the whole fabric of the ship. barbette and guns disappeared in a blinding blaze of flame. the solid steel crumbled to dust, the decks cracked like starred glass in all directions, and some forty brave fellows were blown over the edge of eternity without even knowing what had happened to them. both guns had burst into thousands of fragments, just as the great german gun in the fort had done, killing every man within twenty yards of it. the guns had, in fact, behaved much as that little square of steel had done when doctor emil fargeau hit it with a wooden mallet. thus the first shots of the war had resulted only in the slaying of those who had fired them. as the helpless _charles martel_ drifted slowly towards the other forts, they attempted to open fire on her, but after two more big guns had blown themselves to atoms, and killed or maimed a hundred men, she was allowed to drift on until she found a resting-place on the elbe mud. on the other ships of the french squadron disaster after disaster had been happening meanwhile. engine after engine broke down, electric signals, as well as the electrical ammunition lifts, ceased to work. the compass cards swung about as aimlessly as though there was no such thing as a magnetic pole in existence, and as ship after ship became disabled with broken shafts, cracked cylinders, or splintered piston-rods, a score of the finest warships that france had ever put to sea drifted helplessly up with the tide under the eyes of an enemy that could not fire a shot at them. the commander-in-chief of the brunsbüttel station telegraphed to his colleague at kiel to report the unaccountable disaster, but no answer was received. the message was repeated, and a lieutenant came in a few minutes later, clicked his heels together, and said: "herr commandant, it is impossible to communicate with kiel, the instruments have ceased to work. i have telephoned as well, but the wires are dead." "but it is ridiculous--unaccountable!" exclaimed the commandant. "we must communicate. have an engine made ready at once, lieutenant, and go yourself. i will send a letter." the lieutenant found a locomotive with steam up. he took the commandant's letter and started. within fifty yards the engine broke down as completely as the machinery of the _charles martel_ had done. chapter xxvi eight days out of the ten calculated by the president and doctor lamson for the progress of the great experiment had expired, and europe presented the extraordinary spectacle of a continent armed to the teeth, possessing the mightiest weapons of destruction that human science and skill could invent and construct--and divided into two hostile camps which were practically unable to hurt each other. away in the far northern wilderness the giant engines purred on remorselessly, continually drawing away more and more of the vital earth-spirit from europe and asia. in great britain and north america nothing had happened, except a succession of abnormally violent thunderstorms, and certain other minor electrical disturbances which were only detected by instruments at the observatories; but all cables had ceased to work, and the only sea communication possible was by means of wooden sailing ships, for every steamer, whether warship, liner, or tramp, broke down when she got about fifteen miles from the english or american coasts. what was happening in the southern hemisphere no one knew till long afterwards. throughout europe and asia a most extraordinary condition of things was coming to pass. what had happened at kiel happened also at all the great fortresses along the german frontier which were invested by the french and russians. guns of all calibres on both sides burst, killing those who used them, but doing no damage to the enemy. quick-firing guns jammed or burst and became useless. if a man tried to fire a rifle, the breech-lock blew out and killed or maimed him, until french and germans, russians, austrians, and italians alike refused to fire a shot, and even on the rare occasions when bodies of men got near enough to each other for a cavalry or bayonet charge, lance-points, sabres, and bayonets cracked and splintered like so many icicles. by the tenth day every officer and man in europe had recognised that if the war was to go on at all it would have to be fought out with fists and feet. all modern weapons of warfare had suddenly become useless. moreover, communication had become so difficult, that the feeding of the vast armies in the field was rapidly approaching impossibility, and the helpless, hostile battalions were beginning to starve in sight of each other. locomotives broke down or blew up, bridges collapsed under the weight of the trains, and now horses and men had become afflicted with a deadly languor which made severe exertion an impossibility. from the war lords of the nations to the raw conscripts and the camp-followers it was the same. neither mind nor body would do its work. the soul of the world was leaving it--drawn out by those remorseless engines into the vast receivers of the storage works--and men were beginning to find that without it they could neither think nor work any more than they could fight. there was not a cable or a telegraph line in europe or asia that could be operated, not a stationary or locomotive engine that would work without breaking down or blowing up. electric lighting and traction had for two or three days been things of the past. throughout two continents industries and commerce, like war, were at a standstill; a sort of creeping paralysis had spread from the straits of dover to the sea of japan. there were no exceptions, from the rulers of the highest civilisations down to the sampan men of canton and the fur-clad samoyeds of the northern wilderness. great fleets and squadrons were either drifting about the ocean or lying helpless on rock or sand or mud-bank, like the silenced forts full of guns and ammunition and yet unable to fire a single shot either in attack or defence. on the morning of the eleventh day the french president, who had been drawn along the useless railway from paris to calais by relays of horses harnessed to a light truck running on wheels of papier-maché, embarked for dover on board a fishing-lugger. twelve hours before the german emperor had sailed from cuxhaven, which he had reached by rail with infinite difficulty, and after a dozen breakdowns, for harwich in a fast wood-built schooner-yacht. during the last four or five days there had been very little communication between the continent and england. all english steamers, including warships, had been forbidden to pass the three-mile limit. by a happy accident the channel fleet and the home defence squadron had anchored in british waters after the manoeuvres just before miss chrysie pulled that fatal lever. the mediterranean fleet was at malta, powerless to move an engine or fire a gun. communication across the narrow seas was still possible by wooden sailing craft, and it was the news which these had brought from england that had induced the kaiser and the president to go and see the miracle for themselves. the moment that they set foot on english soil, which they did almost about the same time, the growing lassitude of the last few days vanished. "these are truly the fortunate isles just now," exclaimed the kaiser, as he drew his first breath of the cool english air. "a few moments and i am a man again. then that circular which we all laughed at so was true!" he went on, to himself. "yes, everything seems going on as usual. they seem to be caring as little about the state of europe as they did about the african war. why, there's a train running as easily as though the railways of europe were not strewn with wrecks." then he turned to the aide-de-camp who had accompanied him, and said: "von kritzener, see if you can get me a special to london--but no, we had better keep incognito. be good enough to go and see when there is a fast train to london, and then we will get something to eat." the emperor and his aide were both in ordinary yachting costume, and the points of the famous moustache had been drooped downwards. the aide came back to the yacht in a few minutes, saying that there was a fast train to london in forty minutes; so his majesty dined briefly but well at the great eastern hotel, and presently found himself speeding swiftly and smoothly and with an unwonted sense of security towards london. the french president experienced practically the same sensations when he landed at dover and took the train to charing cross. everything was going on just as usual. they were even doing target practice with the big guns from dover castle; and as he heard the boom of the cannon, he thought with a shudder of what had happened only a day or two before to the great french siege-guns before metz and strassburg. all he noticed out of the common was what the kaiser noticed too--lines of great steel masts along the coast and clumps of them on every elevation inland. from what he had already learnt from general ducros, he half-guessed that these were the means through which the earth received the vast volumes of electricity given off from the works in boothia land, and that it was thus that the magnetic equilibrium was kept undisturbed. in london nothing seemed altered. everybody was going about his daily business as though no such continent as europe existed; so the president and the kaiser, wondering greatly, both went and put up at claridge's, and there, to their mutual astonishment, recognised each other. both were strictly incognito, both recognised that the state of affairs in europe had reached the limits of the possible, and both guessed that they had come practically on the same errand. wherefore kaiser bowed to president and president bowed to kaiser, after which they shook hands, took wine together, and, like a couple of good sportsmen, proceeded a little later on to discuss the situation in the kaiser's private sitting-room. the result of an interesting and momentous conversation was that the kaiser sent his aide with an autograph letter to marlborough house requesting the honour of an interview with king edward for himself and the president. the answer was a royal brougham and pair, and a cordial invitation to the two potentates whom fate and the great storage trust had brought so strangely together to sleep at marlborough house. nearly the whole of the next day was occupied in interviews between the three rulers, and also with the ministers of the great powers who were still in london. the american minister and the english manager of the great storage trust were present at most of them. at the end of a lengthy discussion on the _status quo_, the kaiser confessed, in his usual frank, manly fashion, that not only germany, but europe, was helpless in face of the invisible but tremendous force which the trust had shown itself capable of exercising. "we are beaten," he said, "and it would be only foolishness to hide the fact. our ships are helpless hulks, most of them wrecks, our trains will not run, our machinery will not work, our guns will not shoot. within three days we have gone back to the middle ages, or beyond them, for, even if we had armour, you could break it with your fist, and you would not even want a mailed one," he added, with a laugh at his own expense. "there are over ten millions of men carrying arms they cannot use, and hundreds of thousands of these men are starving because the railways are useless and no food can be got to them. it would be absurd were it not so great a tragedy; but since we cannot fight, we must arrange our differences some other way. what do you say, monsieur le president?" "i say as your majesty does," replied monsieur loubet, in his blunt, common-sense fashion; "and since these gentlemen of the trust have shown us how helpless fleets and armies may be rendered, perhaps europe may be induced to seek for some more reasonable method of arranging disputes than by the shedding of blood." "i most sincerely hope so," said king edward; "and if these gentlemen are prepared to endorse these sentiments on behalf of their august masters, i think there will be little difficulty in arranging matters satisfactorily and putting an end to what may be justly described as an intolerable and impossible condition of affairs. what do you say, gentlemen?" he went on, turning to the ministers. "i fear, your majesty, it would be necessary for me to communicate with my imperial master before i could pledge him to any course resembling surrender." "my dear count," said the kaiser, turning towards him with a laugh, "i am afraid you hardly realise the position. it would take you at the very least three weeks, possibly six, to reach petersburg. you forget that all the mechanical triumphs of civilisation are for the present things of the past. there are no cables, no telegraphs, no railways. neither horses nor men are capable of any great exertion, and their strength is becoming less every hour. petersburg is farther from london to-day than pekin was a month ago." "and even from paris," added the president when the emperor had finished, "i have been four days travelling. i came to calais in a truck drawn by horses along the railway, and from calais in a fishing boat. gentlemen, if i may venture to advise, i would suggest that the best, nay, the only thing that europe, in your persons, can do, is to place itself in the hands of his majesty king edward. we have been enemies, but he is the friend of all of us, and if any man on earth can and will do right it is he." "i entirely agree with monsieur le president," said the kaiser. "we are helpless, and he can help us. for my own part, i place the interests of germany unreservedly in his hands." after this it was impossible for the ministers of the other powers to hold back, and so a joint-note was drawn up there and then, praying king edward to accept the office of mediator between the signatory powers and those uncrowned monarchs who, from their citadel in the midst of the far-off northern wilderness, had proved their title to sovereignty by demonstrating their power to render the nation helpless at their will. the only communication that was now possible with canada, and therefore with boothia land, was by means of aërographic messages transmitted from one station to another _via_ the north of scotland, the faroes, iceland, greenland, and newfoundland, where the cable was working as usual. it took nearly twelve hours for the messages to reach the works, and the president had scarcely communicated its contents to his colleagues when the _nadine_ came rushing full speed into adelaide bay with the news that the great russian ice-breaker, with three other vessels in her wake, was steaming down from the northward about twenty miles away. chapter xxvii the news of the coming of the expeditions was allowed to spread without comment through the works, and, to the intense surprise of the three involuntary guests of the trust, no apparent precautions were taken to protect the works or the harbour in which the _nadine_ and the _washington_ were now lying against the coming of what everyone knew could be nothing but a hostile force. the two vessels having made their report, filled their bunkers and steamed out of the harbour again to the southward and westward. the great engines purred on, still draining europe and asia of their vital essence. an aërograph message was sent to king edward and the president of the united states. the one to king edward informed his majesty that the president and board of trust, while insisting upon the terms of the circular they had addressed to the powers of europe, and giving fair warning of what would happen if those terms were ignored, were perfectly content to leave everything else in his majesty's hands. the message to the president gave him all the news that there was to give, and informed him that as soon as the king's decision was announced the engines would be stopped, the insulators removed, and the electrical and magnetic currents allowed to flow back over their natural courses, the result of which would be that, in from twenty-four to thirty-six hours, normal conditions would be re-established, and the business of the world could go on as usual. all fighting, however, save under a war-tax of a dollar per head per week of men engaged in armies and fleets would be prohibited. if this condition, which the london manager of the trust had been instructed to lay before his majesty and the foreign ministers in london, were violated, the engines would be started again, with the same results as before. it was about eight o'clock in the evening of the same day, to put it in conventional terms, for the long summer twilight of boothia land knew no morning and no evening, that the huge shape of the russian ice-breaker, followed by her three consorts, one a genuine wooden-built exploring ship and the others, to a nautical eye, unmistakably steel cruisers disguised with wooden sheathings, rounded cape adelaide into the bay. a couple of miles behind them came the three ships of the french expedition, an antiquated cruiser fitted with the best modern guns, and two obsolete coast-defence ships, slow but strong, and also armed with formidable guns. "so your friends have come at last," said miss chrysie to adelaide and sophie as they were taking their evening promenade along one of the broad parapeted walls which formed the quadrangle of the works. "somehow i always thought it was this pole they were going to look for, not the other one. i reckon they allowed there was a lot more to be found here than up north yonder." "of course they did," said adelaide, with a low laugh that had a wicked ring in it. "there is no need for diplomacy now. here is the world-throne, the seat of such power as man never wielded before. here, within these four great walls, are contained the destinies of all the nations on earth. here is everything; anywhere else nothing. pah! is it not worth fighting for?" "my dear marquise," said sophie, "do you not think that you are letting your feelings run away with you? i grant you they are natural, but----" "but i guess that's what she means all the same," said chrysie; "and i don't like her any the less for saying it. those scientific expeditions of yours have just come out here to take the works by storm, if they can, and run the show on their own. well, that's war, and we're not going to grumble at it. we've made war on europe, and europe's feeling pretty sick over it; but i'll tell you honestly that the sickness of europe just now isn't a circumstance to what those expeditions are going to experience if they try to rush these works by force, and they won't get them any other way. well, now i see that some of the people are going down to the steam launch. shouldn't wonder if lord orrel and poppa were sending your friends an invitation to supper, or breakfast, or whatever you'd call it in this everlasting daylight. i reckon that would be quite an interesting little surprise-party, wouldn't it?" "delightful!" said sophie, her quick wits already at work on the problem of how to turn such a surprise-party to the advantage of russia. after all, when the supreme moment came, it might be possible. victor fargeau would be there on the french expedition, with all the information required to keep the works in operation, or to give the soul which they had stolen from the world back to it. even at the last moment it was still possible to triumph. almost at the same instant similar thoughts were passing through adelaide's brain. here were both expeditions. they had arrived at the psychological moment. she knew that the ships were armed with the finest weapons that modern science could create. there were hundreds of trained sailors, gunners, and marines on board. the works were within easy range of the bay, where the russian ships were even now coming to an anchor. surely in the face of such a force--a force which could wreck even these tremendous works--the masters of the world could do nothing but surrender. at the same time, she would have given a good deal to have had in her pocket the dainty little revolver which she knew miss chrysie had in hers. while they were talking, the french expedition, of which one of the ships had broken down and been compelled to refit at halifax, delaying both expeditions over a week, in addition to the coaling, rounded cape adelaide and proceeded to anchor. there were now six armed vessels in the bay, at a distance of about four miles from the works. a glance through a pair of field-glasses from the walls made it plain that all disguise had now been thrown aside. the joint polar expeditions were now frankly hostile squadrons. the great ice-breaker mounted two six-inch guns forward, one aft, and six twelve-pound quick-firers on each broadside. the wooden exploring ship carried no heavy metal, but the disguised cruisers had mounted all their guns; the french vessels, too, frankly bristled with weapons, from guns capable of throwing a 100-lb. shell down to one-pound quick-firers and maxims. in short, if the works had been a hostile fortress no more unmistakable demonstration could have been made against them by a beleaguering squadron. but although there was no mistaking the errand of the ships, and though it was plain that they had been expected, the guest-prisoners were astounded to find that, so far as they could see, not the slightest preparations were taken for defence. there was not a gun visible, and everyone, chiefs and workmen, went about their business without the slightest show of concern. the vast quadrangle stood amidst the rocks and sand of the wilderness, dark, silent, and inscrutable, and the huge engines purred on unceasingly, and austin vandel sat at his instruments in the telegraph-room, awaiting the word from the king of england, which alone could stop them. "they are inscrutable, these people," said sophie to adelaide when chrysie had left them on the wall to answer a message from her father. "they know that the guns on those ships could level even these huge walls with the ground in a few hours, wreck their machinery--though our friend victor would scarcely allow them to do that if he could help it--and bring them to the choice between surrender and death; but here they are, going on with their work as usual, and not even taking any notice of the arrival of the fleet. mr vandel told papa that they have 100-lb. dynamite guns, but where are they?--there's not a weapon of any kind to be seen." "that doesn't say that they are not here, my dear sophie," replied adelaide. "in fact, i confess that this very silence and apparent carelessness may hide some terrible possibilities. you know what an easy prey we thought we should find the _nadine_, and you saw what happened to the _vlodoya_. frankly, i tell you i do not think that the success of the expeditions is at all certain. you never know what these diabolical people with their new inventions are going to do next. look how that hateful american girl has outwitted us all along; and yet she's as friendly as possible all the time." "except when she was firing on the _vlodoya_ with that horrible gun of hers," added sophie. "don't you wish you had that revolver of hers?" "i would give my soul for it," replied adelaide, between her clenched teeth. "and if you had it, what would you do with it?" "kill her first, and then him," came from between the marquise's clenched teeth. "what!" said sophie, with a vicious little laugh, "kill the man for whose sake you were willing to betray all our plans and perhaps lose us the control of the world? why, your first condition was that no harm should come to him." "i had hopes then, i have none now," she replied, in a tone that sounded like a snarl. "he has found me out, and i have lost him; and when you have lost a man, why should he go on living? i have loved him; yes, perhaps i love him still in some strange way; but you are woman enough and russian enough, sophie, to know that i would rather be a mourner at their funeral than a bridesmaid at their wedding." "my dear adelaide," said sophie, slipping her arm through hers, "that is an excellent sentiment excellently expressed. now i see that you are with us entirely. we are really true allies now, and it rests with us and papa to make the success of the expedition a certainty. will you promise me that if matters come to an extremity, as they certainly will do in a few hours, you really will shoot ma'm'selle chrysie and this absurd englishman who has preferred an american hoyden to the most beautiful woman in europe?" "yes; if i could, i would do it. i would swear that to you on a crucifix," replied adelaide de condé, in a low tone that had a hiss running through it. "then come down to my room and i will show you something," said sophie. "i dare not do it here, for you never know what eyes are watching you." when they reached sophie's apartment she put her hand into the side-pocket of a long fur-trimmed cloak that she was wearing, and took out miss chrysie's revolver. "there it is," she said, handing it to the marquise. "you have told me that you are a good shot, so you can use it better that i can. i hope you will use it at the right time and won't miss." "but how?" exclaimed adelaide, staring at her in amazement as she put out her hand for the dainty little weapon. "how!" laughed sophie. "my dearest adelaide, we have to learn many things in such a service as ours. miss chrysie did not know that she was walking and talking just now with one of the most expert pickpockets in europe. why, i once stole an ambassador's letter-case while i was waltzing with him. he was terribly upset, poor man, and of course i sympathised with him; but it was never found, and the contents proved very useful." "you are wonderful, sophie!" exclaimed adelaide, as she put the revolver into her pocket. "and, of course, all things are fair in love, war, and diplomacy. well, you have no need to fear that i shall not use this." at this moment there was a knock at the door, and the count came in. "well, papa," said sophie, "have you any news? what are these people going to do? have you been able to persuade them to surrender to the expedition?" "on the contrary, my dear sophie," he replied, "they are more inexplicable than ever. would you believe it that lord orrel has actually asked me to go down with him to the port and ask the french and russian leaders of the expedition to dinner, the invitation to include our excellent friend victor fargeau?" "that is only a plot!" exclaimed the marquise; "a shallow plot to get them into the works and make them prisoners. of course they will not be so idiotic as to come." "it is difficult," said the count, "to see how they could refuse such a hospitable offer without at once declaring hostilities. we do not know how the works are defended, or what unknown means of destruction these people may possess, and, to be quite candid, i do not think that our hosts would be guilty of an act of treachery. you know these anglo-saxons are always chivalrous to the verge of imbecility. for instance, if the tables had been turned, should we have treated them as they have treated us? i think you will agree with me that we should not. no; i have no fears whatever on that score, and i shall support lord orrel's invitation with the most perfect confidence." chapter xxviii lord orrel and the count started from the little station just outside the western gate of the works in the private car used by the directors and drawn by a neat little electric engine, which was accustomed to do the four miles in ten minutes. meanwhile, lady olive had what might, by a stretch of imagination, be called afternoon tea, in that land where it was never quite afternoon or morning, on the western wall looking down towards the harbour. when miss chrysie sat down and threw back her afternoon wrap adelaide and sophie were disconcerted, if not altogether surprised, to see that she had a light, long-barrelled, wicked-looking pistol hanging by a couple of silver chains from her waist-band. "my dear chrysie," said lady olive, "what are you carrying that terrible-looking weapon for? you don't expect that you will have to use it, surely," she went on, with just a touch of sarcasm in her tone, "considering what very good friends we have all managed to keep so far?" "well, i hope not," said miss chrysie, looking round the tables with eyes which had both a laugh and a menace in them. "of course, it is to be hoped that everything will go off smoothly, but poppa had a friend in the old times who said something that means a lot. he said, 'you don't want a gun often, but when you do want it you want it badly.' isn't that so, poppa?" "just his words, chrysie," said the president, "just his words; and he knew what he was talking about when he used them. i never met a man who could hold his temper longer or shoot quicker; and when he used a gun someone usually wanted a funeral pretty soon." "but surely," said sophie, "you don't suppose for a moment that our expected guests from the expedition will----" "i don't know what they'll do, although i think i know what they'll want to do," she replied, quickly. "but somehow i managed to lose my other little pepper-box this morning. where it's gone to or who's got it i don't know, so i got this instead. it's a pretty thing," she went on, playing with it as a woman might toy with a jewel, "seven-shooter and magazine action. if you hold the trigger back after you've fired the first shot, it shoots the other six in about three seconds." "a very handy thing in a tight corner, i should say," said hardress, smiling at her over the top of his tea-cup, "and in such hands i should think a very ugly thing to face." adelaide's fingers were itching to take out the revolver and shoot both of them when she saw the all-meaning glance which passed between them while he spoke, but instead of that she raised her tea-cup and touched it with her pretty lips, and as she put the cup down she said, with the sweetest of smiles, to the president: "i think it is quite charming of you, mr president, to ask the leaders of the expedition to dinner in such a friendly way. surely it is not always usual to ask the enemy within the gates?" "we have no enemies, marquise," he replied, gravely, "except those who stand in the way of our commercial undertaking, and with them, of course, business is business, and there is no sentiment in that. of course we have a pretty good idea why these two expeditions have come to the magnetic pole instead of trying to get to the north pole, but we've not been lying awake at nights worrying about that, and there's no particular reason why we shouldn't ask the scientific explorers to dinner. all the same, if they happen to have come with the idea that they have a better right to these works than we have, and they want any trouble--why, they can have it." "and," added hardress, still looking across at chrysie, "i think they will find it the most extraordinary kind of trouble that mortal man ever ran up against." "it's to be hoped," said doctor lamson, speaking for the first time since the little tea-party had begun, for he had been thinking hard, and every now and then raising his eyes as though to seek inspiration from lady olive's calm, patrician face, as calm now, on the eve of a struggle which could scarcely end without bloodshed, and might end in ruin, as it would have been in a london drawing-room--"i most sincerely hope that it will not come to actual hostilities; it would be really too awful." "i wonder if it would be permissible for a prisoner of war to ask what would be too awful, doctor," said sophie, looking at him with a smile which somehow made him think of a beautiful tigress he had seen in the thiergarten in berlin. "the means that we should be compelled to employ in such a case to reduce those two squadrons, or expeditions, or whatever they call themselves, to something about as unsubstantial as that," replied the doctor, blowing a puff of cigarette smoke into the air. at this moment austin vandel came up on to the wall, and handed a piece of paper to his father. "just come through, dad," he said. "i reckon we've frozen that war clean out." the president opened the paper and read aloud: "'powers agree to stop war and settle matters of dispute by arbitration if you will restore electric equilibrium in europe. terms between you and powers to be arranged at a council of sovereigns and ministers presided over by myself. if this is satisfactory, please reply, and stop your machinery. conditions becoming very serious in europe.--(signed) edward r.i.'" "well," continued the president, "that means they've climbed down. doctor, i reckon we can switch off the engines now, couple up the connections, and use the power for something else if it's wanted. what do you think, viscount?" "certainly," replied hardress. "if the powers have accepted king edward's arbitration we can do nothing else; and, besides, if our not entirely unexpected visitors allow themselves to be tempted to commit any hostile act after that they will place themselves outside the law of nations, and we shall be at liberty to deal with them as we please." "that's so," replied the president, looking lazily across the table at sophie and adelaide. "austin, you can go and telegraph to st john's that we put ourselves entirely in king edward's hands, and that the engines have stopped. they'll have a few thunderstorms most likely, but in twenty-four hours everything will be as it was before. you might also mention that the french and russian expeditions are here, and that to-night we hope to have the leaders to dinner." the dinner-party in the board-room of the works to which the guests sat down at 8 p.m. was quite the strangest that had ever been given in the northern hemisphere. it was a dinner given by the holders of a citadel which had been proved to be the veritable throne of the world-empire to four men who had come to the wilderness of boothia land with the now practically avowed object of taking it from them by force of arms. for no other possible reason could these two peaceful expeditions have sailed from riga and le havre to go to the north pole, or as near to it as might be, and arrive at the magnetic pole, bristling with weapons, and obviously prepared to attack the works, situated as they were on the territory of a friendly nation, as though they were a fortress on hostile soil. yet vice-admiral alexis nazanoff, in command of the russian expedition, came with professor josef karnina in just such friendly style as did vice-admiral dumont and ex-captain victor fargeau, late of the german staff-corps. they were all far too well versed in the ways of war or diplomacy not to be considerably surprised at the nature of their reception, even as they were at the colossal dimensions of the buildings which at the bidding of the magic of millions had arisen in the midst of this inhospitable wilderness. they had expected a fleet of guardships protecting the entrance to the harbour, and they would not have been surprised if their passage through the narrow lankester sound had been prevented by torpedos, or opposed by privateers equipped by the trust; and for that reason they had mounted their guns and felt their way for days at the rate of two or three knots an hour through the narrow passages which led southward to port adelaide, but all they had seen was the fleeting shape of a white-painted yacht, the now world-famous _nadine_, scouting on the horizon and then vanishing into the grey twilight of the long northern day. not only had they been permitted to anchor in the natural harbour which formed the only approach by sea to the works without the slightest notice being taken of them, but, most wonderful of all, lord orrel, the english nobleman who was one of the three directors of the trust, had come down with count valdemar, who, with his daughter, had organised the russian expedition, to invite them to dinner in just as friendly a fashion as they might have done if boothia land had been paris, and the great storage works the hotel bristol. the situation was distinctly mystifying, and therefore not without its elements of uneasiness--even perhaps of something keener, and the uneasiness and the fear were amply shared by the friends whom they met so unexpectedly within the four walls of the great world-citadel. but astonishment became wonder when the two admirals, clad in their full-dress uniforms, found themselves and their scientific colleagues ushered into first a luxuriously-appointed reception-room lighted by softly-shaded electric lamps, where the president of the trust, the multi-millionaire magnate, the king of commerce, who played with millions as boys play with counters, dispensed cocktails from a bar which might have been spirited away from the waldorf-astoria, and the men and women, friends and enemies, received them in costumes which might have come straight from poole's or worth's. then, when the cocktails had been duly concocted and consumed, and lord orrel's own butler announced that dinner was served, lady olive, as châtelaine of the castle, took the russian admiral's arm and led the way through the curtained archway into the softly-lighted dining-room, so perfectly appointed that it might well have been spirited from london or paris or petersburg to the wilderness of boothia. the french admiral followed with countess sophie, count valdemar with the marquise, and lord orrel with miss chrysie, the rest of the men bringing up the rear. the dinner, as admiral dumont said afterwards to admiral nazanoff, was a gastronomic miracle. wines, soup, fish, and so on, were perfect; it was a wonder in the wilderness. but even more wonderful still was the conversation which flowed so easily around the table. no one listening to it would have dreamt that the greatest war of modern times had been brought to a state of utter paralysis by the quiet-spoken men who were so lavishly entertaining enemies who had come to dispossess them of the throne of the world, any more than they would have dreamt that the elements of a possible revolution, greater than any that had yet shaken the foundations of the world, were gathered round that glittering, daintily-adorned dinner-table. but when lady olive rose and led the way back to the drawing-room lord orrel began the serious business of the evening by asking hardress and doctor lamson to pass a couple of decanters of '47 port, from the cellars of orrel court, to their guests. when the decanters had gone round and the glasses were filled, lord orrel raised his own glass, and said: "well, gentlemen, the time has come for me to formally and yet not the less cordially bid you welcome to boothia land. we understood before we left england that you were bound on a voyage of discovery to the north pole; to that goal which so many brave men have tried to reach, and which has so far been unattainable." then his voice dropped to a sterner tone, and he went on: "i wish to ask you, on behalf of my colleagues and myself, those who are working with me in the enterprise which you have to-day seen in concrete form, whether your visit is one of peace or war. those, i am well aware, are grave words to use, yet, under the strange circumstances which have brought us together, i must ask you to believe me that it is necessary, even inevitable, that they should be used. if you have paid a visit to boothia land and the storage works only in the interests of science, i can assure you that we and our staff will spare no pains to show you everything that can be seen. "considering the slow rate at which you have been compelled by circumstances to travel from halifax, it may not be within your knowledge that since you left europe we have happily been able to stop a great european war. we have paralysed the fleets and armies of a continent, and the warships of europe are now resting motionless in dockyards or lying as wrecks on the sands and rocks of the coasts. the great powers have, in short, found it impossible to prosecute the war without our consent--for, as a matter of fact, their armies were starving to death in face of each other--and have consented to place their difference in the hands of king edward. the german emperor, the president of the french republic, and the ministers of all the powers engaged have assented to this. here is a transcript of a dispatch received from london to-day, which will, i hope, convince you that the world is, happily, once more at peace. therefore it is, of course, impossible that your mission can be anything but a peaceful one." the two admirals and victor fargeau had been looking at each other somewhat uneasily while lord orrel was speaking. they had no idea of the events which had been taking place in europe during the last fortnight. what lord orrel had said might be true or simply a deliberate attempt to frighten them out of their purpose; but whether he was telling the truth or not, there were still the sealed orders with which both expeditions had sailed, and obedience is the first duty of a sailor. so when lord orrel continued: "and, that being so, gentlemen, i hope you will be able to join me in a glass of wine and drink to continued peace to europe, and prosperity to the enterprise which has so far been successfully carried through by those who have the honour to be your hosts to-night." "my lord," said the russian admiral, rising to his feet, but not taking his glass, "you have been honest with us, and we--i speak for my colleague, admiral dumont, as well--cannot be less than honest with you. it is not necessary for me to remind you that scientific polar expeditions do not carry such guns as we do--guns which, great and all as these buildings are, could wreck them in a few hours. you have been frank with us, we will be frank with you. we know nothing of this mysterious power by which, as your lordship says, you have stopped the war in europe. as servants of our countries, we know only the orders we have received, and those are either to compel the surrender of these works into our hands, or destroy them. we accepted your hospitality in the hope that we might be able to make terms for a peaceable surrender." "and that, sir," said hardress, starting to his feet, "i may as well tell you at once, is impossible. you can no more take or destroy these works than the european armies could fight each other three days ago. you are our guests now, and therefore safe from all harm. you are at liberty to rejoin your ships at any time you please. if you choose to leave us in peace and take your way back you may go, and there will be an end of the matter. but it is only my duty to tell you that if a shot is fired with intent to injure any portion of these works, you and your ships will not only be destroyed, you will be annihilated." chapter xxix a dead silence of some moments' duration--during which hosts and guests looked at each other as men might before the outburst of a storm--then victor fargeau, after an exchange of glances with the french admiral, said, in a voice which trembled with angry emotion: "milords, i think i am speaking for my comrades as well as myself if i say that we have come too far to be frightened from the accomplishment of our purpose. for my own part, i may say that nothing, not even the fear of that annihilation which the viscount has just threatened, would turn me from my purpose, because i have come to take back that which is mine and france's. these works may be your property, gentlemen, because you have built them with your money and your labour, but the soul which animates them, which makes them a living organism instead of a lifeless mass of brick and stone, the power which you say has enabled you to paralyse the fleets and armies of europe, that is mine: for i am the son of the man who created it. he left it to me as his last legacy. i have returned to my allegiance to france after doing her what service i could elsewhere. though france at first rejected the fruit of my father's genius she has now accepted it, and in our persons she and her ally are here to demand restitution of that which has been stolen from her." "i think you can hardly say stolen, monsieur fargeau," said hardress, without rising. "the french ministry of war very foolishly refused to have anything to do with your father's invention, and he may have given you one set of specifications, but he also threw himself into the sea with the other, and we picked him up. you can call it chance or fate or anything you please, but it certainly wasn't theft. you see, we got this land and built these works while the french government was thinking about it; and i must also remind you that they are built on british soil, and held under lease from a british colonial government. "russia, france, and great britain are at peace. the war in europe is over, and therefore you will excuse me if i remind you and your colleagues that any attempt to attain your end by force would put you outside the pale of civilisation. in other words despite your uniforms and your commissions, you would simply be common pirates, with no claim to any of the rights of regular belligerents." "but," said victor fargeau, speaking with a distinct snarl in his voice, "you forget, monsieur le vicomte, that we are in a position to compel surrender, and that, once masters of the works, we shall be, as you are, above the law. granted all you say, it comes to this: nothing can justify our mission but success, and we shall succeed." "in that case," said the president, in his somewhat halting french, "it doesn't seem worth while to discuss the matter any further. we won't surrender the works, and the last man left alive in them would fire the mines and die in their ruins. these gentlemen think they can take them. we think they can't. it's no use talking about a proposition like that. it's got to be argued with guns and other things. it seems to me that the only question we've got to ask is, whether all these gentlemen are unanimous in their determination to take the works by force, if they can?" admiral dumont exchanged a whispered word with his russian colleague, and then he rose and said: "milords, i regret to say our orders leave us no other alternative, and our duty to our countries will compel us to take that action, most reluctantly as we shall do so. as monsieur fargeau has said, we believe that the vital principle of this system belongs to him and to france. we have been sent here to regain what was lost to us through an unfortunate mistake, and we must do so. yet we do not wish to be precipitate. we will ask you to take until six o'clock to-morrow morning, that is to say, eight hours from now, to reconsider your decision as to surrender. and there is just one more point. "you have certain guests, not entirely voluntary ones, in the works. if it should, unhappily, come to a struggle between us, it would, of course, be impossible for such chivalrous gentlemen to retain two ladies and a russian nobleman and ex-minister. we request that, in the unfortunate case of hostilities becoming inevitable, they shall be permitted to come on board one of our ships." as the french admiral sat down, lord orrel got up and said: "gentlemen, i am exceedingly sorry that matters have come to such a pass as this. there can be no question of surrender, but our guests will be free to join your squadrons when they please. therefore, for their convenience, and in order not to bring our little dinner to too abrupt a close, we will accept the truce till six o'clock. perhaps by that time other and, i think, better counsels may have prevailed with you. "i sincerely hope that they will; for i can assure you that my son was not speaking idly when he said that you would not only be destroyed, but annihilated. we have here means of destruction which have never yet been used in war. for your sakes, and for those of the brave men under your command, i trust that they never will be. and now, as further discussion would seem to be unprofitable, suppose we join the ladies. we may be friends, at anyrate, till six o'clock." in the reception-room the mystified guests of the trust found coffee and liqueurs, music and song and pleasant conversation, which touched on every possible subject, save battle, murder, and sudden death. then came a stroll on the walls by the light of a brilliant _aurora_, which made the sun, which was just touching the southern horizon, look like a pallid and exaggerated moon, and during this stroll victor fargeau managed to pass a small lebel revolver and some cartridges to sophie and the count in case of accidents. they had decided to go on board the _ivan the terrible_ when the guests left the works, and ma'm'selle felice and the count's servant were already putting their baggage together. the train was to wait for them at midnight. meanwhile, doctor lamson, who had left the party immediately after dinner, had been getting the defences of the works in order. the huge engines, disconnected now from the absorbers and storage batteries, from which the captured world-soul was now being released back into the earth, were still purring softly, and working as mightily as ever, but now their force was being used to a different end. on each of the four towers at the corners of the quadrangle there had been mounted an apparatus which looked something like a huge searchlight, and underneath it were two real searchlights. on eight platforms, one on each side of the towers, but hidden by a circular wall of twelve-inch hardened steel, were mounted, on disappearing carriages, the president's big guns, enlarged copies of the one he had used so effectually on board the _nadine_. each would throw a shell containing a hundred pounds of vandelite to a distance of eight miles. the great engines worked continuously, storing up liquid air in chambers under the gun platforms, but they were also doing other and, for the present, much more deadly work. the huge copper tubes above the searchlights on the towers were turned above the harbour. they made neither light nor sound, but all the while they were accumulating destruction such as no mortal hand had yet dealt out to an enemy. the evening passed, apparently in the most friendly and peaceful fashion, and no one suddenly introduced into the reception-room would have dreamt that the members of lord orrel's dinner-party were not on the very best of terms with themselves and each other. not even adelaide or sophie, sitting there with their revolvers in the pockets of their dinner dresses, and thoughts of murder in their souls, had the remotest idea of how terribly it was destined to end. miss chrysie had sung "the old folks at home," and adelaide one of the old chansons which had delighted the grand monarque in the trianon. then sophie sat down at the piano, and the slow solemn strains of the russian national hymn wailed up in majestic chords from the instrument. there was something of defiance both in her touch and in her voice, but international courtesies were respected, and everyone in the room stood up. for sophie valdemar it was her swan-song--since she was never to sing another--and she sang it splendidly, with her whole soul in it. as the last line, "give to us peace in our time, o lord," left her lips, lord orrel went to her side, and said: "thank you, countess. a splendid hymn splendidly sung!" and then he turned to the french and russian admirals, and said: "gentlemen, is it not possible for you to answer, as you could answer, that prayer for peace? i can assure you, on my word of honour as an english gentleman, that this building in which you are now is impregnable to all forms of attack known to modern warfare. at a distance of five thousand miles we have paralysed the fleets and armies of europe. your ships are less than five miles from our walls: you are not courting defeat, you are courting annihilation. can you not leave us in peace?" "i was under the impression, milord," said admiral nazanoff, "that that subject was closed for the present. we have yet to be convinced as to these terrible powers which you claim to possess: but our orders are real, so too are our ships and guns; and since you have refused the terms we have offered we have no alternative but to put these boasted powers of yours to the test of war. i regret it most exceedingly, as i am sure my colleague, admiral dumont, does also, but that must be our last word." the french admiral and victor fargeau both bowed assent as he spoke. and lord orrel answered: "well, gentlemen, since you are resolved, so be it. we will not discuss the matter further." while he was speaking lady olive had gone to the piano, and, as he ceased, the opening chords of "auld lang syne," floated through the room, and she began to sing the old scotch song. the words had a strangely satirical meaning for count valdemar and his daughter and adelaide, who had heard them several times at orrel court, and lady olive put such expression into them that both sophie and adelaide felt inclined to be a little ashamed of themselves. then in the midst of the song the clock began to chime twelve, and lady olive, with a frank look of defiance in her eyes, switched off suddenly into "god save the king," and began to sing the opening lines. at the end of the first verse she stopped and rose from the piano, and said to her father, who had been looking a little uneasy, as though he thought it was hardly good taste: "i am very sorry, papa, if i have offended, but really i could not help it; it seemed inevitable." "and why not?" said adelaide. "was not the same song sung in honour of the grand monarque by the ladies of versailles? well, now, lady olive, i suppose it is good-night and good-bye. a thousand thanks for all your kindness and hospitality." "and a thousand thanks from me, too," said sophie. they held out their hands, but lady olive put hers behind her, and drew back. "thank you," she said, frigidly. "you are quite welcome to any kindness that i have been able to show you; but, really, i must ask you to pardon me if i decline to shake hands with you after you have definitely joined the enemies of my family." "perhaps you are right, lady olive," laughed sophie. "still, i hope that, at no very distant time, we shall have an opportunity of returning some, at least, of your kindness." a few minutes later hosts and guests were standing outside the western gate, beside which the electric engine and the saloon carriage were waiting to take them to the harbour. the departing guests' luggage had been put on a little truck at the back. "ah, well, this is the end, i suppose," said adelaide to sophie as they stood in the dim twilight of the northern midnight, exchanging their last formal salutations. "to-night peace; to-morrow war." "but why not war now?" whispered sophie. "look! what a chance! shall we ever have another like it? à la guerre; comme à la guerre!" "yes," whispered adelaide in reply. "ah, sacré! look there!" as she spoke, chrysie left lady olive's side, went to hardress, and slipped her arm through his, and looked up at him with an expression that there was no mistaking. then adelaide de condé's long pent-up passion broke loose, and the hot blood of hate began to sing in her head and burn in her eyes. everything, so far, had failed. she had made herself a criminal, and had been punished by a silent, but humiliating, pardon. she had disgraced herself in the eyes of the man she would have sold her soul to get, and now--well, what did it matter? to-morrow--nay, within six hours, it would be war to the death, why not begin now, as sophie had whispered? for the moment she was mad, or she would not have done what she did. but she was mad--mad with failure, hopeless love, and the hatred which only the "woman scorned" can feel. she pulled chrysie's revolver out of her pocket, and snarled between her teeth: "you have got him, but you shall not keep him!" the revolver went up at the same moment, and she pulled the trigger. three shots cracked in quick succession. hardress went down with a broken thigh; chrysie, in the act of drawing her own revolver, received a bullet in her arm, which was intended for her heart; and the third one went through the hood of her cloak, just touching the skin above the ear. she tried to get out the revolver with her left hand; but, before she could do so, sophie and fargeau had opened fire, and at sophie's first shot, she clasped her hand to her side, and went down beside hardress. lord orrel had a bit of his left ear snipped off, and the president got a flesh wound just below the left shoulder. the two admirals, who had already taken their seats in the car, with madame de bourbon and the russian professor, sprang to their feet; but, before they could leave the car, a strange and awful thing happened. a blinding glare of light shone out from the southern tower, where doctor lamson had been watching the departure through his night-glasses. the thin ray wavered about until it fell on sophie valdemar and adelaide de condé, still standing close together, with victor fargeau just in front of them. for a moment their faces showed white and ghastly in the blazing radiance; and then, to the amazement and horror of those who saw the strangest sight that human eye had ever gazed upon, down the ray of light, invisible, but all-destroying, flowed the terrible energy of the disintegrator on the top of the tower. their hair crinkled up and disappeared, the flesh melted from their faces and hands. for an instant, two of the most beautiful countenances in europe were transformed into living skulls, which grinned out in unspeakable hideousness. then their clothing shrivelled up into tinder, and all three dropped together in an indistinguishable heap of crumbling bones. chapter xxx almost at the moment that the man and the two women who, but a few moments ago, had been standing in the full pride of their youth and health and beauty, had dropped to the earth in little heaps of crumbling bones, whistles sounded inside the works, and a number of men came out of the western gate, some of them armed with rifles and revolvers, and others carrying stretchers. hardress and chrysie were lifted on to two of these, and lady olive went back into the works with them. lord orrel and the president, after having their wounds hastily bandaged for the time being, went to the door of the saloon carriage, and lord orrel said, shortly and sternly: "madame de bourbon, as you have seen, your niece has ceased to exist. count valdemar, the same is true of your daughter. and as for you, gentlemen," he went on, turning to the two admirals, "you have seen something of those means of defence of which i spoke to you after dinner. "there," he went on, pointing to the little heap of mingled bones lying on the sand, "is the proof of it. every human thing that tries to pass the limits of those rays will share the same fate. these people were enemies, but they were worse--they were traitors; and, as you have seen, they wished to be murderers. they have justly earned their fate. there is no reason why you should share it. take my advice, i pray you, advice which i give from the bottom of my heart. weigh anchor to-night, go back to europe, and you will find that everything that we have told you is true." "that, my lord orrel, is impossible," said admiral nazanoff, coming to the door of the car. "by what devilish means you have slain captain fargeau and those two ladies we know not, save that it must have been done through some material mechanism. to-morrow our guns shall try conclusions with it, whatever it is. yes, even though you turned that murderous ray on us and killed us, as you did them, for our men have their orders. and now, i suppose, we had better get out and walk. we can hardly expect the use of your train after what has happened." "you needn't worry about that, admiral," said the president; "we've promised you safe conduct to your ships, and you shall have it. but look here, count," he went on, pulling a heavy six-shooter out of his pocket, "don't you get fingering about that pocket as if you had a gun in it, or it'll be the last shooting-iron you ever did touch. we don't want any more shooting than we've had till we begin business in the morning." count valdemar saw that he was covered, and he didn't like the look of the hard, steady, grey eyes behind the barrel of the long repeating pistol. he took his hand empty out of his pocket, clasped it with the left over his knees, and shrugged his shoulders. there was nothing to be said, and so he kept something of his dignity by holding his tongue, and the president went on: "well, that's better. you keep your hands where they are, and no harm will happen to you just now. but don't you think, gentlemen, that it would be better if madame de bourbon came back with us into the works, where she will be safe, anyhow safer than she would be on one of your ships, if you are still determined to fight it out." "i am much obliged to you, monsieur le president," replied the old lady, in her most autocratic manner; "but after what has happened, and what i have seen, i prefer to return with my own people." "and," added admiral dumont, "you may be quite certain, monsieur, that before this most regrettable battle begins at six o'clock, one of the ships will have taken madame de bourbon beyond the reach of harm." "with that, of course, we must be content," said lord orrel, coming back to the president's side. "and now, gentlemen, since, as you say, it is to be war between us, i have one more favour to ask: here is the man," he went on, pointing to the second engineer of the _nadine_, who had been brought out of the gate by a couple of stalwart quartermasters, "here is the man who allowed himself to be bribed by the late countess sophie valdemar and the marquise de montpensier to wreck the engines of the _nadine_, and so, as they thought, turn the course of fate in their favour. we have not punished him, but we have no further use for his services. he is a good engineer, whatever else he may be, and so perhaps you will be able to find him some employment on board one of your ships. now, robertson and thompson, help mr williams into the car, please. these gentlemen want to get down to the harbour." the two quartermasters picked up the handcuffed williams, and flung him in through the open door of the saloon. then the president said to the man at the engine, "right away, driver, and come back when these gentlemen are safe on board. salud, señores," he went on to the two admirals, raising his hat with his unwounded arm. "take my advice--clear out, and don't let us have any shooting in the morning. i reckon we've had quite trouble enough already." at this moment the driver of the electric motor sounded his bell, the two admirals and the count raised their hats and stared out through the window with grim, immovable faces, and so went back to the ships, marvelling greatly at the wonderful horror they had beheld. madame de bourbon was already in hysterics, succoured by ma'm'selle felice. count valdemar, though stricken to the heart by the frightful fate of the only human being that he had loved since his wife had died nearly twenty years before, was yet determined to use all his influence to compel the admirals to take the amplest possible revenge for her slaying. certainly if the works were not battered into ruins within twelve hours, it would not be his fault; and then, as the little train drew out, he fell to wondering whether hardress and chrysie vandel were killed or not. "and are you still decided to fight, gentlemen?" he said to the admirals a few moments later, when the car was rattling over the narrow rails, "and, if so, what are you going to do with this thing?" he touched mr williams's still prostrate body with his toe as he said this. "i need not tell you, count," replied admiral nazanoff, "as a russian to a russian, that orders are orders, and mine are to take those works or destroy them. i admit that what we saw to-night was very wonderful and very terrible, but when holy russia says 'go and do,' then we must go and do, or die. the little father has no forgiveness for failure. that, in russia, is the one unpardonable fault. our guns will open at six in the morning. that man will take his chance with the rest of our men." "and," said admiral dumont, "even if we cannot take the works and use them, we may destroy them, and so rid the world of this detestable commercial tyranny which would make war a matter of poll-tax. we shall open fire at six. ah, here we are at the wharf. now let us go and see that everything is ready. admiral nazanoff, i believe you are my senior in service; it will therefore be yours to fire the first shot. the _caiman_ shall fire the second." "and i shall ask you, admiral," said the count to nazanoff, "as a personal favour, and also, as i will say frankly, a matter of personal vengeance, to be allowed to fire that first gun." "my dear count," replied the admiral, "with the greatest pleasure. it shall be laid by the best gunner on board the _ivan_, and your hand shall send the shot, i hope, into the vitals of these accursed works. if we could only manage to drop a hundred-pound melinite shell into the right place, it would do a great deal." chapter xxxi until five o'clock there was silence both in the works and on the ships in the harbour. then, as the southern sun began to climb on its upward curve, the eight searchlights on the towers blazed out, looking ghostly white in the twilight. they were arranged so that they formed two intersecting triangles on each face of the works. from the top of the western gate flamed a huge star. it was a ten-million-candle-power light, and its radiance, cast directly upon the harbour, was so intense that while the ships were flooded with light, the dim, watery rays of the sun made twilight in comparison with it. "that is well managed," said admiral nazanoff to the count as they were taking their early coffee on the bridge of the ice-breaker. "i suppose that devil-ray, or whatever they call it, is running along those lights, and so making a barrier that no living thing can pass without destruction. it is an amazing invention, whatever it is; but it is murder, not war. still, if it comes to an assault, we must rush it. meanwhile it is to be hoped that our guns will have destroyed their infernal apparatus. "you see, we have six ships here in line abreast, and twelve guns, each throwing a melinite shell of not less than a hundred pounds, are trained on the face of the building. when your excellency has fired the first shot they will open, and, at the same time, fifty smaller quick-firers will sweep the walls in such a fashion that no living thing will exist for a moment, either on top of them or in front. in fact, once let us destroy the apparatus which generates that horrible devil-ray, i can give it no other name, and the works are ours." "but the shooting will not be all on our side, admiral, i fear," said the count. "that is a very terrible little gun that they have on the _nadine_. it was only a twelve-pounder, but a couple of shots sent the _vlodoya_ to the bottom, and this man vandel--if the light had been better he would not have been living now--told me himself that they had guns ten times as powerful on the works." "most probably a little yankee bluff, my dear count," said the admiral. "i dislike those searchlights much more than i fear the guns. you see, it is almost impossible to take an accurate aim against a searchlight, while it is perfectly easy to shoot from behind or below them. still, all our guns are fortunately laid already. yours, which is the starboard one down yonder, is trained on the gate in the centre. the shell will pierce that, and if it strikes the engine-house or whatever it is in the middle of the square it will probably disable the works. that, i believe, is the heart and centre of the whole system." "it is very probable," said the count, who had already described what he had seen of the works to the admiral, "and i hope my shot will find it, for then my poor sophie will be partly, at least, avenged. it was a terrible end for two such beautiful women, was it not, admiral? fargeau did not matter so much; for, after all, he was only a half-turned traitor and spy." "it was the most awful sight i have ever beheld," replied the admiral; "indeed i cannot think that human eyes could look upon anything more horrible. but by mid-day i hope our guns will have avenged them as completely as good shot and shell can do. and now, excellency, with your permission we must have our last council of war; i must see my captains and arrange the last details with admiral dumont, as it is getting near six. i took the trouble of setting my watch by the clock in the reception-room." "and mine," said the count, taking out his repeater, "has been going with it for days. when this chimes six we may begin." within a few minutes the two admirals and the captains of the different vessels went, by appointment, to the cabin of the _ivan_, and the last details were arranged. as the clock struck six every available gun was to open on the western face of the works, and the fire of the heaviest guns was to be concentrated on the towers and the central gate until the searchlights were extinguished and the deadly rays rendered impotent. meanwhile boats and steam-pinnaces were to be ready to land the sailors and marines with their machine-guns, and as soon as there was reason to believe that the rays were no longer operative, a general advance in force was to be made on the western gate. no quarter was to be given; no prisoners taken. victor fargeau had left his father's legacy and all necessary directions for operating the works with admiral dumont, and so there would be no necessity for any assistance from the prisoners, and therefore no need to take any. at five minutes to six count valdemar and admiral nazanoff went down on to the fore-deck. at the same moment that they were making their last examination of the guns, a thin ray of electric light shone out from the top of a little rocky promontory to the north of the harbour, where there was a little white tower which the invaders had taken for a harmless and necessary lighthouse. the ray fell directly on the fore-deck of the _ivan_. "ah," said the admiral, stepping back under the protection of the top works, "take care, your excellency, that is only about a hundred metres off, and they may have one of those infernal rays there." "it is six o'clock," said the count, taking his watch in his left hand and the lanyard of the gun in his right. the beam of ghostly light wavered and fell on him as he stepped back to pull. the next instant the flesh of his uplifted hand melted away from the bones, the lanyard fell away. with a cry of agony he dropped his hand, and then the terrible ray fell on his face. the horror-stricken officers and men saw it change from a face to a skull, watched his fur cap shrivel up and vanish, the hair and flesh on his scalp disappear. then he dropped, and the bare skull struck the steel deck with a queer sharp click. a sudden paralysis of horror fell upon officers and men alike, until the admiral roared out an order to turn the port gun on to the lighthouse. he was obeyed, and the gun was fired hurriedly; the shell struck the rock just below the lighthouse and exploded with a terrific report, but the living rock held good, and the deadly ray shone on. the gunner who had fired it was blasted to a skeleton in a moment, and the rest of the officers and men ran for shelter like so many frightened hares. they were ready to face any ordinary danger, but this was too awful for mortal courage. then the ray wandered over the fore-decks and bridges of the other ships till it reached the _caiman_, on the bridge of which admiral dumont was standing, a horrified spectator of what had happened on the _ivan_. he had a pistol in his hand; a shot was to be the signal for the french vessels to open fire. the ray fell on his hand as he raised it to fire, the hand shrivelled to bone before he could pull the trigger. but the gunners had seen the signal, and the guns roared out. over fifty guns of all calibres roared and crackled for a minute or so, and a brief hurricane of shell swept across the stony plain between the harbour and the works. then it stopped. every gun was silent, for not a man dared go near it. every officer and man who had shown himself in the open had been reduced to a heap of bones before he could get back under shelter. then those who were out of reach of the terrible death-rays saw six long guns rise from the masked batteries beside the two towers and over the central gate. there was no flash or report, but the next moment six hundred-pound shells, charged with vandelite, had struck the french and russian vessels, and, as a fighting force, the expeditions had practically ceased to exist. every ship was hit either in her hull or her top works. the steel structures crumpled up and collapsed under the terrible energy of the explosion. the steel-walled casemates were cracked and ripped open as though they had been built of common deal, and every man on deck within twenty yards of the explosion dropped dead or insensible. both admirals were killed almost at the same moment. the guns sank back and rose again, and again the explosions crashed out on board the doomed ships. the death-ray played continuously over their decks and every man who showed himself fell dead with the flesh withered from his face and skull. the terrible bombardment lasted for about a quarter of an hour, and then when only the _caiman_ and _ivan_ were left afloat, and the crews of the other vessels had either gone down with them or had swum or scrambled ashore in the boats, the guns ceased, and the rays were shut off. this ended the fight, if, indeed, fight it could be called. several of the shells had struck the walls and blown out large portions of the facings, but no vital spot had been touched, thanks to the difficulty of taking aim in the blinding glare of the searchlights. the little lighthouse on the north point, which had proved such a veritable tower of strength, was still unharmed, although the rocks about it were splintered and pulverised by shell-fire. only about a dozen petty officers and a couple of hundred sailors and stokers escaped, and most of them were half-mad with fear. they were ordered back on board the _ivan_, which, thanks to her enormously strong construction, had stood the terrible bombardment better than the _caiman_. her topworks were smashed out of all shape, and her decks were ripped and rent in all directions, but her hull was still sound, and a few days' work at her engines would make them serviceable. and in her the survivors of the ill-fated expedition ultimately went back to europe with a formal message from the directors of the trust to the governments of france and russia, expressing their regret that so much damage and loss of life had resulted from the act of piracy committed by those who had mistaken the magnetic for the north pole. the _corneille_, the old wooden ship which had conveyed madame de bourbon out of the range of the guns and the death-ray, was brought back the next morning by the _nadine_ and the _washington_, whose business it had been to stop the escape of any french or russian vessel from the waters of boothia, and as she was immediately available for the service, she carried madame de bourbon back to france. with her she took a small box of oak, which contained all that the death-ray had left of adelaide de condé, marquise de montpensier, the last, save herself, of the daughters of the old line of the bourbons. a similar casket containing the bones of sophie valdemar and her father were sent under her care to the count's brother, whose place in petersburg was less than a hundred yards distant from the german embassy, the scene of the reception where what was now but dry bones, dust, and ashes, had been life and beauty and subtly working brains, plotting for the possession of the world-empire, whose throne was not now in any of the splendid capitals of europe, or of the east, or west, but within the four-square limits--measuring four hundred feet each way--within which the world masters reigned impregnable and supreme. epilogue the short northern summer was drawing rapidly to its close when chrysie and hardress were pronounced fit to travel. hardress had had a very narrow shave, for one of the count's bullets had grazed the right lung, and the wound had brought on an acute attack of pleural inflammation. chrysie's wounds had healed within a fortnight, and as soon as she was able to get about she did her best to supplant lady olive as nurse in the sickroom. "you may be his sister," she said, in answer to a strong protest from lady olive, "and you're just as good a sister as a man wants to have; but i hope i'm going to be something more than a sister; and so, if he's going to be mine and i'm going to be his, i want to do the rest. after all, you see it's only a sort of looking after one's own property." just at this moment hardress woke up and turned a languid head and a pair of weary and yet eager eyes upon the two girls. "chrysie," he said, in a thick, hoarse whisper, and yet through smiling lips, "in the speech of your own country, you've got it in once. there's just one thing i want now to make me well. you know what it is. come and give it me." "why, you mean thing!" said chrysie, going towards the bed, "i believe you've heard everything we've been saying." "some of it," he whispered. "what about that reserve--that territory, you know, that i was supposed to have an option on in buffalo?" "buffalo's not boothia, shafto," she replied, using his christian name for the first time since they had known each other; "but the reserve's all right. i guess you've only got to take up your option when you want it." "then i'll take it now," he whispered again, looking weariedly and yet with an infinite longing into her eyes. "and so you shall," she said, leaning down over the bed. "you have done the work--you and lord orrel and poppa. you've done everything that you said you would; you're masters of the world, and, as far as mortals can be, controllers of human destiny--you and doctor lamson. he began it, didn't he? if it hadn't been for him and his knowledge you'd have done nothing at all. and he's got his reward too. that's so; isn't it, olive? yes; you can tell the story afterwards, but you and i are going to marry two of the world masters, and we're each of us going to have a world master for father, and--well, i guess that's about all there is in it. and now i'm going to seal the contract." she bent her head and kissed hardress's pale but still smiling lips, and just at that moment there was a knock at the door. lady olive almost involuntarily said, "come in," and doctor lamson, who had, next to emil fargeau, been the working genius of the whole vast scheme which the dead savant had worked out in his laboratory at strassburg, came in. miss chrysie, flushing and bright-eyed, straightened herself up, looking most innocently guilty. doctor lamson looked at her for a moment and then at lady olive. his own clear, deep-set grey eyes lit up with a flash, and his clean-cut lips curved into a smile, as he said: "i hope i'm not intruding, as a much more distinguished person than myself once said; but, as hardress is so much better, having apparently found a most potent, though unqualified, physician, i thought you would like to hear the latest news from europe. the powers have surrendered at discretion. as they can't fight, they are willing to make peace. they have accepted king edward as arbitrator, and he, like the good sportsman that he is, has decided that in future, if a country wants to fight another, it shall submit the _casus belli_ to a committee of the powers not concerned in the quarrel. if they are all concerned in it, the tribunal is to consist of the pope, the archbishop of canterbury, and the archimandrite of the greek church. if either of the belligerents refuse arbitration after the dispute has been thoroughly gone through, or begins fighting before the decision is delivered, it will have the same experiences as europe had in the late war--which, of course, was no war." "because we stopped it," said lady olive, looking straight across the room into doctor lamson's eyes. "well, yes, _we_," said chrysie, standing up beside the bed. "i reckon, all things considered, we four have had about as much to do with stopping this war and teaching the nations to behave decently as anybody else on earth. we are here on the throne of the world, kings and queens from pole to pole!" "but, my dear chrysie," exclaimed lady olive, flushing from her shapely chin to her temples, and making a move towards the door, "surely you don't mean----" "i don't mean any more than we all mean in our hearts," interrupted chrysie, taking hardress's hand in hers. "what's the use of world masters and world mistresses trying to hide things from each other? we four people here in this room run the world. i want to run this man, and you want to run that one; and they, of course, think they'll run us, which they won't! anyhow, we're all willing to try that, and i think the best thing we can do is to sign, seal, and deliver the contract of the offensive and defensive alliance right here and now. you kiss, and we'll kiss, and that's all there is to it." and they kissed. _the riverside press limited edinburgh_ a catalogue of the books published by mr. john long 13 & 14 norris street haymarket, london (late of 6 chandos street, strand) march, 1903 telegrams and cables "longing, london" new and forthcoming books pages 2 to 8. _march, 1903_ mr. john long's new and forthcoming books for the spring and summer 1903 new novels by the best authors crown 8vo, cloth gilt, price 6s. each fugitive anne by mrs. campbell praed, author of "nadine," "dwellers by the river," etc. an outsider's year by florence warden, author of "the house on the marsh," "something in the city," etc. crimson lilies by may crommelin, author of "a daughter of england," "a woman-derelict," etc. the world masters by george griffith, author of the "angel of the revolution," "brothers of the chain," etc. the shutters of silence by g. b. burgin, author of "the way out," "a wilful woman," etc. by thames and tiber by mrs. avlmer gowing, author of "as cæsar's wife," "a touch of the sun," etc. the arcadians by j. s. fletcher, author of "when charles the first was king," "the three days' terror," etc. with eight full page illustrations on art paper, by g. p. rhodes. an unwise virgin by mrs. coulson kernahan, author of "trewinnot of guy's," "no vindication," etc. the parish doctor by alec cook. vivid impressions of life in a contemporary suburban parish. beneath the veil by adeline sergeant, author of "the story of a penitent soul," "the future of phyllis," etc. the car of phoebus by robert james lees, author of "through the mists," "the heretic," etc. the last foray by r. h. forster. (a thrilling tale of the border raiders of the sixteenth century.) the machinations of janet by sarah tytler, author of "citoyenne jacqueline," "the courtship of sarah," etc. thraldom by helen prothero-lewis (mrs. james j. g. pugh), author of "hooks of steel," "her heart's desire," "a lady of my own," etc. the jade eye by fergus hume, author of "the mystery of a hansom cab," "the silent house in pimlico," etc. remembrance by mrs. lovett cameron, author of "midsummer madness," "a woman's 'no,'" etc. sweet "doll" of haddon hall by j. e. muddock, author of "fair rosalind," "a woman's checkmate," etc. his master purpose by harold bindloss, author of "ainslie's ju-ju," "the concession hunters," etc. a woman in the city by helen bayliss. an original novel of pathos and power by a new writer. in the days of goldsmith by m. mcd. bodkin, k.c., author of "lord edward fitz-gerald," "white magic," "paul beck," "a stolen life," "the rebels," etc. the indiscretion of gladys by lucas cleeve, author of "his italian wife," "plato's handmaiden," etc. the magnetic girl by richard marsh, author of "the beetle," "the twickenham peerage," etc. this is one long novel and the most important and amusing the author has written since the publication of his famous book, "the beetle." the trust trappers by hume nisbet, author of "bail up," "mistletoe manor," etc. with frontispiece and vignette title page by the author. the burden of her youth by mrs. l. t. meade, author of "confessions of a court milliner," etc. the bâton sinister by george gilbert, author of "in the shadow of the purple." the other mrs. jacobs by mrs. campbell praed, author of "nadine," "dwellers by the river," etc. no. 3, the square by florence warden, author of "the house on the marsh," "the lovely mrs. pemberton," etc. partners three by may crommelin, author of "a daughter of england," "a woman-derelict," etc. all the winners by nathaniel gubbins, author of "pick-me-ups," "dead certainties," etc. up to-morrow by w. carter platts, author of "papa limited," etc. with about 60 illustrations by the author. [a book of humour.] _long's new sixpenny library_ of copyright novels by the most popular writers of the day _new volumes. 1903_ the sin of hagar. helen mathers. the lovely mrs. pemberton. florence warden. an ill wind. mrs. lovett cameron. woman--the sphinx. fergus hume. a beautiful rebel. ernest glanville. the juggler and the soul. helen mathers. for complete list of the series, see pages 27 & 28. general literature sidelights on convict life. by george griffith, author of "in an unknown prison land," etc. with numerous illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. how to take care of a consumptive. by mrs. m. forrest williams, fcap. 8vo, paper cover, 1s. net. john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers under official sanction [illustration] [now ready _printed on hand-made paper, with twenty plates in photogravure, limited to 300 copies. royal 4to. price £3 3s. net._ also a special edition, imperial 4to, on japanese vellum, limited to 50 copies, the plates on india paper, one hand-coloured, with a duplicate set of plates in handsome portfolio for framing. each copy numbered and signed by the author. price £10 10s. net. the king's race-horses a history of the connection of his majesty king edward vii. with the national sport by edward spencer with additional notes by lord marcus beresford. the times.--"no more appropriate time could have been selected for the publication of a book such as this, which relates with much wealth of detail and in a very spirited style the history of the king's connection with the turf. mr. spencer is fully justified in his claim that this volume will be 'a record for all time of the important part which his majesty has taken in racing affairs'. the volume has been most sumptuously got up, being illustrated with 20 plates in photogravure from photographs by mr. clarence hailey, of newmarket, who has the sole right of photographing the king's horses--these plates, with a special one of his majesty as a frontispiece, presenting the king's principal racehorses, his two trainers (first john porter and subsequently richard marsh), and his jockeys. yet all the money lavished upon the exterior of this fine book would be thrown away were the contents deficient in interest or lacking in accuracy; but the text is by no means the least attractive part of the volume, while the author appears to have thoroughly mastered his subject." the morning post.--"this handsome and beautifully printed volume not only includes a record of his majesty's horses and their performances, but it gathers up a considerable amount of information concerning the connection of royalty with the turf, and the state of the sport of racing at different periods. the text, which is equalled in interest by the pictures, which include portraits of the king, lord marcus beresford--to whom the proofs of the text were submitted, and who has furnished additional notes--john porter, and richard marsh, whilst the most famous of the horses are also represented. the work is luxuriously produced, and will be highly welcome to a large number of those who are devoted to 'the sport of kings.'" john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers mr. john longs's list of publications _popular six shilling novels_ in handsome cloth binding, crown 8vo. remembrance. mrs. lovett cameron. [_shortly._ midsummer madness. mrs. lovett cameron. a difficult matter. mrs. lovett cameron. a fair fraud. mrs. lovett cameron. the craze of christina. mrs. lovett cameron. a passing fancy. mrs. lovett cameron. bitter fruit. mrs. lovett cameron. an ill wind. mrs. lovett cameron. a woman's no. mrs. lovett cameron. partners three. may crommelin. [_shortly._ crimson lilies. may crommelin. kinsah. may crommelin. bettina. may crommelin. the luck of a lowland laddie. may crommelin. a woman-derelict. may crommelin. a daughter of england. may crommelin. the jade eye. fergus hume. [_shortly._ the turnpike house. fergus hume. a traitor in london. fergus hume. the golden wang-ho. fergus hume. woman--the sphinx. fergus hume. trewinnot of guy's. mrs. coulson kernahan. frank redland, recruit. mrs. coulson kernahan. the avenging of ruthanna. mrs. c. kernahan. no vindication. mrs. coulson kernahan. an unwise virgin. mrs. coulson kernahan. pursued by the law. j. maclaren cobban. an african treasure. j. maclaren cobban. i'd crowns resign. j. maclaren cobban. the green turbans. j. maclaren cobban. the machinations of janet. sarah tytler. [_shortly._ logan's loyalty. sarah tytler. jean keir of craigneil. sarah tytler. women must weep. sarah tytler. the courtship of sarah. sarah tytler. no. 3, the square. florence warden. [_shortly._ an outsider's year. florence warden. once too often. florence warden. the lovely mrs. pemberton. florence warden. something in the city. florence warden. paul le maistre. frederic carrel. the progress of pauline kessler. fred. carrel. the realization of justus moran. fred. carrel. houses of ignorance. frederic carrel. sent to coventry. esmè stuart. in the dark. esmè stuart. the strength of straw. esmè stuart. nobler than revenge. esmè stuart. native born. william s. walker ("coo-ee"). virgin gold. william s. walker ("coo-ee"). [_sixteen illustrations._ in the blood. william s. walker ("coo-ee"). [_sixteen illustrations._ zealandia's guerdon. william s. walker ("coo-ee"). a cabinet secret (5/-). guy boothby. (_illustrated._) anna lombard. (27th edition.) victoria cross. the bread of tears. g. b. burgin. the shutters of silence. g. b. burgin. the way out. g. b. burgin. a son of mammon. g. b. burgin. a wilful woman. g. b. burgin. the arcadians. (_illustrated._) j. s. fletcher. [_shortly._ the harvesters. j. s. fletcher. the three days' terror. j. s. fletcher. the golden spur. j. s. fletcher. the investigators. j. s. fletcher. the indiscretion of gladys. lucas cleeve. [_shortly._ the purple of the orient. lucas cleeve. yolande the parisienne. lucas cleeve. plato's handmaiden. lucas cleeve. the real christian. lucas cleeve. his italian wife. lucas cleeve. wicked rosamond. mina sandeman. charming miss kyrle. mina sandeman. veronica verdant. mina sandeman. fugitive anne. mrs. campbell praed. dwellers by the river. mrs. campbell praed. the other mrs. jacobs. mrs. campbell praed. [_in preparation._ the angel of chance. g. g. chatterton. straight shoes. g. g. chatterton. the court of destiny. g. g. chatterton. the royal sisters. frank mathew. irish holidays. robert thynne. the story of a campaign estate. robert thynne. boffin's find. (_frontispiece._) robert thynne. the curse of eden. author of "the master sinner." barbara west. keighley snowden. the parish doctor. alec cook. the diva. annie thomas (mrs. pender cudlip) in the shadow of the purple. george gilbert. the bâton sinister. george gilbert. [_shortly._ the mill of silence. bernard capes. by thames and tiber. mrs. aylmer gowing. as cæsar's wife. mrs. aylmer gowing. a beautiful rebel. ernest glanville. the diamond of evil. fred whishaw. the magnetic girl. richard marsh. (_a long novel._) [_shortly._ curios. richard marsh. (_eight illustrations._) ada vernham, actress. richard marsh. [_frontispiece._ beneath the veil. adeline sergeant. [_shortly._ the future of phyllis. adeline sergeant. the mission of margaret. adeline sergeant. sweet "doll" of haddon hall. j. e. muddock. [_shortly._ a woman's checkmate. j. e. muddock. fair rosalind. j. e. muddock. a social pretender. winifred graham. men of marlowe's. mrs. henry dudeney. all they went through. f. w. robinson. the shadow of allah. morley roberts. the lords of life. bessie dill. miss pauncefort's peril. mrs. charles martin. malice of grace wentworth. r. h. heppenstall. friendship and folly. maria louise pool. glimpses from wonderland. john ingold. [_five illustrations._ blue bonnets up. thomas pinkerton. the ivory bride. thomas pinkerton. father anthony. robert buchanan. the scarlet seal. dick donovan. the world masters. george griffith. the story of lois. katharine s. macquoid. a ward of the king. katharine s. macquoid. his master purpose. harold bindloss. [_shortly._ a woman in the city. helen bayliss. [_shortly._ the car of phoebus. robert james lees. the heretic. robert james lees. through the mists. robert james lees. in the days of goldsmith. m. mcd. bodkin, k.c. [_shortly._ cicely vaughan. philip davenant. wise in his generation. philip davenant. for a god dishonoured. anonymous. merciless love. author of "for a god dishonoured." the girl with feet of clay. edgar turner. [_frontispiece._ the experiment of dr. nevill. e. h. beaman. paul the optimist. w. p. dothie. his 'prentice hand. sydney phelps. the crowning of gloria. richard reardon. the house of hardale. rose perkins. the trust trappers. hume nisbet. [_shortly._ mistletoe manor. hume nisbet. (_illustrated by author._) the burden of her youth. l. t. meade. [_shortly._ confessions of a court milliner. l. t. meade. in summer shade. mary e. mann. the last foray. r. h. forster. george and son. edward h. cooper. the fooling of don jaime. w. terrell garnett. the sin of hagar. helen mathers. thraldom. helen prothero-lewis. [_shortly._ when love is kind. h. a. hinkson. wounded pride. isabel howard. the kingdom of mammon. violet tweedale. the hospital secret. james compton. castle oriol. charles hannan. a weaver of runes. w. dutton burrard. the love of a former life. c. j. h. halcombe. oswald steele. eibbon berkley. a man of iron. j. morgan-de-groot. mr. john long's list of publications popular three-and-sixpenny novels in handsome cloth binding, crown 8vo. the silent house in pimlico. fergus hume. the bishop's secret. fergus hume. the crimson cryptogram. fergus hume. when the mopoke calls. w. s. walker ("coo-ee"). [_twenty-two illustrations._ from the land of the wombat. william s. walker ("coo-ee"). [_thirteen illustrations._ mrs. musgrave and her husband. richd. marsh. the love affairs of a curate. marcus reay. forbidden paths. marcus reay. the crime in the wood. t. w. speight. juggling fortune. t. w. speight. letters to dolly. keble howard. [_eighty-two illustrations by_ tom browne, r.i. the master sinner. by a well-known author. the sport of circumstance. g. g. chatterton. father anthony. robert buchanan. [_sixteen illustrations._ papa, limited. w. carter platts. [_forty illustrations by the author._ up to-morrow. w. carter platts. [_seventy illustrations by the author._ [_shortly._ a difficult matter. mrs. lovett cameron. trewinnot of guy's. mrs. coulson kernahan. transplanted. nicholas p. murphy. [_profusely illustrated._ a corner in ballybeg. nicholas p. murphy. an island interlude. john amity. the desired haven. anonymous. (_frontispiece._) mary bray, x her mark. jenner tayler. on parole. mina doyle. paths of the dead. hume nisbet. (_frontispiece._) a fighter in khaki. ralph rodd. infelix. lady duntze. didums. jean macpherson. a dream of fame. jean delaire. by jumna's banks. paul markham. all the winners. nathaniel gubbins. [_shortly._ pick-me-ups. nathaniel gubbins. dead certainties. nathaniel gubbins. a man of to-day. helen mathers. the juggler and the soul. helen mathers. with bought swords. harry fowler. his little bill of sale. ellis j. davis. youth at the prow. e. rentoul esler. miss nanse. sara tytler. second lieutenant celia. l. campbell davidson. the dame of the fine green kirtle. torquil macleod. the sea of love. (1/6.) walter phelps dodge. john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers mr. john long's list of publications general literature dedicated by special permission to field-marshal lord wolseley, k.p., &c. social life in the british army by capt. w. e. cairnes. author of "an absent-minded war." crown 8vo, special cover design, 6s. with 16 full-page illustrations on art paper by r. caton woodville. [_third edition._ pall mall gazette.--"brightly written by the military expert of the _westminster gazette_, and neatly illustrated by mr. caton woodville; this is a most interesting and instructive volume. it is just what was wanted now that the question of the cost of life in the army and the impossibility for an officer of living upon his pay has been brought into such prominence. the question is emphatically one of those which must not be allowed to slip away again should a long peace follow on the present war, as questions have a way of doing. "a british officer" makes some very shrewd points in the matter. he performs a useful service in clearing the ground of vulgar exaggerations, the french and russian myths of the british officer's wild luxuriousness, the agitator's "gilded popinjay" superficialities, the duties and recreations of the officer, sketches life at sandhurst and the staff college, and devotes a chapter to tommy and to mrs. tommy in the married quarters." army and navy gazette.--"no volume has appeared dealing so thoroughly and so competently with the inner life of the army. it is not merely descriptive, but will be welcomed by all those who contemplate putting their sons in the service, for they will realise better than otherwise they might do what the conditions of military life are." australia at the front a colonial view of the great boer war by frank wilkinson (special correspondent of the _sydney daily telegraph_). with portrait, map, and 20 illustrations on art paper by norman h. hardy from sketches on the spot, and photos by the author. crown 8vo, special cover design, 6s. [_second edition._ the times.--"mr. wilkinson's book is uniformly interesting, and has a direct bearing upon one of the great lessons of the war." the daily mail.--"it may safely be said that no war correspondent's work is more deserving of attention than mr. frank wilkinson's. he gives facts in a bright, humorous, unaffected way, and some of these facts require careful study by the nation. this is certainly a book to be read and studied. it is convincing in its moderation and truthfulness, excellently illustrated, and furnished with a good map." the daily news.--"we think we have never read a war correspondent's story on which scrupulous honesty was more clearly written. it is a book which deserves to be read by any student of the war, and will certainly be welcomed by all australians who shared in the campaign." the athenæum.--"the book should be studied by all those who have the condition of our army at heart." on the war path a lady's letters from the front by mrs. j. d. leather-culley. with 16 full-page illustrations on art paper from photographs taken by the author. crown 8vo, special cover design, 3s. 6d. the globe.--"we can recommend it heartily for perusal, for it is so obviously frank, fresh, and free in its general atmosphere and tone. it is quite delightful to read passages so full of vivacity, so devoid of affectation, so thoroughly to the point. it is in such informal narratives as these that we get at the 'true inwardness' of the war and its surroundings. we could quote many an instructive and suggestive passage. this is undoubtedly a book to be read." the spectator.--"the book generally is full of interest. it should be read and judged as a whole. we might make a very startling column by choosing extracts." the daily mail.--"mrs. culley witnessed major white's superb defence of ladybrand, of which feat she gives a very interesting account. altogether a bright little book, illustrated with some good photographs." the outlook.--"as far as it goes the book is one of the best we have seen." the king's race-horses a history of the connection of his majesty king edward vii. with the national sport by edward spencer, author of "the great game," &c. printed on hand-made paper, with twenty plates in photogravure, limited to 300 copies. royal 4to. price £3 3s. net. * * _also a special edition, imperial 4to, on japanese vellum, * limited to 50 copies, the plates on india paper, one hand coloured, with a duplicate set of plates in handsome portfolio for framing. each copy numbered and signed by the author. price £10 10s. net._ a four-page 4to prospectus, giving a full description of the work, post free from the leading booksellers and libraries, or from the publisher. _see_ page 8 of this catalogue. rural life: its humour and pathos by caroline gearey. crown 8vo, special cover design, 6s. the academy.--"a pleasant 'pot-pourri' of observations and anecdotes relating to village life. well chosen and pleasantly knit together." the daily news.--"the book is amusing." the spectator.--"a sufficiently readable book." to-day.--"a pleasantly written book." the leeds mercury.--"in her very entertaining book miss gearey is happy in her illustrations of village courtship." the glasgow herald.--"the sketches are as good-natured as they are entertaining." the house of commons by the right hon. sir richard temple, bart., g.c.s.i., &c. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. [_second edition._ the daily news.--"we heartily congratulate sir richard temple on producing a particularly pleasing book about parliament." the pall mall gazette.--"every parliamentarian and every politician will find this book of deep interest." the athenæum.--"we can strongly recommend sir richard temple's book." the globe.--"a manual whose utility is equalled only by its brightness and general readability." the last of the climbing boys by george elson. with a preface by the dean of hereford. crown 8vo, cover design, 6s. the standard.--"a singularly interesting book ... the narrative becomes remarkably interesting--the life of a sweep, such as it was in those days, being told with a freshness and reality on a par with the novelty and originality of the events recorded." the guardian.--"a remarkable life-sketch, which is as interesting as it is curious. the book is very readable and amusing as well as interesting. it is impossible to close it without a feeling of thankfulness that one deep blot that rests upon the past has been thoroughly wiped away." the pall mall gazette.--"the book, which is enormously interesting, whether viewed as a human document or as a romance, is the autobiography of mr. george elson, who began his career in the first year of queen victoria's reign as a 'climbing boy.'" happiness: its pursuit and attainment by rev. w. j. kelly. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. [_second edition._ the tablet.--"the author has combined a systematic treatment which reflects the training of the schools with a freshness and originality of exposition which is all his own, while the whole work has a literary flavour which bespeaks the scholar and--in the best sense of the term--the man of letters.... with much fervour and force of language the author shows how in the beatific vision the desires of those whose natural inclinations lead them to seek for riches, honours, power, beauty of form or harmony of sound, wisdom, peace, love, joy, will severally and collectively be satisfied. we most cordially recommend this excellent work to the notice and the use of clergy and laity alike." the daily express.--"the work of a ripe scholar and thinker. dignity and restraint are marked features of a book that is eloquent and lofty and full of freshness, suggestion and truth." appearances how to keep them up on a limited income by mrs. alfred praga, author of "dinners of the day," "starting housekeeping," &c. crown 8vo, cloth, 1s. [_new edition._ the queen.--"her teaching possesses a distinct value; her counsels are distinctly counsels of perfection. 'appearances' is both suggestive and valuable; one welcomes the book as an attempt to prove that a limited income does not necessarily entail slipshod housekeeping or coarse cookery." dramatic criticism (1899) by j. t. grein. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net. the dally telegraph.--"a series of careful, intelligent articles, distinguished by the soundness of their criticism and the determined but broad-minded views of the author. this volume may be read with profit by the playwright, the critic, and the playgoer alike." the history of "the temple" with special reference to that of the middle temple; also facsimiles of the ancient seals. by g. pitt-lewis, k.c., a master of the bench of the middle temple. crown 8vo, paper cover, 1s. 6d. the daily telegraph.--"the subject, always an attractive one, is handled in a fashion which is as skilful as it is interesting." literature.--"an excellent account of one of the most illustrious of our inns of court." the boer in peace and war with 16 full-page copyright photographic illustrations on art paper. crown 8vo, picture paper cover, price 1s. the westminster gazette.--"an interesting description of the characteristics of the boer." the operatic problem by william johnson galloway, m.p. fcap. 4to. 1s. net. * * a short account of the systems under which opera is conducted * on the continent, with a scheme for the establishment of a system of national opera in this country. in heaven's porch by hugh clement. long 12mo, artistic paper cover, 6d. _new edition, revised._ the notts guardian.--"is a visit which the writer pays in imagination to the threshold of paradise, and granted his theological postulates, it is very admirably and beautifully written." sidelights on convict life by george griffith, author of "in an unknown prison land," etc. with numerous illustrations. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. the unconquerable colony some episodes of ulster in the seventeenth century. by james henry cochrane, m.a., late vicar of liscard, liverpool, formerly scholar trinity college, dublin, and chancellor's prizeman in poetry. author of "episodes in the war," etc. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net. etiquette and entertaining by mrs. l. heaton armstrong, author of "etiquette for girls," "good form," "letters to a bride," etc. long 12mo, rounded edges, cloth, 1s. how to take care of a consumptive by mrs. m. forrest williams. fcap. 8vo, paper cover, 1s. net. poetry the demon of the wind, and other poems. by g. hunt jackson. crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 3s. 6d. net. the scotsman.--"the book has no lack of pleasant reading. all are picturesque, fluent and gracefully turned: and the volume ought not to lack readers." the manchester guardian.--"mr. jackson's muse is pleasant company enough, and in her lighter vein touches a genuine chord." the manchester courier.--"this collection of poems contains many of unusual merit, while all are well above the average." nightshade and poppies: verses of a country doctor. by dugald moore, m.b. crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net. the newcastle daily chronicle.--"he can swing a stirring rhythm, and can handle even a professional subject in verse of vivid and vigorous idea and genuinely fine feeling. genuine powers and remarkable range. dr. dugald moore's verses have all a human pulse, and a picturesque energy." the bookman.--"decidedly above the average." the message of the masters. by f. hugh o'donnell. crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 2s. 6d. net. "very near to genius."--newcastle chronicle. "a striking and melodious poem."--bookman. "poetry of a high order and a powerful philippic in verse."--new ireland review. "we can recommend this poem to patriots who have cut their teeth."--outlook. "strong and musical verse. this is a book to make one think."--leeds mercury. "verses which macaulay might have been proud to have penned."--punch. life's little comedies. by hugh bedwell. crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 3s. 6d. net. the boer ride. by frank short. crown 8vo, paper cover, 6d. net. st. paul's.--"a story of considerable and human interest." john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers john long's new sixpenny library of copyright novels the size of these volumes is medium 8vo, 8-3/4 in. by 5-3/4 in. they are set in a new clear type, double columns, and are printed on good english-made paper. each volume is attractively bound in a striking picture cover. _the following are now ready_- father anthony. by robert buchanan. the silent house in pimlico. by fergus hume. the bishop's secret. by fergus hume. the crimson cryptogram. by fergus hume. a traitor in london. by fergus hume. a difficult matter. by mrs. lovett cameron. the craze of christina. by mrs. lovett cameron. a passing fancy. by mrs. lovett cameron. the mystery of dudley horne. by florence warden. the bohemian girls. by florence warden. kitty's engagement. by florence warden. our widow. by florence warden. curios: some strange adventures of two bachelors. by richard marsh. mrs. musgrave and her husband. by richard marsh. the eye of istar. by william le queux. the veiled man. by william le queux. the wooing of monica. by mrs. l. t. meade. the sin of jasper standish. by rita. a cabinet secret. by guy boothby. a man of to-day. by helen mathers. robert orange. by john oliver hobbes. the progress of pauline kessler. by frederic carrel. bitter fruit. by mrs. lovett cameron. the three days' terror. by j. s. fletcher. --> _other novels by the most popular authors of the day will be added to the series in due course._ _the following are in preparation_- the sin of hagar. by helen mathers. the lovely mrs. pemberton. by florence warden. an ill wind. by mrs. lovett cameron. woman--the sphinx. by fergus hume. a beautiful rebel. by ernest glanville. the juggler and the soul. by helen mathers. john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers index to titles of books page ada vernham, 14 african treasure, an, 10 all the winners, 6, 19 all they went through, 14 angel of chance, the, 13 anna lombard, 11 appearances, how to keep them up, 23 arcadians, the, 3, 12 as cæsar's wife, 13 australia at the front, 21 avenging of ruthanna, the, 10 barbara west, 13 bâton sinister, the, 6, 13 beautiful rebel, a, 13, 28 beneath the veil, 4, 14 bettina, 9 bishop's secret, the, 17, 27 bitter fruit, 9, 27 blue bonnets up, 14 boer in peace and war, 24 boer ride, the, 26 boffin's find, 13 bohemian girls, the, 27 bread of tears, the, 12 burden of her youth, the, 6, 16 by jumna's banks, 18 by thames and tiber, 3, 13 cabinet secret, a, 11, 27 car of phoebus, the, 4, 15 castle oriol, 16 charming miss kyrle, the, 12 cicely vaughan, 15 confessions of a court milliner, 16 consumptive, care of a, 7, 25 corner in ballybeg, a, 18 court of destiny, the, 13 courtship of sarah, the, 10 craze of christina, the, 9, 27 crime in the wood, the, 17 crimson cryptogram, the, 17, 27 crimson lilies, 2, 9 crowning of gloria, the, 15 curios, 14, 27 curse of eden, the, 13 dame of the fine green kirtle, the, 19 daughter of england, a, 9 dead certainties, 19 demon of the wind, the, 26 desired haven, the, 18 diamond of evil, the, 13 didums, 18 difficult matter, a, 9, 18, 27 diva, the, 13 dramatic criticism, 24 dream of fame, a, 18 dwellers by the river, 13 etiquette and entertaining, 25 experiment of dr. nevill, the, 15 eye of istar, the, 27 father anthony, 15, 18, 27 fair fraud, a, 9 fair rosalind, 14 fighter in khaki, a, 18 fooling of don jaime, the, 16 for a god dishonoured, 15 forbidden paths, 17 frank redland, recruit, 10 friendship and folly, 14 from the land of the wombat, 17 fugitive anne, 2, 13 future of phyllis, the, 14 george and son, 16 girl with feet of clay, the, 15 glimpses from wonderland, 14 golden spur, the, 12 golden wang-ho, the, 10 green turbans, the, 10 happiness: its pursuit and attainment, 23 harvesters, the, 2 heretic, the, 15 his little bill of sale, 19 his master purpose, 5, 15 his 'prentice hand, 15 history of the temple, 24 hospital secret, the, 16 house of commons, the, 22 house of hardale, the, 15 houses of ignorance, 11 i'd crowns resign, 10 ill wind, an, 9, 28 indiscretion of gladys, the, 5, 12 infelix, 18 in heaven's porch, 24 in summer shade, 16 in the blood, 11 in the dark, 11 in the days of goldsmith, 5, 15 in the shadow of the purple, 13 investigators, the, 12 irish holidays, 13 island interlude, an, 18 italian wife, his, 12 ivory bride, the, 14 jade eye, the, 4, 10 jean keir of craigneil, 10 juggler and the soul, the, 19, 28 juggling fortune, 17 kingdom of mammon, the, 16 king's race-horses, the, 8, 22 kinsah, 9 kitty's engagement, 27 last foray, the, 4, 16 last of the climbing boys, 23 letters to dolly, 17 life's little comedies, 26 logan's loyalty, 10 lords of life, the, 14 love affairs of a curate, the, 17 lovely mrs. pemberton, the, 11, 28 love of a former life, the, 16 luck of a lowland laddie, the, 9 machinations of janet, the, 4, 10 magnetic girl, the, 5, 14 malice of grace wentworth, the, 14 man of iron, a, 16 man of to-day, a, 19, 27 mary bray, x her mark, 18 master sinner, the, 17 men of marlowe's, 14 merciless love, 15 message of the masters, the, 26 midsummer madness, 9 mill of silence, the, 13 mission of margaret, the, 14 miss nanse, 19 miss pauncefort's peril, 14 mistletoe manor, 16 mrs. musgrave and her husband, 17, 27 mystery of dudley horne, the, 27 native born, 11 nightshade and poppies, 26 nobler than revenge, 11 no. 3, the square, 6, 11 no vindication, 10 once too often, 11 on parole, 18 on the war path, 21 operatic problem, the, 24 oswald steele, 6 other mrs. jacobs, the, 6, 13 our widow, 27 outsider's year, an, 2, 11 papa limited, 18 parish doctor, the, 3, 13 partners three, 6, 9 passing fancy, a, 9, 27 paths of the dead, 18 paul le maistre, 1 paul the optimist, 15 pick-me-ups, 19 plato's hand-maiden, 12 progress of pauline kessler, the, 11, 27 purple of the orient, the, 12 pursued by the law, 10 real christian, the, 12 realization of justus moran, 11 remembrance, 5, 9 robert orange, 27 royal sisters, the, 13 rural life, 22 scarlet seal, the, 15 sea of love, the, 19 second lieutenant celia, 19 sent to coventry, 11 shadow of allah, the, 14 shutters of silence, the, 3, 12 side lights on convict life, 7, 25 silent house of pimlico, the, 17, 27 sin of hagar, the, 16, 28 sin of jasper standish, the, 27 social life in the british army, 20 social pretender, a, 14 something in the city, 11 son of mammon, a, 12 sport of circumstance, the, 17 story of a campaign estate, 13 story of lois, the, 15 straight shoes, 13 strength of straw, the, 11 sweet "doll" of haddon hall, 5, 14 thraldom, 4, 16 three days' terror, the, 12, 27 through the mists, 15 traitor in london, a, 10, 27 transplanted, 18 trewinnot of guy's, 10, 18 trust trappers, the, 6, 16 turnpike house, the, 10 unconquerable colony, the, 25 unwise virgin, an, 3, 10 up to-morrow, 6, 18 veiled man, the, 27 veronica verdant, 12 virgin gold, 11 ward of the king, a, 15 way out, the, 12 weaver of runes, a, 16 when love is kind, 16 when the mopoke calls, 17 wicked rosamond, 12 wilful woman, a, 12 wise in his generation, 15 with bought swords, 19 woman-derelict, a, 9 woman in the city, a, 5, 15 woman's checkmate, a, 14 woman's no, a, 9 woman--the sphinx, 10, 28 women must weep, 10 wooing of monica, the, 7 world masters, the, 3, 15 wounded pride, 16 yolande the parisienne, 12 youth at the prow, 19 zealandia's guerdon, 11 index of names of authors page amity, john, 18 armstrong, mrs. l. heaton, 25 bayliss, helen, 5, 15 beaman, emeric hulme, 15 bedwell, hugh, 26 berkley, eibbon, 16 bindloss, harold, 5, 15 bodkin, m. mcd., k.c., 5, 15 boothby, guy, 11, 27 buchanan, robert, 15, 18, 27 burgin, g. b., 3, 12 burrard, w. dutton, 16 cairnes, capt. w. e., 20 cameron, mrs. lovett, 5, 7, 9, 18, 27, 28 capes, bernard, 13 carrel, frederic, 11, 27 chatterton, g. g., 13, 17 cleeve, lucas, 5, 12 clement, hugh, 24 cobban, j. maclaren, 10 cocbrane, james henry, 25 compton, james, 16 cook, alec, 3, 13 cooper, edward h., 16 crommelin, may, 2, 9 cross, victoria, 11 culley, j. d. leather-, mrs., 21 davenant, philip, 15 davidson, campbell l., 19 delaire, jean, 18 dill, bessie, 14 dodge, walter phelps, 19 donovan, dick, 15 dothie, w. p., 15 doyle, mina, 18 dudeney, mrs. henry, 14 duntze, lady, 18 elson, george, 23 esler, e. rentoul, 19 fletcher, j. s., 3, 12, 27 forster, r. h., 4, 16 fowler, harry, 19 galloway, william johnson, 24 garnett, william terrel 16 gearey, caroline, 22 gilbert, george, 6, 13 gowing, mrs. aylmer, 3, 13 glanville, ernest, 13, 28 graham, winifred, 14 grein, j. t., 24 griffith, george, 3, 7, 15, 25 groot, j. morgan de, 16 gubbins, nathaniel, 6, 19 halcombe, c. j. h., 16 hannan, charles, 16 heppenstall, r. h., 14 hinkson, h. a., 16 hobbes, john oliver, 27 howard, isabel, 16 howard, keble, 17 hume, fergus, 4, 7, 10, 17, 27, 28 ingold, john, 14 jackson, g. hunt, 26 kelly, w. j., the revd., 23 kernahan, mrs. coulson, 3, 10 lees, robert james, 4, 15 lewis, g. pitt, k.c., 24 lewis, helen prothero, 4, 16 macleod, torquil, 19 macpherson, jean, 18 macquoid, katherine s., 15 mann, mary e., 16 markham, paul, 18 marsh, richard, 5, 14, 17, 27 martin, mrs. charles, 14 mathers, helen, 7, 16, 19, 27, 28 mathew, frank, 13 meade, l. t., 6, 16, 27 moore, dugald, 26 muddock, j. e., 5, 14 murphy, nicholas p., 18 nisbet, hume, 6, 16, 18 o'donnell, f. hugh, 26 perkins, rose, 15 phelps, sydney, 15 pinkerton, thomas, 14 platts, w. carter, 6, 18 pool, maria louise, 14 praed, mrs. campbell, 2, 6, 13 praga, mrs. alfred, 23 queux, william le, 27 reardon, richard, 15 reay, marcus, 17 rita, 27 roberts, morley, 14 robinson, f. w., 14 rodd, ralph, 18 sandeman, mina, 12 sergeant, adeline, 4, 14 short, frank, 26 snowden, keighley, 13 speight, t. w., 17 spencer, edward, 8, 22 stuart, esmè, 11 tayler, jenner, 18 temple, sir richard, bart., 22 thomas, annie (mrs. pender cudlip), 13 thynne, robert, 13 turner, edgar, 15 tweedale, violet, 16 tytler, sarah, 4, 10, 19 walker, william s. ("coo-ee"), 11, 17 warden, florence, 2, 6, 7, 11, 27, 28 whishaw, fred, 6, 11 wilkinson, frank, 21 williams, mrs. m. forrest, 7, 25 mrs. lovett cameron's popular novels crown 8vo, cloth, gilt. 6s. each. remembrance [_spring, 1903_ midsummer madness an ill wind bitter fruit a woman's "no." a fair fraud a passing fancy a difficult matter the craze of christina morning post.--"mrs. lovett cameron is one of the best story-tellers of the day, and her pages are so full of life and movement that not one of them is willingly skipped." daily news.--"mrs. lovett cameron's stories are always bright, vivacious, and entertaining. they are very pleasantly human, and have, withal, a charming freshness and vigour." daily telegraph.--"mrs. lovett cameron is a fertile and fluent story-teller, and an uncommonly clever woman." guardian.--"mrs. lovett cameron's novels are among the most readable of the day. she has a wonderful eye for a situation, so her stories move with a swing that is all their own." pall mall gazette.--"mrs. lovett cameron, in her novels, is always readable and always fresh." speaker.--"mrs. lovett cameron possesses the invaluable gift of never allowing her readers to become bored." black and white.--"we have a few writers whose books arouse in us certain expectations which are always fulfilled. such a writer is mrs. lovett cameron." academy.--"mrs. lovett cameron exhibits power, writes with vivacity, and elaborates her plots skilfully." bookman.--"mrs. lovett cameron has gained for herself a circle of admirers, who take up any new book of hers with a certain eagerness and confidence." vanity fair.--"mrs. lovett cameron needs no introduction to the novel reader, and, indeed, has her public ready to her hand as soon as her books come out." john long, 13 & 14 norris street, haymarket, london and at all the libraries and booksellers woodfall and kinder, printers, long acre, london. banzai! [illustration: "that's the japanese _satsuma_, togo's _satsuma_!"] banzai! by parabellum leipzig theodor weicher, publisher new york the baker & taylor co., sales agents 33 east 17th street (union square) copyright, 1908, by theodor weicher copyright, 1908, by the baker & taylor co. _all rights reserved_ entered at stationers' hall, london published, january, 1909 the trow press, new york contents page foreword vii introduction ix chapter i.--in manila 1 ii.--on the high seas 34 iii.--how it began 49 iv.--echoes in new york 61 v.--father and son 69 vi.--a night in new york 77 vii.--the red sun over the golden gate 96 viii.--in the bowels of the earth 105 ix.---a forty-eight-hour balance 121 x.--admiral perry's fate 142 xi.--captain winstanley 171 xii.--are you winstanley? 185 xiii.--the revenge for portsmouth 192 xiv.--on the other side of the whirlpool 206 xv.--a ray of light 211 xvi.--through fire and smoke 217 xvii.--what happened at corpus christi 228 xviii.--the battle of the blue mountains 243 xix.--the assault on hilgard 272 xx.---a friend in need 286 xxi.--dark shadows 295 xxii.--remember hilgard 306 xxiii.--in the white house 312 foreword every american familiar with the modern international political horizon must have experienced a feeling of solid satisfaction at the news that a formidable american fleet was to be dispatched to the waters of the pacific, and the cruise of our warships has been followed with intense interest by every loyal citizen of our republic. the reasons that rendered the long and dramatic voyage of our fleet most opportune are identical with the motives that actuated the publication of this translation from the german of a work which exhibits a remarkable grasp of facts coupled with a marvelously vivid power of description. it is no secret that our ships were sent to the pacific to minimize the danger of a conflict with our great commercial rival in the far east, if not to avert it altogether, and _banzai_! it seems to me, should perform a similar mission. the graphic recital, i take it, is not intended to incite a feeling of animosity between two nations which have every reason to maintain friendly relations, but rather to call the attention of the american people to the present woeful lack of preparedness, and at the same time to assist in developing a spirit of sound patriotism that prefers silent action to blatant braggadocio. that the pacific ocean may become, in truth, the peaceful ocean, and never resound to the clash of american arms, is the devout wish of one who believes--implicitly--with moltke in the old proverb, _si vis pacem, para bellum_--if you wish for peace, prepare for war. p. introduction as usual, it had begun quite harmlessly and inconspicuously. it is not my business to tell how it all came to pass, how the way was prepared. that may be left to the spinners of yarns and to those on the trail of the sources of history. i shall leave it to them to ascertain when the idea that there must be a conflict, and that the fruit must be plucked before it had time to ripen, first took root in the minds of the japanese people. we americans realize now that we had been living for years like one who has a presentiment that something dreadful is hanging over him which will suddenly descend upon his head, and who carries this feeling of dread about with him with an uneasy conscience, trying to drown it in the tumult and restlessness of daily life. we realize the situation now, because we know where we should have fixed our gaze and understand the task to the accomplishment of which we should have bent our energies, but we went about like sleep-walkers and refused to see what thousands of others knew, what thousands saw in astonishment and concern at our heedlessness. we might easily have peeped through the curtain that hid the future from us, for it had plenty of holes, but we passed them by unnoticed. and, nevertheless, there were many who did peep through. some, while reading their paper, let it fall into their lap and stared into space, letting their thoughts wander far away to a spot whence the subdued clash of arms and tumult of war reached their soul like the mysterious roll and roar of the breakers. others were struck by a chance word overheard in the rush of the street, which they would remember until it was driven out by the strenuous struggle that each day brought with it. but the word itself had not died; it continued to live in the foundation of the consciousness where our burning thoughts cannot enter, and sometimes in the night it would be born afresh in the shape of wild squadrons of cavalry galloping across the short grass of the prairie with noiseless hoofs. the thunder of cannon could be heard in the air long before the guns were loaded. i saw no more than others, and when the grim horrors of the future first breathed coldly upon me i, too, soon forgot it. it happened at san francisco in the spring of 1907. we were standing before a bar, and from outside came the sounds of an uproar in the street. two men were being thrown out of a japanese restaurant across the way, and the japanese proprietor, who was standing in the doorway, kicked the hat of one of them across the pavement so that it rolled over the street like a football. "well, what do you think of that," cried my friend, arthur wilcox, "the jap is attacking the white men." i held him back by the arm, for a tall irish policeman had already seized the jap, who protested loudly and would not submit to arrest. the policeman took good hold of him, but before he knew it he lay like a log on the pavement, the japanese dwarf apparently having thrown him without the least trouble. a wild brawl followed. half an hour later only a few policemen, taking notes, were walking about in the japanese restaurant, which had been completely demolished by a frenzied mob. we remained at the bar for some time afterwards engaged in earnest conversation. "our grandchildren," said arthur, "will have to answer for that little affair and fight it out some day or other." "not our grandchildren, but we ourselves," i answered, not knowing in the least why i said it. "we ourselves?" said wilcox, laughing at me, "not much; look at me, look at yourself, look at our people, and then look at those dwarfs." "the russians said the same thing: look at the dwarfs." they all laughed at me and presently i joined in the laugh, but i could not forget the irishman as he lay in the grip of the jap. and quite suddenly i remembered something which i had almost forgotten. it happened at heidelberg, during my student days in germany; a professor was telling us how, after the inglorious retreat of the prussian army from valmy, the officers, with young goethe in their midst, were sitting round the camp fires discussing the reasons for the defeat. when they asked goethe what he thought about it, he answered, as though gifted with second sight: "at this spot and at this moment a new epoch in the world's history will begin, and you will all be able to say that you were present." and in imagination i could see the red glow of the bivouac fires and the officers of frederick the great's famous army, who could not understand how anyone could have fled before the ragged recruits of the revolution. and near them i saw a man of higher caliber standing on tiptoe to look through the dark curtain into the future. at the time i soon forgot all these things; i forgot the apparently insignificant street affray and the icy breath of premonition which swept over me then, and not until the disaster had occurred did it again enter my mind. but then when the swords were clashing i realized, for the first time, that all the incidents we had observed on the dusty highway of history, and passed by with indifference, had been sure signs of the coming catastrophe. parabellum banzai! _chapter i_ in manila "for god's sake, do leave me in peace with your damned yellow monkeys!" cried colonel webster, banging his fist on the table so hard that the whisky and soda glasses jumped up in a fright, then came down again irritably and wagged their heads disapprovingly, so that the amber-colored fluid spilled over the edge and lay on the table in little pearly puddles. "as you like, colonel. i shall give up arguing with you," returned lieutenant commander harryman curtly. "you won't allow yourself to be warned." "warned--that's not the question. but this desire of yours to scent japanese intrigues everywhere, to figure out all politics by the japanese common denominator, and to see a japanese spy in every coolie is becoming a positive mania. no, i can't agree with you there," added webster, who seemed to regret the passionate outburst into which his temperament had betrayed him. "really not?" asked harryman, turning in his comfortable wicker chair toward webster and looking at him half encouragingly with twinkling eyes. such discussions were not at all unusual in the club at manila, for they presented the only antidote to the leaden, soul-killing tedium of the dull monotony of garrison duty. since the new insurrection on mindanao and in the whole southern portion of the archipelago, the question as to the actual causes of the uprising, or rather the secret authors thereof, continually gave rise to heated discussions. and when both parties, of which one ascribed everything to japanese intrigue and the other found an explanation in elementary causes, began to liven up, the debate was apt to wax pretty warm. if these discussions did nothing else, they at least produced a sort of mental excitement after the heat of the day which wore out body and mind alike, not even cooling down toward evening. the chinese boy, passing quickly and quietly between the chairs, removed the traces of the webster thunderbolt and placed fresh bottles of soda water on the table, whereupon the officers carefully prepared new drinks. "he's a spy, too, i suppose?" asked webster of harryman, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder at the disappearing boy. "of course. did you ever imagine him to be anything else?" webster shrugged his shoulders. a dull silence ensued, during which they tried to recover the lost threads of their thoughts in the drowsy twilight. harryman irritably chewed the ends of his mustache. the smoke from two dozen shag pipes settled like streaks of mist in the sultry air of the tropical night, which came in at the open windows. lazily and with long pauses, conversation was kept up at the separate tables. the silence was only broken by the creaking of the wicker chairs and the gurgling and splashing of the soda water, when one of the officers, after having put it off as long as possible, at last found sufficient energy to refill his glass. motionless as seals on the sandhills in the heat of midday, the officers lolled in their chairs, waiting for the moment when they could turn in with some show of decency. "it's awful!" groaned colonel mccabe. "this damned hole is enough to make one childish. i shall go crazy soon." and then he cracked his standing joke of the evening: "my daily morning prayer is: 'let it soon be evening, o god; the morrow will come of itself.'" the jest was greeted with a dutiful grunt of approval from the occupants of the various chairs. lieutenant parrington, officer in command of the little gunboat _mindoro_, which had been captured from the spaniards some years ago and since the departure of the cruiser squadron for mindanao been put in commission as substitute guardship in the harbor of manila, entered the room and dropped into a chair near harryman; whereupon the chinese boy, almost inaudible in his broad felt shoes, suddenly appeared beside him and set down the bottle with the pain expeller of the tropics before him. "any cable news, parrington?" asked colonel mccabe from the other table. "not a word," yawned parrington; "everything is still smashed. we might just as well be sitting under the receiver of an air pump." harryman noticed that the boy stared at parrington for a moment as if startled; but he instantly resumed his mongolian expression of absolute innocence, and with his customary grin slipped sinuously through the door. harryman experienced an unpleasant feeling of momentary discomfort, but, not being able to locate his ideas clearly, he irritably gave up the attempt to arrive at a solution of this instinctive sensation, mumbling to himself: "this tropical hell is enough to set one crazy." "no news of the fleet, either?" began colonel mccabe again. "positively nothing, either by wire or wireless. it seems as though the rest of the world had sunk into a bottomless pit. not a single word has reached us from the outer world for six days." "do you believe in the seaquake?" struck in harryman mockingly. "why not?" returned the colonel. harryman jumped up, walked over to the window with long strides, threw out the end of his cigarette and lighted a new one. in the bright light of the flaming match one could see the commander's features twitching ironically; he was on the warpath again. "all the same, it's a queer state of affairs. our home cable snaps between guam and here, the hong-kong cable won't work, and even our island wire has been put out of commission; it must have been a pretty violent catastrophe--" came from another table. "--all the more violent considering the fact that we noticed nothing of it on land," said harryman, thoughtfully blowing out a cloud of smoke and swinging himself up backward on the window-sill. "exactly," rang out a voice; "but how do you account for that?" "account for it!" cried colonel webster, in a thundering voice. "our comrade of the illustrious navy of the united states of america has only one explanation for everything: his japanese logarithms, by means of which he figures out everything. now we shall hear that this seaquake can be traced to japanese villainy, probably brought about by japanese divers, or even submarine boats." and the colonel began to laugh heartily. harryman ignored this attempt to resume their recent dispute, and with head thrown back continued to blow clouds of smoke nervously into the air. "but seriously, harryman," began the colonel again, "can you give any explanation?" "no," answered harryman curtly; "but perhaps you will remember who was the first to furnish an explanation of the breakdown of the cable. it was the captain of the japanese _kanga maru_, which has been anchored since tuesday beside the _monadnock_, which i have the honor to command." "but, my good harryman, you have hallucinations," interrupted the colonel. "the japanese captain gave the latest hong-kong papers to the harbor bureau, and was quite astonished to hear that our cable did not work----" "when he was going to send a cablegram to hong-kong," added harryman sharply. "to announce his arrival at manila," remarked colonel webster dryly. "and the hong-kong papers had already published descriptions of the destruction caused by the seaquake, of the tidal waves, and the accidents to ships," came from another quarter. "the news being of especial interest to this archipelago, where we have the misfortune to be and where we noticed nothing of the whole affair," returned harryman. "you don't mean to imply," broke in the colonel, "that the news of this catastrophe is a pure invention--an invention of the english papers in hong-kong?" "don't know, i'm sure," said harryman. "hong-kong papers are no criterion for me." and then he added quietly: "yes, man is great, and the newspaper is his prophet." "but you can't dispute the fact that a seaquake may have taken place, when you consider the striking results as shown by the cable interruptions which we have been experiencing for the last six days," began webster again. "have we really?" said harryman. "are you quite sure of it? so far the only authority we have for this supposed seaquake is a japanese captain--whom, by the way, i am having sharply watched--and a bundle of worthless hong-kong newspapers. and as for the rest of my hallucinations"--he jumped down from the window-sill and, going up to webster, held out a sheet of paper toward him--"i'm in the habit of using other sources of information than the english-japanese fingerposts." webster glanced at the paper and then looked at harryman questioningly. "what is it? do you understand it?" "yes," snapped harryman. "these little pictures portray our war of extermination against the red man. they are terribly exaggerated and distorted, which was not at all necessary, by the way, for the events of that war do not add to the fame of our nation. up here," explained harryman, while several officers, among them the colonel, stepped up to the table, "you see the story of the infected blankets from the fever hospitals which were sent to the indians; here the butchery of an indian tribe; here, for comparison, the fight on the summit of the volcano of ilo-ilo, where the tagala were finally driven into the open crater; and here, at the end, the practical application for the tagala: 'as the americans have destroyed the red man, so will you slowly perish under the american rule. they have hurled your countrymen into the chasm of the volcano. this crater will devour you all if you do not turn those weapons which were once broken by spanish bondage against your deliverers of 1898, who have since become your oppressors.'" "where did you get the scrawl?" asked the colonel excitedly. "do you want me to procure hundreds, thousands like it for you?" returned harryman coolly. the colonel pressed down the ashes in his pipe with his thumb, and asked indifferently: "you understand japanese?" "tagala also," supplemented harryman simply. "and you mean to say that thousands----?" "millions of these pictures, with japanese and malayan text, are being circulated in the philippines," said harryman positively. "under our eyes?" asked a lieutenant naã¯vely. "under our eyes," replied harryman, smiling, "our eyes which carelessly overlook such things." colonel webster rose and offered harryman his hand. "i have misjudged you," he said heartily. "i belong to your party from now on." "it isn't a question of party," answered harryman warmly, "or rather there will soon be only the one party." "do you think," asked colonel mccabe, "that the supposed japanese plan of attack on the philippines, published at the beginning of the year in the _north china daily news_, was authentic?" "that question cannot be answered unless you know who gave the document to the shanghai paper, and what object he had in doing so," replied harryman. "how do you mean?" "well," continued harryman, "only two possibilities can exist: the document was either genuine or false. if genuine, then it was an indiscretion on the part of a japanese who betrayed his country to an english paper--an english paper which no sooner gets possession of this important document than it immediately proceeds to publish its contents, thereby getting its ally into a nice pickle. you will at once observe here three improbabilities: treason, indiscretion, and, finally, england in the act of tripping her ally. these actions would be incompatible, in the first place, with the almost hysterical sense of patriotism of the japanese; in the second, with their absolute silence and secrecy, and, in the third place, with the behavior of our english cousin since his marriage to madame chrysanthemum----" "the document was therefore not genuine?" asked the colonel. "think it over. what was it that the supposed plan of attack set forth? a japanese invasion of manila with the fleet and a landing force of eighty thousand men, and then, following the example of cuba, an insurrection of the natives, which would gradually exhaust our troops, while the japanese would calmly settle matters at sea, roschestwenski's tracks being regarded as a sufficient scare for our admirals." "that would no doubt be the best course to pursue in an endeavor to pocket the philippines," answered the colonel thoughtfully; "and the plan would be aided by the widespread and growing opposition at home to keeping the archipelago and putting more and more millions into the asiatic branch business." "quite so," continued harryman quickly, "if japan wanted nothing else but the philippines." "what on earth does she want in addition?" asked webster. "the _mastery of the pacific_," said harryman in a decided voice. "commercial mastery?" asked parrington, "or----" "no; political, too, and with solid foundations," answered harryman. colonel mccabe had sat down again, and was studying the pamphlet, parrington picked at the label on his whisky bottle, and the others remained silent, but buried in thought. in the next room a clock struck ten with a hurried, tinkling sound which seemed to break up the uneasy silence into so many small pieces. "and if it was not genuine?" began colonel mccabe again, hoarsely. he cleared his throat and repeated the question in a low tone of voice: "and if it was not genuine?" harryman shrugged his shoulders. "then it would be a trap for us to have us secure our information from the wrong quarter," said the colonel, answering his own question. "a trap into which we are rushing at full speed," continued webster, laying stress on each word, though his thoughts seemed to be far in advance of what he was saying. harryman nodded and twisted his mustache. "what did you say?" asked parrington, jumping up and looking from webster to harryman, neither of whom, however, volunteered a reply. "we are stumbling into a trap?" "two regiments," said webster, more to himself than to the others. and then, turning to harryman, he asked briskly: "when are the transports expected to arrive?" "the steamers with two regiments on board left 'frisco on april 10th, therefore--he counted the days on his fingers--they should be here by now." "no, they were to go straight to mindanao," said parrington. "straight to mindanao?" colonel mccabe meditated silently. then, as though waking up suddenly, he went on: "and the cable has not been working for six days----" "exactly," interrupted parrington, "we have known nothing, either of the fleet or of anything else, for the last six days." "harryman," said colonel mccabe seriously, "do you think there is danger? if it is all a trap, it would be the most stupid thing that we could do to send our transports unprotected-but that's all nonsense! this heat positively dries up your thoughts. no, no, it's impossible; they're hallucinations bred by the fermented vapors of this god-forsaken country!" he pressed the electric button, and the boy appeared at the door behind him. "some soda, pailung!" "parrington, are you coming? i ordered my boat for ten o'clock," said harryman. "as early as this, harryman?" remonstrated webster. "you'll be on board your boat quite soon enough, or do you want to keep a night watch also on your japanese of the-what sort of a maru was it?" he broke off, because colonel mccabe pointed angrily at the approaching boy. "oh, nonsense!" growled webster ill-humoredly. "a creature like that doesn't see or hear a thing." the colonel glared at webster, and then noisily mixed his drink. harryman and parrington walked along the quay in silence, their steps resounding loudly in the stillness of the night. on the other side of the street fleeting shadows showed at the lighted windows of several harbor dens, over the entrance to which hung murky lamps and from which loud voices issued, proving that all was still in full swing there. there were only a few more steps to the spot where the yellow circle of light from the lanterns rendered the white uniforms of the sailors in the two boats visible. parrington stood still. "harryman," he said, repeating his former question, "do you believe there is danger----" "i don't know, i really don't know," said harryman nervously. then, seizing parrington's hands, he continued hurriedly, but in a low voice: "for days i have been living as if in a trance. it is as if i were lying in the delirium of fever; my head burns and my thoughts always return to the same spot, boring and burrowing; i feel as though a horrible eye were fixed on me from whose glance i cannot escape. i feel that i may at any moment awake from the trance, and that the awakening will be still more dreadful." "you're feverish, harryman; you're ill, and you'll infect others. you must take some quinine." with these words parrington climbed into his gig, the sailors gave way with the oars, and the boat rushed through the water and disappeared into the darkness, where the bow oarsman was silhouetted against the pale yellow light of the boat's lantern like a strange phantom. harryman looked musingly after the boat of the _mindoro_ for a few minutes, and murmured: "he certainly has no fever which quinine will not cure." then he got into his own boat, which also soon disappeared into the sultry summer night, while the dark water splashed and gurgled against the planks. the high quay wall, with its row of yellow and white lights, remained behind, and gradually sank down to the water line. they rowed past the side of a huge english steamer, which sent back the splash of the oars in a strange hollow echo, and then across to the _monadnock_. harryman could not sleep, and joined the officer on duty on the bridge, where the slight breeze which came from the mountains afforded a little coolness. * * * * * on board the _mindoro_ parrington had found orders to take the relief guard for the wireless telegraph station to mariveles the next morning. at six o'clock the little gunboat had taken the men on board, and was now steering across the blue bay of manila toward the little rocky island of corregidor, which had recently been strongly fortified, and which lies like a block of stone between gigantic mountain wings in the very middle of the entrance to the bay of manila. under a gray sail, which served as a slight protection from the sun, the soldiers squatted sullenly on their kits. some were asleep, others stared over the railing into the blue, transparent water that rippled away in long waves before the bow of the little vessel. from the open skylight of the engine room sounded the sharp beat of the engine, and the smell of hot oil spread over the deck, making the burning heat even more unbearable. parrington stood on the bridge and through his glass examined the steep cliffs at the entrance to the bay, and the bizarre forms of the little volcanic islands. except for a few fishing boats with their brown sails, not a ship was to be seen on the whole expanse of the water. the gunboat now turned into the northern entrance, and the long, glistening guns in the fortifications of corregidor became visible. up above, on the batteries hewn in the rocks, not a living soul could be seen, but below, on the little platform where the signal-post stood near the northern battery, an armed sentry marched up and down. parrington called out to the signalman near him: "send this signal across to corregidor: 'we are going to relieve the wireless telegraph detachment at mariveles, and shall call at corregidor on our way back.'" the corregidor battery answered the signal, and informed parrington that colonel prettyman expected him for lunch later on. slowly the _mindoro_ crept along the coast to the rocky bay of mariveles, where, before the few neglected houses of the place, the guard of the wireless telegraph station, which stood on the heights of sierra de mariveles, was awaiting the arrival of the gunboat. the _mindoro_ was made fast to the pier. the exchange of men took place quickly, and the relief guard piled their kits on two mule-carts, in which they were to be carried up the steep hillside to the top, where a few flat, white houses showed the position of the wireless station, the high post of which, with its numerous wires, stood out alone against the blue sky. the relieved men, who plainly showed their delight at getting away from this god-forsaken, tedious outpost, made themselves comfortable in the shade afforded by the sail, and began to chat with the crew of the _mindoro_ about the commonplaces of military service. a shrill screech from the whistle of the _mindoro_ resounded from the mountain side as a farewell greeting to the little troop that was climbing slowly upward, followed by the baggage-carts. the _mindoro_ cast off from the pier, and, having rounded the neck of land on which mariveles stood, was just on the point of starting in the direction of corregidor, when the signalman on the bridge called parrington's attention to a black steamer which was apparently steaming at full speed from the sea toward the entrance to the bay of manila. "a ship at last," said parrington. "let's wait and see what sort of a craft it is." while the _mindoro_ reduced her speed noticeably, parrington looked across at the strange vessel through his glasses. the ship had also attracted the attention of the crew, who began to conjecture excitedly as to the nationality of the visitor, for during the past week a strange vessel had become a rather unusual sight in manila. the wireless detachment said that they had seen the steamer two hours ago from the hill. parrington put down his glass and said: "about four thousand tons, but she has no flag. we can soon remedy that." and turning to the signalman he added: "ask her to show her colors." at the same time he pulled the rope of the whistle in order to attract the stranger's attention. in a few seconds the german colors appeared at the stern of the approaching steamer, and the signal flag, which at the same time was quickly hoisted at the foretopmast, proclaimed the ship to be the german steamer _danzig_, hailing from hong-kong. immediately afterwards a boat was lowered from the _danzig_ and the steamer stopped; then the white cutter put to sea and headed straight for the _mindoro_. "it is certainly kind of them to send us a boat," said parrington. "i wonder what they want, anyhow." he gave orders to stop the boat and to clear the gangway, and then, watching the german cutter with interest, awaited its arrival. ten minutes later the commander of the _danzig_ stepped on the bridge of the _mindoro_, introduced himself to her commander, and asked for a pilot to take him through the mines in the roads. parrington regarded him with astonishment. "mines, my dear sir, mines? there are no mines here." the german stared at parrington unbelievingly. "you have no mines?" "no," said parrington. "it is not our custom to blockade our harbors with mines except in time of war." "in time of war?" said the german, who did not appear to comprehend parrington's answer. "but you are at war." "we, at war?" returned parrington, utterly disconcerted. "and with whom, if i may be allowed to ask?" "it seems to me that the matter is too serious to be a subject for jesting," answered the german sharply. at this moment loud voices were heard from the after-deck of the _mindoro_, the crew of which were swearing with great gusto. parrington hurried to the railing and looked over angrily. a hot dispute was going on between the crew of the german cutter and the american sailors, but only the oft-repeated words "damned japs" could be distinguished. he turned again to the german officer, and looked at him hesitatingly. the latter, apparently in a bad temper, looked out to sea, whistling softly to himself. parrington walked toward him and, seizing his hand, said: "it's clear that we don't understand each other. what's up?" "i am here to inform you," answered the german sharply and decisively, "that the steamer _danzig_ ran the blockade last night, and that its captain politely requests you to give him a pilot through the mines, in order that we may reach the harbor of manila." "you have run the blockade?" shouted parrington, in a state of the greatest excitement. "you have run the blockade, man? what the deuce do you mean?" "i mean," answered the german coolly, "that the government of the united states of america--a fact, by the way, of which you, as commander of one of her war vessels, ought to be aware--has been at war with japan for the last week, and that a steamer which has succeeded in running the enemy's blockade and which carries contraband goods for manila surely has the right to ask to be guided through the mines." parrington felt for the railing behind him and leaned against it for support. his face became ashen pale, and he seemed so utterly nonplussed at the german officer's statement that the latter, gradually beginning to comprehend the extraordinary situation, continued his explanation. "yes," he repeated, "for six days your country has been at war with japan, and it was only natural we should suppose that you, as one of those most nearly concerned, would be aware of this fact." parrington, regaining his self-control, said: "then the cable disturbances--" he stopped, then continued disjointedly: "but this is terrible; this is a surprise such as we-i beg your pardon," he went on in a firm voice to the german, "i am sure i need not assure you that your communication has taken me completely by surprise. not a soul in manila has any idea of all this. the cable disturbances of the last six days were explained to us by a japanese steamer as being the result of a volcanic outbreak, and since then, through the interruption of all connections, we have been completely shut off from the outside world. if japan, in defiance of all international law, has declared war, we here in manila have noticed nothing of it, except, perhaps, for the entire absence, during the last few days, of the regular steamers and, indeed, of all trading ships, a circumstance that appeared to some of us rather suspicious. but excuse me, we must act at once. please remain on board." the _mindoro's_ whistle emitted three shrill screeches, while the gunboat steamed at full speed toward corregidor. parrington went into his cabin, opened his desk, and searched through it with nervous haste. "at last!" he seized the war-signal code and ran upstairs to the bridge, shouting to the signalman: "signal to corregidor: 'war-signal code, important communication.'" then he himself, hastily turning over the leaves of the book, called out the signals and had them hoisted. then he shouted to the man at the helm: "tell them not to spare the engines." parrington stood in feverish expectation on the bridge, his hands clinched round the hot iron bars of the breastwork and his eyes measuring the rapidly diminishing distance between the _mindoro_ and the landing place of corregidor. as the _mindoro_ turned into the northern passage between corregidor and the mainland, the chain of mountains, looking like banks of clouds, which surrounded manila, became visible in the far distance across the blue, apparently boundless surface of the bay, while the town itself, wrapped in the white mist that veiled the horizon, remained invisible. at this moment parrington observed a dark cloud of smoke in the direction of the harbor of manila suddenly detaching itself from below and sailing upward like a fumarole above the summit of a volcano, where it dispersed in bizarre shapes resembling ragged balls of cotton. almost immediately a dull report like a distant thunderclap boomed across the water. "can that be another of their devilish tricks?" asked parrington of the german, drawing his attention to the rising cloud, the edges of which glistened white as snow in the bright sunshine. "possibly," was the laconic answer. the wharf of corregidor was in a state of confused hubbub. the artillerymen stood shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the arrival of the _mindoro_. suddenly an officer forced his way through the crowd, and, standing on the very edge of the wharf, called out to the rapidly approaching _mindoro_: "parrington, what's all this about?" "it's true, every word of it," roared the latter through the megaphone. "the japanese are attacking us, and the german steamer over there is the first to bring us news of it. war broke out six days ago." the _mindoro_ stopped and threw a line, which was caught by many willing hands and made fast to the landing place. "here's my witness," shouted parrington across to colonel prettyman, "the commander of the german steamer _danzig_." "i'll join you on board," answered prettyman. "i've just despatched the news to manila by wireless. of course they won't believe it there." "then you've done a very stupid thing," cried parrington, horrified. "look there," he added, pointing to the cloud above the harbor of manila; "that has most certainly cost our friend harryman, of the _monadnock_, his life. his presentiments did not deceive him after all!" "cost harryman, on board the _monadnock_, his life?" asked prettyman in astonishment. "i'm afraid so," answered parrington. "the japanese steamer which brought us the news of the famous seaquake has been anchored beside him for four days. when you sent your wireless message to manila, the japanese must have intercepted it, for they have a wireless apparatus on board--i noticed it only this morning." the _mindoro_ now lay fast beside the wharf, and colonel prettyman hurried across the gangway to the gunboat and went straight to parrington's cabin, where the two shut themselves up with the german officer. a few minutes later an excited orderly rushed on board and demanded to see the colonel at once; he was let into the cabin, and it was found that he had brought a confirmation of parrington's suspicions, for a wireless message from manila informed them that the _monadnock_ had been destroyed in the roads of manila through some inexplicable explosion. parrington sprang from his chair and cried to the colonel: "won't you at least pay those cursed japs back by sending the message, 'we suspect that the japanese steamer anchored beside the _monadnock_ has blown her up by means of a torpedo?' otherwise it is just possible that they will be naã¯ve enough in manila to let the scoundrel get out of the harbor. no, no," he shouted, interrupting himself, "we can't wait for that; we must get to work ourselves at once. colonel, you go ashore, and i'll steam toward manila and cut off the rogue's escape. and you"--turning to the german--"you can return to your ship and enter the bay; there are no"--here his voice broke--"no mines here." then he rushed up on the bridge again. the hawsers were cast off in feverish haste, and the _mindoro_ once more steamed out into the bay at the fastest speed of which the old craft was capable. parrington had regained his self-command in face of the new task that the events just described, which followed so rapidly upon one another's heels, laid out for him. an expression of fierce joy came over his features when, looking through his glass an hour later, he discovered the _kanga maru_ holding a straight course for corregidor. as calmly as if it were only a question of everyday maneuvers, parrington gave his orders. the artillerymen stood on either side of the small guns, and everything was made ready for action. the distance between the two ships slowly diminished. "yes, it is the japanese steamer," said parrington to himself. "and now to avenge harryman! there'll be no sentimentality; we'll shoot them down like pirates! no signal, no warning--nothing, nothing!" he murmured. "stand by with the forward gun," he called down from the bridge to the men standing at the little 12 pounder on the foredeck of the _mindoro_. the _mindoro_ turned a little to starboard, so as to get at the broadside of the japanese, and thus be able to fire on him with both the forward and after guns. "five hundred yards! aim at the engine room! number one gun, fire!" the shot boomed across the sunny, blue expanse of water, driving a white puff of smoke before it. the shell disappeared in the waves about one hundred yards ahead of the japanese steamer. the next shot struck the ship, leaving in her side a black hole with jagged edges just above the waterline. "splendid!" cried parrington. "keep that up and we'll have the villain in ten shots." quickly the 12 pounder was reloaded; the gunners stood quietly beside their gun, and shot after shot was fired at the japanese ship, of which five or six hit her right at the waterline. the stern gun of the _mindoro_ devoted itself in the meantime to destroying things on the enemy's deck. gaping holes appeared everywhere in the ship's side, and the funnels received several enormous rents, out of which brown smoke poured forth. in a quarter of an hour the deck resembled the primeval chaos, being covered with bent and broken iron rods, iron plates riddled with shot, and woodwork torn to splinters. suddenly clouds of white steam burst out from all the holes in the ship's sides, from the skylights, and from the remnants of the funnels; the deck in the middle of the steamer rose slowly, and the exploding boilers tossed broken bits of engines and deck apparatus high up into the air. the _kanga maru_ listed to port and disappeared in the waves, over which a few straggling american shots swept. "cease firing!" commanded parrington. then the _mindoro_ came about and again steered straight for manila. the act of retribution had been accomplished; the treacherous murder of the crew of the _monadnock_ had been avenged. when the _mindoro_ arrived at the harbor of manila, the town was in a tremendous state of excitement. the drums were beating the alarm in the streets. the spot where only that morning the _monadnock_ had lain in idle calm was empty. * * * * * the explosion of the _monadnock_ had at first been regarded as an accident. in spite of its being the dinner hour, a number of boats appeared in the roads, all making toward the scene of the accident, where a broad, thick veil of smoke crept slowly over the surface of the water. as no one knew what new horrors might be hidden in this cloud, none of the boats dared go nearer. only two white naval cutters belonging to the gunboats lying in the harbor glided into the mist, driven forward by strong arms; and they actually succeeded in saving a few of the crew. one of the rescued men told the following story: about two minutes after the _monadnock_ had received a wireless message, which, however, was never deciphered, a dull concussion was felt throughout the ship, followed almost immediately by another one. on the starboard side of the _monadnock_ two white, bubbling, hissing columns of water had shot up, which completely flooded the low deck; then a third explosion, possibly caused by a mine striking the ammunition room and setting it off, practically tore the ship asunder. there could be no doubt that these torpedoes came from the japanese steamer anchored beside the _monadnock_, for the _kanga maru_ had suddenly slipped her anchor and hurried off as fast as she could. it was now remembered that the japanese ship had had steam up constantly for the last few days, ostensibly because they were daily expecting their cargo in lighters, from which they intended to load without delay. it was therefore pretty certain that the _kanga maru_ had entered the harbor merely for the purpose of destroying the _monadnock_, the only monitor in manila. torpedo tubes had probably been built in the japanese merchant steamer under water, and this made it possible to blow up the _monadnock_ the moment there was the least suspicion that the americans in manila were aware of the fact that war had broken out. thus the wireless message from corregidor had indeed sealed the fate of the _monadnock_. the _kanga maru_ had launched her torpedoes, and then tried to escape. the meeting with the _mindoro_ the japanese had not reckoned with, for they had counted on getting away during the confusion which the destruction of the _monadnock_ would naturally cause in manila. as a result of these occurrences the few ships in the roads of manila soon stopped loading and discharging; most of the steamers weighed anchor, and, as soon as they could get up steam, went farther out into the roads, for a rumor had spread that the _kanga maru_ had laid mines. the report turned out to be entirely unfounded, but it succeeded in causing a regular panic on some of the ships. from the town came the noise of the beating of drums and the shrill call to arms to alarm the garrison; one could see the quays being cleared by detachments of soldiers, and sentries were posted before all the public buildings. american troops hurried on the double-quick through the streets of the european quarter, and the sight of the soldiers furnished the first element of reassurance to the white population, whose excitement had been tremendous ever since the alarm of the garrison. the old spanish batteries, or rather what was still left of them, were occupied by artillerymen, while one battalion went on sentry duty on the ramparts of the section of the town called _intra muros_, and five other battalions left the town at once in order to help garrison the redoubts and forts in the line of defense on the land side. the town of manila and the arsenal at cavite, where measures for defense were also taken, thus gave no cause for apprehension; but, on the other hand, it was noticeable that the natives showed signs of insubordination toward the american military authorities, and that they did not attempt to conceal the fact that they had been better informed as to the political situation than the americans. these were the first indications as to how the land lay, and gradually it began to be remembered that similar observations had been made within the last few days: for example, a number of revolutionary flags had had to be removed in the town. the americans were in a very precarious position, and at the council of war held by the governor in the afternoon it was decided that should the filipinos show the slightest signs of insurrection, the whole military strength would be concentrated to defend manila, cavite, and the single railway running north, while all the other garrisons were to be withdrawn and the rest of the archipelago left to its own devices. in this way the americans might at least hope, with some chance of success, to remain masters of manila and vicinity. the island was, of course, proclaimed to be in a state of siege, and a strong military patrol was put in charge of the night watch. a serious encounter took place in the afternoon before the government building. as soon as it became known that proclamation of martial law had been made the population streamed in great crowds toward the government buildings; and when the american flag was suddenly hauled down--it has never been ascertained by whom--and the catipunã n flag, formerly the standard of the rebels--the tri-color with the sun in a triangular field--appeared in its place, a moment of wild enthusiasm ensued, so wild that it required an american company with fixed bayonets to clear the square of the fanatics. the sudden appearance of this huge catipunã n flag seemed mysterious enough, but the next few days were to demonstrate clearly how carefully the rebellion among the natives had been prepared. when the officers of the garrison assembled at the customary place on the evening of the same day, they were depressed and uneasy, as men who find themselves confronted by an invisible enemy. there was no longer any difference of opinion as to the danger that threatened from the mongolians, and those officers who had been exonerated from the charge of being too suspicious by the rapid developments of the last few hours were considerate enough not to make their less far-sighted comrades feel that they had undervalued their adversaries. no one had expected a catastrophe to occur quite so suddenly, and the uncertainty as to what was going on elsewhere had a paralyzing effect on all decisions. what one could do in the way of defense had been or was being done, but there were absolutely no indications as to the side from which the enemy might be expected. the chief cause for anxiety at the moment was furnished by the question whether the squadron which had started for mindanao was already aware of the outbreak of war. in any case, it was necessary to warn both it and the transports expected from san francisco before they arrived at mindanao. the only ships available for this purpose were the few little gunboats taken from the spaniards in 1898; these had been made fit for service in all haste to be used in the harbor when the cruiser squadron left. although they left much to be desired in the way of speed--a handicap of six days could, however, hardly have been made up even by the swiftest turbine--there was nevertheless a fair chance that these insignificant-looking little vessels, which could hardly be distinguished from the merchant type, might be able to slip past the japanese blockading ships, which were probably cruising outside of manila. this, however, would only be possible in case the japanese had thus far ignored the squadron near mindanao as they had manila, for the purpose of concentrating their strength somewhere else. but where? at any rate, it was worth while taking even such a faint chance of being able to warn the squadron, for the destruction of the _monadnock_ could have had no other reason than to prevent communications between manila and the squadron. the enemy had evidently not given a thought to the rickety little gunboats. or could it be that all was already at an end out at mindanao? at all events, the attempt had to be made. two gunboats coaled and slipped out of the harbor the same evening, heading in a southeasterly direction among the little islands straight through the archipelago in order to reach the eastern coast of mindanao and there intercept the transport steamers, and eventually accompany them to manila. neither of these vessels was ever heard from again; it is supposed that they went down after bravely defending themselves against a japanese cruiser. their mission had meanwhile been rendered useless, for the five mail-steamers had encountered the japanese torpedo-boats east of mindanao three days before, and upon their indignant refusal to haul down their flags and surrender, had been sunk by several torpedoes. only a few members of the crew had been fished up by the japanese. as a reward for his decisive action in destroying the _kanga maru_, the commander of the _mindoro_ was ordered to try, with the assistance of three other gunboats, to locate the commander of the cruiser squadron somewhere in the neighborhood of mindanao, probably to the southwest of that island, in order to notify him of the outbreak of the war and to hand him the order to return to manila. the gunboats started on their voyage at dawn. in order to conceal the real reason for the expedition from the natives, it was openly declared that they were only going to do sentry duty at the entrance to the bay of manila. each of the four vessels had been provided with a wireless apparatus, which, however, was not to be installed until the ships were under way, so that the four commanders might always be in touch with one another, and with the cruiser squadron as well, even should the latter be some distance away. the next morning the gunboats found themselves in the strait of mindoro. they must have passed the enemy's line of blockade unnoticed, under the cover of darkness. at all events, they had seen nothing of the japanese, and concluded that the blockade before manila must be pretty slack. on leaving the strait of mindoro, the gunboats, proceeding abreast at small distances from one another, sighted a steamer--apparently an englishman--crossing their course. they tried to signal to it, but no sooner did the english vessel observe this, than she began to increase her speed. it became clear at once that she was faster than the gunboats, and unless, therefore, the latter wished to engage in a useless chase, the hope of receiving news from the english captain had to be abandoned. so the gunboats continued on their course--the only ships to be seen on the wide expanse of inland sea. in the afternoon a white steamer, going in the opposite direction, was sighted. opinions clashed as to whether it was a warship or a merchant-vessel. in order to make certain the commander of the _mindoro_ ordered a turn to starboard, whereupon it was discovered that the strange ship was an ocean-steamer of about three thousand tons, whose nationality could not be distinguished at that distance. still it might be an auxiliary cruiser from the japanese merchant service. the commander of the _mindoro_ therefore ordered his vessels to clear for action. the actions of the strange steamer were followed with eager attention, and it was seen that she continued her direct northward course. when she was about five hundred yards to port of the _mindoro_, the latter requested the stranger to show her flag, whereupon the english flag appeared at the stern. eager for battle, the americans had hoped she would turn out to be a japanese ship, for which, being four against one, they would have been more than a match; the english colors therefore produced universal disappointment. suddenly one of the officers of the _mindoro_ drew parrington's attention to the fact that the whole build of the strange steamer characterized her as one of the ships of the "nippon yusen kaisha" with which he had become acquainted during his service at shanghai; he begged parrington not to be deceived by the english flag. the latter at once ordered a blank shot to be fired for the purpose of stopping the strange vessel, but when the latter calmly continued on her course, a ball was sent after her from the bow of the _mindoro_, the shell splashing into the water just ahead of the steamer. the stranger now appeared to stop, but it was only to make a sharp turn to starboard, whereupon he tried to escape at full speed. at the same time the english flag disappeared from the stern, and was replaced by the red sun banner of nippon. parrington at once opened fire on the hostile ship, and in a few minutes the latter had to pay heavily for her carelessness. her commander had evidently reckoned upon the fact that the americans were not yet aware of the outbreak of war, and had hoped to pass the gunboats under cover of a neutral flag. it also seemed unlikely that four little gunboats should have run the blockade before manila; it was far more natural to suppose that these ships, still ignorant of the true state of affairs, were bound on some expedition in connection with the rising of the natives. the firing had scarcely lasted ten minutes before the japanese auxiliary cruiser, which had answered with a few shots from two light guns cleverly concealed behind the deck-house near the stern of the boat, sank stern first. it was at any rate a slight victory which greatly raised the spirits of the crews of the gunboats. within the next few hours the americans caught up with a few malayan sailing ships, to which they paid no attention; later on a little black freight steamer, apparently on the way from borneo to manila, came in sight. the little vessel worked its way heavily through the water, tossed about by the ever increasing swell. about three o'clock the strange ship was near enough for its flag--that of holland--to be recognized. signals were made asking her to bring to, whereupon an officer from the _mindoro_ was pulled over to her in a gig. half an hour later he left the _rotterdam_, and the latter turned and steamed away in the direction from which she had come. the american officer had informed the captain of the _rotterdam_ of the blockade of manila, and the latter had at once abandoned the idea of touching at that port. the news which he had to impart gave cause for considerable anxiety. the _rotterdam_ came from the harbor of labuan, where pretty definite news had been received concerning a battle between some japanese ships and the american cruiser squadron stationed at mindanao. it was reported that the battle had taken place about five days ago, immediately after war had been declared, that the american ships had fallen a prey to the superior forces of the enemy, and that the entire american squadron had been destroyed. at all events, it was quite clear that the squadron no longer needed to be informed of the outbreak of hostilities, so parrington decided to carry out his orders and return to manila with his four ships. as the flotilla toward evening, just before sunset, was again passing through the strait of mindoro, the last gunboat reported that a big white ship, apparently a war vessel, had been sighted coming from the southeast, and that it was heading for the flotilla at full speed. it was soon possible to distinguish a white steamer, standing high out of the water, whose fighting tops left no room for doubt as to its warlike character. it was soon ascertained that the steamer was making about fifteen knots, and that escape was therefore impossible. parrington ordered his gunboats to form in a line and to get up full steam, as it was just possible that they might be able to elude the enemy under cover of darkness, although there was still a whole hour to that time. slowly the hull of the hostile ship rose above the horizon, and when she was still at a distance of about four thousand yards there was a flash at her bows, and the thunder of a shot boomed across the waters, echoed faintly from the mountains of mindoro. "they're too far away," said parrington, as the enemy's shell splashed into the waves far ahead of the line of gunboats. a second shot followed a few minutes later, and whizzed between the _mindoro_ and her neighbor, throwing up white sprays of water whose drops, in the rays of the setting sun, fell back into the sea like golden mist. and now came shot after shot, while the americans were unable to answer with their small guns at that great distance. suddenly a shell swept the whole length of the _mindoro's_ deck, on the port side, tearing up the planks of the foredeck as it burst. things were getting serious! slowly the sun sank in the west, turning the sky into one huge red flame, streaked with yellow lights and deep green patches. the clouds, which looked like spots of black velvet floating above the semicircle of the sun, had jagged edges of gleaming white and unearthly ruby red. fiery red, yellow, and green reflections played tremblingly over the water, while in the east the deep blue shadows of night slowly overspread the sky. the whole formed a picture of rare coloring: the four little american ships, pushing forward with all the strength of their puffing engines and throwing up a white line of foam before them with their sharp bows; on the bridges the weather-beaten forms of their commanders, and beside the dull-brown gun muzzles the gun crews, waiting impatiently for the moment when the decreasing distance would at last allow them to use their weapons; far away in the blue shadows of the departing day, like a spirit of the sea, the white steamer, from whose sides poured unceasingly the yellow flashes from the mouths of the cannon. several shots had caused a good deal of damage among the rigging of the gunboats. the _callao_ had only half a funnel left, from which gray-brown smoke and red sparks poured forth. suddenly there was a loud explosion, and the _callao_ listed to port. a six-inch shell had hit her squarely in the stern, passing through the middle of the ship, and exploded in the upper part of the engine-room. the little gunboat was eliminated from the contest before it could fire a single shot, and now it lay broadside to the enemy, and utterly at the latter's mercy. in a few minutes the _callao_ sank, her flags waving. almost directly afterwards another boat shared her fate. the other two gunboats continued on their course, the quickly descending darkness making them a more difficult target for the enemy. suddenly a lantern signal informed the commander of the _mindoro_ that the third ship had become disabled through some damage to the engines. parrington at once ordered the gunboat to be run ashore on the island of mindoro and blown up during the night. then he was compelled to leave the last of his comrades to its fate. his wireless apparatus had felt disturbances, evidently caused by the enemy's warning to the ships blockading manila, so that his chances of entering the harbor unmolested appeared exceedingly slim. the japanese cruiser ceased firing as it grew darker, but curiously enough had made no use whatever of her searchlights. only the flying sparks from her funnel enabled the _mindoro_ to follow the course of the hostile vessel, which soon passed the gunboat. either the enemy thought that all four american ships had been destroyed or else they didn't think it worth while to worry about a disabled little gunboat. at all events, this carelessness or mistake on the part of the enemy proved the salvation of the _mindoro_. during the night she struck a northwesterly course, so as to try to gain an entrance to the bay of manila from the north at daybreak, depending on the batteries of corregidor to assist her in the attempt. once during the night the _mindoro_ almost collided with one of the enemy's blockading ships, which was traveling with shaded lights, but she passed by unnoticed and gained an entrance at the north of the bay at dawn, while the batteries on the high, rocky terraces of corregidor, with their long-range guns, kept the enemy at a distance. it was now ascertained that the japanese blockading fleet consisted only of ships belonging to the merchant service, armed with a few guns, and of the old, unprotected cruiser _takatshio_, which had had the encounter with the gunboats. the bold expedition of the latter had cleared up the situation in so far that it was now pretty certain that the entire american cruiser squadron had been destroyed or disabled, and that manila was therefore entirely cut off from the sea. the batteries at corregidor now expected an attack from the enemy's ships, but none came. the japanese contented themselves with an extraordinarily slack blockade--so much so that at times one could scarcely distinguish the outlines of the ships on the horizon. as all commerce had stopped and only a few gunboats comprised the entire naval strength of manila, japan could well afford to regard this mockery of a blockade as perfectly sufficient. day by day the americans stood at their guns, day by day they expected the appearance of a hostile ship; but the horizon remained undisturbed and an uncanny silence lay over the town and harbor. of what use were the best of guns, and what was the good of possessing heroic courage and a burning desire for battle, if the enemy did not put in an appearance? and he never did. when parrington appeared at the club on the evening after his scouting expedition he was hailed as a hero, and the officers stayed together a long time discussing the naval engagement. in the early hours of the morning he accompanied his friend, colonel hawkins of the twelfth infantry regiment, through the quiet streets of the northern suburbs of manila to the latter's barracks. as they reached the gate they saw, standing before it in the pale light of dawn, a mule cart, on which lay an enormous barrel. the colonel called the sentry, and learned that the cart had been standing before the gate since the preceding evening. the colonel went into the guard-room while parrington remained in the street. he was suddenly struck by a label affixed to the cask, which contained the words, "from colonel pemberton to his friend colonel hawkins." parrington followed the colonel into the guard-room and drew his attention to the scrap of paper. hawkins ordered some soldiers to take the barrel down from the car and break open one end of it. the colonel had strong nerves, and was apt to boast of them to the novices in the colonial service, but what he saw now was too much even for such an old veteran. he stepped back and seized the wall for support, while his eyes grew moist. in the cask lay the corpse of his friend colonel pemberton, formerly commander of the military station of san josã©, with his skull smashed in. the filipinos had surprised the station of san josã© and slaughtered the whole garrison after a short battle. pemberton's corpse--his love for whisky was well known--they had put into a cask and driven to the infantry barracks at manila. parrington, deeply touched, pressed his comrade's hand. the insurrection of the filipinos! in manila the bells of the dominican church of _intra muros_ rang out their monotonous call to early mass. _chapter ii_ on the high seas the _tacoma_ was expected to arrive at yokohama early the next morning; the gong had already sounded, calling the passengers to the farewell meal in the dining-saloon, which looked quite festive with its colored flags and lanterns. there was a deafening noise of voices in the handsome room, which was beginning to be overpoweringly hot in spite of the ever-revolving electric fans. as the sea was quite smooth, there was scarcely an empty place at the tables. a spirit of parting and farewell pervaded the conversation; the passengers were assembled for the last time, for on the morrow the merry party, which chance had brought together for two weeks, would be scattered to the four winds. naturally the conversation turned upon the country whose celebrated wonders they were to behold on the following day. the old globe-trotters and several merchants who had settled in east asia were besieged with questions, occasionally very naã¯ve ones, about japan and the best way for foreigners to get along there. with calm superiority they paraded their knowledge, and eager ladies made note on the backs of their menus of all the hotels, temples, and mountains recommended to them. some groups were making arrangements for joint excursions in the island kingdom of tenno; others discussed questions of finance and commerce, each one trying to impress his companions by a display of superior knowledge. here and there politics formed the subject of conversation; one lady in particular, the wife of a baltimore merchant, sitting opposite the secretary of a small european legation who was on his way to pekin to take up his duties there, plied him with questions and did her level best to get at the secrets of international politics. the secretary, who had no wonderful secrets to disclose, had recourse to the ordinary political topics of the day, and entertained his fair listener with a discussion of the problems that would arise in case of hostilities between america and japan. "of course," he declared, vaunting his diplomatic knowledge, "in case of war the japanese would first surprise manila and try to effect a landing, and in this they would very likely be successful. it is true that manila with her strong defenses is pretty well protected against a sudden raid, and the japanese gunners would have no easy task in an encounter with the american coast batteries. even though manila may not turn out to be a second port arthur, the americans should experience no difficulty in repelling all japanese attacks for at least six months; meanwhile america could send reinforcements to manila under the protection of her fleet, and then there would probably be a decisive battle somewhere in the malayan archipelago between the japanese and american fleets, the results of which----" "i thought," interrupted a wealthy young lady from chicago, "i thought we had some ships in the philippines." the diplomat waved his hand deprecatingly, and smiled knowingly at this interruption. he was master of the situation and well qualified to cast the horoscope of the future--and so he was left in possession of the field. the lady opposite him was, however, not yet satisfied; with the new wisdom just obtained she now besieged the german major sitting beside her, who was on his way to kiao-chau via san francisco. he had not been paying much attention to the conversation, but the subject broached to him for discussion was such a familiar one, that he was at once posted when his neighbor asked him his opinion as to the outcome of such a war. nevertheless it was an awkward question, and the german, out of consideration for his environment on board the american steamer, did not allow himself to be drawn out of his usual reserve. he simply inquired what basis they had for the supposition that, in case of war, japan would occupy herself exclusively with the philippines. the secretary of legation had gradually descended from the clouds of diplomatic self-conceit to the level of the ordinary mortal and, overhearing the major's question through the confusion of voices and clatter of plates, shook his head disapprovingly and asked the major: "don't you think it's likely that japan will try first of all to get possession of the prize she has been longing for ever since the peace of paris?" "i know as little as anyone else not in diplomatic circles what the plans and hopes of the japanese government are, but i do think there is not the slightest prospect of an outbreak of hostilities in the near future; there is, accordingly, not much sense in trying to imagine what might happen in case of a war," answered the german coolly. "there are only two possibilities," said the english merchant from shanghai, one of the chief stockholders of the line, who sat next to the captain. "according to my experience"--and here he paused in order to draw the attention of his listeners to this experience--"according to my experience," he repeated, "there are only two possibilities. japan is overpeopled and is compelled to send her surplus population out of the country. the manchuria experiment turned cut to be a failure, for the teeming chinese population leaves no room now for more japanese emigrants and small tradesmen than there were before the war with russia; besides, there was no capital at hand for large enterprises. japan requires a strong foothold for her emigrants where"--and here he threw an encouraging glance at the captain--"she can keep her people together economically and politically, as in hawaii. the emigration to the states has for years been severely restricted by law." "and at the same time they are pouring into our country in droves by way of the mexican frontier," mumbled the american colonel, who was on his way back to his post, from his seat beside the captain. "that leaves only the islands of the pacific, the philippines, and perhaps australia," continued the shanghai merchant undisturbed. "in any such endeavors japan would of course have to reckon with the states and with england. the other possibility, that of providing employment and support for the ever-increasing population within the borders of their own country, would be to organize large japanese manufacturing interests. many efforts have already been made in this direction, but, owing to the enormous sums swallowed up by the army and navy, the requisite capital seems to be lacking." "in my opinion," interposed the captain at this juncture, "there is a third possibility--namely, to render additional land available for the cultivation of crops. as you are all no doubt aware, not more than one third of japan is under cultivation; the second third, consisting of stone deserts among the mountains, must of necessity be excluded, but the remaining third, properly cultivated, would provide a livelihood for millions of japanese peasants. but right here we encounter a peculiar japanese trait; they are dead set on the growth of rice, and where, in the higher districts, no rice will grow, they refuse to engage in agriculture altogether and prefer to leave the land idle. if they would grow wheat, corn, and grass in such sections, japan would not only become independent of other countries with respect to her importation of provisions, but, as i said before, it would also provide for the settlement of millions of japanese peasants; and, furthermore, we should then get some decent bread to eat in japan." this conception of the japanese problem seemed to open new vistas to the secretary of legation. he listened attentively to the captain's words and threw inquiring glances toward the shanghai merchant. the latter, however, was completely absorbed in the dissection of a fish, whose numerous bones continually presented fresh anatomical riddles. in his stead the thread of the conversation was taken up by dr. morris, of brighton, an unusually cadaverous-looking individual, who sometimes maintained absolute silence for days at a time, and who was supposed to possess japanese bronzes of untold value and to be on his way to hokkaido to complete his collection. "you must not believe everything you see in the papers," he said. "if the japanese were only better farmers, nobody in japan need go hungry; there is no question of her being overpeopled, and this mania for emigration is nothing but a disease, a fashion, of which the government at tokio, to be sure, makes very good use for political purposes. whoever speaks in all seriousness of japan's being overpeopled is merely quoting newspaper editorials, and is not acquainted with the conditions of the country." dr. morris had scarcely said as much as this during the whole of his two weeks' stay on board the _tacoma_. it is true that he had got to know japan very thoroughly during his many years' sojourn in the interior in search of old bronzes, and he knew what he was talking about. his views, however, were not in accord with those current at the moment, and consequently, although his words were listened to attentively, they did not produce much effect. the conversation continued along the same lines, and the possibility of a war again came up for discussion. the german officer was the only one to whom they could put military questions, and it was no light task for him to find satisfactory answers. he could only repeat again and again that such a war would offer such endless possibilities of attack and defense, that it was absolutely impossible to forecast the probable course of events. the shanghai merchant conversed with the captain in a low tone of voice about the system of japanese spies in america, and related a few anecdotes of his experiences in china in this connection. "but one can distinguish between a jap and a chinaman at a glance," interrupted the son of a new york multi-millionaire sitting opposite him. "i could never understand why the japanese spies are so overrated." "if you can tell one from the other, you are more observant than the ordinary mortal," remarked the englishman dryly. "i can't for one, and if you'll look me up in shanghai, i'll give myself the pleasure of putting you to the test. i'll invite a party of chinamen and ask you to pick out from among them a japanese naval officer who has been in shanghai for a year and a half on a secret, i had better say, a perfectly open mission." "you'll lose your bet," said the captain to the new yorker, "for i've lost a similar wager under the same circumstances." "but the japanese don't wear pigtails," said the new yorker, somewhat abashed. "those japanese do wear pigtails," said the englishman with a grin. "what's up?" said the captain, looking involuntarily towards the entrance to the dining-saloon. "what's up? we're only going at half speed." the dull throbbing of the engine had indeed stopped, and any one who noticed the vibration of the ship could tell that the propeller was revolving only slightly. the captain got up quietly to go on deck, but as he was making his way out between the long rows of chairs, he met one of the crew, who whispered to him that the first mate begged him to come on the bridge. "we're not moving," said some one near the center of the table. "we can't have arrived this soon." "perhaps we have met a disabled ship," said a young french girl; "that would be awfully interesting." the captain remained away, while the dinner continued to be served. suddenly all conversation was stopped by the dull howl of the steam whistle, and when two more calls followed the first, an old globe trotter thought he had discovered the reason for the ship's slowing down, and declared with certainty: "this is the third time on my way to japan that we have run into a fog just before entering the harbor; the last time it made us a day and a half late. i tell you it was no joke to sit in that gray mist with nothing to do but wait for the fog to lift----" and then he narrated a few anecdotes about that particular voyage, which at once introduced the subject of fog at his table, a subject that was greedily pounced upon by all. london fog and other fogs were discussed, and no one noticed that the ship had come to a full stop and was gradually beginning to pitch heavily, a motion that soon had the effect of causing several of the ladies to abandon the conversation and play nervously with their coffee-spoons, as the nightmare of seasickness forced itself every moment more disagreeably on their memories. a few of the men got up and went on deck. a merchant from san francisco came down and told his wife that a strange ship not far from the _tacoma_ had its searchlights turned on her. no reason for this extraordinary proceeding could be given, as the officers seemed to know as little about it as the passengers. the fourth officer, whose place was at the head of one of the long tables, now appeared in the dining-saloon, and was at once besieged with questions from all sides. in a loud voice he announced that the captain wished him to say that there was no cause for alarm. a strange ship had its searchlights turned on the _tacoma_, probably a man-of-war that had some communication to make. the captain begged the passengers not to allow themselves to be disturbed in their dinner. the next course was served immediately afterwards, the reason for the interruption was soon forgotten, and conversation continued as before. "but we're not moving yet," said a young woman about ten minutes later to her husband, with whom she was taking a honeymoon trip round the world, "we're not moving yet." the fourth officer gave an evasive answer in order to reassure his neighbor, but, as a matter of fact, the ship had not yet got under way again. to complicate the situation, another member of the crew came in at this moment and whispered something to the officer, who at once hurried on deck. it was a positive relief to him to escape from the smell of food and the loud voices into the fresh air. it seemed like another world on deck. the stars twinkled in the silent sky, and the soft night air refreshed the nerves that had been exhausted by the heat of the day. the fourth officer mounted quickly to the bridge and reported to the captain. the latter gave him the following brief order: "mr. warren, i shall ask you to see that the passengers are not unnecessarily alarmed; let the band play a few pieces, and see that the dinner proceeds quietly. make a short speech in my stead, tell the passengers what a pleasant time we have all had on this voyage, and say a few words of farewell to them for me. we've been signaled by a japanese warship," he continued, "and asked to stop and wait for a japanese boat. i haven't the slightest idea what the fellows want, but we must obey orders; the matter will no doubt be settled in a few minutes as soon as the boat has arrived." the officer disappeared, and the captain, standing by the port yardarm on the bridge, waited anxiously for the cutter which was approaching at full speed. the gangway had already been lowered. the cutter, after describing a sharp curve, came alongside, and two marines armed with rifles immediately jumped on the gangway. "halloo," said the captain, "a double guard! i wonder what that means?" the japanese officer got out of the cutter and came up the gangway, followed by four more soldiers, two of whom were posted at the upper entrance to the gangway. the other two followed the officer to the bridge. a seventh man got out of the boat and carried a square box on the bridge, while finally two soldiers brought a long heavy object up the gangway and set it down against the wall of the cabin in the stern. the japanese officer ordered the two marines to take up their stand at the foot of the steps leading to the bridge, and with a wave of his hand ordered the third to station himself with his square box at the port railing. at the same time he gave him an order in japanese, and the rattling noise which followed made it clear that the apparatus was a lantern which was signaling across to the man-of-war. "this is carrying the joke a little too far. what does it all mean?" cried the captain of the _tacoma_, starting to pull the man with the lantern back from the railing. but the japanese officer laid his hand firmly on his right arm and said in a decisive tone: "captain, in the name of the japanese government i declare the american steamer _tacoma_ a lawful prize and her whole crew prisoners of war." the captain shook off the grasp of the japanese, and stepping back a pace shouted: "you must be crazy; we have nothing to do with the japanese naval maneuvers, and i shall have to ask you not to carry your maneuver game too far. if you must have naval maneuvers, please practice on your own merchant vessels and leave neutral ships alone." the japanese saluted and said: "i am very sorry, captain, to have to correct your impression that this is part of our maneuvers. japan is at war with the united states of america, and every merchantman flying the american flag is from now on a lawful prize." the captain, a strapping fellow, seized the little japanese, and pushed him toward the railing, evidently with the intention of throwing the impertinent fellow overboard. but in the same instant he noticed two japanese rifles pointed at him, whereupon he let his arms drop with an oath and stared at the two japanese marines in utter astonishment. the lantern signal continued to rattle behind him, and suddenly the pale blue searchlight from the man-of-war was thrown on the bridge of the _tacoma_, lighting up the strange scene as if by moonlight. at the same time the shot from a gun boomed across the quiet surface of the water. things really seemed to be getting serious. from below, through the open skylights of the dining-saloon came the cheers of the passengers for the captain at the close of the fourth officer's speech, and the band at once struck up the "star spangled banner." everybody seemed to be cheerful and happy in the dining-saloon, and one and all seemed to have forgotten that the _tacoma_ was not moving. and while from below the inspiring strains of the "star spangled banner" passed out into the night, twenty japanese marines came alongside in a second cutter and, climbing up the gangway, occupied all the entrances leading from below to the deck--a double guard with loaded guns being stationed at each door. "i must ask you," said the japanese officer to the captain, "to continue to direct the ship's course under my supervision. you will take the _tacoma_, according to your original plans, into the harbor of yokohama; there the passengers will leave the ship, without any explanations being offered, and you and the crew will be prisoners of the japanese government. the prize-court will decide what is to be done with your cargo. the baggage of the passengers, the captain, and the crew will, of course, remain in their possession. there are now twenty of our marines on board the _tacoma_, but in case you should imagine that they would be unable to command the situation in the event of any resistance being offered by you or your crew, i consider it advisable to inform you that for the last ten minutes there has been a powerful bomb in the stern of the _tacoma_, guarded by two men, who have orders to turn on the current and blow up your ship at the first signs of serious resistance. it is entirely to the advantage of the passengers in your care to bow to the inevitable and avoid all insubordination--_ã  la guerre comme ã  la guerre_." the japanese saluted and continued: "you will remain in command on the bridge for the next four hours, when you will be relieved by the first mate. meanwhile the latter can acquaint the passengers with the altered circumstances." and, waving his hand toward the first mate, who had listened in silent rage, he added: "please, sir!" the officer addressed looked inquiringly across to the captain, who hesitated a moment and then said in suppressed emotion: "hardy, go down and tell the passengers that the _tacoma_, through an unheard-of, treacherous surprise, has fallen into the hands of a japanese cruiser, but that the passengers, on whose account we are obliged to submit to this treatment, need not be startled, for they and all their possessions will be landed safely at yokohama to-morrow morning." hardy's soles seemed positively to stick to the steps as he went down, and he was almost overcome by the warm air at the entrance to the dining-saloon, where the noise of boisterous laughter and lively conversation greeted him. "halloo, when are we going on?" he was asked from all sides. mr. hardy shook his head silently and went to the captain's place. "we must drink your health," called several, holding their glasses towards him. "where's the captain?" hardy was silent, but remained standing and the words seemed to choke him. "be quiet! listen! mr. hardy is going to speak----" "it's high time we heard something from the captain," called out a stout german brewer from milwaukee over the heads of the others. "three cheers for mr. hardy!" came from one corner of the room. "three cheers for mr. hardy!" shouted the passengers on the other side, and all joined in the chorus: "for he is a jolly good fellow." "do let mr. hardy speak," said the secretary of legation, turning to the passengers reprovingly. "silence!" came from the other side. the hum of voices ceased gradually and silence ensued. "first give mr. hardy something to drink!" said some one, while another passenger laughed out loud. hardy wiped the perspiration from his brow with the captain's napkin, which the latter had left on his plate. "shocking!" said an english lady quite distinctly; "seamen haven't any manners." hardy had not yet found words, but finally began in a low, stammering voice: "the captain wishes me to tell you that the _tacoma_ has just been captured by a japanese cruiser. the united states of america are said to be at war with japan. there is a japanese guard on board, which has occupied all the companionways. the captain requests the passengers to submit quietly to the inevitable. you will all be landed safely at yokohama early to-morrow and--" hardy tried to continue, but the words would not come and he sank back exhausted into his chair. "three cheers for the captain!" came the ringing shout from one of the end tables, to be repeated in different parts of the room. the german brewer shook with laughter and exclaimed: "that's a splendid joke of the captain's; he ought to have a medal for it." "stop your nonsense," said some one to the brewer. "no, but really, that's a famous joke," persisted the latter. "i've never enjoyed myself so much on a trip before." "be quiet, man; it's a serious matter." "ha! ha! you've been taken in, too, have you?" was the answer, accompanied by a roar of laughter. an american jumped up, crying: "i'm going to get my revolver; i guess we can handle those chaps," and several others joined in with "yes, yes, we'll get our revolvers and chuck the yellow monkeys overboard!" at this point the german major jumped up from his seat and called out to the excited company in a sharp tone of command: "really, gentlemen, the affair is serious; it's not a joke, as some of you gentlemen seem to think; you may take my word for it that it is no laughing matter." hardy still sat silent in his chair. the englishman from shanghai overwhelmed him with questions and even the secretary of legation emerged from his diplomatic reserve. the six men who had gone to get their revolvers now returned to the dining-saloon with their spirits considerably damped, and one of them called out: "it's not a joke at all; the japanese are stationed up there with loaded rifles." some of the ladies screamed hysterically and asked complete strangers to take them to their cabins. all of the passengers had jumped up from their chairs, and a number were busily engaged looking after those ladies who had shown sufficient discretion to withdraw at once from the general excitement by the simple expedient of fainting. in the meantime hardy had regained control of himself and of the situation, and standing behind his chair as though he were on the captain's bridge declared simply and decisively: "on the captain's behalf i must beg the passengers not to attempt any resistance. your life and safety are guaranteed by the word of the captain and the bearing of our crew, who have also been forced to submit to the inevitable. i beg you all to remain here and to await the further orders of the captain. there is no danger so long as no resistance is offered; we are in the hands of the japanese navy, and must accustom ourselves to the altered circumstances." it was long after midnight before all grew quiet on board the _tacoma_; the passengers were busy packing their trunks, and it was quite late before the cabin lights were extinguished on both sides of the ship, which continued her voyage quietly and majestically in the direction of yokohama. the deck, generally a scene of cheerful life and gaiety until a late hour, was empty, and only the subdued steps of the japanese marines echoed through the still night. twice more the searchlights were thrown on the _tacoma_, but a clattering answer from the signal lantern at once conveyed the information that all was in order, whereupon the glaring ball of light disappeared silently, and there was nothing on the whole expanse of dark water to indicate that invisible eyes were on the lookout for every ship whose keel was ploughing the deep. the _tacoma_ arrived at yokohama the next morning, the passengers were sent ashore, and the steamer herself was added as an auxiliary cruiser to the japanese fleet. _chapter iii_ how it began ding-ding-ding-ding--ding-ding-ding-ding--went the bell of the railway telegraph--ding-ding-ding-ding---tom gardner looked up from his work and leaned his ax against the wall of the low tin-roofed shanty which represented both his home and the station swallowtown on the oregon railway. "nine o'clock already," he mumbled, and refilling his pipe from a greasy paper-bag, he lighted it and puffed out clouds of bluish smoke into the clear air of the hot may morning. then he looked at the position of the sun and verified the fact that his nickel watch had stopped again. the shaky little house hung like a chance knot in an endless wire in the middle of the glittering double row of rails that stretched from east to west across the flowery prairie. it looked like a ridiculous freak in the midst of the wide desert, for nowhere, so far as the eye could reach, was it possible to discover a plausible excuse for the washed-out inscription "swallowtown" on the old box-lid which was nailed up over the door. only a broad band of golden-yellow flowers crossing the tracks not far from the shanty and disappearing in the distance in both directions showed where heavy cart-wheels and horses' hoofs had torn up the ground. by following this curious yellow track, which testified to the existence of human intercourse even in the great lonely prairie, in a southerly direction, one could notice about a mile from the station a slight rising of the ground covered with low shrubs and a tangled mass of thistles and creepers: this was swallowtown no. 1, the spot where once upon a time a dozen people or more, thrown together by chance, had founded a homestead, but whose traces had been utterly obliterated since. the little waves of the great national migration to this virgin soil had after a few years washed everything away and had carried the inhabitants of the huts with them on their backs several miles farther south, where by another mere chance they had located on the banks of the river. the only permanent sign of this ebb and flow was the tin-roofed shanty near the tracks of the oregon railway, and the proud name of swallowtown, fast disappearing under the ravages of storm and rain, on the box-lid over tom gardner's door. tom gardner regarded his morning's work complacently. with the aid of his ax he had transformed the tree-stump that had lain behind the station for years into a hitching-post, which he was going to set up for the farmers, so that they could tie their horses to it when they came to the station. tom had had enough of fastening the iron ring into the outer wall of his shanty, for it had been torn out four times by the shying of the wild horses harnessed to the vehicles sent from swallowtown to meet passengers. and the day before yesterday bob cratchit's horses had added insult to injury by running off with a board out of the back wall. tom was sick and tired of it; the day before he had temporarily stopped up the hole with a tin advertisement, which notified the inhabitants of swallowtown who wanted to take the train that millner's pills were the best remedy for indigestion. tom decided to set up his post at midday. he stopped work for the present in order to be ready for station-duty when the express from pendleton passed through in half an hour. from force of habit and half unconsciously, he glanced along the yellow road running south, wondering whether in spite of its being sunday there might not be some traveler from swallowtown coming to catch the local train which stopped at the station an hour later. he shaded his eyes with his right hand and after a careful search did discover a cart with two persons in it approaching slowly over the waving expanse of the flower-bedecked prairie. tom muttered something to himself and traipsed through the station house, being joined as usual by his dog, who had been sleeping outside in the sun. then he walked a little way along the tracks and finally turned back to his dwelling, the trampled-down flowers and grass before the entrance being the only signs that the foot of man ever disturbed its solitary peace. the dog now seemed suddenly to become aware of the rapidly approaching cart and barked in that direction. tom sent him into the house and shut the door behind him, whereupon the dog grew frantic. the cart approached almost noiselessly over the flowery carpet, but soon the creaking and squeaking of the leather harness and the snorting of the horses became clearly audible. "halloo, tom!" called out one of the men. "halloo, winston!" was the answer; "where are you off to?" "going over to pendleton." "you're early; the express hasn't passed yet," answered tom. winston jumped down from the cart, swung a sack over his shoulder, and stepped toward the shanty. "who's that with you?" asked tom, pointing with his thumb over his right shoulder. "nelly's brother-in-law, bill parker," said the other shortly. nelly's brother-in-law was in the act of turning the cart round to drive back to swallowtown when tom, making a megaphone of his hands, shouted across: "won't the gentleman do me the honor of having a drink on me?" "all right," rang out the answer, and nelly's brother-in-law drove the horses to the rear of the station. "yes, the ring's gone," said tom. "bob cratchit's horses walked off with it yesterday. you can hunt for it out there somewhere if you want to." bill jumped down and fastened the horses with a rope which he tied to tom's old tree-stump. "come on, fellows!" said tom, going toward the house. scarcely had he opened the door when his dog rushed madly past him out into the open, barking with all his might at something about a hundred yards behind the station. "i guess he's found a gopher," said tom, and then the three entered the hut, and tom, taking a half-empty whisky bottle out of a cupboard, poured some into a cup without a handle, a shaving-cup, and an old tin cup. "the express ought to pass in about ten minutes," said tom, and then began the usual chat about the commonplaces of farm life, about the crops, and the price of cattle, while hunting anecdotes followed. now and then tom listened through the open door for sounds of the express, which was long overdue, till suddenly the back door was slammed shut by the wind. it was bill parker's turn to treat, and he then told of how he had sold his foals at a good profit, and bob launched out into all sorts of vague hints as to a big deal that he expected to pull off at pendleton the next day. bill kept an eye on his two horses, which he could just see through the window in the rear wall of the shanty. "don't let them run away from you," warned tom; "horses as fresh as those generally skip off when the express passes by." "nothing like that!" said bill parker, glancing again through the open window, "but they are unusually restless just the same." ... "he was willing to give twenty dollars, was he?" asked tom, resuming the former conversation. but bill gave no answer and continued to stare out of the window. "here's how, gentlemen!" cried tom encouragingly, touching bill's tin cup with his shaving-cup. "excuse me a minute," answered the latter; "i want to look after my--" he had got up and was moving toward the door, but stopped halfway, staring fixedly at the open window with a glassy expression in his eyes. the other two regarded him with unfeigned astonishment, but when they followed the direction of his glance, they also started with fright as they looked through the window. yes, it was the same window as before, and beyond it stood the same team of stamping, snorting horses before the same cart; but on the ledge of the window there rested two objects like black, bristling hedgehogs, and under their prickly skins glistened two pairs of hostile eyes, and slowly and cautiously two gun-barrels were pushed over the ledge of the window into the room. at the same moment the door-knob moved, the door was pushed open, and in the blinding sunlight which suddenly poured into the room appeared two more men in khaki clothes and also armed with guns. "hands up, gentlemen!" cried one of them threateningly. the three obeyed the order mechanically, tom unconsciously holding up his shaving-cup as well, so that the good whisky flowed down his arm into his coat. he looked utterly foolish. bill was the first to recover, and inquired with apparent nonchalance: "what are you gentlemen after?" in the meantime he had noticed that the two men at the door wore soldiers' caps with broad peaks, and he construed this as a new holdup trick. the men outside were conversing in an unintelligible lingo, and their leader, who was armed only with a browning pistol, looked into the hut and asked: "which of you gentlemen is the station-master?" tom lowered his shaving-cup and took a step forward, whereupon he was at once halted by the sharp command: "hands up!" but this one step toward the door had enabled tom to see that there were at least a dozen of these brown fellows standing behind the wall of his shanty. at the same time he saw his dog slinking about outside with his tail between his legs and choking over something. he called the dog, and the poor creature crept along the ground toward him, evidently making vain attempts to bark. "the damned gang," growled tom to himself; "they have evidently given the poor beast something to eat which prevents his barking." the man with the browning pistol now turned to tom and said: "has the express passed yet?" "no." "no? i thought it was due at 9.30." the highwayman looked at his watch. "past ten already," he said to himself. "and when is the local train from umatilla expected?" "it ought to be here at 10.30." "the express goes through without stopping, doesn't it?" began the other again. "good! now you go out as if nothing had happened and let the express pass! the other two will remain here in the meantime and my men will see that they don't stir. one move and you can arrange your funeral for to-morrow." the two bristly-headed chaps at the window remained motionless, and followed the proceedings with a broad grin. the two men from swallowtown were compelled to stand with uplifted hands against the wall opposite the window, so that the gun-barrels on the window-sill were pointing straight at them. winston had had sufficient time to study the two highwaymen at the window and it gradually dawned upon him what sort of robbers they were; in a low tone of voice he said to tom: "they're japs." the man with the browning overheard the remark; he turned around quickly and repeated in a determined voice: "if you move you'll die on the spot." then he allowed tom to leave the station, and showed him how two of his men opened the shutters of the windows that looked out on the tracks and cut two oblong holes in them down on the side, through which they stuck the barrels of their guns. then bill's cart was pushed forward, so that only the horses were hidden by the station. one of the men held the horses to prevent their running away when the train came, and two armed men climbed into the cart and kneeled ready to shoot, concealing themselves from the railroad side behind two large bags of corn. thereupon the leader told tom once more that he was to stand in front of the station as usual when the train approached. if he attempted to make any sign which might cause the train to stop, or if he merely opened his mouth, not only he, but also the occupants of the train, would have to pay for it with their lives. ding--ding--ding--ding went the railway telegraph, ding--ding--ding--ding. the man with the browning consulted his note-book and asked tom: "what signal is that? where is the express now?" tom did not answer. "go out on the platform!" commanded the other. with a hasty glance along the tracks, tom assured himself that the spot back there, where the two tracks, which glittered like silver in the sun, crossed, was still empty. so there was still a little more time to think. then he began to stroll slowly up and down. fifteen steps forward, fifteen back, eighteen forward, twenty back. suppose he ran to meet the train---"halloo! where are you going?" shouted the leader to him. "don't you dare go five steps beyond the station house!" fifteen steps forward, fifteen back. and suppose now that he did jump across and run along the tracks? what would it matter--he, one among millions, without wife or child? yes, he would warn the engineer; and if they shot at him, perhaps the people on the train also had revolvers. the express must come soon--it must be nearly half past ten. mechanically, he read the name swallowtown on the old box-lid. not a sound from the interior of the station. would they hit him or miss him when the train came? he examined the rickety old shutters. yes, there was a white incision in the wood near the bottom, and above it the tin was bent back almost imperceptibly, while below it there was a small, blackish-brown ring. on the other side there was another little hole, and here the tin was bent back rather more, showing a second small, blackish-brown ring. and suppose he did call out as the train rushed by? he would call out!--a burst of flame from the two blackish-brown rings--if he could only first explain everything to the engineer--then they could shoot all they wanted to. horrid to be wounded in the back! long ago at school there had often been talk about wounds in the back and in the chest--the former were disgraceful, because they were a sign of running away. but this was not running away--this was an effort to save others. were the rails vibrating? four steps more, then a quiet turn, one look into the air, one far away over the prairie. he knew that the eyes behind the dark-brown rings were following his every movement. now along the tracks--is there anything coming way back there? no, not yet. he walked past the station, then along the tracks again, and looked to the left across the prairie. now his glance rested on the cart. it stood perfectly still. sure enough, there, between the sacks, was another one of those bristly heads! where on earth had the fellows come from, and what in the world did they want? winston had said they were japs. could this be war? nonsense! how could the fellows have come so far across country? a short time ago some one had said that a troop of japs had been seen far away, down in nevada, but that they had all disappeared in the mountains. that was two months ago. could these be the same? but it couldn't be a war. war begins at the borders of a country, not right in the middle. it is true that the japanese immigrants were all said to be drilled soldiers. had they brought arms along? these certainly had! now the turn again. ah! there was the train at last. far away along the tracks a black square rose and quite slowly became wider and higher. good god! if the next ten minutes were only over--if one could only wipe such a span as this out of one's life! only ten minutes older! if one could only look back on those ten minutes from the other side! but no; one must go through the horror, second by second, taste every moment of it. what would happen to the two inside? this didn't matter much after all--they couldn't, in any case, overpower the others without weapons. a thousand yards more perhaps and then the train would be there! and then a thousand yards more, and he would either be nothing but an unconscious mass of flesh and bones, or---now the rails were reverberating--from far away he heard the rumble of the approaching mass of iron and steel. and now, very low but distinct, the ringing of the bell could be distinguished--gang, gang, gang, gang, gang, gang-he threw a hasty glance at the two blackish-brown rings; four steps further and he could again see the cart. the next time---"stand straight in front of the station and let the train pass!" sounded close behind him. he obeyed mechanically. "nearer to the house--right against the wall!" he obeyed. all his muscles tightened. if he could now take a leap forward and manage to get hold of something--a railing or something--as the train rushed by, then they could shoot as much as they liked. a rumbling and roaring noise reached his ears, and he could hear the increasing thunder of the wheels on the rails, the noise of the bell--gang, gang, gang--growing more and more distinct. the engine, with its long row of clattering cars behind, assumed gigantic dimensions before his wide-open eyes. not a sound came from the house; now the rails trembled; now he heard the hissing of the steam and the rattle of the rods; he saw the little curls of steam playing above the dome of the boiler. like a black wall, the express came nearer, rushing, rumbling, hammering along the tracks. yes, he would jump now--now that the engine was almost in front of him! the rush of air almost took his breath away. now! the engineer popped his head out of the little cab-window. now! tom bent double, and, with one tremendous leap he was across the narrow platform in front of his shanty, and flew like a ball against the line of rushing cars, of railings and steps and wheels. he felt his hand touching something--nothing but flat, smooth surfaces. at last! he had caught hold of something! with a tremendous swing, tom's body was torn to the left, and his back banged against something. something in his body seemed to give way. as in a dream, he heard two shots ring out above the fearful noise of the roaring train. too late! tom was clinging to a railing between two cars and being dragged relentlessly along. he was almost unconscious, but could hear the wheels squeaking under the pressure of the brakes as he was hurled to and fro. but his hand held fast as in a vise. the wheels scraped, squeaked, and groaned. the train began to slow down! he had won! the train stood still. tom's body fell on the rail between two cars, almost lifeless; he heard a lot of steps all about him; people spoke to him and asked him questions. but his jaws were shut as if paralyzed; he couldn't speak a word. he felt the neck of a bottle being pushed between his lips, and the liquid running down his throat. it was something strong and invigorating, and he drank greedily. and then he suddenly shouted out loud, so that all the people stepped back horrified: "the station has been attacked by japs." excited questions poured in from all sides. "where from? what for?" tom only cried: "save the two others; they're shut up in the station!" more people collected round him. "quick, quick!" he cried. "run the train back and try to save them!" tom was lifted into a car and stretched out on a soft end-seat. some of the passengers stood round him with their revolvers: "tell us where it is! tell us where they are!" slowly the train moved back, slowly the telegraph poles slipped past the windows in the opposite direction. now they were there, and tom heard wild cries on the platform. then a door was pulled open and some one asked: "where are the robbers?" tom was lifted out, for his right shin-bone had been smashed and he couldn't stand. a stretcher was improvised, and he was carried out. dozens of people were standing round the station. the wagon was gone, and so were the horses. where to? the wide, deserted prairie gave no answer. a great many footprints in the sand showed at least that tom had spoken the truth. he pointed out the holes made in the shutters by the bandits, and told the whole story a dozen times, until at last he fainted away again. when he came to half an hour later it all seemed like a horrible dream--like a scene from a robber's tale. he found himself in a comfortable pullman car on the way to umatilla, where he had to tell his story all over again, in order that the fairly hopeless pursuit of the highwaymen might be begun from there. _chapter iv_ echoes in new york walla walla, may 7. "this morning, at ten o'clock, the station swallowtown, on the oregon line, was surprised by bandits. they captured the station in order to hold up the express train to umatilla. the plot was frustrated by the decisive action of the station official, who jumped on the passing train and warned the passengers. unfortunately, the robbers succeeded in escaping, but the umatilla police have started in pursuit. the majority of the bandits are said to have been japanese." in these words the attack on swallowtown was wired to new york, and when john halifax went to the office of the _new york daily telegraph_ at midnight, to work up the telegrams which had come in during sunday for the morning paper, his chief drew his attention in particular to the remark at the end of the message, and asked him to make some reference in his article to the dangers of the japanese immigration, which seemed to be going on unhindered over the mexican and canadian frontiers. john halifax would have preferred to comment editorially on the necessity of night rest for newspaper men, but settled down in smothered wrath to write up the highwaymen who had committed the double crime of desecrating the sabbath and robbing the train. but scarcely had he begun his article under the large headlines "japanese bandits--a danger no longer confined to the frontier, but stalking about in the heart of the country,"--he was just on the point of setting off tom's brave deed against the rascality of the bandits, when another package of telegrams was laid on the table. he was going to push them irritably aside when his glance fell on the top telegram, which began with the words, "this morning at ten o'clock the station at connell, wash., was attacked by robbers, who----" "hm!" said john halifax, "there seems to be some connection here, for they probably meant to hold up the express at connell, too." he turned over a few more telegrams; the next message began: "this morning at eleven o'clock--" and the two following ones: "this morning at twelve o'clock--" they all reported the holding up of trains, which had in almost every instance been successful. john halifax got up, and with the bundle of telegrams went over to the map hanging on the wall and marked with a pencil the places where the various attacks had taken place. the result was an irregular line through the state of washington running from north to south, along which the train robbers, apparently working in unison, had begun their operations at the same time. nowhere had it been possible to capture them. john halifax threw his article into the waste basket and began again with the headlines, "a gang of train-robbers at work in washington," and then gave a list of the places where the gang had held up the trains. he wrote a spirited article, which closed with a warning to the police in washington and oregon to put an end to this state of affairs as soon as possible, and if necessary to call upon the militia for aid in catching the bandits. while halifax was writing, the news was communicated from the electric bulletin-board to the people hurrying through the streets at that late hour. john halifax read the whole story through once more with considerable satisfaction, and was pleased to think that the _new york daily telegraph_ would treat its readers monday morning to a thoroughly sensational bit of news. when he had finished, it struck him that all these attacks had been directed against trains running from west to east, and that the train held up at swallowtown was the only one going in the opposite direction. he intended in conclusion to add a suggestive remark about this fact, but it slipped out of his mind somehow, and, yawning loudly, he threw his article as it was into the box near his writing table, touched a button, and saw the result of his labors swallowed noiselessly by a small lift. then the author yawned again, and, going over to his chief, reported that he had finished, wished him a gruff "good morning," and started on his way home. as he left the newspaper offices he observed the same sight that had met his eyes night after night for many years--a crowd of people standing on the opposite side of the street, with their heads thrown back, staring up at the white board upon which, in enormous letters, appeared the story of how tom, with his bold leap, had saved the train. the last sentence, explaining that the robbers had been recognized as japanese, elicited vigorous curses against the "damned japs." high up in the air the apparatus noiselessly and untiringly flashed forth one message after the other in big, black letters on the white ground--telling of one train attack after another. but of that living machine in the far west, working with clocklike regularity and slowly adding one link after the other to the chain, that machine which at this very moment had already separated three of the states by an impenetrable wall from the others and had thus blotted out three of the stars on the blue field of the union flag--of that uncanny machine neither john halifax nor the people loitering opposite the newspaper building in order to take a last sensation home with them, had the remotest idea. not till the next morning was the meaning of these first flaming signs to be made clear. * * * * * at ten o'clock the telephone bell rang noisily beside john halifax's bed. he seized the receiver and swore under his breath on learning that important telegrams required his presence at the office. "there isn't any reason why harry springley shouldn't go on with those old train-robbers," he grumbled; "i don't see what they want of me, but i suppose the stupid fellow doesn't know what to do, as usual." an hour later, when he entered the editorial rooms of the _new york daily telegraph_, he found his colleagues in a great state of excitement. judging by the loud talk going on in the conference room, he concluded at once that something out of the common must have happened. the editor-in-chief quickly explained to him that an hour ago the news, already disseminated through an "extra," had arrived, that not only were all messages from the pacific coast, especially from san francisco, held up, but the canadian wire had furnished the news that a foreign strange squadron had been observed on sunday at port townsend, and that it had continued its voyage through puget sound toward seattle. in addition the news came from walla walla that since sunday noon all telegraphic communication between seattle, tacoma, and portland had been broken off. attempts to reach seattle and tacoma over the canadian wire had also proved vain while, on the other hand, the report came from ogden that no trains from the west, from the direction of san francisco, had arrived since sunday noon, and that the noon express had been attacked this side of reno by bandits, some of whom had been distinctly recognized as japanese. john halifax recalled the first message of the evening before, in which there was a mention of the japanese. he quickly put the separate news items together, and, after having glanced hurriedly at the messages in the extra, turned to the managing editor and in a low voice, which sounded strange and hard even to himself, said: "i believe this means war!" the latter slapped him on the back in his brusque fashion, crying: "john halifax, we're not making war on japan." "but they're making war on us," answered halifax. "do you mean to imply that the japanese are surprising us?" asked the editor, staring at halifax. "exactly, and it makes no difference whether you believe it or not," was the reply. "the japanese fleet is lying off the pacific coast, there's no doubt about that," remarked a reporter. "and, what's more, they're right in our country," said halifax, looking up. "who? the fleet?" inquired harry springley in a lame effort to be funny. "no, the enemy," answered halifax coldly; "the so-called bandits," he added sarcastically. "but if you really mean it," began the editor again, "then it must be a gigantic plot. if you think that the bandits--the japanese----" he said, correcting himself. "the japanese outposts," interposed halifax. "well, yes, the japanese outposts, if you wish; if they have succeeded in destroying all railway connections with the west, then the enemy is no longer off our coast, but----" a stenographer now rushed into the room with a new message. the editor glanced over it and then handed it to halifax, who took the paper in both hands, and, while all listened attentively, read aloud the following telegram from denver: "according to uncertain dispatches, sunday's attacks on trains were not made by gangs of robbers, but by detachments of japanese troops, who have suddenly and in the most incomprehensible manner sprung up all over the country. not only have single stations on the union pacific line been seized, but whole towns have been occupied by hostile regiments, the inhabitants having been taken so completely by surprise, that no resistance could be offered. the rumor of a battle between the japanese ships and the coast defences at san francisco has gained considerable currency. the concerted attacks on the various trans-continental lines have cut off the western states entirely from telegraphic communication and in addition interrupted all railway traffic." the telegram shook in john halifax's hands; he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at the editor, who could only repeat the words spoken by halifax a few minutes before: "gentlemen, i fear this means war." halifax collected the telegrams and went silently into his room, where he dropped into the chair before his desk, and sat staring in front of him with his head, full of confused thoughts, resting on his hands. "this means war," he repeated softly. mechanically he took up his pen with the intention of putting his thoughts on paper, but not a line, not a word could he produce under the stress of these whirling sensations. unable to construct a single sentence, he drew circles and meaningless figures on the white paper, scribbled insignificant words, only to cross them out immediately afterwards, and repeated again and again: "this means war." outside in the halls people hurried past; some one seized the door-knob, so he got up and locked himself in. then he sat down again. the fresh, mild air blew in through the wide open windows, and the dull roar of the immense crowds in the street, now swelling and now retreating, floated up to him. his thoughts flew to the far west, and everywhere he could see the eager, industrious asiatics pouring like a yellow flood over his country. he saw togo's gray ships, with the sun-banner of nippon, ploughing the waves of the pacific; he saw the tremendous many-hued picture of a great international struggle; he saw regiments rush upon each other and clash on the vast prairies; he saw bayonets flashing in the sun; and he saw glittering troops of cavalry galloping over the bleak plains. high up in the air, over the two great opposing hosts, he saw the white smoke of bursting shells. he saw this gigantic drama of a racial war, which caused the very axis of the earth to quiver, unraveled before his eyes, and with ardent enthusiasm he seized his pen, at last master of himself once more. suddenly his mood of exaltation vanished; it seemed as though the sun had been extinguished, and cold, dark shadows fell across the brilliant picture of his imagination, subduing its colors with an ashy light. he began slowly to realize that this did not only mean war, but that it was his war, his country's war--a bitter struggle for which they were but poorly prepared. at this thought he shivered, and the man who had weathered many a storm laid his head down on both arms and cried bitterly. the mental shock had been too great, and it was in vain that they knocked at and shook his door. it was some time before john halifax recovered his self-possession. then he lifted his head bravely and proudly, and going to the door with a firm step, gave directions to the staff with the calmness of a veteran general. _chapter v_ father and son mr. horace hanbury paced restlessly up and down his study, and presently stopped before a huge map on the wall and carefully traced the long lines of the trans-continental railroads across the rocky mountains. "will harriman sell? no, he'll buy, of course he'll buy; he'd be an idiot if he didn't. of course he'll buy, and gould and stillman will buy, too. well, there'll be a fine tussle in wall street to-day." thus he soliloquized, puffing thoughtfully at his short pipe. then he picked up the heap of narrow tape on his desk containing the latest news from the west, and read the reports once more as the paper slipped through his fingers. "this fiendish plot of the yellow curs seems to be a pretty clever one," he murmured; "they've simply cut off all railway connections. i can't help admiring the fellows--they've learned a lot since 1904." he threw himself into his comfortable morris chair, and after having carefully studied the stock exchange quotations of saturday, went once more to the map on the wall, and marked several spots with a blue pencil; these he connected by means of a long line which cut off the pacific states of washington, oregon, and california, and large districts of nevada and arizona from all communication with points to the east. he then looked at his watch and pressed one of the electric buttons on his desk. the door opened noiselessly, and an east indian, dressed in the bright costume of his native country, entered, and, crossing his arms, made a deep bow. "when mr. gerald hanbury returns, tell him i want to see him immediately." the indian disappeared, and mr. hanbury sat down on his desk, folded his hands under his knees, and swung his feet to and fro, puffing out the smoke of his pipe from between his teeth. "if only the boy won't spoil everything with his ridiculous altruistic ideas-ah, gerald, there you are!" "did you send for me, father?" "sit down, my boy," said the old gentleman, pointing to a chair; but he himself remained sitting on the desk. the son was the very image of his father--the same slender, muscular figure, the same piercing eyes, the same energetic mouth. "well, father, what do you think of it?" "think of it? what do _you_ think of it?" "isn't it awful, this sudden attack on our country? isn't it awful the way we have been taken by surprise? think of it, three of our states in the enemy's hands!" "we'll soon get them back, don't worry about that," said the old gentleman calmly. "have you read the orders for mobilization?" "i haven't read them, and don't intend to." "colonel smiles told me just now that it will not be possible to dispatch our troops to the west in less than three weeks. fortunately there are about a dozen ships of the pacific fleet off the west coast, and they will be able to attack the japanese in the rear." "if there's still time," supplemented his father. "anyhow, we can leave these matters to others. it's none of our business; they can attend to all that at washington. war is purely and simply a question of finances so far as the united states is concerned, and it's as plain as day that we can hold out ten times longer than those yellow monkeys. that the money will be forthcoming goes without saying; congress will do all that is needed in that direction, and the subscriptions for the war-loan will show that we are fully prepared along that line. so let us drop that subject. the question is, what shall we do? what do you propose doing with our factory during the war?" "go on working, of course, father." "go on working--that is to say, produce surplus stock. if we go on working we shall have goods on our hands which no one will buy, and be compelled to store them. ironclads, cannon, powder, uniforms, guns, these are the things for which there is a demand now; whisky, too, will be bought and bread will be baked, and the meat trust will make money hand over fist; but do you suppose the united states government is going to buy our pianos to play tunes to the soldiers?" "but what about our workmen?" interposed gerald. "yes, our workmen," said the old gentleman, jumping energetically off the desk and standing before his son with his legs wide apart and his hands in his pockets: "our workmen--that brings us to your favorite subject, to which you devote your entire time and interest!" he transferred his pipe into the right-hand corner of his mouth and continued: "i intend to dismiss our workmen, my boy, and shut up shop; we couldn't earn a cent more even if we kept the machines going. besides, our government needs soldiers now, not workmen. let your dear workmen shoulder their guns and march to the west. when i was your age, and starting in with one hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket, no one offered me pensions for sickness and old age or insurance against non-employment or whatever this new-fangled nonsense is called. we ought to increase the energy of the people, instead of stuffing pillows for them. a man who has anything in him will make his way even in these times." "father!" the young man jumped up from his chair and faced his father with all the idealistic enthusiasm of youth. "keep your seat, my boy, subjects of this nature can be better discussed sitting." "no, father, i can't keep still. this question concerns four thousand workmen and their families." "three thousand of whom i shall dismiss at noon to-day," interrupted the old gentleman decisively. "what! you don't mean to say you'll send three thousand workmen, quiet, industrious, faithful, reliable workmen, begging to-day? why, father! that would be perfectly barbarous, that would be a crime against humanity! the people have stuck by us in days of prosperity, and now when our sales may perhaps," he emphasized the last word, "may perhaps be diminished, you will stop the wheels and shut down the factory?" "look here, my son, i'm not a socialists' meeting. such sentiments may sound very nice from the platform, but there's no need of your trying your speeches on me. the question at issue is, shall we suffer the consequences or shall they, and i don't mind telling you that i prefer the latter. do you suppose that i've worked hard all my life and worn myself out for the express purpose of turning our factory into a workingmen's home? no, my boy, i can't support you in your little hobby." "but, father, capital and labor----" "o, cut out those silly phrases," interrupted the old gentleman irritably, "karl marx and henry george and all your other stand-bys may be all right in your library, and help to decorate your bookshelves, but i prefer to settle our practical problems on the basis of my experience and not of your books. as manager and proprietor of our plant i want to tell you that when the whistle blows at noon to-day i shall notify our workingmen that in consequence of the totally unforeseen breaking out of hostilities--here i shall insert a few words about the sacred duty of patriotism and of defending one's country--we are unwillingly forced to dismiss three thousand of our workmen. we'll pay wages for, let's say, a fortnight longer, but then good-by to the men; we'll shut up shop, and the thousand men that are left can finish the standing orders and any new ones that may come in. and if no new ones turn up, then the remaining workingmen will be dismissed at once. in the meantime i'll subscribe one hundred thousand dollars to the war-loan, and then engage passage on a lloyd steamer, the most expensive cabins with every possible luxury, for your mother, your two sisters, myself, and i hope for you, too, and we'll be off to old europe. shall we make it the riviera? we've been there before, and, besides, it's a little too hot there now--let's say norway or switzerland. in my humble opinion we had better watch developments from a distance, and, as i said, i earnestly hope that my only son and heir will join our party, unless he should prefer to remain here and become a lieutenant in our glorious army and draw his sword against the enemy? this is my final decision and the last word i have to say on the subject, unless you think that some friend of ours in the financial world may have a better suggestion to offer." "i should never have thought, father, that you could be so hard-hearted and unfeeling, that you could be capable of ruining the lives of thousands with one stroke of your pen. your attitude towards the relations between employer and employee is absolutely incomprehensible to me; the socialistic conscience----" "listen, my boy," said the old gentleman, going over to his son and laying his hand gently on his shoulder: "i've always allowed you an absolutely free hand in your schemes, and you know we've always tried to meet our employees more than half way in all their wishes, but now it's a question of who's to suffer--we or they? in times of peace there may be some excuse for these nice socialistic ideas: they give a man a certain standing and bring him into the public eye. there's a good man, they say; he understands the demands of the times. but there's a limit to everything. one man rides one hobby, and some one else another. one keeps a racing-stable, another sports a steam-yacht, and still another swears by polo or cricket, but these things must not be carried to excess. the minute the owner of the racing-stable turns jockey, he ceases to be a business man, and the same is true of the man who keeps a racing-yacht and spends all of his time at the start, and, after all is said and done, it's our business we want to live on. you've selected the workingman as your favorite sport, and that also has its limits. if we squander our hard-earned millions on socialistic improvements now, we'll have to begin over again in about two years' time. i doubt whether i should have sufficient genius left to discover a new piano-hammer, and i entertain still more serious doubts as to your ability to invent a panacea that will render the whole world happy and make you richer instead of poorer. _ergo_, we'll shut up shop. in hoboken we'll sing yankee doodle and as we pass the statue of liberty the star spangled banner, in token of farewell, and then off we go! if things turn out better than we anticipate, we can come back, but this is my last word for the present: at noon the following notice will be posted at all the entrances and in all the rooms of our factory: 'three thousand workmen are herewith dismissed; wages will be paid for a fortnight longer, when the factory will be closed indefinitely.' by the way, are you going to the stock exchange to-day?" "i'm not in a mood for the stock exchange, father. if that is your last word, then my last word is: i am your partner----" "so much the worse," said the father. "--and therefore have a right to dispose as i please of my interest in the business. i therefore demand the immediate payment of so much of my inheritance as will be required to pay the wages of the workmen you've dismissed for at least another year, with the exception of the single men who enter the army." "no, my boy, we won't do anything of the sort. don't forget that i'm running this business. according to the contract made when you came of age, you may demand a million dollars upon severing your connection with the firm. this sum will be at your disposal at the bank to-day at noon, but not a cent more. what you do with it is a matter of complete indifference to me, but let me remind you that ordinarily when a man throws money out of the window, he at least likes to hear it drop." "that surely cannot be your last word, father, otherwise we must part." "all right, my boy, let's part till dinner-time. i hope to find you in a more sensible frame of mind when the family assembles this evening. i've told you what will be done in the factory in the meantime, and as for our trip, we'll discuss that to-night with your mother. now leave me, i must get ready for wall street." the door closed noiselessly after mr. hanbury, junior. "the scamp," said the father to himself, "i can't help admiring him. thirty years ago i entertained just such ideas, but what has become of them!" he thought a moment, passed his hand over his forehead, then jumped up quickly and exclaimed: "now to work!" he pressed a button on the desk, his secretary entered, and the conversation that ensued dealt exclusively with coming events in wall street. _chapter vi_ a night in new york the _new york daily telegraph_ had already issued several regular editions and a number of extras, without really having conveyed much definite information, for the dispatches consisted for the most part of rumors that arose like distant lightning on the western horizon, and it was quite impossible to ascertain just where. a dark bank of clouds lay over the pacific states, completely shutting in the territory that had been cut off from all communication, both by wire and rail. the natural supposition was, that the japanese outposts were stationed at the points just beyond which to the east telegraphic communication had not yet been interrupted, but the messages that were constantly pouring in from places along this border-line revealed clearly that these outposts were continually pushing further eastwards. a serious battle didn't seem to have occurred anywhere. the utter surprise caused by the sudden appearance of the japanese troops, who seemed to spring up out of the ground, had from the very beginning destroyed every chance of successful resistance. shortly after the first vague rumors of battles said to have been fought at san francisco, port townsend, and seattle, had arisen, even these sources of information ran dry. the question from where all the hostile troops had come, remained as much of a riddle as ever. that was a matter of indifference after all; the chief consideration was to adopt measures of defense as speedily as possible. but the war department worked slowly, and the news received from headquarters at washington consisted only of the declaration that the regulars were going to be sent to the west immediately, that the president had already called out the reserves, and that congress would meet on may eleventh to discuss means for placing the militia on a war-footing and for creating an army of volunteers. the regular army! three states with their regiments and their coast-defenses had to be deducted at the very start. what had become of them? had they been able to hold their own between the enemy and the coast? what had happened to the philippines and to hawaii? where was the fleet? none of these questions could be answered, simply because all telegraphic connection was cut off. the strength of the enemy was an absolutely unknown quantity, unless one cared to rely on the figures found in the ordinary military statistics, which had probably been doctored by the japanese. was this the japanese army at all? was it an invading force? could such a force have pushed so far to the east in such a short space of time after landing? the press could find no satisfactory answer to these questions, and therefore contented itself with estimating the number of american soldiers available after subtracting the three coast states. the newspapers also indulged in rather awkward calculations as to when and how the troops could best be dispatched to the invaded territory. but this optimism did not last long and it convinced nobody. another serious question was, how would the masses behave upon the breaking-out of this sudden danger, and what attitude would be assumed by the foreign elements of the population. it was most important to have some inkling as to how the germans, the irish, the scandinavians, the italians and the various people of slavonic nationality would act when called upon to defend their new country. it was of course absolutely certain that the two great political parties--the republicans and the democrats--would work together harmoniously under the stress of a common danger. francis robertson, the well-known reporter of the _new york daily telegraph_--called the flying fish on account of his streaming coat-tails--had been on the go all day. he had scarcely finished dictating the shorthand notes made on his last tour of inspection, to the typewriter, when he received orders--it was at seven o'clock in the evening--to make another trip through the streets and to visit the headquarters of the various national and political societies. first he went to a restaurant a few doors away, and in five minutes succeeded in making way with a steak that had apparently been manufactured out of the hide of a hippopotamus. then he jumped into a taxicab and directed the chauffeur at the corner of twenty-ninth street to drive as quickly as possible through the crowd down broadway. but it was impossible for the chauffeur on account of the mob to move at more than a snail's pace, and the cab finally came to a dead stop at madison square, which was packed with excited people. robertson left the cab and hurled himself boldly into the seething mass of humanity, but soon discovered that if he wished to make any progress at all he would have to allow himself to be carried forward by the slowly moving crowd. at the corner of twenty-second street he managed to disentangle himself and hurried through the block, only to find a new crowd on fourth avenue. he intended to cross fourth avenue and then push on to third avenue, in order to reach tammany hall by that route, but he was doomed to disappointment, for the human stream simply carried him down fourth avenue as far as union square, where it ceased moving for a time. presently it got under way again, proceeding even more slowly than before, and robertson soon found himself in the middle of the square, being suddenly pushed against the basin of the fountain upon which he climbed for the double purpose of regaining his breath and of looking around to see if it were possible to make his way through to tammany hall. in vain! his eyes were greeted by an interminable sea of heads and hats, which did not offer the slightest chance of his being able to slip through. the trees, the statues and the fountain in the square appeared to be buried to a height of two yards in a black flood. he looked longingly across sixteenth street over to third avenue, but nowhere could he find an opening. he felt like a ship-wrecked mariner cast ashore on a desert island. the sullen roar of the crowd echoed against the buildings enclosing the square like the dull boom of the surf. over on third avenue the yellow lights of the elevated cars crossed the dark opening of sixteenth street at regular intervals, and recalled to robertson a piece of scenery at a fair, where a lighted train ran continually between the mouths of two tunnels in the mountains. he pulled out his note-book and by the light of the electric arc-lamp made a note of the observation. then he jumped down from the ledge where he had taken refuge and once more joined the human stream. the latter, as if animated by a common purpose, was moving downtown, and if robertson's neighbors were properly posted, it was headed for the chinese quarter. it was evident that they intended to vent their fury for the present on these allies of the japanese. this longing for revenge, this elementary hatred of the yellow race kept the crowd in union square in motion and shoved everyone without discrimination towards broadway and fourth avenue. the square resembled a huge machine, which by means of some hidden automatic power forced tens of thousands of unresisting bodies into the narrow channels. the crowd rolled on unceasingly. here and there a hat flew off into the air, came down again, bobbed up and down once or twice, and then continued its journey somewhere else on the surface. it was fortunate that those who had become insensible from the dreadful noise and the foul, dusty air were unable to fall down; they were simply held up by the close pressure of their neighbors and were carried along until a few blocks farther on they regained consciousness. nevertheless a few fell and disappeared in the stream without leaving a trace behind them. no pen could describe their terrible fate; they must have been relentlessly ground to pieces like stones on the rocky bed of a glacier. above this roaring stream of human beings there swept unceasingly, in short blasts like a tearing whirlwind, the hoarse cry of a people's passion: "down with the yellow race! down with the japanese! three cheers for the stars and stripes!" the passionate cry of a crowd thirsting for revenge rose again and again, as if from a giant's lungs, until the cheers and yells of "down" turned into a wild, deafening, inarticulate howl which was echoed and re-echoed a thousand times by the tall buildings on both sides of the avenue. now and then an electric street-car, to which clung hundreds of people, towered like a stranded vessel above the waving mass of heads and hats. robertson decided to give up the idea of reaching tammany hall and to drift with the crowd to the chinese quarter. at astor place a branch of the human stream carried him to the bowery, where he found himself on the edge of the crowd and was scraped roughly along the fronts of several houses. he stood this for another block, but determined to escape at the next corner into a side street. before he could reach it, however, he was crushed violently against the wall of a house and turned round three or four times by the advancing throng; during this maneuver his right coat-tail got caught on something and before he knew it, he had left the coat-tail behind. at last he reached the corner and clung tightly to a railing with his right hand, but the next moment he flew like a cork from a champagne-bottle into the quiet darkness of fifth street, bumping violently against several men who had been similarly ejected from the current and who pushed him roughly aside. robertson was bursting with rage, for just before he had been propelled into fifth street, he had caught a glimpse of the grinning face of bob traddles, of the _tribune_, his worst competitor, only a few feet away. the latter showed clearly how delighted he was at this involuntary discomfiture of his rival in the mad race for the latest sensational news. robertson attempted for a while to get back into the current, but all of his efforts proved futile. then he tried at least to find out what the people intended to do, and in spite of the contradictory information he received, he was pretty well convinced that they were really going to make an attack on the inhabitants of the chinese quarter. although hopelessly separated from tammany hall by the countercurrent of the human stream, he at last succeeded in reaching the eighth street station of the second avenue elevated, where he took an uptown train to forty-second street. then he walked over to third avenue and took a downtown train, which was crowded to suffocation, as far as grand street, for the purpose of reaching the chinese quarter from the uptown side. the trip had consumed fully two hours. at the crossing of grand and mott streets he found the entrance to the latter barred by a line of policemen standing three deep. he showed his badge to a sergeant and received permission to pass. the dead silence of mott street seemed almost uncanny after the noisy roar of the mob, the echoes of which still rang in his ears. the basements of the houses were all barricaded with shutters or boards, the doors were locked, and there was scarcely a light to be seen in the windows of the upper stories. a person paying his first visit to this busy, bustling ant-hill of yore would, if he had not been reminded by the peculiar penetrating smell of the yellow race of their proximity, scarcely have believed that he was really in the notorious chinese quarter of new york. the policeman who acted as robertson's guide told him that they had known all about the movements and intentions of the mob long before it had reached the police headquarters, by way of the bowery and elm street, and begun to force its way from the bowery through some of the side streets into the chinese quarter. fearing that the latter would be set on fire, the chief of police had given orders to protect it from the irresponsible mob by barricading the streets with all the available members of the force. in this attempt, however, they had been only partially successful. it was out of the question for six hundred men to hold out against tens of thousands; the enormous pressure from the rear had hurled the front rows like driftwood against the thin chain of policemen, which, after a stubborn resistance, had simply been broken through at several spots. a hand-to-hand fight had ensued and shots were soon fired on both sides, so that the police had to content themselves with an effort to check the worst excesses. then, too, the spirit of patriotism was just as rampant in the breasts of the police as it was in the breasts of those who urged on the mob. as it was impossible to catch hold of the treacherous invaders themselves, their natural allies should at least not escape unscathed. the chinese were of course prepared for such an attack. the howling, raging mob found barricaded doors and windows wherever they went, and even when they did succeed, after considerable labor, in breaking these down, it was usually only to find that the birds had flown, that the occupants had made their escape in time. wherever resistance had been offered by the chinese, the mob had gone beyond all bounds in its frenzy. "several hundred chinamen must have been killed," said the policeman, "and it would be best for the papers to hush up what went on inside the houses." robertson and his companion stopped near a lamp-post, and the former hurriedly made some shorthand notes of all the information he had received. "look," said the policeman, "judge lynch has done his work well," and he pointed with his club to a lamp-post on the other side of the street from which two dark bodies were hanging. "simply hanged 'em," he added laconically. as the policeman would not allow him to enter any of the houses because, as he said, it meant certain death, robertson decided to go to the nearest telephone pay-station in order to 'phone his story to the paper. the policeman went with him as far as the police-station. by the uncertain light of the street-lamps they stumbled along the pavement, which was often almost entirely hidden by heaps of rubbish and regular mountains of refuse. they saw several more bodies suspended from lamp-posts, and the blood on the pavement before many of the mutilated houses testified eloquently to the manner in which the mob had wreaked its vengeance on the sons of the celestial kingdom. ambulance officers were carrying away the wounded and dead on stretchers, and after robertson had stayed a little while at the police-station and received information as to the number of people killed thus far, he walked in the direction of broadway, having found the entrance to the subway closed. at broadway he again came upon a chain of police, and learned that the troops had been called out and that a battalion was marching up broadway. robertson plunged once more into the seething human whirlpool, but made little progress. for about fifteen minutes he stood, unable to move, near a highly excited individual, who, with a bloody handkerchief tied around his head and with wild gesticulations was reciting his experiences during the storming of a chinese house. this was his man. a momentary lull in the roar around him gave him a chance of getting closer to him and screaming into his ear: "i'll give you two dollars if you'll step into the nearest hallway with me and tell me that story!" the man stared at him in astonishment but when robertson added, "it's for the _new york daily telegraph_," he was posted at once. they made their way with considerable difficulty to the edge of the crowd and managed to squeeze into a wide doorway full of people, whose attention, however, was not directed to the doings on broadway, but rather to a meeting that was being held in a large rear room. robertson managed to find an unoccupied chair in a neighboring room, which was packed to the door, and sitting astride it, proceeded to use the back of the chair as a rest for his note-book. the story turned out to be somewhat disjointed, for every time a push from the crowd sent the man flying against the hard wall, he uttered a long series of oaths. "for heaven's sake," said robertson, "quit your swearing! make a hole in the wall behind you and hustle with your story!" "this'll mean at least a column in the _telegraph_," mused robertson as the story neared its end. but he was already listening with one ear to what was going on in the big room, whence the sharp, clear tones of a speaker could be heard through the suffocating tobacco fumes. over the heads of the attentive crowd hung a few gas-lamps, the globes of which looked like large oranges. robertson gave his mott street hero the promised two dollar bill and then made his way to the rear room. standing in the doorway, he could clearly distinguish the words of the speaker, who was apparently protesting in the name of some workmen against a large manufacturer who had at noon dismissed three thousand of them. the orator, who was standing on a table in the rear of the room, looked like a swaying shadow through the smoke, but his loud appeal completely filled the room, and the soul-stirring pictures he drew of the misery of the workmen, who had been turned out on the streets at the word of the millionaire manufacturer, caused his hearers' cheeks to burn with excitement. "--and therefore," concluded the speaker, "we will not submit to the absolutely selfish action of mr. hanbury. as leader of our union i ask you all to return to work at the factory to-morrow at the usual hour, and we will then assert our right to employment by simply continuing our work and ignoring our dismissal. of course the simplest and most convenient thing for mr. hanbury is to shut down his plant and skip with his millions to the other side. but we demand that the factory be kept running, and if our wages aren't paid, we'll find means for getting them. our country cannot fight the enemy even with a thousand millionaires. when the american people take the field to fight for the maintenance of american society and the american state, they have a right to demand that the families they are compelled to leave at home shall at least be suitably cared for. again i say: we'll keep mr. hanbury's factory open." the air shook with thunderous applause, and a firm determination lighted up hundreds of faces, wrinkled and scarred from work and worry. and who would have dared oppose these men when animated by a single thought and a common purpose? again and again enthusiastic shouts filled the room, and the speaker was assured that not a man present would fail to be on hand the next morning. leaning against the door-post, robertson made notes of this occurrence also and then looked round in a vain endeavor to find a means of escape from the suffocating atmosphere. while doing so his glance fell on the spot where only a few moments before he had observed the swaying shadow of the speaker. the latter's place had been taken by another, who was making a frantic but vain effort to secure quiet and attention. with his arms waving in the air he looked through the murky atmosphere for all the world like a quickly turning wind-mill. gradually the applause ceased, while everybody in the room, robertson included, was startled by the announcement of the chairman that mr. hanbury was most anxious to address the assemblage. a moment of astonished silence and then bedlam broke loose. "what, mr. hanbury wants to speak?" "not the old one, the young one!" "he must be mad. what does he want here?" "three cheers for mr. hanbury!" "down with him! we don't want him here, we can manage our own affairs!" "let him speak!" "three cheers for mr. hanbury!" "be quiet, damn you, why don't you shut up?" these and other similarly emphatic shouts reached robertson's ears. he hunted for his last pencil in his vest-pocket, and when he looked up again, he saw through the cloud of smoke a tall, refined person standing on the table. "we don't want to be discharged! don't let our wives starve!" the voices began again, and it was some time before it became possible for the speaker to make himself heard. "is that really mr. hanbury?" robertson asked one of his neighbors. "yes, the son." "it seems incredible! he's taking his life in his hands." gerald hanbury's first words were lost in the uproar, but gradually the crowd began to listen. he spoke only a few sentences, and these robertson took down in shorthand: "--the demand just made by your speaker, and supported by all present, that my father's factory should not be shut down in these turbulent times, was made by myself this very morning, the moment i heard the news of the base attack on our country. i don't want any credit for having presented the matter to my father in most vigorous fashion, and i regret to say i have accomplished nothing thus far. but the same reasons which you have just heard from the lips of mr. bright have guided me. i, too, should consider it a crime against the free american people, if we manufacturers were to desert them in this hour of national danger. i am not going to make a long speech; i have come here simply to tell you that i shall go straight to my father from here and offer him the whole of my fortune from which to pay you your wages so long as the war lasts, and not only those employed in the factory, but also the families of those who may enter the army to defend their homes and their country." such an outburst of passionate enthusiasm, such wild expressions of joy as greeted this speech robertson had never witnessed. the crowd screamed and yelled itself hoarse, hats were thrown into the air, and pandemonium reigned supreme. mr. hanbury was seized by dozens of strong arms as he jumped down from the table and was carried through the room over the heads of the crowd. after he had made the rounds of the hall several times and shaken hundreds of rough hands, the group of workmen surrounding the foreman on whose shoulders young hanbury was enthroned marched to the entrance, while the whole assembly joined in a marching song. by pure chance robertson found himself near this group as they came to a halt before the door, just in time to save mr. hanbury from having his skull smashed against the top. so they let him slide down to the ground, and then the whole crowd made a rush for the broadway entrance. such a jam ensued here, that another meeting was held on the spot, which, however, consisted chiefly in cheers for mr. hanbury. suddenly some one shouted: "we'll go with mr. hanbury to his father!" inch by inch they moved towards broadway, whence a terrific roar and wild shouts greeted the ears of the closely packed mass at the entrance. robertson was standing close to mr. hanbury, whose face shone with happy excitement. just as they reached the entrance to the street, the crowd outside suddenly started to run north in mad haste. "this is the proudest day of my life as an american citizen!" said robertson to hanbury. hardly had he finished the sentence, when a crashing sound like thunder rent the air and resounded down the whole length of broadway, as if the latter were a caã±on surrounded by precipitous walls of rock. "they're firing on the people," burst from thousands of lips in the wildest indignation. some one shouted: "pull out your revolvers!" and in response red sparks flashed here and there in the crowd and the rattle of shots greeted the troops marching up broadway. the mob seemed to be made up largely of russians. just in front of robertson and gerald hanbury a young woman, who had been wounded by a stray shot, lay on the pavement screaming with pain and tossing her arms wildly about. "three cheers for mr. hanbury!" came the loud cry once more from the entrance. at this instant a big workman, apparently drunk, and dressed only in shirt and trousers, stepped in front of the door, and swinging the spoke of a large wheel in his right hand shouted: "where's mr. hanbury?" and some one shouted as in reply: "the blackguard has turned three thousand workmen out on the streets to-day so that he can go traveling with his millions." the workman yelled once more: "where is mr. hanbury?" gerald moved forward a step and, looking the questioner straight in the eye, said: "i'm mr. hanbury, what do you want?" the workman glared at him with wild, bloodshot eyes and cried in a fierce rage: "that's what i want," and quick as a flash the heavy spoke descended on hanbury's head. the terrific blow felled gerald to the ground, and he sank without uttering a sound beside the body of the wounded woman lying at his feet. robertson flew at the drunken brute as he prepared for a second blow, but some of the other laborers had already torn his weapon out of his hand, and, as if in answer to this base murder, the troops discharged a fresh volley only a hundred yards away, which was again received with shots from dozens of revolvers. robertson felt a stinging pain in his left arm and, in a sudden access of weakness, he leaned for support against the doorway. his senses left him for a moment, and when he came to, he saw a company of soldiers passing the spot where he stood. the next instant the butt-end of a musket pushed him backwards into the doorway. "this is madness!" he cried. "you're firing on the people." "because the people are murdering and plundering downtown!" answered an officer. gradually the tumult calmed down. another company passed by robertson, who had sat down on the step before the door. he examined his arm and found that he was uninjured; a stone splinter must have struck his left elbow, for the violent pain soon disappeared. the mob was quickly lost to view up broadway, while some ambulance surgeons appeared on the other side of the street. robertson called over to them and told them mr. hanbury had been murdered, whereupon they crossed the street at once. gerald hanbury's corpse was lifted on a stretcher. "how terrible, they've broken in his skull," said one of the surgeons, and taking a gray shawl from the shoulders of the charwoman who was writhing with agony, he threw it over the upper part of gerald's body. "where shall we take it?" asked one of the surgeons. "to mr. hanbury's house, two blocks north," directed robertson, and going up to one of the surgeons he added: "i'll take your place at the stretcher, for you can make yourself useful elsewhere." "how about her?" asked one of the ambulance attendants, pointing to the woman on the ground. "i'm afraid we can't do much for her," replied one of the surgeons, "she seems to be near death's door." then the men lifted their burden and slowly the sad procession walked up broadway, which was now almost deserted. a few shots could still be heard from the direction of union square; to the left the sky was fiery red while clouds of smoke traveled over the high buildings on broadway, shutting out the light of the stars. robertson looked back. the street lay dark and still. suddenly far away in the middle of the street two glaring white lights appeared and above them flared and waved the smoky flames of the petroleum torches, while gongs and sirens announced the approach of the fire-engines. and now they thundered past, the glaring lights from the acetylene lamps in front of the fire-engines lighting up the whole pavement. streams of light and rushing black shadows played up and down the walls of the buildings. next came the rattling hook and ladder wagons and the hosecarts, the light from the torches dancing in red and yellow stripes on the helmets of the firemen. and then another puffing, snorting engine, with hundreds of sparks and thick smoke pouring out of its wide funnel, hiding the vehicle behind it in dark clouds. they're here one moment, and gone the next, only to make way for another hook and ladder, which sways and rattles past. the clanging of the gongs and the yells of the sirens grow fainter and fainter, and finally, through the clouds of sparks and smoke the whole weird cavalcade was seen to disappear into a side-street. little bits of smoldering wood and pieces of red-hot coal remained lying on the street and burned with quivering, quick little flames. as they walked on the man next to robertson told him why the troops had been compelled to interfere. the excited mob which had tasted blood, as it were, in the chinese quarter and become more and more frantic, had continued plundering in some of the downtown streets without any discrimination--simply yielding to an uncontrollable desire for destruction. as a result a regular battle ensued between this mob, which consisted chiefly of russian and italian rabble, on one hand, and irish workingmen who were defending their homes, on the other. the russian contingent seemed to consist largely of the riff-raff which had found such a ready refuge in new york during the russian revolution, and some of these undesirable citizens now had recourse to dynamite. some of the bombs caused great loss of life among the irish people living in that part of town, and several policemen had also been killed in the performance of their duty. it was at this point that the authorities deemed it advisable to call out the troops, with whose arrival affairs immediately began to take on a different turn. the soldiers did not hesitate to use their bayonets against the rabble. at several corners they encountered barricades, but they hesitated resorting to their firearms until several bombs were thrown among the troops while they were storming a barricade defended by russian terrorists. that was the last straw. with several volleys the soldiers drove the gang of foreign looters up broadway, where a volley discharged near the spot where gerald hanbury had been murdered, dispersed the last compact mass of plunderers. in the meantime the men had reached mr. hanbury's house and robertson rang the bell. not until they had rung loudly several times did the butler appear, and then only to announce gruffly that there was no one at home. a policeman ordered him to open the door at once, so that mr. hanbury's dead body might be brought in. "but mr. hanbury is at home, you can't possibly have his dead body there!" "tell mr. hanbury right away!" interrupted the policeman. "it's young mr. hanbury, and he's been murdered. open the door, do you hear!" silently the heavy bronze door turned on its hinges and, with the policeman in the lead, the men were ushered into the high marble entrance-hall of the hanbury palace. they carried the stretcher on which lay the murdered body of the son of the house up the broad staircase, the thick carpets deadening the sound of their steps. at the top of the stairs they lowered their burden and waited in silence. doors opened and shut in the distance; from one of them a bright stream of light fell on the shining onyx pillars and on the gilt frames of the paintings, which in the light from strange swinging lamps looked like huge black patches. then the light from the door disappeared, a bell rang somewhere and figures hurried to and fro. a fantastically dressed east indian next appeared and made signs to the ambulance-men to carry the stretcher into a room which, in its fabulous, oriental splendor represented one of the most beautiful of the indian mosques. the men carried their burden carefully into the middle of the room and then set it down and looked at one another in embarrassment. the policeman assumed a dignified posture and cleared his throat. suddenly the heavy gold-embroidered curtain before one of the doors was pushed aside by a brown hand and fell back in heavy folds; an old white-haired man stood for a moment in the doorway and then advanced towards the officer with a firm step. the latter cleared his throat again and then began in a dry and business-like tone to give his report of gerald hanbury's murder, ending with the words "--and these gentlemen picked him up and brought him here." "i thank you, gentlemen," said the old man, and taking out his pocket-book he handed each of them, including robertson, a twenty-dollar bill. then he sat down wearily on the edge of the stretcher and rested his head in his hands. he seemed to be oblivious of his surroundings. the men stood round for a few moments not knowing what to do, until finally the policeman led the ambulance-men and robertson to the door, which opened automatically. as the indian closed the door behind them the officer said to robertson: "this is like the last act in a third avenue melodrama." "life has a liking for such plays," answered robertson. as they left the hanbury mansion the clock of grace church struck midnight. robertson glanced down broadway once more and saw that the long thoroughfare was almost deserted; only here and there the bluish-white light from the electric lamps shone on the bayonets of the sentinels patrolling up and down at long intervals. then he repaired to the _daily telegraph_ offices to dictate his notes, so that the huge rolls of printed paper might announce to the world to-morrow that the first victims of the terrible war had fallen on the streets of new york. the factory of horace hanbury & son was not shut down. _chapter vii_ the red sun over the golden gate too-oo-ot, bellowed the whistle of a big steamer that was proceeding gingerly through the fog which enveloped the broad bay of san francisco early on the morning of may seventh. the soft, white mist crept through the golden gate among the masts and funnels of the ships made fast to the docks, enveloped the yellow flame of the lanterns on the foremast in a misty veil, descended from the rigging again, and threatened to extinguish the long series of lights along the endless row of docks. the glistening bands of light on the oakland shore tried their best to pierce the fog, but became fainter and fainter in the damp, penetrating, constantly moving masses of mist. even the bright eye on angel island was shut out at last. too-oo-ot, again sounded the sullen cry of warning from the steamer in the golden gate--too-oo-ot. and then from tiburon opposite the shrill whistle of the ferry-boat was heard announcing its departure to the passengers on the early train from san rafael. the flickering misty atmosphere seemed like a boundless aquarium, an aquarium in which gigantic prehistoric, fabulous creatures stretched their limbs and glared at one another with fiery eyes. trembling beams of light hovered between the dancing lights on and between the ships, rising and falling like transparent bars when the shivering sentries on deck moved their lanterns, and threw into relief now some dripping bits of rigging, and again the black outline of a deck-house as the sailor hurried below for a drink to refresh his torpid spirits. the cold wind blew the damp fog into market street, forced it uphill and then let it roll down again, filling every street with its gray substance. too-oo-ot, came the whistle from the golden gate again and further off still another whistle could be heard. over in tiburon the ferry-boat had calmed down, as it found itself unable to budge in the fog. one after the other, the tower-clocks struck half-past four, the strokes sounding loud and unnatural in the fog. from telegraph hill at the northern end of san francisco a splendid view could be obtained of this undulating sea of mist. a few of the isolated houses situated in the higher parts of the town looked like islands floating on the ever-moving glossy gray billows, while the top stories of several sky-scrapers rose up here and there like solemn black cliffs. a faint light in the east heralded the approach of day. too-oo-ot, sounded the whistle of the approaching steamer once again; then its voice broke and died out in a discordant sob, which was drowned in the nervous gang, gang, gang of the ship's bell. the steamer had been obliged to anchor on account of the fog. too-oo-ot, came from the other steamer further out. then life in the bay came to a stand-still: nothing could be done till the sun rose and brought warmth in its train. "this damned fog," said tom hallock, a telegraph boy, to his colleague, johnny kirkby, as he jumped off his bicycle in front of the post office, "this damned fog is enough to make one choke." johnny muttered some unintelligible words, for he was still half asleep; the effect of last night's eighteen drinks had not yet quite worn off. "you can't see the nearest lamp-post," he blurted out after a while. "i nearly ran into a company of infantry just now that suddenly popped up in front of me out of the fog. what's going on this morning, anyhow? what are they marching out to golden gate for?" "oh, you jay," said tom, "naval maneuvers, of course! are you blind? haven't you read the _evening standard_? there are to be naval maneuvers this morning, and admiral perry is going to attack san francisco." "this war-game is a crazy scheme," grumbled johnny. they both left their bicycles downstairs in a room in the post office and then went up to their quarters on the first story. "naval maneuvers?" began johnny again. "i really don't know anything about them. it was in last night's _evening standard_. it said that the orders had been changed quite unexpectedly, and that the maneuvers would take place outside the bay to-day." "it looks as though we'd have a long wait before daylight appears," said tom impatiently, pointing out of the windows, while johnny tackled the dilapidated tea-kettle in an effort to make himself an early morning drink. tom stamped up and down the room to warm himself, remarking: "thank the lord it's sunday and there isn't much going on, otherwise we'd all get sick chasing around with telegrams in this beastly fog." boom! the roar of a distant cannon suddenly made the windows rattle; boom again! it sounded as though it came from the fort. "there you are," said tom, "there's your naval maneuvers. perry won't stand any nonsense. he's not afraid of the fog; in fact, it gives him a fine chance for an attack." johnny didn't answer, for he had meanwhile dozed off. as soon as he had with considerable trouble got his tea-kettle into working order, he had fallen fast asleep, and now began to snore with his nose pressed flat on the table, as if he meant to saw it through before his tea was ready. tom shrugged his shoulders in disgust, and said: "those blamed drinks." another boom! from outside. the door opened behind tom and a telegraph official looked in. "one, two," he counted, "two are there," and then he closed the door again. downstairs in the street a motor-cycle hurried past puffing and rattling, the rider's figure looking like a gigantic elusive shadow through the fog. tom started to walk up and down again as the clock in the hall struck a quarter to five. a bell rung in the next room. steps were heard coming up the stairs and a colleague of the other two came in, swearing at the fog. he passed johnny, poured out some of the latter's tea for himself and drank it, meanwhile looking at the sleeper inquiringly. "it's the drinks," said tom, grinning. "h'm," growled the other. another motor-cycle went by on the street below, and then another. later on a group of ten motor-cycles rode past. "did you see that, harry?" asked tom, who was standing at the window. "what?" "didn't they have guns?" "they probably have something to do with the naval maneuvers." at this moment another group of ten men passed, and there was no doubt of the fact that they carried guns. "i guess it is the naval maneuvers," asserted tom. boom! came the sound of another shot. "that's queer," said tom. "what do you suppose it is?" he opened the window and listened. "do you hear it?" he asked harry, who admitted that he could also hear a rattling, scraping noise as though drums were being beaten far away or as though a handful of peas had been thrown against a pane of glass. tom leaned further out of the window in time to see a bicycle rider stop in front of the post office, take a big sheet of paper, moisten it with a large brush, and stick it on the wall near the entrance; then he rode off. tom shut the window, for the fog seemed to be getting thicker and thicker, and now, in the pale light of approaching dawn, it was almost impossible to recognize the yellow spots of light on the lamp-posts. by this time johnny had awakened and they all had some tea together. they were interrupted by a fourth messenger boy, who entered the room at this moment and exclaimed: "that's a great scheme of admiral perry's, and the fog seems to have helped him a lot. what do you think? he has surprised san francisco. there's a notice posted downstairs stating that the japanese have taken possession of san francisco and that the japanese military governor of san francisco asks the citizens to remain quiet or the city will be bombarded from the harbor by the japanese fleet." "perry is a great fellow, there's no use trying to fool with him," said tom. "san francisco surprised by the japs--that's a mighty fine scheme." outside some one was tearing up the stairs two at a time, doors banged noisily, and several bells rang. "somebody's in a h--of a hurry," said harry; "we'll have something to do in a minute." a telegraph operator hurriedly opened the door and with great beads of perspiration rolling down his face, shouted at the top of his lungs: "boys, the japanese have surprised san francisco." a roar of laughter greeted this piece of information. "stung!" cried harry. "stung! perry is the jap." "perry?" inquired the newcomer, staring at the other four. "who's perry?" "don't you know, mr. allen, that there are naval maneuvers going on to-day and that admiral perry is to surprise san francisco with the fleet?" "but there are notices at all the street-corners saying that the japanese governor of san francisco begs the citizens----" "yes, that's where the joke comes in. perry is going to attack the town as a jap--that's his scheme." "you haven't had enough sleep," cried tom. "if all the japs looked like admiral perry, then----" tom broke off short and dropped his tea-cup on the floor, staring blankly at the door as if he saw a ghost. just behind mr. allen stood a jap, with a friendly grin on his face, but a jap all the same, most certainly and without the slightest doubt a jap. he looked around the bare office and said in fluent english: "i must ask you to remain in this room for the present." with these words he raised his revolver and kept a sharp eye on the five occupants. johnny jumped up and felt instinctively for the revolver in his hip pocket, but in a flash the muzzle of the jap's gun was pointed straight at him and mechanically he obeyed the order "hands up!" "hand that thing over here," said the jap; "you might take it into your head to use it," and he took johnny's revolver and put it in his pocket. several japanese soldiers passed by outside. mr. allen sank down on a chair; not one of them could make head or tail of the situation. they were kept waiting for half an hour. down below in the street, where the wagons were beginning to rattle over the pavement, could be heard the steady march of bodies of soldiers, frequently interrupted by the noise of motor-cycles. there could no longer be any doubt--the affair was getting serious. the lamps were extinguished and the gray light of dawn filled the rooms as the head postmaster made his rounds, guarded by a japanese officer. the official was perspiring profusely from sheer nervousness. he begged the employees to keep calm, and assured them that it was no joke, but that san francisco was really in the hands of the japanese. it was the duty of the employees and the citizens, he said, to refrain from all resistance, so that a worse misfortune--a bombardment, he added in a whisper--might not befall the city. the men were obliged to give up any weapons they had in their possession, and these were collected by the japanese. at seven o'clock, when these details had been attended to, and the few telegraph instruments which were kept in commission were being used by japanese operators--all the others had been rendered useless by the removal of some parts of the mechanism--one of the regular operators asked to be allowed to speak to the postmaster. permission having been granted by the japanese guard, he told his chief, in a low voice, that the moment the japanese soldiers had taken possession of the telegraph room he had hurriedly dispatched a message to sacramento, telling them that san francisco had been surprised by the japanese fleet and that the whole city was occupied by japanese troops. "i thank you in the name of our poor country," said the postmaster, shaking the operator's hand, "i thank you with all my heart; you have done a brave deed." just at the time when the operator sent off his telegram to sacramento, a little, yellow, narrow-eyed fellow, lying in a ditch many miles inland, far to the east of san francisco, connected his morse apparatus with the san francisco-sacramento telegraph-wire, and intercepted the following message: "chief of police, sacramento.--san francisco attacked by japanese fleet this morning; whole city in hands of japanese army. resistance impossible, as attack took place in thick fog before dawn. help imperative." the little yellow man smiled contentedly, tore off the strip, and handed it to the officer standing near him. the latter drew a deep breath and said: "thank heaven, that's settled." at the time of the occupation of the post office building, the japanese outposts had already spun their fine, almost invisible silver threads around all the telegraph-wires far inland and thus cut off all telegraphic communication with the east. the telegram just quoted therefore served only to tell the japanese outposts of the overwhelming success of the japanese arms at the golden gate. but how had all this been accomplished? the enemy could not possibly have depended on the fog from the outset. nevertheless an unusual barometrical depression had brought in its train several days of disagreeable, stormy weather. the japanese had been fully prepared for a battle with the san francisco forts and with the few warships stationed in the harbor. the fact that they found such a strong ally in the fog was beyond all their hopes and strategical calculations. when the sun sank in the waves of the pacific on the sixth of may, every japanese had his orders for the next few hours, and the five thousand men whose part it was to attend to the work to be accomplished in san francisco on the morning of the seventh, disappeared silently into the subterranean caves and cellars of the chinese quarter, to fetch their weapons and be ready for action soon after midnight. _chapter viii_ in the bowels of the earth it was thought that the earthquake had done away forever with the underground labyrinth of the chinese quarter--those thousands of pens inhabited by creatures that shunned the light of day, those mole-holes which served as headquarters for a subterranean agitation, the mysterious methods of which have never been revealed to the eye of the white man. when had the old chinatown been laid out; when had those hidden warehouses, those opium dens and hiding-places of the mongolian proletariat been erected, those dens in which all manner of criminals celebrated their indescribable orgies and which silently hid all these evil-doers from the far-reaching arm of the police? when had the new chinatown sprung up? when had the new quarter been provided with an endless network of subterranean passages, so that soon all was just as it had been before the earthquake? no one had paid any attention to these things. the mongolian secret societies never paused for a moment in their invisible conspiracy against the ruling whites, and succeeded in creating a new underground world, over which the street traffic rolled on obliviously. a narrow cellar entrance and greasy, slippery steps led into hung wapu's store, behind which there was a chop-house, which in turn led into an opium-den. the rooms behind the latter, from which daylight was forever excluded, were reserved for still worse things. no policeman would ever have succeeded in raiding these dens of iniquity; he would have found nothing but empty rooms or bunks filled with snoring chinese; the abominable stench would soon have driven him out again, but if, by any chance, he had attempted to penetrate further and to explore the walls for the purpose of discovering hidden openings, the only result would have been a story in the next day's papers about a "missing" policeman. hung wapu, whose plump face, with its enormous spectacles, resembled that of an old fat boarding-house keeper, was standing at the entrance to his cellar-shop late on the evening of may sixth. a disgusting odor and the murmur of many voices reached the street from the cellar. the policeman had just made his rounds, and hung wapu looked after him with a cunning grin as his heavy steps died away in the distance. the coast was clear for two hours. hung wapu went in and locked the door, above which a green paper-lantern swung gently to and fro in the soft night wind. hung wapu passed through the store to the chop-house, where several dozen chinese were squatting on the ground dining on unmentionable chinese delicacies, which consisted of anything and everything soft enough to be chewed. no one watching the vacant expression of these people would have dreamed for a moment that anything was wrong; no one observing these chattering, shouting sons of the celestial kingdom would have guessed that anything out of the ordinary was on foot. they kept on eating, and did not even look up when several japs stole, one by one, through their midst and disappeared through a door at the back. the japs apparently attracted no attention whatsoever, but a keen observer would have noticed that hung wapu placed a little saki-bowl on a low table for every japanese visitor that had entered his shop. the japs all went through a side-door of the opium-den into a large room, where they took off their outer clothing and put on uniforms instead. then they lay down to sleep either on the mats on the floor or on the bundles of clothing which were stacked on the floor along the walls of the room. hung wapu now accompanied one of his chinese guests up the cellar-steps to the street, and sitting down on the top step began to chat in a low voice with his apparently half-intoxicated countryman. at the same time he polished about two dozen little saki-bowls with an old rag, afterwards arranging them in long rows on the pavement. the animated traffic in the narrow alley gradually died down. one by one most of the gas-lamps closed their tired eyes, and only the green paper-lantern above hung wapu's door continued to swing to and fro in the night-wind, while similar spots of colored light were visible in front of a few of the neighboring houses. far away a clock struck the hour of midnight, and somewhere else, high up in the air, a bell rang out twelve strokes with a metallic sound. a cool current of air coming from the harbor swept through the hot, ill-smelling alley. hung wapu went on whispering with his companion, and all the time he continued to polish his little saki-bowls. after a while the visitor fell asleep against the door-post and snored with all his might. misty shadows began to fall slowly and the lights of the street lamps took on a red glow. suddenly the figure of a drunken man appeared a little distance away; he was carefully feeling his way along the houses, but as soon as he came in sight of hung wapu's cellar, he suddenly seemed to sober up for a minute and made directly for it. "saki!" he stammered, planting himself in front of hung wapu, whereupon the latter made a sign. the drunken man, a japanese, whose face looked ghastly pale in the green light from the lantern, stared stupidly at the saki-bowls, which hung wapu was trying to shield from the tottering wretch with his arm. "twenty-eight bowls," he stammered to himself, "twenty-eight saki-bowls----" at this moment the sleeping chinaman awoke and looked at the drunken man with a silly laugh. "yes, twenty-eight saki-bowls; it's all right--twenty-eight saki-bowls," repeated the drunken jap, and reeled on along the houses. hung wapu seemed to have ended his day's work with the polishing of the twenty-eight saki-bowls; he piled them up in a heap and disappeared with them into his cellar, followed with extraordinary agility by the chinese sleeper. he hurried through the chop-house, the occupants of which were all fast asleep on their straw mats, passed through the opium-den, and then, in the third room, divested himself of his chinese coat. the silk-cap with the pigtail attached was flung into a corner, and then, dressed in a khaki uniform, he seated himself at a table and studied a map of the city of san francisco, making notes in a small book by the light of a smoky oil lamp. the drunken jap, who had apparently had doubts about entering hung wapu's chop-house, tottered on down the quiet street and made for another paper-lantern, which hung above another cellar door about ten houses farther on. here too, curiously enough, he found the chinese landlord sitting on the top step. he wanted to push him aside and stumble down the steps, but the chinaman stopped him. "how much?" stuttered the drunken man. "how much?" answered the chinaman. "how much money will the great stranger pay for a meal for his illustrious stomach in si wafang's miserable hut? forty kasch, forty kasch the noble son of the rising sun must pay for a shabby meal in si wafang's wretched hut." "forty kasch? i'll bring the forty kasch, most noble si wafang. 'i won't go home till morning, till daylight does appear,'" bawled the tipsy man, and staggered on down the street, whereupon this landlord also disappeared in his cellar, after extinguishing the paper lantern over the doorway. a death-like stillness reigned in the street, and no one imagined that the rats were assembling, that the underground passages were full of them, and that it only needed a sign to bring the swarming masses to the surface. a cold breeze from the sea swept through the deserted streets and a misty veil enveloped the yellow light of the gas-lamps. the lanterns hanging in front of the chinese cellars were extinguished one by one, and everyone apparently turned in. the fog became thicker and thicker, and covered the pavement with moisture. suddenly the door of hung wapu's cellar squeaked; it was opened cautiously and a low clatter came up from below. thirty dark forms crept slowly up the steps, one after the other, and without a word they began their march. ten houses farther on a similar detachment poured out of the other chinese cellar and joined their ranks. the gas-lamps shed a dull, yellowish-red light on the gun-barrels of the japanese company, which was marching down to the docks. two thousand steps farther on it had become a battalion, which marched rapidly in the direction of the barracks of the fifth regiment of regulars in the old presidio. at the next corner the leader of the battalion unobtrusively saluted a man in uniform who stepped suddenly out of a doorway. a few japanese words were exchanged in a low tone. "this is an unexpected ally," said the japanese colonel, holding out his hand in the dense fog. four o'clock struck from the tower of the union ferry depot, and out from the sea, from the golden gate, came the bellowing voice of a steamer's whistle. the two officers looked at each other and smiled, and the troops continued their march. "halloo!" shouted a roundsman to a policeman who had been leaning against a lamp-post half asleep. "halloo, tom, wake up! who are those fellows over there; where the deuce are they going?" tom opened his eyes, and up on the hill, a few blocks away, he could faintly distinguish through the thick fog the outline of a group of rapidly moving soldiers. "i guess they are some of our boys taking part in the naval maneuver. you know, perry's going to attack us to-day." "well, i didn't know that," replied the roundsman. "they're great boys, all right; up and about at four in the morning." just then the angry bellow from a steamer's whistle came across the water and abruptly ended this early morning conversation. "i suppose that's perry now," said tom. "well, he can't do much in this beastly fog, anyway." "so long, tom," answered the roundsman curtly as he slowly proceeded to resume his interrupted rounds. an advance guard of a few men had been sent ahead. they found the sentry at the barrack-gates fast asleep. when he awoke it was to discover himself surrounded by a dozen men. he stared at them, still heavy with sleep, and then reached mechanically for his gun; it was gone. he tried to pull himself together, felt something cold pressed against his right temple, and saw the barrel of a browning pistol in the hand of the man in front of him. "hands up!" came the command in a low tone, and a few seconds later he was bound and gagged. as he lay on the ground, he saw a whole battalion of foreign soldiers half in the court-yard before the barracks, and vague thoughts of naval maneuvers and surprises, of admiral perry and the japs went through his mind, till all at once the notion "japs" caused him to sit up mentally--weren't these men real japanese? and if so, what did it all mean? in the meantime double guards had occupied all the men's quarters, in which uncle sam's soldiers began gradually to wake up. the guns and ammunition had long ago passed into the hands of the japs, and when at last the reveille from a japanese bugle woke up the garrison completely, there was nothing to be done but to grind their teeth with rage and submit to the inevitable. they had to form in line in the court-yard at eight o'clock, and then, disarmed and escorted by japanese troops, they had to board the ferry-boats and cross over to angel island, while the cannon on fort point (winfield scott) thundered out the last notes of american resistance in san francisco. * * * * * when, shortly after midnight, the guard had been relieved for the last time, and only a few sleepy soldiers remained in the sentry-boxes of the coast batteries of san francisco, the enemy lay in ambush behind the coast-line, ready, to the last man, to rise at a given signal and render the unsuspecting american troops _hors de combat_ in their sleep. and thus, before the sentinels had any idea what was going on, they were disarmed and gagged. not a single cry or shot was heard to warn the sleeping soldiers. they awoke to find themselves confronted by japanese bayonets and gun-barrels, and resistance was utterly useless, for the enemy, who seemed to be remarkably well posted, had already taken possession of the ammunition and arms. and where, all this time, was admiral perry with his fleet? nowhere. the japanese had made no mistake in relying on the traditional love of sensation of the american press. the telegram sent on may sixth from los angeles to the san francisco _evening standard_ was nothing but a japanese trick. it notified the _standard_ that admiral perry intended during the naval maneuvers (which were actually to take place within the next fortnight) to gain an entrance through the golden gate, and the japanese felt certain that the editor would not make inquiries at the last moment as to the veracity of this report, which was not at all in accord with previous arrangements, but would print it as it was, more especially as it was signed by their usual correspondent. thus the japanese had reason to hope that no immediate suspicions would be aroused by the appearance of warships in the bay of san francisco. and so it turned out. the five japanese armored cruisers and the torpedo flotilla, which were to surprise and destroy the naval station and the docks, were able to cross the entire bay under cover of the fog without being recognized and to occupy the docks and the arsenal. four mortar-boats threatened point bonita and lime point, till they both surrendered. what could the two cruisers _new york_ and _brooklyn_, lying in dock for repairs, do without a single ball-cartridge on board? what was the good of the deck guards using up their cartridges before the red flag of nippon was hoisted above the stars and stripes? it is true there was a fight at one spot--out at winfield scott. although the fog proved of great assistance to the japanese in a hundred cases, the stipulated signal for attack, that is, the whistle of the japanese auxiliary cruiser _pelung maru_, for example, being taken for a fog-signal, nevertheless an annoying surprise awaited the enemy elsewhere. a steamer headed towards the golden gate in the wake of the _pelung maru_ heard the roar of the sealions, and as this showed how near they were to the cliffs, the vessel dropped anchor and instead of blowing its whistle ordered the ship's bell to be rung. this was heard by the _pelung maru_ a short distance ahead and interpreted as a sign that something had occurred to disturb the plan of attack. a steamlaunch was therefore sent out to look for the anchored ship. the latter was the german steamer _siegismund_, whose captain, standing on the bridge, suddenly saw a dripping little launch approaching with its flag trailing behind it in the water. and just as in every cleverly arranged plan one stupid oversight is apt to occur so it happened now. the launch carried the japanese flag and the lieutenant at the helm called to the _siegismund_ in japanese. as they were directly before the guns of the american batteries, the german captain didn't know what to make of it. he couldn't imagine what the launch from a japanese warship could be doing here at dawn before the golden gate fortifications, and thinking that the fact would be likely to be of interest to the commander of the fort, he sent him the following wireless message: "have just met launch of a japanese warship off seal-rocks; what does it mean?" this information alarmed the garrison at winfield scott, and the men at once received orders to man the guns. then they waited breathlessly to see what would happen next. an inquiry sent by wireless to the other stations remained unanswered, because these were already in the hands of the japanese, whose operators were not quick-witted enough to send back a reassuring answer. as the commander of the fort received no answer, he became suspicious, and these suspicions were soon justified when a number of soldiers were discovered trying to force their way into the narrow land entrance of the fort. a few shots fired during the first bayonet assault and the bullets landing within the fort showed that it was a serious matter. besides, a puff of wind dispersed the fog for a few seconds just then, and the shadowy silhouettes of several large ships became visible. without a moment's hesitation the commander of winfield scott ordered the men to open fire on them from the heavy guns. these were the shots that had been heard at the san francisco post office and tom was quite right in thinking that he heard the rattle of musketry directly afterwards. but with the small stock of ammunition doled out to the coast defenses in times of peace--there were plenty of blank cartridges for salutes--it was impossible to hold winfield scott. the fort sent out a few dozen shells into the fog pretty blindly, and, as a matter of fact, they hit nothing. then began the hopeless battle between the garrison and the japanese machine-guns, and although the shots from the latter were powerless to affect the walls and the armor-plating, still they worked havoc among the men. and the ammunition of the americans disappeared even more quickly than their men, so that when at ten o'clock two japanese regiments undertook to capture the fort by storm, the last defender fell with practically the last cartridge. then the rising sun of dai nippon was substituted on the flagstaff of winfield scott for the stars and stripes. in the city itself small japanese guards were posted at the railway station, the post office and the telegraph offices, at the city hall and at most of the public buildings, and as early as this, on the morning of may seventh, troops for the march eastward were being landed at the pier at oakland. a standing garrison of only five thousand men was left in san francisco, and these at once occupied the coast-batteries and prepared them for defense. the same thing was of course done with the docks and the naval station, with oakland and all the other towns situated on the bay. the sudden appearance of the enemy had in every case had a positively paralyzing effect. among the inhabitants of the coast the terrible feeling prevailed everywhere that this was the end, that nothing could be done against an enemy whose soldiers crept out of every hole and cranny, and even when a few courageous men did unite for the purpose of defending their homes, they found no followers. it is a pity that others did not show the resolute courage of a mexican fisherman's wife, who reached the harbor of san francisco with a good catch early on monday morning and made fast to the pier close to a japanese destroyer. almost immediately a japanese petty officer came on board and demanded the catch for the use of the japanese army. the woman, a coarse beauty with a fine mustache, planted herself in front of the jap and shouted: "what, you shrimp, you want our fish, do you?" and seizing a good-sized silver fish lying on the deck, she boxed the astonished warrior's ears right and left till he fell over backwards into the water and swam quickly back to the destroyer, snorting like a seal, amidst the laughter of the bystanders. the question naturally suggests itself at this point: why didn't a people as determined as the americans rise like one man and, arming themselves with revolvers and pistols and if it came to the worst with such primitive weapons as knives and spokes, attack the various small japanese garrisons and free their country from this flood of swarming yellow ants? the white handbills posted up at every street corner furnished the answer to the question. the municipal authorities were made responsible to the japanese military governor, who was clever enough to leave the entire american municipal administration unaltered, even down to the smallest detail. even the local police remained in office. the whole civil life went on as before, and only the machine-guns in front of the japanese guard-houses situated at the various centers of traffic showed who was now ruler in the land. all the officials and the whole city administration were bound by a marvelously clever and effective system. in the proclamations issued by the japanese military governor the city was threatened, should the slightest sign of resistance occur, with acts of vengeance that positively took one's breath away. three japanese cruisers, with their guns constantly loaded and manned and aimed directly at the two cities, lay between oakland and san francisco. they had orders to show no mercy and to commence a bombardment at the first sign of trouble. it did not seem to have occurred to any one that although the bombardment of a town like san francisco by a few dozen guns might indeed have a bad moral effect, it would nevertheless be impossible to do much harm. but the japanese had other trump cards up their sleeves. the military governor declared that the moment they were compelled to use the guns, he would cut off all the available supply of water and light, by which means all resistance would be broken down within twenty-four hours. for this reason all the gas-works and electric plants were transformed into little forts and protected by cannon and machine-guns. tens of thousands might try, in vain, to take them by storm; the city would remain wrapped in darkness, except, as the japanese general remarked with a polite smile to the mayor of san francisco, for the bright light of bursting shells. in the same way the municipal waterworks in san francisco and all the other towns occupied by the japanese were insured against attack. not one drop of water would the town receive, and what that meant could be best explained to the mayor by his wife. and thus, in spite of their often ridiculously small numbers, the japanese troops were safe from surprise, for the awful punishment meted out to the town of stockton, where a bold and quickly organized band of citizens destroyed the japanese garrison, consisting only of a single company, was not likely to be disregarded. the entire population of the pacific coast was forced to submit quietly, though boiling with rage, while at the same time all listened eagerly for the report of cannon from the american army in the east. but was there such a thing as an american army? was there any sense in hoping when months must pass before an american army could take the field? * * * * * the deception of the _evening standard_ by means of the fatal telegram was preceded by an instructive episode. indeed, it might well be asked whether anything that happened in this terrible time could not be traced back pretty far. in order that the news of the naval maneuvers in the _evening standard_ should receive sufficient attention on the critical day, this paper and consequently the inhabitants of san francisco had for some months past been taught to expect over the signature "our naval correspondent," amazingly correct accounts of the movements of the american fleet and all matters pertaining to the navy. mr. alfred stephenson had hard work to keep his head above water as editor of the _los angeles advertiser_ at los angeles. the struggle for existence gave him considerable cause for worry, and this was due to the fact that mrs. olinda stephenson wished to cut a figure in society, a figure that was not at all compatible with her husband's income. mr. stephenson was therefore often called upon to battle with temptation, but for a long time he successfully withstood all offers the acceptance of which would have lowered him in his own estimation. the consequence was that financial discussion had become chronic in the stephenson household, and, like a minister of finance, he was compelled to develop considerable energy in order to diminish the financial demands of the opposition or render them void by having recourse to passive resistance. this constant worry gradually exhausted mr. stephenson, however, and the check-book, which, to save his face, he always carried with him, was nothing more than a piece of useless bluff. he could therefore scarcely be blamed for eagerly seizing the opportunity offered him one evening at a bar in los angeles, when a stranger agreed to furnish him regularly with news from the navy department for the _evening standard_. the affair had, of course, to be conducted with the greatest secrecy. the stranger told stephenson that a clerk in the navy department was willing to send him such news for two hundred dollars per annum. the result was astonishing. the articles signed "our naval correspondent" soon attracted wide attention, and the large fees received from san francisco quite covered the deficits in the stephenson household. mrs. olinda was soon rolling in money and the tiresome financial discussions came to a speedy end. from that time on stephenson regularly received secret communications, which were mailed at pasadena, and as to the origin of which he himself remained in complete ignorance. but these same messages enabled the _evening standard_ in a brief space of time to establish a national reputation for its naval news, which was at no time officially contradicted. the matter did not, of course, pass unnoticed in washington, for it soon became evident that secret dispatches were being misappropriated. vigorous efforts were made to discover the guilty person in the navy department, but they all proved vain for the following reason: among the wireless stations used for maintaining constant communication between the navy department at washington and the various naval ports and naval stations, and the fleet itself when at sea, was the large station on wilson's peak near the observatory, whose shining tin-roof can be seen plainly from los angeles when the sun strikes it. all messages arriving there for transmission to san diego and mare island could be readily intercepted by the wireless apparatus attached inconspicuously to the huge wind-wheel on an orange plantation between pasadena and los angeles. the uninitiated would have concluded that the wires had something to do with a lightning-rod. the japanese proprietor of the plantation had simply to read the messages from the morse key of his apparatus and forward what he considered advisable to mr. stephenson by mail. a few hours later the _evening standard_ was in a position to make a scoop with the dispatches of its infallible naval correspondent. thus stephenson, without having the slightest suspicion of it, formed a wheel in the great chain which prepared the way for the enemy, and since the _evening standard_ had earned a reputation for publishing absolutely reliable news in this field, no one for a moment doubted the announcement of admiral perry's attack, although this was the first spurious message which stephenson had furnished to his paper. _chapter ix_ a forty-eight-hour balance a steamer is lying at the pier taking in cargo. long-legged cranes are taking hold of bales and barrels and boxes and lowering them through the ship's hatches with a rattle of chains. wooden cases bound with steel ropes and containing heavy machinery are being hoisted slowly from the lorries on the railway tracks; the swaying burden is turning round and round in the air, knocking against the railing with a groaning noise, and tearing off large splinters of wood. the overseer is swearing at the men at the windlass and comparing his papers with the slips of the customs officer, the one making a blue check on the bill of lading and the other taking note of each article on his long list. suddenly a small box comes to light, which has been waiting patiently since yesterday under the sheltering tarpaulin. "a box of optical instruments," says the customs officer, making a blue check. "a box of optical instruments," repeats the overseer, making a mark with his moistened pencil-stump: "careful!" he adds, as a workman is on the point of tipping the heavy box over. then the hook of the crane seizes the loop in the steel rope and with a stuttering rattling sound the wheels of the windlass set to work, the steel wire grips the side of the box tightly, the barrel beside it is pushed aside, and a wooden case enclosing a piece of cast-iron machinery is scraped angrily over the slippery cobble-stones. heave ho, heave ho, chant the men, pushing with all their might. to the accompaniment of splashing drops of oily water, puffs of steam, groans of the windlass and the yells and curses of the stevedores, the whole load, including the box of optical instruments, at last disappears in the hold of the ship. it is placed securely between rolls of cardboard next to some nice white boxes filled with shining steel goods. but when the noise up above has died down, when with the approach of darkness the rattling of the chains and the groaning of the windlasses has ceased, when only the slow step of the deck-watch finds an echo--then it can be heard. inside the box you can hear a gentle but steady tick, tick, tick. the clock-work is wound up and set to the exact second. tick, tick, tick it goes. when the ship is far out at sea and the passengers are asleep and the watch calls out: "lights are burning. all's well!" then the works will have run down, the spring will stop and loosen a little hammer. ten kilograms of dynamite suffice. a quarter of an hour later there'll be nothing left of the proud steamer but a few boats loaded down with people and threatening every moment to be engulfed in the waves. tick, tick, tick, it goes down in the hold; the clock is set. tick, tick, tick, it goes on unceasingly, till the unknown hour arrives. no one suspects the true nature of a piece of the cargo which certainly looked innocent enough. yet the hour is bound to come sooner or later, but no one knows just when. * * * * * nor had the country at large recognized that the hour was at hand. in the time that it took the short hand of the clock to complete its round four times, our country had completely changed its complexion, and the balance drawn by the press on tuesday morning after an interval of forty-eight hours, had a perfectly crushing effect. of course the appearance of the enemy in the west at once produced a financial panic in new york. on monday morning the wall street stock-quotations of the trans-continental railroads fell to the lowest possible figure, rendering the shares about as valuable as the paper upon which they were printed. apparently enormous numbers of shares had been thrown on the market in the first wild panic, but an hour after the opening of the stock exchange, after billions had changed hands in mad haste, a slight rise set in as a result of wholesale purchases by a single individual. yet even before this fact had been clearly recognized, the railway magnates of the west had bought up all the floating stock without exception. they could afford to wait for the millions they would pocket until the american army had driven the enemy from the country. at the same time selling orders came pouring in from the other side by way of london. the old world lost no time in trying to get rid of its american stocks, and the united states were made to realize that in the hour of a political catastrophe every nation has to stand on its own feet, and that all the diplomatic notes and the harmless sentimentalities of foreign states will avail nothing. so it was after the terrible night of port arthur and so it was now. it was of course as yet impossible to figure out in detail how the japanese had managed to take possession of the pacific states within twenty-four hours. but from the dispatches received from all parts of the country during the next few days and weeks the following picture could be drawn. the number of japanese on american soil was in round numbers one hundred thousand. the japanese had not only established themselves as small tradesmen and shopkeepers in the towns, but had also settled everywhere as farmers and fruit-growers; japanese coolies and mongolian workmen were to be found wherever new buildings were going up as well as on all the railways. the yellow flood was threatening to destroy the very foundations of our domestic economy by forcing down all wage-values. the yellow immigrant who wrested spade and shovel, ax and saw, from the american workman, who pushed his way into the factory and the workshop and acted as a heartless strike breaker, was not only found in the pacific states but had pushed his way across the rockies into the very heart of the eastern section. and scarcely had he settled anywhere, before, with the typical tsushima grin, he demanded his political rights. the individual jap excited no suspicion and did not become troublesome, but the mongolians always managed to distribute their outposts on american soil in such a way that the japanese element never attracted undue attention in any one particular spot. nevertheless they were to be found everywhere. we had often been told that every japanese who landed on the pacific coast or crossed the mexican or canadian borders was a trained soldier. but we had always regarded this fact more as a political curiosity or a japanese peculiarity than as a warning. we never for a moment realized that this whole immigration scheme was regulated by a perfect system, and that every japanese immigrant had received his military orders and was in constant touch with the secret military centers at san francisco, who at stated periods sent out japanese traders and agents--in reality they were officers of the general staff, who at the same time made important topographical notes for use in case of war--to control their movements. both the lumber companies in the state of washington, which brought hundreds of japanese over from canada, and the railways which employed japanese workmen were equally ignorant of the fact that they had taken a japanese regiment into their employ. thus preparations for the coming war were conducted on a large scale during the year 1907, until the ever-increasing flow of japanese immigrants finally led to those conflicts with which we are familiar. at the time we regarded it as a triumph of american diplomacy when japan, in the face of california's threatening attitude, apparently gave in after a little diplomatic bickering and issued the well-known proclamation concerning emigration to hawaii and the pacific states, at the same time dissolving several emigration companies at home. as a matter of fact japan had already completed her military preparations in our country in times of absolute peace, the sole difficulty experienced being in connection with the concentration of the remaining coolie importations. the japanese invasion, which our politicians dismissed as possible only in the dim and distant future, was actually completed at the beginning of the year 1908. a japanese army stood prepared and fully armed right in our midst, merely waiting until the military and financial conditions at home rendered the attack feasible. when we glance to-day through the newspapers of that period, we cannot help but smile at allowing ourselves to be persuaded that the japanese danger had been removed by the diplomatic retreat in tokio and the prohibition of emigration to north america. our papers stated at the time that japan had recognized that she had drawn the bow too tight and that she had yielded because admiral evans's fleet had demonstrated conclusively that we were prepared. that only goes to show how little we knew of the mongolian character! we had become so accustomed to the large japanese element in the population of our western states, that we entirely neglected to control the harmless looking individuals. to be sure there wasn't a great deal to be seen on the surface, but it would have been interesting to examine some of the goods smuggled so regularly across the mexican and canadian borders. why were we content to allow the smuggling to continue without interference, simply because we felt it couldn't be stamped out anyhow? the japanese did not resort to the hackneyed piano-cases and farming machinery; they knew better than to employ such clumsy methods. the goods they sent over the line consisted of neat little boxes full of guns and other weapons which had been taken apart. and when a japanese farmer ordered a hay-cart from canada, it was no pure chance that the remarkably strong wheels of this cart exactly fitted a field-gun. the barrel was brought over by a neighbor, who ordered iron columns for his new house, inside of which the separate parts of the barrel were soldered. it was in this way that, in the course of several years, the entire equipment for the japanese army came quietly and inconspicuously across our borders. and then the japanese are so clever, clever in putting together and mounting their guns, clever in disguising them. did it ever enter anyone's head that the amiable landlord who cracked so many jokes at the japanese inn not far from the railroad station at reno commanded a battalion? did anyone suppose that the casks of california wine in his cellar in reality enclosed six machine-guns, and that in the yard behind the house there was sufficient material to equip an entire company of artillery inside of two hours, and that plenty of ammunition was stored away in the attic in boxes and trunks ostensibly left by travelers to be held until called for? as long as there's sufficient time at disposal, all these things can be imported into the country bit by bit, and without ever coming into conflict with the government. things began to stir about the end of april. a great many japs were traveling about the country, but there was no reason why this circumstance should have attracted special notice in a country like ours where so much traveling is constantly done. the enemy were assembling. the people arrived at the various stations and at once disappeared in the country, bound for the different headquarters in the solitudes of the mountains. there each one found his ammunition, his gun and his uniform exactly as it was described in japanese characters on the paper which he had received on landing, and which had more than once been officially revised or supplemented as the result of information received from chance acquaintances who had paid him a visit. everything worked like a charm; there wasn't a hitch anywhere. no one had paid any particular attention to the fact, for example, in connection with the fair to be held in the small town of irvington on may eighth, that numerous carts with japanese farmers had arrived on the saturday before and that they had brought several dozen horses with them. and who could object to their putting up at the japanese inn which, with its big stables, was specially suited to their purpose. at first the japanese owner had been laughed at, but later on he was admired for his business ability in keeping the horse trade of irvington entirely in his own hands. when on the following day during church hours--the japanese being heathens--the streets lay deserted in their sunday calm, the few people who happened to be on main street and saw a field battery consisting of six guns and six ammunition wagons turn out of the gate next to the japanese inn thought they had seen an apparition. the battery started off at once at a sharp trot and left the town to take up a position out in a field in the suburbs, where a dozen men were already busily at work with spades and pick-axes digging a trench. the police of irvington were at once notified, a sleepy official at the post office was roused out of his slumbers, and a telegram was directed to the nearest military post, but the latter proceeding was useless and no answer was received, since the copper wires were long ago in the control of the enemy. even if it had got through, the telegraphic warning would have come too late, for the military post in question, of which half of the troops were, as usual, on leave, had been attacked and captured by the japanese at nine o'clock in the morning. a hundred thousand japanese had established the line of an eastern advance-guard long before the pacific states had any idea of what was up. during sunday, after the capture of san francisco, the occupation of seattle, san diego and the other fortified towns on the coast, the landing of the second detachment of the japanese army began, and by monday evening the pacific states were in the grip of no less than one hundred and seventy thousand men. * * * * * when, on sunday morning, the japanese had cut off the railway connections, they adopted the plan of allowing all trains going from east to west to pass unmolested, so that there was soon quite a collection of engines and cars to be found within the zone bounded by the japanese outposts. on the other hand, all the trains running eastward were held up, some being sent back and others being used for conveying the japanese troops to advance posts or for bringing the various lines of communication into touch with one another. in some cases these trains were also used for pushing boldly much farther east, the enemy thus surprising and overpowering a number of military posts and arsenals in which the guns and ammunition for the militia were stored. only in a very few instances did this gigantic mechanism fail. one of these accidents occurred at swallowtown, where the mistake was made of attacking the express-train to umatilla instead of the local train to pendleton. the lateness of the former and the occupation of the station too long before the expected arrival of the latter, and coupled to this the heroic deed of the station-master, interfered unexpectedly with the execution of the plan. the reader will remember that when the express returned to swallowtown, tom's shanty was empty. the enemy had disappeared and had taken the two captive farmers with them. the mounted police, who had been summoned immediately from walla walla, found the two men during the afternoon in their wagon, bound hand and foot, in a hollow a few miles to the west of the station. they also discovered a time-table of the oregon railway in the wagon, with a note in japanese characters beside the time for the arrival of the local train from umatilla. this time-table had evidently been lost by the leader of the party on his flight. soon after the police had returned to the swallowtown station that same evening, a japanese military train passed through, going in the direction of pendleton. the train was moving slowly and those within opened fire on the policeman, who lost no time in replying. but the odds were too great, and it was all over in a few minutes. by monday evening the enemy had secured an immense quantity of railway material, which had simply poured into their arms automatically, and which was more than sufficient for their needs. the information received from victoria (british columbia) that a fleet had been sighted in the straits of san juan de fuca, whence it was said to have proceeded to port townsend and puget sound, was quite correct. a cruiser squadron had indeed passed esquimault and victoria at dawn on sunday, and a few hours later firing had been heard coming from the direction of port townsend. the british harbor officials had suddenly become extremely timid and had not allowed the regular steamer to leave for seattle. when, therefore, on monday morning telegraphic inquiries came from the american side concerning the foreign warships, which, by the way, had carried no flag, ambiguous answers could be made without arousing suspicion. considerable excitement prevailed in victoria on account of the innumerable vague rumors of the outbreak of war; the naval station, however, remained perfectly quiet. on monday morning a cruiser started out in the direction of port townsend, and after exchanging numerous signals with esquimault, continued on her course towards cape flattery and the open sea. it will be seen, therefore, that no particular zeal was shown in endeavoring to get at the bottom of the matter. a battle between the japanese ships and the forts of port townsend had actually taken place. part of the hostile fleet had escorted the transport steamers to puget sound and had there found the naval depots and the fortifications, the arsenal and the docks in the hands of their countrymen, who had also destroyed the second-class battleship _texas_ lying off port orchard by firing at her from the coast forts previously stormed and captured by them. they had surprised seattle at dawn much in the same way as san francisco had been surprised, and they at once began to land troops and unload their war materials. on the other hand, an attempt to surprise port townsend with an insufficient force had failed. the americans had had enough sense to prohibit the japanese from coming too near to the newly armed coast defenses, and the better watch which the little town had been able to keep over the asiatics had made it difficult for them to assemble a sufficiently large fighting contingent. the work here had to be attended to by the guns, and the enemy had included this factor in their calculations from the beginning. how thoroughly informed the japanese were as to every detail of our coast defenses and how well acquainted they were with each separate battery, with its guns as well as with its ammunition, was clearly demonstrated by the new weapon brought into the field in connection with the real attack on the fortifications. of course japanese laborers had been employed in erecting the works--they worked for such ridiculously low wages, those japanese engineers disguised as coolies. with the eight million two hundred thousand dollars squeezed out of congress in the spring of 1908--in face of the unholy fear on the part of the nation's representatives of a deficit, it had been impossible to get more--two new mortar batteries had been built on the rocky heights of port townsend. these batteries, themselves inaccessible to all ships' guns, were in a position to pour down a perpendicular fire on hostile decks and could thus make short work of every armored vessel. now the japanese had already had a very unpleasant experience with the strong coast fortifications of port arthur. in the first place, bombarding of this nature was very injurious to the bores of the ships' guns, and secondly, the results on land were for the most part nominal. not without reason had togo tried to get at the shore batteries of port arthur by indirect fire from pigeon bay. but even that, in spite of careful observations taken from the water, had little effect. and even the strongest man-of-war was helpless against the perpendicular fire of the port townsend mortar batteries, because it was simply impossible for its guns, with their slight angle of elevation, to reach the forts situated so high above them. and if the road to seattle, that important base of operations in the north, was not to be perpetually menaced, then port townsend must be put out of commission. but for every weapon a counter-weapon is usually invented, and every new discovery is apt to be counterbalanced by another. the world has never yet been overturned by a new triumph of skill in military technics, because it is at once paralyzed by another equally ingenious. and now, at port townsend, very much the same thing happened as on march ninth, 1862. in much the same way that the appearance of the _merrimac_ had brought destruction to the wooden fleet until she was herself forced to flee before ericsson's _monitor_ at hampton roads, so now at port townsend on may seventh a new weapon was made to stand the crucial test. only this time we were not the pathfinders of the new era. while the japanese cruisers, keeping carefully beyond the line of fire from the forts, sailed on to seattle, four ships were brought into action against the mortar batteries of port townsend which appeared to set at defiance all known rules of ship-building, and which, indestructible as they were, threatened to annihilate all existing systems. they were low vessels which floated on the water like huge tortoises. these mortar-boats, which were destined to astound not only the americans but the whole world, had been constructed in japanese shipyards, to which no stranger had ever been admitted. in place of the ordinary level-firing guns found on a modern warship, these uncanny gray things carried 17.7-inch howitzers, a kind of mortar of japanese construction. there was nothing to be seen above the low deck but a short heavily protected funnel and four little armored domes which contained the sighting telescopes for the guns, the mouths of which lay in the arch of the whaleback deck. four such vessels had also been constructed for use at san francisco, but the quick capture of the forts had rendered the mortar-boats unnecessary. we were constantly being attacked in places where no thought had been given to the defense, and the fortifications we did possess were never shot at from the direction they faced. our coast defenses were everywhere splendidly protected against level-firing guns, which the japanese, however, unfortunately refrained from using. with their mortar-boats they attacked our forts in their most vulnerable spot, that is, from above. with the exception of winfield scott, the batteries at port townsend were the only ones on our western coast which at once construed the appearance of suspicious-looking ships on may seventh as signs of a japanese attack, and they immediately opened fire on the four japanese cruisers and on the transport steamers. but before this fire had any effect, the hostile fleet changed its course to the north and the four mortar-boats began their attack. they approached to within two nautical miles and opened fire at once. what was the use of our gunners aiming at the flat, gray arches of these uncanny ocean-tortoises? the heavy shells splashed into the water all around them, and when one did succeed in hitting one of the boats, it was simply dashed to pieces against the armor-plate, which was several feet thick, or else it glanced off harmlessly like hail dancing off the domed roof of a pavilion. the only targets were the flames which shot incessantly out of the mouths of the hostile guns like out of a funnel-shaped crater. by noon all the armored domes of the port townsend batteries had been destroyed and one gun after another had ceased firing. the horizontal armor-plates, too, which protected the disappearing gun-carriages belonging to the huge guns of the other forts, had not been able to withstand the masses of steel which came down almost perpendicularly from above them. one single well-aimed shot had usually sufficed to cripple the complicated mechanism and once that was injured, it was impossible to bring the gun back into position for firing. the concrete roofs of the ammunition rooms and barracks were shot to pieces and the traverses were reduced to rubbish heaps by the bursting of the numerous shells of the enemy. and all that was finally left round the tattered stars and stripes was a little group of heavily wounded gunners, performing their duty to the bitter end, and these heroes were honored by the enemy by being permitted to keep their arms. they were sent by steamer from seattle to the canadian naval station at esquimault on the seventh of may, and their arrival inspired the populace to stormy demonstrations against the japanese, this being the first outward expression of canadian sympathy for the united states. the canadians felt that the time had come for all white men to join hands against the common danger, and the policy of the court of st. james soon became intensely unpopular throughout canada. what did canada care about what was considered the proper policy in london, when here at their very door necessity pressed hard on their heels, and the noise of war from across the border sounded a shrill mene tekel in the white man's ear? * * * * * there were therefore no less than one hundred and seventy thousand japanese soldiers on american soil on tuesday morning, may ninth. in the north, the line of outposts ran along the eastern border of the states of washington and oregon and continued through the southern portion of idaho, always keeping several miles to the east of the tracks of the oregon short line, which thus formed an excellent line of communication behind the enemy's front. at granger, the junction of the oregon short line and the union pacific, the japanese reached their easternmost bastion, and here they dug trenches, which were soon fortified by means of heavy artillery. from here their line ran southward along the wasatch mountains, crossed the great colorado plateau and then continued along the high section of arizona, reaching the mexican boundary by way of fort bowie. only in the south and in the extreme north did railroads in any respectable number lead up to the japanese front. in the center, however, the roads by way of which an american assault could be made, namely the union pacific at granger, the denver and rio grande at grand junction, and further south the atcheson, topeka & santa fã©, approached the japanese positions at right angles, and at these points captive balloons and several air-ships kept constant watch toward the east, so that there was no possibility of an american surprise. in the north strong field fortifications along the border-line of washington and idaho furnished sufficient protection, and in the south the sunbaked sandy deserts of new mexico served the same purpose. then, too, the almost unbroken railway connection between the north and the south allowed the enemy to transport his reserves at a moment's notice to any point of danger, and the japs were clever enough not to leave their unique position to push further eastward. any advance of large bodies of troops would have weakened all the manifold advantages of this position, and besides the japanese numbers were not considerable enough to warrant an unnecessary division of forces. and what had we in the way of troops to oppose this hostile invasion? our regular army consisted, on paper, of sixty thousand men. fifteen thousand of these had been stationed in the pacific states, composed principally of the garrisons of the coast forts; all of these without exception were, by monday morning, in the hands of the japanese. this at once reduced the strength of our regular army to forty-five thousand men. of this number eighteen thousand were in the philippines and, although they were not aware of it, they had to all intents and purposes been placed _hors de combat_, both at mindanao and in the fortifications of manila. besides these the two regiments on the way from san francisco to manila and the garrison of pearl harbor in the hawaiian islands, could be similarly deducted. it will be seen, therefore, that, only twenty-five thousand men of our regular army were available, and these were scattered over the entire country: some were in the numerous prairie-forts, others on the atlantic coast, still others in cuba and in porto rico. thus twenty-five thousand men were pitted against a force not only seven times as large, but one that was augmented hourly by hundreds of newcomers. on monday the president had called out the organized militia and on the following day he sent a special message to congress recommending the formation of a volunteer army. the calls to arms were posted in the form of huge placards at all the street-corners and at the entrances to the speedily organized recruiting-offices. in this way it was possible, to be sure, within a few months to raise an army equal to that of the enemy so far as mere numbers were concerned, and the american citizen could be relied upon. but where were the leaders, where was the entire organization of the transport, of the commissariat, of the ambulance corps--we possessed no military train-corps at all--and most important of all, where were the arms to come from? the arsenals and ammunition-depots in the pacific states were in the hands of the enemy, the cannon of our far western field-artillery depots had aided in forming japanese batteries, and the japanese flag was waving above our heavy coast guns. the terrible truth that we were for the present absolutely helpless before the enemy had a thoroughly disheartening effect on all classes of the population as soon as it was clearly recognized. in impotent rage at this condition of utter helplessness and in their eagerness to be revenged on the all-powerful enemy, men hurried to the recruiting-offices in large numbers, and the lists for the volunteer regiments were soon covered with signatures. the citizens of the country dropped the plow, stood their tools in the corner and laid their pens away; the clattering typewriters became silent, and in the offices of the sky-scrapers business came to a stand-still. only in the factories where war materials were manufactured did great activity reign. for the present there was at least one dim hope left, namely the fleet. but where was the fleet? after our battle-fleet had crossed the pacific to australia and eastern asia, it returned to the atlantic, while a squadron of twelve battleships and four armored cruisers was sent under admiral perry to the west coast and stationed there, with headquarters at san francisco. to these ships must be added the regular pacific squadron and philippine squadron. the remaining ships of our fleet were in atlantic waters. that was the fatal mistake committed in the year of our lord 1909. in vain, all in vain, had been the oft-repeated warning that in face of the menacing japanese danger the united states navy should be kept together, either in the west or in the east. only when concentrated, only in the condition in which it was taken through the straits of magellan by admiral evans, was our fleet absolutely superior to the japanese. every dispersal, every separation of single divisions was bound to prove fatal. article upon article and pamphlet upon pamphlet were written anent the splitting-up of our navy! and yet what a multitude of entirely different and mutually exclusive tasks were set her at one and the same time! manila was to be protected, pearl harbor was to have a naval station, the pacific coast was to be protected, and there was to be a reserve fleet off the eastern coast. and yet it was perfectly clear that any part of the fleet which happened to be stationed at manila or hawaii would be lost to the americans immediately on the outbreak of hostilities. but we deluded ourselves with the idea that japan would not dare send her ships across the pacific in the face of our little philippine squadron, whereas not even a large squadron stationed at manila would have hindered the japanese from attacking us. even such a squadron they could easily have destroyed with a detachment of equal strength, without in any way hindering their advance against our western shores, while the idea of attempting to protect an isolated colony with a few ships against a great sea-power was perfectly ridiculous. the strong coast fortifications and a division of submarines--the two stationed there at the time, however, were really not fit for use--would have sufficed for the defense of manila, and anything beyond that simply meant an unnecessary sacrifice of forces which might be far more useful elsewhere. after our fleet had been divided between the east and the west, both the pacific fleet and the reserve atlantic fleet were individually far inferior to the japanese fleet. the maintenance of a fleet in the pacific as well as of one in the atlantic was a fatal luxury. it was superfluous to keep on tap a whole division of ships in our atlantic harbors merely posing as maritime ornaments before the eyes of europe or at the most coming in handy for an imposing demonstration against a refractory south-american republic. all this could have been done just as well with a few cruisers. english money and japanese intrigues, it is true, succeeded in always keeping the venezuelan wound open, so that we were constantly obliged to steal furtive glances at that corner of the world, one that had caused us so much political vexation. matters had indeed reached a sorry pass if our political prestige was so shaky, that it was made to depend on mr. castro's valuation of the forces at the disposal of the united states! in consideration of the many unforeseen delays that had occurred in the work of digging the panama canal, there was only one policy for us to adopt until its completion, and that was to keep our fleet together and either to concentrate it in the pacific and thus deter the enemy from attacking our coasts, regardless of what might be thought of our action in tokio, or to keep only a few cruisers in the pacific, as formerly, and to concentrate the fleet in the atlantic, so as to be able to attack the enemy from the rear with the full force of our naval power. but these amateur commissioners of the public safety who wished to have an imposing squadron on view wherever our flag floated--as if the stars and stripes were a signal of distress instead of a token of strength--condemned our fleet to utter helplessness. in 1908, when there was no mistaking the danger, we, the american people, one of the richest and most energetic nations of the world, nevertheless allowed ourselves in the course of the debate on the naval appropriations to be frightened by senator maine's threat of a deficit of a few dollars in our budget, should the sums that were absolutely needed in case our fleet was to fulfill the most immediate national tasks be voted. this was the short-sighted policy of a narrow-minded politician who, when a country's fate is hanging in the balance, complains only of the costs. it was most assuredly a short-sighted policy, and we were compelled to pay dearly for it. the voyage of our fleet around south america had shown the world that the value of a navy is not impaired because a few drunken sailors occasionally forget to return to their ship when in port: on the contrary, foreign critics had been obliged to admit that our navy in point of equipment and of crews was second to none. and lo and behold, this remarkable exhibition of power--the only sensible idea evolved by our navy department in years--is followed by the insane dispersal of our ships to so many different stations. how foolish had it been, furthermore, to boast as we did about having kept up communication with washington by wireless during the whole of our journey around south america. had not the experience at trinidad, where a wireless message intercepted by an english steamer had warned the coal-boats that our fleet would arrive a day sooner, taught us a lesson? and had not the way in which the japanese steamer, also provided with a wireless apparatus, stuck to us so persistently between valparaiso and callao shown us plainly that every new technical discovery has its shady side? no, we had learned nothing. in washington they insisted on sending all orders from the navy department to the different harbors and naval stations by wireless, yet each of the stations along the whole distance from east to west provided possibilities of indiscretion and treachery and of unofficial interception. why had we not made wireless telegraphy a government monopoly, instead of giving each inhabitant of the united states the right to erect an apparatus of his own if he so wished? did it never occur to anybody in washington that long before the orders of the navy department had reached mare island, puget sound and san diego they had been read with the greatest ease by hundreds of strangers? it required the success of the enemy to make all this clear to us, when we might just as well have listened to those who drew conclusions from obvious facts and recommended caution. in spite of all this, the press on tuesday morning still adhered to the hope that admiral perry would attack the enemy from the rear with his twelve battleships of the pacific squadron, and that, meeting the japanese at their base of operations, he would cut off all threads of communication between san francisco and tokio. it was no longer possible to warn perry of his danger, since the wireless stations beyond the rockies were already in the enemy's hands. the american people could therefore only trust to luck; but blind chance has never yet saved a country in its hour of direst need. it can only be saved by the energy, the steady eye and the strong hand of men. all hope centered in admiral perry, in his energy and his courage, but the people became uneasy when no answer was received to the oft-repeated question: "where is the pacific fleet?" yes, where was admiral perry? _chapter x_ admiral perry's fate the wireless apparatus on board admiral perry's flag-ship, the _connecticut_, rattled and crackled and on the strip of white paper slowly ejected by the morse machine appeared the words: "magdalen bay to commander-in-chief of squadron, may 7, 8h. 25. a cruiser and two torpedo-boats sighted four miles n.w. with course set towards magdalen bay; uncertain whether friend or foe. captain pancoast." the man at the instrument tore off the duplicate of the strip and pasted it on the bulletin, touched the button of an electric bell and handed the message to the signalman who answered the ring. the telephone bell rang directly afterwards and from the bridge came the order: "magdalen bay to establish immediate connection by wireless with cruiser and torpedoes; ascertain whether they belong to blue or yellow party." the officer ticked off the message at great speed. "this looks like bad weather," he said to himself, while waiting for the answer. the increased rocking of the ship showed that the sea was getting rougher. a black pencil, which had been lying in the corner between the wall and the edge of the table, suddenly came to life and began rolling aimlessly about. the officer picked it up and drew a map of the location of magdalen bay as far as he could remember it. "four miles," he murmured, "they ought to be able to identify the ships at that distance with the aid of a glass." suddenly the instrument began to buzz and rattle and amidst a discharge of little electric sparks the strip of white paper began to move out slowly from beneath the letter roller. "magdalen bay to commander-in-chief of squadron, may 7, 8 h. 53: approaching cruiser, probably yellow armored cruiser _new york_; does not answer call. captain pancoast." the officer hadn't had time to get the message ready for the bridge, when the instrument again began to rattle madly: "take care of kxj31mptwb8d--951sr7--j," warned the strip in its mute language; then nothing further; complete silence reigned. "what does this mean?" said the officer, "this can't be all." he knocked on the coherer, then put in a new one: not a sign. he took a third, a fourth, he knocked and shook the instrument, but it remained dumb. with his morse-key he asked back: "magdalen bay, repeat message!" no answer. then he asked: "did you understand question?" no answer. the signalman was standing beside him, and he handed him the message with the order to take it at once to the bridge; then he went to the telephone and took off the receiver. "this is sergeant medlow. i've just received from magdalen bay the message now on the way to the bridge: 'take care of--' then the connection was cut off.... all right, sir." two minutes later an excited lieutenant rushed in crying: "what's the matter with the apparatus?" "it won't work, sir; it stopped in the middle of a sentence." "take a new coherer!" "i've tried four." they both tapped the coherer, but nothing happened. all questions remained unanswered, and they seemed to be telegraphing into space. "probably a breakdown," said the lieutenant naã¯vely. "yes, sir, probably a breakdown," repeated medlow; and then he was alone once more. * * * * * the officer on duty on the bridge of the _connecticut_ had informed captain farlow, commander of the ship, of the latest messages from magdalen bay, and when he now appeared on the bridge in company with admiral perry, the officer held out the two bulletins. the admiral studied them thoughtfully and murmured: "_new york_, it's true she belongs to the yellow fleet, but what brings her to magdalen bay? admiral crane cannot possibly be so far to the southeast with his squadron, for the latest news from our outposts led us to believe that he intended to attack us from the west." "but he may be going to surprise magdalen bay, admiral," said captain farlow. "perhaps," replied the admiral, rather sharply, "but will you tell me what for? there are only two torpedo-boats at magdalen bay, and to destroy a wireless station from which there are no messages to be sent would be a rather silly thing for an overzealous commander of the yellow fleet to do. and besides we have special orders from washington to draw magdalen bay as little as possible into the maneuvers, so as to avoid all unpleasantness with mexico and not to attract the attention of foreigners to the importance which the bay would assume in case of war." a lieutenant stepped up to captain farlow and reported, saluting: "all attempts to establish connection with magdalen bay have failed." "well, let it go," grumbled admiral perry, "crane seems to have deprived us of magdalen bay, but the commander of the _new york_ will reap a fine reprimand from washington for this." with these words admiral perry left the bridge, steadying himself by holding on to the railing on both sides of the steps, as the sea was becoming rougher every minute. the increasing northeast wind tore through the rigging, whistled in the wires, howled through all the openings, screamed its bad temper down the companionways, pulled savagely at the gun-covers and caused the long copper-wires belonging to the wireless apparatus to snap like huge whips. the bluish-gray waves broke with a hollow sound against the sides of the six battleships of the _connecticut_ class, which were running abreast in a northwesterly direction through the dreary watery wastes of the pacific at the rate of ten knots an hour. there was a high sea on. a barometric depression that was quite unusual in these sunny latitudes at that particular time of year had brought nasty weather in its train. during the night violent rain-storms had flooded the decks. now the wind freshened and swept low-hanging clouds before it. the sharp white bow of the _connecticut_ with the pressure of 16,000 tons of steel behind it plowed its way through the water, throwing up a hissing foaming wave on each side. the wind lashed the waves on the starboard-side so that they splashed over the forepart of the cruiser like a shower of rain, enveloping it in a gray mist. the thick, black smoke pouring out of the three long funnels was blown obliquely down to the edge of the water and hung there like a thick cloud which shut off the western horizon and made the passage of the squadron visible a long distance off. the small openings in the casemates of the armored guns had been closed up long before, because the waves had begun to wash over them, and even the turrets on the upper deck had received a few heavy showers which had flooded their interiors. it was indeed nasty weather. captain farlow had taken up his stand on the upper conning-tower of the _connecticut_ the better to examine the horizon with his glass, but a thick curtain of rain rendered it almost invisible. "nothing to be seen of our cruisers," he said to the navigating officer of the squadron, "this is disgusting weather for maneuvers." then he gave the command to telephone across to the two leading cruisers _california_ and _colorado_ and ask if, on account of the thick weather, they required the assistance of two small cruisers in order to be sufficiently protected against the yellow fleet? the commander of the _california_ answered in the affirmative and asked that the three destroyers in the van, which had all they could do to maintain their course in such a heavy sea, and were therefore of little use in their present position, be recalled and replaced by two cruisers. the admiral recalled the three destroyers by a wireless signal and ordered them to take up their position in the rear beside the other three destroyers and to assist in protecting the rear of the squadron. at the same time he strengthened his front line by sending the cruisers _galveston_ and _chattanooga_, which had formed the port and starboard flank, respectively, to the van. his advance, consisting now of the two last-named cruisers and the two armored cruisers, proceeded in a flat wedge formation, while the cruiser _denver_ to starboard and the _cleveland_ to port, at a distance of three knots from the squadron, established the connection between the van and the rather dubious rear-guard of destroyers, which could scarcely do much in such weather. the _galveston_ and _chattanooga_, both pouring forth clouds of smoke, quickly assumed their positions at the head of the line. captain farlow paced restlessly up and down the bridge in his oilskins. "i suppose this is the last remnant of the spring storms," he said to his navigating officer, "but it's a good-sized one. if we didn't have a fairly good formation the yellow fleet could play us a nasty trick by taking us by surprise in such weather." "a wireless message from the cruiser _california_," said a lieutenant, handing it to the captain, who read: "_chattanooga_ and _galveston_ stationed on right and left flanks of advance guard; _denver_ and _cleveland_ establish connection between latter and squadron. no sign of yellow fleet." just then an orderly appeared and requested captain farlow to report to admiral perry. the squadron continued on its way. the northeast wind increased, driving black scurrying clouds before it which swept across the foaming waves and suddenly enveloped everything in glimmering darkness. the rain poured down on the decks in sheets and everything was swimming in a splashing flood. what with the downpour of the rain and the splashing of the waves, it was often impossible for the lookouts to see a yard ahead. added to all this was a disagreeable sticky, humid heat. it was surely more comfortable below deck. * * * * * "what do you think of this magdalen bay affair?" asked the admiral of the captain as the latter entered the admiral's cabin; "it is worrying me considerably." "in my opinion," was the answer, "it's a piece of crass stupidity on the part of the commander of the _new york_. it is all nonsense to play such tricks with a country where we are not particularly welcome guests at any time, in spite of all the diplomatic courtesies of porfirio dã­az. the gentlemen over in tokio have every movement of ours in the bay watched by their many spies, and their diplomatic protests are always ready." "certainly," said the admiral, "certainly, but our maneuvers are supposed to reflect actual war, and--between ourselves--there's no doubt but that we should treat magdalen bay in time of war just as though it were american soil." "in time of war, yes," answered the captain eagerly, "but it's foolish to show our hand in a maneuver, in time of peace. even if we do act as though magdalen bay belonged to us, whereas in reality we have only been permitted to use it as a coaling-station and had no right to erect a wireless station as we did, it is nevertheless inexcusable to use that particular spot for maneuver operations. if it once becomes known in mexico, the diplomats there, who are always dying of ennui, will make trouble at once, and as we don't suffer from a surplus of good friends at any time, we ought to avoid every opportunity of giving them a diplomatic lever through maneuver blunders." "then the best plan," said the admiral in a thoughtful tone, "would be to report the circumstances to washington at once, and suggest to them that it would be advisable to represent the attack on magdalen bay as the result of too much zeal on the part of a poorly posted commander and to apologize to mexico for the mistake." "that would certainly be the correct thing to do," answered farlow, adding, "for when we do have our reckoning with the yellow...." here the telephone bell in the cabin rang madly and captain farlow jumped up to answer it; but in his excitement he had forgotten all about the rolling of the ship, and consequently stumbled and slipped along the floor to the telephone. the admiral could not help smiling, but at once transformed the smile into a frown when the door opened to admit an orderly, who was thus also a witness of captain farlow's sliding party. the latter picked himself up with a muttered oath and went to the telephone. "what," he shouted, "what's that, higgins? you must be crazy, man! admiral crane's fleet, the yellow fleet? it's impossible, we've got our scouts out on all sides!" then he turned halfway round to the admiral, saying: "the navigator is seeing ghosts, sir; he reports that admiral crane with the yellow fleet has been sighted to windward three knots off!" he hurried towards the door and there ran plumb against the orderly, whom he asked sharply: "what are you doing here?" "the navigator, lieutenant higgins, reports that several ships have been sighted to starboard three miles ahead. lieutenant higgins thinks...." "lieutenant higgins thinks, of course, that it is admiral crane's yellow fleet," snarled farlow. "yes, sir," answered the orderly, "the yellow fleet," and stared in astonishment at the commander of the _connecticut_, who, followed by admiral perry, rushed up the stairs. "oh, my oilskins!..." with this exclamation the commander reached the top of the staircase leading to the bridge deck, where a violent rush of greenish-gray water from a particularly enormous wave drenched him from head to foot. "now, then, mr. higgins," he called, wiping the water from his eyes and mustache, "where is the yellow fleet?" the navigator was staring out to sea through his glass trying to penetrate the thick veil of rain. the storm howled and showers of foam burst over the decks of the _connecticut_, the water washing over everything with a dull roar. captain farlow had no need to inquire further. that was admiral crane and his yellow fleet sure enough! the silhouettes of six large battleships looking like phantom-ships rising from the depths of the boiling ocean could be plainly seen through the rain and waves about six thousand yards to starboard of the _connecticut_. "clear ships for action!" commanded the captain. the navigator and another lieutenant hurried to the telephones and transmitted the order. the flag lieutenant of the squadron rushed to the telephone leading to the wireless room, and ordered a message forwarded to all of the ships of the squadron to proceed at full speed. for safety's sake the order was repeated by means of flag signals. while from the bridge the officers were watching the gray phantoms of the strange armored fleet, it continued calmly on its course. the leading ship threw up great masses of foam like huge exploding fountains, which covered the bow with showers of gray water. in a few minutes things began to get lively within the steel body of the _connecticut_. the sounds of shrill bugle-calls, of the loud ringing of bells, of excited calls and a hurried running to and fro, came up from below. in the midst of the water pouring over the deck appeared the sailors in their white uniforms. they at once removed the gun-coverings, while peculiarly shrill commands resounded above the roar of the wind and the waves. great quantities of thick, black smoke poured from the yellowish brown funnels, to be immediately seized and broken up by the wind. the reserve signalmen for duty on the bridge as well as the fire-control detail took up their positions. one lieutenant climbed hastily up into the military top of the foremast. two other officers and a few midshipmen followed him as far as the platform above the conning-tower, where the instruments connected with the fire-control were kept. orderlies came and went with messages. all this was the work of a few minutes. captain farlow was inwardly delighted that everything should have gone off so well before the admiral. now the other ships reported that they were clear for action. just as the bright ensigns were being run to the mastheads, the sun broke through the black clouds for a moment. the six monster ships continued on their way in the sunlight like sliding masses of white iron, with their long yellowish brown funnels emitting clouds of smoke and their rigid masts pointing upward into the angry sky. the sunshine made the deck structures sparkle with thousands of glistening drops for a brief moment; then the sun disappeared and the majestic picture was swallowed up once more by the gray clouds. "shall we go up to the conning-tower?" inquired the flag lieutenant of the admiral. "oh, no, we'll stay here," said the latter, carefully examining the yellow fleet through his glass. "can you make out which ship the first one is?" he asked. "i think it's the _iowa_," said the commander, who was standing near him. but the wind tore the words from his lips. "what did you say?" screamed back the admiral. "_iowa_," repeated farlow. "no such thing, the _iowa_ is much smaller and has only one mast. the ship over there also has an additional turret in the center." "no, it's not the _iowa_," corroborated the captain, "but two funnels ... what ship can it be...?" "those ships are painted gray, too, not white like ours. it's not the yellow fleet at all," interrupted the admiral, "it's, it's--my god, what is it?" he examined the ships again and saw numerous little flags running up the mast of the leading ship, undoubtedly a signal, then the forward turret with its two enormously long gun-barrels swung slowly over to starboard, the other turrets turned at the same time, and then a tongue of flame shot out of the mouths of both barrels in the forward turret; the wind quickly dispersed the cloud of smoke, and three seconds later a shell burst with a fearful noise on the deck of the _connecticut_ between the base of the bridge and the first gun-turret, throwing the splinters right on the bridge and tearing off the head of the lieutenant who was doing duty at the signal apparatus. the second shell hit the armored plate right above the openings for the two 12-inch guns in the fore-turret, leaving behind a great hole with jagged edges out of which burst sheets of flame and clouds of smoke, which were blown away in long strips by the wind. a heartrending scream from within followed this explosion of the cartridges lying in readiness beside the guns. the forward turret had been put out of action. for several seconds everyone on the bridge seemed dazed, while thoughts raced through their heads with lightning-like rapidity. could it be chance...? impossible, for in the same moment that the two shots were fired by the leading ship, the whole fleet opened fire on admiral perry's squadron with shells of all calibers. the admiral seized farlow's arm and shook it to and fro in a blind rage. "those," he cried, "those ... why, man, those are the japanese! that's the enemy and he has surprised us right in the midst of peace! now god give me a clear head, and let us never forget that we are american men!" he scarcely heard the words of the flag lieutenant who called out to him: "that's the japanese _satsuma_, togo's _satsuma_!" the admiral reached the telephone-board in one bound and yelled down the artillery connection: "hostile attack!... japanese. we've been surprised!" and it was indeed high time, for scarcely had the admiral reached the conning-tower, stumbling over the dead body of a signalman on the way, when a hail-storm of bullets swept the bridge, killing all who were on it. as there was no other officer near, captain farlow went to the signaling instrument himself to send the admiral's orders to those below deck. the _connecticut_, which had been without a helmsman for a moment because the man at the helm had been killed by a bursting shell that had literally forced his body between the spokes of the wheel, was swaying about like a drunken person owing to the heavy blows of the enemy's shells. now she recovered her course and the commander issued his orders from the bridge in a calm and decisive voice. we have seen what a paralyzing effect the opening of fire from the japanese ships had had on the commander and officers of the _connecticut_ on the bridge, and the reader can imagine the effect it must have had on the crew--they were dumfounded with terror. the crashing of the heavy steel projectiles above deck, the explosion in the foreward gun-turret, and several shots which had passed through the unarmored starboard side of the forepart of the ship in rapid succession--they were explosive shells which created fearful havoc and filled all the rooms with the poisonous gases of the shimose-powder--all this, added to the continual ring of the alarm-signals, had completely robbed the crew below deck of their senses and of all deliberation. at first it was thought to be an accident, and without waiting for orders from above, the fire-extinguishing apparatus was got ready. but the bells continued to ring on all sides, and the crashing blows that shook the ship continually became worse and worse. on top of this came the perfectly incomprehensible news that, unprepared as they were, they were confronted by the enemy, by a japanese fleet. all this happened with lightning-like rapidity--so quickly, indeed, that it was more than human nerves could grasp and at the same time remain calm and collected. the reverberations of the bursting shells and the dull rumbling crashes against the armored sides of the casemates and turrets produced an infernal noise which completely drowned the human voice. frightful horror was depicted on all faces. it took some time to rally from the oppressive, heartrending sensation caused by the knowledge that a peaceful maneuver voyage had suddenly been transformed into the bloody seriousness of war. it is easy enough to turn a machine from right to left in a few seconds with the aid of a lever, but not so a human being. the men, to be sure, heard the commands and after a few moments' reflection, grasped the terrible truth, but their limbs failed them. it had all come about too quickly, and it was simply impossible to get control of the situation and translate commands into deeds as quickly as the hostile shots demolished things above deck. many of the crew stood around as though they were rooted to the spot, staring straight in front of them. some laughed or cried, others did absolutely senseless things, such as turning the valves of the hot-air pipes or carrying useless things from one place to another, until the energetic efforts of the officers brought them to their senses. someone called for the keys of the ammunition chambers, and then began a search for the ordnance officer in the passages filled with the poisonous fumes of the shimose-powder. but it was all in vain, for he lay on the front bridge torn into an unrecognizable mass by the enemy's shells. at last a young lieutenant with the blood pouring down his cheek in bright red streaks, rushed into the captain's cabin, broke open the closet beside the desk with a bayonet and seized the keys of the ammunition rooms. now down the stairs and through the narrow openings in the bulkheads, where the thud of the hostile projectiles sounds more and more hollow, and here, at last, is the door of the shell-chamber containing the shells for the 8-inch guns in the forward starboard turret. inside the bells rang and rattled, calling in vain for ammunition; but the guns of the _connecticut_ still remained silent. the petty officer, hurrying on before his three men, now stood at the telephone. "armor-piercing shells, quickly!" came the urgent order from above. and when the electric lever refused to work, the two sailors raised the shell weighing over two hundredweight in their brawny arms and shoved it into the frame of the lift, which began to move automatically. "thank god," said the lieutenant in command of the turret, as the first shell appeared at the mouth of the dark tube. into the breech with it and the two cartridges after it. when the lieutenant had taken his position at the telescope sight in order to determine the direction and distance for firing, orders came down from the commander to fire at the enemy's leading ship, the _satsuma_. the distance was only 2800 yards, so near had the enemy come. and at this ridiculously short distance, contrary to all the rules of naval warfare, the americans opened fire. "2800 yards, to the right beneath the first gun-turret of the _satsuma_," called the lieutenant to the two gunners. they took the elevation and then waited for the ship that was rolling to port to regain the level after being lifted up by the waves. detached clouds hurried across the field of the telescope, but suddenly the sun appeared like a bright spot above the horizon and dark brown smoke became visible. the foremast of the _satsuma_ with its multicolored signal-flags appeared in the field of vision.... a final quick correction for elevation ... a slight pressure of the electric trigger. fire! the gray silhouette of the _satsuma_, across which quivered the flash from the gun, rose quickly in the round field; then came foaming, plunging waves, and columns of water that rose up as the shells struck the water. the loud reverberation of the shot--the first one fired on the american side--acted as a nerve-tonic all round, and all felt as though they had been relieved from an intolerable burden. while the right gun was being reloaded and the stinking gases escaping from the gun filled the narrow chamber with their fumes, the lieutenant looked for traces of the effect of the shot. the wind whistled through the peep-hole and made his eyes smart. the shot did not seem to have touched the _satsuma_ at all. the foam seen in the bow was that produced by the ship's motion. "two hundred and fifty yards over," came through the telephone, and on the glass-plate of the distance-register, faintly illuminated by an electric lamp, appeared the number 2550. "2550 yards!" repeated the lieutenant to the captain of the left gun, giving the angle of direction himself. the _connecticut_ again heaved over to port, and the thunder of cannon rolled over the waves of the pacific. "the shell burst at a thousand yards!" called the lieutenant. "what miserable fuses!" "bad shot," came down reproachfully through the telephone, "use percussion fuses." "i am, but they're no good, they won't work," roared back the lieutenant. then he went down into the turret and examined the new shell on the lift before it was pushed into the breech. "all right," he said aloud, but added under his breath, suppressing an oath: "we mustn't let the men notice there's anything wrong, for the world!" another shot rang out, and again the shell burst a few hundred yards from the _connecticut_, sending the water flying in every direction. again came the reproachful voice from above: "bad shot, take percussion fuses!" "that's what these are supposed to be," replied the lieutenant in a terrible state of excitement; "the shells are absolutely useless." "fire at the forepart of the _satsuma_ with shrapnel," rang out the command from the wall. "shrapnels from below!" ordered the lieutenant, and "shrapnels from below" was repeated by the man at the lift into the 'phone leading to the ammunition chamber. but the lift continued to bring up the blue armor-piercing shells; five times more and then it stopped. during a momentary pause in the firing on both sides, the buzzing and whirring of the electric apparatus of the lift could be distinctly heard. then the lift appeared once more, this time with a red explosive shell. "aim at the forepart of the _satsuma_, 1950 yards!" the _connecticut_ rolled over heavily to starboard, the water splashed over the railing, rushing like a torrent between the turrets; then the ship heeled over to the other side. the shot rang out. "at last," cried the lieutenant proudly, pointing through the peep-hole. high up in the side of the _satsuma_, close to the little 12-cm. quick-firing gun, a piece was seen to be missing when the smoke from the bursting shell had disappeared. "good shot," came from above; "go on firing with shrapnel!" the distance-register silently showed the number 1850. then came a deafening roar from below and the sharp ring of tearing iron. a hostile shell had passed obliquely below the turret into the forepart of the _connecticut_, and clouds of thick black smoke completely obscured the view through the peep-hole. "four degrees higher!" commanded the lieutenant. "not yet correct," he grumbled; "three degrees higher still!" he waited for the _connecticut_ to roll to port. "what's the matter?" "use higher elevation in turrets. the _connecticut_ has a leak and is listing to starboard," said the telephone. "three degrees higher!" ordered the lieutenant. a shot from the left barrel. "splendid," cried the lieutenant; "that was a fine shot! but lower, lower, we're merely shooting their upper plates to bits," and the gun went on steadily firing. the turrets on the starboard side were hit again and again, the hostile shells bursting perpetually against their armored sides. as if struck by electric discharges the gunners were continually thrown back from the rumbling walls, and they were almost deaf from the fearful din, so that all commands had to be yelled out at the top of the lungs. the raging storm and the rough sea prevented the americans from using a part of their guns. while the explosive shells from the enemy's heavy intermediate battery were able to demolish everything on deck and to pass through the unarmored portions of the sides, working fearful havoc in the interior and among the crew, the light american secondary battery was compelled to keep silence. an attempt had been made, to be sure, to bring the 7-inch guns into action, but it proved of no avail. the gunners stood ready at their posts to discharge the shells at the enemy, but it was utterly impossible, for no sooner had they taken aim, than they lost it again as the hostile ships disappeared in the foaming glassy-green waves that broke against their sides. the water penetrated with the force of a stream from a nozzle through the cracks in the plates and poured into the casemates till the men were standing up to their knees in water. at last the only thing that could be done was to open the doors behind the guns in order to let the water out; but this arrangement had the disadvantage of allowing a good deal of the water which had run out to return in full force and pile up in one corner the next time the ship rolled over, and on account of this perpetual battle with the waves outside and the rolling water inside, it was impossible for the men to aim properly or to achieve any results with their shots. it was therefore deemed best to stop the firing here, and to have the gunners relieve the men at the turret-guns, who had suffered greatly from the enemy's fire. the men in charge of the completely demolished small guns on the upper deck had already been assigned to similar duty. we therefore had to depend entirely on our 12-inch and 8-inch guns in the turrets, while the enemy was able to bring into action all his broadside guns on the starboard side, which was only little affected by the storm. and this superiority had been used to such advantage in the first eleven minutes of the battle, before the surprised americans could reply, that the decks of the latter's ships, especially of the admiral's flag-ship, were a mass of wreckage even before the first american shot had been fired. the decks were strewn with broken bridges, planks, stanchions and torn rigging, and into the midst of this chaos now fell the tall funnels and pieces of the steel masts. in most instances the water continually pouring over the decks put out the fires; but the _vermont_ was nevertheless burning aft and the angry flames could be seen bursting out of the gaping holes made by the shells. admiral perry, in company with the commander and staff-officers, watched the progress of the battle from the conning-tower. the officers on duty at the odometers calmly furnished the distance between their ship and the enemy to the turrets and casemates, and the lieutenant in command of the fire-control on the platform above the conning-tower coolly and laconically reported the results of the shots, at the same time giving the necessary corrections, which were at once transmitted to the various turrets by telephone. the rolling of the ships in the heavy seas made occasional pauses in the firing absolutely necessary. the report that a series of shells belonging to the 8-inch guns in the front turret had unreliable fuses led to considerable swearing in the conning-tower, but while the officers were still cursing the commission for accepting such useless stuff, a still greater cause for anxiety became apparent. even before the americans had begun their fire, the japanese shells had made a few enormous holes in the unprotected starboard side of the _connecticut_, behind the stem and just above the armored belt, and through these the water poured in and flooded all the inner chambers. as the armored gratings above the hatchways leading below had also been destroyed or had not yet been closed, several compartments in the forepart of the ship filled with water. the streams of water continually pouring in through the huge holes rendered it impossible to enter the rooms beneath the armored deck or to close the hatchways. the pumps availed nothing, but fortunately the adjacent bulkheads proved to be watertight. nevertheless the _connecticut_ buried her nose deep into the sea and thereby offered ever-increasing resistance to the oncoming waves. captain farlow therefore ordered some of the watertight compartments aft to be filled with water in order to restore the ship's balance. similar conditions were reported from other ships. but scarcely had this damage been thus fairly well adjusted, when a new misfortune was reported. two japanese projectiles had struck the ship simultaneously just below her narrow armor-belt as she heaved over to port, the shells entering the unprotected side just in front of the engine-rooms, and as the adjacent bulkheads could not offer sufficient resistance to the pressure of the inpouring water, they were forced in, and as a result the _connecticut_ heeled over badly to starboard, making it necessary to fill some of the port compartments with water, since the guns could not otherwise obtain the required elevation. this caused the ship to sink deeper and deeper, until the armor-belt was entirely below the standard waterline and the water which had rushed in through the many holes had already reached the passageways above the armored deck. the splashing about in these rushing floods, the continual bursting of the enemy's shells, the groans and moans of the wounded, and the vain attempts to get out the collision-mats on the starboard side--precautions that savored of preservation measures while at the same time causing a great loss of life--all this began to impair the crew's powers of resistance. as the reports from below grew more and more discouraging, captain farlow sent lieutenant meade down to examine into the state of the chambers above the armored deck. the latter asked his comrade, curtis, to take his place at the telephone, but receiving no answer, he looked around, and saw poor curtis with his face torn off by a piece of shell still bending over his telephone between two dead signalmen.... lieutenant meade turned away with a shiver, and, calling a midshipman to take his place, he left the conning-tower, which was being struck continually by hissing splinters from bursting shells. everywhere below the same picture presented itself--rushing water splashing high up against the walls in all the passages, through which ambulance transports were making their way with difficulty. in a corner not far from the staircase leading to the hospital lay a young midshipman, malion by name, pressing both hands against a gaping wound in his abdomen, out of which the viscera protruded, and crying to some one to put him out of his misery with a bullet. what an end to a bright young life! anything but think! one could only press on, for individual lives and human suffering were of small moment here compared with the portentous question whether the steel sides of the ship and the engines would hold out. "shoot me; deliver me from my torture!" rang out the cry of the lieutenant's dying friend behind him; and there before him, right against the wall, lay the sailor ralling, that fine chap from maryland who was one of the men who had won the gig-race at newport news; now he stared vacantly into space, his mouth covered with blood and foam. "shot in the lung!" thought meade, hurrying on and trying, oh so hard, not to think! [illustration: "it went up in a slanting direction and then, ... it steered straight for the enemy's balloon...."] the black water gurgled and splashed around his feet as he rushed on, dashing with a hollow sound against one side of the passage when the ship heeled over, only to be tossed back in a moment with equal force. what was that?--lieutenant meade had reached the officers' mess--was it music or were his ears playing him a trick? meade opened the door and thought at first he must be dreaming. there sat his friend and comrade, lieutenant besser, at the piano, hammering wildly on the keys. that same johnny besser who, on account of his theological predilections went by the nickname of "the reverend," and who could argue until long after midnight over the most profound biblical problems, that same johnny besser, who was perpetually on the water-wagon. there he sat, banging away as hard as he could on the piano! meade rushed at him angrily and seizing him by the arm cried: "johnny, what are you doing here? are you crazy?" johnny took no notice of him whatever, but went on playing and began in a strange uncanny voice to sing the old mariner's song: "tom brown's mother she likes whisky in her tea, as we go rolling home. glory, glory hallelujah." horror seized meade, and he tried to pull johnny away from the piano, but the resistance offered by the poor fellow who had become mentally deranged from sheer terror was too great, and he had to give up the struggle. from the outside came the din of battle. meade threw the door of the mess shut behind him, shivering with horror. once more he heard the strains of "glory, glory, hallelujah," and then he hurried upstairs. he kept the condition in which he had found johnny to himself. when lieutenant meade got back to the conning-tower to make his report, the two fleets had passed each other in a parallel course. the enemy's shells had swept the decks of the _connecticut_ with the force of a hurricane. the gunners from the port side had already been called on to fill up the gaps in the turrets on the starboard side. by this time dead bodies were removed only where they were in the way, and even the wounded were left to lie where they had fallen. when large pieces of wood from the burning boats began to be thrown on deck by the bursting shells, a fresh danger was created, and the attempt was made to toss them overboard with the aid of the cranes. but this succeeded only on the port side. the starboard crane was smashed to bits by a japanese explosive shell just as it was raising a launch, the same shot carrying off the third funnel just behind it. when togo's last ship had left the _connecticut_ behind, only one funnel full of gaping holes and half of the mainmast were left standing on the deck of the admiral's flag-ship, which presented a wild chaos of bent and broken ironwork. through the ruins of the deck structures rose the flames and thick smoke from the boilers. the japanese ships seemed to be invulnerable in their vital parts. it is true that the _satsuma_ had lost a funnel, and that both masts of the _kashima_ were broken off, but except for a few holes above the armor-belt and one or two guns that had been put out of action and the barrels of which pointed helplessly into the air, the enemy showed little sign of damage. those first eleven minutes, during which the enemy had had things all to himself, had given him an advantage which no amount of bravery or determined energy could counteract. in addition to this, many of the american telescope-sights began to get out of order, as they bent under the blows of the enemy's shells against the turrets. thus the aim of the americans, which owing to the heavy seas and to the smoke from the japanese guns blown into their eyes by the wind was poor enough as it was, became more uncertain still. as the enemy passed, several torpedoes had been cleared by the americans, but the shining metal-fish could not keep their course against the oncoming waves, and admiral perry was forced to notify his ships by wireless to desist from further attempts to use them, in order that his own ships might not be endangered by them. the enemy, on the contrary, used his torpedoes with better success. a great mass of boiling foam rose suddenly beside the _kansas_, which was just heeling to port, and this was followed immediately by sheets of flame and black clouds of smoke which burst from every hole and crevice in the sides and the turrets. the _kansas_ listed heavily to starboard and then disappeared immediately in the waves. the torpedo must have exploded in an ammunition chamber. on the burning _vermont_ the steering-gear seemed to be out of order. the battleship sheered sharply to port, thus presenting its stern, which was almost hidden in heavy clouds of smoke, to the enemy, who immediately raked and tore it with shells. the _minnesota_ was drifting in a helpless condition with her starboard-railing deep under water, while thick streams of water poured from her bilge-pumps on the port side. she gradually fell behind, whereupon the last ship of the line, the _new hampshire_, passed her on the fire side, covering her riddled hull for a moment, but then steamed on to join the only two ships in admiral perry's fleet which were still in fairly good condition, namely the _connecticut_ and the _louisiana_. when the hostile fleet began to fall slowly back--the battle had been in progress for barely half an hour--admiral perry hoped for a moment that by swinging his three ships around to starboard he would be able to get to windward of the enemy and thus succeed in bringing his almost intact port artillery into action. but even before he could issue his commands, he saw the six japanese ironclads turn to port and steam towards the americans at full speed, pouring out tremendous clouds of smoke. misfortunes never come singly; at this moment came the report that the boilers of the _new hampshire_ had been badly damaged. unless the admiral wished to leave the injured ship to her fate, he was now forced to reduce the speed of the other two ships to six knots. this was the beginning of the end. it was of no use for admiral perry to swing his three ships around to starboard. the enemy, owing to his superior speed, could always keep a parallel course and remain on the starboard side. one turret after the other was put out of action. when the casemate with its three intact 7-inch guns could at last be brought into play on the lee-side, it was too late. at such close quarters the steel-walls of the casemates and the mountings were shot to pieces by the enemy's shells. the fire-control refused to act, the wires and speaking-tubes were destroyed, and each gun had to depend on itself. the electric installation had been put out of commission on the _louisiana_ by a shell bursting through the armored deck and destroying the dynamos. as the gun-turrets could no longer be swung around and the ammunition-lifts had come to a stand-still in consequence, the _louisiana_ was reduced to a helpless wreck. she sank in the waves at 11.15, and shortly afterwards the _new hampshire_, which was already listing far to starboard because the water had risen above the armored deck, capsized. by 12.30 the _connecticut_ was the sole survivor. she continued firing from the 12-inch guns in the rear turret and from the two 8-inch starboard turrets. at this point a large piece of shell slipped through the peep-hole of the conning-tower and smashed its heavy armored dome. the next shot might prove fatal. admiral perry was compelled to leave the spot he had maintained so bravely; in a hail of splinters he at last managed to reach the steps leading from the bridge; they were wet with the blood of the dead and dying and the last four had been shot away altogether. the other mode of egress, the armored tube inside the turret, was stopped up with the bodies of two dead signalmen. the admiral let himself carefully down by holding on to the bent railing of the steps, and was just in time to catch the blood-covered body of his faithful comrade, captain farlow, who had been struck by a shell as he stood on the lowest step. the admiral leaned the body gently against the side of the military-mast, which had been dyed yellow by the deposits of the hostile shells. stepping over smoldering ruins and through passages filled with dead and wounded men, over whose bodies the water splashed and gurgled, the admiral at last reached his post below the armored deck. to this spot were brought the reports from the fire-control stationed at the rear mast and from the last active stations. it was a mournful picture that the admiral received here of the condition of the _connecticut_. the dull din of battle, the crashing and rumbling of the hostile shells, the suffocating smoke which penetrated even here below, the rhythmic groaning of the engine and the noise of the pumps were united here into an uncanny symphony. the ventilators had to be closed, as they sent down biting smoke from the burning deck instead of fresh air. the nerves of the officers and crews were in a state of fearful tension; they had reached the point where nothing matters and where destruction is looked forward to as a deliverance. who was that beside the admiral who said something about the white flag, to him, the head of the squadron, to the man who had been intrusted with the honor of the stars and stripes? it was only a severely wounded petty-officer murmuring to himself in the wild delirium of fever. for god's sake, anything but that! the admiral turned around sharply and called into the tube leading to the stern turret: "watch over the flag; it must not be struck!" no one answered--dead iron, dead metal, not a human sound could be heard in that steel tomb. and now some of the electric lights suddenly went out. "i won't die here in this smoky steel box," said the admiral to himself; "i won't drown here like a mouse in a trap." there was nothing more to be done down here anyway, for most of the connections had been cut off, and so admiral perry turned over the command of the _connecticut_ to a young lieutenant with the words: "keep them firing as long as you can." then murmuring softly to himself, "it's of no use anyhow," he crept through a narrow bulkhead-opening to a stairway and groped his way up step by step. suddenly he touched something soft and warm; it groaned loudly. heavens! it was a sailor who had dragged his shattered limbs into this corner. "poor fellow," said the admiral, and climbed up, solitary and alone, to the deck of his lost ship. the din of battle sounded louder and louder, and at last he reached the deck beneath the rear bridge. a badly wounded signalman was leaning against a bit of railing that had remained standing, staring at the admiral with vacant eyes. "are the signal-halyards still clear?" asked perry. "yes," answered the man feebly. "then signal at once: three cheers for the united states!" the little colored flags flew up to the yardarm like lightning, and it grew quiet on the _connecticut_. the last shell, the last cartridge was shoved into the breech, one more shot was aimed at the enemy from the heated barrels, and then all was still except for the crash of the hostile projectiles, the crackling of the flames and the howling of the wind. the other side, too, gradually ceased firing. with the _satsuma_ and the _aki_ in the van and the four other ships following, the enemy's squadron advanced, enveloped in a thin veil of smoke. high up in the stern of the _connecticut_ and at her mastheads waved the tattered stars and stripes. the few gunners, who had served the guns to the end, crept out of the turrets and worked their way up over broken steps. there were fifty-seven of them, all that remained of the proud squadron. three cheers for their country came from the parched throats of these last heroes of the _connecticut_. "three cheers for the united states!" admiral perry drew his sword, and "hurrah" it rang once more across the water to the ships sailing under the flag which bore the device of a crimson rising sun on a white field. there memories of the old days of the samurai knighthood were aroused, and a signal appeared on the rear top mast of the _satsuma_, whereupon all six battleships lowered their flags as a last tribute to a brave enemy. then the _connecticut_ listed heavily to starboard, and the next wave could not raise the heavy ship, bleeding from a thousand wounds. it sank and sank, and while admiral perry held fast to a bit of railing and waited with moist eyes for the end, the words of the old "star-spangled banner," which had been heard more than once in times of storm and peril, rang out from the deck of the _connecticut_. then, with her flag waving to the last, the admiral's flag-ship sank slowly beneath the waves, leaving a bloody glow behind her. that was the end. _chapter xi_ captain winstanley captain winstanley slowly opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling of his cabin on the white oil-paint of which the sunbeams, entering through the porthole, were painting numerous circles and quivering reflections. slowly he began to collect his thoughts. could it have been a dream or the raving of delirium? he tried to raise himself on his narrow bed, but fell back as he felt a sharp pain. there was no mistake about the pain--that was certainly real. what on earth had happened? he asked himself this question again and again as he watched the thousands of circles and quivering lines drawn by the light on the ceiling. winstanley stared about him and suddenly started violently. then it was all real, a terrible reality? yes, for there sat his friend longstreet of the _nebraska_ with his back against the wall of the cabin, in a dripping wet uniform, fast asleep. "longstreet!" he called. his friend awoke and stared at him in astonishment. "longstreet, did it all really happen, or have i been dreaming?" no answer. "longstreet," he began again more urgently, "tell me, is it all over, can it be true?" longstreet nodded, incapable of speech. "our poor, poor country," whispered winstanley. after a long pause longstreet suddenly broke the silence by remarking: "the _nebraska_ went down at about six o'clock." "and the _georgia_ a little earlier," said winstanley; "but where are we? how did i get here?" "the torpedo boat _farragut_ fished us up after the battle. we are on board the hospital ship _ontario_ with about five hundred other survivors." "and what has become of the rest of our squadron?" asked winstanley apprehensively. longstreet only shrugged his shoulders. then they both dozed again and listened to the splashing and gurgling of the water against the ship's side and to the dull, regular thud of the engine which by degrees began to form words in winstanley's fever-heated imagination--meaningless words which seemed to pierce his brain with painful sharpness: "oh, won't you come across," rose and fell the oily melody, keeping time with the action of the piston-rods of the engine, "oh, won't you come across," repeated the walls, and "oh, won't you come across," clattered the water-bottle over in the wooden rack. again and again winstanley said the words to himself in an everlasting, dull repetition. longstreet looked at him compassionately, and murmured: "another attack of fever." then he got up, and bending over his comrade, looked out of the porthole. water everywhere; nothing but sparkling, glistening water, broad, blue, rolling waves to be seen as far as the eye could reach. not a sign of a ship anywhere. "oh, won't you come across," repeated longstreet, listlessly joining in the rhythm of the engines. then he stretched himself and sank back on his chair in a somnolent state, thinking over the experiences of the night. so this was all that was left of the pacific fleet--a hospital ship with a few hundred wounded officers and men, all that remained of admiral crane's fleet, which had been attacked with torpedo boats by admiral kamimura at three o'clock on the night of may eighth, after togo had destroyed perry's squadron. it had been a horrible surprise. the enemy must have intercepted the signals between the squadron and the scouts, but as the japanese had not employed their wireless telegraph at all, none of the american reconnoitering cruisers had had its suspicions aroused. then the wireless apparatus had suddenly got out of order and all further intercommunication among the american ships was cut off, while a few minutes later came the first torpedo explosions, followed by fountains of foam, the dazzling light of the searchlights and sparks from the falling shells. the americans could not reply to the hostile fire until much, much later, and then it was almost over. when the gray light of dawn spread over the surface of the water, it only lighted up a few drifting, sinking wrecks, the irrecognizable ruins of admiral crane's proud squadron, which were soon completely destroyed by the enemy's torpedoes. kamimura had already disappeared beyond the horizon with his ships, not being interested in his enemy's remains. "oh, won't you come across," groaned and wailed the engine quite loudly as a door to the engine-room was opened. longstreet jumped up with a start, and then climbed wearily and heavily up the stairs. the entire deck had been turned into a hospital, and the few doctors were hurrying from one patient to another. longstreet went up to a lieutenant in a torn uniform who was leaning against the railing with his head between his hands, staring across the water. "where are we going, harry?" asked longstreet. "i don't know; somewhere or other; it doesn't matter much where." longstreet left him and climbed up to the bridge. here he shook hands in silence with a few comrades and then asked the captain of the _ontario_ where they were going. "if possible, to san francisco," was the answer. "but i'm afraid the japanese will be attacking the coast-batteries by this time, and besides that chap over there seems to have his eyes on us," he added, pointing to port. longstreet looked in the direction indicated and saw a gray cruiser with three high funnels making straight for the _ontario_. at this moment a signalman delivered a wireless message to the captain: "the cruiser yonder wants to know our name and destination." "signal back: united states hospital ship _ontario_ making for san francisco," said the captain. this signal was followed by the dull boom of a shot across the water; but the _ontario_ continued on her course. then a flash was seen from a forward gun of the cruiser and a shell splashed into the water about one hundred yards in front of the _ontario_, bursting with a deafening noise. the captain hesitated a second, then he ordered the engines to stop, turned over the command on the bridge to the first officer and went himself to the signaling apparatus to send the following message: "united states hospital ship _ontario_ with five hundred wounded on board relies on protection of ambulance-flag." a quarter of an hour later, the japanese armored cruiser _idzumo_ stopped close to the _ontario_ and lowered a cutter, which took several japanese officers and two doctors over to the _ontario_. while a japanese officer of high rank was received by the captain in his cabin in order to discuss the best method of providing for the wounded, longstreet went down to winstanley. "well, old man, how are you?" he asked. "pretty miserable, longstreet; what's going to become of us?" longstreet hesitated, but winstanley insisted: "tell me, old chap, tell me the truth. where are we bound to--what's going to become of us?" "we're going to san francisco," said longstreet evasively. "and the enemy?" longstreet remained silent again. "but the enemy, longstreet, where's the enemy? we mustn't fall into his hands!" "brace up, winstanley," said longstreet, "we're in the hands of the japanese now." winstanley started up from his bed, but sank back exhausted by the terrible pain in his right arm which had been badly wounded. "no, no, anything but that! i'd rather be thrown overboard than fall into the hands of the japanese! it's all over, there's no use struggling any more!" "longstreet," he cried, with eyes burning with fever, "longstreet, promise me that you'll throw me overboard rather than give me up to the japanese!" "no, winstanley, no; think of our country, remember that it is in sore need of men, of men to restore the honor of the stars and stripes, of men to drive the enemy from the field and conquer them in the end." at this moment the door opened and a japanese lieutenant entered, carrying a small note-book in his hand. at sight of him winstanley shouted: "longstreet, hand me a weapon of some sort; that fellow----" the jap saluted and said: "gentlemen, i am sorry for the circumstances which compel me to ask you to give me your names and ships. rest assured that a wounded enemy may safely rely on japanese chivalry. if you will follow the example of all the other officers and give your word of honor not to escape, you will receive all possible care and attention in the hospital at san francisco without any irksome guard. will you be so good as to give me your names?" "lieutenant longstreet of the _nebraska_." "thank you." "captain winstanley, commander of the _georgia_," added longstreet for winstanley. "will you give me your word of honor?" longstreet gave his, but winstanley shook his head and said: "_you can do what you like with me; i refuse to give my word of honor._" the jap shrugged his shoulders and disappeared. "longstreet, nursed in san francisco, is that what the jap said? then san francisco must be in their hands." at these words the wounded captain of the _georgia_ burst into bitter tears and sobs shook the body of the poor man, who in his ravings fancied himself back on board his ship giving orders for the big guns to fire at the enemy. longstreet held his friend's hand and stared in silence at the white ceiling upon which the sunbeams painted myriads of quivering lines and circles. at one o'clock the _ontario_ came in sight of the golden gate, where the white banner with its crimson sun was seen to be waving above all the fortifications. * * * * * while the japanese were attacking san francisco early on the morning of may seventh, their fleet was stationed off san diego on the lookout for the two american maneuvering fleets. the intercepted orders from the navy department had informed the enemy that admiral perry, with his blue squadron of six battleships of the _connecticut_ class, intended to attack san francisco and the other ports and naval-stations on the pacific, and that the yellow fleet, under command of admiral crane, was to carry out the defense. the latter had drawn up his squadron in front of san francisco on may second, and on may fifth admiral perry had left magdalen bay. from this time on every report sent by wireless was read by harmless looking japanese trading-vessels sailing under the english flag. the first thing to be done on the morning of the seventh was to render magdalen bay useless, in order to prevent all communication with distant ships. a trick put the station in the enemy's possession. here, too, there were several japanese shopkeepers who did good business with their stores along the bay. early on sunday morning these busy yellow tradesmen were suddenly transformed into a company of troops who soon overpowered the weak garrison in charge of the signal-station. the japanese cruiser _yakumo_, approaching from the north, had been painted white like the american cruisers, and this is why she had been taken, as the reader will remember, for the armored cruiser _new york_, which was actually lying off san francisco assigned to admiral crane's yellow fleet. the _yakumo_ was to prevent the two destroyers _hull_ and _hopkins_ from escaping from the bay, and both boats were literally shot to pieces when they made the attempt. this action hopelessly isolated the maneuvering fleets. by eight o'clock in the morning togo's squadron, consisting of the flag-ships _satsuma_, the _aki_, _katou_, _kashimi_, _mikasa_ and _akahi_, and forming the backbone of the japanese battle-fleet, had succeeded in locating admiral perry's squadron, thanks to intercepted wireless dispatches. the japanese refrained from using their wireless apparatus, so as to avoid attracting the attention of the american squadron. the unfinished message sent at nine o'clock from magdalen bay told togo that the surprise there had been successful, and a little later the order to strengthen the american advance, sent in the same way, enabled him to ascertain the exact position of both the main group of cruisers and the scouts and lookout ships. similarly it was learned that the latter were extremely weak, and accordingly togo detached four armored cruisers, the huge new 25-knot _tokio_ and _osaka_, and the _ibuki_ and _kurama_, to destroy the american van, and this he succeeded in accomplishing after a short engagement which took place at the same time as the attack on perry's armored ships. the _denver_ and _chattanooga_ were soon put out of business by a few shells which entered their unprotected hulls, and the five destroyers, which were unable to use their torpedoes in such a heavy sea, were likewise soon done for. under cover of a torrent of rain, togo came in sight of the american ships when the distance between the two squadrons was only 5,500 yards. at the moment when admiral perry's ships emerged out of the rain, admiral togo opened the battle by sending the following signal from the _satsuma_: "to-day must avenge kanagawa. as commodore perry then knocked with his sword at the gate of nippon, so will we to-day burst open san francisco's golden gate."[1] the signal was greeted with enthusiasm and loud cries of "_banzai_!" on board all the ships. then the battle began, and by the time the sun had reached its zenith, admiral perry's squadron had disappeared in the waves of the pacific. the first eleven minutes, before the americans could bring their guns into action, had determined the outcome of the battle. the ultimate outcome of the battle had, of course, been accelerated by the fact that the first shells had created such fearful havoc in the fore-parts of three of the american ships, quantities of water pouring in which caused the ships to list and made it necessary to fill the compartments on the opposite side in order to restore the equilibrium. admiral kamimura was less fortunate at first with the second squadron. he was led astray by the wrong interpretation of a wireless signal and did not sight admiral crane's fleet till towards evening, and then it was not advisable to begin the attack at once, lest the americans should escape under cover of darkness. kamimura, therefore, decided to wait until shortly after midnight, and then to commence operations with his eight destroyers and apply the finishing touches with his heavy guns. admiral crane's squadron consisted of six battleships--the three new battleships _virginia_, _nebraska_ and _georgia_, the two older vessels _kearsage_ and _kentucky_, and, lastly, the _iowa_. then there were the two armored cruisers _st. louis_ and _milwaukee_, and the unprotected cruisers _tacoma_ and _des moines_, which, on account of their speed of 16.5 knots and their lack of any armor, were as useless as cruisers as were their sister ships in admiral perry's squadron. one single well-aimed shell would suffice to put them out of action. it was a terrible surprise when the japanese destroyers began the attack under cover of the night. not until dawn did the americans actually catch sight of their enemy, and that was when kamimura left the field of battle, which was strewn with sinking american ships, with his six practically unharmed battleships headed in a southwesterly direction to join togo's fleet, who had already been informed of the victory. the work of cleaning up was left to the destroyers, who sank the badly damaged american ships with their torpedoes. the hospital ship _ontario_, attached to the yellow fleet, and a torpedo boat fished up the survivors of this short battle. then the _ontario_ started for san francisco, while the leaking _farragut_ remained behind. the americans had been able to distinguish, with a fair degree of certainty, that kamimura's squadron consisted of the _shikishima_, the battleships _iwami_ (ex _orel_), the _sagami_ (ex _peresvjet_), and _tumo_ (ex _pobjeda_), all three old russian ships, and of the two new armored cruisers _ikoma_ and _tsukuba_. then there were the two enormous battleships which were not included in the japanese navy list at all, and the two huge cruisers _yokohama_ and _shimonoseki_ which, according to japanese reports, were still building, while in reality they had been finished and added to the fleet long ago. the circumstances connected with these two battleships were rather peculiar. the report was spread in 1906 that china was going to build a new fleet and that she had ordered two big battleships from the docks at yokosuka. this rumor was contradicted both at pekin and at tokio. the americans and everybody in europe wondered who was going to pay for the ships. the trouble is, we ask altogether too many questions, instead of investigating for ourselves. as a matter of fact, the ships were laid down in 1908, though everybody outside the walls of the japanese shipyard was made to believe that only gunboats were being built. we have probably forgotten how, at the time, a german newspaper called our attention to the fact that not only these two battleships--of the english _dreadnought_ type--but also the two armored cruisers building at kure ostensibly for china, would probably never sail under the yellow dragon banner, but in case of war, would either be added directly to japan's fleet or be bought back from china. and so it turned out. just before the outbreak of the war, the sun banner was hoisted quietly on the two battleships and they were given the names of _nippon_ and _hokkaido_, respectively; but they were omitted from the official japanese navy list and left out of our calculations. how pekin and tokio came to terms with regard to these two ships remains one of the many secrets of east asiatic politics. the generally accepted political belief that china was not financially strong enough to build a new fleet and that japan, supposedly on the very verge of bankruptcy, could not possibly carry out her _postbellum_ programme, was found to have rested on empty phrases employed by the press on both sides of the ocean merely for the sake of running a story. there has never yet been a time in the history of the world when war was prevented by a lack of funds. how could prussia, absolutely devoid of resources, have carried on the war it did against napoleon a hundred years ago, unless this were so? in the redistribution of our war vessels in the atlantic and the pacific after the return of the fleet from its journey round the world, the navy department had calculated as follows: japan had fifteen battleships, six large new ones and nine older ones; in addition she had six large new and eight older armored cruisers. we have one armored cruiser and three cruisers in manila, and these can take care of at least five japanese armored cruisers. japan therefore has fifteen battleships and nine armored cruisers left for making an attack. now if we keep two squadrons, each consisting of six battleships--the _texas_ among them--off the pacific coast and add to these the coast-batteries, the mines and the submarines, we shall possess a naval force which the enemy will never dare attack. japan, on the other hand, figured as follows: we have two squadrons, each consisting of six battleships, among which there are six that are superior to any american fighting ship; these with the nine armored cruisers and the advantage of a complete surprise, give us such a handicap that we have nothing to fear. as a reserve, lying off san francisco, are the ironclads _hizen_ (ex _retvisan_), _tango_ (ex _poltawa_), _iki_ (ex _nicolai_), and the armored cruisers _azuma_, _idzumo_, _asama_, _tokiwa_, and _yakumo_. besides these there are the two mortar-boat divisions and the cruisers sent to seattle, while the armored cruiser _iwate_ and two destroyers were sent to magdalen bay. all that remained in home waters were the fourth squadron, consisting of former russian ships, and the cruisers which would soon be relieved at the philippines. the enemy had figured correctly and we had not. the two battles of the seventh and eighth of may were decided in the first ten minutes, before we had fired a single shot. and would the japanese calculation have been correct also if perry had beaten togo or crane kamimura? most decidedly so, for not a single naval harbor or coaling-station, or repairing-dock on the pacific coast would have been ready to receive perry or crane with their badly damaged squadrons. on the other hand, the remnants of our fleet would have had all the japanese battleships, all the armored cruisers and a large collection of torpedo-boats continually on their heels, and would thus have been forced to another battle in which, being entirely without a base of operations, they would without a doubt have suffered a complete defeat. our mines in the various arsenals and our three submarines at the mare island wharf in san francisco fell into the enemy's hands like ripe plums. it was quite superfluous for the japanese to take their steamer for transporting submarines, which had been built for them in england, to san francisco. nothing remained to us but the glory that not one of our ships had surrendered to the enemy--all had sunk with their flags flying. after all, it was one thing to fight against the demoralized fleet of the czar and quite another to fight against the stars and stripes. our blue-jackets had saved the honor of the white race in the eyes of the yellow race on the waves of the pacific, even if they had thus far shown them only how brave american sailors die. but the loss of more than half our officers and trained men was even a more severe blow than the sinking of our ships. these could not be replaced at a moment's notice, but months and months of hard work would be required and new squadrons must be found. but from where were they to come? only a single vessel of the pacific fleet escaped from the battle and the pursuing japanese cruisers: this was the torpedo-destroyer _barry_, commanded by lieutenant-commander dayton, who had been in command of the torpedo flotilla attached to admiral perry's squadron. he had attempted twice, advancing boldly into the teeth of the gale, to launch a torpedo in the direction of the _satsuma_, but the sea was too rough and each time took the torpedo out of its course. the badly damaged destroyer entered the harbor of buenaventura on the coast of colombia on may eleventh, followed closely by the japanese steamer _iwate_, which had been lying off the coast of panama. grinding his teeth with rage, dayton had to look on while a colombian officer in ragged uniform, plentifully supplied with gilt, who was in the habit of commanding his tiny antediluvian gunboat from the door of a harbor saloon, came on board the _barry_ and ordered the breeches of the guns and the engine-valves to be removed, at the same time depriving the crew of their arms. the japanese waiting outside the harbor had categorically demanded this action of the government in bogota. this humiliating degradation before all the harbor loafers and criminals, before the crowds of exulting chinese and japanese coolies, who were only too delighted to see the white man compelled to submit to a handful of marines the entire batch of whom were not worth one american sailor, was far harder to bear than all the days of battle put together. and even now, when admiral dayton's fame reaches beyond the seas and the name of james dayton is in every sailor's mouth as the savior of his people, yes, even now, he will tell you how at the moment when, outside the straits of magellan, he crushed the japanese cruisers with his cruiser-squadron, thereby once again restoring the star spangled banner to its place of honor, the vision of that grinning row of faces exulting in the degradation of a severely damaged american torpedo-boat appeared before him. it is only such men as he, men who experienced the horrors of our downfall to the bitter end, who could lead us to victory--such men as dayton and winstanley. [footnote 1: perry, the american commodore, with a fleet of only eight ships, forced japan to sign the agreement of kanagawa, opening the chief harbors in japan to american trading-vessels, in the year 1854.] _chapter xii_ are you winstanley? the bow of the english freighter _port elizabeth_ was plowing its way through the broad waves of the pacific on the evening of the fourteenth of september. the captain and the first mate were keeping a sharp lookout on the bridge, for they were approaching san francisco. the steamer had taken a cargo of machinery and rails on board at esquimault for san francisco, as was duly set forth in the ship's papers. in esquimault, too, the second mate enlisted, though the captain was not particularly eager to take a man who carried his arm in a sling. since, however, he could find no one else to take the place of the former second mate, who had gone astray in the harbor saloons of victoria, the captain engaged the volunteer, who called himself henry wilson, and thus far he had had no cause to regret his choice, as wilson turned out to be a quiet, sober man, thoroughly familiar with the waters along the pacific coast. wilson was in the chart-room, carefully examining the entrance to san francisco; suddenly he turned and called through the open door to the captain on the bridge: "captain, we are now eight miles from the golden gate; it's a wonder the japs haven't discovered us yet." "i should think they would station their cruisers as far out as this," answered the captain. "after all, why should they?" asked wilson, "there's nothing more to be done here, and the allies of our illustrious government can scarcely be asked to show much interest in an english steamer with a harmless cargo." wilson joined the captain and the first mate on the bridge, and all three leaned against the railing and tried through their glasses to discover the fires of the golden gate through the darkness; but not a gleam of light was to be seen. "i don't believe we'll be allowed to enter the harbor at night," began the first mate again, "more especially as our instructions are to reach the golden gate at noon." "yes, but if the engines won't work properly, how the devil can they expect us to be punctual!" grumbled the captain. "look," cried wilson, pointing to the blinding flash of a searchlight in front of them, "they've got us at last!" a few minutes later the brilliant bluish white beam of a searchlight was fixed on the _port elizabeth_. "we'll keep right on our course," said the captain rather hurriedly to the man at the helm, "they'll soon let us know what they want. wilson, you might get the ship's papers ready, we'll have visitors in a minute." scarcely had wilson reached the captain's cabin when a bell rang sharply in the engine-room, and soon after this the engines began to slow down. when he returned to the bridge, the masts and low funnels of a ship and a thick trailing cloud of smoke could be seen crossing the reflection of the searchlight a few hundred yards away from the _port elizabeth_. then a long black torpedo-boat with four low funnels emerged from the darkness, turned, and took the same course as the freighter. a boat was lowered and four sailors, a pilot and an officer stepped on board the _port elizabeth_. the captain welcomed the japanese lieutenant at the gangway and spoke a few words to him in a low tone, whereupon they both went into the captain's cabin. the jap must have been satisfied by his examination of the ship's papers, for he returned to the bridge conversing with the captain in a most friendly and animated manner. "this is my first mate, hornberg," said the captain. "an englishman?" asked the japanese. "no, a german." "a german?" repeated the jap slowly. "the germans are friends of japan, are they not?" he asked, smiling pleasantly at the first mate, who, however, did not appear to have heard the question and turned away to go to the engine-room telephone. "and this is my second mate, wilson." "an englishman?" asked the jap again. "yes, an englishman," answered wilson himself. the japanese officer looked at him keenly and said: "i seem to know you." "it is not impossible," said wilson, "i have been navigating japanese waters for several years." "indeed?" asked the lieutenant, "may i inquire on which line?" "on several lines; i know shanghai, i have been from hongkong to yokohama in tramp steamers, and once during the russian war i got to nagasaki--also with a cargo of machinery," he added after a pause. "that was a dangerous voyage, for the russians had just sailed from vladivostock." "with a cargo of machinery," repeated the japanese officer, adding, "and you are familiar with these waters also?" "fairly so," said wilson. "have you any relatives in the american navy?" asked the jap sharply. "not that i know of," answered wilson, "my family is a large one, and as an englishman i have relatives in all parts of the world, but none in the american navy, so far as i know." "mr. wilson, you will please take charge of the ship under the direction of the pilot brought along by the lieutenant. mr. hornberg's watch is up," said the captain, and went off with the jap to his cabin. five minutes later the captain sent for the first mate, who returned to the bridge almost directly, saying: "mr. wilson, i am to take your place at the helm. the captain would like to see you." "certainly," answered wilson curtly. the captain and the jap were sitting together in the cabin over a glass of whisky. "the lieutenant," said the captain, "wants to know something about esquimault; you know the harbor there, don't you?" "very slightly," answered wilson, "i was only there three days." "were there any japanese ships at esquimault when you were there?" "yes, there was a japanese cruiser in dock." "what was her name?" wilson shrugged his shoulders and answered: "i couldn't say, i don't know the names of the japanese ships." "won't you sit down and join us in a glass of whisky?" said the captain. "what did you do to your arm?" asked the japanese. "i was thrown against the railing in a storm and broke it on the way from shanghai to victoria." a long pause ensued which was at last broken by the jap, who inquired: "do you know lieutenant longstreet of the american navy?" "i know no one of that name in the american navy." the jap scrutinized wilson's face, but the latter remained perfectly unconcerned. "you told the captain that you've been in san francisco often," began the jap again; "on what line were you?" "on no line, i was at san francisco for pleasure." "when?" "the last time was two years ago." "may i see your papers?" "certainly," said wilson, getting up to fetch them from his cabin. the japanese studied them closely. "curious," he said at last, "i could have sworn that i've seen you before." then he glanced again at one of the certificates and looking up at wilson suddenly, over the edge of the paper, asked sharply: "why have you two names?" "i have only one," returned wilson. "winstanley and wilson," said the jap with a decided emphasis on both names. "i'm very sorry," said wilson, "but i don't know anyone of the name of winstanley, or whatever you called it. the name cannot very well be in my papers." "then i must be mistaken," said the jap peevishly. wilson left the captain's cabin and went up to the bridge, where he drew a deep breath of relief. the pilot gave directions for the ship's course, and the torpedo-boat steamed along on her port side like a shadow. "i wonder why we have a wireless apparatus on board?" asked hornberg. "it never occurred to me until you mentioned it. i imagine it's merely an experiment of the owners," answered wilson. then they both lapsed into silence and only attended to the pilot's directions for the ship's course. wilson presently looked at his watch and remarked: "we must be about two miles from the golden gate by this time." "it's possible," said hornberg, "but as all the ships use shaded lights, it's a difficult thing to determine." "can we enter the harbor by night?" he asked of the japanese pilot. "yes, sir, whenever you like, under our pilotage you can enter the harbor by day or night." "how's that?" "you'll see directly." at this moment the torpedo-boat's siren bellowed sharply three times, and immediately the red lights at the masthead and the side of a steamer about half a mile off became visible, and the bright flash of her searchlight was thrown on the _port elizabeth_. the pilot sent a short signal across, which was immediately answered by the japanese guardship. "now you'll see the channel," said the pilot to wilson, "it's really an american invention, but we were the first to put it to practical use. we can't possibly lose our way now." "yes, captain, you'll see something wonderful now," said the lieutenant, as he came on the bridge with the captain. "you'll open your eyes when you see us steering through the mines." suddenly a bright circle of light appeared on the surface of the water, which was reflected from some source of light about ten yards below the surface. "it's an anchored light-buoy," explained the lieutenant, "which forms the end of the electric light cable, and there to the right is another one. all we have to do now is to keep a straight course between the two rows of lantern-buoys which are connected with the cable, and in that way we'll be able to steer with perfect safety between the mines into the harbor of san francisco." and indeed, about a hundred yards ahead a second shining circle of light appeared on the water, and further on a whole chain of round disks was seen to make a turn to the left and then disappear in the distance. the same kind of a line appeared on the right. half an hour later three bright red reflections, looking like transparent floating balls of light filled with ruby-red, bubbling billows, marked a spot where the helm had to be turned to port in order to bring the ship through a gap in the line of mines. thus the _port elizabeth_ reached san francisco early in the morning. she did not make fast at the quay, but at the arsenal on mare island, her crew then being given shore leave. when the last man had gone, the _port elizabeth_, unloaded her cargo of machinery and rails which, in the hands of the chinese coolies, was transformed into gun-barrels, ammunition and shells in the most marvelous manner. "_le pavilion couvre la marchandise_, especially under the union jack," said hornberg sarcastically, as he watched this metamorphosis, but the captain only looked at him angrily. that was the second time during the war that captain winstanley of the united states navy, and late commander of the battleship _georgia_, saw san francisco, whence he had escaped by night from the naval hospital two months before. the japanese lieutenant was the same who had received the word of honor of the officers on board the hospital ship _ontario_ on may eighth, and to whom winstanley had refused to give his. two months after his voyage as second mate on board the _port elizabeth_, which enabled him to gather information concerning the japanese measures for the defense of san francisco, winstanley stood on the bridge of the battleship _delaware_ as commander of the second atlantic squadron. and four months later the name of the victor in the naval battle off the galapagos islands went the rounds of the world! _chapter xiii_ the revenge for portsmouth the more one examined the complicated machinery of the japanese plan of attack, the more one was forced to admire the cleverness and the energy of the mongolians in preparing for the war, and the more distinctly these were recognized, the clearer became the wide gulf between the mongolian's and the white man's point of view concerning all these matters. we might have learned a lesson in 1904, if we had not so carelessly and thoughtlessly looked upon the russo-japanese war as a mere episode, instead of regarding it as a war whose roots were firmly embedded in the inner life of a nation that had suddenly come to the surface of a rapid political development. the interference of the european powers in the peace of shimonoseki in 1895 robbed japan of nearly all the fruits of her victory over china. japan had been forced to vacate the conquered province of liaotung on the mainland because she was unable to prevail against three european powers, who were for once agreed in maintaining that all chinese booty belonged to europe, for they regarded china as a bankrupt estate to be divided among her creditors. when, therefore, after the second peace of shimonoseki, japan was compelled to relinquish all her possessions on the mainland and to console herself for her shattered hopes with a few million taels, every japanese knew that the lost booty would at some time or other be demanded from russia at the point of the sword. with the millions paid by china as war indemnity, japan procured a new military armament, built an armored fleet and slowly but surely taught the nation to prepare for the hour of revenge. remember shimonoseki! that was the secret shibboleth, the free-mason's sign, which for nine long years kept the thoughts of the japanese people continually centered on one object. "one country, one people, one god!" were words once emphatically pronounced by kaiser wilhelm. but with the japanese such high-sounding words as these are quite unnecessary. in the heart of all, from the tenno to the lowest rickshaw coolie, there exists a jealous national consciousness, as natural as the beating of the heart itself, which unites the forces of religion, of the political idea and of intellectual culture into one indivisible element, differing in the individual only in intensity and in form of expression. when a citizen of japan leaves his native land, he nevertheless remains a japanese from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, and can no more mix with members of another nation than a drop of oil can mix with water: a drop of oil poured on water will remain on its surface as an alien element, and so does a japanese among another people. while the streams of emigrants passing over the boundaries of europe into other countries soon adapt themselves to new conditions and eventually adopt not only the outward but also the inward symbols of their environment, until finally they think and feel like those round about them, the japanese remains a jap for all time. the former sometimes retain a sentimental memory of their former home, but the mongolian is never sentimental or romantic. he is sober and sensible, with very little imagination, and his whole energy, all his thoughts and endeavors are directed towards the upholding of the national, intellectual and religious unity of japan. his country is his conscience, his faith, his deity. ordinary nations require hundreds and even thousands of years to inspire their people with a national consciousness, but this was not necessary in japan, for there patriotism is inborn in the people, among whom an act of treason against the fatherland would be impossible because it is looked upon as spiritual suicide. the inner solidarity of the national character, the positive assurance of the fulfillment of all national duties, and the absolute silence of the people towards strangers--these are the weapons with which japan enters the arena, clothed in a rattling ready-made steel armor, the like of which her opponents have yet to manufacture. the discretion shown by the japanese press in all questions relating to foreign policy is regarded as the fulfillment of a patriotic duty just as much as the joyous self-sacrifice of the soldier on the field of battle. from the moment that marquis ito had returned from portsmouth (in 1905) empty-handed and the japanese had been sorely disappointed in their hopes through president roosevelt's instrumentality in bringing about peace, every japanese knew whose turn would come next. the japanese people were at first exceedingly angry at the way in which they had been deprived of their expected indemnity, but the government only allowed them to let off steam enough to prevent the boilers from bursting. here and there, where it could do no harm, they let the excited mob have its way, but very soon both government and press began their new work of turning the people's patriotic passions away from the past to prepare for the future control of the pacific. when in return for the prohibition of chinese immigration to the united states, china boycotted our goods, and the ensuing panic in wall street forced the government in washington to grant large concessions, japan did not attempt to make use of this sharp weapon, for one of their most extensive industries, namely the silk industry, depended upon the export to the united states. japan continued to place orders in america and treated the american importers with special politeness, even when she saw that the beginning of the boycott gave the gentlemen in washington a terrible scare, prompting them to collect funds to relieve the famine in china and even renouncing all claim to the war indemnity of 1901 to smooth matters over. but japan apparently took no notice of all this and continued to be deferential and polite, even when the growing heaps of unsold goods in the warehouses at shanghai made the americans ready to sacrifice some of their national pride. since japan wished to take the enemy by surprise, she had to be very careful not to arouse suspicions beforehand. "never speak of it, but think of it always," was the watchword given out by the little jewish lawyer in the president's chair of france, when the longing for revenge filled the soul of every frenchman during the slow retreat of the german army after its victorious campaign; "never speak of it, but think of it always," that was the watchword of the japanese people also, although never expressed in words. it was nine years before the bill of exchange issued at shimonoseki was presented on that february night in the roads of port arthur; for nine years the japanese had kept silence and thought about it, had drilled and armed their soldiers, built ships and instructed their crews. the world had seen all this going on, but had no idea of the real reason for these warlike preparations on a tremendous scale. it was not japan who had deceived the world, for everything went on quite openly, it being impossible to hide an army of over a million men under a bushel basket; but the world had deceived itself. when ships are built and cannon cast in other parts of the world, everyone knows for whom they are intended, and should anyone be ignorant, he will soon be enlightened by the after-dinner speeches of diplomats or indiscreet newspaper articles. the military and naval plans of the old world are common property, and this political indiscretion is characteristic of america as well as of europe. in striking contrast thereto are the cool calculation, the silent observation and the perfect harmony of the peoples of asia and africa, all of whom, without exception, are inspired by a deep and undying hatred of the white race. you may live for years among disciples of mohammed, know all in your environment, penetrate into their thoughts and feelings, and still be utterly incapable of judging when the little spark that occasionally glows in their eyes in moments of great enthusiasm, will suddenly develop into an immense flame, when a force will make its appearance of the existence of which you have never dreamed, and which will, without a sign of warning, devastate and destroy all around it. but when this does happen and the corpses of the slain encumber the streets, when the quiet, peaceful, apparently indolent moslem who for years has worked faithfully for you, is transformed in a few hours into a fanatical hero, whom thousands follow like so many sheep, then, at the sight of the burning ruins you will be forced to admit that the white man will forever be excluded from the thoughts and the national sentiment of the followers of islam. you walk across a sandy plain in the heat of the midday sun and you return the same way the next morning after a rainy night--what has happened? the ground which yesterday looked so parched and barren is now covered with millions of tiny blades. where has this sudden life come from? it was there all the time. there is always latent life beneath the surface, but it is invisible. and as soon as a fertilizing rain comes, it springs up, and everyone perceives what has been slumbering beneath the crust. in the dense jungles from which the sacred nile receives its waters, there stands a tent and before it a saddled horse. from the tent steps forth a man with large glowing eyes, dressed all in white, who is greeted by his followers with fanatical cries of allah, allah! he mounts his steed, the camels rise, and the long caravan swings slowly out of sight and disappears in the bush. once more dead silence reigns in the african jungle. whither are they going? you don't know; you see only a rider dressed in a white burnoose, only a few dozen men hailing a prophet, but in the very same moment in which you see only a sheik riding off, millions know that the caliph, the blessed of allah, has started on his journey through the lands whose inhabitants he intends to lead either to victory or to destruction. in the same moment millions of hearts from mogador to cape guardafui, from tripoli to the burning salt deserts of kalahari, rejoice in the thought that the hour of deliverance has come for the peoples of islam. a victorious feeling of buoyant hope arises in the hearts of the faithful simply because a plain arabian sheik has started on the road pointed out by allah. how they happen to know it and all at the same time, will forever remain a mystery to the white man, as much of a mystery as the secret inner life of the yellow races of asia. "never speak of it, but think of it always," had been the watchword, and everything that had transpired, even the apparently inconsistent and senseless things, had been ruled by it. the world could not be deceived about the things that were plainly visible; all the japanese had to do was to make sure that the world would deceive itself as it had done during the preparations for port arthur. a perfectly equipped army could be seen by all on the fields of nippon, hokkaido and kiushiu, and the fleet was surely not hidden from view. it was the world's own fault that it could not interpret what it saw, that it imagined the little yellow monkey would never dare attack the clumsy polar-bear. because the diplomatic quill-drivers would only see what fitted into their schemes, because they were capable only of moving in a circle about their own ideas, they could not understand the thoughts of others, and the few warning voices died away unheeded. it was not japan's fault that the roads at port arthur roused the world out of its slumber. what business had the world to be asleep? "never speak of it, but think of it always"--the adversary must be put to sleep again, he must be lulled into security and his thoughts directed towards the points where there was nothing to be seen, where no preparations were in progress. he must be kept in the dark about the true nature of the preparations, and on the other hand put on as many false scents as possible, so that he might not get the faintest idea of the real plan. this is the reason why all those things were done, why the quarrel over the admission of japanese children to the public schools of san francisco was cooked up, why so much national anger was exhibited, why the japanese press took up the quarrel like a hungry dog pouncing upon a bone, why so much noise was made about it at public meetings that one would have thought the fate of japan hung on the result. and then, as soon as washington began to back down, the dogs were whipped back to their kennels and the "national anger" died out as soon as japan had "saved her face." the americans were allowed to doze off again, fully persuaded that the school question was settled once and for all and that there was nothing further to fear in that direction. then, too, japan apparently yielded in the vexed question of japanese immigration to the united states, but instead of sending the immigrants to san francisco and seattle, as she had done hitherto, they were simply dispatched across the mexican frontier, where it was impossible to exercise control over such things, for no one could be expected to patrol the sandy deserts of arizona and new mexico merely to watch whether a few japs slipped across the border now and then. it was therefore impossible to keep track of the number of japanese who entered the country in this way, more especially as the official emigration figures issued at tokio were purposely inaccurate, so as to confuse the statistics still more. "never speak of it, but think of it always!" that is why a japanese photographer was sent to san diego to photograph the walls of fort rosecrans. he was to get himself arrested. but of course we had to let the fellow go when he proved that better and more accurate photos than he had taken could be purchased in almost any store in san diego. the object of this game was the same as that practiced in manila, where we were induced to arrest a spy who was ostentatiously taking photographs. both of these little maneuvers were intended to persuade us that japan was densely ignorant with regard to these forts which as a matter of fact would play no rã´le at all in her plan of attack; america was to be led to believe that japan's system of espionage was in its infancy, while in reality the government at tokio was in possession of the exact diagram of every fort, was thoroughly familiar with every beam of our warships--thanks to the japanese stewards who had been employed by the navy department up to a few years ago--knew the peculiarities of every one of our commanders and their hobbies in maneuvers, and finally was informed down to the smallest detail of our plans of mobilization, and of the location of our war headquarters and of our armories and ammunition depots. for the same reason the japanese press, and the english press in eastern asia which was inspired by japan, continually drew attention to the philippines, as though that archipelago were to be the first point of attack. for this reason, too, the english-chinese press published at the beginning of the year the well-known plans for japan's offensive naval attack and the transport of two of her army corps to the philippines. and the ruse proved successful. just as russia had been taken completely by surprise because she would persist in her theory that japan would begin by marching upon manchuria, so now the idea that japan would first try to capture the philippines and hawaii had become an american and an international dogma. the world had allowed itself to be deceived a second time, and, convinced that the first blow would be struck at manila and hawaii, they spent their time in figuring out how soon the american fleet would be able to arrive on the scene of action in order to save the situation in the far east. "never speak of it, but think of it always!" while japan was disseminating these false notions as to the probable course of a war, the actual preparations for it were being conducted in an entirely different place, and the adversary was induced to concentrate his strength at a point where there was no intention of making an attack. the japanese were overjoyed to observe the strengthening of the philippine garrison when the insurrection inspired by japanese agents broke out at mindanao as well as the concentration of the cruiser squadron off that island, for manila, the naval base, was thus left unprotected. with the same malignant joy they noticed how the united states stationed half of its fleet off the pacific coast and, relying on her mobile means of defense, provided insufficient garrisons for the coast-defenses, on the supposition that there would be plenty of time to put the garrisons on a war-footing after the outbreak of hostilities. japan's next move came in march and april, when she quietly withdrew all the regular troops from the manchurian garrisons and replaced them with reserve regiments fully able to repulse for a time any attack on the part of russia. the meaning of this move was not revealed until weeks later, when it became known that the transport ships from dalny and gensan, which were supposed to have returned to japan, were really on their way to san francisco and seattle with the second detachment of the invading army. after the destruction of the philippine squadron, the japanese reduced their blockade of the bay of manila to a few old cruisers and armed merchant-steamers, at the same time isolating the american garrisons in the archipelago, whose fate was soon decided. the blockading ships could not of course venture near the heavy guns of the corregidor batteries, but that was not their task. they had merely to see that manila had no intercourse with the outside world, and this they did most efficiently. the japanese ships had at first feared an attack by the two little submarines _shark_ and _porpoise_ stationed at cavite; they learned from their spies on land, however, that the government shipyards at cavite had tried in vain to render the little boats seaworthy: they returned from each diving-trial with defective gasoline-engines. and when, weeks later, they at last reached corregidor, the four japanese submarines quickly put an end to them. the strongly fortified city of manila had thus become a naval base without a fleet and was accordingly overpowered from the land side. as the far too weak garrison of scarcely more than ten thousand men was insufficient to defend the extensive line of forts and barricades, the unfinished works at olongapo on subig bay were blown up with dynamite and vacated, then the railways were abandoned, and finally only manila and cavite were retained. but the repeated attacks of the natives under the leadership of japanese officers soon depleted the little garrison, which was entirely cut off from outside assistance and dependent absolutely on the supplies left in manila itself. the only article of which they had more than enough was coal; but you can't bake bread with coal, and so finally, on august twenty-fourth, manila capitulated. twenty-eight hundred starving soldiers surrendered their arms while the balance lay either in the hospitals or on the field of battle. thus the philippines became a japanese possession with the loss of a single man, lieutenant shirawa. all the rest had been accomplished by the filipinos and by the climate that was so conducive to the propagation of mosquitoes and scorpions. hawaii's fate had been decided even more quickly than that of the philippines. the sixty thousand japanese inhabitants of the archipelago were more than enough to put an end to american rule. the half-finished works at pearl harbor fell at the first assault, while the three destroyers and the little gunboat were surprised by the enemy. guam, and pago-pago on tutuila, were also captured, quite incidentally. about the middle of may, a japanese transport fleet returning from san francisco appeared at honolulu and took forty thousand inhabitants to seattle, where they formed the reserve corps of the northern japanese army. * * * * * japan's rising imperialism, the feeling that the sovereignty of the pacific rightly belonged to the leading power in yellow asia had, long before the storms of war swept across the plains of manchuria, come into conflict with the imperialistic policy of the united states, although invisibly at first. prior to that time the asiatic races had looked upon the dominion of the white man as a kind of fate, as an irrevocable universal law, but the fall of port arthur had shattered this idol once and for all. and after the days of mukden and tsushima had destroyed the belief in the invincibility of the european arms, the japanese agents found fertile soil everywhere for their seeds of secret political agitation. in india, in siam, and in china also, the people began to prick their ears when it was quite openly declared that after the destruction of the czar's fleet the pacific and the lands bordering on it could belong only to the mongolians. the discovery was made that the white man was not invincible. and beside england, only the united states remained to be considered--the united states who were still hard at work on their philippine inheritance and could not make up their mind to establish their loudly heralded imperialistic policy on a firm footing by providing the necessary armaments. then came the peace of portsmouth. absolutely convinced that his country would have to bear the brunt of the next asiatic thunder-storm, theodore roosevelt gained one of the most momentous victories in the history of the world when he removed the payment of a war indemnity from the conditions of peace. and he did this not because he had any particular love for the russians, but because he wished to prevent the strengthening of japan's financial position until after the completion of the panama canal. america did exactly what germany, russia and france had done at the peace of shimonoseki, and we had to be prepared for similar results. but how long did it take the american people, who had helped to celebrate the victories of oyama, nogi and togo, to recognize that a day of vengeance for portsmouth was bound to come. in those days we regarded the manchurian campaign merely as a spectacle and applauded the victors. we had no idea that it was only the prelude of the great drama of the struggle for the sovereignty of the pacific. we wanted imperialism, but took no steps to establish it on a firm basis, and it is foolish to dream of imperial dominion when one is afraid to lay the sword in the scales. we might bluff the enemy for the time being by sending our fleet to the pacific; but we could not keep him deceived long as to the weakness of our equipment on land and at sea, especially on land. the wholesale immigration of mongolians to our pacific states and to the western shores of south america was clearly understood across the sea. but we looked quietly on while the japanese overran chili, peru and bolivia, all the harbors on the western coast of south america; and while the yellow man penetrated there unhindered and the decisive events of the future were in process of preparation, we continued to look anxiously eastward from the platform of the monroe doctrine and to keep a sharp lookout on the modest remnants of the european colonial dominion in the caribbean sea, as if danger could threaten us from that corner. we seemed to think that the monroe doctrine had an eastern exposure only, and when we were occasionally reminded that it embraced the entire continent, we allowed our thoughts to be distracted by the london press with its talk of the "german danger" in south america, just as though any european state would think for a moment of seizing three brazilian provinces overnight, as it were. we have always tumbled through history as though we were deaf and dumb, regarding those who warned us in time against the japanese danger as backward people whose intellects were too weak to grasp the victorious march of japanese culture. any one who would not acknowledge the undeniable advance of japan to be the greatest event of the present generation was stamped by us an enemy of civilization. we recognized only two categories of people--japanophobes and japanophiles. it never entered our heads that we might recognize the weighty significance of japan's sudden development into a great political power, but at the same time warn our people most urgently against regarding this development merely as a phase of feuilletonistic culture. right here lies the basis for all our political mistakes of the last few years. the revenge for portsmouth came as such a terrible surprise, because, misled by common opinion, we believed the enemy to be breaking down under the weight of his armor and therefore incapable of conducting a new war and, in this way undervaluing our adversary, we neglected all necessary preparations. no diplomatic conflict, not the slightest disturbance of our relations with japan prepared the way for the great surprise. the world was the richer by one experience--that a war need have no prelude on the diplomatic stage provided enough circumstances have led up to it. _chapter xiv_ on the other side of the whirlpool on the rear deck of a ferry-boat bound for hoboken on the morning of may 12th stood randolph taney, with his hands in his pockets, gazing intently at the foaming waters of the hudson plowed up by the screw. it was all over: he had speculated in wall street, putting his money on harriman, and had lost every cent he had. what harriman could safely do with a million, randolph taney could not do with a quarter of a million. that's why he had lost. fortunately only his own money. the whole bundle of papers wasn't worth any more than the copy of the _times_ tossed about in the swirling water in the wake of the boat. randolph taney kept on thinking. just why he was going to hoboken he really didn't know, but it made little difference what he did. "halloo, taney," called out an acquaintance, "where are you going?" "i don't know." "you don't know? how's that?" "i'm done for." "you're not the only one; wall street is a dangerous vortex." "but i'm absolutely cleaned out." "how so?" "do you know what i'm going to do, james harrison?" asked taney, with bitter irony in his voice. "i'll apprentice myself to a paperhanger, and learn to paper my rooms with my worthless railway shares. i imagine i can still learn that much." "ah, that's the way the wind blows!" cried the other, whistling softly. "what did you think?" "it was pretty bad, i suppose?" "bad? it was hell----" "were you in wall street on monday?" "yes, and on tuesday, too." "and now you want to learn paperhanging?" "yes." "does it have to be that?" "can you suggest anything else?" "yes." "well?" hubert pointed to the button-hole in the lapel of his coat and said: "do you see this?" "what is it?" "a volunteer button." taney looked with interest at the little white button with the american flag, and then said: "have i got to that point? the last chance, i suppose?" he added after a pause. "not the last, but the first!" "how so?" "at any rate it's better than paperhanging. look here, taney, you'll only worry yourself to death. it would be far more sensible of you to take the bull by the horns and join our ranks. you can at least try to retrieve your fortunes by that means." the ferry-boat entered the slip at hoboken and both men left the boat. "now, taney, which is it to be, paperhanging or--," and james harrison pointed to the button. "i'll come with you," said taney indifferently. they went further along the docks towards the governor's island ferry-boat. "i have a friend over there," said harrison, "a major in the 8th regulars; he'll be sure to find room for us, and we may be at the front in a month's time." taney stuffed his pipe and answered: "in a month? that suits me; i have no affairs to arrange." the two men looked across in silence at manhattan island, where the buildings were piled up in huge terraces. all the color-tones were accentuated in the bright clear morning air. the sky-scrapers of the empire city, mighty turreted palaces almost reaching into the clouds, stood out like gigantic silhouettes. the dome of the singer building glistened and glittered in the sun, crowning a region in which strenuous work was the order of the day, while directly before them stretched the broad waters of the hudson with its swarm of hurrying ferry-boats. further on, between the piers and the low warehouses, could be seen a long row of serious-looking ocean-steamers, whose iron lungs emitted little clouds of steam as the cranes fed their huge bodies with nice little morsels. the two men had seen this picture hundreds of times, but were impressed once again by its grandeur. "taney," said harrison, "isn't that the most beautiful city in the world? i've been around the world twice, but i've never seen anything to equal it. that's our home, and we are going to protect it by shouldering our guns. come on, old chap, leave everything else behind and come with me!" "yes, i'll come, i certainly shall!" came the quick response. then they took the boat to governor's island and taney enlisted. they promised to make him a lieutenant when the troops took the field. when they returned two hours later randolph taney also wore the button with the flag in the center: he was a full-fledged volunteer in the united states army. on the return trip taney became communicative, and told the story of the eighth of may, that terrible day in wall street when billions melted away like butter, when thousands of persons were tossed about in the whirlpool of the stock exchange, when the very foundations of economic life seemed to be slipping away. he described the wild scenes when desperate financiers rushed about like madmen, and told how some of them actually lost their reason during the bitter struggle for existence, when not an inch of ground was vacated without resistance. men fought for every projecting rock, every piece of wreckage, every straw, as they must have fought in the waves of the flood, and yet one victim after another was swallowed by the vortex. in the midst of the mad scrimmage on the floor of the exchange one excited individual, the general manager of a large railroad--with his hair disheveled and the perspiration streaming down his face, one of his sleeves ripped out and his collar torn off--suddenly climbed on a platform and began to preach a confused sermon accompanied by wild gestures; others, whose nerves were utterly unstrung by the terrible strain, joined in vulgar street-songs. harrison had read about these things in the papers, but his friend's graphic description brought it all vividly to mind again and caused him to shudder. he seemed to see all the ruined existences, which the maelstrom in wall street had dragged down into the depths, staring at him with haggard faces. he thought of his own simple, plain life as compared with the neurasthenic existence of the men on the stock exchange, who were now compelled to look on in complete apathy and let things go as they were. the rich man, whom in the bottom of his heart he had often envied, was now poorer than the italian bootblack standing beside him. the ferry-boat now turned sharply aside to make room for the giant _mauretania_, which was steaming out majestically from its pier into the broad hudson river. the thrilling notes of the "star spangled banner" had just died away, and a sea of handkerchiefs fluttered over the railings, which were crowded with passengers waving their last farewells to those left behind. then the ship's band struck up a new tune, and the enormous steamer plowed through the waves towards the open sea. "there go the rats who have deserted the sinking ship," said randolph taney bitterly, "our leading men of finance are said to have offered fabulous prices for the plainest berths." the flight of the homeless had begun. _chapter xv_ a ray of light only a small japanese garrison was left at seattle after the first transports of troops had turned eastward on the seventh and eighth of may, and the northern army under marshal nogi had, after a few insignificant skirmishes with small american detachments, taken up its position in, and to the south of, the blue mountains. then, in the beginning of june, the first transport-ships arrived from hawaii, bringing the reserve corps for the northern army, with orders to occupy the harbors and coast-towns behind the front and to guard the lines of communication to the east. communication by rail had been stopped everywhere. no american was allowed to board a train, and only with the greatest difficulty did a few succeed in securing special permission in very urgent cases. the stations had one and all been turned into little forts, being occupied by japanese detachments who at the same time attended to the japanese passenger and freight-service. in all places occupied by the japanese the press had been silenced, except for one paper in each town, which was allowed to continue its existence because the japs needed it for the publication of edicts and proclamations issued to the inhabitants, and for the dissemination of news from the seat of war, the latter point being considered of great importance. this entire absence of news from other than japanese sources gave rise to thousands of rumors, which seemed to circulate more rapidly by word of mouth than the former telegraphic dispatches had through the newspapers. on the morning of june eighth the news was spread in tacoma that the city would that day receive a japanese garrison, as several transport-steamers had arrived at seattle. up to that time only one japanese company had been stationed at tacoma, and they had occupied the railroad station and the gas and electric works and intrenched themselves in the new waterworks outside the town. through some strange trick of fortune the gun-depot for the arming of the national guard which had been removed to tacoma a year ago and which contained about five thousand 1903 springfield rifles had escaped the notice of the enemy. the guns had been stored provisionally in the cellars of a large grain elevator and it had been possible to keep them concealed from the eyes of the japs, but it was feared that their hiding-place might be betrayed any day. this danger would of course be greatly increased the moment tacoma received a stronger garrison. martin engelmann, a german who had immigrated to the great northwest some twenty years ago, owned a pretty little home in the suburbs of tacoma. the family had just sat down to dinner when the youngest son, who was employed in a large mercantile establishment in the city, entered hurriedly and called out excitedly: "they're coming, father, they're in the harbor." then he sat down and began to eat his soup in haste. "they're coming?" asked old engelmann in a serious tone of voice, "then i fear it is too late." the old man got up from the table and going over to the window looked out into the street. not a living thing was to be seen far and wide except a little white poodle gnawing a bone in the middle of the street. engelmann stared attentively at the poodle, buried in thought. "how many of them are there?" he asked after a pause. "at least a whole battalion, i'm told," answered the son, finishing his soup in short order. "then it's all over, of course. just twenty-four hours too soon," sighed engelmann softly as he watched the poodle, who at that moment was jumping about on the street playing with the gnawed bone. engelmann tried hard to control himself, but he did not dare turn his head, for he could hear low, suppressed sobbing behind him. martha, the faithful companion of his busy life, sat at the table with her face buried in her hands, the tears rolling uninterruptedly down her cheeks, while her two daughters were trying their best to comfort her. old engelmann opened the window and listened. "nothing to be heard yet; but they'll have to pass here to get to the waterworks," he said. then he joined his family, and turning to his wife, said: "courage, mother! arthur will do his duty." "but if anything should happen to him--" sobbed his wife. "then it will be for his country, and his death and that of his comrades will give us an example of the sacrifices we must all make until the last of the yellow race has been driven out." the mother went on crying quietly, her handkerchief up to her eyes: "when was it to be? tell me!" she cried. "to-night," said the father, "and they would surely have been successful, for they could easily have overpowered the few men at the station and in the town. listen, there are the japs!" from outside came the regular beat of the drums. bum--bum--bum, bum, bum they went, and then the shrill squeaking of the fifes could also be heard. "yes, there they are, the deuce take 'em," said engelmann. the sound of the drums became more and more distinct and presently the sound of troops marching in step could be clearly distinguished. then the steps became firmer, and the window-panes began to rattle as the leader of the battalion appeared on horseback in the middle of the street, followed by the fife and drum corps, and with the little white poodle barking at his heels. it was a japanese battalion of reserves marching in the direction of the new waterworks outside the town. "courage, mother!" comforted the old man. "if they only stay at the waterworks all may yet be well." "wouldn't it be possible to warn arthur?" began the mother again. "warn him?" said engelmann, shrugging his shoulders, "all you have to do is to go to the telegraph office and hand in a telegram to the japanese official, telling them to remain where they are." "but couldn't we make it a go after all?" asked the youngest son thoughtfully. "the boxes are all ready, and can be packed in half an hour. we have three hundred men and thirty wagons. the latter were to be loaded at eleven o'clock to-night. and then at them with our revolvers! there aren't more than twenty men at the station," he went on with sparkling eyes. "at eleven o'clock sharp the telegraph-wire to the waterworks will be cut, also the wires to all the stations; then let them telegraph all they like. the minute the train arrives, the engine will be switched to another track and then backed in front of the train. meanwhile the boxes will be packed in the cars and then we'll be off with the throttle wide open. at each station a car will be dropped, and wagons will be waiting to receive their loads and get away as fast as the horses can pull them. safe hiding-places have been found for all the boxes, and whatever hasn't been captured by to-morrow morning will certainly never fall into the enemy's hands." "where is the telegraph-wire to the waterworks?" asked the father. "that's my job, to cut the wire just before the arrival of the train," said his son proudly. "richard," cried the mother in a horrified voice, "are you in it, too?" "yes, mother, you didn't suppose i'd stand and look on while arthur was risking his life, did you? what would they think of us on the other side if we were to hesitate at such a time as this? 'germans to the front,' that's our slogan now, and we'll show the people in washington that the german-americans treat the duties of their new country seriously." old engelmann laid his hand on his son's shoulder, saying: "right you are, my boy, and my blessing go with you! so you are to cut the telegraph-wire?" "yes, father. we happen to know where it is. the japs were of course clever enough to lay it underground, but we have discovered it under the paving near brown & co.'s store. we dug through to it very carefully from the cellar, and so as to make quite sure in case they should notice anything out of the way at the waterworks, we attached a morse apparatus to the wire in the cellar. in case they suspect anything at the works and begin to telegraph, i'm to work the keys a little so that they won't know the wire is cut. in addition we laid a wire to the station last night, which will give a loud bell-signal in case any danger threatens." the young fellow had talked himself into a state of great excitement, and his two sisters, watching him proudly, began to be infected by his enthusiasm. the shades of night were falling slowly as richard engelmann bade a touching farewell to his family and left the house, whistling a lively tune as he walked towards the town. _chapter xvi_ through fire and smoke a train was always kept in readiness at centralia on the northern pacific railway, which could get up full steam at a moment's notice in case of necessity. two japanese, the engineer and the fireman, were squatting on the floor of the tender in front of the glistening black heaps of coal, over which played the red reflections from the furnace. they had just made their tea with hot water from the boiler and eaten their modest supper. then the engineer pulled out his pipe and stuffing its little metal bowl with a few crumbs of tobacco, took one or two puffs at it and said, "akoki, it is time," whereupon the stoker seized his shovel, dug into the heap of coals and threw the black lumps with a sure aim into the open door of the furnace. with a hissing sound the draft rushed into the glowing fire, and the engine sent out masses of black smoke which, mixed with hundreds of tiny sparks, was driven like a pillar of fire over the dark row of cars. the engineer climbed down the little iron steps and examined the steel rods of his engine with clinking knocks from his hammer. up and down in front of the dark station walked a japanese sentinel and each time that he passed beyond the ring of light thrown by the two dimly burning lamps he seemed to be swallowed up in the darkness. only two little windows at one end of the station were lighted up; they belonged to the japanese guard-room and had been walled up so that they were no wider than loop-holes. the train which inspected this district regularly between eight and nine o'clock each evening had passed by at 8.30 and proceeded in the direction of portland. with the exception of the non-commissioned officer and the man in charge of the three arc-lamps on the roof that were to light up the surrounding country in case of a night-attack most of the soldiers had gone to sleep, although a few were engaged in a whispered conversation. suddenly the sergeant sprang up as a muffled cry was heard from the outside. "the lamps!" he yelled to the man at the electric instrument. the latter pushed the lever, but everything remained pitch dark outside. the soldiers were up in a second. the sergeant took a few steps towards the door, but before he could reach it, it was torn open from the outside. a determined looking man with a rifle slung over his shoulder appeared in the doorway, and the next moment a dark object flew through the air and was dashed against the wall. a deafening report followed, and then the guard-room was filled with yellow light caused by the blinding explosion, while thick black smoke forced its way out through the loop-holes. armed men were running up and down in front of the station, and when the man who had thrown the bomb and who was only slightly injured but bleeding at the nose and ears from the force of the concussion, was picked up by them, they were able to assure him triumphantly that his work had been successful and that the guard-room had become a coffin for the small japanese detachment. stumbling over the dead body of the sentinel lying on the platform, the leader of the attacking party rushed towards the engine, out of the discharge-valves of which clouds of boiling steam poured forth. with one bound he was up in the cab, where he found the japanese fireman killed by a blow from an ax. other dark figures climbed up from the opposite side bumping into their comrades. "halloo, dick, i call that a good job!" and then it began to liven up along the row of cars. wild looking men with rifles over their shoulders and revolvers in their right hands tore open the carriage doors and rushed quickly through the whole train. "dick, where's forster?" "here," answered a rough voice. "off to the engine! into the cars, quick! are you ready? is anyone missing? arthur! where's arthur?" "here, dick!" "good work, arthur, that's what i call good work," said the leader; "well done, my boys! we're all right so far! now for the rest of it." fighting dick distributed his men among the different cars and then he and forster, formerly an engineer on the northern pacific, climbed into the cab. "they've made it easy for us," said forster, "they've only just put fresh coal on! we can start at once! and if it isn't my old engine at that! i only hope we won't have to give her up! the japs shan't have her again, anyhow, even if she has to swallow some dynamite and cough a little to prevent it." "we're off," shouted fighting dick, whose fame as a desperado had spread far beyond the borders of the state of washington. with such men as these we were destined to win back our native land. they were a wild lot, but each of them was a hero: farmers, hunters, workmen from shop and factory, numerous tramps and half-blooded indian horse-thieves made up the company. only a few days ago fighting dick's band had had a regular battle in the mountains with a troop of japanese cavalry, and in the woods of tacoma more than one japanese patrol had never found its way back to the city. these little encounters were no doubt also responsible for the strengthening of the japanese garrison at tacoma. the thing to do now was to get the five thousand guns and ammunition cases out of tacoma by surprising the enemy. thus far, nothing but the explosion of the bomb at the centralia station could have betrayed the plot. it is true that the distant mountains had sent the echoes of the detonation far and wide, but a single shot didn't have much significance at a time like this when our country resounded with the thunder of cannon day in day out! the train rushed through the darkness at full speed. a misplaced switch, a loose rail, might at any moment turn the whole train into a heap of ruins and stop the beating of a hundred brave american hearts. the headlight of forster's engine lighted up the long rows of shining rails, and in the silent woods on both sides of the track, beneath the branches of the huge trees, lights could be seen here and there in the windows of the houses, where the dwellers were anxiously awaiting the return of the train from tacoma! and now a hollow roll of thunder came up from below. "the bridges?" asked fighting dick. "yes, the bridges," said forster, nodding. then a faint light appeared in the distance. the train was nearing tacoma. houses began to spring up more frequently out of the darkness, now to the right and now to the left; dancing lights popped up and disappeared. tall, black buildings near the tracks gave out a thundering noise like the crash of hammers and accompanied the roar of the passing train. a beam of light is suddenly thrown across the rails, green and red lanterns slip by with the speed of lightning, and then the brakes squeak and the train runs noisily into the dark station. a few figures hurry across the platform. shots ring out from all sides. a mortally-wounded jap is leaning against a post, breathing heavily. the wheels groan beneath the pressure of the brakes and then, with a mighty jerk that shakes everybody up, the train comes to a stand-still. down from the cars! fighting dick in the lead, revolver in hand, and the others right on his heels. they entered the station only to find every jap dead--the men of tacoma had done their duty. now the clatter of hoofs was heard out in the street. the heavy wagons with their heaps of rifles and long tin boxes full of cartridges were driven up at a mad pace. a wild tumult ensued as the boxes were rushed to the train--two men to a box--and the doors slammed to. then the empty wagons rattled back through the silent streets. meanwhile forster ran his engine on the turntable, where it was quickly reversed, and in a few moments it stood, puffing and snorting, at the other end of the train. all this consumed less than half an hour. suddenly shots rang out in the neighboring streets, but as no detachment of hostile troops appeared, the americans concluded that they had been fired by a patrol which was coming from the electric-works to see what the noise at the station was about. several rockets with their blinding magnesium light appeared in the dark sky and illumined the roofs of the houses. was it a warning signal? all at once the electric gongs near the station which were connected with brown & co.'s cellar began to ring, a sign that something suspicious had been noticed at the waterworks. forster was waiting impatiently in his engine for the signal of departure and could not imagine why fighting dick was postponing it so long. he was standing in the doorway of the station and now called out: "where is arthur engelmann?" "not here," came the answer from the train. "where can he be?" the name was called out several times, but no one answered. the train was ready to start and the men were distributing the boxes carefully inside the cars, so as to be able to unload them without loss of time at their respective destinations. and now, at last, arthur engelmann came running into the station. "hurry up!" called fighting dick. "no, wait a minute! we'll have to take this fellow along," cried engelmann, pointing to a wounded man, who was being carried by two comrades. "put him down! we'll have to be off! we've got plenty of men, but not enough guns." "you must take him!" "no, we're off!" "you'll wait," said arthur engelmann, seizing dick's arm; "it's my brother." "i can't help it, you'll have to leave him behind." "then i'll stay too!" "go ahead, if you want to." at this moment shrill bugle-calls resounded from one of the nearby streets. "the japanese!" roared fighting dick; "come on, arthur!" but arthur snatched his wounded brother from the two men who were carrying him and lifted him across his own shoulder, while the others, led by fighting dick, rushed past him and jumped on the train. bullets were whizzing past and several had entered the walls of the station when fighting dick's voice gave the command: "let her go, forster! let her go!" puffing and snorting, and with the pistons turning the high wheels, which could not get a hold on the slippery rails, at lightning speed, the engine started just as the japanese soldiers ran into the station, from the windows of which they commenced to fire blindly at the departing train. the bullets poured into the rear cars like hail-stones, smashing the wooden walls and window-panes. fighting dick, standing beside forster, looked back and saw the station full of soldiers. the two germans must have fallen into their hands, he thought. but they must hustle with the train now, for although the telegraph wires had been cut all along the line, they still had light-signals to fear! and even as this thought occurred to him, a glare appeared in the sky in the direction of the waterworks, then went out and appeared again at regular intervals. those silent signs certainly had some meaning. perhaps it was a signal to the nearest watch to pull up the rails in front of the approaching train? with his teeth set and his hand on the throttle, forster stood in his engine while the fireman kept shoveling coals into the furnace. "forster," said dick suddenly, "what's that in front of us? heavens, it's burning!" "the bridges are burning, fighting dick!" "that's just what i thought, the damned yellow monkeys! never mind, we'll have to go on. do you think you can get the engine across?" "the bridges will hold us all right. it would take half a day to burn the wood through and we'll be there in ten minutes." now fluttering little flames could be seen running along the rails and licking the blood-red beams of the long wooden bridges, giant monuments of american extravagance in the use of wood. clouds of smoke crept towards the train, hiding the rails from view, and soon the engine rolled into a veritable sea of flames and smoke. forster screamed to his companion: "they've poured petroleum over the wood." "we'll have to get across," answered fighting dick, "even if we all burn to death." biting smoke and the burning breath of the fiery sea almost suffocated the two men. the air was quivering with heat, and all clearly defined lines disappeared as the angry flames now arose on both sides. "press hard against the front," screamed forster; "that's the only way to get a little air, otherwise we'll suffocate." the high-pressure steam of the speeding locomotive hissed out of all the valves, shaking the mighty steel frame with all its force; the heat of the flames cracked the windows, and wherever the hand sought support, pieces of skin were left on the red-hot spots. a few shots were fired from the outside. "one minute more," yelled forster, "and we'll be over." fighting dick collapsed under the influence of the poisonous gases and fainted away on the floor of the cab. and now the flames grew smaller and smaller and gradually became hidden in clouds of smoke. "hurrah!" cried forster; "there's a clear stretch ahead of us!" then he leaned out of the cab-window to look at the train behind him and saw that the last two cars were in flames. he blew the whistle as a signal that the last car was to be uncoupled and left where it was, for he had just noticed a man standing near the track, swinging his bicycle lamp high above his head. "perhaps they'll be able to unload the car after all," he said to fighting dick, who was slowly coming to. but the sound of the explosion of some of the boxes of cartridges in the uncoupled car made it fairly certain that there wouldn't be much left to unload. five minutes later, after they had passed a dark station, the same signal was noticed, and another car was uncoupled, and similarly one car after another was left on the track. the guns and ammunition-boxes were unloaded as expeditiously as possible and transferred to the wagons that were waiting to receive them. the moment they were ready, the horses galloped off as fast as they could go and disappeared in the darkness, leaving the burning cars behind as a shining beacon. when, on the morning of june ninth, a japanese military train from portland traveled slowly along the line, it came first upon the ruins of an engine which had been blown up by dynamite, and after that it was as much as the japanese could do to clear away the remnants of the various ruined cars by the end of the day. the bridge, which had been set on fire by a japanese detachment with the help of several barrels of petroleum, was completely burned down. but the plot had been successful and fighting dick's fame resounded from one ocean to the other, and proved to the nations across the sea that the old energy of the american people had been revived and that the war of extermination against the yellow race had begun, though as yet only on a small scale. and the japanese troops, too, began to appreciate that the same irresistible force--a patriotic self-sacrifice that swept everything before it--which had in one generation raised japan to the heights of political power, was now being directed against the foreign invader. half the town had known of the plan for removing the rifles and ammunition from tacoma, but a strong self-control had taken the place of the thoughtless garrulousness of former times. not a sign, not a word had betrayed the plot to the enemy; every man controlled his feverish emotion and wore an air of stolid indifference. we had learned a lesson from the enemy. fourteen americans were captured with weapons in hand, and in addition about twenty-eight badly wounded. the japanese commander of tacoma issued a proclamation the following evening that all the prisoners, without exception, would be tried by court-martial in the course of the next day and condemned to death--the penalty that had been threatened in case of insurrection. the japanese court-martial arrived in the city on june ninth with a regiment from seattle. the tacoma board of aldermen were invited to send two of their number to be present at the trial, but the offer being promptly refused, the japanese pronounced judgment on the prisoners alone. as had been expected, they were all condemned to death by hanging, but at the earnest pleading of the mayor of tacoma, the sentence was afterwards mitigated to death by shooting. old martin engelmann tried in vain to secure permission to see his sons once more; his request was brusquely refused. in the light of early dawn on june eleventh the condemned men were led out to the waterworks to be executed, the wounded being conveyed in wagons. thousands of the inhabitants took part in this funeral procession--in dead silence. old engelmann was standing, drawn up to his full height, at the window of his home, and mutely he caught the farewell glances of his two sons as they passed by, the one marching in the midst of his comrades, the other lying in the first wagon among the wounded. frau martha had summoned sufficient courage to stand beside her husband, but the moment the procession had passed, she burst into bitter tears. her life was bereft of all hope and the future stretched out dark and melancholy before her. suddenly a gentle hand was laid on her white head. "mother," said one of her daughters, "do you hear it? i heard it yesterday. they're singing the song of fighting dick and of our dear boys. no one knows who composed it, it seems to have sprung up of itself. they were singing it on the street last night, the song of arthur engelmann, who sacrificed his life for his brother." "yes," said the father, "it's true, mother, they are singing of our lads; be brave, mother, and remember that those who are taken from us to-day will live forever in the hearts of the american people." and louder and louder rang out the notes of that proud song of the citizens of tacoma--the first pã¦an of victory in those sad days. _chapter xvii_ what happened at corpus christi the attitude of the european press left no room for doubt as to the honest indignation of the old world at the treacherous attack on our country. but what good could this scathing denunciation of the japanese policy do us? a newspaper article wouldn't hurt a single japanese soldier, and what good could all the resolutions passed at enthusiastic public meetings in germany and france do us, or the daily cablegrams giving us the assurance of their sympathy and good-will? these expressions of public opinion did, however, prove that the old world realized at last that the yellow danger was of universal interest, that it was not merely forcing a single country to the wall, casually as it were, but that it was of deep and immediate concern to every european nation without exception. they began to look beyond the wisdom of the pulpit orators who preached about the wonderful growth of culture in japan, and to recognize that if the united states did not succeed in conquering japan and driving the enemy out of the country, the victorious japanese would not hesitate a moment to take the next step and knock loudly and peremptorily at europe's door, and this would put an end once and for all to every single european colonial empire. but while european authorities on international law were busily parading their paper wisdom, and wondering how a war without a declaration of war and without a diplomatic prelude could fit into the political scheme of the world's history, at least one real item of assistance was at hand. the american press, it is true, still suffered from the delusion that our militia--consisting of hundreds of thousands of men--and our volunteers would be prepared to take the field in three or four weeks, but the indescribable confusion existing in all the military camps told a different story. what was needed most were capable officers. the sad experiences of the spanish-american campaign were repeated, only on a greatly magnified scale. we possessed splendid material in the matter of men and plenty of good-will, but we lacked completely the practical experience necessary for adapting the military apparatus of our small force of regular soldiers to the requirements of a great national army. we felt that we could with the aid of money and common-sense transform a large group of able-bodied men accustomed to healthy exercise into a serviceable and even a victorious army, but we made a great mistake. the commissariat and sanitary service and especially the military train-corps would have to be created out of nothing. when in june the governor of one state reported that his infantry regiment was formed and only waiting for rifles, uniforms and the necessary military wagons, and when another declared that his two regiments of cavalry and six batteries were ready to leave for the front as soon as horses, guns, ammunition-carts and harness could be procured, it showed with horrible distinctness how utterly ridiculous our methods of mobilization were. the london diplomats went around like whipped curs, for all the early enthusiasm for the japanese alliance disappeared as soon as the english merchants began to have such unpleasant experiences with the unscrupulousness of the japanese in business matters. as a matter of fact the alliance had fulfilled its object as soon as japan had fought england's war with russia for her. but the cabinet of st. james adhered to the treaty, because they feared that if they let go of the hawser, a word from tokio would incite india to revolt. the soil there had for years been prepared for this very contingency, and london, therefore, turned a deaf ear to the indignation expressed by the rest of the world at japan's treacherous violation of peace. at last at the end of july the transportation of troops to the west began. but when the police kept a sharp lookout for japanese or chinese spies at the stations where the troops were boarding the trains, they were looking in the wrong place, for the enemy was smart enough not to expose himself unnecessarily or to send spies who, as mongolians, would at once have fallen victims to the rage of the people if seen anywhere near the camps. besides, such a system of espionage was rendered unnecessary by the american press, which, instead of benefiting by past experience, took good care to keep the japanese well informed concerning the military measures of the government, and even discussed the organization of the army and the possibilities of the strategical advance in a way that seemed particularly reprehensible in the light of the fearful reverses of the last few months. the government warnings were disregarded especially by the large dailies, who seemed to find it absolutely impossible to regard the events of the day in any other light than that of sensational news to be eagerly competed for. this competition for news from the seat of war and from the camps had first to lead to a real catastrophe, before strict discipline could be enforced in this respect. a few patriotic editors, to be sure, refused to make use of the material offered them; but the cable dispatches sent to europe, the news forwarded triumphantly as a proof that the americans were now in a position "to toss the yellow monkeys into the pacific," quite sufficed to enable the japanese to adopt preventive measures in time. while the american army of the north was advancing on nogi's forces in the blue mountains, the army of the south was to attack the japanese position in arizona by way of texas. for this purpose the three brigades stationed in the mountains of new mexico were to be reã«nforced by the troops from cuba and porto rico and the two florida regiments. all of these forces were to be transported to corpus christi by water, as it was hoped in this way to keep the movement concealed from the enemy, in order that the attack in the south might come as far as possible in the nature of a surprise, and thus prevent the sending of reã«nforcements to the north where, at the foot of the blue mountains, the main battle was to be fought. but unfortunately our plan of attack did not remain secret. before a single soldier had set foot on the transport ships which had been lying for weeks in the harbors of havana and tampa, the japanese news bureaus in kingston (jamaica) and havana had been fully informed as to where the blow was to fall, partly by west indian half-breed spies and partly by the obliging american press. one regiment of cavalry had already arrived at corpus christi from tampa on july 30th, and the cuban troops were expected on the following day. * * * * * two american naval officers were standing on the small gallery of the white light-house situated at the extreme end of the narrow tongue of land lying before the lagoon of corpus christi, gazing through their glasses at the boundless expanse of blue water glittering with myriads of spots in the rays of the midday sun. out in the roads lay seven large freight steamers whose cargoes of horses and baggage, belonging to the 2d florida cavalry regiment, were being transferred to lighters. a small tug, throwing up two glittering streaks of spray with its broad bow, was towing three barges through the narrow opening of the lagoon to corpus christi, whose docks showed signs of unusual bustle. short-winded engines were pulling long freight-trains over the tracks that ran along the docks, ringing their bells uninterruptedly. from the camps outside the town the low murmur of drums and long bugle-calls could be heard through the drowsy noon heat. a long gray snake, spotted with the dull glitter of bright metal, wound its way between the white tents: a detachment of troops marching to the station. beyond the town one could follow the silver rails through the green plantations for miles, as plainly as on a map, until they finally disappeared on the horizon. now the whistle of the tug sounded shrilly, blowing scattered flakes of white steam into the air. the quick, clear tolling of church-bells rang over the roofs of the bright houses of the city. it was twelve o'clock and the sun's rays were scorching hot. one of the naval officers pulled out his watch to see if it were correct, and then said: "shall we go down and get something to eat first, ben?" "the steamers from havana ought really to be in sight by this time," answered ben wood; "they left on the twenty-sixth." "well, yes, on the twenty-sixth. but some of those transport-ships palmed off on us are the limit and can't even make ten knots an hour. their rickety engines set the pace for the fleet, and unless the _olympia_ wishes to abandon the shaky old hulks to their fate, she must keep step with them." lieutenant gibson spencer swept the horizon once more with his marine-glass and stopped searchingly at one spot. "if that's not the _flying dutchman_, they're ships," he remarked, "probably our ships." the light-house keeper, a slender mexican, came on the gallery, saying: "ships are coming over there, sir," as he pointed in the direction which spencer had indicated. lieutenant ben wood stepped to the stationary telescope in the light-room below the place for the lamps, and started to adjust the screws, but the heat of the metal, which had become red-hot beneath the burning rays of the sun, made him start: "hot hole," he swore under his breath. lieutenant spencer conversed a moment with the keeper and then looked again through his glass at corpus christi, where the tug was just making fast to the pier. the third barge knocked violently against the piles, so that a whole shower of splinters fell into the water. "gibson," cried lieutenant wood suddenly from his place in the light-room, his voice sounding muffled on account of the small space, "those are not our ships." spencer looked through the telescope and arrived at the same conclusion. "no," he said; "we have no ships like that, but they're coming nearer and we'll soon be able to make out what they are!" "those ships certainly don't belong to our fleet," he repeated after another long look at the vessels slowly growing larger on the horizon. they had two enormous funnels and only one mast and even the arched roofs of their turrets could now be clearly distinguished. "if i didn't know that our english friends owned the only ships of that caliber, and that our own are unhappily still in process of equipment at newport news, i should say that those were two _dreadnoughts_." "i guess you've had a sunstroke," rang out the answer. "sunstroke or no sunstroke, those are two _dreadnoughts_." "but where can they come from?" the three men examined the horizon in silence, till lieutenant wood suddenly broke it by exclaiming: "there, do you see, to the left, just appearing on the horizon, that's our transport fleet--eight--ten ships; the one in front is probably the _olympia_." "twelve ships," counted the keeper, "and if i may be allowed to say so, the two in front are battleships." "there they are then," said ben wood, "and now we'll get something to eat in a jiffy, for we'll have our work cut out for us in an hour!" "where shall we eat?" asked spencer, "i'll gladly dispense with the grub at signor morrosini's to-day." "i'll tell you what," said the other, "we'll go across to one of the transport-steamers; or, better still, we'll go to the captain of the _marietta_--we'll be sure to get something decent to eat there." "right you are!" said spencer, peering down over the edge of the railing. "our cutter is down there," he added. at the foot of the light-house lay a small, white cutter with its brass appointments glittering in the sunlight. her crew, consisting of three men, had crept into the little cabin, while the black stoker was resting on a bench near the boiler. "ho, dodge!" shouted spencer, "get up steam. we're going over to the transport-ships in ten minutes." the firemen threw several shovels of coal into the furnace, whereupon a cloud of smoke poured out of the funnel straight up along the light-house. lieutenant wood telephoned over to corpus christi that the transports with the troops on board had been sighted and that they would probably arrive in the roads in about two hours. "we're going over to one of the transport-ships meanwhile," he added, "and will await the arrival of the squadron out there." while lieutenant spencer was climbing down the narrow staircase, lieutenant wood once more examined the horizon and suddenly started. the thunder of a shot boomed across the water. boom--came the sound of another one! the lieutenant clapped his marine-glasses to his eyes. yes, there were two _dreadnoughts_ out there, evidently saluting. but why at such a distance? "gibson," he called down the staircase. "come on, ben!" came the impatient answer from below. "i can't, i wish you'd come up again for a minute, i'm sure something's wrong!" the gun-shots were booming loudly across the water as lieutenant spencer reached the gallery, covered with perspiration. "i suppose they're saluting," exclaimed spencer somewhat uncertainly. ben wood said nothing, but with a quick jerk turned the telescope to the right and began examining the transport-ships. "heavens," he shouted, "they mean business. i can see shells splashing into the water in front of the _olympia_--no, there in the middle--away back there, too-one of the transports listed. what can it mean? can they be japanese?" again the roar of guns rolled across the quiet waters. "now the _olympia_ is beginning to shoot," cried ben wood. "oh, that shot struck the turret. great, that must have done some good work! but what in heaven's name are we going to do?" lieutenant spencer answered by pushing the light-house keeper, who was in abject fear, aside, and rushing to the telephone. trembling with excitement, he stamped his foot and swore loudly when no notice was taken of his ring. "all asleep over there as usual! ah, at last!" "halloo! what's up?" "this is the light-house. notify the commander at corpus christi at once that the japanese are in the roads and are attacking the transports." over in corpus christi people began to collect on the piers, the bells stopped ringing, but the sound of bugles could still be heard coming from the encampments. now the light-house telephone rang madly and spencer seized the receiver. "they are, i tell you. can't you hear the shots?" he shouted into the instrument. "there are two large japanese ships out in the roads shooting at the _olympia_ and the transports. impossible or not, it's a fact!" suddenly a thick column of smoke began to ascend from the funnel of the little american gunboat _marietta_, which was lying among the transports out in the roads. the whistles and bugle-calls could be heard distinctly, and the crew could be seen on deck busy at the guns. the steam-winch rattled and began to haul up the anchor, while the water whirled at the stern as the vessel made a turn. even before the anchor appeared at the surface the gunboat had put to sea with her course set towards the ships on the horizon, which were enveloped in clouds of black smoke. "there's nothing for us to do," said spencer despairingly, "but stand here helplessly and look on. there isn't a single torpedo-boat, not a single submarine here! for heaven's sake, ben, tell us what's happening out there!" "it's awful!" answered wood; "two of the transport-ships are in flames, two seem to have been sunk, and some of those further back have listed badly. the _olympia_ is heading straight for the enemy, but she seems to be damaged and is burning aft. there are two more cruisers in the background, but they are hidden by the smoke from the burning steamers; i can't see them any more." "where on earth have the japanese ships come from? i thought their whole fleet was stationed in the pacific. not one of their ships has ever come around cape horn or through the straits of magellan; if they had, our cruisers off the argentine coast would have seen them. and besides it would be utter madness to send just two battleships to the atlantic. but where else can they have come from?" "there's no use asking where they come from," cried wood excitedly, "the chief point is, they're there!" he gave up his place at the telescope to his comrade, thought for a moment, and then went to the telephone. his orders into town were short and decisive: "send all the tugs out to sea immediately. have them hoist the ambulance-flag and try to rescue the men of the transports." "and you, spencer," he continued, "take the cutter and hurry over to the transport-steamers in the roads and have them hoist the red cross flag and get to sea as quickly as possible to help in the work of rescue. that's the only thing left for us to do. i'll take command of the _president cleveland_ and you take charge of the swedish steamer _olsen_. and now let's get to work! signor alvares can play the rã´le of idle onlooker better than we can. our place is out there!" both officers rushed down the stairs and jumped into the cutter, which steamed off at full speed and took them to their ships. three-quarters of an hour later the tug mentioned in the beginning of the chapter appeared again at the entrance to the lagoon. several men could be seen in the stern holding a large white sheet upon which a man was painting a large red cross, and when the symbol of human love and assistance was finished, the sheet was hoisted at the flagstaff. two other tugs followed the example of the first one. but could the enemy have taken the three little tugs for torpedo-boats? it seemed so, for suddenly a shell, which touched the surface of the water twice, whizzed past and hit the first steamer amidships just below the funnel. and while the little vessel was still enveloped by the black smoke caused by the bursting of the shell, her bow and stern rose high out of the water and she sank immediately, torn in two. the thunder of the shot sounded far over the water and found an echo among the houses at corpus christi. "now they're even shooting at the ambulance flag," roared ben wood, who was rushing about on the deck of the _president cleveland_ and exhorting the crew to hoist the anchor as fast as possible so as to get out to the field of battle. but as the boiler-fires were low, this seemed to take an eternity. at last, about three o'clock in the afternoon, they succeeded in reaching a spot where a few hundred men were clinging to the floating wreckage. the rest had been attended to by the enemy's shots, the sea and the sharks. the enemy had wasted only a few shots on the transport-steamers, as a single well-aimed explosive shell was quite sufficient to entirely destroy one of the merchant-vessels, and the battle with the _olympia_ had lasted only a very short time, as the distance had evidently been too great to enable the american shots to reach the enemy. that was the end of the _olympia_, admiral dewey's flag-ship at cavite! the two smaller cruisers had been shot to pieces just as rapidly. the results of this unexpected setback were terribly disheartening, since all idea of a flank attack on the japanese positions in the south had to be abandoned. * * * * * but where had the two _dreadnoughts_ come from? they had not been seen by a living soul until they had appeared in the roads of corpus christi. they had risen from the sea for a few hours, like an incarnation of the ghostly rumors of flying squadrons of japanese cruisers, and they had disappeared from the field of action just as suddenly as they had come. if it had not been for the cruel reality of the destruction of the transport fleet, no one would soon have believed in the existence of these phantom ships. but the frenzied fear of the inhabitants of the coast-towns cannot well take the form of iron and steel, and nightmares, no matter how vivid, cannot produce ships whose shells sweep an american squadron off the face of the sea. it had been known for years that two monster ships of the _dreadnought_ type were being built for brazil in the english shipyards. no one knew where brazil was going to get the money to pay for the battleships or what the brazilian fleet wanted with such huge ships, but they continued to be built. it was generally supposed that england was building them as a sort of reserve for her own fleet; but once again was public opinion mistaken. only those who years before had raised a warning protest and been ridiculed for seeing ghosts, proved to be right. they had prophesied long ago that these ships were not intended for england, but for her ally, japan. the vessels were finished by the end of june and during the last days of the month the brazilian flag was openly hoisted on board the _san paulo_ and _minas geraes_, as they were called, the english shipbuilders having indignantly refused to sell them to the united states on the plea of feeling bound to observe strict neutrality. the two armored battleships started on their voyage across the atlantic with brazilian crews on board; but when they arrived at a spot in the wide ocean where no spectators were to be feared, they were met by six transport-steamers conveying the japanese crews for the two warships, no others than the thousand japs who had been landed at rio de janeiro as coolies for the brazilian coffee plantations in the summer of 1908. they had been followed in november by four hundred more. we were greatly puzzled at the time over this striking exception to the japanese political programme of concentrating streams of immigrants on our pacific coasts. without a word of warning a thousand japanese coolies were shipped to brazil, where they accepted starvation wages greatly to the disgust and indignation of the german and italian workmen--not to speak of the lazy brazilians themselves. this isolated advance of the japs into brazil struck observers as a dissipation of energy, but the government in tokio continued to carry out its plans, undisturbed by our expressions of astonishment. silently, but no less surely, the diligent hands of the coolies and the industrious spirit of japanese merchants in brazil created funds with which the two warships were paid at least in part. the public interpreted it as an act of commendable patriotism when, in june, the one thousand four hundred japs turned their backs on their new home, in order to defend their country's flag. they left rio in six transport-steamers. brazil thereupon sold her two battleships to a greek inn-keeper at santos, named petrokakos, and he turned them over to the merchant pietro alvares cortes di mendoza at bahia. this noble don was on board one of the transport-steamers with the japanese "volunteers," and on board this glasgow steamer, the _kirkwall_, the bill of sale was signed on july 14th, by the terms of which the "armed steamers" _kure_ and _sasebo_ passed into the possession of japan. the brazilian crews and some english engineers went on board the transports and were landed quietly two weeks later at various brazilian ports. these one thousand four hundred japanese plantation-laborers, traders, artisans, and engineers--in reality they were trained men belonging to the naval reserve--at once took over the management of the two mighty ships, and set out immediately in the direction of the west indies. at kingston (jamaica) a friendly steamer supplied them with the latest news of the departure of the american transports from cuba, and the latter met their fate, as we saw, in the roads of corpus christi. a terrible panic seized all our cities on the gulf of mexico and the atlantic coast, as the japanese monsters were heard from, now here, now there. for example, several shells exploded suddenly in the middle of the night in the harbor of galveston when not a warship had been observed in the neighborhood, and again several american merchant-vessels were sent to the bottom by the mysterious ships, which began constantly to assume more gigantic proportions in the reports of the sailors. at last a squadron was dispatched from newport news to seek and destroy the enemy, whereupon the phantom-ships disappeared as suddenly as they had come. not until admiral dayton ferreted out the japanese cruisers at the falkland islands did our sailors again set eyes on the two battleships. _chapter xviii_ the battle of the blue mountains it had been found expedient to send a few militia regiments to the front in may, and these regiments, together with what still remained of our regular army, made a brave stand against the japanese outposts in the mountains. insufficiently trained and poorly fed as they were, they nevertheless accomplished some excellent work under the guidance of efficient officers; but the continual engagements with the enemy soon thinned their ranks. these regiments got to know what it means to face a brave, trained enemy of over half a million soldiers with a small force of fifty thousand; they learned what it means to be always in the minority on the field of battle, and thus constant experience on the battle-field soon transformed these men into splendid soldiers. especially the rough-riders from the prairies and the mountains, from which the cavalry regiments were largely recruited, and the exceedingly useful indian and half-breed scouts, to whom all the tricks of earlier days seemed to return instinctively, kept the japanese outposts busy. their machine-guns, which were conveyed from place to place on the backs of horses, proved a very handy weapon. but their numbers were few, and although this sort of skirmishing might tire the enemy, it could not effectually break up his strong positions. ever on the track of the enemy, surprising their sentries and bivouacs, rushing upon the unsuspecting japs like a whirlwind and then pursuing them across scorching plains and through the dark, rocky defiles of the rockies, always avoiding large detachments and attacking their commissariat and ammunition columns from the rear, popping up here, there and everywhere on their indefatigable horses and disappearing with the speed of lightning, this is how those weather-beaten rough-riders in their torn uniforms kept up the war and stood faithful guard! brave fellows they were, ever ready to push on vigorously, even when the blood from their torn feet dyed the rocks a deep red! no matter how weary they were, the sound of the bugle never failed to endow their limbs with renewed energy, and they could be depended on to the last man to do whatever was required of them. it was on these endless marches, these reckless rides through rocky wastes and silent forests--to the accompaniment of the tramp of horses, the creaking of saddles and the rush and roar of rolling stones on lonely mountain-trails--that those strange, weird rhythms and melodies arose, which lived on long afterwards in the minds and hearts of the people. by the end of july affairs had reached the stage where it was possible for the northern army, commanded by general macarthur and consisting of one hundred and ten thousand men, to start for the blue mountains in the eastern part of oregon, and the pacific army of almost equal strength to set out for granger on the union pacific railway. the troops from cuba and florida, together with the three brigades stationed at new mexico, were to have advanced against the extreme right wing of the japanese army, but the grievous disaster at corpus christi had completely frustrated this plan. the german and irish volunteer regiments were formed into special brigades in the northern and pacific armies, whereas the other militia and volunteer regiments were attached to the various divisions promiscuously. general macarthur's corps was composed of three divisions, commanded by fowler, longworth and wood, respectively, each consisting of thirty thousand men. to these must be added one german and one irish brigade of three regiments each, about sixteen thousand men altogether, so that the northern army numbered about one hundred and ten thousand men and one hundred and forty guns. wood's division left the encampment near omaha the last week of july. they went by rail to monida, where the oregon short line crosses the boundary of montana and idaho. the same picture of utter confusion was presented at all the stops and all the stations on the way. soldiers of all arms, exasperated staff-officers, excited station officials, guns waiting for their horses and horses waiting for their guns, cavalry-men whose horses had been sent on the wrong train, freight-cars full of ammunition intended for no one knew whom, wagons loaded with camp equipment where food was wanted and with canned goods where forage was needed, long military trains blocking the line between stations, and engines being switched about aimlessly: perfect chaos reigned, and the shortness of the station platforms only added to the confusion and the waste of precious time. if it had not been for the americans' strongly developed sense of humor, which served as an antidote for all the anger and worry, this execrably handled army apparatus must have broken down altogether. but as it was, everybody made the best of the situation and thanked the lord that each revolution of the wheels brought the troops nearer to the enemy. the worst of it was that the trains had to stop at the stations time and time again in order to allow the empty trains returning from the front to pass. the 28th regiment of wisconsin volunteers, under command of colonel katterfeld, had at last, after what seemed to both officers and soldiers an endless journey, reached the foothills of the rocky mountains on the twenty-second of july via the northern pacific railway. a warm meal had been prepared for the regiment at a little station; then the roll was called once more and the three long trains transporting the regiment started off again. colonel katterfeld had soon won the affection of his men. he was a thin little man with grizzly hair and beard; a soldier of fortune, who had an eventful life behind him, having seen war on three continents. but he never spoke of his experiences. his commands were short and decisive, and each man felt instinctively that he was facing an able officer. he had given up his practice as a physician in milwaukee, and when, at the outbreak of the war, he had offered his services to the governor of wisconsin, the latter was at once convinced that here was a man upon whom he could rely, and it had not taken colonel katterfeld long to establish the correctness of the governor's judgment. he succeeded in being the first to raise the full complement of men for his regiment in wisconsin, and was therefore the first to leave for the front. the rush for officers' commissions was tremendous and the staff of officers was therefore excellent. one day an officer, named walter lange, presented himself at the recruiting office of the regiment. when the colonel heard the name, he glanced up from his writing, and looking inquiringly at the newcomer, asked in an off-hand fashion: "will you take command of the seventh company as captain?" "sir?" "yes, i know, you were at elandslaagte and afterwards at cronstadt, were you not?" "yes, sir." "we need some officers like you who can keep their men together when under fire. do you accept or not?" "certainly, but----" "we'll have no buts." and so the two became war-comrades for the second time, captain lange taking command of the seventh company. in thousands of ways the colonel gave proof of his practical experience; above all else he possessed the knack of putting the right people in the right place, and his just praise and blame aroused the ambition of officers and men to such an extent, that the 28th militia regiment soon became conspicuous for its excellence. but no one, not even his comrade from elandslaagte, succeeded in getting nearer to the colonel's heart. colonel katterfeld was a reticent man, whom no one dared bother with questions. in order to make the best possible use of what little room there was in the cars, the colonel had ordered two-hour watches to be kept. half the men slept on the seats and on blankets on the floor, while the other half had to stand until the order, relieve watch! rang out at the end of two hours. captain lange was standing at the window looking out at the moonlit landscape through which the train was rushing. wide valleys, rugged mountain peaks and steep, rocky bastions flew past. a whistle--a low rumble in the distance--the sound of approaching wheels--a flash of light on the track--and then the hot breath of the speeding engine sweeps across the captain's face, as a long row of black cars belonging to an empty train returning from the mountains tears past on its way to the encampments. and then on and on, over bridges and viaducts, where the rolling wheels awaken echo after echo, on into the narrow ravine, above the forest-crowned edges of which the quiet light of the stars twinkles and gleams in the purple sky of night. the captain was thinking of the colonel. he could not remember having met him on any of the south african battle-fields, and he had never heard the name of katterfeld. and yet he was positive he had seen those penetrating blue eyes beneath their bushy brows before. no one who had once seen it could ever forget that glance. but he racked his brain in vain. he looked at the time and found that the present watch still had a whole hour to run. the soldiers were leaning sleepily against the sides of the car, and loud snores came from the seats and the floor. suddenly a rifle fell to the ground with a clatter and several men woke up and swore at the noise. on went the train, and the monotonous melody of the rolling wheels gradually lulled the weary thoughts to sleep. captain lange thought of elandslaagte again and of colonel schiel and dinizulu, the kafir chief, and of the story the colonel had told, as they bivouacked round the fire, of the latter's royal anointment with castor-oil. they had made the fire with the covers of "mellin's food" boxes--mellin's food--a fine chap, mellin--mellin?-wasn't that the name of the captain with whom he had once sailed to baltimore? and daisy wilford had been on board with her two cats--cats-my, how he used to chase cats when he was a boy--it was a regular hunt-no, it hadn't been his fault, but walter wells'-but he had been caught and shut up in the attic, where his father gave him a chance to recollect that it is cruel to torment animals--but it really had been walter's fault, only he wasn't going to tell on him--and then, after he had been alone, he had knocked his head against the wall in his rage at the injustice of the world--always--knocked--his--head--against--the--wall--always--knocked---bang! went the captain's head against the window-frame and he woke up with a start and put his hand up to his aching forehead. where under the sun was he? ah, of course--there were the soldiers snoring all around him and tossing about in their sleep. he felt dead tired. had he been asleep? he looked at the time again--still fifty-five minutes to the next watch. the roaring and clattering of the wheels came to his ears on the fresh night air as he again looked out of the window. the train had just rounded a curve, and the other two trains could be seen coming on behind. now they were passing through a gorge between bright rocky banks, which gleamed like snow in the moonlight. whirling, foaming waters rushed down the mountain-side to join the dark river far below. then on into a dark snowshed where the hurrying beat of the revolving wheels resounded shrilly and produced a meaningless rhythm in his thoughts. kat--ter--feld, kat--ter--feld, kat--ter--feld, came the echo from the black beams of the shed. katter--feld, kat--ter--feld, kat--ter--feld, came the reply from the other side. then the rattling noise spreads over a wider area. there is a final echo and the beams of the shed disappear in the distance, and on they go in the silent night until the sergeant on duty pulls out his watch and awakens the sleepers with the unwelcome call, relieve the guard! two days later the regiment arrived at monida, where they had to leave the train. the line running from there to baker city was only to be used for the transportation of baggage, while the troops had to march the rest of the way--about two hundred and fifty miles. while the field-kitchen wagons were being used for the first time near monida, the men received new boots, for the two pairs of shoes which each had received in camp had turned out such marvels of american manufacture, that they were absolutely worn out in less than no time. it was thought wiser, in consideration of the long marches before the soldiers, to do away with shoes altogether and to provide strong boots in their stead. the hard leather of which the latter were made gave the soldiers no end of trouble, and the strange foot-gear caused a good deal of grumbling and discomfort. it was here that the experience of the old troopers was of value. the old devices of former campaigns were revived. an old, gray-bearded sergeant, who had been in the manchurian campaign against the japanese, advised his comrades to burn a piece of paper in their boots, as the hot air would enable them to slip the boots on much more easily. captain lange employed a more drastic method. he made his company march through a brook until the leather had become wet and soft, and as a result his men suffered least from sore feet on the march. during the ten days' march to baker city, officers and men became thoroughly acquainted with one another, and the many obstacles they had had to overcome in common cemented the regiments into real living organisms. and when, on the tenth of august, the different columns reached baker city, the northern army had firmly established its marching ability. the transport-service, too, had got over its first difficulties. from the front, where small detachments were continually skirmishing with the enemy, came the news that the japanese had retreated from baker city after pulling up the rails. on the evening of the eleventh of august the 28th militia regiment was bivouacking a few miles east of baker city. the outposts towards the enemy on the other side of the town were composed of a battalion of regulars. every stone still burned with the glowing heat of the day, which spread over the warm ground in trembling waves. the dust raised by the marching columns filled the air like brown smoke. the last glimmer of the august day died down on the western horizon in a crimson glow, and a pale gleam of light surrounded the dark silhouettes of the mountains, throwing bluish gray shadows on their sides. then all the colors died out and only the stars twinkled in the dark blue heavens. far away in the mountains the white flashes of signal-lanterns could occasionally be seen, telling of the nearness of the enemy. colonel katterfeld had ordered the officers of his regiment to come to his quarters in a farm-house lying near the road, and a captain of regulars was asked to report on the number of skirmishes which had taken place in the last few days and on the enemy's position. it was learned that marshal nogi had retreated from baker city and had withdrawn his troops to the blue mountains, taking up his central position at the point of the pass crossed by the railroad. it had not been possible to ascertain how far the wings of the japanese army extended to the north or south. it was certain that the enemy maintained strong lines of communication in both directions, but it was difficult to determine just how far their lines penetrated into the wooded slopes and valleys. * * * * * when the guard was relieved at 5 o'clock in the morning, one of the non-commissioned officers was struck by a curiously-shaped bright cloud the size of a hand, which hung like a ball over the mountains in the west in the early morning light. "it must be an air-ship!" said some one. "it evidently is; it's moving!" said the sergeant, and he at once gave orders to awaken captain lange. the captain, who had gone to sleep with the telephone beside him, jumped up and could not at first make out where the voice came from: "a japanese air-ship has been sighted over the mountains." he was up in a second and looking through his glasses! sure enough! it was an air-ship! its light-colored body hovered above the mountains in the pale-blue sky like a small silver-gray tube. "spread the report at once!" called the captain to the telephone operator; and bustle ensued on all sides. "what shall we do?" asked a lieutenant. "there's no use in shooting at it; by the time it gets within range we should shoot our own men." the air-ship came slowly nearer, and at last it was directly over the american line of outposts. "they can see our whole position!" said captain lange, "they can see all our arrangements from up there." boom! came the sound of a shot from the right. "that probably won't do much good." a few hundred yards below the air-ship a little flame burst out. the smoke from a shrapnel hung in the air for a moment like a ball of cotton, and then that, too, disappeared. boom! it went again. "we shall never reach it with shrapnel," said the lieutenant, "there's no use trying to beat it except on its own ground." "we have some newly constructed shrapnel," answered the captain, "the bullets of which are connected with spiral wires that tear the envelope of the balloon." now two shots went off at the same time. "those seem to be the balloon-guns," said the lieutenant. far below the air-ship hovered the clouds of two shrapnel shots. "they're getting our air-ship ready over there," cried the captain; "that's the only sensible thing to do." he pointed to a spot far off where a large, yellow motor-balloon could be seen hanging in the air like a large bubble. it went up in a slanting direction, and then, after describing several uncertain curves, steered straight for the enemy's balloon, which also began to rise at once. hundreds of thousands of eyes were following the course of those two little yellow dots up in the clear, early morning air, as the mountain edges began to be tipped with pink. the japanese air-ship had reached a position a little to one side of that occupied by the 28th regiment, when a tiny black speck was seen to leave it and to gain in size as it fell with increasing velocity. when it reached the ground a vivid red flame shot up. tremendous clouds of smoke followed, mixed with dark objects, and the distant mountains resounded with loud peals of thunder which died away amid the angry rumblings in the gorges. "that was a big bomb," said the captain, "and it seems to have done considerable mischief." now a little puff of white smoke issued from the american air-ship and ten seconds later an explosive body of some sort burst against a wall of rock. "if they keep on like that they'll only hit our own men," said the lieutenant. "the jap is ascending," cried some one, and again all the field-glasses were directed towards the two ships. now both were seen to rise. "the japs are throwing down everything they've got in the way of explosives," cried the captain. a whole row of black spots came rushing down and again came the thunder caused by the bursting of several bombs one after the other. the jap went up rapidly and then crossed the path of the american balloon about two hundred yards above it. suddenly the yellow envelope of the american air-ship burst into flames, lost its shape and shrunk together, and the ship fell rapidly among the valleys to the left, looking like the skeleton of an umbrella that has been out in a gale of wind. "all over," said the lieutenant with a sigh. "what a shame! we might just as well have done that ourselves." high up in the blue ether hovered the japanese air-ship; then it described a curve to the left, went straight ahead and then seemed suddenly to be swallowed up in the morning light. but soon it appeared again as a gray speck against the clear blue sky, and turning to the right once more, got bigger and bigger, came nearer, and finally steered back straight for the blue mountains. and then the thunder of cannon was heard from the right. * * * * * the assault on hilgard, the center of the japanese position in the broad valley of the blue mountains, had failed; two regiments had bled to death on the wire barricades outside the little town, and then all was over. it would be necessary to break up the enemy's position by flank movements from both sides before another attack on their center could be attempted. for two long days the artillery contest waged; then longworth's division on our right wing gained a little ground, and when the sun sank to rest behind the blue mountains on august 14th, we had reason to be satisfied with our day's work, for we had succeeded, at a great sacrifice, it is true, in wresting from the enemy several important positions on the sides of the mountains. towards evening six fresh batteries were sent forward to the captured positions, whence they were to push on towards the left wing of the japanese center the next morning. telephone messages to headquarters from the front reported the mountain-pass leading to walla walla free from the enemy, so that a transport of ammunition could be sent that way in the evening to replenish the sadly diminished store for the decisive battle to be fought the next day. while the newspapers all over the east were spreading the news of this first victory of the american arms, lieutenant esher was commanded by general longworth to carry the orders for the next day to the officer in charge of the tenth brigade, which had taken up its position before the mountain-pass on the right wing. for safety's sake general longworth had decided to send his orders by word of mouth, only giving instructions that the receipt of each message should be reported to headquarters by each detachment either by field-telegraph or telephone. lieutenant esher, on his motor-cycle, passed an endless chain of ammunition wagons on his way. for a long time he could make only slow progress on account of the numerous ambulances and other vehicles which the temporary field-hospitals were beginning to send back from the front; but after a time the road gradually became clear. the motor rattled on loudly through the silent night, which was disturbed only now and then by the echo of a shot. here and there along the road a sentry challenged the solitary traveler, who gave the password and puffed on. he had been informed that the quickest way to reach general lawrence would be by way of the narrow mountain-path that turned off to the left of the road, which had now become absolutely impassable again on account of innumerable transports. it was a dangerous ride, for any moment the bicycle might smash into some unseen obstacle and topple over into the abyss on the right, into which stones and loose earth were continually falling as the cycle pushed them to one side. lieutenant esher therefore got off his wheel and pushed it along. at the edge of a wood he stopped for a moment to study his map by the light of an electric pocket-lamp, when he heard a sharp call just above him. he could not quite make it out, but gave the password, and two shots rang out simultaneously close to him.--when lieutenant esher came to, he found a japanese army doctor bending over him. he had an uncertain feeling of having been carried over a rocky desert, and when he at last succeeded in collecting his thoughts, he came to the conclusion that he must have strayed from the path and run straight into the enemy's arms. he tried to raise his head to see where he was, but a violent pain in his shoulder forced him to lie still. the noises all around made it clear to him, however, that he was among japanese outposts. the doctor exchanged a few words with an officer who had just come up, but they spoke japanese and esher could not understand a word they said. "am i wounded?" he asked of the ambulance soldier beside him. the latter pointed to the doctor, who said, "you will soon be all right again." "where am i wounded?" "in the right thigh," answered the doctor, sitting down on a stone near esher. the doctor didn't seem to have much work to do. the stinging pain in his right shoulder robbed esher of his senses for a moment, but he soon came to again and remembered his orders to lawrence's brigade. thank god he had no written message on his person. as it was, the enemy had succeeded in capturing only a broken motor-cycle and a wounded, unimportant officer. the division staff would soon discover by telephoning that general lawrence had not received his orders and then repeat the message. esher managed to turn his head, and watched the japanese officer copying an order by the light of a bicycle lamp. the order had just been delivered by a mounted messenger, who sat immovable as a statue on his exhausted and panting steed. suddenly the japanese cavalryman seemed to grow enormous bats' wings, which spread out until they obscured the whole sky. the ghostly figure resembled a wild creature of fable, born of the weird fancy of a dorã©, or an avenging angel of the apocalypse. then the rider shrank together again and seemed to be bouncing up and down on the back of his horse like a little grinning monkey. the wounded man rubbed his eyes. what was that? was he awake or had he been dreaming? he asked the ambulance soldier for a drink, and the latter at once handed him some water in a tin cup. now a real japanese cavalryman was once more sitting up there on his horse, while the officer was still writing. then the officer's arm began to grow longer and longer, until at last he was writing on the sky with a fiery pencil: "in case there is no japanese attack on august 15th, the tenth brigade under general lawrence is to retain its present positions until the attack of our center----" good lord, what was that? yes, those were the very words of the message he was to have delivered to the tenth brigade, and not only were the words identical, but the hand-writing was the same, for the flaming letters had burnt themselves into his memory stroke for stroke and word for word and line for line. he tried to get up, but could not. the lieutenant kept on writing, while the horseman stood beside him. the horse was brushing off the flies with his tail. then the awful, maddening thought came to him: this must be the beginning of wound-fever. if it kept up and he began to get delirious, he might betray his orders for lawrence's brigade to the enemy. and he saw hundreds of japanese standing around him, all stretching their necks to catch his words, and more and more came from over the mountain ridges like a swarm of ants, and they all wanted to hear the secrets that he was trying to keep in his aching head, while the officer waved his note-book over him like a fluttering flag. then the doctor seized him, and arm in arm they hopped to and fro--to and fro--to and fro. yes, he was certainly delirious. lieutenant esher thought of his home. he saw his little house on 148th street. he came home from business, he walked through the garden, hung up his coat on the rack, opened the door, his young wife welcomed him, she nodded to him--eveline--groaned the lieutenant, and then his thoughts turned to god. then the writing officer again, the rider on his horse, and the dark night-sky, in which the stars were dancing like silver gnats. collecting his whole willpower, he succeeded in getting into a sitting posture, and the japanese soldier attending him awoke out of a doze only to find his revolver in the american's hands. but it was too late, for a shot resounded at the same moment. lieutenant esher had brought his weary brain to rest; his head toppled over and landed hard on the rocky ground. thus died a real hero, and those were hard times when men of stout heart and iron courage were sorely needed. * * * * * opposite hilgard, the center of the enemy's position in the blue mountains, trenches had been thrown up, and the 28th militia regiment had occupied them in the night of august 13th-14th. the japanese were apparently not aware of their presence, as the regiment had taken no part in the fighting on the fourteenth. on the evening of the same day, the 32d regiment was pushed forward to the same position, while the searchlights were playing over the plain and on the mountain sides, and dazzling the eyes of the sentries who were keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy from various ambushes. and whenever the beam of light landed on dark shadows, which jumped quickly aside, flames shot out on the opposite side and flashes of fire from bursting shrapnel drew trembling streaks across the sky and lighted up the immediate neighborhood. the wires which connected the headquarters with all the sentries and outposts vibrated perpetually with the thoughts and commands of a single individual, who managed this whole apparatus from a little schoolroom in baker city far behind the front, allowing himself scarcely a moment for much-needed night-rest. the 28th regiment had thrown up trenches the height of a man in the hard ground opposite the little town of hilgard on the night of august 13th-14th. now a company of pioneers was busy widening them and building stands for the troops where they would be safe from splinters, for it was highly probable that the assault on hilgard would be undertaken from here on the following evening. the covering for these stands was made of thick boards and planks taken from a saw-mill near by, and over these the dug up earth was spread. the enemy's attention seemed to be directed elsewhere, for the reflections from the searchlights were continually crossing one another over to the right. in this direction music could be distinctly heard coming from longworth's division--a lively march waking the echoes of the night with its clear full tones. music? those who were swearing at the stupidity of allowing the band to play in the very face of the enemy, did not know that the troops over there on their way to quarters had marched over forty miles that day, and that only the inspiring power of music could help the stumbling men to gather their remaining strength and press forward. the cheerful melody of the old scotch song, "gin a body, meet a body, comin' thro' the rye," rang out in common time across the silent battle-field, fifes squeaking and drums rolling, while the silent searchlights continued flashing in the dark sky. "gin a body, meet a body, comin' thro' the rye." meanwhile the picks and spades were kept going in the trenches of the 28th regiment. the earth and stones flew with a rattle over the top of the breastworks, making them stronger and stronger, pioneers and infantry working side by side in the dark, hollow space. the battalion on guard kept strict watch in the direction of the enemy, continually expecting to see creeping figures suddenly pop up out of the darkness. "didn't you hear something, captain?" asked one of the men on watch. "no, where?" a curious purring sound like the whizzing of a small dynamo became audible. some one gave a low whistle, and the pioneers stopped work, and leaned on their spades. all the men listened intently, but no one could make out whence the strange sound came. suddenly some one spoke quite loudly and another voice replied. up in the air--that's where it was! a black shadow swept across the sky. "an air-ship!" cried one of the men in the trench, and sure enough the whirring of the screw of a motor balloon could be distinctly heard. bang--bang--bang, went a few shots into the air. "stop the fire!" called a commanding voice from above. "stop! it is our own balloon!" "no, it's a japanese one!" bang--bang, it went again. from the rear came the deep bass of a big gun and close by sounded the sharp bang--bang--bang of a little balloon-gun in the second trench. there was a burst of flame up in the air, followed by a hail of metal splinters. "cut that out. you're shooting at us!" roared captain lange across to the battery. "stop firing!" came a quick order from there. a few cannon shots were heard coming from the rear. suddenly a bright light appeared up in the air and a white magnesium cluster descended slowly, lighting up all the trenches in a sudden blaze which made the pioneers look like ghosts peering over the black brink of the pits. then the light went out, and the eyes trying in vain to pierce the darkness saw nothing but glittering fiery red circles. the japanese batteries on the other side opened fire. the air-ship had entirely disappeared, and no one knew whether the uncanny night-bird had been friend or foe. * * * * * the assault on hilgard was to be begun by the 28th and 32d volunteers: general macarthur had originally planned to have the attempt made at dawn on august 15th; but as one brigade of wood's division had not yet arrived, he postponed the attack for twenty-four hours, to the sixteenth of august, while the fifteenth was to be taken up with heavy firing on the enemy's position, which seemed to have been somewhat weakened. as soon, therefore, as day broke, the americans opened fire, and all the time that almost sixty american guns were bombarding hilgard and sending shell after shell over the town, and the white flakes of cotton from the bursting shrapnels hovered over the houses and almost obscured the view of the mountains and the shells tore up the ground, sowing iron seed in the furrows, the 28th and 32d volunteers lay in the trenches without firing a single shot. the commander of the 16th brigade, to which the two regiments belonged, was in the first trench during the morning, and, in company with colonel katterfeld, inspected the results of the bombardment through his telescope, which had been set up in the trench. a shrapnel had just destroyed the top of the copper church tower, which the japanese were using as a lookout. although the american shells had already created a great deal of havoc in hilgard, the walls of the houses offered considerable resistance to the hail of bullets from the shrapnels. the brigadier-general therefore sent orders to the battery stationed behind and to the right of the trenches to shell the houses on both sides of the street leading into hilgard. "shell the houses on both sides of the street leading into hilgard! shell the houses on both sides of the street leading into hilgard--shell--hilgard," was the command which was passed along from mouth to mouth through the trenches, until it reached the battery amid the roar of battle. "--shells--we have no shells--shrapnels--the battery has no shells, only shrapnels--" came back the answer after a while. "no shells, i might have known it, only those everlasting shrapnels. how on earth can i shoot a town to pieces with shrapnel!" growled the brigadier-general, going into the protected stand where the telephone had been set up. "send two hundred shells immediately by automobile from union to the 8th battery volunteers stationed before hilgard," ordered the general through the telephone-"what, there aren't any shells at union? the last have been forwarded to longworth's division?-but i must have at least a hundred; have them brought back at once from the right wing-no automobile, either?" it was a wonder that the telephone didn't burst with righteous indignation at the vigorous curses the brigadier-general roared into it. but unfortunately the statement made at union, where the field railway built from monida for the transport service terminated, was correct. just as in most european armies, the number of shells provided was out of all proportion to the shrapnel, and the supply of shells was consequently low at all times. besides, most of the ammunition-motors had been put out of commission early in the game. the advantage of higher speed possessed by the automobiles was more than offset by their greater conspicuousness the moment they came within range of the enemy's guns. the clouds of dust which they threw up at once showed the enemy in which direction they were going, and as they were obliged to keep to the main road, the japanese had only to make a target of the highway and do a little figuring to make short work of these modern vehicles. the great number of wrecked motor cars strewn along the road proved rather conclusively that the horse has not yet outlived its usefulness in modern warfare. the officers, including the generals, had willingly dispensed with such a dangerous mode of locomotion after the first fatal experiences, for the staring fiery eyes of the motor betrayed its whereabouts by night, and the clouds of dust betrayed it by day. the moment an auto came puffing along, the enemy's shots began to fall to the right and left of it, and it was only natural, therefore, that the horse came into its own again, both because the rider was not bound to the main road and because he did not offer such a conspicuous target for the enemy's shots. towards noon the japanese batteries entrenched before hilgard began bombarding the 28th regiment with shrapnel. colonel katterfeld therefore ordered half his men to seek protection under the stands. the howling and crashing of the bursting shrapnel of course had its effect on those troops who were here under fire for the first time. but the shrapnel bullets rained on the wooden roofs without being able to penetrate them, and after half an hour this fact imbued the men in their retreats with a certain feeling of security. the enemy soon stopped this ineffective fire from his field-guns, however, and on the basis of careful observations made from a captive balloon behind hilgard, the japanese began using explosive shells in place of the shrapnel. the very first shots produced terrible devastation. the long planks were tossed about like matches in the smoke of the bursting shimose shells, and the slaughter when one of them landed right in the midst of the closely packed men in one of these subterranean mole-holes was absolutely indescribable. back into the trenches, therefore! but the enemy had observed this change of position from his balloon, and the shots began to rain unceasingly into the trenches. and so perfect was the japanese marksmanship that the position of the long line of trenches could easily be recognized by the parallel line of little white clouds of smoke up above them. there was nothing more to be concealed, and accordingly colonel katterfeld ordered his regiment to open fire on hilgard and on the hostile artillery entrenched before the town. captain lange lay with his nose pressed against the breastworks, carefully observing the effect of the fire through his field glasses. although this was not his first campaign, he had nevertheless had some trouble in ridding himself of that miserable feeling with which every novice has to contend, the feeling that every single hostile gun and cannon is pointed straight at him. but the moment the first men of his company fell and he was obliged to arrange for the removal of the wounded to the rear, his self-possession returned at once. it was his bounden duty, moreover, to set an example of cool-headed courage to his men, so he calmly and with some fuss lighted a cigarette, yet in spite of the apparent indifference with which he puffed at it, it moved up and down rather suspiciously between his lips. a volunteer by the name of singley, the war-correspondent of the _new york herald_, worked with much greater equanimity, but then he had been through five battles before he gained permission to join the 7th company for the purpose of making pencil sketches and taking photographs of the incidents of the battle. he now arranged a regular rest for his kodak in the breastwork of the trench and stooped down behind the apparatus, which was directed towards the six japanese guns to the left in front of the houses at hilgard, the position of which could only be recognized by the clouds of smoke which ascended after each shot was fired. just then he heard the order being passed along to the 8th battery to give these guns a broadside of shrapnel, and as it would probably take a few minutes before this order could be carried out, singley pulled out his note-book and glanced over the entries made during the last hour: no. 843. japanese shell bursts through a plank covering. " 844. trench manned afresh. " 845. captain lange smoking while under fire. " 846. japanese shrapnels indicate the line of our trenches in the air. then he put his note-book down beside him and crept under his kodak again, carefully fixing the object-glass on the battery opposite. now then! a streak of solid lightning flashed in front of the second gun, and a black funnel of smoke shot up. click! no. 847. firing at the japanese battery before hilgard. singley exchanged the film for a new one, and then looked about for another subject for his camera. he took off his cap and peeped carefully over the edge of the trench. could he be mistaken? he saw a little black speck making straight for the spot where he was. "a shell" rushed through his thoughts like a flash, and he threw himself flat on the bottom of the trench. with a whirring noise the heavy shell struck the back wall of the trench. "an explosive shell!" shouted captain lange, "everybody down!" the air shook with a tremendous detonation; sand and stones flew all around, and the suffocating powder-gas took everybody's breath away; but gradually the soldiers began to recognize one another through the dust and smoke, thankful at finding themselves uninjured. "captain!" called a weak voice from the bottom of the trench, "captain lange, i'm wounded." the captain bent down to assist the war-correspondent, who was almost buried under a pile of earth. "oh, my legs," groaned singley. two soldiers took hold of him and placed him with his back against the wall of earth. the lower part of both his thighs had been smashed by pieces from the shell. "will you please do me a last service?" he asked of captain lange. "of course, singley, what is it?" "please take my kodak!" singley himself arranged the exposure and handed the camera to the captain, saying: "there, it is set at one twentieth of a second. now please take my picture-thank you, that's all right! and now you can have me removed to the hospital!" before the men came to fetch him, singley managed to add to his list: no. 848. our war-correspondent, singley, mortally wounded by a japanese shell. hail columbia! then he closed his book and put it in his breast pocket. five minutes later two ambulance men carried him off to have his wounds attended to, and in the evening he was conveyed to the hospital. a week later captain lange's snapshot of the war-correspondent was paraded in the _new york herald_ as the dramatic close of singley's journalistic career. in his way he, too, had been a hero. he died in the hospital at salubria. he could claim the credit of having made the war plain to those at home. or was that not the war after all? were the black shadows on the photographic plate anything more than what is left of a flower after the botanist has pressed the faded semblance of its former self between the leaves of his collection? certainly not much more. no, that is not war. just a bursting--silently bursting shell, the scattering of a company--that is not war. thousands of bursting shells, the howls of the whizzing bullets, the constant nerve-racking crashing and roaring overhead, the deafening cracking of splitting iron everywhere--that is war. and accompanying it all the hopeless sensation that this will never, never stop, that it will go on like this forever, until one's thoughts are dulled by some terrible, cruel, incomprehensible, demoralizing force. those bounding puffs of smoke everywhere on the ground, rifle shots which have been aimed too short and every one of which-that abominable sharp singing as of a swarm of mosquitoes, buzz, buzz, like the buzzing of angry hornets continually knocking their heads against a window-pane. bang! that hit a stone. bang! two inches nearer, then--"aim carefully, fire slowly!" calls the lieutenant in a hoarse, dry voice. you aim carefully and fire slowly and reload. buzz-and then you fume with a fierce uncontrollable rage because you must aim carefully and fire slowly. and the whole space in front of the trenches is covered with infantry bullets glittering in the sunlight. will it ever stop? never! a day like that has a hundred hours--two hundred. and if you had been there all by yourself, you would never have dreamed of shooting over the edge of the trenches--you would most probably have been crouching down in the pit. but as you happen not to be alone, this can't be done. will the enemy's ammunition never give out? it's awful the way he keeps on shooting. and that terrible thirst! your throat is parched and your teeth feel blunt from grinding the grains of sand which fly into your face whenever an impudent little puff of smoke jumps up directly in front of you. sssst. the mosquitoes keep on singing, and the bees buzz perpetually. those dogs over there, those wretches, those-buzz, buzz, buzz--it never stops, never. over there to the right somebody cracks a joke and several soldiers laugh. "aim carefully, fire slowly!" sounds the warning voice of the lieutenant. and it's all done on an empty stomach--a perfectly empty stomach. just as the field-kitchen wagon had arrived this morning, a shell had exploded in the road and it was all over with the kitchen-wagon. how long ago that seemed! and the bees keep on humming. bang! that hit the sergeant right in the middle of the forehead. is this never going to stop? never? you chew sand, you breathe sand, burning dry sand, which passes through your intestines like fire. and then that horrible, faint, sickening feeling in the stomach when you feel the ambulance men creeping up behind to take away another one of your comrades! how terrible he looks, how he screams! you are quite incensed to think that anybody can yell like that! what a fool! "aim carefully, fire slowly," warns the lieutenant. bouncing puffs of smoke again! and sand in your mouth and fire in your intestines. you think continually of water, beautiful, clear, ice-cold water, never-ending streams of water-a roaring, howling and crashing overhead, the clatter of splinters, a sharp pain in your brain and a horrible feeling in your stomach and all the time it goes buzz, buzz, buzz--ssst--ssst--buzz, buzz, buzz---that is war, not the pictures that people see at home, all those lucky people who have lots of water, who can go where they like and are not forced to stay where the bees keep up a continual buzz, buzz, buzz---colonel katterfeld was kneeling on the ground examining the map of hilgard and marking several positions with a pencil. he could overhear the conversation of the soldiers under the board-covering next to his own. "do you think all this is on account of the philippines?" asked one. "the philippines? not much. it would have come sooner or later anyhow. the japs want the whole pacific to themselves. we wouldn't be here if it were only for the philippines." "we wouldn't? it's on account of imperialism, then, is it?" "don't talk foolish. we know very well what the japs want, imperialism or no imperialism." "well, why are the papers always talking so much about imperialism?" "they write from their own standpoint. imperialism simply means that we wish to rule wherever the stars and stripes are waving." the colonel peeped into the adjacent cover. it was sergeant benting who was speaking. "right you are, benting," said the colonel, "imperialism is the desire for power. imperialism means looking at the world from a great altitude. and the nation which is without it will never inherit the earth." then the colonel gave the order to fire at a house on the right side of the street, in which a bursting shrapnel had just effected a breach and out of which a detachment of infantry was seen to run. once again, just before twilight, the battle burst out on both sides with tremendous fury. the whole valley was hidden in clouds of smoke and dust, and flashes of fire and puffs of smoke flew up from the ground on all sides. then evening came and, bit by bit, it grew more quiet as one battery after the other ceased firing. the shrill whistle of an engine came from the mountain-pass. and now, from far away, the japanese bugle-call sounded through the silent starry night and was echoed softly by the mountain-sides, warming the hearts of all who heard it: [line of music] _chapter xix_ the assault on hilgard it was three o'clock in the morning. only from the left wing of fowler's division was the booming of cannon occasionally heard. from the mountain-pass above came the noise of passing trains, the clash of colliding cars and the dull rumble of wheels. on the right all was still. a low whistle went through all the trenches! and then the regiments intended for the assault on hilgard crept slowly and carefully out of the long furrows. the front ranks carried mattresses, straw-bags, planks and sacks of earth to bridge the barbed wire barricades in case they should not succeed in chopping down the posts to which the wires were fastened. a few american batteries behind la grande began firing. the other side continued silent. suddenly two red rockets rose quickly one after the other on the right near the mountain, and they were followed directly by two blue ones; they went out noiselessly high up in the air. was it a signal of friend or foe? the regiments came to a halt for a moment, but nothing further happened, except that the two searchlights beyond hilgard kept their eyes fixed on the spot where the rockets had ascended. a dog barked in the town, but was choked off in the middle of a howl. then death-like stillness reigned in front once more, but several cannon thundered in the rear and a few isolated shots rang out from the wooded valleys on the left. the front ranks had reached the wire barricades. suddenly a sharp cry of pain broke the silence and red flames shot forth from the ground, lighting up the posts and the network of wires. several soldiers were seen to be caught in the wires, which were apparently charged with electricity. now was the time! the pioneers provided with rubber gloves to protect them against the charged wires went at it with a vengeance, and were soon hacking away with their axes. loud curses and cries of pain were heard here and there. "shut up, you cowards!" yelled some one in a subdued voice. the black silhouettes of the men, who were tossing long boards and bags of earth on top of the wires, stood out sharply against the light of the explosives with which the americans were attempting to loosen the supporting posts. [illustration: diagram of the battle of hilgard] the light of the dancing flames fell on swaying, leaping figures. shots rang out constantly, millions of sparks flew all around and through all the din could be distinguished the short, sharp rattatattatt--rrrrr--rattatattatt of the machine-guns, sounding more like cobble-stones being emptied out of a cart than anything else. hell had meanwhile broken loose on the other side. the attacking regiments were exposed to a perfectly terrific rifle-fire from the houses and streets of hilgard, which was accompanied by a destructive cannonade. but on they went! over the corpses of the slain who had breathed their last jammed in among the deadly wires, over the swaying planks and through the gaps made by the exploding bombs, the battalions swept on with loud shouts of hurrah! what mattered it that the machine-guns, which they had brought along, were sometimes dragged through furrows of blood! on they went! the field-batteries to the right and left of the first houses and two of the enemy's machine-guns just in front of the barricade were in the hands of the 28th regiment, and now they advanced against the houses themselves. but it was utterly impossible to get a foot further. a whole battalion was sacrificed before the high barricade at the entrance to the main street, but still they went on! there were no storming-ladders, and after all they were hardly needed, for human pyramids were speedily run up against the walls, and up these soldiers scrambled, assisted from below, until at last they were high enough to shoot into the loop-holes. others aided in the work with axes and the butt-ends of their guns, and before long the americans had gained possession of several houses. all of the enemy's searchlights concentrated their glare on the town, so that the fighting was done in a brilliant light. the white top of the church-tower seemed strangely near, while reddish-gold reflections played on the torn copper roof. but no reã«nforcements came from the rear, and it was no wonder, for a furious fire from the enemy's artillery and machine-guns swept across the space in front of hilgard, raining bullets and balls upon the trenches, out of which new battalions climbed again and again; the shots plowed up the land into glowing furrows and created an impassable fire-zone between the trenches and the nearest houses of hilgard, whence shrieking bugle-calls begged for immediate assistance. if the enemy should succeed in throwing reã«nforcements into hilgard, he would have no difficulty in dislodging the americans from the positions they had won. suddenly an attack from the wooded valley on the left at last brought relief. it was the irish brigade under general o'brien that came on like a whirlwind, quite unexpectedly, and joined in the fight. this attack threw back the advancing japanese reã«nforcements. the regiments could be seen retreating in the pale light of dawn, and then they were seen to form in line on the rising ground behind. between them and the rear of the town lay the irish sharpshooters, who went forward by leaps and bounds. but the furious artillery fire from the enemy brought the fighting temporarily to a stand-still. wild confusion reigned on all sides as dawn broke. the 17th japanese infantry regiment was still battling with the two american regiments for the possession of the front houses of hilgard, and the two japanese battalions in the rear of the town directed their fire on the compact columns of the third irish regiment, which had not yet been formed into line for shooting. it was a critical moment, and everything depended upon the rapidity with which the japanese resistance in hilgard could be overcome. in the houses and on the illuminated streets a furious hand-to-hand encounter was going on, the men rushing at one another with bayonets and the butt-ends of their guns. no effort was made to keep the men or regiments together. where the weapons had been destroyed or lost in the mad scramble, the soldiers fought like gorillas, tearing one another's flesh with teeth and nails. on all sides houses were on fire, and the falling beams and walls, the bursting flames, the showers of descending sparks, and the bursting shrapnels killing friend and foe alike, created an indescribable jumble. at last reã«nforcements arrived in the shape of a regiment which had lost more than half its men in passing through the fire-zone in front of hilgard. "where is colonel johnson?" "over there, on the other side of the street." "a prisoner?" asked some one. "i guess not, they're not making prisoners and we aren't either." slowly it grew lighter. the irish in the rear of hilgard had hard work to maintain their position. to dislodge the enemy, it was absolutely necessary to turn his flank; otherwise there was no chance of advancing further. each line of sharpshooters that leaped forward was partially mowed down by the terrible machine-guns. the enemy didn't budge an inch. general o'brien had already dispatched five orderlies to fowler's division with instructions to attack the enemy from the left, but all five had been shot down the moment they left their cover. something had to be done at once, or the entire brigade would be destroyed. suddenly corporal freeman, who had crept up along the ground, appeared beside the general. "here, sir," he cried, his face beaming, "here's the connection for you." and he shoved a telephone apparatus towards o'brien. he had dragged the connecting wire behind him through the entire fire-zone. "you must be a wizard!" cried the general, and then seizing the instrument he called: "throw all the troops you can possibly get hold of against the right wing of the japanese in front of us! the enemy's position is weakened, but we can't attack the ridge in the front from here." several minutes passed--minutes pregnant with destruction. the bursting shells thinned the ranks terribly, while the infantry fire continued to sweep along the ground, but worst of all, the ammunition of the irish regiments was getting low. several batteries were planted between the ruins of the houses in hilgard, but even then the enemy did not budge. then came a great rush from the left: cavalry, indian scouts, regular cavalry, cavalry militia, volunteer regiments, and behind them all the machine-guns and the field-artillery--a perfect avalanche of human beings and horses wrapped in thick clouds of smoke from which showers of sparks descended. that was our salvation. a wild shout of joy from the irishmen rose above the din of battle, and after that there was no restraining them. the front ranks of the cavalry were mown down like sheaves of corn by the bullets of the enemy's machine-guns; but that made no difference, on they went, on, ever on! whole regiments were cut to pieces. hundreds of saddles were emptied, but the riders came on just the same, and even before they had reached the irish sharpshooters, every man who wore the green was headed for the ridge almost without waiting for the word of command! it was an assault the enemy could not possibly repulse. the irish and the cavalry were right among their firing lines; a battery galloped up into the hostile ranks, crushing dead and wounded beneath its wheels. bloody shreds of flesh were sticking to the gun-barrels, and torn limbs and even whole bodies were whirled round and round in the spokes of the wheels. shrill bugle-calls resounded. the horses were wheeled around and the battery unlimbered. a hostile shell suddenly struck the shaft of the gun-carriage, and in a second the horses were a bloody mass of legs wildly beating the air and of writhing, groaning bodies. but the gun was in position. and now out with the ammunition! bang! went the first shot, which had been in the barrel, and then everybody lent a hand; an indian scout, bleeding at the shoulder, and an engineer helped pass the shells, while a mortally wounded gunner shoved the cartridge into the barrel. "aim up there to the left, near the two detached pine-trees, six hundred yards," roared a lieutenant, whose blood-covered shirt could be seen beneath his open uniform. "the two pines to the left," answered the gunner, lying across the bracket-trail. bang! off went the shot, and a line of japanese sharpshooters rose like a flock of quail. more cannon, more machine-guns, more ammunition-carts rushed up in mad haste; the batteries kept up a continual fire. the battle moved on farther to the front. the houses of hilgard were all in flames; only the white top of the church-tower still projected above the ruins. on the right of the town one column after another marched past to the strains of regimental music. an orderly galloped past, and some one called out to him: "how are things in front?" "fine, fine, we're winning!" came the answer, which was greeted with jubilant cheers. gradually the enemy's shots became scarcer as the battle advanced up the slopes. engineers were hard at work getting the streets of hilgard cleared so as to save the troops the detour round the outside of the town. the burning houses were blown up with dynamite, and a temporary hospital was established near the city, to which the wounded were brought from all parts of the battle-field. by noon hilgard was sufficiently cleared to allow the 36th militia regiment (nebraska) to pass through. on both sides of the streets were smoking ruins filled with dead and dying and charred remains. the steps of the battalion sounded strangely hollow as the first company turned into the square where the white church still stood almost intact in the midst of the ruins. a wounded soldier was calling loudly for water. what was that? were the bells tolling? the soldiers involuntarily softened their step when they heard it. yes, the bells were tolling, slowly at first and low, but then the peals rang out louder and louder until a great volume of sound burst through the little windows in the white church-spire. ding--dong, ding--dong---the flag-bearer of the first company lowered his flag and the soldiers marched past in silence. the captain rode over to the entrance to the tower and looked in. a little boy, about ten years old, was tugging and straining at the heavy bell-ropes. there seemed to be a number of wounded soldiers in the church, as loud groans could be heard through the half-open door. the captain looked about him in astonishment. near a post he saw two japanese, presenting a fearful spectacle in the convulsions of death. close to them lay an american foot-soldier, writhing with pain from a bayonet-wound in the abdomen; and over in the farther corner he could distinguish a woman, dressed in black, lying on a ragged mattress. ding--dong, ding--dong, rang the bells up above, but the noise of battle did not penetrate here. "what are you doing, sonny?" asked the captain. "i'm ringing the bells for mother," said the little fellow. "for mother?" "general," called a weak voice from the corner, "please let the boy alone. i want to hear our bells just once more before i die." "what's the matter, are you wounded?" asked the captain. "i feel that i'm dying," was the answer; "a bullet has entered my lung; i think it's the lung." "i'll send you a doctor," said the captain, "although we----" "don't bother, general; it wouldn't do any good." "how did you get here?" "my husband," came the answer in a weak voice, "is lying across the street in our burning home. he was the minister here in hilgard. these last days have been fearful, general; you have no idea how fearful. first they shot my husband, and then our little elly was killed by a piece of shell when i was running across the street to the church with her and the boy." she paused a moment, and then continued with growing agitation: "it's enough to make one lose faith in the wisdom of the lord to see this butchery--all the heartrending sorrow that's created in the world when men begin to murder one another like this. you don't realize it in the midst of the battle, but here-and as god has seen fit to spare his church in the battle, i asked the boy to ring the bells once more, for i thought it might be a comfort to some of those dying out there to hear a voice from above proclaiming peace after these awful days. let him keep on ringing, general, won't you?" "can i help you in any way?" asked the captain. "no, only i should like some water." the captain knelt down by the side of the poor, deserted woman and handed her his flask. she drank greedily, and then thanked him and began to sob softly. "what will become of my boy? my poor husband----" "my good woman," said the captain, forcing himself to speak bluntly, "it's not a question of this boy, or of a single individual who has fallen in battle, but rather of a great people which has just defeated the enemy. the widows and orphans will be taken care of by the survivors, now that the lord has given us the victory. those who are lying outside the town and those here have surrendered their lives for their country, and the country will not forget them." ding--dong, ding--dong, went the bells as the captain left the church, deeply affected. ding--dong, ding--dong. thousands out on the battle-field in the throes of death, and the many unfortunates lying with broken limbs in the burning houses and watching the flames creeping towards them, heard that last call from on high, like a call from god, who seemed to have turned away from our people. and then evening came, the evening of the sixteenth of august, which is recorded with bloody letters on the pages of our country's history. soon all the reserves were engaged in battle. our splendid regiments could not be checked, so eager were they to push forward, and they succeeded in storming one of the enemy's positions after the other along the mountain-side. at last the enemy began to retreat, and the thunder of the cannon was again and again drowned in the frenzied cheers. general macarthur was continually receiving at his headquarters reports of fresh victories in the front and on both wings. the telegraph wires had long ago spread the glad tidings over the length and breadth of the land. great joy reigned in every town, the stars and stripes waved proudly from all the houses, and the people's hearts were fluttering with exultation. general macarthur, whose headquarters were located near hilgard, was waiting for news of fowler's division, which had orders to advance on the pass through the valleys on the left wing. they were to try and outflank the enemy's right wing, but word was sent that they had met with unexpected resistance. it appeared, therefore, that the enemy had not yet begun to retreat at that point. on the other hand, things were going better in the center. but what was the good of this reckless advance, of this bold rush, which built bridges of human bodies across the enemy's trenches and formed living ladders composed of whole companies before the enemy's earthworks--what was the good of all this heroic courage in the face of marshal nogi's relentless calculations? he was overjoyed to see regiment after regiment storm towards him, while from his tent he gave directions for the sharp tongs of the japanese flanks to close in the rear of general macarthur's army. about seven o'clock in the evening the surprising news came from the right wing that the batteries which had begun firing on the enemy's lines retreating along the railway line were suddenly being shelled from the rear, and begged for reã«nforcements. but there were no reserves left; the last battalion, the last man had been pushed to the front! how did the enemy manage to outflank us? imploringly, eagerly, the telephone begged for reã«nforcements, for batteries, for machine-guns, for ammunition. the transport section of the army service corps had been exhausted long ago, and all the ammunition we had was in front, while a wide chasm yawned between the fighting troops and the depots far away in the blue distance. general macarthur had nothing left to send. and now from indian valley came the request for more machine-guns, but there wasn't one left. general macarthur telegraphed to union, the terminus of the field-railway, but the answer came that no assistance could be given for several hours, as the roadbed had first to be repaired. from toll gate, too, came stormy demands for more ammunition--all in vain. and then, at eight o'clock, when the sun had sunk like a ball of fire in the west, and the blue mountains, above which hovered puffs of smoke from the bursting shrapnel, were bathed in the golden evening light and the valley became gradually veiled in darkness, the crushing news came from baker city that large, compact bodies of japanese troops had been seen on the stretch of broken-down railroad near sumpter. soon afterwards union reported the interruption of railway communication with the rear and an attack with machine-guns by japanese dismounted cavalry, while wood's division in the front continued to report the capture of japanese positions. with relentless accuracy the arms of the gigantic tongs with which nogi threatened to surround the entire army of the north began to close. the american troops attacking both flanks had not noticed the japanese reserves, which had been held concealed in the depressions and shallow valleys under cover of the woods. two miles more to the right and left, and our cavalry would have come upon the steel teeth of the huge tongs, but there was the rub: they hadn't gone far enough. about ten o'clock in the evening baker city, which was in flames, was stormed by the japanese, indian valley having already fallen into their hands. the attack in front, high up in the mountains, began to waver, then to stop; a few captured positions had to be abandoned, and down in the valley near la grande, whence the field-hospitals were being removed to the rear, the ambulances and red cross transports encountered the troops streaming back from baker city. one retreating force caught up with the other, and then night came--that terrible night of destruction. again the cannon thundered across the valley, again the machine-guns joined in the tumult, while the infantry fire surged to and fro. you may be able to urge an exhausted or famished troop on to a final assault, you may even gain the victory with their last vestige of energy, their last bit of strength, provided you can inspire them with sufficient enthusiasm; but it is impossible to save a lost cause with troops who have been hunted up and down for twenty-four hours and whose nerves are positively blunt from the strain of the prolonged battle. the exhausted regiments went back, back into the basin of the blue mountains, into a flaming pit that hid death and destruction in its midst. the headquarters, too, had to be moved back. general macarthur lost his way in the darkness, and, accompanied by a single officer, rode across the bloody battle-field right through the enemy's line of fire. he soon ran across a cavalry brigade belonging to longworth's division, and at once placed himself at its head and led an onslaught on a japanese regiment. a wild _mãªlã©e_ ensued in the darkness, and, although only a few hundred riders remained in their saddles, the attack had cleared the atmosphere and the wavering battalions gained new courage. general macarthur ordered a retreat by way of union, employing wood's division, which was slowly making its way back to hilgard, to cover the retreat. regiment after regiment threatened to become disbanded, and only the determined action of the officers prevented a general rout. the decimated regiments of wood's division stood like a wall before the ruins of hilgard; they formed a rock against which the enemy's troops dashed themselves in vain. in this way fowler's and longworth's divisions succeeded in making a fair retreat, especially as the enemy's strength was beginning to become exhausted. the uncertainty of a night attack, when the fighting is done with bandaged eyes, as it were, and it becomes impossible to control the effect of one's own firing, contributed also towards weakening the japanese attacks. the thin lines of hostile troops from baker city and from the north, which had threatened to surround our army, were pierced by the determined assaults of the american regiments; and although our entire transport service and numerous guns remained in possession of the enemy, our retreat by way of union was open. at dawn on the seventeenth of august the remains of wood's division began to leave hilgard, which they had so bravely and stubbornly defended, the heroes retreating step by step in face of the enemy's artillery fire. general macarthur stopped just outside of union and watched the regiments--often consisting only of a single company--pass in silence. he frowned with displeasure when he saw colonel smeaton riding alone in the middle of the road, followed by two foot-soldiers. the colonel was bleeding from a wound in his forehead. general macarthur gave spurs to his horse and rode towards the colonel, saying: "colonel, how can you desert your regiment?" colonel smeaton raised himself in his stirrups, saluted, and said: "i have the honor to report that only these two, dan woodlark and abraham bent, are left of my regiment. they are brave men, general, and i herewith recommend them for promotion." the general's eyes grew moist, and, stifling a sigh, he held out his hand to colonel smeaton: "forgive me," he said simply, "i did not intend to hurt your feelings." "nonsense!" cried the colonel. "we'll begin over again, general, we'll simply start all over again. as long as we don't lose faith in ourselves, nothing is lost." those were significant words spoken that seventeenth day of august. _chapter xx_ a friend in need the attitude towards the war in australia was entirely different from that of europe. everyone realized that this was not an ordinary war, but a war upon which the future of australia depended. if the japanese succeeded in conquering a foot of land in north america, if a single star was extinguished on the blue field of the american flag, it would mean that the whole continent lying in asia's shadow would also fall a prey to the yellow race. the early reports from the philippines and from san francisco, and the crushing news of the destruction of the pacific fleet, swept like a whirlwind through the streets of sydney, melbourne, adelaide, wellington and auckland, and gave rise to tremendous public demonstrations. business came to a stand-still, for the australian people had ears only for the far-off thunder of cannon, and their thoughts were occupied with the future. huge open-air mass-meetings and innumerable demonstrations before the american consulates bore witness to australia's honest sympathy. the time had arrived for the fifth continent to establish its political status in the council of nations. in sydney the mob had smashed the windows of the japanese consulate. satisfaction was at once categorically demanded from london, where the government trembled at the bare idea of a hostile demonstration against its ally. the apology was to take the form of a salute to the japanese flag on the consulate by a coast battery, etc. but the australian government refused point blank to do this, and contented itself with a simple declaration of regret; and as there was no other course open to him, the japanese consul had to be satisfied. but in tokio this affair was entered on the credit side of the anglo-japanese ledger, offsetting the debt of gratitude for august 10, 1904, when the english fleet constituted the shifting scenery behind togo's battleships. a great many of the japanese located in australia had left the country before the outbreak of the war to join the army of invasion, and those who remained behind soon recognized that there was no work for them anywhere on the continent. when they refused to take this hint and make themselves scarce, australian fists began to remind them that the period of anglo-mongolian brotherhood was a thing of the past. the last of the japanese settlers were put aboard an english steamer at sydney and told to shift for themselves. the chinese, too, began to leave the country, and wherever they did not go of their own accord, they were told in pretty plain language that the yellow man's day in australia was ended. australia, up to this time merely an appendage of the old world, a colony which had received its blood from the heart of the british empire and its ideas from the nerve-center in downing street, which had hitherto led a purely dependent existence, now awoke and began to develop a political life of its own. and this development, born of the outbreak of mongolian hostilities, could not be restrained. the time had passed when the european nations could say: the world's history is created by us, other nations are of no account. once before australia had taken an active part in politics. that was when the union jack was threatened, when british regiments were melting away before the rifles of a peasant people at magersfontein, colenso and graspan, when ladysmith was being besieged, and downing street trembled for the safety of the empire. then, in the hour of dire need, a cry for help went out to all the peoples dwelling beneath the union jack, whose flagstaff was being shaken by sturdy peasant hands. and the colonial troops heard the call and responded nobly. australian and canadian heroism was ushered into being on the grassy plains and kopjes of the transvaal. they may not have been good to look at and their manners were not those of the drawing-room, but england opened her arms to those splendid fellows from the australian bush and was glad to use them in her hour of need--but afterwards she forgot them. but those days were not so soon forgotten in australia; there are too many men still going around with one arm or a wooden leg. the gentlemen in downing street, however, have short memories, and the debt of thanks they owed the colonies quickly slipped their minds. for the sake of her bales of cotton, her export lists, and her indian possessions, the london government threw all the traditions of the british world empire overboard and forgot that old england's problem of civilization was the conquest of the world for the anglo-saxon race. for the sake of her london merchants, old england betrayed greater britain, which in the calculations of the london statesmen was only a geographical conception, while the nations without credulously accepted the decisions of english politics as the gospel of british power. england offered the hand of fellowship to the japanese parvenu simply because she wanted some one to hold her russian rival in check. what the manchurian campaign cost england can be figured out exactly, to the pound and shilling. she simply purchased the downfall of russia with the loan of a few hundred millions to japan--an excellent bargain. but sir charles dilke was beginning to open the people's eyes. "another japanese loan," he cried, "will slip a sharp dagger into the hand of our greatest commercial rival." england, however, would not listen, and after the war she only drew the bonds of the alliance closer for fear of the japanese ants who were creeping secretly into india and whispering into the people's ears that the dominion of a few hundred thousand white men over three hundred million indians was based solely on the legend of the superiority of the white race, a legend which mukden and tsushima had completely nullified. after all, london was at liberty to adopt any policy it liked; but in this particular case the colonies were expected to bear the entire costs. and this was the gratitude for the aid given in south africa for customs favors extended to english goods at ottawa, cape town, and melbourne. deliberately disregarding the warnings of sir wilfred laurier, of seddon, and of deakin, who clearly recognized the proximity of the danger, the gentlemen in london insisted upon unrestricted japanese immigration into the colonies, although hawaii furnished an eloquent example of how quickly coolie immigrants can transform an anglo-saxon colony into a japanese one. in south africa, too, england was sowing trouble with mongolian miners, until the africanders took it upon themselves to rid their country of this yellow plague. in consideration of the existing alliance with japan, downing street demanded of canada and australia that the japanese settlers should be granted equal privileges with the white man. new zealand's prime minister, seddon, a resolute man whose greatness is not appreciated in europe, brought his fist down on the table with a vengeance at the last colonial conference in london and appealed to old england's conscience in the face of the yellow danger. all in vain. although he persisted in proclaiming new zealand's right to adhere to her exclusive immigration laws, it was several years before australia and canada awoke to a realization of the dangers which the influx of japanese coolies held in store for them, and before they began to prepare for an energetic resistance. then, in august, 1908, came the american fleet. great was the rejoicing in all the australian coast towns, and the welcome extended to the american sailors and marines proved to the world that hearts were beating in unison here in the fear of future catastrophes. never has the feeling of the homogeneousness of the white race, of the anglo-saxon race, celebrated such festivals, and when the australians and americans shook hands at parting, the former realized that a brother was leaving with whom they would one day fight side by side--when the crisis came and the die was cast which was to decide whether the pacific should be ruled by the anglo-saxon or the mongolian race. and now the danger that had been regarded as likely to make itself felt decades hence had become a terrible reality in less than no time. the joint japanese foe was actually on american soil, the american dominion over the philippines and hawaii had been swept away at the first onset, and the great brother nation of the united states was struggling for its existence as a nation and for the future of the white race. what had become of great britain's imperialism, of the all-british idea, for the sake of which australia, canada, and new zealand had sent their sons to south africa? england, whose grand mission it was to protect the palladium of anglo-saxon dominion, stood aloof in this conflict. the cabinet of st. james had sent a warning to ottawa not to permit canadian volunteers to enter the united states, and similar instructions had been forwarded to melbourne and wellington. but when england, at japan's instigation, tried to persuade the european powers to compel mexico to prevent american volunteer regiments from crossing the frontier by concentrating her army opposite el paso, germany frustrated this plan by declaring that the acknowledgment of the monroe doctrine as a political principle in 1903 rendered it impossible for her to meddle in america's political affairs. in spite of this failure, the cabinet of st. james continued to play the rã´le of international watchman, and employed the influence secured by _ententes_ in previous years to carefully prevent other european governments from violating the laws of neutrality towards japan. it was, of course, the worry over india which made the english government, generally very elastic in its views regarding neutrality, all at once so extremely virtuous. london felt very uncomfortable when, in july, a canadian paper published an alleged conversation between a japanese and an english diplomatist. "what will great britain do in case of war?" the japanese is said to have asked, whereupon he received the ambiguous answer: "her duty." then, with the daring candor assumed by these people when they feel that they are masters of the situation, the japanese had declared: "the london government must bear in mind that the continuation of british rule in india depends absolutely on the wishes of japan; that england, in other words, can support the united states only at the price of an indian insurrection." this conversation, which was published by a curious act of indiscretion, and of course at once denied in london, nevertheless threw a flood of light on england's political situation. japan did not directly ask for military aid, which, as a matter of fact, she had no right to expect under the terms of the second anglo-japanese agreement, but she did demand favorable neutrality on the part of great britain as the guardian of the mobile forces of the anglo-saxon world-empire; in other words, japan insisted that england should betray her own race for the sake of india. this political trick of the japanese government was the yellow man's revenge for the half promises with which england had driven japan into the conflict with russia, and then; after the outbreak of the war, had offered only meager messages of sympathy instead of furnishing the expected military assistance. england's destiny now hung in the balance; the threads reaching from ottawa, cape town, melbourne, and wellington to downing street were becoming severed, not by a sword-cut, but by england's own policy. if imperialism should leave no room for a "white" policy, then australia and canada must throw off the burdensome fetters which threatened to hand over the white man under the union jack, bound hand and foot, to the mongolians. it was not easy to come to such a decision, and it was months before it was finally reached. but one day, towards the end of august, the entire australian press advertised for volunteers for the american army. thousands responded, and no one asked where the large sums of money came from with which these men were provided with arms and uniforms. a vehement japanese protest, sent by way of london, only elicited the reply that the australian government had received no official notification of the enlistment of volunteers for the united states, and was therefore not in a position to interfere in any such movement. a feeling of joyous confidence reigned among the volunteers; they were going to take the field and fight for their big brother. the racial feeling, so strong in every white man, had been aroused and could withstand any mongolian attack. by october the first steamers of volunteers left for america. as there were no japanese or chinese spies left, and as the government kept a strict watch on the entire news and telegraph service, the departure of the steamers remained concealed from the enemy. as japanese ships were cruising in the straits of magellan, the route via suez was chosen, and in due course the steamers arrived safely at hampton roads. wherever the conscience of the anglo-saxon race was not wrapped in bales of cotton and in stock quotations, wherever the feeling of anglo-saxon solidarity still inspired the people, there was a stir. and so the objections of the london government were not heeded in the colonies. why should the citizen of canada, of british columbia, care for downing street's consideration for india, when he was suffering commercially from the yellow invasion just as much as the citizen of the united states, and when he realized that he would surely be the next victim if the japanese should be victorious this time? in this epoch-making hour of the world's history, england had neglected her bounden duty, because she was indissolubly bound to japan. by the same right with which george washington had once raised the flag, crowds of men streamed across the frontier from canada and british columbia, and by that same right ottawa now categorically demanded the removal of the japanese ships from the harbor of esquimault. "they must either lower their flag and disarm, or they must leave the harbor!" wrote the canadian papers, and the canadian secretary of state, william mackenzie, couched the protest which he sent to london in similar terms. it was recognized in london that threats were no longer of avail in the face of this spontaneous enthusiasm. england had staked much and lost. canadian and australian regiments were soon found fighting side by side with their american brothers. and now at last, with the united good-will of two continents behind us, there was a fair prospect of the early realization of the boastful words uttered by the american press at the beginning of the war: "we'll drive the yellow monkeys into the pacific." _chapter xxi_ dark shadows autumn had come, and all was serene at the seat of war, except for a few insignificant skirmishes. slowly, far more slowly than the impatience of our people could stand, the new bodies of troops were prepared for action, and before we could possibly think of again assuming the offensive, winter was at the door. in the middle of november, three japanese orderlies, bearing a white flag of truce, rode up to our outposts, and a few days later it was learned from washington that the enemy had offered to make peace, the terms of which, however, remained a mystery for a short time, until they were ultimately published in the capital. the states of washington, oregon, nevada, and california were to become japanese possessions, but at the same time continue as members of the union. they were to have japanese garrisons and to permit japanese immigration; the strength of the garrisons was to be regulated later. in the various state legislatures and in the municipal administration half the members were to be americans and half japanese. if these terms were accepted, japan would relinquish all claim to further immigration of japanese to the other states of the union. the united states was to pay japan a war-indemnity of two billion dollars, in installments, exclusive of the sums previously levied in the pacific states. san francisco was to be japan's naval port on the pacific coast, and the navy-yard and arsenals located there were to pass into the hands of the japanese. the philippines, hawaii and guam were to be ceded to japan. a universal cry of indignation resounded from the atlantic to the rockies in answer to these humiliating terms of peace. to acknowledge defeat and keep the enemy in the country, would be sealing the doom of american honor with a stroke of the pen. no! anything but that! let us fight on at any price! at thousands of mass meetings the same cry was heard: let us fight on until the last enemy has been driven out of the country. but what is public opinion? nothing more than the naã¯ve feeling of the masses of yesterday, to-day and perhaps the day after to-morrow. the terrible sacrifices claimed by the war had not been without effect. of course there was no hesitation on the part of the old american citizens nor of the german, scandinavian and irish settlers--they would all remain faithful to the star spangled banner. but the others, the thousands and hundreds of thousands of romanic and slavonic descent, the italian and russian proletariat, and the scum of the peoples of asia minor, all these elements, who regarded the united states merely as a promising market for employment and not as a home, were of a different opinion. and these elements of the population now demanded the reã«stablishment of opportunities for profitable employment, insisting upon their rights as naturalized citizens, which had been so readily accorded them. scarcely had the first storm of indignation passed, when other public meetings began to be held--loud, stormy demonstrations, which usually ended in a grand street row--and to this were added passionate appeals from the socialist leaders to accept japan's terms and conclude peace, in order that the idle laborer might once more return to work. and this feeling spread more and more and gradually became a force in public life and in the press, and unfortunately the agitation was not entirely without effect on those elements of the population whose american citizenship was not yet deeply rooted. however indignant the better elements may have felt at first over this cowardly desertion of the flag, the continual repetition of such arguments evoked faint-hearted considerations of the desirability of peace in ever widening circles. the fighting of our troops on the plateaus of the rocky mountains no longer formed the chief topic of conversation, but rather the proffered terms of peace, which were discussed before the bars, on the street, at meetings, and in the family-circle. scarcely a fortnight after the presentation of the japanese offer of peace, two bitterly hostile parties confronted each other in the union: the one gathered round the country's flag full of determination and enthusiasm, the other was willing to sacrifice the dollar on the altar of buddha. and other forces were also at work. enthusiastic preachers arose in numerous sects and religious denominations, applying the mysterious revelations of the prophet of patmos--revelations employed in all ages for the forging of mystic weapons--to the events of the time. in the dim light of evening meetings they spoke of the "beast with the seven heads" to whom was given power "over all kindreds, tongues and nations," and fanatical men and women came after months of infinite misery and hopeless woe to look upon the occupant of the white house as the antichrist. they conceived it their bounden duty to oppose his will, and quite gradually these evening prayer-meetings began to influence our people to such a degree that the japanese terms were no longer regarded as insulting, and peace without honor was preferred to a continuance of the fight to the bitter end. had god really turned the light of his countenance from us? while the enemy was waiting for an answer to his message, the voices at home became louder and louder in their demands for the conclusion of peace and the acceptance of the enemy's terms. the sound common-sense and the buoyant patriotism of those who had their country's interests close at heart struggled in vain against the selfish doctrine of those who preferred to vegetate peacefully without one brave effort for freedom. our whole past history, replete with acts of bravery and self-sacrifice, seemed to be disappearing in the horrors of night. and while the socialist agitators were goading on the starving workmen everywhere to oppose the continuation of the war, while innumerable forces were apparently uniting to retire the god of war, who determines the fate of nations on bloody fields, there remained at least one possibility of clearing the sultry atmosphere: a battle. but how dared we continue the fight before our armies were absolutely prepared to begin the attack, how dared we attempt what would no doubt prove the decisive battle before we were certain of success? the battle of hilgard furnished an eloquent reply. the war department said no, it said no with a heavy heart; weeks must pass, weeks must be borne and overcome, before we could assume the offensive once more. the japanese terms of peace were therefore declined. at the seat of war skirmishes continued to take place, the soldiers freezing in their thin coats, while restless activity was shown in all the encampments. * * * * * extras were being sold on the streets of washington, telling of a naval engagement off the argentine coast. they were eagerly bought and read, but no one believed the news, for we had lost hope and faith. excited crowds had collected in front of the army and navy building in the hope of obtaining more detailed news; but no one could give any information. an automobile suddenly drew up in front of the south side of the long building, before the entrance to the offices of the committee on foreign affairs. the secretary of state, who had not been able to get the president by 'phone at the white house but learned that he was somewhere in the naval barracks, had decided to look him up. scarcely had he entered his car, before he was surrounded by hundreds of people clamoring for verification of the news from buenos ayres. he declared again and again that he knew nothing more than what he had just read in the extras, but no one believed him. several policemen cleared the way in front of the puffing machine, which at last managed to get clear of the crowd, but a few blocks further on the chauffeur was again compelled to stop. an immense mob was pouring out of a side street, where they had just smashed the windows of the offices of a socialist newspaper, which had supplemented the argentine dispatch with spiteful comments under the headlines: "another patriotic swindle." the secretary of state told the chauffeur to take a different route to the naval barracks, and this order saved his life, for as he bent forward to speak to the chauffeur, the force of an explosion threw him against the front seat. behind him, on the upper edge of the rear seat, a bomb had exploded with a burst of blinding white light. the secretary, whose coat was torn by some splinters of glass, stood up and showed himself to the multitude. "murder, murder," yelled the mob, "down with the assassin." and the secretary saw them seize a degenerate-looking wretch and begin pounding him with their fists. after a little while he was thrown to the ground, but was dragged up again and at last, as the chauffeur was guiding his car backwards through the crowd, the secretary heard a man say: "thank god, they've strung him up on a lamp-post!" the mob had administered quick justice. utterly exhausted by this experience, the secretary of state returned to his home, where he gave orders that the president should be informed at once of what had occurred. the servant had scarcely left the secretary's study when his wife entered. she threw her arms passionately around his neck and refused to be quieted. "it's all right, edith, i haven't been scratched." "but you'll be killed the next time," she sobbed. "it makes but little difference, edith, whether i die here on the pavement or out yonder on the battle-field: we must all die at our posts if need be. death may come to us any day here as well as there, but," and freeing himself from his wife's embrace, he walked to his desk and pointed to a picture of abraham lincoln hanging over it, saying, "if i fall as that man fell, there are hundreds who are ready to step into my shoes without the slightest fuss and with the same solemn sense of duty." a servant entered and announced that the british ambassador asked to be received by the secretary. "one minute," was the answer, "ask his excellency to wait one minute." the sound of many voices could be heard outside. the secretary walked to the window and looked out. "look," he said to his wife, "there are some people at least who are glad that the bomb failed to accomplish its purpose." his appearance at the window was a signal for loud cheers from the people on the street. holding the hand of his faithful wife in his own, he said: "edith, i know we are on the right road. we can read our destiny only in the stars on our banner. there is only one future for the united states, only one, that beneath the stars and stripes, and not a single star must be missing--neither that of washington, nor that of oregon, nor that of california. we had a hard fight to establish our independence, and the inheritance of our fathers we must ever cherish as sacred and inviolable. the yellow men have won their place in the world by an inexorable sense of national duty, and we can conquer them only if we employ the same weapons. i know what we have at stake in this war, and i am quite ready to answer to myself and to our people for each life lost on the field of battle. i am only one of many, and if i fall, it will be in the knowledge that i have done my duty. let the cowardly mob step over my corpse, it won't matter to me nor to my successor if he will only hold our drooping flag with a firm hand. the favor of the people is here to-day and gone to-morrow, and we must not be led astray by it. the blind creatures who inspired that miserable wretch to hurl the bomb regard us, the bearers of responsible posts, with the same feelings as the lions do their tamer when he enters the cage. if he comes out alive, well and good; if he is torn to pieces it makes no difference, for there'll be some one else to take his place the next day. it is my duty to fight against desertion in our own ranks and to shield american citizenship against the foreign elements gathered here who have no fatherland, and to whom the stars and stripes have no deeper meaning than a piece of cloth; that is the duty, in the performance of which i shall live or die." mad cheers from below induced the secretary to open the window, and immediately the sounds of the "star spangled banner" came floating up from thousands of throats. suddenly his wife touched his arm saying: "james, here's a telegram." the secretary turned around and literally tore the telegram out of the servant's hand. he ran his eye over it hurriedly and then drew a deep breath. and with tears in his eyes at the almost incredible news, he said softly to his wife: "this will deliver us from the dark slough of despair." then he returned to the window, but his emotion made it impossible for him to speak; he made a sign with his hand and gradually the noise of the crowd ceased and all became still. "fellow citizens," began the secretary, "i have just this moment received--" loud cheers interrupted him, but quiet was soon restored, and then in a clear voice he read the following dispatch: "bahia blanca, december 8: the torpedo-destroyer _paul jones_ arrived here this morning with the following message from admiral dayton: 'on the 4th of december i found the japanese cruisers _adzuma_ and _asama_ and three destroyers coaling in the harbor of port stanley (falkland islands). i demanded of the british authorities that the japanese ships be forced to leave the harbor at once, as i should otherwise be obliged to attack them in the harbor on the morning of the following day. on the afternoon of the 4th i opened fire on the japanese ships four miles outside of port stanley. after an hour's fighting all five japanese ships were sunk. on our side the destroyer _dale_ was sunk. total loss, 180 men. damaged cruiser _maryland_ sent to buenos ayres. sighted the japanese cruisers _idzumo_, _tokiwa_, _jakumo_ and four destroyers at the entrance to the straits of magellan on the morning of december 6th. pursued them with entire fleet. battle with the _idzumo_ and _tokiwa_ at noon, in which former was sunk. battle temporarily suspended on account of appearance of two hostile battleships. destroyers keeping in touch with the japanese squadron.' dayton." perfect silence greeted these words; no one seemed able to believe the news of this american victory: the first joyful tidings after almost nine months of constant adversity. but then the enthusiasm of the people broke loose in a perfect hurricane that swept everything before it. in the rear the crowd began to thin out rapidly, for everybody was anxious to spread the glad tidings of victory, but their places were soon taken by others pouring in from all sides to hear the telegram read once more. and now on the opposite side of 17th street the american flag suddenly ran up the bare flagstaff on the roof of the winders building, unfurling with a rustle in the fresh breeze. the secretary pointed up to it, and at once the jubilant crowd joined once more in the air of the "star spangled banner." "this is a day," said the secretary, taking his wife's hand, "which our country will never forget. but now i must get to work and then i'm off to the president." as his wife left the room, he rang the bell and asked the servant who appeared in answer to his summons to show in the british ambassador. the man disappeared noiselessly, and the next moment the ambassador entered. "i must ask your excellency's pardon for having kept you waiting," said the secretary, advancing a few steps to meet him. "to what do i owe the honor of this visit----" "i have come to reply to the protest lodged against us by the united states government for permitting the japanese to use the harbor of esquimault as a station for their ships. the british government fully recognizes the justice of the protest, and will see to it that in future only damages that affect a ship's seaworthiness are repaired at esquimault, and that no other ships are allowed to enter the harbor. the british government is desirous of observing the strictest neutrality and is determined to employ every means in its power to maintain it." "i thank your excellency and thoroughly appreciate the efforts of your government, but regret exceedingly that they are made somewhat late in the day. i am convinced the english government would not consider it within the bounds of strict neutrality for a japanese squadron to employ an english port as its base of operations----" "certainly not," said the ambassador emphatically, "and i am certain such a thing has never happened." "indeed?" answered the secretary seriously, "our latest dispatches tell a different story. may i ask your excellency to glance over this telegram?" he handed the telegram from bahia blanca to the ambassador, who read it and handed it back. the two men regarded each other in silence for a few moments. then the ambassador lowered his eyes, saying, "i have no instructions with regard to this case. it really comes as a great surprise to me," he added, "a very great surprise," and then seizing the secretary's hand he shook it heartily, saying: "allow me to extend my private but most sincere congratulations on this success of your arms." "thank you, your excellency. the united states have learned during the past few months to distinguish between correct and friendly relations with other powers. the english government has taken a warm interest in the military successes of its japanese ally, as is apparently stipulated in their agreement. we are sorry to have been obliged to upset some of england's calculations by turning japanese ships out of an english harbor. if we succeed in gaining the upper hand, we may perhaps look forward to similar favors being shown us by the english government as have thus far been extended to victorious japan?" "that would depend," said the ambassador rather dubiously, "on the extent to which such friendly relations would interfere with our conceptions of neutrality." at this moment the president was announced and the ambassador took his leave. _chapter xxii_ remember hilgard! just as in the war between russia and japan, the paper strategists found comfort in the thought that the japanese successes on american soil were only temporary and that their victorious career would soon come to an end. the supposition that japan had no money to carry on the war was soon seen to lack all real foundation. thus far the war had cost japan not even two hundred millions, for it was not japan, but the pacific states that had borne the brunt of the expense. japan had already levied in the states occupied by her troops a sum larger by far than the total amount of the indemnity which they had hoped to collect at portsmouth several years before. the overwhelming defeat of the army of the north at hilgard had taken the wind out of a great many sails. the terrible catastrophe even succeeded in stirring up the nations of the old world, who had been watching developments at a safe distance, to a proper realization of the seriousness and proximity of the yellow peril. even england began to edge quietly away from japan, this change in british policy being at once recognized in tokio when, at canada's request, england refused to allow japanese ships to continue to use the docks and coal depots at esquimault. later, when after the victories of the american fleet off port stanley and near the straits of magellan, the governor of the falkland islands was made the scape-goat and banished--he had at first intended exposing the cabinet of st. james by publishing the instructions received from them in july, but finally thought better of it--and when the governors of all the british colonies were ordered to observe strict neutrality, japan interpreted this action correctly. but she was prepared for this emergency, and now came the retribution for having fooled the japanese nation with hopes of a permanent alliance. japan pressed a button, and great britain was made to realize the danger of playing with the destiny of a nation. apparently without the slightest connection with the war in america, an insurrection suddenly broke out in bengal, at the foot of the himalayas and on the plateaus of deccan, which threatened to shake the very foundations of british sovereignty. it was as much as england could do to dispatch enough troops to india in time to stop the flood from bursting all the dams. at the same time an insurrection broke out in french indo-china, and while england and france were sending transport-ships, escorted by cruisers, to the far east, great upheavals took place in all parts of africa. the europeans had their hands full in dozens of different directions: garrisons and naval stations required reã«nforcements, and all had to be on guard constantly in order to avoid a surprise. these were japan's last resources for preventing the white races from coming to the aid of the united states. remember hilgard! this was the shibboleth with which congress passed the bill providing for the creation of a standing militia-army and making the military training of every american citizen a national duty. and how willingly they all responded to their country's call--every one realized that the final decision was approaching. remember hilgard! that was the war-cry, and that was the thought which trembled in every heart and proved to the world that when the american nation once comes to its senses, it is utterly irresistible. what did we care for the theories of diplomats about international law and neutrality; they were swept away like cobwebs. just as japan during the russian war had been provided with arms and equipment from the east, because the crippling of the russian fleet had left the road to the japanese harbors open and complaints were consequently not to be feared, so german steamers especially now brought to our atlantic ports war-materials and weapons that had been manufactured in germany for the new american armies, since the american factories could not possibly supply the enormous demand within such a short period. remember hilgard! were the words which accompanied every command at drill and in the encampments where our new army was being trained. the regiments waited impatiently for the moment when they would be led against the enemy, but we dared not again make the mistake of leading an unprepared army against such an experienced foe. week after week, month after month passed, before we could begin our march in the winter snow. the pacific army, which advanced in january to attack the japanese position on the high plateaus of the rocky mountains towards granger, numbered more than a third of a million. after three days of severe fighting, this important stronghold of the japanese center was captured and the enemy forced to retreat. great rejoicing rang through the whole land. a complete victory at last! fourteen japanese guns were captured by the two missouri regiments after four assaults and with the loss of half their men. the guns were dragged in triumph through the states, and the slightly wounded soldiers on the ammunition-carts declared, after the triumphal entry into st. louis, that the tumultuous embraces and thousands of handclasps from the enthusiastic crowds had used them up more than the three days' battle. the capture of granger had interrupted the communication between the union pacific railroad and the oregon short line branching off to the northwest; but this didn't bother the enemy much, for he simply sent his transports over the line from pocatello to the south via ogden, so that when the commander-in-chief of the pacific army renewed the attack on the japanese positions, he found them stronger than he had anticipated. the attack on fort bridger began on the second of february, but the enemy's position on the mountain heights remained unshaken. several captive balloons and two motor air-ships (one of which was destroyed, shortly after its ascent, by hostile shots) brought the information that the japanese artillery and entrenchments on the face of the mountain formed an almost impregnable position. thus while the people were still rejoicing over the latest victory, the pacific army was in a position where each step forward was sure to be accompanied by a severe loss of life. six fresh divisions from different encampments arrived on the field of battle on the fourth and fifth of february. they received orders to attack the seemingly weak positions of the enemy near bell's pass, and then to cross the snow-covered pass and fall upon the left flank of the japanese center. all manner of obstacles interfered with the advance, which was at last begun. whole companies had to be harnessed to the guns; but they pressed forward somehow. the small detachments of japanese cavalry defending the pass were compelled to retreat, and the pass itself was taken by a night assault. frost now set in, and the guns and baggage wagons were drawn up the mountain paths by means of ropes. the men suffered terribly from the cold, but the knowledge that they were making progress prevented them from grumbling. on the seventh of february, just as fisher's division, the first of general elliott's army to pass bell's pass, had reached the valley of the bear river preparatory to marching southward, via almy and evanston, in the rear of the japanese positions, cavalry scouts, who had been patrolling downstream as far as georgetown, reported that large bodies of hostile troops were approaching from the north. general elliott ordered fisher's division to continue its advance on almy, and also dispatched hardy's and livingstone's divisions to the south, while wilson's division remained behind to guard the pass, and the divisions of milton and stranger were sent to the north to stop the advance of the enemy's reã«nforcements. milton's division was to advance along the left bank of the bear river and to occupy the passes in the bear river range, in order to prevent the enemy from making a diversion via logan. mounted engineers destroyed the tracks at several spots in front of and behind logan. it will be seen, therefore, that general elliott's six divisions were all stationed in the narrow bear river valley between the two hostile armies: fisher's, hardy's and livingstone's divisions were headed south to fall upon the left wing of the enemy's main army, commanded by marshal oyama; while milton's and stranger's divisions were marching to the north, and came upon the enemy, who was on his way from pocatello, at georgetown. general elliott therefore had to conduct a battle in two directions: in the south he had to assume the offensive against oyama's wing as quickly and energetically as possible, whereas at georgetown he would be on the defensive. bell's pass lay almost exactly between the two lines, and there general elliott had posted only the reserves, consisting of the three weak brigades belonging to wilson's division. if the japanese succeeded in gaining a decisive victory at georgetown, general elliott's whole army would be in a position of the utmost danger. _chapter xxiii_ in the white house on the streets of washington there was a wild scramble for the extras containing the latest news from the front. the people stood for hours in front of the newspaper offices, but definite news was so long in coming, that despair once more seized their hearts and they again became sceptical of ultimate victory. seven long anxious days of waiting! were we fighting against supernatural forces, which no human heroism could overcome? a telegraph instrument had been set up next to the president's study in the white house so that all news from the front might reach him without delay. on a table lay a large map of the battle-field where the fighting was now going on, and his private secretary had marked the positions of the american troops with little wooden blocks and colored flags. suddenly the instrument began to click, a fresh report from the general staff of the pacific army appeared on the tape: "fort bridger, feb. 8, 6 p.m. our captive balloon reports that the enemy seems to be shifting his troops on the left flank. two japanese battalions have abandoned their positions, which were at once occupied by a line of skirmishers from the 86th regiment supported by two machine-guns. an assault of the second battalion of the 64th regiment on the japanese infantry position was repulsed, as the enemy quite unexpectedly brought several masked machine-guns into action. the firing continues, and general elliott reports that the battle with the hostile forces advancing along the bear river valley began at 3 p.m. south of georgetown. as the enemy has appeared in unexpectedly large numbers, two brigades of wood's division have been sent from bell's pass to the north. major general illing." the private secretary changed the position of several blocks on the map, moving the flags at bell's pass and pushing two little blue flags in the direction of georgetown. then he took the report to the president. at midnight the report came that the stubborn resistance of the enemy at georgetown had made it advisable to send wilson's last brigade from bell's pass to the north. "our last reserves," said the president, looking at the map; "we're playing a venturesome game." then he glanced at his secretary and saw that the latter was utterly exhausted. and no wonder, for he hadn't slept a wink in three nights. "go and take a nap, johnson," said the president; "i'll stay up, as i have some work to finish. take a nap, johnson, i don't need you just now." "what about the instrument, sir?" asked the secretary. "i can hear everything in the next room. i'll have no peace anyhow till it is all over. besides, the secretary of war is coming over, so i'll get along all right." the president sat down at his desk and affixed his signature to a number of documents. half an hour later the secretary of war was announced. "sit down, harry," said the president, pointing to a chair, "i'll be ready in five minutes." and while the president was finishing his work, the secretary of war settled down in his chair and took up a book. but the next moment he laid it down again and took up a paper instead; then he took up another one and read a few lines mechanically, stopping every now and then to stare vacantly over the edge of the paper into space. at last he jumped up and began pacing slowly up and down. then he went into the telegraph-room, and glanced over the report, a copy of which he had received half an hour ago. then he examined the various positions on the map, placing some of the blocks more accurately. then a bell rang and steps could be heard in the hall. the door of the adjacent room opened and shut, and he heard the president fold up the documents and say: "take these with you, they are all signed. tomorrow morning--oh, i forgot, it's morning now--the ninth of february." then some one went out and closed the door and the president was alone again. the next moment he joined the secretary of war in the telegraph-room. "harry," he said in a low voice, "our destiny will be decided within the next few hours. i sent johnson off to bed; he needed some sleep. besides, we want to be alone when the fate of our country is decided." the secretary of war walked up and down the room with his hands in his pockets, puffing away at a cigar. both men avoided looking at each other; neither wished the other to see how nervous he was. both were listening intently for the sound of the telegraph-bell. "a message arrived from fort bridger about ten o'clock," said the president after a long pause, "to the effect that our captive balloons reported a change in the positions of the enemy's left wing. this may mean----" "yes, it may mean--" repeated the secretary of war mechanically. then they both became silent once more, puffing vigorously at their cigars. "suppose it's all in vain again, suppose the enemy--" began the secretary of war, when he was interrupted by the ringing of the bell in the next room. the message ran: "bell's pass, feb. 9, 12.15 a.m. milton's division has succeeded in wresting several important positions from the enemy after a night of severe fighting. unimportant reverses suffered by stranger's division more than offset with the aid of reã«nforcements from bell's pass. colonel tarditt." "if they can only hold georgetown," said the secretary of war, "our last reserves have gone there now." "god grant they may." then they both went back to the study. the president remained standing in front of the portrait of lincoln hanging on the wall. "he went through just such hours as these," he said quietly, "just such hours, and perhaps in this very room, when the battle between the _monitor_ and the _merrimac_ was being fought at hampton roads, and news was being sent to him hour by hour. oh, abraham lincoln, if you were only here to-day to deliver your message over the length and breadth of our land." the secretary of war looked hard at the president as he answered: "yes, we have need of men, but we have men, too, some perhaps who are even greater than lincoln." the president shook his head sadly, saying: "i don't know, we've done everything we could, we've done our duty, yet perhaps we might have made even greater efforts. i'm so nervous over the outcome of this battle; it seems to me we are facing the enemy without weapons, or at best with very blunt ones." again the bell rang and the president moved towards the door, but stopped halfway and said: "you better go and see what it is, harry." "fort bridger, feb. 8, 11.50 p.m. from fisher's division the report comes via bell's pass that two of his regiments have driven the enemy from their positions with the aid of searchlights, and that they are now in hot pursuit. major general illing." without saying a word the secretary of war moved the blocks representing fisher's division further south. then he remarked quietly: "it doesn't make much difference what happens at georgetown, the decision rests right here now and the next hour may decide it all," and he put his finger on the spot in the mountains occupied by the enemy's left wing. "if an attack on the enemy's front should make a gap----" he didn't complete the sentence, for the president's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "yes, harry," he said, "if--that's what we've been saying for nine months. if--and our if has always been followed by a but--the enemy's but." he threw himself into a chair and shaded his tired eyes with his hand, while the secretary of war walked incessantly up and down, puffing on a fresh cigar.-the night was almost over.--the shrill little bell rang again, causing the president to start violently. slowly, inch by inch, the white strip of paper was rolled off, and stooping together over the ticking instrument, the two men watched one letter, one word, one sentence after another appear, until at last it was all there: "fort bridger, feb. 9, 1.15 a.m. a returning motor air-ship reports a furious artillery fight in the rear of the enemy's left wing. have just issued orders for a general attack on the hostile positions on the heights. cannonade raging all along the line. reports from bell's pass state that enemy is retreating from georgetown. twelve of the enemy's guns captured. "major general illing." "harry!" cried the president, seizing his friend's hand, "suppose this means victory!" "it does, it must," was the answer. "look here," he said, as he rearranged the blocks on the map, "the whole pressure of general elliott's three divisions is concentrated on the enemy's left wing. all that's necessary is a determined attack----" "on the entrenchments in the dark?" broke in the president, "when the men are so apt to lose touch with their leaders, when they're shooting at random, when a mere chance may wrest away the victory and give it to the enemy?" the secretary of war shook his head, saying: "the fate of battles rests in the hands of god; we must have faith in our troops." he walked around the table with long strides, while the president compared the positions of the armies on the map with the contents of the last telegram. "harry," he said, looking up, "do you remember the speech i made at harvard years ago on the unity of nations? that was my first speech, and who would have thought that we should now be sitting together in this room? it's strange how it all comes back to me now. even then, as a young man, i was deeply interested in the development of the idea of german national unity as expressed in german poetry; and much that i read then has become full of meaning for us, too, especially in these latter days. one of those german songs is ringing in my ears to-night. oh, if it could only come true, if our brave men over there storming the rocky heights could only make it come true--" at this moment the telegraph-bell again rang sharply: "fort bridger, feb. 9, 2.36 a.m. with enormous losses the brigades of lennox and malmberg have stormed the positions occupied by the artillery on the enemy's left wing, and have captured numerous guns. the thunder of cannon coming from the valley can be distinctly heard here on the heights. fisher's division has signaled that they have successfully driven back the enemy. the japanese are beginning to retreat all along the line. our troops----" the president could read no further, for the words were dancing before his eyes. this stern man, whom nothing could bend or break, now had tears in his eyes as he folded his hands over the telegraph instrument, from which the tape continued to come forth, and said in a deeply moved voice: "harry, this hour is greater than the fourth of july. and now, harry, i remember it, that song of the german poet; may it become our prayer of thanksgiving:" "from tower to tower let the bells be rung, throughout our land let our joy be sung! light every beacon far and near, to show that god hath helped us here! praise be to god on high!" then the president stepped over to the window and pushing aside the curtains, opened it and looked out into the cold winter morning for a long time. "harry," he called presently, "doesn't it seem as though the bells were ringing? thus far no one knows the glad tidings but you and i; but very soon they'll awake to pã¦ans of victory and then our flag will wave proudly once more and we'll have no trouble in winning back the missing stars." it was a moment of the highest national exaltation, such as a nation experiences only once in a hundred years. a solitary policeman was patrolling up and down before the white house, and he started violently as he heard a voice above him calling out: "run as hard as you can and call out on all the streets: the enemy is defeated, our troops have conquered, the japanese army is in full retreat! knock at the doors and windows and shout into every home: we have won, the enemy is retreating." the policeman hurried off, leaving big black footprints in the white snow, and he could be heard yelling out: "victory, victory, we've beaten the japs!" as he ran. people began to collect in the streets and a coachman jumped down from his box and ran towards the white house, looking up at its lighted windows. "leave your carriage here," shouted the president, "and run as hard as you can and tell everybody you meet that we have won and that the japanese are in full retreat! our country will be free once more!" shouts were heard in the distance, and the noise of loud knocking. and then the president closed the window and came back into the room. but when the secretary of war wanted to read the balance of the message, he said: "don't, harry; i couldn't listen to another word now, but please rouse everybody in the house." then bells rang in the halls and people were heard to stir in the rooms. there was a joyous awakening in the quiet capital that ninth day of february, the day that dispelled the darkness and the gloom. that day marked the beginning of the end. _the yellow peril had been averted!_ germany and the next war by general friedrich von bernhardi translated by allen h. powles 1912 all the patriotic sections of the german people were greatly excited during the summer and autumn of 1911. the conviction lay heavy on all hearts that in the settlement of the morocco dispute no mere commercial or colonial question of minor importance was being discussed, but that the honour and future of the german nation were at stake. a deep rift had opened between the feeling of the nation and the diplomatic action of the government. public opinion, which was clearly in favour of asserting ourselves, did not understand the dangers of our political position, and the sacrifices which a boldly-outlined policy would have demanded. i cannot say whether the nation, which undoubtedly in an overwhelming majority would have gladly obeyed the call to arms, would have been equally ready to bear permanent and heavy burdens of taxation. haggling about war contributions is as pronounced a characteristic of the german reichstag in modern berlin as it was in medieval regensburg. these conditions have induced me to publish now the following pages, which were partly written some time ago. nobody can fail to see that we have reached a crisis in our national and political development. at such times it is necessary to be absolutely clear on three points: the goals to be aimed at, the difficulties to be surmounted, and the sacrifices to be made. the task i have set myself is to discuss these matters, stripped of all diplomatic disguise, as clearly and convincingly as possible. it is obvious that this can only be done by taking a national point of view. our science, our literature, and the warlike achievements of our past, have made me proudly conscious of belonging to a great civilized nation which, in spite of all the weakness and mistakes of bygone days, must, and assuredly will, win a glorious future; and it is out of the fulness of my german heart that i have recorded my convictions. i believe that thus i shall most effectually rouse the national feeling in my readers' hearts, and strengthen the national purpose. the author. _october, 1911_ contents preface introduction power of the peace idea--causes of the love of peace in germany- german consciousness of strength--lack of definite political aims --perilous situation of germany and the conditions of successful self-assertion--need to test the authority of the peace idea, and to explain the tasks and aims of germany in the light of history chapter i the right to make war pacific ideals and arbitration--the biological necessity of war--the duty of self-assertion--the right of conquest--the struggle for employment--war a moral obligation--beneficent results of war --war from the christian and from the materialist standpoints- arbitration and international law--destructiveness and immorality of peace aspirations--real and utopian humanity--dangerous results of peace aspirations in germany--the duty of the state chapter ii the duty to make war bismarck and the justification of war--the duty to fight--the teaching of history--war only justifiable on adequate grounds--the foundations of political morality--political and individual morality --the grounds for making war--the decision to make war--the responsibility of the statesman chapter iii a brief survey of germany's historical development the ways of providence in history--christianity and the germans- the empire and the papacy--breach between the german world empire and the revived spiritual power--rise of the great states of europe and political downfall of germany after the thirty years' war--rise of the prussian state--the epoch of the revolution and the war of liberation--intellectual supremacy of germany--after the war of liberation--germany under william i. and bismarck--change in the conception of the state and the principle of nationality--new economic developments and the world power of england--rise of other world powers- socialism, and how to overcome it--german science and art- internal disintegration of germany and her latent strength chapter iv germany's historical mission grounds of the intellectual supremacy of germany--germany's role as spiritual and intellectual leader--conquest of religious and social obstacles--inadequacy of our present political position- to secure what we have won our first duty--necessity of increasing our political power--necessity of colonial expansion- menace to our aspirations from hostile powers chapter v world power or downfall points of view for judging of the political situation--the states of the triple alliance--the political interests of france and russia- the russo-french alliance--the policy of great britain- america and the rising world powers of the far east--the importance of turkey--spain and the minor states of europe--perilous position of germany--world power or downfall--increase of political power: how to obtain it--german colonial policy--the principle of the balance of power in europe--neutral states--the principle of non-intervention in the internal affairs of other states--germany and the rules of international politics --the foundations of our internal strength chapter vi the social and political significance of army for war its necessity--its twofold aspect--the educational importance of military efficiency--different military systems--change in the nature of military efficiency due to the advance of civilization- variety of methods of preparation for war--the armaments of minor states--the armaments of the great powers--harmonious development of all elements of strength--influence on armaments of different conceptions of the duties of the state--permanent factors to be kept in sight in relation to military preparedness- statecraft in this connection chapter vii the character of our next war our opponents--the french army--the military power of russia- the land forces of england--the military power of germany and austria; of italy--the turkish army--the smaller balkan states --the roumanian army--the armies of the lesser states of central europe--greece and spain--the fleets of the principal naval powers--the enmity of france--the hostility of england- russia's probable behaviour in a war against germany--the military situation of germany--her isolation--what will be at stake in our next war--preparation for war chapter viii the next naval war england's preparations for a naval war against germany--germany's first measures against england--england and the neutrality of the small neighbouring states--the importance of denmark--commercial mobilization--the two kinds of blockade: the close blockade and the extended blockade--england's attack on our coasts--co-operation of the air-fleet in their defence--the decisive battle and its importance--participation of france and russia in a german-english war chapter ix the crucial question reciprocal relations of land and sea power--the governing points of view in respect of war preparations--carrying out of universal military service--the value of intellectual superiority--masses, weapons, and transport in modern war--tactical efficiency and the quality of the troops--the advantage of the offensive--points to be kept in view in war preparations--refutation of the prevailing restricted notions on this head--the _ersatzreserve_--new formations--employment of the troops of the line and the new formations--strengthening of the standing army--the importance of personality chapter x army organization not criticism wanted of what is now in existence, but its further development--fighting power and tactical efficiency--strength of the peace establishment--number of officers and n.c.o.'s, especially in the infantry--relations of the different arms to each other--distribution of machine guns--proportion between infantry and artillery--lessons to be learned from recent wars with regard to this--superiority at the decisive point--the strength of the artillery and tactical efficiency--tactical efficiency of modern armies--tactical efficiency and the marching depth of an army corps--importance of the internal organization of tactical units--organization and distribution of field artillery; of heavy field howitzers--field pioneers and fortress pioneers--tasks of the cavalry and the air-fleet--increase of the cavalry and formation of cyclist troops--tactical organization of the cavalry--development of the air-fleet--summary of the necessary requirements--different ways of carrying them out--importance of governing points of view for war preparations chapter xi training and education the spirit of training--self-dependence and the employment of masses- education in self-dependence--defects in our training for war on the grand scale--need of giving a new character to our manoeuvres and to the training of our commanders--practical training of the artillery- training in tactical efficiency--practice in marching under war conditions--training of the train officers and column leaders- control of the general staff by the higher commanders--value of manoeuvres: how to arrange them--preliminary theoretical training of the higher commanders--training of the cavalry and the airmen; of the pioneers and commissariat troops--promotion of intellectual development in the army--training in the military academy chapter xii preparation for the naval war the position of a world power implies naval strength--development of german naval ideals--the task of the german fleet; its strength --importance of coast defences--necessity of accelerating our naval armaments--the building of the fleet--the institution of the air-fleet--preliminary measures for a war on commerce- mobilization--general points of view with regard to preparations for the naval war--lost opportunities in the past chapter xiii the army and popular education the universal importance of national education--its value for the army--hurtful influences at work on it--duties of the state with regard to national health--work and sport--the importance of the school--the inadequacy of our national schools--military education and education in the national schools--methods of instruction in the latter--necessity for their reform--continuation schools--influence of national education on the russo-japanese war--other means of national education--the propaganda of action chapter xiv financial and political preparation for war duties of the state in regard to war preparations--the state and national credit--the financial capacity of germany--necessity of new sources of revenue--the imperial right of inheritance--policy of interests and alliances--moulding and exploitation of the political situation--the laws of political conduct--interaction of military and political war preparations--political preparations for our next war--governing factors in the conduct of german policy epilogue the latest political events--conduct of the german imperial government --the arrangement with france--anglo-french relations and the attitude of england--the requirements of the situation germany and the next war introduction the value of war for the political and moral development of mankind has been criticized by large sections of the modern civilized world in a way which threatens to weaken the defensive powers of states by undermining the warlike spirit of the people. such ideas are widely disseminated in germany, and whole strata of our nation seem to have lost that ideal enthusiasm which constituted the greatness of its history. with the increase of wealth they live for the moment, they are incapable of sacrificing the enjoyment of the hour to the service of great conceptions, and close their eyes complacently to the duties of our future and to the pressing problems of international life which await a solution at the present time. we have been capable of soaring upwards. mighty deeds raised germany from political disruption and feebleness to the forefront of european nations. but we do not seem willing to take up this inheritance, and to advance along the path of development in politics and culture. we tremble at our own greatness, and shirk the sacrifices it demands from us. yet we do not wish to renounce the claim which we derive from our glorious past. how rightly fichte once judged his countrymen when he said the german can never wish for a thing by itself; he must always wish for its contrary also. the germans were formerly the best fighting men and the most warlike nation of europe. for a long time they have proved themselves to be the ruling people of the continent by the power of their arms and the loftiness of their ideas. germans have bled and conquered on countless battlefields in every part of the world, and in late years have shown that the heroism of their ancestors still lives in the descendants. in striking contrast to this military aptitude they have to-day become a peace-loving--an almost "too" peace-loving--nation. a rude shock is needed to awaken their warlike instincts, and compel them to show their military strength. this strongly-marked love of peace is due to various causes. it springs first from the good-natured character of the german people, which finds intense satisfaction in doctrinaire disputations and partisanship, but dislikes pushing things to an extreme. it is connected with another characteristic of the german nature. our aim is to be just, and we strangely imagine that all other nations with whom we exchange relations share this aim. we are always ready to consider the peaceful assurances of foreign diplomacy and of the foreign press to be no less genuine and true than our own ideas of peace, and we obstinately resist the view that the political world is only ruled by interests and never from ideal aims of philanthropy. "justice," goethe says aptly, "is a quality and a phantom of the germans." we are always inclined to assume that disputes between states can find a peaceful solution on the basis of justice without clearly realizing what _international_ justice is. an additional cause of the love of peace, besides those which are rooted in the very soul of the german people, is the wish not to be disturbed in commercial life. the germans are born business men, more than any others in the world. even before the beginning of the thirty years' war, germany was perhaps the greatest trading power in the world, and in the last forty years germany's trade has made marvellous progress under the renewed expansion of her political power. notwithstanding our small stretch of coast-line, we have created in a few years the second largest merchant fleet in the world, and our young industries challenge competition with all the great industrial states of the earth. german trading-houses are established all over the world; german merchants traverse every quarter of the globe; a part, indeed, of english wholesale trade is in the hands of germans, who are, of course, mostly lost to their own country. under these conditions our national wealth has increased with rapid strides. our trade and our industries--owners no less than employés--do not want this development to be interrupted. they believe that peace is the essential condition of commerce. they assume that free competition will be conceded to us, and do not reflect that our victorious wars have never disturbed our business life, and that the political power regained by war rendered possible the vast progress of our trade and commerce. universal military service, too, contributes to the love of peace, for war in these days does not merely affect, as formerly, definite limited circles, but the whole nation suffers alike. all families and all classes have to pay the same toll of human lives. finally comes the effect of that universal conception of peace so characteristic of the times--the idea that war in itself is a sign of barbarism unworthy of an aspiring people, and that the finest blossoms of culture can only unfold in peace. under the many-sided influence of such views and aspirations, we seem entirely to have forgotten the teaching which once the old german empire received with "astonishment and indignation" from frederick the great, that "the rights of states can only be asserted by the living power"; that what was won in war can only be kept by war; and that we germans, cramped as we are by political and geographical conditions, require the greatest efforts to hold and to increase what we have won. we regard our warlike preparations as an almost insupportable burden, which it is the special duty of the german reichstag to lighten so far as possible. we seem to have forgotten that the conscious increase of our armament is not an inevitable evil, but the most necessary precondition of our national health, and the only guarantee of our international prestige. we are accustomed to regard war as a curse, and refuse to recognize it as the greatest factor in the furtherance of culture and power. besides this clamorous need of peace, and in spite of its continued justification, other movements, wishes, and efforts, inarticulate and often unconscious, live in the depths of the soul of the german people. the agelong dream of the german nation was realized in the political union of the greater part of the german races and in the founding of the german empire. since then there lives in the hearts of all (i would not exclude even the supporters of the anti-national party) a proud consciousness of strength, of regained national unity, and of increased political power. this consciousness is supported by the fixed determination never to abandon these acquisitions. the conviction is universal that every attack upon these conquests will rouse the whole nation with enthusiastic unanimity to arms. we all wish, indeed, to be able to maintain our present position in the world without a conflict, and we live in the belief that the power of our state will steadily increase without our needing to fight for it. we do not at the bottom of our hearts shrink from such a conflict, but we look towards it with a certain calm confidence, and are inwardly resolved never to let ourselves be degraded to an inferior position without striking a blow. every appeal to force finds a loud response in the hearts of all. not merely in the north, where a proud, efficient, hard-working race with glorious traditions has grown up under the laurel-crowned banner of prussia, does this feeling thrive as an unconscious basis of all thought, sentiment, and volition, in the depth of the soul; but in the south also, which has suffered for centuries under the curse of petty nationalities, the haughty pride and ambition of the german stock live in the heart of the people. here and there, maybe, such emotions slumber in the shade of a jealous particularism, overgrown by the richer and more luxuriant forms of social intercourse; but still they are animated by latent energy; here, too, the germs of mighty national consciousness await their awakening. thus the political power of our nation, while fully alive below the surface, is fettered externally by this love of peace. it fritters itself away in fruitless bickerings and doctrinaire disputes. we no longer have a clearly defined political and national aim, which grips the imagination, moves the heart of the people, and forces them to unity of action. such a goal existed, until our wars of unification, in the yearnings for german unity, for the fulfilment of the barbarossa legend. a great danger to the healthy, continuous growth of our people seems to me to lie in the lack of it, and the more our political position in the world is threatened by external complications, the greater is this danger. extreme tension exists between the great powers, notwithstanding all peaceful prospects for the moment, and it is hardly to be assumed that their aspirations, which conflict at so many points and are so often pressed forward with brutal energy, will always find a pacific settlement. in this struggle of the most powerful nations, which employ peaceful methods at first until the differences between them grow irreconcilable, our german nation is beset on all sides. this is primarily a result of our geographical position in the midst of hostile rivals, but also because we have forced ourselves, though the last-comers, the virtual upstarts, between the states which have earlier gained their place, and now claim our share in the dominion of this world, after we have for centuries been paramount only in the realm of intellect. we have thus injured a thousand interests and roused bitter hostilities. it must be reserved for a subsequent section to explain the political situation thus affected, but one point can be mentioned without further consideration: if a violent solution of existing difficulties is adopted, if the political crisis develops into military action, the germans would have a dangerous situation in the midst of all the forces brought into play against them. on the other hand, the issue of this struggle will be decisive of germany's whole future as state and nation. we have the most to win or lose by such a struggle. we shall be beset by the greatest perils, and we can only emerge victoriously from this struggle against a world of hostile elements, and successfully carry through a seven years' war for our position as a world power, if we gain a start on our probable enemy as _soldiers_; if the army which will fight our battles is supported by all the material and spiritual forces of the nation; if the resolve to conquer lives not only in our troops, but in the entire united people which sends these troops to fight for all their dearest possessions. these were the considerations which induced me to regard war from the standpoint of civilization, and to study its relation to the great tasks of the present and the future which providence has set before the german people as the greatest civilized people known to history. from this standpoint i must first of all examine the aspirations for peace, which seem to dominate our age and threaten to poison the soul of the german people, according to their true moral significance. i must try to prove that war is not merely a necessary element in the life of nations, but an indispensable factor of culture, in which a true civilized nation finds the highest expression of strength and vitality. i must endeavour to develop from the history of the german past in its connection with the conditions of the present those aspects of the question which may guide us into the unknown land of the future. the historical past cannot be killed; it exists and works according to inward laws, while the present, too, imposes its own drastic obligations. no one need passively submit to the pressure of circumstances; even states stand, like the hercules of legend, at the parting of the ways. they can choose the road to progress or to decadence. "a favoured position in the world will only become effective in the life of nations by the conscious human endeavour to use it." it seemed to me, therefore, to be necessary and profitable, at this parting of the ways of our development where we now stand, to throw what light i may on the different paths which are open to our people. a nation must fully realize the probable consequences of its action; then only can it take deliberately the great decisions for its future development, and, looking forward to its destiny with clear gaze, be prepared for any sacrifices which the present or future may demand. these sacrifices, so far as they lie within the military and financial sphere, depend mainly on the idea of what germany is called upon to strive for and attain in the present and the future. only those who share my conception of the duties and obligations of the german people, and my conviction that they cannot be fulfilled without drawing the sword, will be able to estimate correctly my arguments and conclusions in the purely military sphere, and to judge competently the financial demands which spring out of it. it is only in their logical connection with the entire development, political and moral, of the state that the military requirements find their motive and their justification. chapter i the right to make war since 1795, when immanuel kant published in his old age his treatise on "perpetual peace," many have considered it an established fact that war is the destruction of all good and the origin of all evil. in spite of all that history teaches, no conviction is felt that the struggle between nations is inevitable, and the growth of civilization is credited with a power to which war must yield. but, undisturbed by such human theories and the change of times, war has again and again marched from country to country with the clash of arms, and has proved its destructive as well as creative and purifying power. it has not succeeded in teaching mankind what its real nature is. long periods of war, far from convincing men of the necessity of war, have, on the contrary, always revived the wish to exclude war, where possible, from the political intercourse of nations. this wish and this hope are widely disseminated even to-day. the maintenance of peace is lauded as the only goal at which statesmanship should aim. this unqualified desire for peace has obtained in our days a quite peculiar power over men's spirits. this aspiration finds its public expression in peace leagues and peace congresses; the press of every country and of every party opens its columns to it. the current in this direction is, indeed, so strong that the majority of governments profess--outwardly, at any rate--that the necessity of maintaining peace is the real aim of their policy; while when a war breaks out the aggressor is universally stigmatized, and all governments exert themselves, partly in reality, partly in pretence, to extinguish the conflagration. pacific ideals, to be sure, are seldom the real motive of their action. they usually employ the need of peace as a cloak under which to promote their own political aims. this was the real position of affairs at the hague congresses, and this is also the meaning of the action of the united states of america, who in recent times have earnestly tried to conclude treaties for the establishment of arbitration courts, first and foremost with england, but also with japan, france, and germany. no practical results, it must be said, have so far been achieved. we can hardly assume that a real love of peace prompts these efforts. this is shown by the fact that precisely those powers which, as the weaker, are exposed to aggression, and therefore were in the greatest need of international protection, have been completely passed over in the american proposals for arbitration courts. it must consequently be assumed that very matter-of-fact political motives led the americans, with their commercial instincts, to take such steps, and induced "perfidious albion" to accede to the proposals. we may suppose that england intended to protect her rear in event of a war with germany, but that america wished to have a free hand in order to follow her policy of sovereignty in central america without hindrance, and to carry out her plans regarding the panama canal in the exclusive interests of america. both countries certainly entertained the hope of gaining advantage over the other signatory of the treaty, and of winning the lion's share for themselves. theorists and fanatics imagine that they see in the efforts of president taft a great step forward on the path to perpetual peace, and enthusiastically agree with him. even the minister for foreign affairs in england, with well-affected idealism, termed the procedure of the united states an era in the history of mankind. this desire for peace has rendered most civilized nations anemic, and marks a decay of spirit and political courage such as has often been shown by a race of epigoni. "it has always been," h. von treitschke tells us, "the weary, spiritless, and exhausted ages which have played with the dream of perpetual peace." everyone will, within certain limits, admit that the endeavours to diminish the dangers of war and to mitigate the sufferings which war entails are justifiable. it is an incontestable fact that war temporarily disturbs industrial life, interrupts quiet economic development, brings widespread misery with it, and emphasizes the primitive brutality of man. it is therefore a most desirable consummation if wars for trivial reasons should be rendered impossible, and if efforts are made to restrict the evils which follow necessarily in the train of war, so far as is compatible with the essential nature of war. all that the hague peace congress has accomplished in this limited sphere deserves, like every permissible humanization of war, universal acknowledgment. but it is quite another matter if the object is to abolish war entirely, and to deny its necessary place in historical development. this aspiration is directly antagonistic to the great universal laws which rule all life. war is a biological necessity of the first importance, a regulative element in the life of mankind which cannot be dispensed with, since without it an unhealthy development will follow, which excludes every advancement of the race, and therefore all real civilization. "war is the father of all things." [a] the sages of antiquity long before darwin recognized this. [footnote a: (heraclitus of ephesus).] the struggle for existence is, in the life of nature, the basis of all healthy development. all existing things show themselves to be the result of contesting forces. so in the life of man the struggle is not merely the destructive, but the life-giving principle. "to supplant or to be supplanted is the essence of life," says goethe, and the strong life gains the upper hand. the law of the stronger holds good everywhere. those forms survive which are able to procure themselves the most favourable conditions of life, and to assert themselves in the universal economy of nature. the weaker succumb. this struggle is regulated and restrained by the unconscious sway of biological laws and by the interplay of opposite forces. in the plant world and the animal world this process is worked out in unconscious tragedy. in the human race it is consciously carried out, and regulated by social ordinances. the man of strong will and strong intellect tries by every means to assert himself, the ambitious strive to rise, and in this effort the individual is far from being guided merely by the consciousness of right. the life-work and the life-struggle of many men are determined, doubtless, by unselfish and ideal motives, but to a far greater extent the less noble passions--craving for possessions, enjoyment and honour, envy and the thirst for revenge--determine men's actions. still more often, perhaps, it is the need to live which brings down even natures of a higher mould into the universal struggle for existence and enjoyment. there can be no doubt on this point. the nation is made up of individuals, the state of communities. the motive which influences each member is prominent in the whole body. it is a persistent struggle for possessions, power, and sovereignty, which primarily governs the relations of one nation to another, and right is respected so far only as it is compatible with advantage. so long as there are men who have human feelings and aspirations, so long as there are nations who strive for an enlarged sphere of activity, so long will conflicting interests come into being and occasions for making war arise. "the natural law, to which all laws of nature can be reduced, is the law of struggle. all intrasocial property, all thoughts, inventions, and institutions, as, indeed, the social system itself, are a result of the intrasocial struggle, in which one survives and another is cast out. the extrasocial, the supersocial, struggle which guides the external development of societies, nations, and races, is war. the internal development, the intrasocial struggle, is man's daily work--the struggle of thoughts, feelings, wishes, sciences, activities. the outward development, the supersocial struggle, is the sanguinary struggle of nations--war. in what does the creative power of this struggle consist? in growth and decay, in the victory of the one factor and in the defeat of the other! this struggle is a creator, since it eliminates." [b] [footnote b: clauss wagner, "der krieg als schaffendes weltprinzip."] that social system in which the most efficient personalities possess the greatest influence will show the greatest vitality in the intrasocial struggle. in the extrasocial struggle, in war, that nation will conquer which can throw into the scale the greatest physical, mental, moral, material, and political power, and is therefore the best able to defend itself. war will furnish such a nation with favourable vital conditions, enlarged possibilities of expansion and widened influence, and thus promote the progress of mankind; for it is clear that those intellectual and moral factors which insure superiority in war are also those which render possible a general progressive development. they confer victory because the elements of progress are latent in them. without war, inferior or decaying races would easily choke the growth of healthy budding elements, and a universal decadence would follow. "war," says a. w. von schlegel, "is as necessary as the struggle of the elements in nature." now, it is, of course, an obvious fact that a peaceful rivalry may exist between peoples and states, like that between the fellow-members of a society, in all departments of civilized life--a struggle which need not always degenerate into war. struggle and war are not identical. this rivalry, however, does not take place under the same conditions as the intrasocial struggle, and therefore cannot lead to the same results. above the rivalry of individuals and groups within the state stands the law, which takes care that injustice is kept within bounds, and that the right shall prevail. behind the law stands the state, armed with power, which it employs, and rightly so, not merely to protect, but actively to promote, the moral and spiritual interests of society. but there is no impartial power that stands above the rivalry of states to restrain injustice, and to use that rivalry with conscious purpose to promote the highest ends of mankind. between states the only check on injustice is force, and in morality and civilization each people must play its own part and promote its own ends and ideals. if in doing so it comes into conflict with the ideals and views of other states, it must either submit and concede the precedence to the rival people or state, or appeal to force, and face the risk of the real struggle--i.e., of war--in order to make its own views prevail. no power exists which can judge between states, and makes its judgments prevail. nothing, in fact, is left but war to secure to the true elements of progress the ascendancy over the spirits of corruption and decay. it will, of course, happen that several weak nations unite and form a superior combination in order to defeat a nation which in itself is stronger. this attempt will succeed for a time, but in the end the more intensive vitality will prevail. the allied opponents have the seeds of corruption in them, while the powerful nation gains from a temporary reverse a new strength which procures for it an ultimate victory over numerical superiority. the history of germany is an eloquent example of this truth. struggle is, therefore, a universal law of nature, and the instinct of self-preservation which leads to struggle is acknowledged to be a natural condition of existence. "man is a fighter." self-sacrifice is a renunciation of life, whether in the existence of the individual or in the life of states, which are agglomerations of individuals. the first and paramount law is the assertion of one's own independent existence. by self-assertion alone can the state maintain the conditions of life for its citizens, and insure them the legal protection which each man is entitled to claim from it. this duty of self-assertion is by no means satisfied by the mere repulse of hostile attacks; it includes the obligation to assure the possibility of life and development to the whole body of the nation embraced by the state. strong, healthy, and flourishing nations increase in numbers. from a given moment they require a continual expansion of their frontiers, they require new territory for the accommodation of their surplus population. since almost every part of the globe is inhabited, new territory must, as a rule, be obtained at the cost of its possessors--that is to say, by conquest, which thus becomes a law of necessity. the right of conquest is universally acknowledged. at first the procedure is pacific. over-populated countries pour a stream of emigrants into other states and territories. these submit to the legislature of the new country, but try to obtain favourable conditions of existence for themselves at the cost of the original inhabitants, with whom they compete. this amounts to conquest. the right of colonization is also recognized. vast territories inhabited by uncivilized masses are occupied by more highly civilized states, and made subject to their rule. higher civilization and the correspondingly greater power are the foundations of the right to annexation. this right is, it is true, a very indefinite one, and it is impossible to determine what degree of civilization justifies annexation and subjugation. the impossibility of finding a legitimate limit to these international relations has been the cause of many wars. the subjugated nation does not recognize this right of subjugation, and the more powerful civilized nation refuses to admit the claim of the subjugated to independence. this situation becomes peculiarly critical when the conditions of civilization have changed in the course of time. the subject nation has, perhaps, adopted higher methods and conceptions of life, and the difference in civilization has consequently lessened. such a state of things is growing ripe in british india. lastly, in all times the right of conquest by war has been admitted. it may be that a growing people cannot win colonies from uncivilized races, and yet the state wishes to retain the surplus population which the mother-country can no longer feed. then the only course left is to acquire the necessary territory by war. thus the instinct of self-preservation leads inevitably to war, and the conquest of foreign soil. it is not the possessor, but the victor, who then has the right. the threatened people will see the point of goethe's lines: "that which them didst inherit from thy sires, in order to possess it, must be won." the procedure of italy in tripoli furnishes an example of such conditions, while germany in the morocco question could not rouse herself to a similar resolution.[c] [footnote c: this does not imply that germany could and ought to have occupied part of morocco. on more than one ground i think that it was imperative to maintain the actual sovereignty of this state on the basis of the algeçiras convention. among other advantages, which need not be discussed here, germany would have had the country secured to her as a possible sphere of colonization. that would have set up justifiable claims for the future.] in such cases might gives the right to occupy or to conquer. might is at once the supreme right, and the dispute as to what is right is decided by the arbitrament of war. war gives a biologically just decision, since its decisions rest on the very nature of things. just as increase of population forms under certain circumstances a convincing argument for war, so industrial conditions may compel the same result. in america, england, germany, to mention only the chief commercial countries, industries offer remunerative work to great masses of the population. the native population cannot consume all the products of this work. the industries depend, therefore, mainly on exportation. work and employment are secured so long as they find markets which gladly accept their products, since they are paid for by the foreign country. but this foreign country is intensely interested in liberating itself from such tribute, and in producing itself all that it requires. we find, therefore, a general endeavour to call home industries into existence, and to protect them by tariff barriers; and, on the other hand, the foreign country tries to keep the markets open to itself, to crush or cripple competing industries, and thus to retain the consumer for itself or win fresh ones. it is an embittered struggle which rages in the market of the world. it has already often assumed definite hostile forms in tariff wars, and the future will certainly intensify this struggle. great commercial countries will, on the one hand, shut their doors more closely to outsiders, and countries hitherto on the down-grade will develop home industries, which, under more favourable conditions of labour and production, will be able to supply goods cheaper than those imported from the old industrial states. these latter will see their position in these world markets endangered, and thus it may well happen that an export country can no longer offer satisfactory conditions of life to its workers. such a state runs the danger not only of losing a valuable part of its population by emigration, but of also gradually falling from its supremacy in the civilized and political world through diminishing production and lessened profits. in this respect we stand to-day at the threshold of a development. we cannot reject the possibility that a state, under the necessity of providing remunerative work for its population, may be driven into war. if more valuable advantages than even now is the case had been at stake in morocco, and had our export trade been seriously menaced, germany would hardly have conceded to france the most favourable position in the morocco market without a struggle. england, doubtless, would not shrink from a war to the knife, just as she fought for the ownership of the south african goldfields and diamond-mines, if any attack threatened her indian market, the control of which is the foundation of her world sovereignty. the knowledge, therefore, that war depends on biological laws leads to the conclusion that every attempt to exclude it from international relations must be demonstrably untenable. but it is not only a biological law, but a moral obligation, and, as such, an indispensable factor in civilization. the attitude which is adopted towards this idea is closely connected with the view of life generally. if we regard the life of the individual or of the nation as something purely material, as an incident which terminates in death and outward decay, we must logically consider that the highest goal which man can attain is the enjoyment of the most happy life and the greatest possible diminution of all bodily suffering. the state will be regarded as a sort of assurance office, which guarantees a life of undisturbed possession and enjoyment in the widest meaning of the word. we must endorse the view which wilhelm von humboldt professed in his treatise on the limits of the activity of the state.[d] the compulsory functions of the state must be limited to the assurance of property and life. the state will be considered as a law-court, and the individual will be inclined to shun war as the greatest conceivable evil. [footnote d: w. von humboldt, "ideen zu einem versuch, die grenzen der wirksamkelt des staates zu bestimmen."] if, on the contrary, we consider the life of men and of states as merely a fraction of a collective existence, whose final purpose does not rest on enjoyment, but on the development of intellectual and moral powers, and if we look upon all enjoyment merely as an accessory of the chequered conditions of life, the task of the state will appear in a very different light. the state will not be to us merely a legal and social insurance office, political union will not seem to us to have the one object of bringing the advantages of civilization within the reach of the individual; we shall assign to it the nobler task of raising the intellectual and moral powers of a nation to the highest expansion, and of securing for them that influence on the world which tends to the combined progress of humanity. we shall see in the state, as fichte taught, an exponent of liberty to the human race, whose task it is to put into practice the moral duty on earth. "the state," says treitschke, "is a moral community. it is called upon to educate the human race by positive achievement, and its ultimate object is that a nation should develop in it and through it into a real character; that is, alike for nation and individuals, the highest moral task." this highest expansion can never be realized in pure individualism. man can only develop his highest capacities when he takes his part in a community, in a social organism, for which he lives and works. he must be in a family, in a society, in the state, which draws the individual out of the narrow circles in which he otherwise would pass his life, and makes him a worker in the great common interests of humanity. the state alone, so schleiermacher once taught, gives the individual the highest degree of life.[e] [footnote e: to expand the idea of the state into that of humanity, and thus to entrust apparently higher duties to the individual, leads to error, since in a human race conceived as a whole struggle and, by implication, the most essential vital principle would be ruled out. any action in favour of collective humanity outside the limits of the state and nationality is impossible. such conceptions belong to the wide domain of utopias.] war, from this standpoint, will be regarded as a moral necessity, if it is waged to protect the highest and most valuable interests of a nation. as human life is now constituted, it is political idealism which calls for war, while materialism--in theory, at least--repudiates it. if we grasp the conception of the state from this higher aspect, we shall soon see that it cannot attain its great moral ends unless its political power increases. the higher object at which it aims is closely correlated to the advancement of its material interests. it is only the state which strives after an enlarged sphere of influence that creates the conditions under which mankind develops into the most splendid perfection. the development of all the best human capabilities and qualities can only find scope on the great stage of action which power creates. but when the state renounces all extension of power, and recoils from every war which is necessary for its expansion; when it is content to exist, and no longer wishes to grow; when "at peace on sluggard's couch it lies," then its citizens become stunted. the efforts of each individual are cramped, and the broad aspect of things is lost. this is sufficiently exemplified by the pitiable existence of all small states, and every great power that mistrusts itself falls victim to the same curse. all petty and personal interests force their way to the front during a long period of peace. selfishness and intrigue run riot, and luxury obliterates idealism. money acquires an excessive and unjustifiable power, and character does not obtain due respect: "man is stunted by peaceful days, in idle repose his courage decays. law is the weakling's game. law makes the world the same. but in war man's strength is seen, war ennobles all that is mean; even the coward belies his name." schiller: _braut v. messina_. "wars are terrible, but necessary, for they save the state from social petrifaction and stagnation. it is well that the transitoriness of the goods of this world is not only preached, but is learnt by experience. war alone teaches this lesson." [f] [footnote f: kuno fischer, "hegel," i., p. 737.] war, in opposition to peace, does more to arouse national life and to expand national power than any other means known to history. it certainly brings much material and mental distress in its train, but at the same time it evokes the noblest activities of the human nature. this is especially so under present-day conditions, when it can be regarded not merely as the affair of sovereigns and governments, but as the expression of the united will of a whole nation. all petty private interests shrink into insignificance before the grave decision which a war involves. the common danger unites all in a common effort, and the man who shirks this duty to the community is deservedly spurned. this union contains a liberating power which produces happy and permanent results in the national life. we need only recall the uniting power of the war of liberation or the franco-german war and their historical consequences. the brutal incidents inseparable from every war vanish completely before the idealism of the main result. all the sham reputations which a long spell of peace undoubtedly fosters are unmasked. great personalities take their proper place; strength, truth, and honour come to the front and are put into play. "a thousand touching traits testify to the sacred power of the love which a righteous war awakes in noble nations." [g] [footnote g: treitschke, "deutsche geschichte," i., p. 482.] frederick the great recognized the ennobling effect of war. "war," he said, "opens the most fruitful field to all virtues, for at every moment constancy, pity, magnanimity, heroism, and mercy, shine forth in it; every moment offers an opportunity to exercise one of these virtues." "at the moment when the state cries out that its very life is at stake, social selfishness must cease and party hatred be hushed. the individual must forget his egoism, and feel that he is a member of the whole body. he should recognize how his own life is nothing worth in comparison with the welfare of the community. war is elevating, because the individual disappears before the great conception of the state. the devotion of the members of a community to each other is nowhere so splendidly conspicuous as in war.... what a perversion of morality to wish to abolish heroism among men!" [h] [footnote h: treitschke, "politik" i., p. 74.] even defeat may bear a rich harvest. it often, indeed, passes an irrevocable sentence on weakness and misery, but often, too, it leads to a healthy revival, and lays the foundation of a new and vigorous constitution. "i recognize in the effect of war upon national character," said wilhelm von humboldt, "one of the most salutary elements in the moulding of the human race." the individual can perform no nobler moral action than to pledge his life on his convictions, and to devote his own existence to the cause which he serves, or even to the conception of the value of ideals to personal morality. similarly, nations and states can achieve no loftier consummation than to stake their whole power on upholding their independence, their honour, and their reputation. such sentiments, however, can only be put into practice in war. the possibility of war is required to give the national character that stimulus from which these sentiments spring, and thus only are nations enabled to do justice to the highest duties of civilization by the fullest development of their moral forces. an intellectual and vigorous nation can experience no worse destiny than to be lulled into a phaecian existence by the undisputed enjoyment of peace. from this point of view, efforts to secure peace are extraordinarily detrimental to the national health so soon as they influence politics. the states which from various considerations are always active in this direction are sapping the roots of their own strength. the united states of america, e.g., in june, 1911, championed the ideas of universal peace in order to be able to devote their undisturbed attention to money-making and the enjoyment of wealth, and to save the three hundred million dollars which they spend on their army and navy; they thus incur a great danger, not so much from the possibility of a war with england or japan, but precisely because they try to exclude all chance of contest with opponents of their own strength, and thus avoid the stress of great political emotions, without which the moral development of the national character is impossible. if they advance farther on this road, they will one day pay dearly for such a policy. again, from the christian standpoint we arrive at the same conclusion. christian morality is based, indeed, on the law of love. "love god above all things, and thy neighbour as thyself." this law can claim no significance for the relations of one country to another, since its application to politics would lead to a conflict of duties. the love which a man showed to another country as such would imply a want of love for his own countrymen. such a system of politics must inevitably lead men astray. christian morality is personal and social, and in its nature cannot be political. its object is to promote morality of the individual, in order to strengthen him to work unselfishly in the interests of the community. it tells us to love our individual enemies, but does not remove the conception of enmity. christ himself said: "i am not come to send peace on earth, but a sword." his teaching can never be adduced as an argument against the universal law of struggle. there never was a religion which was more combative than christianity. combat, moral combat, is its very essence. if we transfer the ideas of christianity to the sphere of politics, we can claim to raise the power of the state--power in the widest sense, not merely from the material aspect--to the highest degree, with the object of the moral advancement of humanity, and under certain conditions the sacrifice may be made which a war demands. thus, according to christianity, we cannot disapprove of war in itself, but must admit that it is justified morally and historically. again, we should not be entitled to assume that from the opposite, the purely materialistic, standpoint war is entirely precluded. the individual who holds such views will certainly regard it with disfavour, since it may cost him life and prosperity. the state, however, as such can also come from the materialistic standpoint to a decision to wage war, if it believes that by a certain sacrifice of human lives and happiness the conditions of life of the community may be improved. the loss is restricted to comparatively few, and, since the fundamental notion of all materialistic philosophy inevitably leads to selfishness, the majority of the citizens have no reason for not sacrificing the minority in their own interests. thus, those who from the materialistic standpoint deny the necessity of war will admit its expediency from motives of self-interest. reflection thus shows not only that war is an unqualified necessity, but that it is justifiable from every point of view. the practical methods which the adherents of the peace idea have proposed for the prevention of war are shown to be absolutely ineffective. it is sometimes assumed that every war represents an infringement of rights, and that not only the highest expression of civilization, but also the true welfare of every nation, is involved in the fullest assertion of these rights, and proposals are made from time to time on this basis to settle the disputes which arise between the various countries by arbitration courts, and so to render war impossible. the politician who, without side-interests in these proposals, honestly believes in their practicability must be amazingly short-sighted. two questions in this connection are at once suggested: on what right is the finding of this arbitration court based? and what sanctions insure that the parties will accept this finding? to the first question the answer is that such a right does not, and cannot, exist. the conception of right is twofold. it signifies, firstly, the consciousness of right, the living feeling of what is right and good; secondly, the right laid down by society and the state, either written or sanctioned by tradition. in its first meaning it is an indefinite, purely personal conception; in its second meaning it is variable and capable of development. the right determined by law is only an attempt to secure a right in itself. in this sense right is the system of social aims secured by compulsion. it is therefore impossible that a written law should meet all the special points of a particular case. the application of the legal right must always be qualified in order to correspond more or less to the idea of justice. a certain freedom in deciding on the particular case must be conceded to the administration of justice. the established law, within a given and restricted circle of ideas, is only occasionally absolutely just. the conception of this right is still more obscured by the complex nature of the consciousness of right and wrong. a quite different consciousness of right and wrong develops in individuals, whether persons or peoples, and this consciousness finds its expression in most varied forms, and lives in the heart of the people by the side of, and frequently in opposition to, the established law. in christian countries murder is a grave crime; amongst a people where blood-vengeance is a sacred duty it can be regarded as a moral act, and its neglect as a crime. it is impossible to reconcile such different conceptions of right. there is yet another cause of uncertainty. the moral consciousness of the same people alters with the changing ideas of different epochs and schools of philosophy. the established law can seldom keep pace with this inner development, this growth of moral consciousness; it lags behind. a condition of things arises where the living moral consciousness of the people conflicts with the established law, where legal forms are superannuated, but still exist, and mephistopheles' scoffing words are true: "laws are transmitted, as one sees, just like inherited disease. they're handed down from race to race, and noiseless glide from place to place. reason they turn to nonsense; worse, they make beneficence a curse! ah me! that you're a grandson you as long as you're alive shall rue." _faust_ (translation by sir t. martin). thus, no absolute rights can be laid down even for men who share the same ideas in their private and social intercourse. the conception of the constitutional state in the strictest sense is an impossibility, and would lead to an intolerable state of things. the hard and fast principle must be modified by the progressive development of the fixed law, as well as by the ever-necessary application of mercy and of self-help allowed by the community. if sometimes between individuals the duel alone meets the sense of justice, how much more impossible must a universal international law be in the wide-reaching and complicated relations between nations and states! each nation evolves its own conception of right, each has its particular ideals and aims, which spring with a certain inevitableness from its character and historical life. these various views bear in themselves their living justification, and may well be diametrically opposed to those of other nations, and none can say that one nation has a better right than the other. there never have been, and never will be, universal rights of men. here and there particular relations can be brought under definite international laws, but the bulk of national life is absolutely outside codification. even were some such attempt made, even if a comprehensive international code were drawn up, no self-respecting nation would sacrifice its own conception of right to it. by so doing it would renounce its highest ideals; it would allow its own sense of justice to be violated by an injustice, and thus dishonour itself. arbitration treaties must be peculiarly detrimental to an aspiring people, which has not yet reached its political and national zenith, and is bent on expanding its power in order to play its part honourably in the civilized world. every arbitration court must originate in a certain political status; it must regard this as legally constituted, and must treat any alterations, however necessary, to which the whole of the contracting parties do not agree, as an encroachment. in this way every progressive change is arrested, and a legal position created which may easily conflict with the actual turn of affairs, and may check the expansion of the young and vigorous state in favour of one which is sinking in the scale of civilization. these considerations supply the answer to the second decisive question: how can the judgment of the arbitration court be enforced if any state refuses to submit to it? where does the power reside which insures the execution of this judgment when pronounced? in america, elihu root, formerly secretary of state, declared in 1908 that the high court of international justice established by the second hague conference would be able to pronounce definite and binding decisions by virtue of the pressure brought to bear by public opinion. the present leaders of the american peace movement seem to share this idea. with a childlike self-consciousness, they appear to believe that public opinion must represent the view which the american plutocrats think most profitable to themselves. they have no notion that the widening development of mankind has quite other concerns than material prosperity, commerce, and money-making. as a matter of fact, public opinion would be far from unanimous, and real compulsion could only be employed by means of war--the very thing which is to be avoided. we can imagine a court of arbitration intervening in the quarrels of the separate tributary countries when an empire like the roman empire existed. such an empire never can or will arise again. even if it did, it would assuredly, like a universal peace league, be disastrous to all human progress, which is dependent on the clashing interests and the unchecked rivalry of different groups. so long as we live under such a state system as at present, the german imperial chancellor certainly hit the nail on the head when he declared, in his speech in the reichstag on march 30, 1911, that treaties for arbitration between nations must be limited to clearly ascertainable legal issues, and that a general arbitration treaty between two countries afforded no guarantee of permanent peace. such a treaty merely proved that between the two contracting states no serious inducement to break the peace could be imagined. it therefore only confirmed the relations already existing. "if these relations change, if differences develop between the two nations which affect their national existence, which, to use a homely phrase, cut them to the quick, then every arbitration treaty will burn like tinder and end in smoke." it must be borne in mind that a peaceful decision by an arbitration court can never replace in its effects and consequences a warlike decision, even as regards the state in whose favour it is pronounced. if we imagine, for example, that silesia had fallen to frederick the great by the finding of a court of arbitration, and not by a war of unparalleled heroism, would the winning of this province have been equally important for prussia and for germany? no one will maintain this. the material increase in power which accrued to frederick's country by the acquisition of silesia is not to be underestimated. but far more important was the circumstance that this country could not be conquered by the strongest european coalition, and that it vindicated its position as the home of unfettered intellectual and religious development. it was war which laid the foundations of prussia's power, which amassed a heritage of glory and honour that can never be again disputed. war forged that prussia, hard as steel, on which the new germany could grow up as a mighty european state and a world power of the future. here once more war showed its creative power, and if we learn the lessons of history we shall see the same result again and again. if we sum up our arguments, we shall see that, from the most opposite aspects, the efforts directed towards the abolition of war must not only be termed foolish, but absolutely immoral, and must be stigmatized as unworthy of the human race. to what does the whole question amount? it is proposed to deprive men of the right and the possibility to sacrifice their highest material possessions, their physical life, for ideals, and thus to realize the highest moral unselfishness. it is proposed to obviate the great quarrels between nations and states by courts of arbitration--that is, by arrangements. a one-sided, restricted, formal law is to be established in the place of the decisions of history. the weak nation is to have the same right to live as the powerful and vigorous nation. the whole idea represents a presumptuous encroachment on the natural laws of development, which can only lead to the most disastrous consequences for humanity generally. with the cessation of the unrestricted competition, whose ultimate appeal is to arms, all real progress would soon be checked, and a moral and intellectual stagnation would ensue which must end in degeneration. so, too, when men lose the capacity of gladly sacrificing the highest material blessings--life, health, property, and comfort--for ideals; for the maintenance of national character and political independence; for the expansion of sovereignty and territory in the interests of the national welfare; for a definite influence in the concert of nations according to the scale of their importance in civilization; for intellectual freedom from dogmatic and political compulsion; for the honour of the flag as typical of their own worth--then progressive development is broken off, decadence is inevitable, and ruin at home and abroad is only a question of time. history speaks with no uncertain voice on this subject. it shows that valour is a necessary condition of progress. where with growing civilization and increasing material prosperity war ceases, military efficiency diminishes, and the resolution to maintain independence under all circumstances fails, there the nations are approaching their downfall, and cannot hold their own politically or racially. "a people can only hope to take up a firm position in the political world when national character and military tradition act and react upon each." these are the words of clausewitz, the great philosopher of war, and he is incontestably right. these efforts for peace would, if they attained their goal, not merely lead to general degeneration, as happens everywhere in nature where the struggle for existence is eliminated, but they have a direct damaging and unnerving effect. the apostles of peace draw large sections of a nation into the spell of their utopian efforts, and they thus introduce an element of weakness into the national life; they cripple the justifiable national pride in independence, and support a nerveless opportunist policy by surrounding it with the glamour of a higher humanity, and by offering it specious reasons for disguising its own weakness. they thus play the game of their less scrupulous enemies, just as the prussian policy, steeped in the ideas of universal peace, did in 1805 and 1806, and brought the state to the brink of destruction. the functions of true humanity are twofold. on the one hand there is the promotion of the intellectual, moral, and military forces, as well as of political power, as the surest guarantee for the uniform development of character; on the other hand there is the practical realization of ideals, according to the law of love, in the life of the individual and of the community. it seems to me reasonable to compare the efforts directed towards the suppression of war with those of the social democratic labour party, which goes hand in hand with them. the aims of both parties are utopian. the organized labour party strives after an ideal whose realization is only conceivable when the rate of wages and the hours of work are settled internationally for the whole industrial world, and when the cost of living is everywhere uniformly regulated. until this is the case the prices of the international market determine the standard of wages. the nation which leaves this out of account, and tries to settle independently wages and working hours, runs the risk of losing its position in the international market in competition with nations who work longer hours and at lower rates. want of employment and extreme misery among the working classes would inevitably be the result. on the other hand, the internationalization of industries would soon, by excluding and preventing any competition, produce a deterioration of products and a profound demoralization of the working population. the case of the scheme for universal peace is similar. its execution, as we saw, would be only feasible in a world empire, and this is as impossible as the uniform regulation of the world's industries. a state which disregarded the differently conceived notions of neighbouring countries, and wished to make the idea of universal peace the guiding rule for its policy, would only inflict a fatal injury on itself, and become the prey of more resolute and warlike neighbours. we can, fortunately, assert the impossibility of these efforts after peace ever attaining their ultimate object in a world bristling with arms, where a healthy egotism still directs the policy of most countries. "god will see to it," says treitschke,[i] "that war always recurs as a drastic medicine for the human race!" [footnote i: treitschke, "politik," i., p. 76.] nevertheless, these tendencies spell for us in germany no inconsiderable danger. we germans are inclined to indulge in every sort of unpractical dreams. "the accuracy of the national instinct is no longer a universal attribute with us, as in france." [j] we lack the true feeling for political exigencies. a deep social and religious gulf divides the german people into different political groups, which are bitterly antagonistic to each other. the traditional feuds in the political world still endure. the agitation for peace introduces a new element of weakness, dissension, and indecision, into the divisions of our national and party life. [footnote j: treitschke, "politik," i., p. 81.] it is indisputable that many supporters of these ideas sincerely believe in the possibility of their realization, and are convinced that the general good is being advanced by them. equally true is it, however, that this peace movement is often simply used to mask intensely selfish political projects. its apparent humanitarian idealism constitutes its danger. every means must therefore be employed to oppose these visionary schemes. they must be publicly denounced as what they really are--as an unhealthy and feeble utopia, or a cloak for political machinations. our people must learn to see that _the maintenance of peace never can or may be the goal of a policy_. the policy of a great state has positive aims. it will endeavour to attain this by pacific measures so long as that is possible and profitable. it must not only be conscious that in momentous questions which influence definitely the entire development of a nation, the appeal to arms is a sacred right of the state, but it must keep this conviction fresh in the national consciousness. the inevitableness, the idealism, and the blessing of war, as an indispensable and stimulating law of development, must be repeatedly emphasized. the apostles of the peace idea must be confronted with goethe's manly words: "dreams of a peaceful day? let him dream who may! 'war' is our rallying cry, onward to victory!" chapter ii the duty to make war prince bismarck repeatedly declared before the german reichstag that no one should ever take upon himself the immense responsibility of intentionally bringing about a war. it could not, he said, be foreseen what unexpected events might occur, which altered the whole situation, and made a war, with its attendant dangers and horrors, superfluous. in his "thoughts and reminiscences" he expresses himself to this effect: "even victorious wars can only be justified when they are forced upon a nation, and we cannot see the cards held by providence so closely as to anticipate the historical development by personal calculation." [a] [footnote a: "gedanken und erinnerungen," vol. ii., p. 93.] we need not discuss whether prince bismarck wished this dictum to be regarded as a universally applicable principle, or whether he uttered it as a supplementary explanation of the peace policy which he carried out for so long. it is difficult to gauge its true import. the notion of forcing a war upon a nation bears various interpretations. we must not think merely of external foes who compel us to fight. a war may seem to be forced upon a statesman by the state of home affairs, or by the pressure of the whole political situation. prince bismarck did not, however, always act according to the strict letter of that speech; it is his special claim to greatness that at the decisive moment he did not lack the boldness to begin a war on his own initiative. the thought which he expresses in his later utterances cannot, in my opinion, be shown to be a universally applicable principle of political conduct. if we wish to regard it as such, we shall not only run counter to the ideas of our greatest german prince, but we exclude from politics that independence of action which is the true motive force. the greatness of true statesmanship consists in a knowledge of the natural trend of affairs, and in a just appreciation of the value of the controlling forces, which it uses and guides in its own interest. it does not shrink from the conflicts, which under the given conditions are unavoidable, but decides them resolutely by war when a favourable position affords prospect of a successful issue. in this way statecraft becomes a tool of providence, which employs the human will to attain its ends. "men make history," [b] as bismarck's actions clearly show. [footnote b: treitschke, "deutsche geschichte," i., p. 28.] no doubt the most strained political situation may unexpectedly admit of a peaceful solution. the death of some one man, the setting of some great ambition, the removal of some master-will, may be enough to change it fundamentally. but the great disputes in the life of a nation cannot be settled so simply. the man who wished to bring the question to a decisive issue may disappear, and the political crisis pass for the moment; the disputed points still exist, and lead once more to quarrels, and finally to war, if they are due to really great and irreconcilable interests. with the death of king edward vii. of england the policy of isolation, which he introduced with much adroit statesmanship against germany, has broken down. the antagonism of germany and england, based on the conflict of the interests and claims of the two nations, still persists, although the diplomacy which smoothes down, not always profitably, all causes of difference has succeeded in slackening the tension for the moment, not without sacrifices on the side of germany. it is clearly an untenable proposition that political action should depend on indefinite possibilities. a completely vague factor would be thus arbitrarily introduced into politics, which have already many unknown quantities to reckon with; they would thus be made more or less dependent on chance. it may be, then, assumed as obvious that the great practical politician bismarck did not wish that his words on the political application of war should be interpreted in the sense which has nowadays so frequently been attributed to them, in order to lend the authority of the great man to a weak cause. only those conditions which can be ascertained and estimated should determine political action. for the moral justification of the political decision we must not look to its possible consequences, but to its aim and its motives, to the conditions assumed by the agent, and to the trustworthiness, honour, and sincerity of the considerations which led to action. its practical value is determined by an accurate grasp of the whole situation, by a correct estimate of the resources of the two parties, by a clear anticipation of the probable results--in short, by statesmanlike insight and promptness of decision. if the statesman acts in this spirit, he will have an acknowledged right, under certain circumstances, to begin a war, regarded as necessary, at the most favourable moment, and to secure for his country the proud privilege of such initiative. if a war, on which a minister cannot willingly decide, is bound to be fought later under possibly far more unfavourable conditions, a heavy responsibility for the greater sacrifices that must then be made will rest on those whose strength and courage for decisive political action failed at the favourable moment. in the face of such considerations a theory by which a war ought never to be brought about falls to the ground. and yet this theory has in our day found many supporters, especially in germany. even statesmen who consider that the complete abolition of war is impossible, and do not believe that the _ultima ratio_ can be banished from the life of nations, hold the opinion that its advent should be postponed so long as possible.[c] [footnote c: speech of the imperial chancellor, v. bethmann-hollweg, on march 30, 1911. in his speech of november 9, 1911, the imperial chancellor referred to the above-quoted words of prince bismarck in order to obtain a peaceful solution of the morocco question.] those who favour this view take up approximately the same attitude as the supporters of the peace idea, so far as regarding war exclusively as a curse, and ignoring or underestimating its creative and civilizing importance. according to this view, a war recognized as inevitable must be postponed so long as possible, and no statesman is entitled to use exceptionally favourable conditions in order to realize necessary and justifiable aspirations by force of arms. such theories only too easily disseminate the false and ruinous notion that the maintenance of peace is the ultimate object, or at least the chief duty, of any policy. to such views, the offspring of a false humanity, the clear and definite answer must be made that, under certain circumstances, it is not only the right, but the moral and political duty of the statesman to bring about a war. wherever we open the pages of history we find proofs of the fact that wars, begun at the right moment with manly resolution, have effected the happiest results, both politically and socially. a feeble policy has always worked harm, since the statesman lacked the requisite firmness to take the risk of a necessary war, since he tried by diplomatic tact to adjust the differences of irreconcilable foes, and deceived himself as to the gravity of the situation and the real importance of the matter. our own recent history in its vicissitudes supplies us with the most striking examples of this. the great elector laid the foundations of prussia's power by successful and deliberately incurred wars. frederick the great followed in the steps of his glorious ancestor. "he noticed how his state occupied an untenable middle position between the petty states and the great powers, and showed his determination to give a definite character (_décider cet être_) to this anomalous existence; it had become essential to enlarge the territory of the state and _corriger la figure de la prusse_, if prussia wished to be independent and to bear with honour the great name of 'kingdom.'" [d] the king made allowance for this political necessity, and took the bold determination of challenging austria to fight. none of the wars which he fought had been forced upon him; none of them did he postpone as long as possible. he had always determined to be the aggressor, to anticipate his opponents, and to secure for himself favourable prospects of success. we all know what he achieved. the whole history of the growth of the european nations and of mankind generally would have been changed had the king lacked that heroic power of decision which he showed. [footnote d treitschke, "deutsche geschichte," i., p. 51.] we see a quite different development under the reign of frederick william iii., beginning with the year of weakness 1805, of which our nation cannot be too often reminded. it was manifest that war with napoleon could not permanently be avoided. nevertheless, in spite of the french breach of neutrality, the prussian government could not make up its mind to hurry to the help of the allied russians and austrians, but tried to maintain peace, though at a great moral cost. according to all human calculation, the participation of prussia in the war of 1805 would have given the allies a decisive superiority. the adherence to neutrality led to the crash of 1806, and would have meant the final overthrow of prussia as a state had not the moral qualities still existed there which frederick the great had ingrained on her by his wars. at the darkest moment of defeat they shone most brightly. in spite of the political downfall, the effects of frederick's victories kept that spirit alive with which he had inspired his state and his people. this is clearly seen in the quite different attitude of the prussian people and the other germans under the degrading yoke of the napoleonic tyranny. the power which had been acquired by the prussians through long and glorious wars showed itself more valuable than all the material blessings which peace created; it was not to be broken down by the defeat of 1806, and rendered possible the heroic revival of 1813. the german wars of unification also belong to the category of wars which, in spite of a thousand sacrifices, bring forth a rich harvest. the instability and political weakness which the prussian government showed in 1848, culminating in the disgrace of olmütz in 1850, had deeply shaken the political and national importance of prussia. on the other hand, the calm conscious strength with which she faced once more her duties as a nation, when king william i. and bismarck were at the helm, was soon abundantly manifest. bismarck, by bringing about our wars of unification in order to improve radically an untenable position and secure to our people healthy conditions of life, fulfilled the long-felt wish of the german people, and raised germany to the undisputed rank of a first-class european power. the military successes and the political position won by the sword laid the foundation for an unparalleled material prosperity. it is difficult to imagine how pitiable the progress of the german people would have been had not these wars been brought about by a deliberate policy. the most recent history tells the same story. if we judge the japanese standpoint with an unbiased mind we shall find the resolution to fight russia was not only heroic, but politically wise and morally justifiable. it was immensely daring to challenge the russian giant, but the purely military conditions were favourable, and the japanese nation, which had rapidly risen to a high stage of civilization, needed an extended sphere of influence to complete her development, and to open new channels for her superabundant activities. japan, from her own point of view, was entitled to claim to be the predominant civilized power in eastern asia, and to repudiate the rivalry of russia. the japanese statesmen were justified by the result. the victorious campaign created wider conditions of life for the japanese people and state, and at one blow raised it to be a determining co-factor in international politics, and gave it a political importance which must undeniably lead to great material advancement. if this war had been avoided from weakness or philanthropic illusions, it is reasonable to assume that matters would have taken a very different turn. the growing power of russia in the amur district and in korea would have repelled or at least hindered the japanese rival from rising to such a height of power as was attained through this war, glorious alike for military prowess and political foresight. the appropriate and conscious employment of war as a political means has always led to happy results. even an unsuccessfully waged war may sometimes be more beneficial to a people than the surrender of vital interests without a blow. we find an example of this in the recent heroic struggle of the small boer states against the british empire. in this struggle they were inevitably defeated. it was easy to foresee that an armed peasantry could not permanently resist the combined forces of england and her colonies, and that the peasant armies generally could not bear heavy losses. but yet--if all indications are not misleading--the blood shed by the boer people will yield a free and prosperous future. in spite of much weakness, the resistance was heroic; men like president stein, botha, and de wett, with their gallant followers, performed many great military feats. the whole nation combined and rose unanimously to fight for the freedom of which byron sings: "for freedom's battle once begun, bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, though baffled oft, is ever won." inestimable moral gains, which can never be lost in any later developments, have been won by this struggle. the boers have maintained their place as a nation; in a certain sense they have shown themselves superior to the english. it was only after many glorious victories that they yielded to a crushingly superior force. they accumulated a store of fame and national consciousness which makes them, though conquered, a power to be reckoned with. the result of this development is that the boers are now the foremost people in south africa, and that england preferred to grant them self-government than to be faced by their continual hostility. this laid the foundation for the united free states of south africa.[e] [footnote e: "war and the arme blanche," by erskine childers: "the truth came like a flash ... that all along we had been conquering the country, not the race; winning positions, not battles" (p. 215). "to ... aim at so cowing the boer national spirit, as to gain a permanent political ascendancy for ourselves, was an object beyond our power to achieve. peaceable political fusion under our own flag was the utmost we could secure. that means a conditional surrender, or a promise of future autonomy" (pp. 227-228). lord roberts wrote a very appreciative introduction to this book without any protest against the opinions expressed in it.] president kruger, who decided on this most justifiable war, and not cecil rhodes, will, in spite of the tragic ending to the war itself, be known in all ages as the great far-sighted statesman of south africa, who, despite the unfavourable material conditions, knew how to value the inestimable moral qualities according to their real importance. the lessons of history thus confirm the view that wars which have been deliberately provoked by far-seeing statesmen have had the happiest results. war, nevertheless, must always be a violent form of political agent, which not only contains in itself the danger of defeat, but in every case calls for great sacrifices, and entails incalculable misery. he who determines upon war accepts a great responsibility. it is therefore obvious that no one can come to such a decision except from the most weighty reasons, more especially under the existing conditions which have created national armies. absolute clearness of vision is needed to decide how and when such a resolution can be taken, and what political aims justify the use of armed force. this question therefore needs careful consideration, and a satisfactory answer can only be derived from an examination of the essential duty of the state. if this duty consists in giving scope to the highest intellectual and moral development of the citizens, and in co-operating in the moral education of the human race, then the state's own acts must necessarily conform to the moral laws. but the acts of the state cannot be judged by the standard of individual morality. if the state wished to conform to this standard it would often find itself at variance with its own particular duties. the morality of the state must be developed out of its own peculiar essence, just as individual morality is rooted in the personality of the man and his duties towards society. the morality of the state must be judged by the nature and _raison d'être_ of the state, and not of the individual citizen. but the end-all and be-all of a state is power, and "he who is not man enough to look this truth in the face should not meddle in politics." [f] [footnote f: treitschke, "politik," i., p 3, and ii., p 28.] machiavelli was the first to declare that the keynote of every policy was the advancement of power. this term, however, has acquired, since the german reformation, a meaning other than that of the shrewd florentine. to him power was desirable in itself; for us "the state is not physical power as an end in itself, it is power to protect and promote the higher interests"; "power must justify itself by being applied for the greatest good of mankind." [g] [footnote g: treitschke, "politik," i., p 3, and ii., p 28.] the criterion of the personal morality of the individual "rests in the last resort on the question whether he has recognized and developed his own nature to the highest attainable degree of perfection." [h] if the same standard is applied to the state, then "its highest moral duty is to increase its power. the individual must sacrifice himself for the higher community of which he is a member; but the state is itself the highest conception in the wider community of man, and therefore the duty of self-annihilation does not enter into the case. the christian duty of sacrifice for something higher does not exist for the state, for there is nothing higher than it in the world's history; consequently it cannot sacrifice itself to something higher. when a state sees its downfall staring it in the face, we applaud if it succumbs sword in hand. a sacrifice made to an alien nation not only is immoral, but contradicts the idea of self-preservation, which is the highest ideal of a state." [i] [footnote h: _ibid._] [footnote i: _ibid_., i., p 3.] i have thought it impossible to explain the foundations of political morality better than in the words of our great national historian. but we can reach the same conclusions by another road. the individual is responsible only for himself. if, either from weakness or from moral reasons, he neglects his own advantage, he only injures himself, the consequences of his actions recoil only on him. the situation is quite different in the case of a state. it represents the ramifying and often conflicting interests of a community. should it from any reason neglect the interests, it not only to some extent prejudices itself as a legal personality, but it injures also the body of private interests which it represents. this incalculably far-reaching detriment affects not merely one individual responsible merely to himself, but a mass of individuals and the community. accordingly it is a moral duty of the state to remain loyal to its own peculiar function as guardian and promoter of all higher interests. this duty it cannot fulfil unless it possesses the needful power. the increase of this power is thus from this standpoint also the first and foremost duty of the state. this aspect of the question supplies a fair standard by which the morality of the actions of the state can be estimated. the crucial question is, how far has the state performed this duty, and thus served the interests of the community? and this not merely in the material sense, but in the higher meaning that material interests are justifiable only so far as they promote the power of the state, and thus indirectly its higher aims. it is obvious, in view of the complexity of social conditions, that numerous private interests must be sacrificed to the interest of the community, and, from the limitations of human discernment, it is only natural that the view taken of interests of the community may be erroneous. nevertheless the advancement of the power of the state must be first and foremost the object that guides the statesman's policy. "among all political sins, the sin of feebleness is the most contemptible; it is the political sin against the holy ghost." [j] this argument of political morality is open to the objection that it leads logically to the jesuitic principle, that the end justifies the means; that, according to it, to increase the power of the state all measures are permissible. [footnote j: treitschke, "politik," i., p 3.] a most difficult problem is raised by the question how far, for political objects moral in themselves, means may be employed which must be regarded as reprehensible in the life of the individual. so far as i know, no satisfactory solution has yet been obtained, and i do not feel bound to attempt one at this point. war, with which i am dealing at present, is no reprehensible means in itself, but it may become so if it pursues unmoral or frivolous aims, which bear no comparison with the seriousness of warlike measures. i must deviate here a little from my main theme, and discuss shortly some points which touch the question of political morality. the gulf between political and individual morality is not so wide as is generally assumed. the power of the state does not rest exclusively on the factors that make up material power--territory, population, wealth, and a large army and navy: it rests to a high degree on moral elements, which are reciprocally related to the material. the energy with which a state promotes its own interests and represents the rights of its citizens in foreign states, the determination which it displays to support them on occasion by force of arms, constitute a real factor of strength, as compared with all such countries as cannot bring themselves to let things come to a crisis in a like case. similarly a reliable and honourable policy forms an element of strength in dealings with allies as well as with foes. a statesman is thus under no obligation to deceive deliberately. he can from the political standpoint avoid all negotiations which compromise his personal integrity, and he will thereby serve the reputation and power of his state no less than when he holds aloof from political menaces, to which no acts correspond, and renounces all political formulas and phrases. in antiquity the murder of a tyrant was thought a moral action, and the jesuits have tried to justify regicide.[k] at the present day political murder is universally condemned from the standpoint of political morality. the same holds good of preconcerted political deception. a state which employed deceitful methods would soon sink into disrepute. the man who pursues moral ends with unmoral means is involved in a contradiction of motives, and nullifies the object at which he aims, since he denies it by his actions. it is not, of course, necessary that a man communicate all his intentions and ultimate objects to an opponent; the latter can be left to form his own opinion on this point. but it is not necessary to lie deliberately or to practise crafty deceptions. a fine frankness has everywhere been the characteristic of great statesmen. subterfuges and duplicity mark the petty spirit of diplomacy. [footnote k: mariana, "de rege et regis institutione." toledo, 1598.] finally, the relations between two states must often be termed a latent war, which is provisionally being waged in peaceful rivalry. such a position justifies the employment of hostile methods, cunning, and deception, just as war itself does, since in such a case both parties are determined to employ them. i believe after all that a conflict between personal and political morality may be avoided by wise and prudent diplomacy, if there is no concealment of the desired end, and it is recognized that the means employed must correspond to the ultimately moral nature of that end. recognized rights are, of course, often violated by political action. but these, as we have already shown, are never absolute rights; they are of human origin, and therefore imperfect and variable. there are conditions under which they do not correspond to the actual truth of things; in this case the _summum jus summa injuria_ holds good, and the infringement of the right appears morally justified. york's decision to conclude the convention of tauroggen was indisputably a violation of right, but it was a moral act, for the franco-prussian alliance was made under compulsion, and was antagonistic to all the vital interests of the prussian state; it was essentially untrue and immoral. now it is always justifiable to terminate an immoral situation. as regards the employment of war as a political means, our argument shows that it becomes the duty of a state to make use of the _ultima ratio_ not only when it is attacked, but when by the policy of other states the power of the particular state is threatened, and peaceful methods are insufficient to secure its integrity. this power, as we saw, rests on a material basis, but finds expression in ethical values. war therefore seems imperative when, although the material basis of power is not threatened, the moral influence of the state (and this is the ultimate point at issue) seems to be prejudiced. thus apparently trifling causes may under certain circumstances constitute a fully justifiable _casus belli_ if the honour of the state, and consequently its moral prestige, are endangered. this prestige is an essential part of its power. an antagonist must never be allowed to believe that there is any lack of determination to assert this prestige, even if the sword must be drawn to do so. in deciding for war or peace, the next important consideration is whether the question under discussion is sufficiently vital for the power of the state to justify the determination to fight; whether the inevitable dangers and miseries of a war do not threaten to inflict greater injury on the interests of the state than the disadvantages which, according to human calculation, must result if war is not declared. a further point to be considered is whether the general position of affairs affords some reasonable prospect of military success. with these considerations of expediency certain other weighty aspects of the question must also be faced. it must always be kept in mind that a state is not justified in looking only to the present, and merely consulting the immediate advantage of the existing generation. such policy would be opposed to all that constitutes the essential nature of the state. its conduct must be guided by the moral duties incumbent on it, which, as one step is gained, point to the next higher, and prepare the present for the future. "the true greatness of the state is that it links the past with the present and the future; consequently the individual has no right to regard the state as a means for attaining his own ambitions in life." [l] [footnote l: treitschke, "politik," i., p 3.] the law of development thus becomes a leading factor in politics, and in the decision for war this consideration must weigh more heavily than the sacrifices necessarily to be borne in the present. "i cannot conceive," zelter once wrote to goethe, "how any right deed can be performed without sacrifice; all worthless actions must lead to the very opposite of what is desirable." a second point of view which must not be neglected is precisely that which zelter rightly emphasizes. a great end cannot be attained except by staking large intellectual and material resources, and no certainty of success can ever be anticipated. every undertaking implies a greater or less venture. the daily intercourse of civic life teaches us this lesson; and it cannot be otherwise in politics where account must be taken of most powerful antagonists whose strength can only be vaguely estimated. in questions of comparatively trifling importance much may be done by agreements and compromises, and mutual concessions may produce a satisfactory status. the solution of such problems is the sphere of diplomatic activity. the state of things is quite different when vital questions are at issue, or when the opponent demands concession, but will guarantee none, and is clearly bent on humiliating the other party. then is the time for diplomatists to be silent and for great statesmen to act. men must be resolved to stake everything, and cannot shun the solemn decision of war. in such questions any reluctance to face the opponent, every abandonment of important interests, and every attempt at a temporizing settlement, means not only a momentary loss of political prestige, and frequently of real power, which may possibly be made good in another place, but a permanent injury to the interests of the state, the full gravity of which is only felt by future generations. not that a rupture of pacific relations must always result in such a case. the mere threat of war and the clearly proclaimed intention to wage it, if necessary, will often cause the opponent to give way. this intention must, however, be made perfectly plain, for "negotiations without arms are like music-books without instruments," as frederick the great said. it is ultimately the actual strength of a nation to which the opponent's purpose yields. when, therefore, the threat of war is insufficient to call attention to its own claims the concert must begin; the obligation is unconditional, and the _right_ to fight becomes the _duty_ to make war, incumbent on the nation and statesman alike. finally, there is a third point to be considered. cases may occur where war must be made simply as a point of honour, although there is no prospect of success. the responsibility of this has also to be borne. so at least frederick the great thought. his brother henry, after the battle of kolin, had advised him to throw himself at the feet of the marquise de pompadour in order to purchase a peace with france. again, after the battle of kunersdorf his position seemed quite hopeless, but the king absolutely refused to abandon the struggle. he knew better what suited the honour and the moral value of his country, and preferred to die sword in hand than to conclude a degrading peace. president roosevelt, in his message to the congress of the united states of america on december 4, 1906, gave expression to a similar thought. "it must ever be kept in mind," so the manly and inspiriting words ran, "that war is not merely justifiable, but imperative, upon honourable men and upon an honourable nation when peace is only to be obtained by the sacrifice of conscientious conviction or of national welfare. a just war is in the long-run far better for a nation's soul than the most prosperous peace obtained by an acquiescence in wrong or injustice.... it must be remembered that even to be defeated in war may be better than not to have fought at all." to sum up these various views, we may say that expediency in the higher sense must be conclusive in deciding whether to undertake a war in itself morally justifiable. such decision is rendered more easy by the consideration that the prospects of success are always the greatest when the moment for declaring war can be settled to suit the political and military situation. it must further be remembered that every success in foreign policy, especially if obtained by a demonstration of military strength, not only heightens the power of the state in foreign affairs, but adds to the reputation of the government at home, and thus enables it better to fulfil its moral aims and civilizing duties. no one will thus dispute the assumption that, under certain circumstances, it is the moral and political duty of the state to employ war as a political means. so long as all human progress and all natural development are based on the law of conflict, it is necessary to engage in such conflict under the most favourable conditions possible. when a state is confronted by the material impossibility of supporting any longer the warlike preparations which the power of its enemies has forced upon it, when it is clear that the rival states must gradually acquire from natural reasons a lead that cannot be won back, when there are indications of an offensive alliance of stronger enemies who only await the favourable moment to strike--the moral duty of the state towards its citizens is to begin the struggle while the prospects of success and the political circumstances are still tolerably favourable. when, on the other hand, the hostile states are weakened or hampered by affairs at home and abroad, but its own warlike strength shows elements of superiority, it is imperative to use the favourable circumstances to promote its own political aims. the danger of a war may be faced the more readily if there is good prospect that great results may be obtained with comparatively small sacrifices. these obligations can only be met by a vigorous, resolute, active policy, which follows definite ideas, and understands how to arouse and concentrate all the living forces of the state, conscious of the truth of schiller's lines: "the chance that once thou hast refused will never through the centuries recur." the verdict of history will condemn the statesman who was unable to take the responsibility of a bold decision, and sacrificed the hopes of the future to the present need of peace. it is obvious that under these circumstances it is extremely difficult to answer the question whether in any special case conditions exist which justify the determination to make war. the difficulty is all the greater because the historical significance of the act must be considered, and the immediate result is not the final criterion of its justification. war is not always the final judgment of heaven. there are successes which are transitory while the national life is reckoned by centuries. the ultimate verdict can only be obtained by the survey of long epochs.[m] [footnote m: treitschke, "politik," i., p 2.] 54 the man whose high and responsible lot is to steer the fortunes of a great state must be able to disregard the verdict of his contemporaries; but he must be all the clearer as to the motives of his own policy, and keep before his eyes, with the full weight of the categorical imperative, the teaching of kant: "act so that the maxim of thy will can at the same time hold good as a principle of universal legislation." [n] [footnote n: kant, "kritik der praktischen vernuft," p. 30.] he must have a clear conception of the nature and purpose of the state, and grasp this from the highest moral standpoint. he can in no other way settle the rules of his policy and recognize clearly the laws of political morality. he must also form a clear conception of the special duties to be fulfilled by the nation, the guidance of whose fortunes rests in his hands. he must clearly and definitely formulate these duties as the fixed goal of statesmanship. when he is absolutely clear upon this point he can judge in each particular case what corresponds to the true interests of the state; then only can he act systematically in the definite prospect of smoothing the paths of politics, and securing favourable conditions for the inevitable conflicts; then only, when the hour for combat strikes and the decision to fight faces him, can he rise with a free spirit and a calm breast to that standpoint which luther once described in blunt, bold language: "it is very true that men write and say often what a curse war is. but they ought to consider how much greater is that curse which is averted by war. briefly, in the business of war men must not regard the massacres, the burnings, the battles, and the marches, etc.--that is what the petty and simple do who only look with the eyes of children at the surgeon, how he cuts off the hand or saws off the leg, but do not see or notice that he does it in order to save the whole body. thus we must look at the business of war or the sword with the eyes of men, asking, why these murders and horrors? it will be shown that it is a business, divine in itself, and as needful and necessary to the world as eating or drinking, or any other work."[o] [footnote o: luther, "whether soldiers can be in a state of salvation."] thus in order to decide what paths german policy must take in order to further the interests of the german people, and what possibilities of war are involved, we must first try to estimate the problems of state and of civilization which are to be solved, and discover what political purposes correspond to these problems. chapter iii a brief survey of germany's historical development the life of the individual citizen is valuable only when it is consciously and actively employed for the attainment of great ends. the same holds good of nations and states. they are, as it were, personalities in the framework of collective humanity, infinitely various in their endowments and their characteristic qualities, capable of the most different achievements, and serving the most multifarious purposes in the great evolution of human existence. such a theory will not be accepted from the standpoint of the materialistic philosophy which prevails among wide circles of our nation to-day. according to it, all that happens in the world is a necessary consequence of given conditions; free will is only necessity become conscious. it denies the difference between the empiric and the intelligible ego, which is the basis of the notion of moral freedom. this philosophy cannot stand before scientific criticism. it seems everywhere arbitrarily restricted by the narrow limits of the insufficient human intelligence. the existence of the universe is opposed to the law of a sufficient cause; infinity and eternity are incomprehensible to our conceptions, which are confined to space and time. the essential nature of force and volition remains inexplicable. we recognize only a subjectively qualified phenomenon in the world; the impelling forces and the real nature of things are withdrawn from our understanding. a systematic explanation of the universe is quite impossible from the human standpoint. so much seems clear--although no demonstrable certainty attaches to this theory--that spiritual laws beyond the comprehension of us men govern the world according to a conscious plan of development in the revolving cycles of a perpetual change. even the gradual evolution of mankind seems ruled by a hidden moral law. at any rate we recognize in the growing spread of civilization and common moral ideas a gradual progress towards purer and higher forms of life. it is indeed impossible for us to prove design and purpose in every individual case, because our attitude to the universal whole is too limited and anomalous. but within the limitations of our knowledge of things and of the inner necessity of events we can at least try to understand in broad outlines the ways of providence, which we may also term the principles of development. we shall thus obtain useful guidance for our further investigation and procedure. the agency and will of providence are most clearly seen in the history of the growth of species and races, of peoples and states. "what is true," goethe once said in a letter to zelter, "can but be raised and supported by its history; what is false only lowered and dissipated by its history." the formation of peoples and races, the rise and fall of states, the laws which govern the common life, teach us to recognize which forces have a creative, sustaining, and beneficent influence, and which work towards disintegration, and thus produce inevitable downfall. we are here following the working of universal laws, but we must not forget that states are personalities endowed with very different human attributes, with a peculiar and often very marked character, and that these subjective qualities are distinct factors in the development of states as a whole. impulses and influences exercise a very different effect on the separate national individualities. we must endeavour to grasp history in the spirit of the psychologist rather than of the naturalist. each nation must be judged from its own standpoint if we wish to learn the general trend of its development. we must study the history of the german people in its connection with that of the other european states, and ask first what paths its development has hitherto followed, and what guidance the past gives for our future policy. from the time of their first appearance in history the germans showed themselves a first-class civilized people. when the roman empire broke up before the onslaught of the barbarians there were two main elements which shaped the future of the west, christianity and the germans. the christian teaching preached equal rights for all men and community of goods in an empire of masters and slaves, but formulated the highest moral code, and directed the attention of a race, which only aimed at luxury, to the world beyond the grave as the true goal of existence. it made the value of man as man, and the moral development of personality according to the laws of the individual conscience, the starting-point of all development. it thus gradually transformed the philosophy of the ancient world, whose morality rested solely on the relations with the state. simultaneously with this, hordes of germans from the thickly-populated north poured victoriously in broad streams over the roman empire and the decaying nations of the ancient world. these masses could not keep their nationality pure and maintain their position as political powers. the states which they founded were short-lived. even then men recognized how difficult it is for a lower civilization to hold its own against a higher. the germans were gradually merged in the subject nations. the german element, however, instilled new life into these nations, and offered new opportunities for growth. the stronger the admixture of german blood, the more vigorous and the more capable of civilization did the growing nations appear. in the meantime powerful opponents sprung up in this newly-formed world. the latin race grew up by degrees out of the admixture of the germans with the roman world and the nations subdued by them, and separated itself from the germans, who kept themselves pure on the north of the alps and in the districts of scandinavia. at the same time the idea of the universal empire, which the ancient world had embraced, continued to flourish. in the east the byzantine empire lasted until a.d. 1453. in the west, however, the last roman emperor had been deposed by odoacer in 476. italy had fallen into the hands of the east goths and lombards successively. the visigoths had established their dominion in spain, and the franks and burgundians in gaul. a new empire rose from the latter quarter. charles the great, with his powerful hand, extended the frankish empire far beyond the boundaries of gaul. by the subjugation of the saxons he became lord of the country between the rhine and the elbe; he obtained the sovereignty in italy by the conquest of the lombards, and finally sought to restore the western roman empire. he was crowned emperor in rome in the year 800. his successors clung to this claim; but the frankish empire soon fell to pieces. in its partition the western half formed what afterwards became france, and the east frankish part of the empire became the later germany. while the germans in the west frankish empire, in italy and spain, had abandoned their speech and customs, and had gradually amalgamated with the romans, the inhabitants of the east frankish empire, especially the saxons and their neighbouring tribes, maintained their germanic characteristics, language, and customs. a powerful german [a] kingdom arose which renewed the claims of charles the great to the western roman empire. otto the great was the first _german_ king who took this momentous step. it involved him and his successors in a quarrel with the bishops of rome, who wished to be not only heads of the church, but lords of italy, and did not hesitate to falsify archives in order to prove their pretended title to that country. [footnote a: german (deutsch=diutisk) signifies originally "popular," opposed to "foreign"--_e.g._, the latin church dialect. it was first used as the name of a people, in the tenth century a.d.] the popes made good this right, but they did not stop there. living in rome, the sacred seat of the world-empire, and standing at the head of a church which claimed universality, they, too, laid hold in their own way of the idea of universal imperium. the notion was one of the boldest creations of the human intellect--to found and maintain a world-sovereignty almost wholly by the employment of spiritual powers. naturally these papal pretensions led to feuds with the empire. the freedom of secular aspirations clashed with the claims of spiritual dominion. in the portentous struggle of the two powers for the supremacy, a struggle which inflicted heavy losses on the german empire, the imperial cause was worsted. it was unable to mould the widely different and too independent subdivisions of the empire into a homogeneous whole, and to crush the selfish particularism of the estates. the last staufer died on the scaffold at naples under the axe of charles of anjou, who was a vassal of the church. the great days of the german-roman empire were over. the german power lay on the ground in fragments. a period of almost complete anarchy followed. dogmatism and lack of patriotic sentiment, those bad characteristics of the german people, contributed to extend this destruction to the economic sphere. the intellectual life of the german people deteriorated equally. at the time when the imperial power was budding and under the rule of the highly-gifted staufers, german poetry was passing through a first classical period. every german country was ringing with song; the depth of german sentiment found universal expression in ballads and poems, grave or gay, and german idealism inspired the minnesingers. but with the disappearance of the empire every string was silent, and even the plastic arts could not rise above the coarseness and confusion of the political conditions. the material prosperity of the people indeed improved, as affairs at home were better regulated, and developed to an amazing extent; the hanseatic league bore its flag far and wide over the northern seas, and the great trade-routes, which linked the west and orient, led from venice and genoa through germany. but the earlier political power was never again attained. nevertheless dislike of spiritual despotism still smouldered in the breasts of that german people, which had submitted to the papacy, and was destined, once more to blaze up into bright flames, and this time in the spiritual domain. as she grew more and more worldly, the church had lost much of her influence on men's minds. on the other hand, a refining movement had grown up in humanism, which, supported by the spirit of antiquity, could not fail from its very nature to become antagonistic to the church. it found enthusiastic response in germany, and was joined by everyone whose thoughts and hopes were centred in freedom. ulrich von hutten's battle-cry, "i have dared the deed," rang loud through the districts of germany. humanism was thus in a sense the precursor of the reformation, which conceived in the innermost heart of the german people, shook europe to her foundations. once more it was the german people which, as formerly in the struggle between the arian goths and the orthodox church, shed it's heart's blood in a religious war for spiritual liberty, and now for national independence also. no struggle more pregnant with consequences for the development of humanity had been fought out since the persian wars. in this cause the german people nearly disappeared, and lost all political importance. large sections of the empire were abandoned to foreign states. germany became a desert. but this time the church did not remain victorious as she did against the arian goths and the staufers. it is true she was not laid prostrate; she still remained a mighty force, and drew new strength from the struggle itself. politically the catholic states, under spanish leadership, won an undisputed supremacy. but, on the other hand, the right to spiritual freedom was established. this most important element of civilization was retained for humanity in the reformed churches, and has become ever since the palladium of all progress, though even after the peace of westphalia protracted struggles were required to assert religious freedom. the states of the latin race on their side now put forward strong claims to the universal imperium in order to suppress the german ideas of freedom. spain first, then france: the two soon quarrelled among themselves about the predominance. at the same time, in germanized england a firs-class protestant power was being developed, and the age of discoveries, which coincided roughly with the end of the reformation and the thirty years' war, opened new and unsuspected paths to human intellect and human energy. political life also acquired a fresh stimulus. gradually a broad stream of immigrants poured into the newly-discovered districts of america, the northern part of which fell to the lot of the germanic and the southern part to that of the latin race. thus was laid the foundation of the great colonial empires, and consequently, of world politics. germany remained excluded from this great movement, since she wasted her forces in ecclesiastical disputes and religious wars. on the other hand, in combination with england, the low countries and austria, which latter had at the same time to repel the inroad of turks from the east, she successfully curbed the french ambition for sovereignty in a long succession of wars. england by these wars grew to be the first colonial and maritime power in the world. germany forfeited large tracts of territory, and lost still more in political power. she broke up into numerous feeble separate states, which were entirely void of any common sympathy with the german cause. but this very disintegration lent her fresh strength. a centre of protestant power was established in the north--i.e., prussia. after centuries of struggle the germans had succeeded in driving back the slavs, who poured in from the east, in wrestling large tracts from them, and in completely germanizing them. this struggle, like that with the niggard soil, produced a sturdy race, conscious of its strength, which extended its power to the coasts of the baltic, and successfully planted germanic culture in the far north. the german nation was finally victorious also against swedes, who disputed the command of the baltic. in that war the great elector had laid the foundations of a strong political power, which, under his successors, gradually grew into an influential force in germany. the headship of protestant germany devolved more and more on this state, and a counterpoise to catholic austria grew up. this latter state had developed out of germany into an independent great power, resting its supremacy not only on a german population, but also on hungarians and slavs. in the seven years' war prussia broke away from catholic austria and the empire, and confronted france and russia as an independent protestant state. but yet another dark hour was in store for germany, as she once more slowly struggled upwards. in france the monarchy has exhausted the resources of the nation for its own selfish ends. the motto of the monarchy, _l'état c'est moi,_ carried to an extreme, provoked a tremendous revulsion of ideas, which culminated in the stupendous revolution of 1789, and everywhere in europe, and more specially in germany, shattered and swept away the obsolete remnants of medievalism. the german empire as such disappeared; only fragmentary states survived, among which prussia alone showed any real power. france once again under napoleon was fired with the conception of the universal imperium, and bore her victorious eagles to italy, egypt, syria, germany, and spain, and even to the inhospitable plains of russia, which by a gradual political absorption of the slavonic east, and a slow expansion of power in wars with poland, sweden, turkey, and prussia, had risen to an important place among the european nations. austria, which had become more and more a congeries of different nationalities, fell before the mighty corsican. prussia, which seemed to have lost all vigour in her dream of peace, collapsed before his onslaught. but the german spirit emerged with fresh strength from the deepest humiliation. the purest and mightiest storm of fury against the yoke of the oppressor that ever honoured an enslaved nation burst out in the protestant north. the wars of liberation, with their glowing enthusiasm, won back the possibilities of political existence for prussia and for germany, and paved the way for further world-wide historical developments. while the french people in savage revolt against spiritual and secular despotism had broken their chains and proclaimed their _rights,_ another quite different revolution was working in prussia--the revolution of _duty_. the assertion of the rights of the individual leads ultimately to individual irresponsibility and to a repudiation of the state. immanuel kant, the founder of critical philosophy, taught, in opposition to this view, the gospel of moral duty, and scharnhorst grasped the idea of universal military service. by calling upon each individual to sacrifice property and life for the good of the community, he gave the clearest expression to the idea of the state, and created a sound basis on which the claim to individual rights might rest at the same time stein laid the foundations of self-employed-government in prussia. while measures of the most far-reaching historical importance were thus being adopted in the state on which the future fate of germany was to depend, and while revolution was being superseded by healthy progress, a german empire of the first rank, the empire of intellect, grew up in the domain of art and science, where german character and endeavour found the deepest and fullest expression. a great change had been effected in this land of political narrowness and social sterility since the year 1750. a literature and a science, born in the hearts of the nation, and deeply rooted in the moral teaching of protestantism, had raised their minds far beyond the boundaries of practical life into the sunlit heights of intellectual liberty, and manifested the power and superiority of the german spirit. "thus the new poetry and science became for many decades the most effectual bond of union for this dismembered people, and decided the victory of protestantism in german life." [b] [footnote b: treitschke, "deutsche geschichte", i., p. 88.] germany was raised to be once more "the home of heresy, since she developed the root-idea of the reformation into the right of unrestricted and unprejudiced inquiry". [c] moral obligations, such as no nation had ever yet made the standard of conduct, were laid down in the philosophy of kant and fichte, and a lofty idealism inspired the songs of her poets. the intense effect of these spiritual agencies was realized in the outburst of heroic fury in 1813. "thus our classical literature, starting from a different point, reached the same goal as the political work of the prussian monarchy", [d] and of those men of action who pushed this work forward in the hour of direst ruin. [footnote c: _ibid.,_ i., p. 90.] [footnote d: _ibid._] the meeting of napoleon and goethe, two mighty conquerors, was an event in the world's history. on one side the scourge of god, the great annihilator of all survivals from the past, the gloomy despot, the last abortion of the revolution--a "part of the power that still produces good, while still devising ill"; on the other, the serenely grave olympian who uttered the words, "let man be noble, resourceful, and good"; who gave a new content to the religious sentiment, since he conceived all existence as a perpetual change to higher conditions, and pointed out new paths in science; who gave the clearest expression to all aspirations of the human intellect, and all movements of the german mind, and thus roused his people to consciousness; who finally by his writings on every subject showed that the whole realm of human knowledge was concentrated in the german brain; a prophet of truth, an architect of imperishable monuments which testify to the divinity in man. the great conqueror of the century was met by the hero of intellect, to whom was to fall the victory of the future. the mightiest potentate of the latin race faced the great germanic who stood in the forefront of humanity. truly a nation which in the hour of its deepest political degradation could give birth to men like fichte, scharnhorst, stein, schiller, and goethe, to say nothing about the great soldier-figures of the wars of liberation, must be called to a mighty destiny. we must admit that in the period immediately succeeding the great struggle of those glorious days, the short-sightedness, selfishness, and weakness of its sovereigns, and the jealousy of its neighbours, robbed the german people of the full fruits of its heroism, devotion, and pure enthusiasm. the deep disappointment of that generation found expression in the revolutionary movement of 1848, and in the emigration of thousands to the free country of north america, where the germans took a prominent part in the formation of a new nationality, but were lost to their mother-country. the prussian monarchy grovelled before austria and russia, and seemed to have forgotten its national duties. nevertheless in the centre of the prussian state there was springing up from the blood of the champions of freedom a new generation that no longer wished to be the anvil, but to wield the hammer. two men came to the front, king william i. and the hero of the saxon forest. resolutely they united the forces of the nation, which at first opposed them from ignorance, and broke down the selfishness and dogmatic positivism of the popular representatives. a victorious campaign settled matters with austria, who did not willingly cede the supremacy in germany, and left the german imperial confederation without forfeiting her place as a great power. france was brought to the ground with a mighty blow; the vast majority of the german peoples united under the imperial crown which the king of prussia wore; the old idea of the german empire was revived in a federal shape by the triple alliance of germany, austria, and italy. the german idea, as bismarck fancied it, ruled from the north sea to the adriatic and the mediterranean. like a phoenix from the ashes, the german giant rose from the sluggard-bed of the old german confederation, and stretched his mighty limbs. it was an obvious and inevitable result that this awakening of germany vitally affected the other nations which had hitherto divided the economic and political power. hostile combinations threatened us on all sides in order to check the further expansion of our power. hemmed in between france and russia, who allied themselves against us, we failed to gather the full fruits of our victories. the short-sightedness and party feuds of the newly-formed reichstag--the old hereditary failings of our nation--prevented any colonial policy on broad lines. the intense love of peace, which the nation and government felt, made us fall behind in the race with other countries. in the most recent partition of the earth, that of africa, victorious germany came off badly. france, her defeated opponent, was able to found the second largest colonial empire in the world; england appropriated the most important portions; even small and neutral belgium claimed a comparatively large and valuable share; germany was forced to be content with some modest strips of territory. in addition to, and in connection with, the political changes, new views and new forces have come forward. under the influence of the constitutional ideas of frederick the great, and the crop of new ideas borne by the french revolution, the conception of the state has completely changed since the turn of the century. the patrimonial state of the middle ages was the hereditary possession of the sovereign. hence sprung the modern state, which represents the reverse of this relation, in which the sovereign is the first servant of the state, and the interest of the state, and not of the ruler, is the key to the policy of the government. with this altered conception of the state the principle of nationality has gradually developed, of which the tendency is as follows: historical boundaries are to be disregarded, and the nations combined into a political whole; the state will thus acquire a uniform national character and common national interests. this new order of things entirely altered the basis of international relations, and set new and unknown duties before the statesman. commerce and trade also developed on wholly new lines. after 1815 the barriers to every activity--guilds and trade restrictions--were gradually removed. landed property ceased to be a monopoly. commerce and industries flourished conspicuously. "england introduced the universal employment of coal and iron and of machinery into industries, thus founding immense industrial establishments; by steamers and railways she brought machinery into commerce, at the same time effecting an industrial revolution by physical science and chemistry, and won the control of the markets of the world by cotton. there came, besides, the enormous extension of the command of credit in the widest sense, the exploitation of india, the extension of colonization over polynesia, etc." england at the same time girdled the earth with her cables and fleets. she thus attained to a sort of world-sovereignty. she has tried to found a new universal empire; not, indeed, by spiritual or secular weapons, like pope and emperor in bygone days, but by the power of money, by making all material interests dependent on herself. facing her, between the atlantic and pacific oceans, linking the west and the east, the united states of north america have risen to be an industrial and commercial power of the first rank. supported by exceptionally abundant natural resources, and the unscrupulously pushing character of her inhabitants, this mighty empire aims at a suitable recognition of her power in the council of the nations, and is on the point of securing this by the building of a powerful navy. russia has not only strengthened her position in europe, but has extended her power over the entire north of asia, and is pressing farther into the centre of that continent. she has already crossed swords with the states of the mongolian race. this vast population, which fills the east of the asiatic continent, has, after thousands of years of dormant civilization, at last awakened to political life, and categorically claims its share in international life. the entrance of japan into the circle of the great world powers means a call to arms. "asia for the asiatics," is the phrase which she whispers beneath her breath, trusting in the strength of her demand. the new great power has emerged victoriously from its first encounter with a european foe. china, too, is preparing to expand her forces outwardly. a mighty movement is thrilling asia--the awakening of a new epoch. dangers, then, which have already assumed a profound importance for the civilized countries of europe, are threatening from asia, the old cradle of the nations. but even in the heart of the european nations, forces which have slumbered hitherto are now awake. the persisting ideas of the french revolution and the great industrial progress which characterized the last century, have roused the working classes of every country to a consciousness of their importance and their social power. the workers, originally concerned only in the amelioration of their material position, have, in theory, abandoned the basis of the modern state, and seek their salvation in the revolution which they preach. they do not wish to obtain what they can within the limitations of the historically recognized state, but they wish to substitute for it a new state, in which they themselves are the rulers. by this aspiration they not only perpetually menace state and society, but endanger in the separate countries the industries from which they live, since they threaten to destroy the possibility of competing in the international markets by continuous increase of wages and decrease of work. even in germany this movement has affected large sections of the population. until approximately the middle of the last century, agriculture and cattle-breeding formed the chief and most important part of german industries. since then, under the protection of wise tariffs, and in connection with the rapid growth of the german merchant navy, trade has marvellously increased. germany has become an industrial and trading nation; almost the whole of the growing increase of the population finds work and employment in this sphere. agriculture has more and more lost its leading position in the economic life of the people. the artisan class has thus become a power in our state. it is organized in trade unions, and has politically fallen under the influence of the international social democracy. it is hostile to the national class distinctions, and strains every nerve to undermine the existing power of the state. it is evident that the state cannot tolerate quietly this dangerous agitation, and that it must hinder, by every means, the efforts of the anti-constitutionalist party to effect their purpose. the law of self-preservation demands this; but it is clear that, to a certain point, the pretensions of the working classes are justified. the citizen may fairly claim to protect himself from poverty by work, and to have an opportunity of raising himself in the social scale, if he willingly devotes his powers. he is entitled to demand that the state should grant this claim, and should be bound to protect him against the tyranny of capital. two means of attaining such an object are open to the state: first, it may create opportunities of work, which secure remunerative employment to all willing hands; secondly, it may insure the workman by legislation against every diminution in his capacity to work owing to sickness, age, or accident; may give him material assistance when temporarily out of work, and protect him against compulsion which may hinder him from working. the economical prosperity of germany as the visible result of three victorious campaigns created a labour market sufficiently large for present purposes, although without the conscious intention of the state. german labour, under the protection of the political power, gained a market for itself. on the other hand, the german state has intervened with legislation, with full consciousness of the end and the means. as scharnhorst once contrasted the duty of the citizen with the rights of man, so the emperor william i. recognized the duty of the state towards those who were badly equipped with the necessaries of life. the position of the worker was assured, so far as circumstances allowed, by social legislation. no excuse, therefore, for revolutionary agitation now existed. a vigorous opposition to all the encroachments of the social democrats indicated the only right way in which the justifiable efforts of the working class could be reconciled with the continuance of the existing state and of existing society, the two pillars of all civilization and progress. this task is by no means completed. the question still is, how to win back the working class to the ideals of state and country? willing workers must be still further protected against social democratic tyranny. germany, nevertheless, is in social-political respects at the head of all progress in culture. german science has held its place in the world. germany certainly took the lead in political sciences during the last century, and in all other domains of intellectual inquiry has won a prominent position through the universality of her philosophy and her thorough and unprejudiced research into the nature of things. the achievements of germany in the sphere of science and literature are attested by the fact that the annual export of german books to foreign countries is, according to trustworthy estimates, twice as large as that of france, england, and america combined. it is only in the domain of the exact sciences that germany has often been compelled to give precedence to foreign countries. german art also has failed to win a leading position. it shows, indeed, sound promise in many directions, and has produced much that is really great; but the chaos of our political conditions is, unfortunately, reflected in it. the german empire has politically been split up into numerous parties. not only are the social democrats and the middle class opposed, but they, again, are divided among themselves; not only are industries and agriculture bitter enemies, but the national sentiment has not yet been able to vanquish denominational antagonisms, and the historical hostility between north and south has prevented the population from growing into a completely united body. so stands germany to-day, torn by internal dissensions, yet full of sustained strength; threatened on all sides by dangers, compressed into narrow, unnatural limits, she still is filled with high aspirations, in her nationality, her intellectual development, in her science, industries, and trade. and now, what paths does this history indicate to us for the future? what duties are enforced on us by the past? it is a question of far-reaching importance; for on the way in which the german state answers this question, depend not only our own further development, but to some extent the subsequent shaping of the history of the world. chapter iv germany's historical mission let us pass before our mind's eye the whole course of our historical development, and let us picture to ourselves the life-giving streams of human beings, that in every age have poured forth from the empire of central europe to all parts of the globe; let us reflect what rich seeds of intellectual and moral development were sown by the german intellectual life: the proud conviction forces itself upon us with irresistible power that a high, if not the highest, importance for the entire development of the human race is ascribable to this german people. this conviction is based on the intellectual merits of our nation, on the freedom and the universality of the german spirit, which have ever and again been shown in the course of its history. there is no nation whose thinking is at once so free from prejudice and so historical as the german, which knows how to unite so harmoniously the freedom of the intellectual and the restraint of the practical life on the path of free and natural development. the germans have thus always been the standard-bearers of free thought, but at the same time a strong bulwark against revolutionary anarchical outbreaks. they have often been worsted in the struggle for intellectual freedom, and poured out their best heart's blood in the cause. intellectual compulsion has sometimes ruled the germans; revolutionary tremors have shaken the life of this people--the great peasant war in the sixteenth century, and the political attempts at revolution in the middle of the nineteenth century. but the revolutionary movement has been checked and directed into the paths of a healthy natural advancement. the inevitable need of a free intellectual self-determination has again and again disengaged itself from the inner life of the soul of the people, and broadened into world-historical importance. thus two great movements were born from the german intellectual life, on which, henceforth, all the intellectual and moral progress of man must rest: the reformation and the critical philosophy. the reformation, which broke the intellectual yoke, imposed by the church, which checked all free progress; and the critique of pure reason, which put a stop to the caprice of philosophic speculation by defining for the human mind the limitations of its capacity for knowledge, and at the same time pointed out in what way knowledge is really possible. on this substructure was developed the intellectual life of our time, whose deepest significance consists in the attempt to reconcile the result of free inquiry with the religious needs of the heart, and to lay a foundation for the harmonious organization of mankind. torn this way and that, between hostile forces, in a continuous feud between faith and knowledge, mankind seems to have lost the straight road of progress. reconciliation only appears possible when the thought of religious reformation leads to a permanent explanation of the idea of religion, and science remains conscious of the limits of its power, and does not attempt to explain the domain of the supersensual world from the results of natural philosophy. the german nation not only laid the foundations of this great struggle for an harmonious development of humanity, but took the lead in it. we are thus incurring an obligation for the future, from which we cannot shrink. we must be prepared to be the leaders in this campaign, which is being fought for the highest stake that has been offered to human efforts. our nation is not only bound by its past history to take part in this struggle, but is peculiarly adapted to do so by its special qualities. no nation on the face of the globe is so able to grasp and appropriate all the elements of culture, to add to them from the stores of its own spiritual endowment, and to give back to mankind richer gifts than it received. it has "enriched the store of traditional european culture with new and independent ideas and ideals, and won a position in the great community of civilized nations which none else could fill." "depth of conviction, idealism, universality, the power to look beyond all the limits of a finite existence, to sympathize with all that is human, to traverse the realm of ideas in companionship with the noblest of all nations and ages--this has at all times been the german characteristic; this has been extolled as the prerogative of german culture." [a] to no nation, except the german, has it been given to enjoy in its inner self "that which is given to mankind as a whole." we often see in other nations a greater intensity of specialized ability, but never the same capacity for generalization and absorption. it is this quality which specially fits us for the leadership in the intellectual world, and imposes on us the obligation to maintain that position. [footnote a: treitschke, "deutsche geschichte," i., p. 95.] there are numerous other tasks to be fulfilled if we are to discharge our highest duty. they form the necessary platform from which we can mount to the highest goal. these duties lie in the domains of science and politics, and also in that borderland where science and politics touch, and where the latter is often directly conditioned by the results of scientific inquiry. first and foremost it is german science which must regain its superiority in unwearying and brilliant research in order to vindicate our birthright. on the one hand, we must extend the theory of the perceptive faculty; on the other, we must increase man's dominion over nature by exploring her hidden secrets, and thus make human work more useful and remunerative. we must endeavour to find scientific solutions of the great problems which deeply concern mankind. we need not restrict ourselves to the sphere of pure theory, but must try to benefit civilization by the practical results of research, and thus create conditions of life in which a purer conception of the ideal life can find its expression. it is, broadly speaking, religious and social controversies which exercise the most permanent influence on human existence, and condition not only our future development, but the higher life generally. these problems have occupied the minds of no people more deeply and permanently than our own. yet the revolutionary spirit, in spite of the empty ravings of social democratic agitators, finds no place in germany. the german nature tends towards a systematic healthy development, which works slowly in opposition to the different movements. the germans thus seem thoroughly qualified to settle in their own country the great controversies which are rending other nations, and to direct them into the paths of a natural progress in conformity with the laws of evolution. we have already started on the task in the social sphere, and shall no doubt continue it, so far as it is compatible with the advantages of the community and the working class itself. we must not spare any efforts to find other means than those already adopted to inspire the working class with healthy and patriotic ambitions. it is to be hoped, in any case, that if ever a great and common duty, requiring the concentration of the whole national strength, is imposed upon us, that the labour classes will not withhold their co-operation, and that, in face of a common danger, our nation will recover that unity which is lamentably deficient to-day. no attempt at settlement has been made in the religious domain. the old antagonists are still bitterly hostile to each other, especially in germany. it will be the duty of the future to mitigate the religious and political antagonism of the denominations, under guarantees of absolute liberty of thought and all personal convictions, and to combine the conflicting views into a harmonious and higher system. at present there appears small probability of attaining this end. the dogmatism of protestant orthodoxy and the jesuitic tendencies and ultramontanism of the catholics, must be surmounted, before any common religious movement can be contemplated. but no german statesman can disregard this aspect of affairs, nor must he ever forget that the greatness of our nation is rooted exclusively on protestantism. legally and socially all denominations enjoy equal rights, but the german state must never renounce the leadership in the domain of free spiritual development. to do so would mean loss of prestige. duties of the greatest importance for the whole advance of human civilization have thus been transmitted to the german nation, as heir of a great and glorious past. it is faced with problems of no less significance in the sphere of its international relations. these problems are of special importance, since they affect most deeply the intellectual development, and on their solution depends the position of germany in the world. the german empire has suffered great losses of territory in the storms and struggles of the past. the germany of to-day, considered geographically, is a mutilated torso of the old dominions of the emperors; it comprises only a fraction of the german peoples. a large number of german fellow-countrymen have been incorporated into other states, or live in political independence, like the dutch, who have developed into a separate nationality, but in language and national customs cannot deny their german ancestry. germany has been robbed of her natural boundaries; even the source and mouth of the most characteristically german stream, the much lauded german rhine, lie outside the german territory. on the eastern frontier, too, where the strength of the modern german empire grew up in centuries of war against the slavs, the possessions of germany are menaced. the slavonic waves are ever dashing more furiously against the coast of that germanism, which seems to have lost its old victorious strength. signs of political weakness are visible here, while for centuries the overflow of the strength of the german nation has poured into foreign countries, and been lost to our fatherland and to our nationality; it is absorbed by foreign nations and steeped with foreign sentiments. even to-day the german empire possesses no colonial territories where its increasing population may find remunerative work and a german way of living. this is obviously not a condition which can satisfy a powerful nation, or corresponds to the greatness of the german nation and its intellectual importance. at an earlier epoch, to be sure, when germans had in the course of centuries grown accustomed to the degradation of being robbed of all political significance, a large section of our people did not feel this insufficiency. even during the age of our classical literature the patriotic pride of that idealistic generation "was contented with the thought that no other people could follow the bold flights of german genius or soar aloft to the freedom of our world citizenship." [b] [footnote b: treitschke, "deutsche geschichte," i., p. 195.] schiller, in 1797, could write the lines: "german majesty and honour fall not with the princes' crown; when amid the flames of war german empire crashes down, german greatness stands unscathed." [c] [footnote c: fragment of a poem on "german greatness," published in 1905 by bernhard suphan.] the nobler and better section of our nation, at any rate, holds different sentiments to-day. we attach a higher value to the influence of the german spirit on universal culture than was then possible, since we must now take into consideration the immense development of germany in the nineteenth century, and can thus better estimate the old importance of our classical literature. again, we have learnt from the vicissitudes of our historical growth to recognize that the full and due measure of intellectual development can only be achieved by the political federation of our nation. the dominion of german thought can only be extended under the aegis of political power, and unless we act in conformity to this idea, we shall be untrue to our great duties towards the human race. our first and positive duty consists, therefore, in zealously guarding the territories of germany, as they now are, and in not surrendering a foot's breadth of german soil to foreign nationalities. on the west the ambitious schemes of the latin race have been checked, and it is hard to imagine that we shall ever allow this prize of victory to be snatched again from our hands. on the south-east the turks, who formerly threatened the civilized countries of europe, have been completely repulsed. they now take a very different position in european politics from that which they filled at the time of their victorious advance westwards. their power on the mediterranean is entirely destroyed. on the other hand, the slavs have become a formidable power. vast regions which were once under german influence are now once more subject to slavonic rule, and seem permanently lost to us. the present russian baltic provinces were formerly flourishing seats of german culture. the german element in austria, our ally, is gravely menaced by the slavs; germany herself is exposed to a perpetual peaceful invasion of slavonic workmen. many poles are firmly established in the heart of westphalia. only faint-hearted measures are taken to-day to stem this slavonic flood. and yet to check this onrush of slavism is not merely an obligation inherited from our fathers, but a duty in the interests of self-preservation and european civilization. it cannot yet be determined whether we can keep off this vast flood by pacific precautions. it is not improbable that the question of germanic or slavonic supremacy will be once more decided by the sword. the probability of such a conflict grows stronger as we become more lax in pacific measures of defence, and show less determination to protect the german soil at all costs. the further duty of supporting the germans in foreign countries in their struggle for existence and of thus keeping them loyal to their nationality, is one from which, in our direct interests, we cannot withdraw. the isolated groups of germans abroad greatly benefit our trade, since by preference they obtain their goods from germany; but they may also be useful to us politically, as we discover in america. the american-germans have formed a political alliance with the irish, and thus united, constitute a power in the state, with which the government must reckon. finally, from the point of view of civilization, it is imperative to preserve the german spirit, and by so doing to establish _foci_ of universal culture. even if we succeed in guarding our possessions in the east and west, and in preserving the german nationality in its present form throughout the world, we shall not be able to maintain our present position, powerful as it is, in the great competition with the other powers, if we are contented to restrict ourselves to our present sphere of power, while the surrounding countries are busily extending their dominions. if we wish to compete further with them, a policy which our population and our civilization both entitle and compel us to adopt, we must not hold back in the hard struggle for the sovereignty of the world. lord rosebery, speaking at the royal colonial institute on march 1, 1893, expressed himself as follows: "it is said that our empire is already large enough and does not need expansion.... we shall have to consider not what we want now, but what we want in the future.... we have to remember that it is part of our responsibility and heritage to take care that the world, so far as it can be moulded by us, should receive the anglo-saxon and not another character." [d] [footnote d: this passage is quoted in the book of the french ex-minister hanotaux, "fashoda et le partage de l'afrique."] that is a great and proud thought which the englishman then expressed. if we count the nations who speak english at the present day, and if we survey the countries which acknowledge the rule of england, we must admit that he is justified from the english point of view. he does not here contemplate an actual world-sovereignty, but the predominance of the english spirit is proclaimed in plain language. england has certainly done a great work of civilization, especially from the material aspect; but her work is one-sided. all the colonies which are directly subject to english rule are primarily exploited in the interest of english industries and english capital. the work of civilization, which england undeniably has carried out among them, has always been subordinated to this idea; she has never justified her sovereignty by training up a free and independent population, and by transmitting to the subject peoples the blessings of an independent culture of their own. with regard to those colonies which enjoy self-government, and are therefore more or less free republics, as canada, australia, south africa, it is very questionable whether they will permanently retain any trace of the english spirit. they are not only growing states, but growing nations, and it seems uncertain at the present time whether england will be able to include them permanently in the empire, to make them serviceable to english industries, or even to secure that the national character is english. nevertheless, it is a great and proud ambition that is expressed in lord rosebery's words, and it testifies to a supreme national self-confidence. the french regard with no less justifiable satisfaction the work done by them in the last forty years. in 1909 the former french minister, hanotaux, gave expression to this pride in the following words: "ten years ago the work of founding our colonial empire was finished. france has claimed her rank among the four great powers. she is at home in every quarter of the globe. french is spoken, and will continue to be spoken, in africa, asia, america, oceania. seeds of sovereignty are sown in all parts of the world. they will prosper under the protection of heaven." [e] [footnote e: hanotaux, "fashoda et le partage de l'afrique."] the same statesman criticized, with ill-concealed hatred, the german policy: "it will be for history to decide what has been the leading thought of germany and her government during the complicated disputes under which the partition of africa and the last phase of french colonial policy were ended. we may assume that at first the adherents to bismarck's policy saw with satisfaction how france embarked on distant and difficult undertakings, which would fully occupy the attention of the country and its government for long years to come. nevertheless, it is not certain that this calculation has proved right in the long-run, since germany ultimately trod the same road, and, somewhat late, indeed, tried to make up for lost time. if that country deliberately abandoned colonial enterprise to others, it cannot be surprised if these have obtained the best shares." this french criticism is not altogether unfair. it must be admitted with mortification and envy that the nation vanquished in 1870, whose vital powers seemed exhausted, which possessed no qualification for colonization from want of men to colonize, as is best seen in algeria, has yet created the second largest colonial empire in the world, and prides herself on being a world power, while the conqueror of gravelotte and sedan in this respect lags far behind her, and only recently, in the morocco controversy, yielded to the unjustifiable pretensions of france in a way which, according to universal popular sentiment, was unworthy alike of the dignity and the interests of germany. the openly declared claims of england and france are the more worthy of attention since an _entente_ prevails between the two countries. in the face of these claims the german nation, from the standpoint of its importance to civilization, is fully entitled not only to demand a place in the sun, as prince bülow used modestly to express it, but to aspire to an adequate share in the sovereignty of the world far beyond the limits of its present sphere of influence. but we can only reach this goal, by so amply securing our position in europe, that it can never again be questioned. then only we need no longer fear that we shall be opposed by stronger opponents whenever we take part in international politics. we shall then be able to exercise our forces freely in fair rivalry with the other world powers, and secure to german nationality and german spirit throughout the globe that high esteem which is due to them. such an expansion of power, befitting our importance, is not merely a fanciful scheme--it will soon appear as a political necessity. the fact has already been mentioned that, owing to political union and improved economic conditions during the last forty years, an era of great prosperity has set in, and that german industries have been widely extended and german trade has kept pace with them. the extraordinary capacity of the german nation for trade and navigation has once more brilliantly asserted itself. the days of the hanseatic league have returned. the labour resources of our nation increase continuously. the increase of the population in the german empire alone amounts yearly to a million souls, and these have, to a large extent, found remunerative industrial occupation. there is, however, a reverse side to this picture of splendid development. we are absolutely dependent on foreign countries for the import of raw materials, and to a considerable extent also for the sale of our own manufactures. we even obtain a part of our necessaries of life from abroad. then, again, we have not the assured markets which england possesses in her colonies. our own colonies are unable to take much of our products, and the great foreign economic spheres try to close their doors to outsiders, especially germans, in order to encourage their own industries, and to make themselves independent of other countries. the livelihood of our working classes directly depends on the maintenance and expansion of our export trade. it is a question of life and death for us to keep open our oversea commerce. we shall very soon see ourselves compelled to find for our growing population means of life other than industrial employment. it is out of the question that this latter can keep pace permanently with the increase of population. agriculture will employ a small part of this increase, and home settlements may afford some relief. but no remunerative occupation will ever be found within the borders of the existing german empire for the whole population, however favourable our international relations. we shall soon, therefore, be faced by the question, whether we wish to surrender the coming generations to foreign countries, as formerly in the hour of our decline, or whether we wish to take steps to find them a home in our own german colonies, and so retain them for the fatherland. there is no possible doubt how this question must be answered. if the unfortunate course of our history has hitherto prevented us from building a colonial empire, it is our duty to make up for lost time, and at once to construct a fleet which, in defiance of all hostile powers, may keep our sea communications open. we have long underestimated the importance of colonies. colonial possessions which merely serve the purpose of acquiring wealth, and are only used for economic ends, while the owner-state does not think of colonizing in any form or raising the position of the aboriginal population in the economic or social scale, are unjustifiable and immoral, and can never be held permanently. "but that colonization which retains a uniform nationality has become a factor of immense importance for the future of the world. it will determine the degree in which each nation shares in the government of the world by the white race. it is quite imaginable that a count owns no colonies will no longer count among the european great powers, however powerful it may otherwise be." [f] [footnote f: treitschke, "politik," i., section 8.] we are already suffering severely from the want of colonies to meet our requirements. they would not merely guarantee a livelihood to our growing working population, but would supply raw materials and foodstuffs, would buy goods, and open a field of activity to that immense capital of intellectual labour forces which is to-day lying unproductive in germany, or is in the service of foreign interests. we find throughout the countries of the world german merchants, engineers, and men of every profession, employed actively in the service of foreign masters, because german colonies, when they might be profitably engaged, do not exist. in the future, however, the importance of germany will depend on two points: firstly, how many millions of men in the world speak german? secondly, how many of them are politically members of the german empire? these are heavy and complicated duties, which have devolved on us from the entire past development of our nation, and are determined by its present condition as regards the future. we must be quite clear on this point, that no nation has had to reckon with the same difficulties and hostility as ours. this is due to the many restrictions of our political relations, to our unfavourable geographical position, and to the course of our history. it was chiefly our own fault that we were condemned to political paralysis at the time when the great european states built themselves up, and sometimes expanded into world powers. we did not enter the circle of the powers, whose decision carried weight in politics, until late, when the partition of the globe was long concluded. all which other nations attained in centuries of natural development--political union, colonial possessions, naval power, international trade--was denied to our nation until quite recently. what we now wish to attain must be _fought for_, and won, against a superior force of hostile interests and powers. it is all the more emphatically our duty plainly to perceive what paths we wish to take, and what our goals are, so as not to split up our forces in false directions, and involuntarily to diverge from the straight road of our intended development. the difficulty of our political position is in a certain sense an advantage. by keeping us in a continually increasing state of tension, it has at least protected us so far from the lethargy which so often follows a long period of peace and growing wealth. it has forced us to stake all our spiritual and material forces in order to rise to every occasion, and has thus discovered and strengthened resources which will be of great value whenever we shall be called upon to draw the sword. chapter v world power or downfall in discussing the duties which fall to the german nation from its history and its general as well as particular endowments, we attempted to prove that a consolidation and expansion of our position among the great powers of europe, and an extension of our colonial possessions, must be the basis of our future development. the political questions thus raised intimately concern all international relations, and should be thoroughly weighed. we must not aim at the impossible. a reckless policy would be foreign to our national character and our high aims and duties. but we must aspire to the possible, even at the risk of war. this policy we have seen to be both our right and our duty. the longer we look at things with folded hands, the harder it will be to make up the start which the other powers have gained on us. "the man of sense will by the forelock clutch whatever lies within his power, stick fast to it, and neither shirk, nor from his enterprise be thrust, but, having once begun to work, go working on because he must." _faust_ (translated by sir theodore martin). the sphere in which we can realize our ambition is circumscribed by the hostile intentions of the other world powers, by the existing territorial conditions, and by the armed force which is at the back of both. our policy must necessarily be determined by the consideration of these conditions. we must accurately, and without bias or timidity, examine the circumstances which turn the scale when the forces which concern us are weighed one against the other. these considerations fall partly within the military, but belong mainly to the political sphere, in so far as the political grouping of the states allows a survey of the military resources of the parties. we must try to realize this grouping. the shifting aims of the politics of the day need not be our standard; they are often coloured by considerations of present expediency, and offer no firm basis for forming an opinion. we must rather endeavour to recognize the political views and intentions of the individual states, which are based on the nature of things, and therefore will continually make their importance felt. the broad lines of policy are ultimately laid down by the permanent interests of a country, although they may often be mistaken from short-sightedness or timidity, and although policy sometimes takes a course which does not seem warranted from the standpoint of lasting national benefits. policy is not an exact science, following necessary laws, but is made by men who impress on it the stamp of their strength or their weakness, and often divert it from the path of true national interests. such digressions must not be ignored. the statesman who seizes his opportunity will often profit by these political fluctuations. but the student who considers matters from the standpoint of history must keep his eyes mainly fixed on those interests which seem permanent. we must therefore try to make the international situation in this latter sense clear, so far as it concerns germany's power and ambitions. we see the european great powers divided into two great camps. on the one side germany, austria, and italy have concluded a defensive alliance, whose sole object is to guard against hostile aggression. in this alliance the two first-named states form the solid, probably unbreakable, core, since by the nature of things they are intimately connected. the geographical conditions force this result. the two states combined form a compact series of territories from the adriatic to the north sea and the baltic. their close union is due also to historical national and political conditions. austrians have fought shoulder to shoulder with prussians and germans of the empire on a hundred battlefields; germans are the backbone of the austrian dominions, the bond of union that holds together the different nationalities of the empire. austria, more than germany, must guard against the inroads of slavism, since numerous slavonic races are comprised in her territories. there has been no conflict of interests between the two states since the struggle for the supremacy in germany was decided. the maritime and commercial interests of the one point to the south and south-east, those of the other to the north. any feebleness in the one must react detrimentally on the political relations of the other. a quarrel between germany and austria would leave both states at the mercy of overwhelmingly powerful enemies. the possibility of each maintaining its political position depends on their standing by each other. it may be assumed that the relations uniting the two states will be permanent so long as germans and magyars are the leading nationalities in the danubian monarchy. it was one of the master-strokes of bismarck's policy to have recognized the community of austro-german interests even during the war of 1866, and boldly to have concluded a peace which rendered such an alliance possible. the weakness of the austrian empire lies in the strong admixture of slavonic elements, which are hostile to the german population, and show many signs of pan-slavism. it is not at present, however, strong enough to influence the political position of the empire. italy, also, is bound to the triple alliance by her true interests. the antagonism to austria, which has run through italian history, will diminish when the needs of expansion in other spheres, and of creating a natural channel for the increasing population, are fully recognized by italy. neither condition is impossible. irredentism will then lose its political significance, for the position, which belongs to italy from her geographical situation and her past history, and will promote her true interests if attained, cannot be won in a war with austria. it is the position of a leading political and commercial mediterranean power. that is the natural heritage which she can claim. neither germany nor austria is a rival in this claim, but france, since she has taken up a permanent position on the coast of north africa, and especially in tunis, has appropriated a country which would have been the most natural colony for italy, and has, in point of fact, been largely colonized by italians. it would, in my opinion, have been politically right for us, even at the risk of a war with france, to protest against this annexation, and to preserve the territory of carthage for italy. we should have considerably strengthened italy's position on the mediterranean, and created a cause of contention between italy and france that would have added to the security of the triple alliance. the weakness of this alliance consists in its purely defensive character. it offers a certain security against hostile aggression, but does not consider the necessary development of events, and does not guarantee to any of its members help in the prosecution of its essential interests. it is based on a _status quo_, which was fully justified in its day, but has been left far behind by the march of political events. prince bismarck, in his "thoughts and reminiscences," pointed out that this alliance would not always correspond to the requirements of the future. since italy found the triple alliance did not aid her mediterranean policy, she tried to effect a pacific agreement with england and france, and accordingly retired from the triple alliance. the results of this policy are manifest to-day. italy, under an undisguised arrangement with england and france, but in direct opposition to the interests of the triple alliance, attacked turkey, in order to conquer, in tripoli, the required colonial territory. this undertaking brought her to the brink of a war with austria, which, as the supreme power in the balkan peninsula, can never tolerate the encroachment of italy into those regions. the triple alliance, which in itself represents a natural league, has suffered a rude shock. the ultimate reason for this result is found in the fact that the parties concerned with a narrow, short-sighted policy look only to their immediate private interests, and pay no regard to the vital needs of the members of the league. the alliance will not regain its original strength until, under the protection of the allied armies, each of the three states can satisfy its political needs. we must therefore be solicitous to promote austria's position in the balkans, and italy's interests on the mediterranean. only then can we calculate on finding in our allies assistance towards realizing our own political endeavours. since, however, it is against all our interests to strengthen italy at the cost of turkey, which is, as we shall see, an essential member of the triple alliance, we must repair the errors of the past, and in the next great war win back tunis for italy. only then will bismarck's great conception of the triple alliance reveal its real meaning. but the triple alliance, so long as it only aims at negative results, and leaves it to the individual allies to pursue their vital interests exclusively by their own resources, will be smitten with sterility. on the surface, italy's mediterranean interests do not concern us closely. but their real importance for us is shown by the consideration that the withdrawal of italy from the triple alliance, or, indeed, its secession to an anglo-franco-russian _entente,_ would probably be the signal for a great european war against us and austria. such a development would gravely prejudice the lasting interests of italy, for she would forfeit her political independence by so doing, and incur the risk of sinking to a sort of vassal state of france. such a contingency is not unthinkable, for, in judging the policy of italy, we must not disregard her relations with england as well as with france. england is clearly a hindrance in the way of italy's justifiable efforts to win a prominent position in the mediterranean. she possesses in gibraltar, malta, cyprus, egypt, and aden a chain of strong bases, which secure the sea-route to india, and she has an unqualified interest in commanding this great road through the mediterranean. england's mediterranean fleet is correspondingly strong and would--especially in combination with the french mediterranean squadron--seriously menace the coasts of italy, should that country be entangled in a war against england _and_ france. italy is therefore obviously concerned in avoiding such a war, as long as the balance of maritime power is unchanged. she is thus in an extremely difficult double position; herself a member of the triple alliance, she is in a situation which compels her to make overtures to the opponents of that alliance, so long as her own allies can afford no trustworthy assistance to her policy of development. it is our interest to reconcile italy and turkey so far as we can. france and russia have united in opposition to the central european triple alliance. france's european policy is overshadowed by the idea of _revanche_. for that she makes the most painful sacrifices; for that she has forgotten the hundred years' enmity against england and the humiliation of fashoda. she wishes first to take vengeance for the defeats of 1870-71, which wounded her national pride to the quick; she wishes to raise her political prestige by a victory over germany, and, if possible, to regain that former supremacy on the continent of europe which she so long and brilliantly maintained; she wishes, if fortune smiles on her arms, to reconquer alsace and lorraine. but she feels too weak for an attack on germany. her whole foreign policy, in spite of all protestations of peace, follows the single aim of gaining allies for this attack. her alliance with russia, her _entente_ with england, are inspired with this spirit; her present intimate relations with this latter nation are traceable to the fact that the french policy hoped, and with good reason, for more active help from england's hostility to germany than from russia. the colonial policy of france pursues primarily the object of acquiring a material, and, if possible, military superiority over germany. the establishment of a native african army, the contemplated introduction of a modified system of conscription in algeria, and the political annexation of morocco, which offers excellent raw material for soldiers, so clearly exhibit this intention, that there can be no possible illusion as to its extent and meaning. since france has succeeded in bringing her military strength to approximately the same level as germany, since she has acquired in her north african empire the possibility of considerably increasing that strength, since she has completely outstripped germany in the sphere of colonial policy, and has not only kept up, but also revived, the french sympathies of alsace and lorraine, the conclusion is obvious: france will not abandon the paths of an anti-german policy, but will do her best to excite hostility against us, and to thwart german interests in every quarter of the globe. when she came to an understanding with the italians, that she should be given a free hand in morocco if she allowed them to occupy tripoli, a wedge was driven into the triple alliance which threatens to split it. it may be regarded as highly improbable that she will maintain honourably and with no _arrière-pensée_ the obligations undertaken in the interests of german commerce in morocco. the suppression of these interests was, in fact, a marked feature of the french morocco policy, which was conspicuously anti-german. the french policy was so successful that we shall have to reckon more than ever on the hostility of france in the future. it must be regarded as a quite unthinkable proposition that an agreement between france and germany can be negotiated before the question between them has been once more decided by arms. such an agreement is the less likely now that france sides with england, to whose interest it is to repress germany but strengthen france. another picture meets our eyes if we turn to the east, where the giant russian empire towers above all others. the empire of the czar, in consequence of its defeat in manchuria, and of the revolution which was precipitated by the disastrous war, is following apparently a policy of recuperation. it has tried to come to an understanding with japan in the far east, and with england in central asia; in the balkans its policy aims at the maintenance of the _status quo_. so far it does not seem to have entertained any idea of war with germany. the potsdam agreement, whose importance cannot be overestimated, shows that we need not anticipate at present any aggressive policy on russia's part. the ministry of kokowzew seems likely to wish to continue this policy of recuperation, and has the more reason for doing so, as the murder of stolypin with its accompanying events showed, as it were by a flash of lightning, a dreadful picture of internal disorder and revolutionary intrigue. it is improbable, therefore, that russia would now be inclined to make armed intervention in favour of france. the russo-french alliance is not, indeed, swept away, and there is no doubt that russia would, if the necessity arose, meet her obligations; but the tension has been temporarily relaxed, and an improvement in the russo-german relations has been effected, although this state of things was sufficiently well paid for by the concessions of germany in north persia. it is quite obvious that this policy of marking time, which russia is adopting for the moment, can only be transitory. the requirements of the mighty empire irresistibly compel an expansion towards the sea, whether in the far east, where it hopes to gain ice-free harbours, or in the direction of the mediterranean, where the crescent still glitters on the dome of st. sophia. after a successful war, russia would hardly hesitate to seize the mouth of the vistula, at the possession of which she has long aimed, and thus to strengthen appreciably her position in the baltic. supremacy in the balkan peninsula, free entrance into the mediterranean, and a strong position on the baltic, are the goals to which the european policy of russia has naturally long been directed. she feels herself, also, the leading power of the slavonic races, and has for many years been busy in encouraging and extending the spread of this element into central europe. pan-slavism is still hard at work. it is hard to foresee how soon russia will come out from her retirement and again tread the natural paths of her international policy. her present political attitude depends considerably on the person of the present emperor, who believes in the need of leaning upon a strong monarchical state, such as germany is, and also on the character of the internal development of the mighty empire. the whole body of the nation is so tainted with revolutionary and moral infection, and the peasantry is plunged in such economic disorder, that it is difficult to see from what elements a vivifying force may spring up capable of restoring a healthy condition. even the agrarian policy of the present government has not produced any favourable results, and has so far disappointed expectations. the possibility thus has always existed that, under the stress of internal affairs, the foreign policy may be reversed and an attempt made to surmount the difficulties at home by successes abroad. time and events will decide whether these successes will be sought in the far east or in the west. on the one side japan, and possibly china, must be encountered; on the other, germany, austria, and, possibly, turkey. doubtless these conditions must exercise a decisive influence on the franco-russian alliance. the interests of the two allies are not identical. while france aims solely at crushing germany by an aggressive war, russia from the first has more defensive schemes in view. she wished to secure herself against any interference by the powers of central europe in the execution of her political plans in the south and east, and at the same time, at the price of an alliance, to raise, on advantageous terms in france, the loans which were so much needed. russia at present has no inducement to seek an aggressive war with germany or to take part in one. of course, every further increase of the german power militates against the russian interests. we shall therefore always find her on the side of those who try to cross our political paths. england has recently associated herself with the franco-russian alliance. she has made an arrangement in asia with russia by which the spheres of influence of the two parties are delimited, while with france she has come to terms in the clear intention of suppressing germany under all circumstances, if necessary by force of arms. the actually existing conflict of russian and english interests in the heart of asia can obviously not be terminated by such agreements. so, also, no natural community of interests exists between england and france. a strong french fleet may be as great a menace to england as to any other power. for the present, however, we may reckon on an anglo--french _entente_. this union is cemented by the common hostility to germany. no other reason for the political combination of the two states is forthcoming. there is not even a credible pretext, which might mask the real objects. this policy of england is, on superficial examination, not very comprehensible. of course, german industries and trade have lately made astounding progress, and the german navy is growing to a strength which commands respect. we are certainly a hindrance to the plans which england is prosecuting in asiatic turkey and central africa. this may well be distasteful to the english from economic as well as political and military aspects. but, on the other hand, the american competition in the domain of commercial politics is far keener than the german. the american navy is at the present moment stronger than the german, and will henceforth maintain this precedence. even the french are on the point of building a formidable fleet, and their colonial empire, so far as territory is concerned, is immensely superior to ours. yet, in spite of all these considerations, the hostility of the english is primarily directed against us. it is necessary to adopt the english standpoint in order to understand the line of thought which guides the english politicians. i believe that the solution of the problem is to be found in the wide ramifications of english interests in every part of the world. since england committed the unpardonable blunder, from her point of view, of not supporting the southern states in the american war of secession, a rival to england's world-wide empire has appeared on the other side of the atlantic in the form of the united states of north america, which are a grave menace to england's fortunes. the keenest competition conceivable now exists between the two countries. the annexation of the philippines by america, and england's treaty with japan, have accentuated the conflict of interests between the two nations. the trade and industries of america can no longer be checked, and the absolutely inexhaustible and ever-growing resources of the union are so prodigious that a naval war with america, in view of the vast distances and wide extent of the enemies' coasts, would prove a very bold, and certainly very difficult, undertaking. england accordingly has always diplomatically conceded the claims of america, as quite recently in the negotiations about fortifying the panama canal; the object clearly is to avoid any collision with the united states, from fearing the consequences of such collision. the american competition in trade and industries, and the growth of the american navy, are tolerated as inevitable, and the community of race is borne in mind. in this sense, according to the english point of view, must be understood the treaty by which a court of arbitration between the two countries was established. england wishes, in any case, to avert the danger of a war with america. the natural opposition of the two rival states may, however, in the further development of things, be so accentuated that england will be forced to assert her position by arms, or at least to maintain an undisputed naval supremacy, in order to emphasize her diplomatic action. the relations of the two countries to canada may easily become strained to a dangerous point, and the temporary failure of the arbitration treaty casts a strong light on the fact that the american people does not consider that the present political relations of the two nations are permanent. there is another danger which concerns england more closely and directly threatens her vitality. this is due to the nationalist movement in india and egypt, to the growing power of islam, to the agitation for independence in the great colonies, as well as to the supremacy of the low-german element in south africa. turkey is the only state which might seriously threaten the english position in egypt by land. this contingency gives to the national movement in egypt an importance which it would not otherwise possess; it clearly shows that england intensely fears every pan-islamitic movement. she is trying with all the resources of political intrigue to undermine the growing power of turkey, which she officially pretends to support, and is endeavouring to create in arabia a new religious centre in opposition to the caliphate. the same views are partially responsible for the policy in india, where some seventy millions of moslems live under the english rule. england, so far, in accordance with the principle of _divide et impera_, has attempted to play off the mohammedan against the hindu population. but now that a pronounced revolutionary and nationalist tendency shows itself among these latter, the danger is imminent that pan-islamism, thoroughly roused, should unite with the revolutionary elements of bengal. the co-operation of these elements might create a very grave danger, capable of shaking the foundations of england's high position in the world. while so many dangers, in the future at least, threaten both at home and abroad, english imperialism has failed to link the vast empire together, either for purposes of commerce or defence, more closely than hitherto. mr. chamberlain's dream of the british imperial customs union has definitely been abandoned. no attempt was made at the imperial conference in 1911 to go back to it. "a centrifugal policy predominated. .... when the question of imperial defence came up, the policy was rejected which wished to assure to great britain the help of the oversea dominions in every imaginable eventuality." the great self-ruled colonies represent allies, who will stand by england in the hour of need, but "allies with the reservation that they are not to be employed wrongfully for objects which they cannot ascertain or do not approve." [a] there are clear indications that the policy of the dominions, though not yet planning a separation from england, is contemplating the future prospect of doing so. canada, south africa, and australia are developing, as mentioned in chapter iv., into independent nations and states, and will, when their time comes, claim formal independence. [footnote a: th. schiemann in the _kreuzzeitung_ of july 5, 1911.] all these circumstances constitute a grave menace to the stability of england's empire, and these dangers largely influence england's attitude towards germany. england may have to tolerate the rivalry of north america in her imperial and commercial ambitions, but the competition of germany must be stopped. if england is forced to fight america, the german fleet must not be in a position to help the americans. therefore it must be destroyed. a similar line of thought is suggested by the eventuality of a great english colonial war, which would engage england's fleets in far distant parts of the world. england knows the german needs and capabilities of expansion, and may well fear that a german empire with a strong fleet might use such an opportunity for obtaining that increase of territory which england grudges. we may thus explain the apparent indifference of england to the french schemes of aggrandizement. france's capability of expansion is exhausted from insufficient increase of population. she can no longer be dangerous to england as a nation, and would soon fall victim to english lust of empire, if only germany were conquered. the wish to get rid of the dangers presumably threatening from the german quarter is all the more real since geographical conditions offer a prospect of crippling the german overseas commerce without any excessive efforts. the comparative weakness of the german fleet, contrasted with the vast superiority of the english navy, allows a correspondingly easy victory to be anticipated, especially if the french fleet co-operates. the possibility, therefore, of quickly and completely getting rid of one rival, in order to have a free hand for all other contingencies, looms very near and undoubtedly presents a practicable means of placing the naval power of england on a firm footing for years to come, of annihilating german commerce and of checking the importance of german interests in africa and northern asia. the hostility to germany is also sufficiently evident in other matters. it has always been england's object to maintain a certain balance of power between the continental nations of europe, and to prevent any one of them attaining a pronounced supremacy. while these states crippled and hindered each other from playing any active part on the world's stage, england acquired an opportunity of following out her own purposes undisturbed, and of founding that world empire which she now holds. this policy she still continues, for so long as the powers of europe tie each other's hands, her own supremacy is uncontested. it follows directly from this that england's aim must be to repress germany, but strengthen france; for germany at the present moment is the only european state which threatens to win a commanding position; but france is her born rival, and cannot keep on level terms with her stronger neighbour on the east, unless she adds to her forces and is helped by her allies. thus the hostility to germany, from this aspect also, is based on england's most important interests, and we must treat it as axiomatic and self-evident. the argument is often adduced that england by a war with germany would chiefly injure herself, since she would lose the german market, which is the best purchaser of her industrial products, and would be deprived of the very considerable german import trade. i fear that from the english point of view these conditions would be an additional incentive to war. england would hope to acquire, in place of the lost german market, a large part of those markets which had been supplied by germany before the war, and the want of german imports would be a great stimulus, and to some extent a great benefit, to english industries. after all, it is from the english aspect of the question quite comprehensible that the english government strains every nerve to check the growing power of germany, and that a passionate desire prevails in large circles of the english nation to destroy the german fleet which is building, and attack the objectionable neighbour. english policy might, however, strike out a different line, and attempt to come to terms with germany instead of fighting. this would be the most desirable course for us. a triple alliance--germany, england, and america--has been suggested.[b] but for such a union with germany to be possible, england must have resolved to give a free course to german development side by side with her own, to allow the enlargement of our colonial power, and to offer no political hindrances to our commercial and industrial competition. she must, therefore, have renounced her traditional policy, and contemplate an entirely new grouping of the great powers in the world. [footnote b: "the united states and the war cloud in europe," by th. schiemann, _mcclure's magazine_, june, 1910.] it cannot be assumed that english pride and self-interest will consent to that. the continuous agitation against germany, under the tacit approval of the government, which is kept up not only by the majority of the press, but by a strong party in the country, the latest statements of english politicians, the military preparations in the north sea, and the feverish acceleration of naval construction, are unmistakable indications that england intends to persist in her anti-german policy. the uncompromising hostility of england and her efforts to hinder every expansion of germany's power were openly shown in the very recent morocco question. those who think themselves capable of impressing on the world the stamp of their spirit, do not resign the headship without a struggle, when they think victory is in their grasp. a pacific agreement with england is, after all, a will-o'-the-wisp which no serious german statesman would trouble to follow. we must always keep the possibility of war with england before our eyes, and arrange our political and military plans accordingly. we need not concern ourselves with any pacific protestations of english politicians, publicists, and utopians, which, prompted by the exigencies of the moment, cannot alter the real basis of affairs. when the unionists, with their greater fixity of purpose, replace the liberals at the helm, we must be prepared for a vigorous assertion of power by the island empire. on the other hand, america, which indisputably plays a decisive part in english policy, is a land of limitless possibilities. while, on the one side, she insists on the monroe doctrine, on the other she stretches out her own arms towards asia and africa, in order to find bases for her fleets. the united states aim at the economic and, where possible, the political command of the american continent, and at the naval supremacy in the pacific. their interests, both economic and political, notwithstanding all commercial and other treaties, clash emphatically with those of japan and england. no arbitration treaties could alter this. no similar opposition to germany, based on the nature of things, has at present arisen from the ambitions of the two nations; certainly not in the sphere of politics. so far as can be seen, an understanding with germany ought to further the interests of america. it is unlikely that the americans would welcome any considerable addition to the power of england. but such would be the case if great britain succeeded in inflicting a political and military defeat on germany. for a time it seemed as if the anglo-american negotiations about arbitration courts would definitely end in an alliance against germany. there has, at any rate, been a great and widespread agitation against us in the united states. the americans of german and irish stock resolutely opposed it, and it is reasonable to assume that the anti-german movement in the united states was a passing phase, with no real foundation in the nature of things. in the field of commerce there is, no doubt, keen competition between the two countries, especially in south america; there is, however, no reason to assume that this will lead to political complications. japan has, for the time being, a direct political interest for us only in her influence on the affairs of russia, america, england, and china. in the far east, since japan has formed an alliance with england, and seems recently to have effected an arrangement with russia, we have to count more on japanese hostility than japanese friendship. her attitude to china may prove exceptionally important to our colonial possessions in east asia. if the two nations joined hands--a hardly probable eventuality at present--it would become difficult for us to maintain an independent position between them. the political rivalry between the two nations of yellow race must therefore be kept alive. if they are antagonistic, they will both probably look for help against each other in their relations with europe, and thus enable the european powers to retain their possessions in asia. while the aspiring great powers of the far east cannot at present directly influence our policy, turkey--the predominant power of the near east--is of paramount importance to us. she is our natural ally; it is emphatically our interest to keep in close touch with her. the wisest course would have been to have made her earlier a member of the triple alliance, and so to have prevented the turco-italian war, which threatens to change the whole political situation, to our disadvantage. turkey would gain in two ways: she assures her position both against russia and against england--the two states, that is, with whose hostility we have to reckon. turkey, also, is the only power which can threaten england's position in egypt, and thus menace the short sea-route and the land communications to india. we ought to spare no sacrifices to secure this country as an ally for the eventuality of a war with england or russia. turkey's interests are ours. it is also to the obvious advantage of italy that turkey maintain her commanding position on the bosphorus and at the dardanelles, that this important key should not be transferred to the keeping of foreigners, and belong to russia or england. if russia gained the access to the mediterranean, to which she has so long aspired, she would soon become a prominent power in its eastern basin, and thus greatly damage the italian projects in those waters. since the english interests, also, would be prejudiced by such a development, the english fleet in the mediterranean would certainly be strengthened. between england, france, and russia it would be quite impossible for italy to attain an independent or commanding position, while the opposition of russia and turkey leaves the field open to her. from this view of the question, therefore, it is advisable to end the turco-italian conflict, and to try and satisfy the justifiable wishes of italy at the cost of france, after the next war, it may be. spain alone of the remaining european powers has any independent importance. she has developed a certain antagonism to france by her morocco policy, and may, therefore, become eventually a factor in german policy. the petty states, on the contrary, form no independent centres of gravity, but may, in event of war, prove to possess a by no means negligible importance: the small balkan states for austria and turkey; denmark, holland, belgium, and switzerland, and eventually sweden, for germany. switzerland and belgium count as neutral. the former was declared neutral at the congress of vienna on november 20, 1815, under the collective guarantee [c] of the signatory powers; belgium, in the treaties of london of november 15,1831, and of april 19,1839, on the part of the five great powers, the netherlands, and belgium itself. [footnote c: by a collective guarantee is understood the _duty_ of the contracting powers to take steps to protect this neutrality when all agree that it is menaced. each individual power has the _right_ to interfere if it considers the neutrality menaced.] if we look at these conditions as a whole, it appears that on the continent of europe the power of the central european triple alliance and that of the states united against it by alliance and agreement balance each other, provided that italy belongs to the league. if we take into calculation the imponderabilia, whose weight can only be guessed at, the scale is inclined slightly in favour of the triple alliance. on the other hand, england indisputably rules the sea. in consequence of her crushing naval superiority when allied with france, and of the geographical conditions, she may cause the greatest damage to germany by cutting off her maritime trade. there is also a not inconsiderable army available for a continental war. when all considerations are taken into account, our opponents have a political superiority not to be underestimated. if france succeeds in strengthening her army by large colonial levies and a strong english landing-force, this superiority would be asserted on land also. if italy really withdraws from the triple alliance, very distinctly superior forces will be united against germany and austria. under these conditions the position of germany is extraordinarily difficult. we not only require for the full material development of our nation, on a scale corresponding to its intellectual importance, an extended political basis, but, as explained in the previous chapter, we are compelled to obtain space for our increasing population and markets for our growing industries. but at every step which we take in this direction england will resolutely oppose us. english policy may not yet have made the definite decision to attack us; but it doubtless wishes, by all and every means, even the most extreme, to hinder every further expansion of german international influence and of german maritime power. the recognized political aims of england and the attitude of the english government leave no doubt on this point. but if we were involved in a struggle with england, we can be quite sure that france would not neglect the opportunity of attacking our flank. italy, with her extensive coast-line, even if still a member of the triple alliance, will have to devote large forces to the defence of the coast to keep off the attacks of the anglo-french mediterranean fleet, and would thus be only able to employ weaker forces against france. austria would be paralyzed by russia; against the latter we should have to leave forces in the east. we should thus have to fight out the struggle against france and england practically alone with a part of our army, perhaps with some support from italy. it is in this double menace by sea and on the mainland of europe that the grave danger to our political position lies, since all freedom of action is taken from us and all expansion barred. since the struggle is, as appears on a thorough investigation of the international question, necessary and inevitable, we must fight it out, cost what it may. indeed, we are carrying it on at the present moment, though not with drawn swords, and only by peaceful means so far. on the one hand it is being waged by the competition in trade, industries and warlike preparations; on the other hand, by diplomatic methods with which the rival states are fighting each other in every region where their interests clash. with these methods it has been possible to maintain peace hitherto, but not without considerable loss of power and prestige. this apparently peaceful state of things must not deceive us; we are facing a hidden, but none the less formidable, crisis--perhaps the most momentous crisis in the history of the german nation. we have fought in the last great wars for our national union and our position among the powers of _europe_; we now must decide whether we wish to develop into and maintain a _world empire_, and procure for german spirit and german ideas that fit recognition which has been hitherto withheld from them. have we the energy to aspire to that great goal? are we prepared to make the sacrifices which such an effort will doubtless cost us? or are we willing to recoil before the hostile forces, and sink step by step lower in our economic, political, and national importance? that is what is involved in our decision. "to be, or not to be," is the question which is put to us to-day, disguised, indeed, by the apparent equilibrium of the opposing interests and forces, by the deceitful shifts of diplomacy, and the official peace-aspirations of all the states; but by the logic of history inexorably demanding an answer, if we look with clear gaze beyond the narrow horizon of the day and the mere surface of things into the region of realities. there is no standing still in the world's history. all is growth and development. it is obviously impossible to keep things in the _status quo_, as diplomacy has so often attempted. no true statesman will ever seriously count on such a possibility; he will only make the outward and temporary maintenance of existing conditions a duty when he wishes to gain time and deceive an opponent, or when he cannot see what is the trend of events. he will use such diplomatic means only as inferior tools; in reality he will only reckon with actual forces and with the powers of a continuous development. we must make it quite clear to ourselves that there can be no standing still, no being satisfied for us, but only progress or retrogression, and that it is tantamount to retrogression when we are contented with our present place among the nations of europe, while all our rivals are straining with desperate energy, even at the cost of our rights, to extend their power. the process of our decay would set in gradually and advance slowly so long as the struggle against us was waged with peaceful weapons; the living generation would, perhaps, be able to continue to exist in peace and comfort. but should a war be forced upon us by stronger enemies under conditions unfavourable to us, then, if our arms met with disaster, our political downfall would not be delayed, and we should rapidly sink down. the future of german nationality would be sacrificed, an independent german civilization would not long exist, and the blessings for which german blood has flowed in streams--spiritual and moral liberty, and the profound and lofty aspirations of german thought--would for long ages be lost to mankind. if, as is right, we do not wish to assume the responsibility for such a catastrophe, we must have the courage to strive with every means to attain that increase of power which we are entitled to claim, even at the risk of a war with numerically superior foes. under present conditions it is out of the question to attempt this by acquiring territory in europe. the region in the east, where german colonists once settled, is lost to us, and could only be recovered from russia by a long and victorious war, and would then be a perpetual incitement to renewed wars. so, again, the reannexation of the former south prussia, which was united to prussia on the second partition of poland, would be a serious undertaking, on account of the polish population. under these circumstances we must clearly try to strengthen our political power in other ways. in the first place, our political position would be considerably consolidated if we could finally get rid of the standing danger that france will attack us on a favourable occasion, so soon as we find ourselves involved in complications elsewhere. in one way or another _we must square our account with france_ if we wish for a free hand in our international policy. this is the first and foremost condition of a sound german policy, and since the hostility of france once for all cannot be removed by peaceful overtures, the matter must be settled by force of arms. france must be so completely crushed that she can never again come across our path. further, we must contrive every means of strengthening the political power of our allies. we have already followed such a policy in the case of austria when we declared our readiness to protect, if necessary with armed intervention, the final annexation of bosnia and herzegovina by our ally on the danube. our policy towards italy must follow the same lines, especially if in any franco-german war an opportunity should be presented of doing her a really valuable service. it is equally good policy in every way to support turkey, whose importance for germany and the triple alliance has already been discussed. our political duties, therefore, are complicated, and during the turco-italian war all that we can do at first is to use our influence as mediators, and to prevent a transference of hostilities to the balkan peninsula. it cannot be decided at this moment whether further intervention will be necessary. finally, as regards our own position in europe, we can only effect an extension of our own political influence, in my opinion, by awakening in our weaker neighbours, through the integrity and firmness of our policy, the conviction that their independence and their interests are bound up with germany, and are best secured under the protection of the german arms. this conviction might eventually lead to an enlargement of the triple alliance into a central european federation. our military strength in central europe would by this means be considerably increased, and the extraordinarily unfavourable geographical configuration of our dominions would be essentially improved in case of war. such a federation would be the expression of a natural community of interests, which is founded on the geographical and natural conditions, and would insure the durability of the political community based on it. we must employ other means also for the widening of our colonial territory, so that it may be able to receive the overflow of our population. very recent events have shown that, under certain circumstances, it is possible to obtain districts in equatorial africa by pacific negotiations. a financial or political crash in portugal might give us the opportunity to take possession of a portion of the portuguese colonies. we may assume that some understanding exists between england and germany which contemplates a division of the portuguese colonial possessions, but has never become _publici juris_. it cannot, indeed, be certain that england, if the contingency arrives, would be prepared honestly to carry out such a treaty, if it actually exists. she might find ways and means to invalidate it. it has even been often said, although disputed in other quarters, that great britain, after coming to an agreement with germany about the partition of the portuguese colonies, had, by a special convention, guaranteed portugal the possession of _all_ her colonies. other possible schemes may be imagined, by which some extension of our african territory would be possible. these need not be discussed here more particularly. if necessary, they must be obtained as the result of a successful european war. in all these possible acquisitions of territory the point must be strictly borne in mind that we require countries which are climatically suited to german settlers. now, there are even in central africa large regions which are adapted to the settlement of german farmers and stock-breeders, and part of our overflow population might be diverted to those parts. but, generally speaking, we can only obtain in tropical colonies markets for our industrial products and wide stretches of cultivated ground for the growth of the raw materials which our industries require. this represents in itself a considerable advantage, but does not release us from the obligation to acquire land for actual colonization. a part of our surplus population, indeed--so far as present conditions point--will always be driven to seek a livelihood outside the borders of the german empire. measures must be taken to the extent at least of providing that the german element is not split up in the world, but remains united in compact blocks, and thus forms, even in foreign countries, political centres of gravity in our favour, markets for our exports, and centres for the diffusion of german culture. an intensive colonial policy is for us especially an absolute necessity. it has often been asserted that a "policy of the open door" can replace the want of colonies of our own, and must constitute our programme for the future, just because we do not possess sufficient colonies. this notion is only justified in a certain sense. in the first place, such a policy does not offer the possibility of finding homes for the overflow population in a territory of our own; next, it does not guarantee the certainty of an open and unrestricted trade competition. it secures to all trading nations equal tariffs, but this does not imply by any means competition under equal conditions. on the contrary, the political power which is exercised in such a country is the determining factor in the economic relations. the principle of the open door prevails everywhere--in egypt, manchuria, in the congo state, in morocco--and everywhere the politically dominant power controls the commerce: in manchuria japan, in egypt england, in the congo state belgium, and in morocco france. the reason is plain. all state concessions fall naturally to that state which is practically dominant; its products are bought by all the consumers who are any way dependent on the power of the state, quite apart from the fact that by reduced tariffs and similar advantages for the favoured wares the concession of the open door can be evaded in various ways. a "policy of the open door" must at best be regarded as a makeshift, and as a complement of a vigorous colonial policy. the essential point is for a country to have colonies or its own and a predominant political influence in the spheres where its markets lie. our german world policy must be guided by these considerations. the execution of such political schemes would certainly clash with many old-fashioned notions and vested rights of the traditional european policy. in the first place, the principle of the balance of power in europe, which has, since the congress of vienna, led an almost sacrosanct but entirely unjustifiable existence, must be entirely disregarded. the idea of a balance of power was gradually developed from the feeling that states do not exist to thwart each other, but to work together for the advancement of culture. christianity, which leads man beyond the limits of the state to a world citizenship of the noblest kind, and lays the foundation of all international law, has exercised a wide influence in this respect. practical interests, too, have strengthened the theory of balance of power. when it was understood that the state was a power, and that, by its nature, it must strive to extend that power, a certain guarantee of peace was supposed to exist in the balance of forces. the conviction was thus gradually established that every state had a close community of interests with the other states, with which it entered into political and economic relations, and was bound to establish some sort of understanding with them. thus the idea grew up in europe of a state-system, which was formed after the fall of napoleon by the five great powers--england, france, russia, austria, and prussia, which latter had gained a place in the first rank by force of arms; in 1866 italy joined it as the sixth great power. "such a system cannot be supported with an approximate equilibrium among the nations." "all theory must rest on the basis of practice, and a real equilibrium--an actual equality of power--is postulated,"[d] this condition does not exist between the european nations. england by herself rules the sea, and the 65,000,000 of germans cannot allow themselves to sink to the same level of power as the 40,000,000 of french. an attempt has been made to produce a real equilibrium by special alliances. one result only has been obtained--the hindrance of the free development of the nations in general, and of germany in particular. this is an unsound condition. a european balance of power can no longer be termed a condition which corresponds to the existing state of things; it can only have the disastrous consequences of rendering the forces of the continental european states mutually ineffective, and of thus favouring the plans of the political powers which stand outside that charmed circle. it has always been england's policy to stir up enmity between the respective continental states, and to keep them at approximately the same standard of power, in order herself undisturbed to conquer at once the sovereignty of the seas and the sovereignty of the world. [footnote d: treitschke.] we must put aside all such notions of equilibrium. in its present distorted form it is opposed to our weightiest interests. the idea of a state system which has common interests in civilization must not, of course, be abandoned; but it must be expanded on a new and more just basis. it is now not a question of a european state system, but of one embracing all the states in the world, in which the equilibrium is established on real factors of power. we must endeavour to obtain in this system our merited position at the head of a federation of central european states, and thus reduce the imaginary european equilibrium, in one way or the other, to its true value, and correspondingly to increase our own power. a further question, suggested by the present political position, is whether all the political treaties which were concluded at the beginning of the last century under quite other conditions--in fact, under a different conception of what constitutes a state--can, or ought to be, permanently observed. when belgium was proclaimed neutral, no one contemplated that she would lay claim to a large and valuable region of africa. it may well be asked whether the acquisition of such territory is not _ipso facto_ a breach of neutrality, for a state from which--theoretically at least--all danger of war has been removed, has no right to enter into political competition with the other states. this argument is the more justifiable because it may safely be assumed that, in event of a war of germany against france and england, the two last mentioned states would try to unite their forces in belgium. lastly, the neutrality of the congo state [e] must be termed more than problematic, since belgium claims the right to cede or sell it to a non-neutral country. the conception of permanent neutrality is entirely contrary to the essential nature of the state, which can only attain its highest moral aims in competition with other states. its complete development presupposes such competition. [footnote e: the congo state was proclaimed neutral, but without guarantees, by acts of february 26, 1885.] again, the principle that no state can ever interfere in the internal affairs of another state is repugnant to the highest rights of the state. this principle is, of course, very variously interpreted, and powerful states have never refrained from a higher-handed interference in the internal affairs of smaller ones. we daily witness instances of such conduct. indeed, england quite lately attempted to interfere in the private affairs of germany, not formally or by diplomatic methods, but none the less in point of fact, on the subject of our naval preparations. it is, however, accepted as a principle of international intercourse that between the states of one and the same political system a strict non-interference in home affairs should be observed. the unqualified recognition of this principle and its application to political intercourse under all conditions involves serious difficulties. it is the doctrine of the liberals, which was first preached in france in 1830, and of which the english ministry of lord palmerston availed themselves for their own purpose. equally false is the doctrine of unrestricted intervention, as promulgated by the states of the holy alliance at troppau in 1820. no fixed principles for international politics can be laid down. after all, the relation of states to each other is that of individuals; and as the individual can decline the interference of others in his affairs, so naturally, the same right belongs to the state. above the individual, however, stands the authority of the state, which regulates the relations of the citizens to each other. but no one stands above the state, which regulates the relations of the citizens to each other. but no one stands above the state; it is sovereign and must itself decide whether the internal conditions or measures of another state menace its own existence or interests. in no case, therefore, may a sovereign state renounce the right of interfering in the affairs of other states, should circumstances demand. cases may occur at any time, when the party disputes or the preparations of the neighboring country becomes a threat to the existence of a state. "it can only be asserted that every state acts at its own risk when it interferes in the internal affairs of another state, and that experience shows how very dangerous such an interference may become." on the other hand, it must be remembered that the dangers which may arise from non-intervention are occasionally still graver, and that the whole discussion turns, not on an international right, but simply and solely on power and expediency. i have gone closely into these questions of international policy because, under conditions which are not remote, they may greatly influence the realization of our necessary political aspirations, and may give rise to hostile complications. then it becomes essential that we do not allow ourselves to be cramped in our freedom of action by considerations, devoid of any inherent political necessity, which only depend on political expediency, and are not binding on us. we must remain conscious in all such eventualities that we cannot, under any circumstances, avoid fighting for our position in the world, and that the all-important point is, not to postpone that war as long as possible, but to bring it on under the most favourable conditions possible. "no man," so wrote frederick the great to pitt on july 3, 1761, "if he has a grain of sense, will leave his enemies leisure to make all preparations in order to destroy him; he will rather take advantage of his start to put himself in a favourable position." if we wish to act in this spirit of prompt and effective policy which guided the great heroes of our past, we must learn to concentrate our forces, and not to dissipate them in centrifugal efforts. the political and national development of the german people has always, so far back as german history extends, been hampered and hindered by the hereditary defects of its character--that is, by the particularism of the individual races and states, the theoretic dogmatism of the parties, the incapacity to sacrifice personal interests for great national objects from want of patriotism and of political common sense, often, also, by the pettiness of the prevailing ideas. even to-day it is painful to see how the forces of the german nation, which are so restricted and confined in their activities abroad, are wasted in fruitless quarrels among themselves. our primary and most obvious moral and political duty is to overcome these hereditary failings, and to lay a secure foundation for a healthy, consistent development of our power. it must not be denied that the variety of forms of intellectual and social life arising from the like variety of the german nationality and political system offers valuable advantages. it presents countless centres for the advancement of science, art, technical skill, and a high spiritual and material way of life in a steadily increasing development. but we must resist the converse of these conditions, the transference of this richness in variety and contrasts into the domain of politics. above all must we endeavour to confirm and consolidate the institutions which are calculated to counteract and concentrate the centrifugal forces of the german nature--the common system of defence of our country by land and sea, in which all party feeling is merged, and a strong national empire. no people is so little qualified as the german to direct its own destinies, whether in a parliamentarian or republican constitution; to no people is the customary liberal pattern so inappropriate as to us. a glance at the reichstag will show how completely this conviction, which is forced on us by a study of german history, holds good to-day. the german people has always been incapable of great acts for the common interest except under the irresistible pressure of external conditions, as in the rising of 1813, or under the leadership of powerful personalities, who knew how to arouse the enthusiasm of the masses, to stir the german spirit to its depths, to vivify the idea of nationality, and force conflicting aspirations into concentration and union. we must therefore take care that such men are assured the possibility of acting with a confident and free hand in order to accomplish great ends through and for our people. within these limits, it is in harmony with the national german character to allow personality to have a free course for the fullest development of all individual forces and capacities, of all spiritual, scientific, and artistic aims. "every extension of the activities of the state is beneficial and wise, if it arouses, promotes, and purifies the independence of free and reasoning men; it is evil when it kills and stunts the independence of free men." [f] this independence of the individual, within the limits marked out by the interests of the state, forms the necessary complement of the wide expansion of the central power, and assures an ample scope to a liberal development of all our social conditions. [footnote f: treitschke, "politik," i., section 2.] we must rouse in our people the unanimous wish for power in this sense, together with the determination to sacrifice on the altar of patriotism, not only life and property, but also private views and preferences in the interests of the common welfare. then alone shall we discharge our great duties of the future, grow into a world power, and stamp a great part of humanity with the impress of the german spirit. if, on the contrary, we persist in that dissipation of energy which now marks our political life, there is imminent fear that in the great contest of the nations, which we must inevitably face, we shall be dishonourably beaten; that days of disaster await us in the future, and that once again, as in the days of our former degradation, the poet's lament will be heard: "o germany, thy oaks still stand, but thou art fallen, glorious land!" körner. chapter vi the social and political significance of arming for war germany has great national and historical duties of policy and culture to fulfil, and her path towards further progress is threatened by formidable enmities. if we realize this, we shall see that it will be impossible to maintain our present position and secure our future without an appeal to arms. knowing this, as every man must who impartially considers the political situation, we are called upon to prepare ourselves as well as possible for this war. the times are passed when a stamp of the foot raised an army, or when it was sufficient to levy the masses and lead them to battle. the armaments of the present day must be prepared in peace-time down to the smallest detail, if they are to be effective in time of need. although this fact is known, the sacrifices which are required for warlike preparations are no longer so willingly made as the gravity of the situation demands. every military proposal is bitterly contested in the reichstag, frequently in a very petty spirit, and no one seems to understand that an unsuccessful war would involve our nation in economic misery, with which the most burdensome charges for the army (and these for the most part come back again into the coffers of the country) cannot for an instant be compared. a victorious war, on the other hand, brings countless advantages to the conqueror, and, as our last great wars showed, forms a new departure in economic progress. the fact is often forgotten that military service and the observance of the national duty of bearing arms are in themselves a high moral gain for our people, and improve the strength and capacity for work. nor can it be ignored that a nation has other than merely economic duties to discharge. i propose to discuss the question, what kind and degree of preparation for war the great historical crisis through which we are passing demands from us. first, however, it will be profitable to consider the importance of preparations for war generally, and not so much from the purely military as from the social and political aspect; we shall thus strengthen the conviction that we cannot serve the true interests of the country better than by improving its military capabilities. preparation for war has a double task to discharge. firstly, it must maintain and raise the military capabilities of the nation as a national asset; and, secondly, it must make arrangements for the conduct of the war and supply the requisite means. this capability of national defence has a pronounced educative value in national development. as in the social competition the persons able to protect themselves hold the field--the persons, that is, who, well equipped intellectually, do not shirk the contest, but fight it out with confidence and certainty of victory--so in the rivalry of nations and states victory rests with the people able to defend itself, which boldly enters the lists, and is capable of wielding the sword with success. military service not only educates nations in warlike capacity, but it develops the intellectual and moral qualities generally for the occupations of peace. it educates a man to the full mastery of his body, to the exercise and improvement of his muscles; it develops his mental powers, his self-reliance and readiness of decision; it accustoms him to order and subordination for a common end; it elevates his self-respect and courage, and thus his capacity for every kind of work. it is a quite perverted view that the time devoted to military service deprives economic life of forces which could have been more appropriately and more profitably employed elsewhere. these forces are not withdrawn from economic life, but are trained for economic life. military training produces intellectual and moral forces which richly repay the time spent, and have their real value in subsequent life. it is therefore the moral duty of the state to train as many of its countrymen as possible in the use of arms, not only with the prospect of war, but that they may share in the benefits of military service and improve their physical and moral capacities of defence. the sums which the state applies to the military training of the nation are distinctly an outlay for social purposes; the money so spent serves social and educative ends, and raises the nation spiritually and morally; it thus promotes the highest aims of civilization more directly than achievements of mechanics, industries, trades, and commerce, which certainly discharge the material duties of culture by improving the national livelihood and increasing national wealth, but bring with them a number of dangers, such as craving for pleasure and tendency to luxury, thus slackening the moral and productive fibres of the nations. military service as an educational instrument stands on the same level as the school, and, as will be shown in a later section, each must complete and assist the other. but a people which does not willingly bear the duties and sacrifices entailed by school and military service renounces its will to live, and sacrifices objects which are noble and assure the future for the sake of material advantages which are one-sided and evanescent. it is the duty, therefore, of every state, conscious of its obligations towards civilization and society, remorselessly to put an end to all tendencies inimical to the full development of the power of defence. the method by which the maintenance and promotion of this defensive power can be practically carried out admits of great variety. it depends largely on the conditions of national life, on the geographical and political circumstances, as well as on past history, and consequently ranges between very wide extremes. in the boer states, as among most uncivilized peoples, the military training was almost exclusively left to the individual. that was sufficient to a certain point, since their method of life in itself made them familiar with carrying arms and with riding, and inured them to hard bodily exertions. the higher requirements of combination, subordination, and campaigning, could not be met by such a military system, and the consequences of this were felt disastrously in the conduct of the war. in switzerland and other states an attempt is made to secure national defence by a system of militia, and to take account of political possibilities. the great european states maintain standing armies in which all able-bodied citizens have to pass a longer or shorter period of military training. england alone keeps up a mercenary army, and by the side of it a territorial army, whose ranks are filled by volunteers. in these various ways different degrees of military efficiency are obtained, but, generally, experience shows that the more thorough and intelligent this training in arms, the greater the development of the requisite military qualities in the units; and the more these qualities become a second nature, the more complete will be their warlike efficiency. when criticizing the different military systems, we must remember that with growing civilization the requisite military capacities are always changing. the duties expected from the roman legionary or the soldiers who fought in line under frederick the great were quite different from those of the rifleman and cavalryman of to-day. not merely have the physical functions of military service altered, but the moral qualities expected from the fighting man are altered. this applies to the individual soldier as much as to the whole army. the character of warfare has continually been changing. to fight in the middle ages or in the eighteenth century with comparatively small forces was one thing; it is quite another to handle the colossal armies of to-day. the preparations for war, therefore, in the social as well as military sense, must be quite different in a highly developed modern civilized state from those in countries, standing on a lower level of civilization, where ordinary life is full of military elements, and war is fought under relatively simple conditions. the crushing superiority of civilized states over people with a less developed civilization and military system is due to this altered form of military efficiency. it was thus that japan succeeded in raising herself in a brief space to the supremacy in eastern asia. she now reaps in the advancement of her culture what she sowed on the battlefield, and proves once again the immeasurable importance, in its social and educational aspects, of military efficiency. our own country, by employing its military powers, has attained a degree of culture which it never could have reached by the methods of peaceful development. when we regard the change in the nature of military efficiency, we find ourselves on ground where the social duty of maintaining the physical and moral power of the nation to defend itself comes into direct contact with the political duty of preparing for warfare itself. a great variety of procedure is possible, and actually exists, in regard to the immediate preparations for war. this is primarily expressed in the choice of the military system, but it is manifested in various other ways. we see the individual states--according to their geographical position, their relations to other states and the military strength of their neighbours, according to their historic claims and their greater or less importance in the political system of the world--making their military preparations with more or less energy, earnestness, and expenditure. when we consider the complex movements of the life of civilized nations, the variety of its aims and the multiplicity of its emotions, we must agree that the growth or decrease of armaments is everywhere affected by these considerations. war is only a _means_ of attaining political ends and of supporting moral strength. thus, if england attaches most weight to her navy, her insular position and the wide oversea interests which she must protect thoroughly justify her policy. if, on the other hand, england develops her land forces only with the objects of safeguarding the command of her colonies, repelling a very improbable hostile invasion, and helping an allied power in a continental war, the general political situation explains the reason. as a matter of fact, england can never be involved in a great continental european war against her will. so switzerland, which has been declared neutral by political treaties, and can therefore only take the field if she is attacked, rightly lays most stress on the social importance of military service, and tries to develop a scheme of defence which consists mainly in increasing the security afforded by her own mountains. the united states of america, again, are justified in keeping their land forces within very modest limits, while devoting their energies to the increase of their naval power. no enemy equal to them in strength can ever spring up on the continent of america; they need not fear the invasion of any considerable forces. on the other hand, they are threatened by oversea conflicts, of epoch-making importance, with the yellow race, which has acquired formidable strength opposite their western coast, and possibly with their great trade rival england, which has, indeed, often made concessions, but may eventually see herself compelled to fight for her position in the world. while in some states a restriction of armaments is natural and justifiable, it is easily understood that france must strain every nerve to secure her full recognition among the great military nations of europe. her glorious past history has fostered in her great political pretensions which she will not abandon without a struggle, although they are no longer justified by the size of her population and her international importance. france affords a conspicuous example of self-devotion to ideals and of a noble conception of political and moral duties. in the other european states, as in france, external political conditions and claims, in combination with internal politics, regulate the method and extent of warlike preparations, and their attitude, which necessity forces upon them, must be admitted to carry its own justification. a state may represent a compact unity, from the point of view of nationality and civilization; it may have great duties to discharge in the development of human culture, and may possess the national strength to safeguard its independence, to protect its own interests, and, under certain circumstances, to persist in its civilizing mission and political schemes in defiance of other nations. another state may be deficient in the conditions of individual national life and in elements of culture; it may lack the resources necessary for the defence and maintenance of its political existence single-handed in the teeth of all opposition. there is a vast difference between these two cases. a state like the latter is always more or less dependent on the friendliness of stronger neighbours, whether it ranks in public law as fully independent or has been proclaimed neutral by international conventions. if it is attacked on one side, it must count on support from the other. whether it shall continue to exist as a state and under what conditions must depend on the result of the ensuing war and the consequent political position--factors that lie wholly outside its own sphere of power. this being the case, the question may well be put whether such a state is politically justified in requiring from its citizens in time of peace the greatest military efforts and correspondingly large pecuniary expenditure. it will certainly have to share the contest in which it is itself, perhaps, the prize, and theoretically will do best to have the largest possible military force at its disposal. but there is another aspect of the question which is at least arguable. the fighting power of such a state may be so small that it counts for nothing in comparison with the millions of a modern army. on the other hand, where appreciable military strength exists, it may be best not to organize the army with a view to decisive campaigning, but to put the social objects of military preparation into the foreground, and to adopt in actual warfare a defensive policy calculated to gain time, with a view to the subsequent interference of the prospective allies with whom the ultimate decision will rest. such an army must, if it is to attain its object, represent a real factor of strength. it must give the probable allies that effective addition of strength which may insure a superiority over the antagonist. the ally must then be forced to consider the interests of such secondary state. the forces of the possible allies will thus exercise a certain influence on the armament of the state, in combination with the local conditions, the geographical position, and the natural configuration of the country. it is only to be expected that, since such various conditions exist, the utmost variety should also prevail among the military systems; and such is, in fact, the case. in the mountain stronghold of switzerland, which has to reckon with the political and military circumstances of germany, france, and italy, preparations for war take a different shape from those of holland, situated on the coast and secured by numerous waterways, whose political independence is chiefly affected by the land forces of germany and the navy of england. the conditions are quite otherwise for a country which relies wholly on its own power. the power of the probable antagonists and of the presumable allies will have a certain importance for it, and its government will in its plans and military preparations pay attention to their grouping and attitudes; but these preparations must never be motived by such considerations alone. the necessity for a strong military force is permanent and unqualified; the political permutations and combinations are endless, and the assistance of possible allies is always an uncertain and shifting factor, on which no reliance can be reposed. the military power of an independent state in the true sense must guarantee the maintenance of a force sufficient to protect the interests of a great civilized nation and to secure to it the necessary freedom of development. if from the social standpoint no sacrifice can be considered too great which promotes the maintenance of national military efficiency, the increase in these sacrifices due to political conditions must be willingly and cheerfully borne, in consideration of the object thereby to be gained. this object--of which each individual must be conscious--if conceived in the true spirit of statesmanship, comprises the conditions which are decisive for the political and moral future of the state as well as for the livelihood of each individual citizen. a civilization which has a value of its own, and thus forms a vital factor in the development of mankind, can only flourish where all the healthy and stimulating capacities of a nation find ample scope in international competition. this is also an essential condition for the unhindered and vigorous exercise of individual activities. where the natural capacity for growth is permanently checked by external circumstances, nation and state are stunted and individual growth is set back. increasing political power and the consequent multiplication of possibilities of action constitute the only healthy soil for the intellectual and moral strength of a vigorous nation, as is shown by every phase of history. the wish for culture must therefore in a healthy nation express itself first in terms of the wish for political power, and the foremost duty of statesmanship is to attain, safeguard, and promote this power, by force of arms in the last resort. thus the first and most essential duty of every great civilized people is to prepare for war on a scale commensurate with its political needs. even the superiority of the enemy cannot absolve from the performance of this requirement. on the contrary, it must stimulate to the utmost military efforts and the most strenuous political action in order to secure favourable conditions for the eventuality of a decisive campaign. mere numbers count for less than ever in modern fighting, although they always constitute a very important factor of the total strength. but, within certain limits, which are laid down by the law of numbers, the true elements of superiority under the present system of gigantic armies are seen to be spiritual and moral strength, and larger masses will be beaten by a small, well-led and self-devoting army. the russo-japanese war has proved this once more. granted that the development of military strength is the first duty of every state, since all else depends upon the possibility to assert _power_, it does not follow that the state must spend the total of its personal and financial resources solely on military strength in the narrower sense of army and navy. that is neither feasible nor profitable. the military power of a people is not exclusively determined by these external resources; it consists, rather, in a harmonious development of physical, spiritual, moral, financial, and military elements of strength. the highest and most effective military system cannot be developed except by the co-operation of all these factors. it needs a broad and well-constructed basis in order to be effective. in the manchurian war at the critical moment, when the japanese attacking strength seemed spent, the russian military system broke down, because its foundation was unstable; the state had fallen into political and moral ruin, and the very army was tainted with revolutionary ideas. the social requirement of maintaining military efficiency, and the political necessity for so doing, determine the nature and degree of warlike preparations; but it must be remembered that this standard may be very variously estimated, according to the notion of what the state's duties are. thus, in germany the most violent disputes burst out whenever the question of the organization of the military forces is brought up, since widely different opinions prevail about the duties of the state and of the army. it is, indeed, impossible so to formulate and fix the political duties of the state that they cannot be looked at from another standpoint. the social democrat, to whom agitation is an end in itself, will see the duty of the state in a quite different light from the political _dilettante_, who lives from hand to mouth, without making the bearing of things clear to himself, or from the sober statesman who looks to the welfare of the community and keeps his eyes fixed on the distant beacons on the horizon of the future. certain points of view, however, may be laid down, which, based on the nature of things, check to some degree any arbitrary decision on these momentous questions, and are well adapted to persuade calm and experienced thinkers. first, it must be observed that military power cannot be improvised in the present political world, even though all the elements for it are present. although the german empire contains 65,000,000 inhabitants, compared to 40,000,000 of french, this excess in population represents merely so much dead capital, unless a corresponding majority of recruits are annually enlisted, and unless in peace-time the necessary machinery is set up for their organization. the assumption that these masses would be available for the army in the moment of need is a delusion. it would not mean a strengthening, but a distinct weakening, of the army, not to say a danger, if these untrained masses were at a crisis suddenly sent on active service. bourbaki's campaign shows what is to be expected from such measures. owing to the complexity of all modern affairs, the continuous advance in technical skill and in the character of warlike weapons, as also in the increased requirements expected from the individual, long and minute preparations are necessary to procure the highest military values. allusion has already been made to this at the beginning of this chapter. it takes a year to complete a 30-centimetre cannon. if it is to be ready for use at a given time, it must have been ordered long beforehand. years will pass before the full effect of the strengthening of the army, which is now being decided on, appears in the rolls of the reserve and the landwehr. the recruit who begins his service to-day requires a year's training to become a useful soldier. with the hasty training of substitute reservists and such expedients, we merely deceive ourselves as to the necessity of serious preparations. we must not regard the present only, but provide for the future. the same argument applies to the political conditions. the man who makes the bulk of the preparations for war dependent on the shifting changes of the politics of the day, who wishes to slacken off in the work of arming because no clouds in the political horizon suggest the necessity of greater efforts, acts contrary to all real statesmanship, and is sinning against his country. the moment does not decide; the great political aspirations, oppositions, and tensions, which are based on the nature of things--these turn the scale. when king william at the beginning of the sixties of the last century undertook the reorganization of the prussian army, no political tension existed. the crisis of 1859 had just subsided. but the king had perceived that the prussian armament was insufficient to meet the requirements of the future. after a bitter struggle he extorted from his people a reorganization of the army, and this laid the foundations without which the glorious progress of our state would never have begun. in the same true spirit of statesmanship the emperor william ii. has powerfully aided and extended the evolution of our fleet, without being under the stress of any political necessity; he has enjoyed the cheerful co-operation of his people, since the reform at which he aimed was universally recognized as an indisputable need of the future, and accorded with traditional german sentiment. while the preparation for war must be completed irrespectively of the political influences of the day, the military power of the probable opponents marks a limit below which the state cannot sink without jeopardizing the national safety. further, the state is bound to enlist in its service all the discoveries of modern science, so far as they can be applied to warfare, since all these methods and engines of war, should they be exclusively in the hands of the enemy, would secure him a distinct superiority. it is an obvious necessity to keep the forces which can be put into the field as up-to-date as possible, and to facilitate their military operations by every means which science and mechanical skill supply. further, the army must be large enough to constitute a school for the whole nation, in which a thoroughgoing and no mere superficial military efficiency may be attained. finally, the nature of the preparation for war is to some degree regulated by the political position of the state. if the state has satisfied its political ambitions and is chiefly concerned with keeping its place, the military policy will assume a more or less defensive character. states, on the other hand, which are still desirous of expansion, or such as are exposed to attacks on different sides, must adopt a predominantly offensive military system. preparations for war in this way follow definite lines, which are dictated by necessity and circumstances; but it is evident that a wide scope is still left for varieties of personal opinion, especially where the discussion includes the positive duties of the state, which may lead to an energetic foreign policy, and thus possibly to an offensive war, and where very divergent views exist as to the preparation for war. in this case the statesman's only resource is to use persuasion, and to so clearly expound and support his conceptions of the necessary policy that the majority of the nation accept his view. there are always and everywhere conditions which have a persuasive character of their own, and appeal to the intellects and the feelings of the masses. every englishman is convinced of the necessity to maintain the command of the sea, since he realizes that not only the present powerful position of the country, but also the possibility of feeding the population in case of war, depend on it. no sacrifice for the fleet is too great, and every increase of foreign navies instantly disquiets public opinion. the whole of france, except a few anti-military circles, feels the necessity of strengthening the position of the state, which was shaken by the defeats of 1870-71, through redoubled exertions in the military sphere, and this object is being pursued with exemplary unanimity. even in neutral switzerland the feeling that political independence rests less on international treaties than on the possibility of self-defence is so strong and widespread that the nation willingly supports heavy taxation for its military equipment. in germany, also, it should be possible to arouse a universal appreciation of the great duties of the state, if only our politicians, without any diplomatic evasion, which deceives no one abroad and is harmful to the people at home, disclosed the true political situation and the necessary objects of our policy. to be sure, they must be ready to face a struggle with public opinion, as king william i. did: for when public opinion does not stand under the control of a master will or a compelling necessity, it can be led astray too easily by the most varied influences. this danger is particularly great in a country so torn asunder internally and externally as germany. he who in such a case listens to public opinion runs a danger of inflicting immense harm on the interests of state and people. one of the fundamental principles of true statesmanship is that permanent interests should never be abandoned or prejudiced for the sake of momentary advantages, such as the lightening of the burdens of the taxpayer, the temporary maintenance of peace, or suchlike specious benefits, which, in the course of events, often prove distinct disadvantages. the statesman, therefore, led astray neither by popular opinion nor by the material difficulties which have to be surmounted, nor by the sacrifices required of his countrymen, must keep these objects carefully in view. so long as it seems practicable he will try to reconcile the conflicting interests and bring them into harmony with his own. but where great fundamental questions await decision, such as the actual enforcement of universal service or of the requirements on which readiness for war depends, he must not shrink from strong measures in order to create the forces which the state needs, or will need, in order to maintain its vitality. one of the most essential political duties is to initiate and sanction preparations for war on a scale commensurate with the existing conditions; to organize them efficiently is the duty of the military authorities--a duty which belongs in a sense to the sphere of strategy, since it supplies the machinery with which commanders have to reckon. policy and strategy touch in this sphere. policy has a strategic duty to perform, since it sanctions preparations for war and defines their limit. it would, therefore, be a fatal and foolish act of political weakness to disregard the military and strategic standpoint, and to make the bulk of the preparations for war dependent on the financial moans momentarily available. "no expenditure without security," runs the formula in which this policy clothes itself. it is justified only when the security is fixed by the expenditure. in a great civilized state it is the duties which must be fulfilled--as treitschke, our great historian and national politician, tells us--that determine the expenditure, and the great finance minister is not the man who balances the national accounts by sparing the national forces, while renouncing the politically indispensable outlay, but he who stimulates all the live forces of the nation to cheerful activity, and so employs them for national ends that the state revenue suffices to meet the admitted political demands. he can only attain this purpose if he works in harmony with the ministers for commerce, agriculture, industries, and colonies, in order to break down the restrictions which cramp the enterprise and energy of the individual, to make all dead values remunerative, and to create favourable conditions for profitable business. a great impulse must thrill the whole productive and financial circles of the state, if the duties of the present and the future are to be fulfilled. thus the preparation for war, which, under modern conditions, calls for very considerable expenditure, exercises a marked influence on the entire social and political life of the people and on the financial policy of the state. chapter vii the character of our next war the social necessity of maintaining the power of the nation to defend itself, the political claims which the state puts forward, the strength of the probable hostile combinations, are the chief factors which determine the conditions of preparation for war. i have already tried to explain and formulate the duties in the spheres of policy and progress which our history and our national character impose on us. my next task is to observe the possible military combinations which we must be prepared to face. in this way only can we estimate the dangers which threaten us, and can judge whether, and to what degree, we can carry out our political intentions. a thorough understanding of these hostile counter-movements will give us a clear insight into the character of the next war; and this war will decide our future. it is not sufficient to know the military fighting forces of our probable antagonists, although this knowledge constitutes the necessary basis for further inquiry; but we must picture to ourselves the intensity of the hostility with which we have to reckon and the probable efficiency of oar enemies. the hostility which we must anticipate is determined by the extent to which mutual political schemes and ambitions clash, and by the opposition in national character. our opinion as to the military efficiency of our rivals must be based on the latest data available. if we begin by looking at the forces of the individual states and groups of states which may be hostile to us, we have the following results: according to the recent communications of the french finance minister klotz (in a speech made at the unveiling of a war memorial in issoudan), the strength of the french army on a peace footing in the year 1910 amounted in round figures to 580,000 men. this included the "colonial corps," stationed in france itself, which, in case of war, belongs to the field army in the european theatre of war, and the "service auxiliaire "--that is, some 30,000 non-efficients, who are drafted in for service without arms. the entire war establishment, according to the information of the same minister, including field army and reserves, consists of 2,800,000 men available on mobilization. a reduction from this number must be made in event of mobilization, which french sources put down at 20 per cent. the whole strength of the french field army and reserves may therefore be reckoned at some 2,300,000. to this must be added, as i rather from the same source, 1,700,000 territorials, with their "reserve," from which a reduction of 25 per cent., or roughly 450,000 men, must be made. if it is assumed that, in case of war, the distribution of the arms will correspond to that in peace, the result is, on the basis of the strength of separate arms, which the budget of 1911 anticipates, that out of the 2,300,000 field and reserve troops there must be assigned--to the infantry, about 1,530.000; to the cavalry, about 230,000 (since a considerable part of the reservists of these arms are employed in the transport service); to the artillery, about 380,000; to the pioneers, 70,000: to train and administration services (trains, columns, medical service, etc.), 90,000. no further increase in these figures is possible, since in france 90 per cent, of all those liable to serve have been called up, and the birth-rate is steadily sinking. while in 1870 it reached 940,000 yearly, it has sunk in 1908 to 790.000. recourse already has been had to the expedient of requiring smaller qualifications than before, and of filling the numerous subsidiary posts (clerks, waiters, etc.) with less efficient men, in order to relieve the troops themselves. under these conditions, it was necessary to tap new sources, and the plan has been formed of increasing the troops with native-born algerians and tunisians, in order to be able to strengthen the european army with them in event of war. at the same time negroes, who are excellent and trustworthy material, are to be enrolled in west africa. a limited conscription, such as exists in tunis, is to be introduced into algeria. the black army is at first to be completed by volunteers, and conscription will only be enforced at a crisis. these black troops are in the first place to garrison algeria and tunis, to release the troops stationed there for service in europe, and to protect the white settlers against the natives. since the negroes raised for military service are heathen, it is thought that they will be a counterpoise to the mohammedan natives. it has been proved that negro troops stand the climate of north africa excellently, and form very serviceable troops. the two black battalions stationed in the schauja, who took part in the march to fez, bore the climate well, and thoroughly proved their value. there can be no doubt that this plan will be vigorously prosecuted, with every prospect of success. it is so far in an early stage. legislative proposals on the use of the military resources offered by the native algerians and the west african negroes have not yet been laid before parliament by the government. it cannot yet be seen to what extent the native and black troops will be increased. the former minister of war, messimy, had advocated a partial conscription of the native algerians. an annual muster is made of the algerian males of eighteen years of age available for military service. the commission appointed for the purpose reported in 1911 that, after the introduction of the limited service in the army and the reserve, there would be in algeria and tunisia combined some 100,000 to 120,000 native soldiers available in war-time. they could also be employed in europe, and are thus intended to strengthen the rhine army by three strong army corps of first-class troops, who, in the course of years, may probably be considerably increased by the formation of reserves. as regards the black troops, the matter is different. france, in her west african possessions combined, has some 16,000 negro troops available. as the black population numbers 10,000,000 to 12,000,000, these figures may be considerably raised. since may, 1910, there has been an experimental battalion of senegalese sharp-shooters in southern algeria, and in the draft war budget for 1912 a proposal was made to transfer a second battalion of senegalese to algeria. the conclusion is forced upon us that the plan of sending black troops in larger numbers to algeria will be vigorously prosecuted. there is, however, no early probability of masses of black troops being transported to north africa, since there are not at present a sufficient number of trained men available. the senegalese regiments 1, 2 and 3, stationed in senegambia, are hardly enough to replace and complete the senegalese troops quartered in the other african colonies of france. although there is no doubt that france is in a position to raise a strong black army, the probability that black divisions will be available for a european war is still remote. but it cannot be questioned that they will be so some day. still less is any immediate employment of native moroccan troops in europe contemplated. morocco possesses very good native warriors, but the sultan exerts effective sovereignty only over a part of the territory termed "morocco." there cannot be, therefore, for years to come any question of employing this fighting material on a large scale. the french and moroccan governments are for the moment occupied in organizing a serviceable sultan's army of 20,000 men to secure the command of the country and to release the french troops in morocco. the annexation of morocco may for the time being mean no great addition to military strength; but, as order is gradually established, the country will prove to be an excellent recruiting depot, and france will certainly use this source of power with all her accustomed energy in military matters. for the immediate future we have, therefore, only to reckon with the reinforcements of the french european army which can be obtained from algeria and tunisia, so soon as the limited system of conscription is universally adopted there. this will supply a minimum of 120,000 men, and the tactical value of these troops is known to any who have witnessed their exploits on the battlefields of weissenburg and wörth. at least one strong division of turcos is already available. next to the french army, we are chiefly concerned with the military power of russia. since the peace and war establishments are not published, it is hard to obtain accurate statistics; no information is forthcoming as to the strength of the various branches of the service, but the totals of the army may be calculated approximately. according to the recruiting records of the last three years, the strength of the russian army on a peace footing amounts to 1,346,000 men, inclusive of cossacks and frontier guards. infantry and sharp-shooters are formed into 37 army corps (1 guards, 1 grenadiers, and 25 army corps in europe; 3 caucasian, 2 turkistanian, and 5 siberian corps). the cavalry is divided into divisions, independent brigades, and separate independent regiments. in war, each army corps consists of 2 divisions, and is in round figures 42,000 strong; each infantry division contains 2 brigades, at a strength of 20,000. each sharp-shooter brigade is about 9,000 strong, the cavalry divisions about 4,500 strong. on the basis of these numbers, we arrive at a grand total of 1,800,000 for all the army corps, divisions, sharp-shooter brigades, and cavalry divisions. to this must be added unattached troops and troops on frontier or garrison duty, so that the war strength of the standing army can be reckoned at some 2,000,000. this grand total is not all available in a european theatre of war. the siberian and turkistanian army corps must be deducted, as they would certainly be left in the interior and on the eastern frontier. for the maintenance of order in the interior, it would probably be necessary to leave the troops in finland, the guards at st. petersburg, at least one division at moscow, and the caucasian army corps in the caucasus. this would mean a deduction of thirteen army corps, or 546,000 men; so that we have to reckon with a field army, made up of the standing army, 1,454,000 men strong. to this must be added about 100 regiments of cossacks of the second and third ban, which may be placed at 50,000 men, and the reserve and empire-defence formations to be set on foot in case of war. for the formation of reserves, there are sufficient trained men available to constitute a reserve division of the first and second rank for each corps respectively. these troops, if each division is assumed to contain 20,000 men, would be 1,480,000 men strong. of course, a certain reduction must be made in these figures. also it is not known which of these formations would be really raised in event of mobilization. in any case, there will be an enormous army ready to be put into movement for a great war. after deducting all the forces which must be left behind in the interior, a field army of 2,000,000 men could easily be organized in europe. it cannot be stated for certain whether arms, equipment, and ammunition for such a host can be supplied in sufficient quantity. but it will be best not to undervalue an empire like russia in this respect. quite another picture is presented to us when we turn our attention to england, the third member of the triple entente. the british empire is divided from the military point of view into two divisions: into the united kingdom itself with the colonies governed by the english cabinet, and the self-governing colonies. these latter have at their disposal a militia, which is sometimes only in process of formation. they can be completely ignored so far as concerns any european theatre of war. the army of the parts of the empire administered by the english cabinet divides into the regular army, which is filled up by enlistment, the native troops, commanded by english officers, and the territorial army, a militia made up of volunteers which has not reached the intended total of 300,000. it is now 270,000 strong, and is destined exclusively for home defence. its military value cannot at present be ranked very highly. for a continental european war it may be left out of account. we have in that case only to deal with a part of the regular english army. this is some 250,000 strong. the men serve twelve years, of which seven are with the colours and five in the reserve. the annual supply of recruits is 35,000. the regular reserve is now 136,000 strong. there is also a special reserve, with a militia-like training, which is enlisted for special purposes, so that the grand total of the reserve reaches the figure of 200,000. of the regular english army, 134,000 men are stationed in england, 74,500 in india (where, in combination with 159,000 native troops, they form the anglo-indian army), and about 39,000 in different stations--gibraltar, malta, egypt, aden, south africa, and the other colonies and protectorates. in this connection the conditions in egypt are the most interesting: 6,000 english are stationed there, while in the native egyptian army (17,000 strong; in war-time, 29,000 strong) one-fifth of the officers are englishmen. it may be supposed that, in view of the great excitement in the moslem world, the position of the english is precarious. the 11,000 troops now stationed in south africa are to be transferred as soon as possible to mediterranean garrisons. in event of war, a special division will, on emergency, be organized there. for a war in continental europe, we have only to take into account the regular army stationed in england. when mobilized, it forms the "regular field army" of 6 infantry divisions, 1 cavalry division, 2 mounted brigades and army troops, and numbers 130,000 men, without columns and trains. the regular troops in the united kingdom which do not form part of the regular field army are some 100,000 strong. they consist of a very small number of mobile units, foot artillery, and engineers for coast defence, as well as the reserve formations. these troops, with some 13,000 militia artillery and militia engineers, constitute the home army, under whose protection the territorial field army is completing its organization. months must certainly elapse before portions of this army can strengthen the regular field army. at the most 150,000 men may be reckoned upon for an english expeditionary force. these troops compose at the same time the reserve of the troops stationed in the colonies, which require reinforcements at grave crises. this constitutes the weak point in the british armament. england can employ her regular army in a continental war so long only as all is quiet in the colonies. this fact brings into prominence how important it will be, should war break out, to threaten england in her colonial possessions, and especially in egypt. against the powerful hosts which the powers of the triple entente can put into the field, germany can command an active army of 589,705 men (on peace establishment, including non-commissioned officers) and about 25,500 officers; while austria has an army which on a peace footing is 361,553 men and about 20,000 officers strong. the combined war strength of the two states may be estimated as follows: in germany there were drafted into the army, including volunteers and non-combatants, in 1892, 194,664 men; in 1909, 267,283 men; or on an average for seventeen years, 230,975 men annually. this gives a total of 3,926,575 men. if we estimate the natural decrease at 25 per cent., we have 2,944,931 trained men left. by adding the peace establishment to it, we arrive at an estimated strength of 3,534,636, which the french can match with about the same figures. the annual enlistment in austria amounts to some 135,000. liability to serve lasts twelve years, leaving out of account service in the landsturm. deducting the three years of active service, this gives a total of 1,215,000, or, after the natural decrease by 25 per cent., 911,250 men. to this must be added the nine yearly batches of trained landsturm, which, after the same deductions, will come likewise to 911,250. the addition of the peace strength of the army will produce a grand total of 2,184,053 men on a war footing; approximately as many as russia, after all deductions, can bring into the field in europe. in what numbers the existing soldiers would in case of war be available for field formations in germany and austria is not known, and it would be undesirable to state. it depends partly on the forces available, partly on other circumstances winch are not open to public discussion. however high our estimate of the new formations may be, we shall never reach the figures which the combined forces of france and russia present. we must rather try to nullify the numerical superiority of the enemy by the increased tactical value of the troops, by intelligent generalship, and a prompt use of opportunity and locality. even the addition of the italian army to the forces of germany and austria would not, so far as i know, restore numerical equality in the field. in france it has been thought hitherto that two or three army corps must be left on the italian frontier. modern french writers [a] are already reckoning so confidently on the withdrawal of italy from the triple alliance that they no longer think it necessary to put an army in the field against italy, but consider that the entire forces of france are available against germany. [footnote a: colonel boucher, "l'offensive contre l'allemagne."] the peace establishment of the italian army amounts, in fact, to 250,000 men, and is divided into 12 army corps and 25 divisions. the infantry, in 96 regiments, numbers 140,000; there are besides 12 regiments of bersaglieri, with which are 12 cyclist battalions and 8 alpine regiments in 78 companies. the cavalry consists of 29 regiments, 12 of which are united in 3 cavalry divisions. the artillery has a strength of 24 field artillery regiments and 1 mounted regiment of artillery, and numbers 193 field and 8 mounted batteries. besides this there are 27 mountain batteries and 10 regiments of garrison artillery in 98 companies. lastly, there are 6 engineer regiments, including a telegraph regiment and an airship battalion. the gendarmerie contains 28,000 men. on a war footing the strength of the field army is 775,000. some 70,000 men are enrolled in other formations of the first and second line. the militia is some 390,000 strong. the strength of the reserves who might be mobilized is not known. the field army is divided into 3 armies of 9 army corps in all, to which are added 8 to 12 divisions of the territorial army and 4 cavalry divisions. as to colonial troops, italy can command in benadir the services of 48 officers and 16 non-commissioned officers of italian birth, and 3,500 native soldiers; in eritrea there are 131 officers, 644 non-commissioned officers and privates of italian birth, and 3,800 natives. italy thus can put a considerable army into the field; but it is questionable whether the south italian troops have much tactical value. it is possible that large forces would be required for coast-defence, while the protection of tripoli, by no means an easy task, would claim a powerful army if it is to be held against france. the turkish military forces would be of great importance if they joined the coalition of central european powers or its opponents. the regular peace establishment of the turkish army amounts to 275,000 men. in the year 1910 there were three divisions of it: i. the active army (nizam): infantry 133,000 cavalry 26,000 artillery 43,000 pioneers 4,500 special troops 7,500 train formations 3,000 mechanics 3,000 a total, that is, of 220,000 men. 2. the redif (militia) cadres, composed of infantry, 25,000 men. within this limit, according to the redif law, men are enlisted in turns for short trainings. 3. officers in the nizam and redif troops, military employés, officials, and others, more than 30,000. the entire war strength of the turkish army amounts to 700,000 men. we need only to take into consideration the troops from europe, anatolia, armenia, and syria. all these troops even are not available in a european theatre of war. on the other hand, the "mustafiz" may be regarded as an "extraordinary reinforcement"; this is usually raised for local protection or the maintenance of quiet and order in the interior. to raise 30,000 or 40,000 men of this militia in europe is the simplest process. from the high military qualities of the turkish soldiers, the turkish army must be regarded as a very important actor. turkey thus is a very valuable ally to whichever party she joins. the smaller balkan states are also able to put considerable armies into the field. montenegro can put 40,000 to 45,000 men into the field, with 104 cannons and 44 machine guns, besides 11 weak reserve battalions for frontier and home duties. servia is supposed to have an army 28,000 strong on a peace footing; this figure is seldom reached, and sinks in winter to 10,000 men. the war establishment consists of 250,000 men, comprising about 165,000 rifles, 5,500 sabres, 432 field and mountain guns (108 batteries of 4 guns); besides this there are 6 heavy batteries of 4 to 6 cannons and 228 machine guns available. lastly come the reserve formations (third line), so that in all some 305,000 men can be raised, exclusive of the militia, an uncertain quantity. the bulgarian army has a peace establishment of 59,820 men. it is not known how they are distributed among the various branches of the service. on a war footing an army of 330,000 is raised, including infantry at a strength of 230,000 rifles, with 884 cannons, 232 machine guns, and 6,500 sabres. the entire army, inclusive of the reserves and national militia, which latter is only available for home service and comprises men from forty-one to forty-six years of age, is said to be 400,000 strong. rumania, which occupies a peculiar position politically, forms a power in herself. there is in rumania, besides the troops who according to their time of service are permanently with the colours, a militia cavalry called "calarashi" (intelligent young yeomen on good horses of their own), whose units serve intermittently for short periods. in peace the army is composed of 5,000 officers and 90,000 men of the permanent establishment, and some 12,000 serving intermittently. the infantry numbers some 2,500 officers and 57,000 men, the permanent cavalry (rosiori) some 8,000 men with 600 officers, and the artillery 14,000 men with 700 officers. for war a field army can be raised of some 6,000 officers and 274,000 men, with 550 cannons. of these 215,000 men belong to the infantry, 7,000 to the cavalry, and 20,000 to the artillery. the cavalry is therefore weaker than on the peace footing, since, as it seems, a part of the calarashi is not to be employed as cavalry. inclusive of reserves and militia, the whole army will be 430,000 strong. there are 650,000 trained men available for service. although the balkan states, from a military point of view, chiefly concern austria, turkey, and russia, and only indirectly come into relations with germany, yet the armies of the smaller central european states may under some circumstances be of direct importance to us, if they are forced or induced to take part with us or against us in a european war. of our western neighbours, switzerland and holland come first under consideration, and then belgium. switzerland can command, in case of war, a combined army of 263,000 men. the expeditionary force, which is of first importance for an offensive war, consists of 96,000 infantry and 5,500 cavalry, with 288 field guns and 48 field howitzers (the howitzer batteries are in formation), a total of 141,000 men. the landwehr consists of 50.000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry, with 36 12-centimetre cannons belonging to foot artillery. it has a total strength of 69,000 men. the landsturm finally has a strength of 53,000 men. the dutch army has a peace establishment averaging 30,000 men, which varies much owing to the short period of service. there are generally available 13,000 infantry, 3,000 cavalry, 5,000 field artillery, 3,400 garrison artillery, and i,400 engineers, pontonniers, and transport troops. the field army in war is 80,000 strong, and is made up of 64,000 infantry, cyclist, and machine-gun sections, 2,600 cavalry, 4,400 artillery, and goo engineers. it is formed into 4 army divisions each of 15 battalions, 4 squadrons, 6 batteries, and 1 section engineers. there is, further, a garrison army of 80,000 men, which consists of 12 active and 48 landwehr infantry battalions, 44 active and 44 landwehr foot artillery companies, and 10 companies engineers and pontonniers, including landwehr. the dutch coast also is fortified. at holder, ymuiden, hook of holland, at völkerack and haringvliet there are various outworks, while the fortifications at flushing are at present unimportant. amsterdam is also a fortress with outlying fortifications in the new dutch water-line (fort holland). holland is thus well adapted to cause serious difficulties to an english landing, if her coast batteries are armed with effective cannons. it would easily yield to a german invasion, if it sided against us. belgium in peace has 42,800 troops available, distributed as follows: 26,000 infantry, 5,400 cavalry, 4,650 field artillery, 3,400 garrison artillery, 1,550 engineers and transport service. on a war footing the field army will be 100,000 strong, comprising 74,000 infantry, 7,250 cavalry, 10,000 field artillery, 1,900 engineers and transport service, and is formed into 4 army divisions and 2 cavalry divisions. the latter are each 20 squadrons and 2 batteries strong; each of the army divisions consists nominally of 17 battalions infantry, 1 squadron, 12 batteries, and 1 section engineers. in addition there is a garrison army of 80,000, which can be strengthened by the _garde civique_, antwerp forms the chief military base, and may be regarded as a very strong fortress. besides this, on the line of the maas, there are the fortified towns of liege, huy, and namur. there are no coast fortifications. denmark, as commanding the approaches to the baltic, is of great military importance to us. copenhagen, the capital, is a strong fortress. the army, on the other hand, is not an important factor of strength, as the training of the units is limited to a few months. this state maintains on a peace footing some 10,000 infantry, 800 cavalry, 2,300 artillery, and 1,100 special arms, a total of 14,200 men; but the strength varies between 7,500 and 26.000. in war-time an army of 62,000 men and 10,000 reserves can be put into the field, composed numerically of 58,000 infantry, 3,000 cavalry, 9,000 artillery, and 2,000 special arms. sweden can command eight classes of the first ban, which comprises units from twenty-one to twenty-eight years of age, and is 200,000 strong, as well as four classes of the second ban, with a strength of 90,000, which is made up of units from twenty-eight to thirty-two years of age. there are also available 30,000 trained volunteers, students and ex-students from twenty-one to thirty-two years of age. the eight classes of the landsturm are 165,000 men strong. it can, accordingly, be roughly calculated what field army can be raised in case of war. the entire first ban certainly comes under this head. in greece, which does not signify much for a european war, but might in combination with the small balkan states prove very troublesome to turkey, and is therefore important for us, an active army of 146,000 men can be put into the field; there are besides this 83,000 men in the landwehr and 63,000 men in the landsturm. spain has a peace army of 116,232 men, of whom 34,000 are permanently stationed in africa. in war she can raise 327,000 men (140,000 active army, 154,000 garrison troops, 33,000 gendarmerie). the mobilization is so badly organized that at the end of a month 70,000 to 80,000 men could at most be put into the field. as regards the naval forces of the states which concern us to-day, the accompanying table, which is taken from the _nauticus_ of 1911, affords a comparative epitome, which applies to may, 1911. it shows that, numerically, the english fleet is more than double as strong as ours. this superiority is increased if the displacements and the number of really modern ships are compared. in may we possessed only four battleships and one armed cruiser of the latest type; the english have ten ships-of-the-line and four armed cruisers which could be reckoned battleships. the new ships do not materially alter this proportion. the comparative number of the ships-of-the-line is becoming more favourable, that of the armoured cruisers will be less so than it now is. it may be noticed that among our cruisers are a number of vessels which really have no fighting value, and that the coast-defence ironclads cannot be counted as battleships. france, too, was a little ahead of us in the number of battleships in may, 1911, but, from all that is hitherto known about the french fleet, it cannot be compared with the german in respect of good material and trained crews. it would, however, be an important factor if allied with the english. |battle |armoured |armoured| armoured |protected |number |n s nation. |ships |coast |gunboats| cruisers |cruisers |of |u u |above |defence |and | | |torpedo |m b |5,000 |vessels |armoured| | |vessels |b m |tons. |from |ships | | | |e a | |3000 tons|under | | | |r r | |to 5,000 |3,000 | | | | i | |tons |tons | | | | i +--+-------+--+------+--+-----+--+-------+--+-------+----+----+o n |no|displ. |no|displ.|no|displ|no|displ. |no|displ. | |from|f e | | | | | | | | | | |200+|80| s | | | | | | | | | | |tons| 200| | | | | | | | | | | | |tons| ---------+--+-------+--+------+--+-----+--+-------+--+-------+----+----+--germany: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |25|332,410| 5|20,600| -| --|10|114,590|33|122,130| 117| 70| 12 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building|12| --| -| --| -| --| 4| --| 7| --| 14| -| - | | | | | | | | | | | | | england: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |50|793,260| -| --| -| --|38|484,970|66|333,540| 223| 36| 53 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building|12|286,640| -| --| -| --| 6|145,320|20|101,320| 51| -| 19 | | | | | | | | | | | | | france: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |22|314,930| -| --| -| --|22|214,670|10| 50,780| 71| 191| 52 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 4| 93,880| -| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| 13| -| 19 | | | | | | | | | | | | | italy: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready | 8| 96,980| -| --| -| --|10| 79,530| 4| 10,040| 53| 39| 7 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 4| 84,000| -| --| -| --| -| --| 3| 10,200| 14| 28| 13 | | | | | | | | | | | | | austria| | | | | | | | | | | | | hungary | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |11|102,620| -| --| -| --| 3| 18,870| 4| 10,590| 18| 66| 7 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 5| 94,500| -| --| -| --| -| --| 3| --| 6| -| - | | | | | | | | | | | | | russia: | | | | | | | | | | | | | baltic | | | | | | | | | | | | | fleet | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready | 4| 62,300| -| --| 1|1,760| 6| 64,950| 4| 27,270| 60| 19| 13 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 8| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| 1| -| 1 black sea| | | | | | | | | | | | | fleet | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready | 6| 72,640| -| --| -| --| -| --| 3| 13,620| 17| 10| 4 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 4| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| 14| -| 7 siberian | | | | | | | | | | | | | fleet |--| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| 2| 9,180| 20| 7| 13 | | | | | | | | | | | | | united | | | | | | | | | | | | | states: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |30|434,890| 4|13,120| -| --|14|181,260|16| 65,270| 40| 28| 19 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 7|190,000| -| --| -| --| -| --| -| --| 14| -| 20 | | | | | | | | | | | | | japan: | | | | | | | | | | | | | ready |13|194,690| 2| 8,540| -| --|13|139,830|12| 49,170| 59| 49| 12 voted or | | | | | | | | | | | | | building| 3| --| -| --| -| --| 4|107,120| 3| 15,000| 2| -| 1 ---------+--+-------+--+------+--+-----+--+-------+--+-------+----+----+--let us assume that in event of war england as well as france must leave a certain naval force in the mediterranean, which need not be stronger than the combined italian and austrian fleets, but might be smaller, in event of a change in the grouping of the states; let us further assume that numerous cruisers will be detained at the extra-european stations--the fact, however, remains that england and france together can collect against germany in the north sea a fleet of battleships alone three times as strong as that of germany, and will be supported by a vastly superior force of torpedo-vessels and submarines. if russia joins the alliance of these powers, that would signify another addition to the forces of our opponents which must not be underestimated, since the baltic fleet in the spring of 1911 contained two large battleships, and the baltic fleet of cruisers is always in a position to threaten our coasts and to check the free access to the baltic. in one way or the other we must get even with that fleet. the auxiliary cruiser fleet of the allies, to which england can send a large contingent, would also be superior to us. as regards _matériel_ and training, it may be assumed that our fleet is distinctly superior to the french and russian, but that england is our equal in that respect. our ships' cannons will probably show a superiority over the english, and our torpedo fleet, by its reckless energy, excellent training, and daring spirit of adventure, will make up some of the numerical disadvantage. it remains to be seen whether these advantages will have much weight against the overwhelming superiority of an experienced and celebrated fleet like the english. reflection shows that the superiority by sea, with which we must under certain circumstances reckon, is very great, and that our position in this respect is growing worse, since the states of the triple entente can build and man far more ships than we can in the same time. if we consider from the political standpoint the probable attitude of the separate states which may take part in the next war against germany, we may assume that the intensity of the struggle will not be the same in every case, since the political objects of our possible antagonists are very different. if we look at france first, we are entitled to assume that single-handed she is not a match for us, but can only be dangerous to us as a member of a coalition. the tactical value of the french troops is, of course, very high; numerically the army of our neighbour on the west is almost equal, and in some directions there may be a superiority in organization and equipment; in other directions we have a distinct advantage. the french army lacks the subordination under a single commander, the united spirit which characterizes the german army, the tenacious strength of the german race, and the _esprit de corps_ of the officers. france, too, has not those national reserves available which would allow us almost to double our forces. these are the conditions now existing. but if the french succeed in making a large african army available for a european theatre, the estimate of strength of the french army as compared with ours will be quite different. this possibility must be borne in mind, for, according to the whole previous development of affairs, we may safely assume that france will leave no stone unturned to acquire, if only for a time, a military superiority over germany. she knows well that she cannot reach her political goal except by a complete defeat of her eastern neighbour, and that such a result can only be obtained by the exercise of extraordinary efforts. it is certain that france will not only try to develop her own military power with the utmost energy, but that she will defend herself desperately if attacked by germany; on the other hand, she will probably not act on the offensive against germany unless she has increased her own efficiency to the utmost limit, and believes that she has secured the military supremacy by the help of active allies. the stakes are too high to play under unfavourable conditions. but if france thinks she has all the trumps in her hands, she will not shrink from an offensive war, and will stake even thing in order to strike us a mortal blow. we must expect the most bitter hostility from this antagonist. should the triple alliance break up--as seems probable now--this hour will soon have struck.[b] if the war then declared be waged against us in combination with england, it may be assumed that the allied great powers would attempt to turn our strategical right flank through belgium and holland, and penetrate into the heart of germany through the great gap in the fortresses between wesel and flushing. this operation would have the considerable advantage of avoiding the strong line of the rhine and threatening our naval bases from the land side. from the superiority of the combined anglo-french fleet, the army of invasion could without difficulty have its base on our coasts. such an operation would enormously facilitate the frontal attack on our west frontier, and would enable the french to push a victorious advance onward to the rhine, after investing metz and diedenhofen. [footnote b: written in october, 1911.] england, with whose hostility, as well with that of the french, we must reckon, could only undertake a land war against us with the support of an ally who would lead the main attack. england's troops would only serve as reinforcements; they are too weak for an independent campaign. english interests also lie in a quite different field, and are not coincident with those of france. the main issue for england is to annihilate our navy and oversea commerce, in order to prevent, from reasons already explained, any further expansion of our power. but it is not her interest to destroy our position as a continental power, or to help france to attain the supremacy in europe. english interests demand a certain equilibrium between the continental states. england only wishes to use france in order, with her help, to attain her own special ends, but she will never impose on herself sacrifices which are not absolutely necessary, for the private advantage of her ally. these principles will characterize her plan of campaign, if she sees herself compelled by the political position and the interests of her naval supremacy to take part in a war against us. if england, as must be regarded probable, determines sooner or later on this step, it is clearly to her advantage to win a rapid victory. in the first place, her own trade will not be injured longer than necessary by the war; in the second place, the centrifugal forces of her loosely compacted world empire might be set in movement, and the colonies might consult their own separate interests, should england have her hands tied by a great war. it is not unlikely that revolutions might break out in india and egypt, if england's forces were long occupied with a european war. again, the states not originally taking part in the war might interfere in our favour, if the decision were much delayed. it was important for us in 1870-71 to take paris quickly, in order to forestall any interference of neutrals. similar conditions might arise in the case of england. we must therefore make up our minds that the attack by sea will be made with the greatest and most persistent vigour, with the firm resolve to destroy completely our fleet and our great commercial centres. it is also not only possible, but probable, that england will throw troops on the continent, in order to secure the co-operation of her allies, who might demand this guarantee of the sincerity of english policy, and also to support the naval attack on the coast. on the other hand, the land war will display the same kind of desperate energy only so far as it pursues the object of conquering and destroying our naval bases. the english would be the less disposed to do more than this because the german auxiliaries, who have so often fought england's battles, would not be forthcoming. the greatest exertions of the nation will be limited to the naval war. the land war will be waged with a definitely restricted object, on which its character will depend. it is very questionable whether the english army is capable of effectively acting on the offensive against continental european troops. in south africa the english regiments for the most part fought very bravely and stood great losses; on the other hand, they completely failed in the offensive, in tactics as in operations, and with few exceptions the generalship was equally deficient. the last manoeuvres on a large scale, held in ireland, under the direction of general french, did not, according to available information, show the english army in a favourable light so far as strategical ability went. if we now turn our attention to the east, in order to forecast russia's probable behaviour, we must begin by admitting that, from a russian standpoint, a war in the west holds out better prospects of success than a renewed war with japan, and possibly with china. the empire of the czar finds in the west powerful allies, who are impatiently waiting to join in an attack on germany. the geographical conditions and means of communication there allow a far more rapid and systematic development of power than in manchuria. public opinion, in which hatred of germany is as persistent as ever, would be in favour of such a war, and a victory over germany and austria would not only open the road to constantinople, but would greatly improve the political and economic influence of russia in western europe. such a success would afford a splendid compensation for the defeats in asia, and would offer advantages such as never could be expected on the far-distant eastern frontiers of the empire. should russia, then, after weighing these chances launch out into an offensive war in the west, the struggle would probably assume a quite different character from that, for example, of a franco-german war. russia, owing to her vast extent, is in the first place secure against complete subjugation. in case of defeat her centre of gravity is not shifted. a russian war can hardly ever, therefore, become a struggle for political existence, and cause that straining of every nerve which such a struggle entails. the inhabitants will hardly ever show self-devotion in wars whose objects cannot be clear to them. throughout the vast empire the social and also political education, especially among the peasants, is so poor, that any grasp of the problems of a foreign policy seems quite out of the question. the sections of the people who have acquired a little superficial learning in the defective russian schools have sworn to the revolutionary colours, or follow a blind anti-progressive policy which seems to them best to meet their interests. the former, at least, would only make use of a war to promote their own revolutionary schemes, as they did in the crisis of the russo-japanese war. under the circumstances, there can be little idea of a united outburst of the national spirit which would enable an offensive war to be carried on with persistent vigour. there has been an extraordinary change in the conditions since 1812, when the people showed some unanimity in repelling the invasion. should russia to-day be involved in a western war with germany and austria, she could never bring her whole forces into play. in the first place, the revolutionary elements in the heart of the state would avail themselves of every weakening of the national sources of power to effect a revolution in internal politics, without any regard for the interests of the community. secondly, in the far east, japan or china would seize the moment when russia's forces in the west were fully occupied to carry out their political intentions towards the empire of the czar by force of arms. forces must always be kept in reserve for this eventuality, as we have already mentioned. although russia, under the present conditions, cannot bring her whole power to bear against germany and austria, and must also always leave a certain force on her european southern frontier, she is less affected by defeats than other states. neither the crimean war nor the greater exertions and sacrifices exacted by her hard-won victory over the turks, nor the heavy defeats by the japanese, have seriously shaken russia's political prestige. beaten in the east or south, she turns to another sphere of enterprise, and endeavours to recoup herself there for her losses on another frontier. such conditions must obviously affect the character of the war. russia will certainly put huge armies into the field against us. in the wars against turkey and japan the internal affairs of the empire prevented the employment of its full strength; in the latter campaign revolutionary agitation in the army itself influenced the operations and battles, and in a european war the same conditions would, in all probability, make themselves emphatically felt, especially if defeats favoured or encouraged revolutionary propaganda. in a war against russia, more than in any other war, _c'est le premier pas qui coûte_. if the first operations are unsuccessful, their effect on the whole position will be wider than in any other war, since they will excite in the country itself not sympathetic feelings only, but also hostile forces which would cripple the conduct of the war. so far as the efficiency of the russian army goes, the russo-japanese war proved that the troops fight with great stubbornness. the struggle showed numerous instances of heroic self-devotion, and the heaviest losses were often borne with courage. on the other hand, the russian army quite failed on the offensive, in a certain sense tactically, but essentially owing to the inadequacy of the commanders and the failure of the individuals. the method of conducting the war was quite wrong; indecision and irresolution characterized the russian officers of every grade, and no personality came forward who ever attempted to rise above mediocrity. it can hardly be presumed that the spirit of russian generalship has completely changed since the defeats in manchuria, and that striking personalities have come on the stage. this army must therefore always be met with a bold policy of attack. when we contrast these conditions with the position of germany, we cannot blink the fact that we have to deal with immense military difficulties, if we are to attain our own political ends or repel successfully the attack of our opponents. in the first place, the geographical configuration and position of our country are very unfavourable. our open eastern frontier offers no opportunity for continued defence, and berlin, the centre of the government and administration, lies in dangerous proximity to it. our western frontier, in itself strong, can be easily turned on the north through belgium and holland. no natural obstacle, no strong fortress, is there to oppose a hostile invasion and neutrality is only a paper bulwark. so in the south, the barrier of the rhine can easily be turned through switzerland. there, of course, the character of the country offers considerable difficulties, and if the swiss defend themselves resolutely, it might not be easy to break down their resistance. their army is no despicable factor of strength, and if they were attacked in their mountains they would fight as they did at sempach and murten. the natural approaches from the north sea to the baltic, the sound and the great belt, are commanded by foreign guns, and can easily fall a prey to our enemies. the narrow coast with which we face to the north sea forms in itself a strong front, but can easily be taken in the rear through holland. england is planted before our coasts in such a manner that our entire oversea commerce can be easily blocked. in the south and south-east alone are we secured by austria from direct invasion. otherwise we are encircled by our enemies. we may have to face attacks on three sides. this circumstance compels us to fight on the inner lines, and so presents certain advantages; but it is also fraught with dangers, if our opponents understand how to act on a correct and consistent plan. if we look at our general political position, we cannot conceal the fact that we stand isolated, and cannot expect support from anyone in carrying out our positive political plans. england, france, and russia have a common interest in breaking down our power. this interest will sooner or later be asserted by arms. it is not therefore the interest of any nation to increase germany's power. if we wish to attain an extension of our power, as is natural in our position, we must win it by the sword against vastly superior foes. our alliances are defensive, not merely in form, but essentially so. i have already shown that this is a cause of their weakness. neither austria nor italy are in any way bound to support by armed force a german policy directed towards an increase of power. we are not even sure of their diplomatic help, as the conduct of italy at the conference of algeçiras sufficiently demonstrated. it even seems questionable at the present moment whether we can always reckon on the support of the members of the triple alliance in a defensive war. the recent _rapprochement_ of italy with france and england goes far beyond the idea of an "extra turn." if we consider how difficult italy would find it to make her forces fit to cope with france, and to protect her coasts against hostile attacks, and if we think how the annexation of tripoli has created a new possession, which is not easily defended against france and england, we may fairly doubt whether italy would take part in a war in which england and france were allied against us. austria is undoubtedly a loyal ally. her interests are closely connected with our own, and her policy is dominated by the same spirit of loyalty and integrity as ours towards austria. nevertheless, there is cause for anxiety, because in a conglomerate state like austria, which contains numerous slavonic elements, patriotism may not be strong enough to allow the government to fight to the death with russia, were the latter to defeat us. the occurrence of such an event is not improbable. when enumerating the possibilities that might affect our policy, we cannot leave this one out of consideration. we shall therefore some day, perhaps, be faced with the necessity of standing isolated in a great war of the nations, as once frederick the great stood, when he was basely deserted by england in the middle of the struggle, and shall have to trust to our own strength and our own resolution for victory. such a war--for us more than for any other nation--must be a war for our political and national existence. this must be so, for our opponents can only attain their political aims by almost annihilating us by land and by sea. if the victory is only half won, they would have to expect continuous renewals of the contest, which would be contrary to their interests. they know that well enough, and therefore avoid the contest, since we shall certainly defend ourselves with the utmost bitterness and obstinacy. if, notwithstanding, circumstances make the war inevitable, then the intention of our enemies to crush us to the ground, and our own resolve to maintain our position victoriously, will make it a war of desperation. a war fought and lost under such circumstances would destroy our laboriously gained political importance, would jeopardize the whole future of our nation, would throw us back for centuries, would shake the influence of german thought in the civilized world, and thus check the general progress of mankind in its healthy development, for which a flourishing germany is the essential condition. our next war will be fought for the highest interests of our country and of mankind. this will invest it with importance in the world's history. "world power or downfall!" will be our rallying cry. keeping this idea before us, we must prepare for war with the confident intention of conquering, and with the iron resolve to persevere to the end, come what may. we must therefore prepare not only for a short war, but for a protracted campaign. we must be armed in order to complete the overthrow of our enemies, should the victory be ours; and, if worsted, to continue to defend ourselves in the very heart of our country until success at last is won. it is therefore by no means enough to maintain a certain numerical equality with our opponents. on the contrary, we must strive to call up the entire forces of the nation, and prepare and arm for the great decision which impends. we must try also to gain a certain superiority over our opponents in the crucial points, so that we may hold some winning trumps in our hand in a contest unequal from the very first. we must bear these two points in mind when preparing for war. only by continually realizing the duties thus laid on us can we carry out our preparations to the fullest, and satisfy the demands which the future makes on us. a nation of 65,000,000 which stakes _all_ her forces on winning herself a position, and on keeping that position, cannot be conquered. but it is an evil day for her if she relies on the semblance of power, or, miscalculating her enemies' strength, is content with half-measures, and looks to luck or chance for that which can only be attained by the exertion and development of all her powers. chapter viii the next naval war in the next european land war we shall probably face our foes with austria at our side, and thus will be in a position to win the day against any opposing forces. in a naval war we shall be thrown on our own resources, and must protect ourselves single-handed against the superior forces which will certainly press us hard. there can be no doubt that this war will be waged with england, for, although we cannot contemplate attacking england, as such an attack would be hopeless, that country itself has a lively interest in checking our political power. it will therefore, under certain conditions, attack _us_, in order to annihilate our fleet and aid france. the english have, besides, taken good care that the prospect of a war with them should always be held before our eyes. they talk so much of a possible german attack that it cannot surprise them if the light thrown on the question is from the opposite point of view. again, the preparations which they are making in the north sea show clearly that they certainly have contemplated an attack on germany. these preparations are like a strategic march, and the natural extension of their naval bases leaves no doubt as to their meaning. the great military harbour of rosyth is admittedly built for the eventuality of a war with germany, and can mean nothing else. harwich has also been recently made into an especially strong naval base, and, further, the roadstead of scapa flow in the orkney isles has been enlarged into a cruiser station. these are measures so directly and obviously directed against us that they demand an inquiry into the military position thus created. the english have only considered the possibility of a german war since 1902. before that year there was no idea of any such contingency, and it is therefore not unnatural that they are eager to make up for lost time. this fact does not alter the hostile character of the measures and the circumstance that the english preparations for war are exclusively directed against germany. we must therefore--as the general position of the world leads us to believe--reckon on the probability of a naval war with england, and shall then have to fight against an overwhelming superiority. it will be so great that we cannot hope for a long time to be able to take the offensive against the english fleet. but we must contemplate the possibility of becoming its master in one way or another, and of winning the freedom of the seas, if england attacks us. we shall now discuss this possibility. on this matter i am expressing my personal views only, which are not confused by any technical naval knowledge, and rest exclusively on general military considerations, in which our presupposed antagonists can, and will, indulge quite as well as myself. i shall not betray any secrets of the admiralty, since i do not know any. but i consider it expedient that the german people should clearly understand what dangers threaten from england, and how they can be met. in the view of these dangers and the circumstance that we are not strong enough to entertain any idea of provoking a battle, the question remains, what are the means of defensive naval strategy to secure protection from a superior and well-prepared enemy, and gradually to become its master? the plan might be formed of anticipating the enemy by a sudden attack, instead of waiting passively for him to attack first, and of opening the war as the japanese did before port arthur. in this way the english fleet might be badly damaged at the outset of the real hostilities, its superiority might be lessened, and the beginning of the effective blockade delayed at least for a short time. it is not unthinkable that such an attempt will be made. such an undertaking, however, does not seem to me to promise any great success. the english have secured themselves against such attacks by comprehensive works of defence in their exposed harbours. it seems dangerous to risk our torpedo-boats and submarines, which we shall urgently need in the later course of the war, in such bold undertakings. even the war against the english commerce holds out less prospects than formerly. as soon as a state of political tension sets in, the english merchantmen will be convoyed by their numerous cruisers. under such circumstances our auxiliary cruisers could do little; while our foreign service ships would soon have to set about attacking the enemy's warships, before coal ran short, for to fill up the coal-bunkers of these ships will certainly be a difficult task. the war against the english commerce must none the less be boldly and energetically prosecuted, and should start unexpectedly. the prizes which fall into our hands must be remorselessly destroyed, since it will usually be impossible, owing to the great english superiority and the few bases we have abroad, to bring them back in safety without exposing our vessels to great risks. the sharpest measures must be taken against neutral ships laden with contraband. nevertheless, no very valuable results can be expected from a war against england's trade. on the contrary, england, with the numerous cruisers and auxiliary cruisers at her disposal, would be able to cripple our oversea commerce. we must be ready for a sudden attack, even in peace-time. it is not england's custom to let ideal considerations fetter her action if her interests are at stake. under these circumstances, nothing would be left for us but to retire with our war-fleet under the guns of the coast fortifications, and by the use of mines to protect our own shores and make them dangerous to english vessels. mines are only an effective hindrance to attack if they can be defended. but they can cause considerable damage if the enemy has no knowledge of their existence. it would be necessary to take further steps to secure the importation from abroad of supplies necessary to us, since our own communications will be completely cut off by the english. the simplest and cheapest way would be if we obtained foreign goods through holland or perhaps neutral belgium; and could export some part of our own products through the great dutch and flemish harbours. new commercial routes might be discovered through denmark. our own oversea commerce would remain suspended, but such measures would prevent an absolute stagnation of trade. it is, however, very unlikely that england would tolerate such communications through neutral territory, since in that way the effect of her war on our trade would be much reduced. the attempt to block these trade routes would approximate to a breach of neutrality, and the states in question would have to face the momentous question, whether they would conform to england's will, and thus incur germany's enmity, or would prefer that adhesion to the german empire which geography dictates. they would have the choice between a naval war with england and a continental war with their german neighbours--two possibilities, each of which contains great dangers. that england would pay much attention to the neutrality of weaker neighbours when such a stake was at issue is hardly credible. the ultimate decision of the individual neutral states cannot be foreseen. it would probably depend on the general political position and the attitude of the other world powers to the anglo-german contest. the policy adopted by france and russia would be an important factor. one can easily understand under these circumstances that the dutch are seriously proposing to fortify strongly the most important points on their coast, in order to be able to maintain their neutrality on the sea side. they are also anxious about their eastern frontier, which obviously would be threatened by a german attack so soon as they sided with our enemies. i shall not enter further into the political and military possibilities which might arise if holland, belgium, and denmark were driven to a sympathetic understanding by the war. i will only point out how widespread an effect the naval war can, or rather must, exercise on the continental war and on the political relations generally. the attitude of denmark would be very important, since the passage to and from the baltic must mainly depend on her. it is vital to us that these communications be kept open, and measures must be taken to insure this. the open door through the belt and the sound can become highly important for the conduct of the war. free commerce with sweden is essential for us, since our industries will depend more and more on the swedish iron-ore as imports from other countries become interrupted. it will rest with the general state of affairs and the policy of the interested nations whether this sea route can be safeguarded by diplomatic negotiations, or must be kept open by military action. we cannot allow a hostile power to occupy the danish islands. complicated and grave questions, military as well as political, are thus raised by an anglo-german war. our trade would in any case suffer greatly, for sea communications could be cut off on every side. let us assume that france and russia seal our land frontiers, then the only trade route left open to us is through switzerland and austria--a condition of affairs which would aggravate difficulties at home, and should stimulate us to carry on the war with increased vigour. in any case, when war threatens we must lose no time in preparing a road on which we can import the most essential foodstuffs and raw materials, and also export, if only in small quantities, the surplus of our industrial products. such measures cannot be made on the spur of the moment. they must be elaborated in peace-time, and a definite department of the government must be responsible for these preparations. the ministry of commerce would obviously be the appropriate department, and should, in collaboration with the great commercial houses, prepare the routes which our commerce must follow in case of war. there must be a sort of commercial mobilization. these suggestions indicate the preliminary measures to be adopted by us in the eventuality of a war with england. we should at first carry on a defensive war, and would therefore have to reckon on a blockade of our coasts, if we succeed in repelling the probable english attack. such a blockade can be carried out in two ways. england can blockade closely our north sea coast, and at the same time bar the danish straits, so as to cut off communications with our baltic ports; or she can seal up on the one side the channel between england and the continent, on the other side the open sea between the north of scotland and norway, on the peterhead-ekersund line, and thus cripple our oversea commerce and also control the belgo-dutch, danish, and swedish shipping. a close blockade in the first case would greatly tax the resources of the english fleet. according to the view of english experts, if a blockade is to be maintained permanently, the distance between the base and the blockading line must not exceed 200 nautical miles. since all the english naval ports are considerably farther than this from our coast, the difficulties of carrying on the blockade will be enormously increased. that appears to be the reason why the estuary at harwich has recently been transformed into a strong naval harbour. it is considered the best harbourage on the english coast, and is hardly 300 nautical miles from the german coast. it offers good possibilities of fortification, and safe ingress and egress in time of war. the distance from the german ports is not, however, very material for purposes of blockade. the english, if they planned such a blockade, would doubtless count on acquiring bases on our own coast, perhaps also on the dutch coast. our task therefore is to prevent such attempts by every means. not only must every point which is suitable for a base, such as heligoland, borkum, and sylt, be fortified in time of peace, but all attempts at landing must be hindered and complicated by our fleet. this task can only be fulfilled by the fleet in daytime by submarines; by night torpedo-boats may co-operate, if the landing forces are still on board. such close blockade offers various possibilities of damaging the enemy, if the coast fortifications are so constructed with a view to the offensive that the fleet may rally under their protection, and thus gain an opportunity of advancing from their stations for offensive operations. such possibilities exist on our north coast, and our efforts must be turned towards making the most varied use of them. we must endeavour by renewed and unexpected attacks, especially by night, partly with submarines and torpedo-boats, partly with battleships, to give the blockading fleet no breathing-time, and to cause it as much loss as possible. we must not engage in a battle with superior hostile forces, for it is hardly possible at sea to discontinue a fight, because there is no place whither the loser can withdraw from the effect of the enemy's guns. an engagement, once begun must be fought out to the end. and appreciable damage can be inflicted on the enemy only if a bold attack on him is made. it is only possible under exceptionally favourable circumstances--such, for example, as the proximity of the fortified base--to abandon a fight once begun without very heavy losses. it might certainly be practicable, by successful reconnoitring, to attack the enemy repeatedly at times when he is weakened in one place or another. blockade demands naturally a certain division of forces, and the battle-fleet of the attacking party, which is supposed to lie behind the farthest lines of blockade and observation, cannot always hold the high seas in full strength. the forces of the defending party, however, lie in safe anchorages, ready to sally out and fight. such a blockade might, after all, be very costly to the attacking party. we may therefore fairly assume that the english would decide in favour of the second kind. at all events, the harbour constructions, partly building, partly projected, at rosyth and scapa flow, were chosen with an eye to this line of blockade. it would entail in the north the barring of a line about 300 nautical miles long, a scheme quite feasible from the military aspect. only a small force is required to seal up the channel, as the navigation route is very narrow. in addition to all this, the great english naval depots--dover, portsmouth, portland, and plymouth--are situated either on the line of blockade or immediately behind it. besides, every advance against this line from the north is flanked by sheerness and harwich, so that a retreat to the german coast might be barred. the conditions for the northern line of blockade will be no less favourable when the projected harbour works are finished. the blockading fleet finds, therefore, a base in the great harbour of rosyth, while a cruiser squadron might lie in support off the orkney isles. every attacking fleet from the german north coast will be unhesitatingly attacked on the flank from rosyth and sheerness, and cut off from its line of retreat. it is thus almost impossible, owing to the english superiority, to inflict any serious damage on the blockading fleet on this line, and the only course left is to advance from the baltic against the north-eastern part of the blockading line. here we should have a tolerably secure retreat. this accentuates once more the supreme importance to us of keeping open, at all costs, the passage through the sound and the great belt. the command of these straits will not only secure the baltic basin for us, but also keep open the sally-ports for our offensive operations against the english blockading fleet. in spite of all the advantages which the extended system of blockade offers to the english, there are two objections against it which are well worth considering from the english point of view. firstly, it prejudices the interests of a number of nations whose coasts are washed by the north sea and the baltic, since they are included in the blockade; secondly, it compels england to break up her fleet into two or three divisions. as to the first objection, we have hinted that england will scarcely let herself be hindered in the pursuit of her own advantage by the interests of weaker third parties. it is also conceivable that some satisfactory arrangement as to the blockade can be made with the states affected. as regards the splitting up of the fleet, no especially disadvantageous conditions are thereby produced. it is easy to reunite the temporarily divided parts, and the strength of the combined fleet guarantees the superiority of the separate divisions over the german forces at sea. nevertheless, this division of the attacking fleet gives the defending party the chance of attacking some detached portions before junction with the main body, and of inflicting loss on them, if the enemy can be deceived and surprised by prompt action. the demonstrations which are the ordinary tactics in war on land under such conditions cannot be employed, owing to the facility with which the sea can be patrolled. this blockade would ultimately weaken and weary the attacking party. but it must be recognized that it is a far easier plan to carry out than the close blockade, and that it would tax the offensive powers of our fleet more severely. we should not only have to venture on attacks in far-distant waters, but must be strong enough to protect efficiently the threatened flank of our attacking fleet. after all, it is improbable that the english would have recourse to a mere blockade. the reasons which would prompt them to a rapid decision of the war have been already explained. it was shown that, in the event of their fighting in alliance with france, they would probably attempt to land troops in order to support their fleet from the land side. they could not obtain a decisive result unless they attempted to capture our naval bases--wilhelmshaven, heligoland, the mouth of the elbe, and kiel--and to annihilate our fleet in its attempt to protect these places, and thus render it impossible for us to continue the war by sea. it is equally certain that our land forces would actively operate against the english attempts at landing, and that they would afford extraordinarily important assistance to the defence of the coast, by protecting it against attacks from the rear, and by keeping open the communications with the hinterland. the success of the english attack will much depend on the strength and armament of the coast fortifications. such a war will clearly show their value both as purely defensive and as offensive works. our whole future history may turn upon the impregnability of the fortifications which, in combination with the fleet, are intended to guard our coasts and naval bases, and should inflict such heavy losses on the enemy that the difference of strength between the two fleets would be gradually equalized. our ships, it must be remembered, can only act effectively so long as our coast fortifications hold out. no proof is required that a good intelligence system is essential to a defensive which is based on the policy of striking unexpected blows. such a system alone can guarantee the right choice of favourable moments for attack, and can give us such early information of the operative movements of the hostile fleet that we can take the requisite measures for defence, and always retreat before an attack in superior numbers. the numerical superiority of the english cruisers is so great that we shall probably only be able to guarantee rapid and trustworthy "scouting" by the help of the air-fleet. the importance of the air-fleet must not therefore be under-valued; and steps must be taken to repel the enemy's airships, either by employing specially contrived cannons, or by attacking them directly. if it is possible to employ airships for offensive purposes also, they would support our own fleet in their contest with the superior english force by dropping explosives on the enemy's ships, and might thus contribute towards gradually restoring the equilibrium of the opposing forces. these possibilities are, however, vague. the ships are protected to some extent by their armour against such explosives as could be dropped from airships, and it is not easy to aim correctly from a balloon. but the possibility of such methods of attack must be kept in mind. so far as aviation goes, the defending party has the advantage, for, starting from the german coast, our airships and flying-machines would be able to operate against the english attacking fleet more successfully than the english airships against our forts and vessels, since they would have as a base either the fleet itself or the distant english coast. such possibilities of superiority must be carefully watched for, and nothing must be neglected which could injure the enemy; while the boldest spirit of attack and the most reckless audacity must go hand in hand with the employment of every means which, mechanical skill and the science of naval construction and fortification can supply. this is the only way by which we may hope so to weaken our proud opponent, that we may in the end challenge him to a decisive engagement on the open sea. in this war we _must_ conquer, or, at any rate, not allow ourselves to be defeated, for it will decide whether we can attain a position as a world power by the side of, and in spite of, england. this victory will not be gained merely in the exclusive interests of germany. we shall in this struggle, as so often before, represent the common interests of the world, for it will be fought not only to win recognition for ourselves, but for the freedom of the seas. "this was the great aim of russia under the empress catherine ii., of france under napoleon i., and spasmodically down to 1904 in the last pages of her history; and the great republic of the united states of north america strives for it with intense energy. it is the development of the right of nations for which every people craves." [a] [footnote a: schiemann.] in such a contest we should not stand spiritually alone, but all on this vast globe whose feelings and thoughts are proud and free will join us in this campaign against the overweening ambitions of one nation, which, in spite of all her pretence of a liberal and a philanthropic policy, has never sought any other object than personal advantage and the unscrupulous suppression of her rivals. if the french fleet--as we may expect--combines with the english and takes part in the war, it will be much more difficult for us to wage than a war with england alone. france's blue-water fleet would hold our allies in the mediterranean in check, and england could bring all her forces to bear upon us. it would be possible that combined fleets of the two powers might appear both in the mediterranean and in the north sea, since england could hardly leave the protection of her mediterranean interests to france alone. the prospect of any ultimately successful issue would thus shrink into the background. but we need not even then despair. on the contrary, we must fight the french fleet, so to speak, on land--i.e., we must defeat france so decisively that she would be compelled to renounce her alliance with england and withdraw her fleet to save herself from total destruction. just as in 1870-71 we marched to the shores of the atlantic, so this time again we must resolve on an absolute conquest, in order to capture the french naval ports and destroy the french naval depots. it would be a war to the knife with france, one which would, if victorious, annihilate once for all the french position as a great power. if france, with her falling birth-rate, determines on such a war, it is at the risk of losing her place in the first rank of european nations, and sinking into permanent political subservience. those are the stakes. the participation of russia in the naval war must also be contemplated. that is the less dangerous, since the russian baltic fleet is at present still weak, and cannot combine so easily as the english with the french. we could operate against it on the inner line--i.e., we could use the opportunity of uniting rapidly our vessels in the baltic by means of the kaiser-wilhelm canal; we could attack the russian ships in vastly superior force, and, having struck our blow, we could return to the north sea. for these operations it is of the first importance that the danish straits should not be occupied by the enemy. if they fell into the hands of the english, all free operations in the baltic would be almost impossible, and our baltic coast would then be abandoned to the passive protection of our coast batteries. chapter ix the crucial question i have examined the probable conditions of the next naval war in some detail, because i thought that our general political and military position can only be properly estimated by considering the various phases of the war by sea and by land, and by realizing the possibilities and dangers arising from the combined action of the hostile forces on our coasts and land frontiers. in this way only can the direction be decided in which our preparations for war ought to move. the considerations, then, to which the discussion about the naval war with england and her probable allies gave rise have shown that we shall need to make very great exertions to protect ourselves successfully from a hostile attack by sea. they also proved that we cannot count on an ultimate victory at sea unless we are victorious on land. if an anglo-french army invaded north germany through holland, and threatened our coast defences in the rear, it would soon paralyze our defence by sea. the same argument applies to the eastern theatre. if russian armies advance victoriously along the baltic and co-operate with a combined fleet of our opponents, any continuation of the naval war would be rendered futile by the operations of the enemy on land. we know also that it is of primary importance to organize our forces on land so thoroughly that they guarantee the possibility, under all circumstances, of our victoriously maintaining our position on the continent of europe. this position must be made absolutely safe before we can successfully carry on a war by sea, and follow an imperial policy based on naval power. so long as rome was threatened by hannibal in italy there could be no possible idea of empire. she did not begin her triumphal progress in history until she was thoroughly secure in her own country. but our discussion shows also that success on land can be influenced by the naval war. if the enemy succeeds in destroying our fleet and landing with strong detachments on the north sea coast, large forces of the land army would be required to repel them, a circumstance widely affecting the progress of the war on the land frontiers. it is therefore vitally necessary to prepare the defence of our own coasts so well that every attack, even by superior numbers, may be victoriously repelled. at the same time the consideration of the political position presses the conviction home that in our preparations for war there must be no talk of a gradual development of our forces by sea and land such as may lay the lightest possible burden on the national finances, and leave ample scope for activity in the sphere of culture. the crucial point is to put aside all other considerations, and to prepare ourselves with the utmost energy for a war which appears to be imminent, and will decide the whole future of our politics and our civilization. the consideration of the broad lines of the world policy and of the political aspirations of the individual states showed that the position of affairs everywhere is critical for us, that we live at an epoch which will decide our place as a world power or our downfall. the internal disruption of the triple alliance, as shown clearly by the action of italy towards turkey, threatens to bring the crisis quickly to a head. the period which destiny has allotted us for concentrating our forces and preparing ourselves for the deadly struggle may soon be passed. we must use it, if we wish to be mindful of the warning of the great elector, that we are germans. this is the point of view from which we must carry out our preparations for war by sea and land. thus only can we be true to our national duty. i do not mean that we should adopt precipitately measures calculated merely for the exigencies of the moment. all that we undertake in the cause of military efficiency must meet two requirements: it must answer the pressing questions of the present, and aid the development of the future. but we must find the danger of our position a stimulus to desperate exertions, so that we may regain at the eleventh hour something of what we have lost in the last years. since the crucial point is to safeguard our much-threatened position on the continent of europe, we must first of all face the serious problem of the land war--by what means we can hope to overcome the great numerical superiority of our enemies. such superiority will certainly exist if italy ceases to be an active member of the triple alliance, whether nominally belonging to it, or politically going over to irredentism. the preparations for the naval war are of secondary importance. the first essential requirement, in case of a war by land, is to make the total fighting strength of the nation available for war, to educate the entire youth of the country in the use of arms, and to make universal service an existing fact. the system of universal service, born in the hour of need, has by a splendid development of strength liberated us from a foreign yoke, has in long years of peace educated a powerful and well-armed people, and has brought us victory upon victory in the german wars of unification. its importance for the social evolution of the nation has been discussed in a separate chapter. the german empire would to-day have a mighty political importance if we had been loyal to the principle on which our greatness was founded. france has at the present day a population of some 40,000,000; russia in europe, with poland and the caucasus, has a population of 140,000,000. contrasted with this, germany has only 65,000,000 inhabitants. but since the russian military forces are, to a great extent, hampered by very various causes and cannot be employed at any one time or place, and are also deficient in military value, a german army which corresponded to the population would be certainly in a position to defend itself successfully against its two enemies, if it operated resolutely on the inner line, even though england took part in the war. disastrously for ourselves, we have become disloyal to the idea of universal military service, and have apparently definitely discontinued to carry it out effectively. the country where universal service exists is now france. with us, indeed, it is still talked about, but it is only kept up in pretence, for in reality 50 per cent., perhaps, of the able-bodied are called up for training. in particular, very little use has been made of the larger towns as recruiting-grounds for the army. in this direction some reorganization is required which will energetically combine the forces of the nation and create a real army, such as we have not at the present time. unless we satisfy this demand, we shall not long be able to hold our own against the hostile powers. although we recognize this necessity as a national duty, we must not shut our eyes to the fact that it is impossible in a short time to make up our deficiencies. our peace army cannot be suddenly increased by 150,000 men. the necessary training staff and equipment would not be forthcoming, and on the financial side the required expenditure could not all at once be incurred. the full effectiveness of an increased army only begins to be gradually felt when the number of reservists and landwehr is correspondingly raised. we can therefore only slowly recur to the reinforcement of universal service. the note struck by the new five years act cannot be justified on any grounds. but although we wish to increase our army on a more extensive scale, we must admit that, even if we strain our resources, the process can only work slowly, and that we cannot hope for a long time to equalize even approximately the superior forces of our opponents. we must not, therefore, be content merely to strengthen our army; we must devise other means of gaining the upper hand of our enemies. these means can only be found in the spiritual domain. history teaches us by countless examples that numbers in themselves have only been the decisive factor in war when the opponents have been equally matched otherwise, or when the superiority of the one party exceeds the proportion required by the numerical law.[a] in most cases it was a special advantage possessed by the one party--better equipment, greater efficiency of troops, brilliant leadership, or more able strategy--which led to victory over the numerically superior. rome conquered the world with inferior forces; frederick the great with inferior forces withstood the allied armies of europe. recent history shows us the victory of the numerically weaker japanese army over a crushingly superior opponent. we cannot count on seeing a great commander at our head; a second frederick the great will hardly appear. nor can we know beforehand whether our troops will prove superior to the hostile forces. but we can try to learn what will be the decisive factors in the future war which will turn the scale in favour of victory or defeat. if we know this, and prepare for war with a set purpose, and keep the essential points of view always before us, we might create a real source of superiority, and gain a start on our opponents which would be hard for them to make up in the course of the war. should we then in the war itself follow one dominating principle of the policy which results from the special nature of present-day war, it must be possible to gain a positive advantage which may even equalize a considerable numerical superiority. [footnote a: _cf_. v. bernhardi, "vom heutigen kriege," vol. i., chap. ii.] the essential point is not to match battalion with battalion, battery with battery, or to command a number of cannons, machine guns, airships, and other mechanical contrivances equal to that of the probable opponent; it is foolish initiative to strain every nerve to be abreast with the enemy in all material domains. this idea leads to a certain spiritual servility and inferiority. rather must an effort be made to win superiority in the factors on which the ultimate decision turns. the duty of our war department is to prepare these decisive elements of strength while still at peace, and to apply them in war according to a clearly recognized principle of superiority. this must secure for us the spiritual and so the material advantage over our enemies. otherwise we run the danger of being crushed by their weight of numbers. we cannot reach this goal on the beaten roads of tradition and habit by uninspired rivalry in arming. we must trace out with clear insight the probable course of the future war, and must not be afraid to tread new paths, if needs be, which are not consecrated by experience and use. new goals can only be reached by new roads, and our military history teaches us by numerous instances how the source of superiority lies in progress, in conscious innovations based on convincing arguments. the spiritual capacity to know where, under altered conditions, the decision must be sought, and the spiritual courage to resolve on this new line of action, are the soil in which great successes ripen. it would be too long a task in this place to examine more closely the nature of the future war, in order to develop systematically the ideas which will prove decisive in it. these questions have been thoroughly ventilated in a book recently published by me, "vom heutigen kriege" ("the war of to-day"). in this place i will only condense the results of my inquiry, in order to form a foundation for the further consideration of the essential questions of the future. in a future european war "masses" will be employed to an extent unprecedented in any previous one. weapons will be used whose deadliness will exceed all previous experience. more effective and varied means of communication will be available than were known in earlier wars. these three momentous factors will mark the war of the future. "masses" signify in themselves an increase of strength, but they contain elements of weakness as well. the larger they are and the less they can be commanded by professional soldiers, the more their tactical efficiency diminishes. the less they are able to live on the country during war-time, especially when concentrated, and the more they are therefore dependent on the daily renewal of food-supplies, the slower and less mobile they become. owing to the great space which they require for their deployment, it is extraordinarily difficult to bring them into effective action simultaneously. they are also far more accessible to morally depressing influences than compacter bodies of troops, and may prove dangerous to the strategy of their own leaders, if supplies run short, if discipline breaks down, and the commander loses his authority over the masses which he can only rule under regulated conditions. the increased effectiveness of weapons does not merely imply a longer range, but a greater deadliness, and therefore makes more exacting claims on the _moral_ of the soldier. the danger zone begins sooner than formerly; the space which must be crossed in an attack has become far wider; it must be passed by the attacking party creeping or running. the soldier must often use the spade in defensive operations, during which he is exposed to a far hotter fire than formerly; while under all circumstances he must shoot more than in bygone days. the quick firing which the troop encounters increases the losses at every incautious movement. all branches of arms have to suffer under these circumstances. shelter and supplies will be more scanty than ever before. in short, while the troops on the average have diminished in value, the demands made on them have become considerably greater. improved means of communication, finally, facilitate the handling and feeding of large masses, but tie them down to railway systems and main roads, and must, if they fail or break down in the course of a campaign, aggravate the difficulties, because the troops were accustomed to their use, and the commanders counted upon them. the direct conclusion to be drawn from these reflections is that a great superiority must rest with the troops whose fighting capabilities and tactical efficiency are greater than those of their antagonists. the commander who can carry out all operations quicker than the enemy, and can concentrate and employ greater masses in a narrow space than they can, will always be in a position to collect a numerically superior force in the decisive direction; if he controls the more effective troops, he will gain decisive successes against one part of the hostile army, and will be able to exploit them against other divisions of it before the enemy can gain equivalent advantages in other parts of the field. since the tactical efficiency and the _moral_ of the troops are chiefly shown in the offensive, and are then most needful, the necessary conclusion is that safety only lies in offensive warfare. in an attack, the advantage, apart from the elements of moral strength which it brings into play, depends chiefly on rapidity of action. inasmuch as the attacking party determines the direction of the attack to suit his own plans, he is able at the selected spot to collect a superior force against his surprised opponent. the initiative, which is the privilege of the attacking party, gives a start in time and place which is very profitable in operations and tactics. the attacked party can only equalize this advantage if he has early intimation of the intentions of the assailant, and has time to take measures which hold out promise of success. the more rapidly, therefore, the attacking general strikes his blow and gains his success, and the more capable his troops, the greater is the superiority which the attack in its nature guarantees. this superiority increases with the size of the masses. if the advancing armies are large and unwieldy, and the distances to be covered great, it will be a difficult and tedious task for the defending commander to take proper measures against a surprise attack. on the other hand, the prospects of success of the attacking general will be very favourable, especially if he is in the fortunate position of having better troops at his disposal. finally, the initiative secures to the numerically weaker a possibility of gaining the victory, even when other conditions are equal, and all the more so the greater the masses engaged. in most cases it is impossible to bring the entire mass of a modern army simultaneously and completely into action. a victory, therefore, in the decisive direction--the direction, that is, which directly cuts the arteries of the opponent--is usually conclusive for the whole course of the war, and its effect is felt in the most distant parts of the field of operations. if the assailant, therefore, can advance in this direction with superior numbers, and can win the day, because the enemy cannot utilize his numerical superiority, there is a possibility of an ultimate victory over the arithmetically stronger army. in conformity to this law, frederick the great, through superior tactical capability and striking strength, had always the upper hand of an enemy far more powerful in mere numbers. no further proof is required that the superiority of the attack increases in proportion to the rapidity with which it is delivered, and to the lack of mobility of the hostile forces. hence the possibility of concealing one's own movements and damaging the effective tactics of the enemy secures an advantage which, though indirect, is yet very appreciable. we arrive, then, at the conclusion that, in order to secure the superiority in a war of the future under otherwise equal conditions, it is incumbent on us: first, during the period of preparation to raise the tactical value and capabilities of the troops as much as possible, and especially to develop the means of concealing the attacking movements and damaging the enemy's tactical powers; secondly, in the war itself to act on the offensive and strike the first blow, and to exploit the manoeuvring capacity of the troops as much as possible, in order to be superior in the decisive directions. above all, a state which has objects to attain that cannot be relinquished, and is exposed to attacks by enemies more powerful than itself, is bound to act in this sense. it must, before all things, develop the attacking powers of its army, since a strategic defensive must often adopt offensive methods. this principle holds good pre-eminently for germany. the points which i have tried to emphasize must never be lost sight of, if we wish to face the future with confidence. all our measures must be calculated to raise the efficiency of the army, especially in attack; to this end all else must give way. we shall thus have a central point on which all our measures can be focussed. we can make them all serve one purpose, and thus we shall be kept from going astray on the bypaths which we all too easily take if we regard matters separately, and not as forming parts of a collective whole. much of our previous omissions and commissions would have borne a quite different complexion had we observed this unifying principle. the requirements which i have described as the most essential are somewhat opposed to the trend of our present efforts, and necessitate a resolute resistance to the controlling forces of our age. the larger the armies by which one state tries to outbid another, the smaller will be the efficiency and tactical worth of the troops; and not merely the average worth, but the worth of each separate detachment as such. huge armies are even a danger to their own cause. "they will be suffocated by their own fat," said general v. brandenstein, the great organizer of the advance of 1870, when speaking of the mass-formation of the french. the complete neglect of cavalry in their proportion to the whole bulk of the army has deprived the commander of the means to injure the tactical capabilities of the enemy, and to screen effectually his own movements. the necessary attention has never been paid in the course of military training to this latter duty. finally, the tactical efficiency of troops has never been regarded as so essential as it certainly will prove in the wars of the future. a mechanical notion of warfare and weak concessions to the pressure of public opinion, and often a defective grasp of the actual needs, have conduced to measures which inevitably result in an essential contradiction between the needs of the army and the actual end attained, and cannot be justified from the purely military point of view. it would be illogical and irrelevant to continue in these paths so soon as it is recognized that the desired superiority over the enemy cannot be reached on them. this essential contradiction between what is necessary and what is attained appears in the enforcement of the law of universal military service. opinion oscillates between the wish to enforce it more or less, and the disinclination to make the required outlay, and recourse is had to all sorts of subterfuges which may save appearances without giving a good trial to the system. one of these methods is the _ersatzreserve_, which is once more being frequently proposed. but the situation is by no means helped by the very brief training which these units at best receive. this system only creates a military mob, which has no capacity for serious military operations. such an institution would be a heavy strain on the existing teaching _personnel_ in the army, and would be indirectly detrimental to it as well. nor would any strengthening of the field army be possible under this scheme, since the cadres to contain the mass of these special reservists are not ready to hand. this mass would therefore only fill up the recruiting depots, and facilitate to some degree the task of making good the losses. a similar contradiction is often shown in the employment of the troops. every army at the present time is divided into regular troops, who are already organized in time of peace and are merely brought to full strength in war-time, and new formations, which are only organized on mobilization. the tactical value of these latter varies much according to their composition and the age of the units, but is always much inferior to that of the regular troops. the landwehr formations, which were employed in the field in 1870-71, were an example of this, notwithstanding the excellent services which they rendered, and the new french formations in that campaign were totally ineffective. the sphere of activity of such troops is the second line. in an offensive war their duty is to secure the railroads and bases, to garrison the conquered territory, and partly also to besiege the enemies' fortresses. in fact, they must discharge all the duties which would otherwise weaken the field army. in a defensive war they will have to undertake the local and mainly passive defence, and the support of the national war. by acting at first in this limited sphere, such new formations will gradually become fitted for the duties of the war, and will acquire a degree of offensive strength which certainly cannot be reckoned upon at the outset of the war; and the less adequately such bodies of troops are supplied with columns, trains, and cavalry, the less their value will be. nevertheless, it appears to be assumed by us that, in event of war, such troops will be partly available in the first line, and that decisive operations may be entrusted to them. reserves and regulars are treated as equivalent pieces on the board, and no one seems to suppose that some are less effective than others. a great danger lies in this mechanical conception. for operations in the field we must employ, wherever possible, regulars only, and rather limit our numbers than assign to inferior troops tasks for which they are inadequate. we must have the courage to attack, if necessary, with troops numerically inferior but tactically superior and more efficient; we must attack in the consciousness that tactical striking power and efficiency outweigh the advantages of greater numbers, and that with the immense modern armies a victory in the decisive direction has more bearing on the ultimate issue than ever before. the decision depends on the regular troops, not on the masses which are placed at their side on mobilization. the commander who acts on this principle, and so far restricts himself in the employment of masses that he preserves the complete mobility of the armies, will win a strong advantage over the one whose leader is burdened with inferior troops and therefore is handicapped generally, and has paid for the size of his army by want of efficiency. the mass of reserves must, therefore, be employed as subsidiary to the regular troops, whom they must relieve as much as possible from all minor duties. thus used, a superiority in the numbers of national reserves will secure an undoubted superiority in the actual war. it follows directly from this argument that we must do our best to render the regular army strong and efficient, and that it would be a mistake to weaken them unnecessarily by excessive drafts upon their _personnel_ with the object of making the reserves tactically equal to them. this aim may sometimes be realized; but the general level of efficiency throughout the troops would be lowered. our one object must therefore be to strengthen our regular army. an increase of the peace footing of the standing army is worth far more than a far greater number of badly trained special reservists. it is supremely important to increase the strength of the officers on the establishment. the stronger each unit is in peace, the more efficient will it become for war, hence the vital importance of aiming at quality, not quantity. concentration, not dilution, will be our safeguard. if we wish to encourage the enforcement of universal service by strengthening the army, we must organize new peace formations, since the number of professional officers and sub-officers will be thus increased. this step is the more necessary because the present available cadres are insufficient to receive the mass of able-bodied recruits and to provide for their thorough training. the gradual enforcement of universal military service hand in hand with an increase of the regular army is the first practical requirement. we shall now consider how far the tactical value of the troops, the efficiency of the army, the cavalry, and the screening service can be improved by organization, equipment, and training. i must first point out a factor which lies in a different sphere to the questions already discussed, but has great importance in every branch of military activity, especially in the offensive, which requires prompt original action--i mean the importance of personality. from the commander-in-chief, who puts into execution the conceptions of his own brain under the pressure of responsibility and shifting fortune, and the brigadier, who must act independently according to a given general scheme; to the dispatch rider, surrounded with dangers, and left to his own resources in the enemy's country, and the youngest private in the field fighting for his own hand, and striving for victory in the face of death; everywhere in the wars of to-day, more than in any other age, personality dominates all else. the effect of mass tactics has abolished all close formations of infantry, and the individual is left to himself. the direct influence of the superior has lessened. in the strategic duties of the cavalry, which represent the chief activity of that arm, the patrol riders and orderlies are separated more than before from their troop and are left to their own responsibility. even in the artillery the importance of independent action will be more clearly emphasized than previously. the battlefields and area of operations have increased with the masses employed. the commander-in-chief is far less able than ever before to superintend operations in various parts of the field; he is forced to allow a greater latitude to his subordinates. these conditions are very prominent in attacking operations. when on the defensive the duty of the individual is mainly to hold his ground, while the commander's principal business is to utilize the reserves. on the offensive, however, the conditions change from moment to moment, according to the counter-movements of the enemy, which cannot be anticipated, and the success or failure of the attacking troops. even the individual soldier, as the fight fluctuates, must now push on, now wait patiently until the reinforcements have come up; he will often have to choose for himself the objects at which to fire, while never losing touch with the main body. the offensive makes very varied calls on the commander's qualities. ruse and strategy, boldness and unsparing energy, deliberate judgment and rapid decision, are alternately demanded from him. he must be competent to perform the most opposite duties. all this puts a heavy strain on personality. it is evident, then, that the army which contains the greatest number of self-reliant and independent personalities must have a distinct advantage. this object, therefore, we must strive with every nerve to attain: to be superior in this respect to all our enemies. and this object can be attained. personality can be developed, especially in the sphere of spiritual activity. the reflective and critical powers can be improved by continuous exercise; but the man who can estimate the conditions under which he has to act, who is master of the element in which he has to work, will certainly make up his mind more rapidly and more easily than a man who faces a situation which he does not grasp. self-reliance, boldness, and imperturbability in the hour of misfortune are produced by knowledge. this is shown everywhere. we see the awkward and shy recruit ripen into a clear-headed smart sergeant; and the same process is often traced among the higher commands. but where the mental development is insufficient for the problems which are to be solved, the personality fails at the moment of action. the elegant guardsman bourbaki collapsed when he saw himself confronted with the task of leading an army whose conditions he did not thoroughly grasp. general chanzy, on the other hand, retained his clear judgment and resolute determination in the midst of defeat. thus one of the essential tasks of the preparations for war is to raise the spiritual level of the army and thus indirectly to mould and elevate character. especially is it essential to develop the self-reliance and resourcefulness of those in high command. in a long military life ideas all too early grow stereotyped and the old soldier follows traditional trains of thought and can no longer form an unprejudiced opinion. the danger of such development cannot be shut out. the stiff and uniform composition of the army which doubles its moral powers has this defect: it often leads to a one-sided development, quite at variance with the many-sidedness of actual realities, and arrests the growth of personality. something akin to this was seen in germany in the tentative scheme of an attack _en masse_. united will and action are essential to give force its greatest value. they must go hand in hand with the greatest spiritual independence and resourcefulness, capable of meeting any emergency and solving new problems by original methods. it has often been said that one man is as good as another; that personality is nothing, the type is everything; but this assertion is erroneous. in time of peace, when sham reputations flourish and no real struggle winnows the chaff from the coin, mediocrity in performance is enough. but in war, personality turns the scale. responsibility and danger bring out personality, and show its real worth, as surely as a chemical test separates the pure metal from the dross. that army is fortunate which has placed men of this kind in the important posts during peace-time and has kept them there. this is the only way to avoid the dangers which a one-sided routine produces, and to break down that red-tapism which is so prejudicial to progress and success. it redounds to the lasting credit of william i. that for the highest and most responsible posts, at any rate, he had already in time of peace made his selection from among all the apparently great men around him; and that he chose and upheld in the teeth of all opposition those who showed themselves heroes and men of action in the hour of need, and had the courage to keep to their own self-selected paths. this is no slight title to fame, for, as a rule, the unusual rouses envy and distrust, but the cheap, average wisdom, which never prompted action, appears as a refined superiority, and it is only under the pressure of the stern reality of war that the truth of goethe's lines is proved: "folk and thrall and victor can witness bear in every zone: fortune's greatest gift to man is personality alone." chapter x army organization i now turn to the discussion of some questions of organization, but it is not my intention to ventilate all the needs and aims connected with this subject that occupy our military circles at the present time. i shall rather endeavour to work out the general considerations which, in my opinion, must determine the further development of our army, if we wish, by consistent energy, to attain a superiority in the directions which will certainly prove to be all-important in the next war. it will be necessary to go into details only on points which are especially noteworthy or require some explanation. i shall obviously come into opposition with the existing state of things, but nothing is further from my purpose than to criticize them. my views are based on theoretical requirements, while our army, from certain definitely presented beginnings, and under the influence of most different men and of changing views, in the midst of financial difficulties and political disputes, has, by fits and starts, grown up into what it now is. it is, in a certain sense, outside criticism; it must be taken as something already existing, whose origin is only a subject for a subsequent historical verdict. but the further expansion of our army belongs to the future, and its course can be directed. it can follow well-defined lines, in order to become efficient, and it is politically most important that this object should be realized. therefore i shall not look back critically on the past, but shall try to serve the future. the guiding principle of our preparations for war must be, as i have already said, the development of the greatest fighting strength and the greatest tactical efficiency, in order through them to be in a position to carry on an offensive war successfully. what follows will, therefore, fall naturally under these two heads. fighting strength rests partly, as already said, on the training (which will be discussed later), the arming, and the _personnel_, partly on the composition of the troops, and, therefore, in the case of line regiments, with which we chiefly have to deal, since they are the real field troops, on the strength of their peace establishment. it was shown in the previous chapter how essential it is to have in the standing army not only the necessary cadres ready for the new formations, but to make the separate branches so strong that they can easily be brought up to full strength in war-time. the efficiency and character of the superiors, the officers and the non-commissioned officers, are equally weighty factors in the value of the troops. they are the professional supporters of discipline, decision, and initiative, and, since they are the teachers of the troops, they determine their intellectual standard. the number of permanent officers on the establishment in peace is exceedingly small in proportion to their duties in the training of the troops and to the demands made of them on mobilization. if we reflect how many officers and non-commissioned officers from the standing army must be transferred to the new formations in order to vitalize them, and how the modern tactical forms make it difficult for the superior officer to assert his influence in battle, the numerical inadequacy of the existing _personnel_ is clearly demonstrated. this applies mainly to the infantry, and in their case, since they are the decisive arm, a sufficient number of efficient officers is essential. all the more important is it, on the one hand, to keep the establishment of officers and non-commissioned officers in the infantry at full strength, and, on the other hand, to raise the efficiency of the officers and non-commissioned officers on leave or in the reserve. this latter is a question of training, and does not come into the present discussion. the task of keeping the establishments at adequate strength is, in a sense, a financial question. the amount of the pay and the prospects which the profession holds out for subsequent civil posts greatly affect the body of non-commissioned officers, and therefore it is important to keep step with the general increase in prices by improved pecuniary advantages. even for the building up of the corps of officers, the financial question is all-important. the career of the officer offers to-day so little prospect of success and exacts such efficiency and self-devotion from the individual, that he will not long remain in the service, attractive as it is, if the financial sacrifices are so high as they now are. the infantry officer especially must have a better position. granted that the cavalry and mounted artillery officers incur greater expenses for the keep of their horses than the infantry officer has to pay, the military duties of the latter are by far the most strenuous and require a very considerable outlay on clothing. it would be, in my opinion, expedient to give the infantry officer more pay than the cavalry and artillery officers, in order to make service in that arm more attractive. there is a rush nowadays into the mounted arm, for which there is a plethora of candidates. these arms will always be well supplied with officers. their greater attractiveness must be counterbalanced by special advantages offered by the infantry service. by no other means can we be sure of having sufficient officers in the chief arm. if the fighting strength in each detachment depends on its composition and training, there are other elements besides the tactical value of the troops which determine the effectiveness of their combined efforts in action; these are first the leadership, which, however, depends on conditions which are beyond calculation, and secondly the numerical proportion of the arms to each other. disregarding provisionally the cavalry, who play a special role in battle, we must define the proportion which artillery must bear to infantry. with regard to machine guns, the idea that they can to some extent replace infantry is quite erroneous. machine guns are primarily weapons of defence. in attack they can only be employed under very favourable conditions, and then strengthen only one factor of a successful attack--the fire-strength--while they may sometimes hinder that impetuous forward rush which is the soul of every attack. hence, this auxiliary weapon should be given to the infantry in limited numbers, and employed mainly on the defensive fronts, and should be often massed into large units. machine-gun detachments should not overburden the marching columns. the relation of infantry to artillery is of more importance. infantry is the decisive arm. other arms are exclusively there to smooth their road to victory, and support their action directly or indirectly. this relation must not be merely theoretical; the needs of the infantry must ultimately determine the importance of all other fighting instruments in the whole army. if we make this idea the basis of our argument, the following is the result. infantry has gained enormously in defensive power owing to modern weapons. the attack requires, therefore, a far greater superiority than ever before. in addition to this, the breadth of front in action has greatly increased in consequence of the former close tactical formations having been broken up through the increase of fire. this refers only to the separate detachment, and does not justify the conclusion that in the future fewer troops will cover the same spaces as before. this assumption applies at the most to defence, and then only in a limited sense. in attack the opposite will probably be the case. the troops must therefore be placed more deeply _en échelon _than in the last wars. now, the average breadth of the front in attack must regulate the allotment of artillery to infantry. no definite proportion can be settled; but if the theoretical calculation be compared with the experiences of the last wars, conclusions may be obtained which will most probably prove appropriate. no more than this can be expected in the domain of military science. if we agree to the above-mentioned proportion of breadth and depth in an infantry attack, we shall be driven to insist on a reduction of artillery as compared with the past; but should we think that modern artillery helps the attack, especially by indirect fire, we must advocate, from the standpoint of offensive warfare, an increase of the artillery. actual war experiences alone can find the true middle path between these two extremes. if the frontal development of the artillery of a modern army corps, or, better still, two divisions, be regarded from the point of view that the guns cannot advance in connected line, but that only the specially adapted parts of the field can be used for artillery development, the conclusion is certain that by such frontal extension the infantry is reduced to a covering line for the artillery. in forming this opinion we must not assume the normal strength of the infantry, but take into account that the strength of the infantry in war rapidly melts away. if we estimate the companies on the average at two-thirds of their proper strength, we shall be above rather than below the real figures. such infantry strength will, of course, be sufficient to defend the position taken up by the artillery, but it is hardly enough to carry out, in that section of the field, a decisive attack, which, under present conditions, requires greater numbers and depth than before. in this connection it is very instructive to study the second part of the franco-german war, and the boer war, as well as the manchurian campaign. some of the german infantry had in the first-named period extraordinarily diminished in numbers; companies of 120 men were not rare. the artillery, on the contrary, had remained at its original strength. the consequences naturally was that the powers of the germans on the offensive grew less and the battles and skirmishes were not so decisive as in the first part of the war. this condition would have shown up more distinctly against an enemy of equal class than in the contest with the loosely-compacted, raw french levies. in the former case the offensive would have been impracticable. the strong artillery, under the existing conditions, no doubt gave great support to the weak infantry; but an unbiassed opinion leads to the conclusion that, under the then existing proportion of the arms to each other, the infantry was too weak to adopt energetic offensive tactics against a well-matched enemy. this is irresistibly proved if we consider what masses of infantry were needed at wörth and st. privat, for instance, in spite of the support of very superior artillery, in order to defeat a weaker enemy of equal class. again, in south africa, the overwhelming superiority of the english in artillery was never able to force a victory. in manchuria the state of things was very instructive. numerically the russian artillery was extraordinarily superior to the enemy's, and the range of the russian field guns was longer than that of the japanese; nevertheless, the japanese succeeded in beating an enemy stronger in infantry also, because, in the decisive directions of attack, they were able to unite superior forces of infantry and artillery, while the russian artillery was scattered along the whole of their broad front. the lesson of this war is that, apart from the close relation of the arms to each other in the separate units, the co-operation of these units must be looked at, if the strength of the two sister arms is to be appropriately determined. the requirement that each separate tactical unit should he made equal or superior in artillery to the corresponding hostile unit is thoroughly mechanical, as if in war division always fought against division and corps against corps! superiority at the decisive point is the crucial test. this superiority is attained by means of an unexpected concentration of forces for attack, and there is no reason why the superiority in artillery should not also be brought about in this way. if by superior tactical skill two army corps, each with 96 guns, combine against a hostile army which brings 144 guns into action, that signifies a superiority of 48 guns and a double superiority in infantry. if it is assumed that on both sides the army corps is armed with 144 guns, and that in consequence of this the tactical superiority has become so slight that neither side can claim a superiority in one direction, then equal forces meet, and chance decides the day. since the japanese were tactically more efficient than their enemy and took the offensive, they were enabled to unite the superior forces in the most decisive directions, and this advantage proved far greater than the numerical superiority of the russian army as a whole. if we look at the whole matter we shall come to the conclusion that the artillery, if it is not a question of pure defence, need never occupy within a line of battle so much ground that the concentration of a considerably superior force of infantry for attack is rendered doubtful. in this respect we have, in our present organization already exceeded the expedient proportion between the two arms in favour of the artillery. the conclusion is that this latter arm never need, within the separate divisions, be made so strong that the attacking capacities of the army are thereby prejudiced. this is the decisive point. any excess in artillery can be kept on the battlefield in reserve when space is restricted; if the attacking efficiency of the troops is reduced, then artillery becomes a dead weight on the army instead of an aid to victory. it is far more important to be able to unite superior forces for a decisive attack than to meet the enemy with equally matched forces along the whole front. if we observe this principle, we shall often be weaker than the enemy on the less important fronts; this disadvantage may be partly counterbalanced by remaining on the defensive in such a position. it becomes a positive advantage, if, owing to an overpowering concentration of forces, victory is won at the decisive point. this victory cancels all the failures which may have been recorded elsewhere. the operative superiority of an enemy is determined by the greater marching capacity of the troops, by the rapid and systematic working of the communications with the rear, and, above all, by the length of the columns of the operating troops. under the modern system of colossal armaments, an army, especially if in close formation, cannot possibly live on the country; it is driven to trust to daily food-supplies from the rear. railways are used as far as possible to bring up the supplies; but from the railhead the communication with the troops must be maintained by columns of traction waggons and draught animals, which go to and fro between the troops, the rearward magazines, and the railhead. since traction waggons are restricted to made roads, the direct communication with the troops must be kept up by columns of draught animals, which can move independently of the roads. the waggons of provisions, therefore, which follow the troops, and are filled daily, must come up with them the same day, or there will be a shortage of food. this is only possible if the troop column does not exceed a certain length and starts at early morning, so that the transport waggons, which, at the end of the march, must be driven from the rear to the head of the column, can reach this before the beginning of the night's rest. the fitness of an army for attack can only be maintained if these supplies are uninterrupted; there must also be a sufficient quantity of tinned rations and provisions which the soldiers can carry with them. if the length of the columns exceeds the limit here laid down, the marches must be proportionately shortened. if unusually lengthy marches are made, so that the provision carts cannot reach the troops, days of rest must be interposed, to regulate the supply. thus the capacity of an army to march and to carry out operations is directly dependent on the possibility of being fed from the rear. a careful calculation, based on practical experiences, shows that, in order to average 20 to 22 kilometres a day--the minimum distance required from an army--no column on a road ought to exceed a length of about 25 kilometres this consideration determines the depth of the army corps on the march, since in an important campaign and when massing for battle troops seldom march in smaller bodies than a corps. this calculation, by which the conditions of modern war are compulsorily affected, makes it highly necessary that the system of supplies and rations should be carefully organized. the restoration of any destroyed railways, the construction of light railways, the organization of columns of motor transport waggons and draught animals, must be prepared by every conceivable means in time of peace, in order that in war-time the railroads may follow as closely as possible on the track of the troops, and that the columns may maintain without interruption continuous communications between the troops and the railhead. in order to keep this machinery permanently in working order, and to surmount any crisis in bringing up supplies, it is highly advisable to have an ample stock of tinned rations. this stock should, in consideration of the necessary mass-concentration, be as large as possible. care must be taken, by the organization of trains and columns, that the stock of tinned provisions can be quickly renewed. this would be best done by special light columns, which are attached to the army corps outside the organization of provision and transport columns, and follow it at such a distance, that, if necessary, they could be soon pushed to the front by forced or night marches. there is naturally some reluctance to increase the trains of the army corps, but this necessity is unavoidable. it is further to be observed that the columns in question would not be very long, since they would mainly convey condensed foods and other provisions compressed into the smallest space. an immense apparatus of train formations, railway and telegraph corps, and workmen must be got ready to secure the efficiency of a modern army with its millions. this is absolutely necessary, since without it the troops in modern warfare would be practically unable to move. it is far more important to be ahead of the enemy in this respect than in any other, for there lies the possibility of massing a superior force at the decisive point, and of thus defeating a stronger opponent. however careful the preparations, these advantages can only be attained if the troop columns do not exceed the maximum strength which can be fed from the rear, if the necessary forward movement is carried out. everything which an army corps requires for the war must be kept within these limits. our modern army corps without the heavy artillery of the field army corresponds roughly to this requirement. but should it be lengthened by a heavy howitzer battalion, with the necessary ammunition columns, it will considerably exceed the safe marching depth--if, that is, the necessary advance-guard distance be included. since, also, the infantry is too weak in proportion to the space required by the artillery to deploy, it becomes advisable in the interests both of powerful attack and of operative efficiency, within the separate troop organizations to strengthen the numbers of the infantry and reduce those of the artillery. in addition to the length of the column, the arrangement of the division is very important for its tactical efficiency. this must be such as to permit the most varied employment of the troops and the formation of reserves without the preliminary necessity of breaking up all the units. this requirement does not at all correspond to our traditional organization, and the man to insist upon it vigorously has not yet appeared, although there can be no doubt as to the inadequacy of the existing tactical organization, and suitable schemes have already been drawn up by competent officers. the army corps is divided into two divisions, the division into two infantry brigades. all the brigades consist of two regiments. the formation of a reserve makes it very difficult for the commander to fix the centre of gravity of the battle according to circumstances and his own judgment. it is always necessary to break up some body when a reserve has to be formed, and in most cases to reduce the officers of some detachment to inactivity. of course, a certain centre of gravity for the battle may be obtained by assigning to one part of the troops a wider and to the other a narrower space for deployment. but this procedure in no way replaces a reserve, for it is not always possible, even in the first dispositions for the engagement, to judge where the brunt of the battle will be. that depends largely on the measures taken by the enemy and the course of the battle. napoleon's saying, "_je m'engage et puis je vois,"_ finds its application, though to a lessened extent, even to-day. the division of cavalry brigades into two regiments is simply a traditional institution which has been thoughtlessly perpetuated. it has not been realized that the duties of the cavalry have completely changed, and that brigades of two regiments are, in addition to other disadvantages, too weak to carry these duties out. this bisecting system, by restricting the freedom of action, contradicts the most generally accepted military principles. the most natural formation is certainly a tripartition of the units, as is found in an infantry regiment. this system permits the separate divisions to fight near each other, and leaves room for the withdrawal of a reserve, the formation of a detachment, or the employment of the subdivisions in lines _(treffen)_, for the principle of the wing attack must not be allowed to remain merely a scheme. finally, it is the best formation for the offensive, since it allows the main body of the troops to be employed at a single point in order to obtain a decisive result there. a special difficulty in the free handling of the troops is produced by the quite mechanical division of the artillery, who bring into action two kinds of ordnance--cannons and howitzers. these latter can, of course, be used as cannons, but have special functions which are not always required. their place in the organization, however, is precisely the same as that of the cannons, and it is thus very difficult to employ them as their particular character demands. the object in the whole of this organization has been to make corps and divisions equal, and if possible superior, to the corresponding formations of the enemy by distributing the batteries proportionately according to numbers among the divisions. this secured, besides, the undeniable advantage of placing the artillery directly under the orders of the commanders of the troops. but, in return, it robbed the commanding general of the last means secured by the organization of enforcing his tactical aims. he is now forced to form a reserve for himself out of the artillery of the division, and thus to deprive one division at least of half its artillery. if he has the natural desire to withdraw for himself the howitzer section, which is found in one division only, the same division must always be subjected to this reduction of its strength, and it is more than problematical whether this result always fits in with the tactical position. it seems at least worth while considering whether, under these circumstances, it would not be a more appropriate arrangement to attach a howitzer section to each division. the distribution of the heavy field howitzers is another momentous question. it would be in accordance with the principles that guide the whole army to divide them equally among the army corps. this arrangement would have much in its favour, for every corps may find itself in a position where heavy howitzer batteries can be profitably employed. they can also, however, be combined under the command of the general-in-chief, and attached to the second line of the army. the first arrangement offers, as has been said, many advantages, but entails the great disadvantage that the line of march of the army corps is dangerously lengthened by several kilometres, so that no course is left but either to weaken the other troops of the corps or to sacrifice the indispensable property of tactical efficiency. both alternatives are inadmissible. on the other hand, since the employment of heavy howitzers is by no means necessary in every engagement, but only when an attack is planned against a strongly-posted enemy, it may be safely assumed that the heavy howitzers could be brought up in time out of the second line by a night march. besides, their mobility renders it possible to detach single batteries or sections, and on emergency to attach them to an army corps temporarily. there is a prevalent notion that the heavy howitzers are principally used to fight the enemy's field artillery, and therefore must be on the spot in every engagement. they have even been known to stray into the advance guard. i do not approve of this idea. the enemy's field artillery will fire indirectly from previously masked positions, and in such case they cannot be very successfully attacked by heavy howitzers. it seems to me quite unjustifiable, with the view of attaining this problematic object, to burden the marching columns permanently with long unwieldy trains of artillery and ammunition, and thus to render their effectiveness doubtful. no doubt the japanese, who throughout the war continually increased their heavy field howitzers, ultimately attached artillery of that sort to every division. the experiences of that war must not, however, be overestimated or generalized. the conditions were quite _sui generis_. the japanese fought on their whole front against fortified positions strengthened by heavy artillery, and as they attacked the enemy's line in its whole extension, they required on their side equally heavy guns. it should be noticed that they did not distribute their very effective 12-centimetre field howitzers along the whole front, but, so far as i can gather, assigned them all to the army of general nogi, whose duty was to carry out the decisive enveloping movement at mukden. the japanese thus felt the need of concentrating the effect of their howitzers, and as we hope we shall not imitate their frontal attack, but break through the enemy's front, though in a different way from theirs, the question of concentration seems to me very important for us. under these circumstances it will be most advantageous to unite the heavy batteries in the hand of the commander-in-chief. they thus best serve his scheme of offence. he can mass them at the place which he wishes to make the decisive point in the battle, and will thus attain that end most completely, whereas the distribution of them among the army corps only dissipates their effectiveness. his heavy batteries will be for him what the artillery reserves are for the divisional general. there, where their mighty voice roars over the battlefield, will be the deciding struggle of the day. every man, down to the last private, knows that. i will only mention incidentally that the present organization of the heavy artillery on a peace footing is unsatisfactory. the batteries which in war are assigned to the field army must in peace also be placed under the orders of the corps commanders _(truppenführer)_ if they are to become an organic part of the whole. at present the heavy artillery of the field army is placed under the general-inspection of the foot artillery, and attached to the troops only for purposes of manoeuvres. it thus remains an isolated organism so far as the army goes, and does not feel itself an integral part of the whole. a clear distinction between field artillery and fortress artillery would be more practical. this view seems at first sight to contradict the requirement that the heavy batteries should form a reserve in the hands of the commander-in-chief. as the armies do not exist in peace-time, and manoeuvres are seldom carried out in army formation, the result of the present organization is that the tactical relations of the heavy artillery and the other troops are not sufficiently understood. this disadvantage would be removed if heavy artillery were assigned permanently to each army corps. this would not prevent it being united in war-time in the hands of the army leaders. on the contrary, they would be used in manoeuvres in relation to the army corps in precisely the same sense as they would be in war-time in relation to the armies. the operations of the army in the enemy's countries will be far more effective if it has control of the railways and roads. that implies not merely the restoration of railroads that may have been destroyed, but the rapid capture of the barrier forts and fortresses which impede the advance of the army by cutting off the railway communications. we were taught the lesson in 1870-71 in france how far defective railway communications hindered all operations. it is, therefore, of vital importance that a corps should be available, whose main duty is the discharge of these necessary functions. until recently we had only one united corps of pioneers, which was organized alike for operations in the field and for siege operations, but these latter have recently been so much developed that that system can no longer supply an adequate technical training for them. the demands made by this department of warfare, on the one hand, and by the duties of pioneering in the field on the other, are so extensive and so essentially different that it seems quite impracticable to train adequately one and the same corps in both branches during two years' service. the chief functions of the field pioneer are bridge-building, fortifying positions, and supporting the infantry in the attack on fortified places. the most important part of the fortress pioneer's duties consists in sapping, and, above all, in mining, in preparing for the storming of permanent works, and in supporting the infantry in the actual storm. the army cannot be satisfied with a superficial training for such service; it demands a most thorough going previous preparation. starting from this point of view, general v. beseler, the late inspector-general of fortresses and pioneers, who has done inestimable service to his country, laid the foundations of a new organization. this follows the idea of the field pioneers and the fortress pioneers--a rudimentary training in common, followed by separate special training for their special duties. we must continue on these lines, and develop more particularly the fortress pioneer branch of the service in better proportion to its value. in connection with the requirements already discussed, which are directly concerned with securing and maintaining an increase of tactical efficiency, we must finally mention two organizations which indirectly serve the same purpose. these diminish the tactical efficiency of the enemy, and so increase our own; while, by reconnoitring and by screening movements, they help the attack and make it possible to take the enemy unawares--an important condition of successful offensive warfare. i refer to the cavalry and the air-fleet. the cavalry's duties are twofold. on the one hand, they must carry out reconnaissances and screening movements, on the other hand they must operate against the enemy's communications, continually interrupt the regular renewal of his supplies, and thus cripple his mobility. every military expert will admit that our cavalry, in proportion to the war-footing of the army, and in view of the responsible duties assigned them in war, is lamentably weak. this disproportion is clearly seen if we look at the probable wastage on the march and in action, and realize that it is virtually impossible to replace these losses adequately, and that formations of cavalry reserves can only possess a very limited efficiency. popular opinion considers cavalry more or less superfluous, because in our last wars they certainly achieved comparatively little from the tactical point of view, and because they cost a great deal. there is a general tendency to judge cavalry by the standard of 1866 and 1870-71. it cannot be emphasized too strongly that this standard is misleading. on the one hand, the equipment was then so defective that it crippled the powers of the mounted man in the most important points; on the other hand, the employment of the cavalry was conducted on a wholly antiquated system. it was, consequently, not armed for independent movements. what they then did must not be compared with what will be required from them in the future. in wars in which mounted forces were really effective, and not hampered in their movements by preconceived notions (as in the american war of secession and the boer war), their employment has been continuously extended, since the great value of their operative mobility was convincingly shown, especially in africa, notwithstanding all modern weapons. these are the wars which must be studied in order to form a fair opinion. they will convince us that an increase of our cavalry is absolutely imperative. it will, of course, only be valuable when the divisions of the army cavalry are equipped with columns and trains in such a way that they can operate independently. the effectiveness of the cavalry depends entirely on the fulfilment of this condition. it is also imperatively necessary, when the measures of our opponents are considered, to strengthen the fighting force of the cavalry by an adequate addition of cyclist sections. this is the more requisite, as, on the one hand, the attack on the enemy's communications must expect vigorous opposition, and, on the other hand, the screening duties, which are even more important for the offensive than the reconnaissances, are likely to be specially successful if cavalry and cyclists combine. again, an increased strength of cavalry is undeniably required to meet the reconnoitring and screening troops of the enemy. besides the strengthening of this arm and the addition of cyclists, another organization is required if the cavalry are to do useful service. brigades of two regiments and divisions of six regiments are in war-time, where all depends on decisive action, far too small, as i have repeatedly demonstrated without being refuted. the brigades must in war be three regiments strong. the strength of the divisions and corps may vary according to the requirements of the time being. just because our cavalry is so weak, the organization must be in a high degree elastic. there can, besides, be no doubt on the point that the side which commands the services of the stronger cavalry, led on modern lines, will have at the outset quite inestimable advantage over the enemy, which must make itself felt in the ultimate issue. i might remark incidentally that the mounted batteries which are attached to the army cavalry must be formed with four guns each, so that the division with its three parts would have the control of three batteries, and, if necessary, a battery could be assigned to each brigade. that is an old suggestion which the emperor william i. once made, but it has never yet been considered. it is not with cavalry usually a question of protracted artillery engagements, but of utilizing momentary opportunities; the greatest mobility is required together with the most many-sided efficiency and adaptability. there can obviously, therefore, be no question of a systematic combination with the artillery. such a thing can only be of value in the case of cavalry when it is important to make a decisive attack. the reconnaissance and screening duties of the cavalry must be completed by the air-fleet. here we are dealing with something which does not yet exist, but we can foresee clearly the great part which this branch of military science will play in future wars.[a] it is therefore necessary to point out in good time those aspects of it which are of special weight in a military sense, and therefore deserve peculiar consideration from the technical side. [footnote a: the efficiency and success of the italian aviators in tripoli are noteworthy, but must not be overvalued. there were no opponents in the air.] the first requirement is that airships, in addition to simplicity of handling and independence of weather, should possess a superior fighting strength, for it is impossible effectively to screen the movements of the army and to open the road for reconnaissances without attacking successfully the hostile flying-machines and air cruisers. the power to fight and destroy the hostile airships must be the leading idea in all constructions, and the tactics to be pursued must be at once thought out in order that the airships may be built accordingly, since tactics will be essentially dependent on the construction and the technical effectiveness. these reciprocal relations must be borne in mind from the first, so as to gain a distinct advantage over our opponents. if the preceding remarks are epitomized, we have, apart from the necessity of enforcing universal service, quite a long list of proposed changes in organization, the adoption of which will considerably improve the efficiency of our army. the whole organization must be such that the column length of the army corps does not exceed the size which allows a rapid advance, though the supplies are exclusively drawn from magazine depots. in case of the larger formations, and especially of the army corps as being the tactical and operative unit, the principle of tripartition must be observed. the infantry must be, in proportion to the artillery, substantially strengthened. the artillery must be organized in such a way that it is possible to concentrate the fire of the howitzers where required without breaking up the units. the cavalry must be increased, strengthened by cyclist sections, and so organized as to insure their efficiency in war. the formation of reinforcements, especially for supplies, must be so elaborated that, on a rapid advance, an efficient system of feeding the troops entirely from magazine depots can be maintained. the air-fleet must be energetically developed with the object of making it a better fighting machine than that of the enemy. finally, and this is the most important thing, we must strain every nerve to render our infantry tactically the best in the world, and to take care that none but thoroughly efficient formations are employed in the decisive field war. the fulfilment of all these requirements on the basis of our present organization offers naturally great difficulties and can hardly be carried out. it is impossible to imagine a german reichstag which, without the most extreme pressure of circumstances, could resolve to make for the army the sacrifices called for by our political condition. the temptation to shut the eyes to existing dangers and to limit political aims in order to repudiate the need of great sacrifices is so strong that men are sure to succumb to it, especially at a period when all political wisdom seems summed up in the maintenance of peace. they comfort themselves with the hope that the worst will not happen, although history shows that the misery produced by weakness has often surpassed all expectations. but even if the nation can hardly be expected to understand what is necessary, yet the war department must be asked to do their utmost to achieve what is possible, and not to stop short out of deference to public opinion. when the future of a great and noble nation is at stake there is no room for cowardice or inaction. nothing must be done, as unhappily has too often been the case, which runs counter to the principles of a sound military organization. the threefold division of the larger formations could be effected in various ways. very divergent ideas may be entertained on this subject, and the difficulties of carrying out the scheme need extensive consideration. i will make a few proposals just by way of illustration. one way would be to split up the army corps into three divisions of three infantry regiments each, and to abolish the superfluous intermediate system of brigades. another proposal would be to form in every corps one of the present divisions of three brigades, so that the extra brigade combined with the light field howitzers and the jäger battalion would constitute in event of war a separate detachment in the hands of the commanding general. this last arrangement could be carried out comparatively easily under our present system, but entails the drawback that the system of twofold division is still in force within the brigades and divisions. the most sweeping reform, that of dividing the corps into three divisions, would have the advantage of being thorough and would allow the separate groups to be employed in many more ways. the relations between the infantry and the artillery can naturally only be improved gradually by the strengthening of the infantry through the enforcement of universal service. the assignment of a fifth brigade to each army corps would produce better conditions than exist at present. but so soon as the strengthening of the infantry has gone so far that new army corps must be created, the artillery required for them can be taken from existing formations, and these can be diminished by this means. it will conduce to the general efficiency of the army if the artillery destined for each army corps is to some degree limited, without, however, reducing their total. care must be taken that only the quantity of ammunition necessary for the first stages of the battle should be habitually carried by the columns of the troops engaged. all that exceeds this must be kept in the rear behind the commissariat waggons, and brought forward only on necessity--that is to say, when a battle is in prospect. the certainty of being able to feed the troops and thus maintain the rapidity of the advance is far more important than the more or less theoretical advantage of having a large quantity of ammunition close at hand during the advance. the soldiers will be inclined to be sparing of ammunition in the critical stages of the fight, and will not be disposed to engage with an unseen enemy, who can only be attacked by scattered fire; the full fire strength will be reserved for the deciding moments of the engagement. then, however, the required ammunition will be on the spot, in any event, if it is brought forward by stages in good time. a suitable organization of the artillery would insure that each division had an equal number of batteries at its disposal. the light field howitzers, however, must be attached to a division in such a way that they may form an artillery corps, without necessarily breaking up the formations of the division. the strength of the artillery must be regulated according to that of the infantry, in such a way that the entire marching depth does not exceed some 25 kilometres. the heavy field howitzers, on the other hand, must in peace be placed under the orders of the general commanding, and in event of war be combined as "army" artillery. it would, perhaps, be advisable if the cavalry were completely detached from the corps formation, since the main body is absolutely independent in war as "army" cavalry. the regiments necessary for service with the infantry could be called out in turn during peace-time for manoeuvres with mixed arms, in order to be trained in the work of divisional cavalry, for which purpose garrison training can also be utilized. on the other hand, it is, i know, often alleged that the _truppenführer_ are better trained and learn much if the cavalry are under their orders; but this objection does not seem very pertinent. another way to adapt the organization better to the efficiency of the arm than at present would be that the four cavalry regiments belonging to each army corps should be combined into a brigade and placed under the commanding general. in event of mobilization, one regiment would be withdrawn for the two divisions, while the brigade, now three regiments strong, would pass over to the "army" cavalry. the regiment intended for divisional cavalry would, on mobilization, form itself into six squadrons and place three of them at the service of each division. if the army corps was formed into three divisions, each division would only be able to receive two squadrons. in this way, of course, a very weak and inferior divisional cavalry would be formed; the service in the field would suffer heavily under it; but since it is still more important to have at hand a sufficient army cavalry than a divisional cavalry, quite competent for their difficult task, there is, for the time being, no course left than to raise the one to its indispensable strength at the cost of the other. the blame for such a makeshift, which seriously injures the army, falls upon those who did not advocate an increase of the cavalry at the proper moment. the whole discussion shows how absolutely necessary such an increase is. if it were effected, it would naturally react upon the organization of the arm. this would have to be adapted to the new conditions. there are various ways in which a sound and suitable development of the cavalry can be guaranteed. the absolutely necessary cyclist sections must in any case be attached to the cavalry in peace, in order that the two arms may be drilled in co-operation, and that the cavalry commander may learn to make appropriate use of this important arm. since the cyclists are restricted to fairly good roads, the co-operation presents difficulties which require to be surmounted. the views which i have here tried to sketch as aspects of the organization of the army can be combated from several standpoints. in military questions, particularly, different estimates of the individual factors lead to very different results. i believe, however, that my opinions result with a certain logical necessity from the whole aspect of affairs. it is most essential, in preparing for war, to keep the main leading idea fixed and firm, and not to allow it to be shaken by question of detail. each special requirement must be regarded as part of that general combination of things which only really comes into view in actual warfare. the special standpoint of a particular arm must be rejected as unjustified, and the departmental spirit must be silenced. care must be taken not to overestimate the technical and material means of power in spite of their undoubted importance, and to take sufficient account of the spiritual and moral factors. our age, which has made such progress in the conquest of nature, is inclined to attach too much importance to this dominion over natural forces; but in the last resort, the forces that give victory are in the men and not in the means which they employ. a profound knowledge of generalship and a self-reliant personality are essential to enable the war preparations to be suitably carried out; under the shifting influence of different aims and ideas the "organizer of victory" will often feel doubtful whether he ought to decide this way or that. the only satisfactory solution of such doubts is to deduce from a view of warfare in its entirety and its varied phases and demands the importance of the separate co-operating factors. "for he who grasps the problem as a whole has calmed the storm that rages in his soul" chapter xi training and education our first object, then, must be to organize and transform the german army into the most effective tool of german policy, and into a school of health and strength for our nation. we must also try to get ahead of our rivals by superiority of training, and at the same time to do full justice to the social requirements of the army by exerting all our efforts towards raising the spiritual and moral level of the units and strengthening their loyal german feelings. diligence and devotion to military education are no longer at the present day sufficient to make our troops superior to the enemy's, for there are men working no less devotedly in the hostile armies. if we wish to gain a start there is only one way to do it: the training must break with all that is antiquated and proceed in the spirit of the war of the future, which will impose fresh requirements on the troops as well as on the officers. it is unnecessary to go into the details about the training in the use of modern arms and technical contrivances: this follows necessarily from the introduction of these means of war. but if we survey the sphere of training as a whole, two phenomena of modern warfare will strike us as peculiarly important with regard to it: the heightened demands which will be made on individual character and the employment of "masses" to an extent hitherto unknown. the necessity for increased individualization in the case of infantry and artillery results directly from the character of the modern battle; in the case of cavalry it is due to the nature of their strategical duties and the need of sometimes fighting on foot like infantry; in the case of leaders of every grade, from the immensity of the armies, the vast extent of the spheres of operation and fields of battle, and the difficulty, inseparable from all these conditions, of giving direct orders. wherever we turn our eyes to the wide sphere of modern warfare, we encounter the necessity of independent action--by the private soldier in the thick of the battle, or the lonely patrol in the midst of the enemy's country, as much as by the leader of an army, who handles huge hosts. in battle, as well as in operations, the requisite uniformity of action can only be attained at the present time by independent co-operation of all in accordance with a fixed general scheme. the employment of "masses" requires an entirely altered method of moving and feeding the troops. it is one thing to lead 100,000 or perhaps 200,000 men in a rich country seamed with roads, and concentrate them for a battle--it is another to manoeuvre 800,000 men on a scene of war stripped bare by the enemy, where all railroads and bridges have been destroyed by modern explosives. in the first case the military empiric may be equal to the occasion; the second case demands imperatively a scientifically educated general and a staff who have also studied and mastered for themselves the nature of modern warfare. the problems of the future must be solved in advance if a commander wishes to be able to operate in a modern theatre of war with certainty and rapid decision. the necessity of far-reaching individualization then is universally recognized. to be sure, the old traditions die slowly. here and there an undeserved importance is still attached to the march past as a method of education, and drilling in close formation is sometimes practised more than is justified by its value. the cavalry is not yet completely awakened from its slumbers, and performs the time-honoured exercises on the parade-grounds with great strain on the horses' strength, oblivious of the existence of long-range quick-firing guns, and as if they were still the old arm which napoleon or frederick the great commanded. even the artillery is still haunted by some more or less antiquated notions; technical and stereotyped ideas still sometimes restrict the freedom of operations; in the practice of manoeuvres, artillery duels are still in vogue, while sufficient attention is not given to concentration of fire with a definite purpose, and to co-operation with the infantry. even in theory the necessity of the artillery duel is still asserted. many conservative notions linger on in the heavy artillery. obsolete ideas have not yet wholly disappeared even from the new regulations and ordinances where they block the path of true progress; but, on the whole, it has been realized that greater individual responsibility and self-reliance must be encouraged. in this respect the army is on the right road, and if it continues on it and continually resists the temptation of restricting the independence of the subordinate for the sake of outward appearance, there is room for hope that gradually the highest results will be attained, provided that competent military criticism has been equally encouraged. in this direction a healthy development has started, but insufficient attention has been given to the fact that the main features of war have completely changed. although in the next war men will have to be handled by millions, the training of our officers is still being conducted on lines which belong to a past era, and virtually ignore modern conditions. our manoeuvres more especially follow these lines. most of the practical training is carried out in manoeuvres of brigades and divisions--i.e., in formations which could never occur in the great decisive campaigns of the future. from time to time--financial grounds unfortunately prevent it being an annual affair--a corps manoeuvre is held, which also cannot be regarded as training for the command of "masses." sometimes, but rarely, several army corps are assembled for combined training under veteran generals, who soon afterwards leave the service, and so cannot give the army the benefit of any experience which they may have gained. it cannot, of course, be denied that present-day manoeuvres are extraordinarily instructive and useful, especially for the troops themselves', but they are not a direct training for the command of armies in modern warfare. even the so-called "imperial manoeuvres" only correspond, to a very slight extent, to the requirements of modern war, since they never take account of the commissariat arrangements, and seldom of the arrangements for sheltering, etc., the troops which would be essential in real warfare. a glance at the imperial manoeuvres of 1909 is sufficient to show that many of the operations could never have been carried out had it been a question of the troops being fed under the conditions of war. it is an absolute necessity that our officers should learn to pay adequate attention to these points, which are the rule in warfare and appreciably cramp the power of operations. in theory, of course, the commissariat waggons are always taken into account; they are conscientiously mentioned in all orders, and in theory are posted as a commissariat reserve between the corps and the divisions. that they would in reality all have to circulate with a pendulum-like frequency between the troops and the magazines, that the magazines would have to be almost daily brought forward or sent farther back, that the position of the field bakeries is of extreme importance--these are all points which are inconvenient and troublesome, and so are very seldom considered. in great strategic war-games, too, even in a theatre of war selected in russia which excludes all living upon the country, the commissariat arrangements are rarely worked out in detail; i should almost doubt whether on such occasions the possibility of exclusive "magazine feeding" has ever been entertained. even smaller opportunities of being acquainted with these conditions are given to the officer in ordinary manoeuvres, and yet it is extremely difficult on purely theoretical lines to become familiar with the machinery for moving and feeding a large army and to master the subject efficiently. the friction and the obstacles which occur in reality cannot be brought home to the student in theory, and the routine in managing such things cannot be learnt from books. these conditions, then, are a great check on the freedom of operations, but, quite apart from the commissariat question, the movements of an army present considerable difficulties in themselves, which it is obviously very hard for the inexperienced to surmount. when, in 1870, some rather complicated army movements were contemplated, as on the advance to sedan, it was at once seen that the chief commanders were not masters of the situation, that only the fertility of the theatre of war and the deficient attacking powers of the french allowed the operations to succeed, although a man like moltke was at the head of the army. all these matters have since been thoroughly worked out by our general staff, but the theoretical labours of the general staff are by no means the common property of the army. on all these grounds i believe that first and foremost our manoeuvres must be placed on a new footing corresponding to the completely altered conditions, and that we must leave the beaten paths of tradition. the troops must be trained--as formerly--to the highest tactical efficiency, and the army must be developed into the most effective machine for carrying out operations; success in modern war turns on these two pivots. but the leaders must be definitely educated for that war on the great scale which some day will have to be fought to a finish. the paths we have hitherto followed do not lead to this goal. all methods of training and education must be in accordance with these views. i do not propose to go further into the battle training of infantry and cavalry in this place, since i have already discussed the question at length in special treatises.[a] in the case of the artillery alone, some remarks on the principles guiding the technical training of this arm seem necessary. [footnote a: v. bernhardi: "taktik und ausbildung der infanterie," 1910 "unsere kavallerie im nächsten krieg," 1899; "reiterdienst," 1910.] the demands on the fighting-efficiency of this arm--as is partly expressed in the regulations--may be summed up as follows: all preconceived ideas and theories as to its employment must be put on one side, and its one guiding principle must be to support the cavalry or infantry at the decisive point. this principle is universally acknowledged in theory, but it ought to be more enforced in practice. the artillery, therefore, must try more than ever to bring their tactical duties into the foreground and to make their special technical requirements subservient to this idea. the ever-recurring tendency to fight chiefly the enemy's artillery must be emphatically checked. on the defensive it will, of course, often be necessary to engage the attacking artillery, if there is any prospect of success, since this is the most dreaded enemy of the infantry on the defensive; but, on the attack, its chief duty always is to fire upon the enemy's infantry, where possible, from masked positions. the principle of keeping the artillery divisions close together on the battlefield and combining the fire in one direction, must not be carried to an extreme. the artillery certainly must be employed on a large plan, and the chief in command must see that there is a concentration of effort at the decisive points; but in particular cases, and among the varying incidents of a battle, this idea will be carried out less effectively by uniformity of orders than by explaining the general scheme to the subordinate officers, and leaving to them the duty of carrying it out. accordingly, it is important that the personal initiative of the subordinate officer should be recognized more fully than before; for in a crisis such independent action is indispensable. the great extent of the battlefields and the natural endeavour to select wooded and irregular ground for the attack will often force the artillery to advance in groups or in lines one behind the other, and to attempt, notwithstanding, united action against the tactically most important objective. this result is hard to attain by a centralization of command, and is best realized by the independent action of tactically trained subordinates. this is not the place to enter into technical details, and i will only mention some points which appear especially important. the bz shell _(granatschuss)_ should be withdrawn as unsuitable, and its use should not form part of the training. it requires, in order to attain its specific effect against rifle-pits, such accurate aiming as is very seldom possible in actual warfare. no very great value should be attached to firing with shrapnel. it seems to be retained in france and to have shown satisfactory results with us; but care must be taken not to apply the experiences of the shooting-range directly to serious warfare. no doubt its use, if successful, promises rapid results, but it may easily lead, especially in the "mass" battle, to great errors in calculation. in any case, practice with az shot is more trustworthy, and is of the first importance. the az fire must be reserved principally for the last stages of an offensive engagement, as was lately laid down in the regulations. care must be taken generally not to go too far in refinements and complications of strategy and devices. only the simplest methods can be successfully applied in battle; this fact must never be forgotten. the important point in the general training of the artillery is that text-book pedantries--for example, in the reports on shooting--should be relegated more than hitherto to the background, and that tactics should be given a more prominent position. in this way only can the artillery do really good service in action; but the technique of shooting must not be neglected in the reports. that would mean rejecting the good and the evil together, and the tendency to abolish such reports as inconvenient must be distinctly opposed. under this head, attention must be called to the independent manoeuvres of artillery regiments and brigades in the country, which entail large expenditure, and, in fact, do more harm than good. they must, in my opinion, be abandoned or at least considerably modified, since their possible use is not in proportion to their cost and their drawbacks. they lead to pronounced tactics of position _(stellungstaktik)_ which are impracticable in war; and the most important lesson in actual war--the timely employment of artillery within a defined space and for a definite object without any previous reconnoitring of the country in search of suitable positions for the batteries--can never be learnt on these manoeuvres. they could be made more instructive if the tactical limits were marked by troops; but the chief defect in these manoeuvres--viz., that the artillery is regarded as the decisive arm--cannot be thus remedied. the usual result is that favourable artillery positions are searched for, and that they are then adhered to under some tactical pretence. after all, only a slight shifting of the existing centre of gravity may be necessary, so far as the development of the fighting _tactics_ of the various branches of the service is concerned, in order to bring them into line with modern conditions. if, however, the troops are to be educated to a higher efficiency in _operations_, completely new ground must be broken, on which, i am convinced, great results and an undoubted superiority over our opponents can be attained. considerable difficulties will have to be surmounted, for the crucial point is to amass immense armies on a genuine war footing; but these difficulties are not, in my opinion, insurmountable. there are two chief points: first, the practice of marching and operations in formations at war strength, fully equipped with well-stocked magazines as on active service; and, secondly, a reorganization of the manoeuvres, which must be combined with a more thorough education of the chief commanders. as regards the first point, practice on this scale, so far as i know, has never yet been attempted. but if we consider, firstly, how valuable more rapid and accurate movements of great masses will be for the war of the future, and, secondly, what serious difficulties they involve, we shall be rewarded for the attempt to prepare the army systematically for the discharge of such duties, and thus to win an unquestioned advantage over our supposed antagonist. the preparation for the larger manoeuvres of this sort can naturally also be carried out in smaller formation. it is, moreover, very important to train large masses of troops--brigades and divisions--in long marches across country by night and day with pioneer sections in the vanguard, in order to gain experience for the technique of such movements, and to acquire by practice a certain security in them. training marches with full military stores, etc., in columns of 20 to 25 kilometres depth would be still more valuable, since they correspond to the daily needs of real warfare. should it not be possible to assemble two army corps in such manoeuvres, then the necessary depth of march can be obtained by letting the separate detachments march with suitable intervals, in which case the intervals must be very strictly observed. this does not ever really reproduce the conditions of actual warfare, but it is useful as a makeshift. the waggons for the troops would have to be hired, as on manoeuvres, though only partly, in order to save expense. the supplies could be brought on army transport trains, which would represent the pioneer convoys _(verpflegungsstaffel)_, and would regulate their pace accordingly. marching merely for training purposes in large formations, with food supplied from the field-kitchens during the march, would also be of considerable value provided that care is taken to execute the march in the shortest possible time, and to replace the provisions consumed by bringing fresh supplies forward from the rear; this process is only properly seen when the march, with supplies as if in war, is continued for several days. it is naturally not enough to undertake these manoeuvres once in a way; they must be a permanent institution if they are intended to develop a sound knowledge of marching in the army. finally, flank marches must be practised, sometimes in separate columns, sometimes in army formation. the flank marches of separate columns will, of course, be useful only when they are combined with practice in feeding an army as if in war, so that the commissariat columns march on the side away from the enemy, in a parallel line, and are thence brought up to the troops at the close of the march. flank marches in army formation will have some value, even apart from any training in the commissariat system, since the simultaneous crossing of several marching columns on parallel by-roads is not an easy manoeuvre in itself. but this exercise will have its full value only when the regulation commissariat waggons are attached, which would have to move with them and furnish the supplies. i also consider that operative movements in army formation extending over several days are desirable. practice must be given in moving backwards and forwards in the most various combinations, in flank movements, and in doubling back, the lines of communication in the rear being blocked when necessary. then only can all the difficulties which occur on such movements be shown one by one, and it can be seen where the lever must be applied in order to remove them. in this way alone can the higher commanders gain the necessary certainty in conducting such operations, so as to be able to employ them under the pressure of a hostile attack. an army so disciplined would, i imagine, acquire a pronounced superiority over any opponent who made his first experiments in such operations in actual war. the major strategic movements on both sides in the franco-german war of 1870-71 sufficiently showed that. i recognize naturally that all exercises on this scale would cost a great deal of money and could never all be carried out systematically one after the other. i wished, however, to ventilate the subject, firstly, in order to recommend all officers in high command to study the points of view under consideration--a thing they much neglect to do; secondly, because it might be sometimes profitable and possible to carry out in practice one or other of them--at the imperial manoeuvres, for example, or on some other occasion. how much could be saved in money alone and applied usefully to this purpose were the above-mentioned country manoeuvres of the artillery suspended? from reasons of economy all the commissariat waggons and columns need not actually be employed on such manoeuvres. it would be useful, however, if, in addition to one detachment equipped on a war footing, the head waggons of the other groups were present and were moved along at the proper distance from each other and from the detachment, which could mainly be fed from the kitchen waggon. it would thus be possible to get a sort of presentation of the whole course of the commissariat business and to acquire valuable experience. it is, indeed, extraordinarily difficult to arrange such manoeuvres properly, and it must be admitted that much friction and many obstacles are got rid of if only the heads of the groups are marked out, and that false ideas thus arise which may lead to erroneous conclusions; but under careful direction such manoeuvres would certainly not be wholly useless, especially if attention is mainly paid to the matters which are really essential. they would, at any rate, be far more valuable than many small manoeuvres, which can frequently be replaced by exercises on the large drill-grounds, than many expensive trainings in the country, which are of no real utility, or than many other military institutions which are only remotely connected with the object of training under active service conditions. all that does not directly promote this object must be erased from our system of education at a time when the highest values are at stake. even then exercise in operations on a large scale cannot often be carried out, primarily because of the probable cost, and next because it is not advisable to interrupt too often the tactical training of the troops. it must be repeated in a definite cycle in each large formation, so that eventually all superior officers may have the opportunity of becoming practically acquainted with these operations, and also that the troops may become familiarized with the modern commissariat system; but since such practical exercises must always be somewhat incomplete, they must also be worked out beforehand theoretically. it is not at all sufficient that the officers on the general staff and the intendants have a mastery of these subjects. the rank and file must be well up in them; but especially the officers who will be employed on the supply service--that is to say, the transport officers of the standing army and those officers on the furlough establishment, who would be employed as column commanders. the practical service in the transport battalions and the duties performed by the officers of the last-mentioned category who are assigned to these battalions are insufficient to attain this object. they learn from these mainly practical duties next to nothing of the system as a whole. it would therefore be advisable that all these officers should go through a special preliminary course for this service, in which the whole machinery of the army movements would be explained to them by the officers of the general staff and the higher transport service officers, and they would then learn by practical examples to calculate the whole movement of the columns in the most varied positions with precise regard to distances and time. this would be far more valuable for war than the many and often excessive trainings in driving, etc., on which so much time is wasted. the technical driver's duty is very simple in all columns and trains, but it is not easy to know in each position what is the crucial point, in order to be able, when occasion arises, to act independently. while, therefore, on the one hand, driving instruction must be thoroughly carried out, on the other hand, the institution of a scientific transport service course, in which, by practical examples out of military history, the importance of these matters can be explained, is under present circumstances an absolute necessity. i have shown elsewhere how necessary it is to proceed absolutely systematically in the arrangements for relays of supplies, since the operative capabilities of the army depend on this system. its nature, however, cannot be realized by the officers concerned like a sudden inspiration when mobilization takes place; knowledge of its principles must be gained by study, and a proof of the complete misapprehension of the importance which this service has attained under modern conditions is that officers are supposed to be able to manage it successfully without having made in peace-time a profound scientific study of the matter. the transport service has advanced to a place of extraordinary importance in the general system of modern warfare. it should be appreciated accordingly. every active transport service officer ought, after some years' service, to attend a scientific course; all the senior officers on the furlough establishment intended for transport service ought, as their first duty, to be summoned to attend such a course. if these educational courses were held in the autumn in the training camps of the troops, they would entail little extra cost, and an inestimable advantage would be gained with a very trifling outlay. the results of such a measure can only be fully realized in war, when the superior officers also thoroughly grasp these matters and do not make demands contrary to the nature of the case, and therefore impossible to be met. they should therefore be obliged to undergo a thorough education in the practical duties of the general staff, and not merely in leading troops in action. this reflection leads to the discussion of the momentous question how, generally, the training of the superior officers for the great war should be managed, and how the manoeuvres ought to be reorganized with a view to the training. the essential contradiction between our obsolete method of training and the completely altered demands of a new era appears here with peculiar distinctness. a large part of our superior commanders pass through the general staff, while part have attended at least the military academy; but when these men reach the higher positions what they learnt in their youth has long become out of date. the continuation school is missing. it can be replaced only by personal study; but there is generally insufficient time for this, and often a lack of interest. the daily duties of training troops claim all the officer's energy, and he needs great determination and love of hard work to continue vigorously his own scientific education. the result is, that comparatively few of our superior officers have a fairly thorough knowledge, much less an independently thought out view, of the conditions of war on the great scale. this would cost dearly in real war. experience shows that it is not enough that the officers of the general staff attached to the leader are competent to fill up this gap. the leader, if he cannot himself grasp the conditions, becomes the tool of his subordinates; he believes he is directing and is himself being directed. this is a far from healthy condition. our present manoeuvres are, as already mentioned, only occasionally a school for officers in a strategical sense, and from the tactical point of view they do not meet modern requirements. the minor manoeuvres especially do not represent what is the most important feature in present-day warfare--i.e., the sudden concentration of larger forces on the one side and the impossibility, from space considerations, of timely counter-movements on the other. the minor manoeuvres are certainly useful in many respects. the commanders learn to form decisions and to give orders, and these are two important matters; but the same result would follow from manoeuvres on the grand scale, which would also to some extent reproduce the modern conditions of warfare. brigade manoeuvres especially belong to a past generation, and merely encourage wrong ideas. all that the soldiers learn from them--that is, fighting in the country--can be taught on the army drill-grounds. divisional manoeuvres are still of some value even to the commanders. the principles of tactical leadership in detail can be exemplified in them; but the first instructive manoeuvres in the modern sense are those of the army corps; still more valuable are the manoeuvres on a larger scale, in which several army corps are combined, especially when the operating divisions are considered part of one whole, and are compelled to act in connection with one grand general scheme of operation. the great art in organizing manoeuvres is to reproduce such conditions, for only in this way can the strain of the general situation and the collective mass of individual responsibility, such as exist in actual warfare, be distinctly brought home. this is a most weighty consideration. the superior officers must have clearly brought before their eyes the limits of the possible and the impossible in modern warfare, in order to be trained to deal with great situations. the requirements which these reflections suggest are the restriction of small-scale manoeuvres in favour of the large and predominantly strategical manoeuvres, and next the abolition of some less important military exercises in order to apply the money thus saved in this direction. we must subject all our resources to a single test--that they conduce to the perfecting of a modern army. we must subject all our resources to a single test--that they conduce to the perfecting of a modern army. if the military drill-grounds are suitably enlarged (a rather difficult but necessary process, since, in view of the range of the artillery and the mass tactics, they have generally become too small) a considerable part of the work which is done in the divisional manoeuvres could be carried out on them. the money saved by this change could be devoted to the large army manoeuvres. one thing is certain: a great impulse must be given to the development of our manoeuvre system if it is to fulfil its purpose as formerly; in organization and execution these manoeuvres must be modern in the best sense of the word. it seems, however, quite impossible to carry out this sort of training on so comprehensive a scale that it will by itself be sufficient to educate serviceable commanders for the great war. the manoeuvres can only show their full value if the officers of every rank who take part in them have already had a competent training in theory. to encourage this preliminary training of the superior officers is thus one of the most serious tasks of an efficient preparation for war. these must not regard their duty as lying exclusively in the training of the troops, but must also be ever striving further to educate themselves and their subordinates for leadership in the great war. strategic war games on a large scale, which in the army corps can be conducted by the commanding generals, and in the army-inspections by the inspectors, seem to me to be the only means by which this end can be attained. all superior officers must be criticized by the standard of their efficiency in superior commands. the threads of all this training will meet in the hands of the chief of the general army staff as the strategically responsible authority. it seems undesirable in any case to leave it more or less to chance to decide whether those who hold high commands will be competent or not for their posts. the circumstances that a man is an energetic commander of a division, or as general in command maintains discipline in his army corps, affords no conclusive proof that he is fitted to be the leader of an army. military history supplies many instances of this. no proof is required to show that under the conditions of modern warfare the reconnoitring and screening units require special training. the possibility and the success of all operations are in the highest degree dependent on their activity. i have for years pointed out the absolute necessity of preparing our cavalry officers scientifically for their profession, and i can only repeat the demand that our cavalry riding-schools should be organized also as places of scientific education. i will also once more declare that it is wrong that the bulk of the training of the army cavalry should consist in the divisional cavalry exercises on the military drill-grounds. these exercises do not correspond at all to actual conditions, and inculcate quite wrong notions in the officers, as every cavalry officer in high command finds out who, having been taught on the drill-ground, has to lead a cavalry division on manoeuvres. the centre of gravity of effectiveness in war rests on the directing of operations and on the skilful transition from strategical independence to combination in attack; the great difficulty of leading cavalry lies in these conditions, and this can no more be learnt on the drill-grounds than systematic screening and reconnaissance duties. the perpetual subject of practice on the drill-grounds, a cavalry engagement between two divisions in close formation, will hardly ever occur in war. any unprejudiced examination of the present conditions must lead to this result, and counsels the cavalry arm to adopt a course which may be regarded as a serious preparation for war. it is a truly remarkable fact that the artillery, which in fact, always acts only in combination with the other arms, carries out annually extensive independent manoeuvres, as if it had by itself a definite effect on the course of the campaign, while the army cavalry, which _always_ takes the field independently, hardly ever trains by itself, but carefully practises that combination with infantry which is only rarely necessary in war. this clearly demonstrates the unsystematic and antiquated methods of all our training. practice in reconnoitring and screening tactics, as well as raids on a large scale, are what is wanted for the training of the cavalry. co-operation with the air-fleet will be a further development, so soon as aviation has attained such successes that it may be reckoned as an integral factor of army organization. the airship division and the cavalry have kindred duties, and must co-operate under the same command, especially for screening purposes, which are all-important. the methods for the training of pioneers which correspond fully to modern requirements have been pointed out by general v. beseler. this arm need only be developed further in the direction which this distinguished officer has indicated in order to satisfy the needs of the next war. in the field war its chief importance will be found to be in the support of the infantry in attacks on fortified positions, and in the construction of similar positions. tactical requirements must, however, be insisted upon in this connection. the whole training must be guided by considerations of tactics. this is the main point. as regards sieges, especial attention must be devoted to training the miners, since the object is to capture rapidly the outlying forts and to take the fortresses which can resist the attack of the artillery. the duties of the army service corps[b] are clear. they must, on the one hand, be efficiently trained for the intelligence department, especially for the various duties of the telegraph branch, and be ready to give every kind of assistance to the airships; on the other hand, they must look after and maintain the strategical capacities of the army. the rapid construction of railroads, especially light railways, the speedy repair of destroyed lines, the protection of traffic on military railways, and the utilization of motors for various purposes, are the duties for which these troops must be trained. a thorough knowledge and mastery of the essential principles of operations are indispensable qualifications in their case also. they can only meet their many-sided and all-important duties by a competent acquaintance with the methods and system of army movements on every scale. it is highly important, therefore, that the officers of the army service corps should be thoroughly trained in military science. [footnote b: _verkehrstruppen_.] thus in every direction we see the necessity to improve the intellectual development of the army, and to educate it to an appreciation of the close connection of the multifarious duties of war. this appreciation is requisite, not merely for the leaders and special branches of the service; it must permeate the whole corps of officers, and to some degree the non-commissioned officers also. it will bear good fruit in the training of the men. the higher the stage on which the teacher stands, and the greater his intellectual grasp of the subject, the more complete will be his influence on the scholars, the more rapidly and successfully will he reach the understanding of his subordinates, and the more thoroughly will he win from them that confidence and respect which are the firmest foundations of discipline. all the means employed to improve the education of our establishment of officers in the science of war and general subjects will be richly repaid in efficient service on every other field of practical activity. intellectual exercise gives tone to brain and character, and a really deep comprehension of war and its requirements postulates a certain philosophic mental education and bent, which makes it possible to assess the value of phenomena in their reciprocal relations, and to estimate correctly the imponderabilia. the effort to produce this higher intellectual standard in the officers' corps must be felt in their training from the military school onwards, and must find its expression in a school of military education of a higher class than exists at present. a military academy as such was contemplated by scharnhorst. to-day it assumed rather the character of a preparatory school for the general staff. instruction in history and mathematics is all that remains of its former importance. the instruction in military history was entirely divested of its scientific character by the method of application employed, and became wholly subservient to tactics. in this way the meaning of the study of military history was obscured, and even to-day, so far as i know, the lectures on military history primarily serve purposes of directly professional education. i cannot say how far the language teaching imparts the spirit of foreign tongues. at any rate, it culminates in the examination for interpreterships, and thus pursues a directly practical end. this development was in a certain sense necessary. a quite specifically professional education of the officers of the general staff is essential under present conditions. i will not decide whether it was therefore necessary to limit the broad and truly academical character of the institution. in any case, we need in the army of to-day an institution which gives opportunity for the independent study of military science from the higher standpoint, and provides at the same time a comprehensive general education. i believe that the military academy could be developed into such an institution, without any necessity of abandoning the direct preparation of the officers for service on the general staff. by the side of the military sciences proper, which might be limited in many directions, lectures on general scientific subjects might be organized, to which admission should be free. in similar lectures the great military problems might be discussed from the standpoint of military philosophy, and the hearers might gain some insight into the legitimacy of war, its relations to politics, the co-operation of material and imponderable forces, the importance of free personality under the pressure of necessary phenomena, sharp contradictions and violent opposition, as well as into the duties of a commander viewed from the higher standpoint. limitation and concentration of the compulsory subjects, such as are now arranged on an educational plan in three consecutive annual courses, and the institution of free lectures on subjects of general culture, intended not only to educate officers of the general staff, but to train men who are competent to discharge the highest military and civic duties--this is what is required for the highest military educational institution of the german army. chapter xii preparation for the naval war "germany's future lies on the sea." a proud saying, which contains a great truth. if the german people wish to attain a distinguished future and fulfil their mission of civilization, they must adopt a world policy and act as a world power. this task can only be performed if they are supported by an adequate sea power. our fleet must be so strong at least that a war with us involves such dangers, even to the strongest opponent, that the losses, which might be expected, would endanger his position as a world power. now, as proved in another place, we can only stake our forces safely on a world policy if our political and military superiority on the continent of europe be immovably established. this goal is not yet reached, and must be our first objective. nevertheless, we must now take steps to develop by sea also a power which is sufficient for our pretensions. it is, on the one hand, indispensably necessary for the full security of our continental position that we guard our coasts and repel oversea attacks. on the other hand, it is an absolute economic necessity for us to protect the freedom of the seas--by arms if needs be--since our people depend for livelihood on the export industry, and this, again, requires a large import trade. the political greatness of germany rests not least on her flourishing economic life and her oversea trade. the maintenance of the freedom of the seas must therefore be always before our eyes as the object of all our naval constructions. our efforts must not be merely directed towards the necessary repulse of hostile attacks; we must be conscious of the higher ideal, that we wish to follow an effective world policy, and that our naval power is destined ultimately to support this world policy. unfortunately, we did not adopt this view at the start, when we first ventured on the open sea. much valuable time was wasted in striving for limited and insufficient objects. the emperor william ii. was destined to be the first to grasp this question in its bearing on the world's history, and to treat it accordingly. all our earlier naval activity must be set down as fruitless. we have been busied for years in building a fleet. most varied considerations guided our policy. a clear, definite programme was first drawn up by the great naval act of 1900, the supplementary laws of 1906, and the regulations as to the life of the ships in 1908. it is, of course, improbable that the last word has been said on the subject. the needs of the future will decide, since there can be no certain standard for the naval forces which a state may require: that depends on the claims which are put forward, and on the armaments of the other nations. at first the only object was to show our flag on the sea and on the coasts on which we traded. the first duty of the fleet was to safeguard this commerce. opposition to the great outlay thus necessitated was soon shown by a party which considered a fleet not merely superfluous for germany, but actually dangerous, and objected to the plans of the government, which they stigmatized as boundless. another party was content with a simple scheme of coast-protection only, and thought this object attained if some important points on the coast were defended by artillery and cheap flotillas of gunboats were stationed at various places. this view was not long maintained. all discerning persons were convinced of the necessity to face and drive back an aggressive rival on the high seas. it was recognized that ironclads were needed for this, since the aggressor would have them at his disposal. but this policy, it was thought, could be satisfied by half-measures. the so-called _ausfallkorvetten_ were sanctioned, but emphasis was laid on the fact that we were far from wishing to compete with the existing large navies, and that we should naturally be content with a fleet of the second rank. this standpoint was soon recognized to be untenable, and there was a fresh current of feeling, whose adherents supported the view that the costly ironclads could be made superfluous by building in their place a large number of torpedo-boats. these, in spite of their small fighting capacity, would be able to attack the strongest ironclads by well-aimed torpedoes. it was soon realized that this theory rested on a fallacy--that a country like the german empire, which depends on an extensive foreign trade in order to find work and food for its growing population, and, besides, is hated everywhere because of its political and economic prosperity, could not forego a strong armament at sea and on its coasts. at last a standpoint had been reached which corresponded with actual needs. the different abortive attempts to solve the navy question in the most inexpensive manner have cost us much money and, above all, as already stated, much time; so that, at the present day, when we stand in the midst of a great crisis in the world's history, we must summon all our strength to make up for lost opportunities, and to build a thoroughly effective ocean-going fleet of warships in addition to an adequate guard for our coasts. we have at last come to see that the protection of our commerce and the defence of our shores cannot possibly be the only object of such a fleet, but that it, like the land army, is an instrument for carrying out the political ends of the state and supporting its justifiable ambitions. there can be no question of such limited objects as protection of commerce and passive coast defence. a few cruisers are enough to protect commerce in times of peace; but in war the only way to safeguard it is to defeat and, where possible, destroy the hostile fleet. a direct protection of all trade lines is obviously impossible. commerce can only be protected indirectly by the defeat of the enemy. a passive defence of the coast can never count on permanent success. the american war of secession, amongst others, showed that sufficiently. the object of our fleet, therefore, is to defeat our possible rivals at sea, and force them to make terms, in order to guarantee unimpeded commerce to our merchantmen and to protect our colonies. it is therefore an erroneous idea that our fleet exists merely for defence, and must be built with that view. it is intended to meet our political needs, and must therefore be capable of being employed according to the exigencies of the political position; on the offensive, when the political situation demands it, and an attack promises success; on the defensive, when we believe that more advantages can be obtained in this way. at the present day, indeed, the political grouping of the great powers makes a strategical offensive by sea an impossibility. we must, however, reckon with the future, and then circumstances may arise which would render possible an offensive war on a large scale. the strength which we wish to give to our fleet must therefore be calculated with regard to its probable duties in war. it is obvious that we must not merely consider the possible opponents who at the moment are weaker than we are, but rather, and principally, those who are stronger, unless we were in the position to avoid a conflict with them under all circumstances. our fleet must in any case be so powerful that our strongest antagonist shrinks from attacking us without convincing reasons. if he determines to attack us, we must have at least a chance of victoriously repelling this attack--in other words, of inflicting such heavy loss on the enemy that he will decline in his own interests to carry on the war to the bitter end, and that he will see his own position threatened if he exposes himself to these losses. this conception of our duty on the sea points directly to the fact that the english fleet must set the standard by which to estimate the necessary size of our naval preparations. a war with england is probably that which we shall first have to fight out by sea; the possibility of victoriously repelling an english attack must be the guiding principle for our naval preparations; and if the english continuously increase their fleet, we must inevitably follow them on the same road, even beyond the limits of our present naval estimates. we must not, however, forget that it will not be possible for us for many years to attack on the open sea the far superior english fleet. we may only hope, by the combination of the fleet with the coast fortifications, the airfleet, and the commercial war, to defend ourselves successfully against this our strongest opponent, as was shown in the chapter on the next naval war. the enemy must be wearied out and exhausted by the enforcement of the blockade, and by fighting against all the expedients which we shall employ for the defence of our coast; our fleet, under the protection of these expedients, will continually inflict partial losses on him, and thus gradually we shall be able to challenge him to a pitched battle on the high seas. these are the lines that our preparation for war must follow. a strong coast fortress as a base for our fleet, from which it can easily and at any moment take the offensive, and on which the waves of the hostile superiority can break harmlessly, is the recognized and necessary preliminary condition for this class of war. without such a trustworthy coast fortress, built with a view to offensive operations, our fleet could be closely blockaded by the enemy, and prevented from any offensive movements. mines alone cannot close the navigation so effectively that the enemy cannot break through, nor can they keep it open in such a way that we should be able to adopt the offensive under all circumstances. for this purpose permanent works are necessary which command the navigation and allow mines to be placed. i cannot decide the question whether our coast defence, which in the north sea is concentrated in heligoland and borkum, corresponds to these requirements. if it is not so, then our first most serious duty must be to fill up the existing gaps, in order to create an assured base for our naval operations. this is a national duty which we dare not evade, although it demands great sacrifices from us. even the further development of our fleet, important as that is, would sink into the background as compared with the urgency of this duty, because its only action against the english fleet which holds out any prospect of success presupposes the existence of some such fortress. but the question must be looked at from another aspect. the morocco negotiations in the summer of 1911 displayed the unmistakable hostility of england to us. they showed that england is determined to hinder by force any real expansion of germany's power. only the fear of the possible intervention of england deterred us from claiming a sphere of interests of our own in morocco, and, nevertheless, the attempt to assert our unquestionable rights in north africa provoked menacing utterances from various english statesmen. if we consider this behaviour in connection with england's military preparations, there can be no doubt that england seriously contemplates attacking germany should the occasion arise. the concentration of the english naval forces in the north sea, the feverish haste to increase the english fleet, the construction of new naval stations, undisguisedly intended for action against germany, of which we have already spoken; the english _espionage_, lately vigorously practised, on the german coasts, combined with continued attempts to enlist allies against us and to isolate us in europe--all this can only be reasonably interpreted as a course of preparation for an aggressive war. at any rate, it is quite impossible to regard the english preparations as defensive and protective measures only; for the english government knows perfectly well that germany cannot think of attacking england: such an attempt would be objectless from the first. since the destruction of the german naval power lies in the distinct interests of england and her schemes for world empire, we must reckon at least with the possibility of an english attack. we must make it clear to ourselves that we are not able to postpone this attack as we wish. it has been already mentioned that the recent attitude of italy may precipitate a european crisis; we must make up our minds, then, that england will attack us on some pretext or other soon, before the existing balance of power, which is very favourable for england, is shifted possibly to her disadvantage. especially, if the unionist party comes into power again, must we reckon upon a strong english imperial policy which may easily bring about war. under these circumstances we cannot complete our armament by sea and our coast defences in peaceful leisure, in accordance with theoretical principles. on the contrary, we must strain our financial resources in order to carry on, and if possible to accelerate, the expansion of our fleet, together with the fortification of our coast. it would be justifiable, under the conditions, to meet our financial requirements by loans, if no other means can be found; for here questions of the greatest moment are at stake--questions, it may fairly be said, of existence. let us imagine the endless misery which a protracted stoppage or definite destruction of our oversea trade would bring upon the whole nation, and, in particular, on the masses of the industrial classes who live on our export trade. this consideration by itself shows the absolute necessity of strengthening our naval forces in combination with our coast defences so thoroughly that we can look forward to the decisive campaign with equanimity. even the circumstance that we cannot, perhaps, find crews at once for the ships which we are building need not check the activity of our dockyards; for these ships will be valuable to replace the loss in vessels which must occur in any case. the rapid completion of the kaiser-wilhelm canal is of great importance, in order that our largest men-of-war may appear unexpectedly in the baltic or in the north sea. but it does not meet all military requirements. it is a question whether it is not expedient to obtain secure communication by a canal between the mouth of the ems, the bay of jahde, and the mouth of the elbe, in order to afford our fleet more possibilities of concentration. all three waters form a sally-port in the north sea, and it would be certainly a great advantage if our battleships could unexpectedly unite in these three places. i cannot give any opinion as to the feasibility of this scheme. if it is feasible, we ought to shirk no sacrifices to realize it. such a canal might prove of decisive value, since our main prospect of success depends on our ability to break up the forces of the enemy by continuous unexpected attacks, and on our thus finding an opportunity to inflict heavy losses upon him. as regards the development of the fleet itself, we must push on the completion of our battle-fleet, which consists of ships of the line and the usual complement of large cruisers. it does not possess in its present condition an effective value in proportion to its numbers. there can be no doubt on this point. five of the ships of the line, of the kaiser class, are quite obsolete, and the vessels of the wittelsbach class carry as heaviest guns only 24-centimetre cannons, which must be considered quite inadequate for a sea-battle of to-day. we are in a worse plight with regard to our large cruisers. the five ships of the hansa class have no fighting value; the three large cruisers of the prince class (_adalbert, friedrich karl, heinrich_) fulfil their purpose neither in speed, effective range, armament, nor armour-plating. even the armoured cruisers _fürst bismarck, roon, york, gneisenau,_ and _scharnhorst_ do not correspond in any respect to modern requirements. if we wish, therefore, to be really ready for a war, we must shorten the time allowed for building, and replace as rapidly as possible these totally useless vessels--nine large cruisers and five battleships--by new and thoroughly effective ships. anyone who regards the lowering thunder-clouds on the political horizon will admit this necessity. the english may storm and protest ever so strongly: care for our country must stand higher than all political and all financial considerations. we must create new types of battleships, which may be superior to the english in speed and fighting qualities. that is no light task, for the most modern english ships of the line have reached a high stage of perfection, and the newest english cruisers are little inferior in fighting value to the battleships proper. but superiority in individual units, together with the greatest possible readiness for war, are the only means by which a few ships can be made to do, at any rate, what is most essential. since the krupp guns possess a certain advantage--which is not, in fact, very great--over the english heavy naval guns, it is possible to gain a start in this department, and to equip our ships with superior attacking power. a more powerful artillery is a large factor in success, which becomes more marked the more it is possible to distribute the battery on the ship in such a way that all the guns may be simultaneously trained to either side or straight ahead. besides the battle-fleet proper, the torpedo-boats play a prominent part in strategic offence and defence alike. the torpedo-fleet, therefore--especially having regard to the crushing superiority of england--requires vigorous encouragement, and all the more so because, so far, at least, as training goes, we possess a true factor of superiority in them. in torpedo-boats we are, thanks to the high standard of training in the _personnel_ and the excellence of construction, ahead of all other navies. we must endeavour to keep this position, especially as regards the torpedoes, in which, according to the newspaper accounts, other nations are competing with us, by trying to excel us in range of the projectile at high velocity. we must also devote our full attention to submarines, and endeavour to make these vessels more effective in attack. if we succeed in developing this branch of our navy, so that it meets the military requirements in every direction, and combines an increased radius of effectiveness with increased speed and seaworthiness, we shall achieve great results with these vessels in the defence of our coasts and in unexpected attacks on the enemy's squadrons. a superior efficiency in this field would be extraordinarily advantageous to us. last, not least, we must devote ourselves more energetically to the development of aviation for naval purposes. if it were possible to make airships and flying-machines thoroughly available for war, so that they could be employed in unfavourable weather and for aggressive purposes, they might render essential services to the fleet. the air-fleet would then, as already explained in chapter viii., be able to report successfully, to spy out favourable opportunities for attacks by the battle-fleet or the torpedo-fleet, and to give early notice of the approach of the enemy in superior force. it would also be able to prevent the enemy's airships from reconnoitring, and would thus facilitate the execution of surprise attacks. again, it could repulse or frustrate attacks on naval depots and great shipping centres. if our airships could only be so largely developed that they, on their side, could undertake an attack and carry fear and destruction to the english coasts, they would lend still more effective aid to our fleet when fighting against the superior force of the enemy. it can hardly be doubted that technical improvements will before long make it possible to perform such services. a pronounced superiority of our air-fleet over the english would contribute largely to equalize the difference in strength of the two navies more and more during the course of the war. it should be the more possible to gain a superiority in this field because our supposed enemies have not any start on us, and we can compete for the palm of victory on equal terms. besides the campaign against the enemy's war-fleet, preparations must be carefully made in peace-time for the war on commerce, which would be especially effective in a struggle against england, as that country needs imports more than any other. consequently great results would follow if we succeeded in disturbing the enemy's commerce and harassing his navigation. the difficulties of such an undertaking have been discussed in a previous chapter. it is all the more imperative to organize our preparations in such a way that the swift ships intended for the commercial war should be able to reach their scene of activity unexpectedly before the enemy has been able to block our harbours. the auxiliary cruisers must be so equipped in peace-time that when on the open sea they may assume the character of warships at a moment's notice, when ordered by wireless telegraphy to do so. a rapid mobilization is especially important in the navy, since we must be ready for a sudden attack at any time, possibly in time of peace. history tells us what to expect from the english on this head. in the middle of peace they bombarded copenhagen from september 2 to september 5, 1807, and carried off the danish fleet. four hundred houses were burnt, 2,000 damaged, 3,000 peaceful and innocent inhabitants were killed. if some explanation, though no justification, of the conduct of england is seen in the lawlessness of all conditions then existing, and in the equally ruthless acts of napoleon, still the occurrence shows distinctly of what measures england is capable if her command of the seas is endangered. and this practice has not been forgotten. on july 11 and 12, 1882, exactly thirty years ago, alexandria was similarly bombarded in peace-time, and egypt occupied by the english under the hypocritical pretext that arabi pasha had ordered a massacre of the foreigners. the language of such historical facts is clear. it is well not to forget them. the russo-japanese war also is a warning how modern wars begin; so also italy, with her political and military attack on turkey. turkish ships, suspecting nothing of war, were attacked and captured by the italians. now, it must not be denied that such a method of opening a campaign as was adopted by japan and italy may be justified under certain conditions. the interests of the state may turn the scale. the brutal violence shown to a weak opponent, such as is displayed in the above-described english procedure, has nothing in common with a course of action politically justifiable. a surprise attack, in order to be justified, must be made in the first place only on the armed forces of the hostile state, not on peaceful inhabitants. a further necessary preliminary condition is that the tension of the political situation brings the possibility or probability of a war clearly before the eyes of both parties, so that an expectation of, and preparations for, war can be assumed. otherwise the attack becomes a treacherous crime. if the required preliminary conditions are granted, then a political _coup_ is as justifiable as a surprise attack in warfare, since it tries to derive advantage from an unwarrantable carelessness of the opponent. a definite principle of right can never be formulated in this question, since everything depends on the views taken of the position, and these may be very divergent among the parties concerned. history alone can pass a final verdict on the conduct of states. but in no case can a formal rule of right in such cases--especially when a question of life or death is depending on it, as was literally the fact in the manchurian war as regards japan--limit the undoubted right of the state. if japan had not obtained from the very first the absolute command of the seas, the war with russia would have been hopeless. she was justified, therefore, in employing the most extreme measures. no such interests were at stake for england either in 1807 or 1882, and italy's proceedings in 1911 are certainly doubtful from the standpoint of political morality. these examples, however, show what we may expect from england, and we must be the more prepared to find her using this right to attack without warning, since we also may be under the necessity of using this right. our mobilization preparations must therefore be ready for all such eventualities, especially in the period after the dismissal of the reservists. public policy forbids any discussion of the steps that must be taken to secure that our fleet is ready for war during this time. under all circumstances, however, our coast defences must be continuously ready for fighting, and permanently garrisoned in times of political tension. the mines must also be prepared for action without delay. the whole _matériel_ requisite for the purpose must be on the spot ready for instant use. so, too, all measures for the protection of commerce at the mouths of our rivers and in the kaiser wilhelm canal must be put in force directly the situation becomes strained. this is a mere simple precept of self-protection. we must also attach as much importance to the observation and intelligence service on our coasts in peace-time as is done in england. when we realize in their entirety the mass of preparations which are required for the maintenance of our place among the great powers by the navy, we see that extraordinarily exacting demands will be made on the resources of our people. these weigh the heavier for the moment, since the crisis of the hour forces us to quite exceptional exertions, and the expenditure on the fleet must go hand-in-hand, with very energetic preparations on land. if we do not possess the strength or the self-devotion to meet this twofold demand, the increase of the fleet must be delayed, and we must restrict ourselves to bringing our coast defences to such a pitch of completeness as will meet all our requirements. any acceleration in our ship-building would have to be provisionally dropped. in opposition to this view, it is urged from one quarter that we should limit our fortification of the coast to what is absolutely necessary, devote _all_ our means to developing the fleet, and lay the greatest stress on the number of the ships and their readiness for war, even in case of the reserve fleet. this view starts from the presupposition that, in face of so strong and well-equipped a fleet as the naval act contemplates for germany, england would never resolve to declare war on us. it is also safe to assume that a fleet built expressly on uniform tactical principles represents a more powerful fighting force than we have to-day in an equal number of heterogeneous battleships. i cannot myself, however, endorse this view. on the one hand, it is to be feared that the fighting strength of the hostile fleets increases quicker than that of ours; on the other hand, i believe that the general situation makes war with england inevitable, even if our naval force in the shortest time reaches its statutory strength in modern men-of-war. my view, therefore, is that we must first of all lay the solid foundation without which any successful action against the superior forces of the enemy is unthinkable. should the coast fortifications fail to do what is expected from them, success is quite impossible. it is, however, all the more our duty to spare no sacrifices to carry out _both_ objects--the enlargement of the fleet, as well as whatever may still be necessary to the perfecting of our coast defences. though this latter point calls for the first attention, the great necessity for the navy admits of no doubt. if we do not to-day stake everything on strengthening our fleet, to insure at least the possibility of a successful war, and if we once more allow our probable opponent to gain a start which it will be scarcely possible to make up in the future, we must renounce for many years to come any place among the world powers. under these circumstances, no one who cherishes german sentiments and german hopes will advocate a policy of renunciation. on the contrary, we must try not only to prosecute simultaneously the fortification of the coast and the development of the fleet, but we must so accelerate the pace of our ship-building that the requirements of the naval act will be met by 1914--a result quite possible according to expert opinion. the difficult plight in which we are to-day, as regards our readiness for war, is due to two causes in the past. it has been produced in the first place because, from love of the pleasures of peace, we have in the long years since the founding of the german empire neglected to define and strengthen our place among the powers of europe, and to win a free hand in world politics, while around us the other powers were growing more and more threatening. it was, in my opinion, the most serious mistake in german policy that a final settling of accounts with france was not effected at a time when the state of international affairs was favourable and success might confidently have been expected. there has, indeed, been no lack of opportunities. we have only our policy of peace and renunciation to thank for the fact that we are placed in this difficult position, and are confronted by the momentous choice between resigning all claim to world power or disputing this claim against numerically superior enemies. this policy somewhat resembles the supineness for which england has herself to blame, when she refused her assistance to the southern states in the american war of secession, and thus allowed a power to arise in the form of the united states of north america, which already, although barely fifty years have elapsed, threatens england's own position as a world power. but the consequences of our peace policy hit us harder than england has suffered under her former american policy. the place of great britain as a great power is far more secured by her insular position and her command of the seas than ours, which is threatened on all sides by more powerful enemies. it is true that one cannot anticipate success in any war with certainty, and there was always the possibility during the past forty years that we might not succeed in conquering france as effectually as we would have wished. this uncertainty is inseparable from every war. neither in 1866 nor in 1870 could bismarck foresee the degree of success which would fall to him, but he dared to fight. the greatness of the statesman is shown when at the most favourable moment he has the courage to undertake what is the necessary and, according to human calculation, the best course. just fate decides the issue. the second cause of our present position is to be seen in the fact that we started to build our fleet too late. the chief mistake which we have made is that, after the year 1889, when we roused ourselves to vote the brandenburg type of ship, we sank back until 1897 into a period of decadence, while complete lack of system prevailed in all matters concerning the fleet. we have also begun far too late to develop systematically our coast defences, so that the most essential duties which spring out of the political situation are unfulfilled, since we have not foreseen this situation nor prepared for it. this experience must be a lesson to us in the future. we must never let the petty cares and needs of the moment blind us to the broad views which must determine our world policy. we must always adopt in good time those measures which are seen to be necessary for the future, even though they make heavy financial calls on our resources. this is the point of view that we must keep in mind with regard to our naval armament. even at the eleventh hour we may make up a little for lost time. it will be a heinous mistake if we do not perform this duty devotedly. chapter xiii the army and popular education the policy of peace and restraint has brought us to a position in which we can only assert our place among the great powers and secure the conditions of life for the future by the greatest expenditure of treasure and, so far as human conjecture can go, of blood. we shall be compelled, therefore, to adopt, without a moment's delay, special measures which will enable us to be more or less a match for our enemies--i mean accelerated ship-building and rapid increase of the army. we must always bear in mind in the present that we have to provide for the future. apart from the requirements of the moment, we must never forget to develop the elements on which not only our military strength, but also the political power of the state ultimately rest. we must maintain the physical and mental health of the nation, and this can only be done if we aim at a progressive development of popular education in the widest sense, corresponding to the external changes in the conditions and demands of existence. while it is the duty of the state to guide her citizens to the highest moral and mental development, on the other hand the elements of strength, rooted in the people, react upon the efficiency of the state. only when supported by the strong, unanimous will of the nation can the state achieve really great results; she is therefore doubly interested in promoting the physical and mental growth of the nation. her duty and her justification consist in this endeavour, for she draws from the fulfilment of this duty the strength and capacity to be in the highest sense true to it. it is, under present conditions, expedient also from the merely military standpoint to provide not only for the healthy physical development of our growing youth, but also to raise its intellectual level. for while the demands which modern war makes have increased in every direction, the term of service has been shortened in order to make enlistment in very great numbers possible. thus the full consummation of military training cannot be attained unless recruits enter the army well equipped physically and mentally, and bringing with them patriotic sentiments worthy of the honourable profession of arms. we have already shown in a previous chapter how important it is to raise the culture of the officers and non-commissioned officers to the best of our power, in order to secure not only a greater and more independent individual efficiency, but also a deeper and more lasting influence on the men; but this influence of the superiors must always remain limited if it cannot count on finding in the men a receptive and intelligent material. this fact is especially clear when we grasp the claims which modern war will make on the individual fighter. in order to meet these demands fully, the people must be properly educated. each individual must, in modern warfare, display a large measure of independent judgment, calm grasp of the facts, and bold resolution. in the open methods of fighting, the infantryman, after his appointed duty has been assigned him, is to a great degree thrown on his own resources; he may often have to take over the command of his own section if the losses among his superiors are heavy. the artilleryman will have to work his gun single-handed when the section leaders and gun captains have fallen victims to the shrapnel fire; the patrols and despatch-riders are often left to themselves in the middle of the enemy's country; and the sapper, who is working against a counter-mine, will often find himself unexpectedly face to face with the enemy, and has no resource left beyond his own professional knowledge and determination. but not only are higher claims made on the independent responsibility of the individual in modern warfare, but the strain on the physique will probably be far greater in the future than in previous wars. this change is due partly to the large size of the armies, partly to the greater efficiency of the firearms. all movements in large masses are more exacting in themselves than similar movements in small detachments, since they are never carried out so smoothly. the shelter and food of great masses can never be so good as with smaller bodies; the depth of the marching columns, which increases with the masses, adds to the difficulties of any movements--abbreviated rest at night, irregular hours for meals, unusual times for marching, etc. the increased range of modern firearms extends the actual fighting zone, and, in combination with the larger fronts, necessitates wide détours whenever the troops attempt enveloping movements or other changes of position on the battlefield. in the face of these higher demands, the amount of work done in the army has been enormously increased. the state, however, has done little to prepare our young men better for military service, while tendencies are making themselves felt in the life of the people which exercise a very detrimental influence on their education. i specially refer to the ever-growing encroachments of a social-democratic, anti-patriotic feeling, and, hand-in-hand with this, the flocking of the population into the large towns, which is unfavourable to physical development. this result is clearly shown by the enlistment statistics. at the present day, out of all the german-born military units, over 6.14 per cent. come from the large towns, 7.37 per cent, from the medium-sized towns, 22.34 per cent. from the small or country towns, and 64.15 per cent. from the rural districts; while the distribution of the population between town and country is quite different. according to the census of 1905, the rural population amounted to 42.5 per cent., the small or country towns to 25.5 per cent., the medium-sized towns to 12.9 per cent., and the large towns to 19.1 per cent. of the entire number of inhabitants. the proportion has probably changed since that year still more unfavourably for the rural population, while the large towns have increased in population. these figures clearly show the physical deterioration of the town population, and signify a danger to our national life, not merely in respect of physique, but in the intellect and compact unity of the nation. the rural population forms part and parcel of the army. a thousand bonds unite the troops and the families of their members, so far as they come from the country; everyone who studies the inner life of our army is aware of this. the interest felt in the soldier's life is intense. it is the same spirit, transmitted from one to another. the relation of the army to the population of the great cities which send a small and ever-diminishing fraction of their sons into the army is quite different. a certain opposition exists between the population of the great cities and the country-folk, who, from a military point of view, form the backbone of the nation. similarly, the links between the army and the large towns have loosened, and large sections of the population in the great cities are absolutely hostile to the service. it is in the direct interests of the state to raise the physical health of the town population by all imaginable means, not only in order to enable more soldiers to be enlisted, but to bring the beneficial effect of military training more extensively to bear on the town population, and so to help to make our social conditions more healthy. nothing promotes unity of spirit and sentiment like the comradeship of military service. so far as i can judge, it is not factory work alone in itself which exercises a detrimental effect on the physical development and, owing to its monotony, on the mental development also, but the general conditions of life, inseparable from such work, are prejudicial. apart from many forms of employment in factories which are directly injurious to health, the factors which stunt physical development may be found in the housing conditions, in the pleasure-seeking town life, and in alcoholism. this latter vice is far more prevalent in the large cities than in the rural districts, and, in combination with the other influences of the great city, produces far more harmful results. it is therefore the unmistakable duty of the state, first, to fight alcoholism with every weapon, if necessary by relentlessly taxing all kinds of alcoholic drinks, and by strictly limiting the right to sell them; secondly, most emphatic encouragement must be given to all efforts to improve the housing conditions of the working population, and to withdraw the youth of the towns from the ruinous influences of a life of amusements. in munich, bavarian officers have recently made a praiseworthy attempt to occupy the leisure time of the young men past the age of attendance at school with health-producing military exercises. the young men's clubs which field-marshal v.d. goltz is trying to establish aim at similar objects. such undertakings ought to be vigorously carried out in every large town, and supported by the state, from purely physical as well as social considerations. the gymnastic instruction in the schools and gymnastic clubs has an undoubtedly beneficial effect on physical development, and deserves every encouragement; finally, on these grounds, as well as all others, the system of universal service should have been made an effective reality. it is literally amazing to notice the excellent effect of military service on the physical development of the recruits. the authorities in charge of the reserves should have been instructed to make the population of the great cities serve in larger numbers than hitherto. on the other hand, a warning must, in my opinion, be issued against two tendencies: first, against the continual curtailing of the working hours for factory hands and artisans; and, secondly, against crediting sport with an exaggerated value for the national health. as already pointed out, it is usually not the work itself, but the circumstances attendant on working together in large numbers that are prejudicial. the wish to shorten the working hours on principle, except to a moderate degree, unless any exceptionally unfavourable conditions of work are present, is, in my opinion, an immoral endeavour, and a complete miscomprehension of the real value of work. it is in itself the greatest blessing which man knows, and ill betide the nation which regards it no longer as a moral duty, but as the necessary means of earning a livelihood and paying for amusements. strenuous labour alone produces men and characters, and those nations who have been compelled to win their living in a continuous struggle against a rude climate have often achieved the greatest exploits, and shown the greatest vitality. so long as the dutch steeled their strength by unremitting conflict with the sea, so long as they fought for religious liberty against the spanish supremacy, they were a nation of historical importance; now, when they live mainly for money-making and enjoyment, and lead a politically neutral existence, without great ambitions or great wars, their importance has sunk low, and will not rise again until they take a part in the struggle of the civilized nations. in germany that stock which was destined to bring back our country from degradation to historical importance did not grow up on the fertile banks of the rhine or the danube, but on the sterile sands of the march. we must preserve the stern, industrious, old-prussian feeling, and carry the rest of germany with us to kant's conception of life; we must continuously steel our strength by great political and economic endeavours, and must not be content with what we have already attained, or abandon ourselves to the indolent pursuit of pleasure; thus only we shall remain healthy in mind and body, and able to keep our place in the world. where nature herself does not compel hard toil, or where with growing wealth wide sections of the people are inclined to follow a life of pleasure rather than of work, society and the state must vie in taking care that work does not become play, or play work. it is work, regarded as a duty, that forges men, not fanciful play. sport, which is spreading more and more amongst us too, must always remain a means of recreation, not an end in itself, if it is to be justified at all. we must never forget this. hard, laborious work has made germany great; in england, on the contrary, sport has succeeded in maintaining the physical health of the nation; but by becoming exaggerated and by usurping the place of serious work it has greatly injured the english nation. the english nation, under the influence of growing wealth, a lower standard of labour efficiency--which, indeed, is the avowed object of the english trades unions--and of the security of its military position, has more and more become a nation of gentlemen at ease and of sportsmen, and it may well be asked whether, under these conditions, england will show herself competent for the great duties which she has taken on herself in the future. if, further, the political rivalry with the great and ambitious republic in america be removed by an arbitration treaty, this circumstance might easily become the boundary-stone where the roads to progress and to decadence divide, in spite of all sports which develop physique. the physical healthiness of a nation has no permanent value, unless it comes from work and goes hand-in-hand with spiritual development; while, if the latter is subordinated to material and physical considerations, the result must be injurious in the long-run. we must not therefore be content to educate up for the army a physically healthy set of young men by elevating the social conditions and the whole method of life of our people, but we must also endeavour to promote their spiritual development in every way. the means for doing so is the school. military education under the present-day conditions, which are continually becoming more severe, can only realize its aims satisfactorily if a groundwork has been laid for it in the schools, and an improved preliminary training has been given to the raw material. the national school is not sufficient for this requirement. the general regulations which settle the national school system in prussia date from the year 1872, and are thus forty years old, and do not take account of the modern development which has been so rapid of late years. it is only natural that a fundamental opposition exists between them and the essentials of military education. present-day military education requires complete individualization and a conscious development of manly feeling; in the national school everything is based on teaching in classes, and there is no distinction between the sexes. this is directly prescribed by the rules. in the army the recruits are taught under the superintendence of the superiors by specially detached officers and selected experienced non-commissioned officers; and even instruction is given them in quite small sections; while each one receives individual attention from the non-commissioned officers of his section and the higher superior officers. in a school, on the contrary, the master is expected to teach as many as eighty scholars at a time; in a school with two teachers as many as 120 children are divided into two classes. a separation of the sexes is only recommended in a school of several classes. as a rule, therefore, the instruction is given in common. it is certain that, under such conditions, no insight into the personality of the individual is possible. all that is achieved is to impart more or less mechanically and inefficiently a certain amount of information in some branch of knowledge, without any consideration of the special dispositions of boys and girls, still less of individuals. such a national school can obviously offer no preparation for a military education. the principles which regulate the teaching in the two places are quite different. that is seen in the whole tendency of the instruction. the military education aims at training the moral personality to independent thought and action, and at the same time rousing patriotic feelings among the men. instruction in a sense of duty and in our national history thus takes a foremost place by the side of professional teaching. great attention is given to educate each individual in logical reasoning and in the clear expression of his thoughts. in the national school these views are completely relegated to the background--not, of course, as a matter of intention and theory, but as the practical result of the conditions. the chief stress in such a school is laid on formal religious instruction, and on imparting some facility in reading, writing, and ciphering. the so-called _realign_ (history, geography, natural history, natural science) fall quite into the background. only six out of thirty hours of instruction weekly are devoted to all the _realien_ in the middle and upper standards; in the lower standards they are ignored altogether, while four to five hours are assigned to religious instruction in every standard. there is no idea of any deliberate encouragement of patriotism. not a word in the general regulations suggests that any weight is to be attached to this; and while over two pages are filled with details of the methods of religious instruction, history, which is especially valuable for the development of patriotic sentiments, is dismissed in ten lines. as for influencing the character and the reasoning faculties of the scholars to any extent worth mentioning, the system of large classes puts it altogether out of the question. while the allotment of subjects to the hours available for instruction is thus very one-sided, the system on which instruction is given, especially in religious matters, is also unsatisfactory. beginning with the lower standard onwards (that is to say, the children of six years), stories not only from the new testament, but also from the old testament are drummed into the heads of the scholars. similarly every saturday the portions of scripture appointed for the next sunday are read out and explained to all the children. instruction in the catechism begins also in the lower standard, from the age of six onwards; the children must learn some twenty hymns by heart, besides various prayers. it is a significant fact that it has been found necessary expressly to forbid "the memorizing of the general confession and other parts of the liturgical service," as "also the learning by heart of the pericopes." on the other hand, the institution of public worship is to be explained to the children. this illustrates the spirit in which this instruction has to be imparted according to the regulations. it is really amazing to read these regulations. the object of evangelical religious instruction is to introduce the children "to the comprehension of the holy scriptures and to the creed of the congregation," in order that they "may be enabled to read the scriptures independently and to take an active part both in the life and the religious worship of the congregation." requirements are laid down which entirely abandon the task of making the subject suitable to the comprehension of children from six to fourteen years of age, and presuppose a range of ideas totally beyond their age. not a word, however, suggests that the real meaning of religion--its influence, that is, on the moral conduct of man--should be adequately brought into prominence. the teacher is not urged by a single syllable to impress religious ideas on the receptive child-mind; the whole course of instruction, in conformity with regulations, deals with a formal religiosity, which is quite out of touch with practical life, and if not deliberately, at least in result, renounces any attempt at moral influence. a real feeling for religion is seldom the fruit of such instruction; the children, as a rule, are glad after their confirmation to have done with this unspiritual religious teaching, and so they remain, when their schooling is over, permanently strangers to the religious inner life, which the instruction never awakened in them. nor does the instruction for confirmation do much to alter that, for it is usually conceived in the same spirit. all other subjects which might raise heart and spirit and present to the young minds some high ideals--more especially our own country's history--are most shamefully neglected in favour of this sort of instruction; and yet a truly religious and patriotic spirit is of inestimable value for life, and, above all, for the soldier. it is the more regrettable that instruction in the national school, as fixed by the regulations, and as given in practice in a still duller form, is totally unfitted to raise such feelings, and thus to do some real service to the country. it is quite refreshing to read in the new regulations for middle schools of february 10,1910, that by religious instruction the "moral and religious tendencies of the child" should be awakened and strengthened, and that the teaching of history should aim at exciting an "intelligent appreciation of the greatness of the fatherland." the method of religious instruction which is adopted in the national school is, in my opinion, hopelessly perverted. religious instruction can only become fruitful and profitable when a certain intellectual growth has started and the child possesses some conscious will. to make it the basis of intellectual growth, as was evidently intended in the national schools, has never been a success; for it ought not to be directed at the understanding and logical faculties, but at the mystical intuitions of the soul, and, if it is begun too early, it has a confusing effect on the development of the mental faculties. even the missionary who wishes to achieve real results tries to educate his pupils by work and secular instruction before he attempts to impart to them subtle religious ideas. yet every saturday the appointed passages of scripture (the pericopes) are explained to six-year-old children. religious instruction proper ought to begin in the middle standard. up to that point the teacher should be content, from the religious standpoint, to work on the child's imagination and feelings with the simplest ideas of the deity, but in other respects to endeavour to awaken and encourage the intellectual life, and make it able to grasp loftier conceptions. the national school stands in total contradiction to this intellectual development. this is in conformity to regulations, for the same children who read the bible independently are only to be led to "an approximate comprehension of those phenomena which are daily around them." in the course of eight years they learn a smattering of reading, writing, and ciphering.[a] it is significant of the knowledge of our national history which the school imparts that out of sixty-three recruits of one company to whom the question was put who bismarck was, not a single one could answer. that the scholars acquire even a general idea of their duties to the country and the state is quite out of the question. it is impossible to rouse the affection and fancy of the children by instruction in history, because the two sexes are taught in common. one thing appeals to the heart of boys, another to those of girls; and, although i consider it important that patriotic feelings should be inculcated among girls, since as mothers they will transmit them to the family, still the girls must be influenced in a different way from the boys. when the instruction is common to both, the treatment of the subject by the teacher remains neutral and colourless. it is quite incomprehensible how such great results are expected in the religious field when so little has been achieved in every other field. this pedantic school has wandered far indeed from the ideal that frederick the great set up. he declared that the duty of the state was "to educate the young generation to independent thinking and self-devoted love of country." [footnote a: recently a boy was discharged from a well-known national school as an exceptionally good scholar, and was sent as well qualified to the office of a head forester. he showed that he could not copy correctly, to say nothing of writing by himself.] our national school of to-day needs, then, searching and thorough reform if it is to be a preparatory school, not only for military education, but for life generally. it sends children out into the world with undeveloped reasoning faculties, and equipped with the barest elements of knowledge, and thus makes them not only void of self-reliance, but easy victims of all the corrupting influences of social life. as a matter of fact, the mind and reasoning faculties of the national schoolboy are developed for the first time by his course of instruction as a recruit. it is obviously not my business to indicate the paths to such a reform. i will only suggest the points which seem to me the most important from the standpoint of a citizen and a soldier. first and foremost, the instruction must be more individual. the number of teachers, accordingly, must be increased, and that of scholars diminished. it is worth while considering in this connection the feasibility of beginning school instruction at the age of eight years. then all teaching must be directed, more than at present, to the object of developing the children's minds, and formal religious instruction should only begin in due harmony with intellectual progress. finally, the _realien,_ especially the history of our own country, should claim more attention, and patriotic feelings should be encouraged in every way; while in religious instruction the moral influence of religion should be more prominent than the formal contents. the training of the national school teacher must be placed on a new basis. at present it absolutely corresponds to the one-sided and limited standpoint of the school itself, and does not enable the teachers to develop the minds and feelings of their pupils. it must be reckoned a distinct disadvantage for the upgrowing generation that all instruction ends at the age of fourteen, so that, precisely at the period of development in which the reasoning powers are forming, the children are thrown back on themselves and on any chance influences. in the interval between school life and military service the young people not only forget all that they learnt, perhaps with aptitude, in the national school, but they unthinkingly adopt distorted views of life, and in many ways become brutalized from a lack of counteracting ideals. a compulsory continuation school is therefore an absolute necessity of the age. it is also urgently required from the military standpoint. such a school, to be fruitful in results, must endeavour, not only to prevent the scholar from forgetting what he once learnt, and to qualify him for a special branch of work, but, above all, to develop his patriotism and sense of citizenship. to do this, it is necessary to explain to him the relation of the state to the individual, and to explain, by reference to our national history, how the individual can only prosper by devotion to the state. the duties of the individual to the state should be placed in the foreground. this instruction must be inspired by the spirit which animated schleiermacher's sermons in the blackest hour of prussia, and culminated in the doctrine that all the value of the man lies in the strength and purity of his will, in his free devotion to the great whole; that property and life are only trusts, which must be employed for higher ideals; that the mind, which thinks only of itself, perishes in feeble susceptibility, but that true moral worth grows up only in the love for the fatherland and for the state, which is a haven for every faith, and a home of justice and honourable freedom of purpose. only if national education works in this sense will it train up men to fill our armies who have been adequately prepared for the school of arms, and bring with them the true soldierly spirit from which great deeds spring. what can be effected by the spirit of a nation we have learnt from the history of the war of liberation, that never-failing source of patriotic sentiment, which should form the backbone and centre of history-teaching in the national and the continuation schools. we can study it also by an example from most recent history, in the russo-japanese war. "the education of the whole japanese people, beginning at home and continued at school, was based on a patriotic and warlike spirit. that education, combined with the rapidly acquired successes in culture and warfare, aroused in the japanese a marvellous confidence in their own strength. they served with pride in the ranks of the army, and dreamed of heroic deeds.... all the thoughts of the nation were turned towards the coming struggle, while in the course of several years they had spent their last farthing in the creation of a powerful army and a strong fleet."[b] this was the spirit that led the japanese to victory. "the day when the young japanese enlisted was observed as a festival in his family."[b] in russia, on the contrary, the idea was preached and disseminated that "patriotism was an obsolete notion," "war was a crime and an anachronism," that "warlike deeds deserved no notice, the army was the greatest bar to progress, and military service a dishonourable trade."[b] thus the russian army marched to battle without any enthusiasm, or even any comprehension of the momentous importance of the great racial war, "not of free will, but from necessity." already eaten up by the spirit of revolution and unpatriotic selfishness, without energy or initiative, a mechanical tool in the hand of uninspired leaders, it tamely let itself be beaten by a weaker opponent. [footnote b: "the work of the russian general staff," from the russian by freiheu v. tettau.] i have examined these conditions closely because i attach great importance to the national school and the continuation school as a means to the military education of our people. i am convinced that only the army of a warlike and patriotic people can achieve anything really great. i understand, of course, that the school alone, however high its efficiency, could not develop that spirit in our people which we, in view of our great task in the future, must try to awaken by every means if we wish to accomplish something great. the direct influence of school ends when the young generation begins life, and its effect must at first make itself felt very gradually. later generations will reap the fruits of its sowing. its efficiency must be aided by other influences which will not only touch the young men now living, but persist throughout their lives. now, there are two means available which can work upon public opinion and on the spiritual and moral education of the nation; one is the press, the other is a policy of action. if the government wishes to win a proper influence over the people, not in order to secure a narrow-spirited support of its momentary policy, but to further its great political, social, and moral duties, it must control a strong and national press, through which it must present its views and aims vigorously and openly. the government will never be able to count upon a well-armed and self-sacrificing people in the hour of danger or necessity, if it calmly looks on while the warlike spirit is being systematically undermined by the press and a feeble peace policy preached, still less if it allows its own organs to join in with the same note, and continually to emphasize the maintenance of peace as the object of all policy. it must rather do everything to foster a military spirit, and to make the nation comprehend the duties and aims of an imperial policy. it must continually point to the significance and the necessity of war as an indispensable agent in policy and civilization, together with the duty of self-sacrifice and devotion to state and country. a parliamentary government, which always represents merely a temporary majority, may leave the party press to defend and back its views; but a government like the german, which traces its justification to the fact that it is superior to all parties, cannot act thus. its point of view does not coincide with that of any party; it adopts a middle course, conscious that it is watching the welfare of the whole community. it must therefore represent its attitude, on general issues as well as on particular points, independently, and must endeavour to make its aims as widely understood as possible. i regard it, therefore, as one of the most important duties of a government like ours to use the press freely and wisely for the enlightenment of the people. i do not mean that a few large political journals should, in the interests of the moment, be well supplied with news, but that the views of the government should find comprehensive expression in the local press. it would be an advantage, in my opinion, were all newspapers compelled to print certain announcements of the government, in order that the reader might not have such a one-sided account of public affairs as the party press supplies. it would be a measure of public moral and intellectual hygiene, as justifiable as compulsory regulations in the interests of public health. epidemics of ideas and opinions are in our old europe more dangerous and damaging than bodily illnesses, and it is the duty of the state to preserve the moral healthiness of the nation. more important, perhaps, than teaching and enlightenment by the press is the _propaganda of action._ nothing controls the spirit of the multitude so effectually as energetic, deliberate, and successful action conceived in a broad-minded, statesmanlike sense. such education by a powerful policy is an absolute necessity for the german people. this nation possesses an excess of vigour, enterprise, idealism, and spiritual energy, which qualifies it for the highest place; but a malignant fairy laid on its cradle the most petty theoretical dogmatism. in addition to this, an unhappy historical development which shattered the national and religious unity of the nation created in the system of small states and in confessionalism a fertile soil for the natural tendency to particularism, on which it flourished luxuriantly as soon as the nation was no longer inspired with great and unifying thoughts. yet the heart of this people can always be won for great and noble aims, even though such aims can only be attended by danger. we must not be misled in this respect by the press, which often represents a most one-sided, self-interested view, and sometimes follows international or even anti-german lines rather than national. the soul of our nation is not reflected in that part of the press with its continual dwelling on the necessity of upholding peace, and its denunciation of any bold and comprehensive political measure as a policy of recklessness. on the contrary, an intense longing for a foremost place among the powers and for manly action fills our nation. every vigorous utterance, every bold political step of the government, finds in the soul of the people a deeply felt echo, and loosens the bonds which fetter all their forces. in a great part of the national press this feeling has again and again found noble expression. but the statesman who could satisfy this yearning, which slumbers in the heart of our people undisturbed by the clamour of parties and the party press, would carry all spirits with him. he is no true statesman who does not reckon with these factors of national psychology; bismarck possessed this art, and used k with a master-hand. true, he found ready to hand one idea which was common to all--the sincere wish for german unification and the german empire; but the german nation, in its dissensions, did not know the ways which lead to the realization of this idea. only under compulsion and after a hard struggle did it enter on the road of success; but the whole nation was fired with high enthusiasm when it finally recognized the goal to which the great statesman was so surely leading it. success was the foundation on which bismarck built up the mighty fabric of the german empire. even in the years of peace he understood how to rivet the imagination of the people by an ambitious and active policy, and how, in spite of all opposition, to gain over the masses to his views, and make them serve his own great aims. he, too, made mistakes as man and as politician, and the motto _homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto_ holds good of him; but in its broad features his policy was always imperial and of world-wide scope, and he never lost sight of the principle that no statesman can permanently achieve great results unless he commands the soul of his people. this knowledge he shared with all the great men of our past, with the great elector, frederick the incomparable, scharnhorst and blücher; for even that hoary marshal was a political force, the embodiment of a political idea, which, to be sure, did not come into the foreground at the congress of vienna. the statesman who wishes to learn from history should above all things recognize this one fact--that success is necessary to gain influence over the masses, and that this influence can only be obtained by continually appealing to the national imagination and enlisting its interest in great universal ideas and great national ambitions. such a policy is also the best school in which to educate a nation to great military achievements. when their spirits are turned towards high aims they feel themselves compelled to contemplate war bravely, and to prepare their minds to it: "the man grows up, with manhood's nobler aims." we may learn something from japan on this head. her eyes were fixed on the loftiest aims; she did not shrink from laying the most onerous duties on the people, but she understood how to fill the soul of the whole people with enthusiasm for her great ideals, and thus a nation of warriors was educated which supplied the best conceivable material for the army, and was ready for the greatest sacrifices. we germans have a far greater and more urgent duty towards civilization to perform than the great asiatic power. we, like the japanese, can only fulfil it by the sword. shall we, then, decline to adopt a bold and active policy, the most effective means with which we can prepare our people for its military duty? such a counsel is only for those who lack all feeling for the strength and honour of the german people. chapter xiv financial and political preparation for war from the discussions in the previous chapter it directly follows that the political conduct of the state, while affecting the mental attitude of the people, exercises an indirect but indispensable influence on the preparation for war, and is to some degree a preparation for war itself. but, in addition to the twofold task of exercising this intellectual and moral influence, and of placing at the disposal of the military authorities the necessary means for keeping up the armaments, still further demands must be made of those responsible for the guidance of the state. in the first place, financial preparations for war must be made, quite distinct from the current expenditure on the army; the national finances must be so treated that the state can bear the tremendous burdens of a modern war without an economic crash. further, as already mentioned in another place, there must be a sort of mobilization in the sphere of commercial politics in order to insure under all eventualities the supply of the goods necessary for the material and industrial needs of the country. finally, preparations for war must also be made politically; that is to say, efforts must be made to bring about a favourable political conjuncture, and, so far as possible, to isolate the first enemy with whom a war is bound to come. if that cannot be effected, an attempt must he made to win allies, in whom confidence can be reposed should war break out. i am not a sufficient expert to pronounce a definite opinion on the commercial and financial side of the question. in the sphere of commercial policy especially i cannot even suggest the way in which the desired end can be obtained. joint action on the part of the government and the great import houses would seem to be indicated. as regards finance, speaking again from a purely unprofessional standpoint, one may go so far as to say that it is not only essential to keep the national household in order, but to maintain the credit of the state, so that, on the outbreak of war, it may be possible to raise the vast sums of money required for carrying it on without too onerous conditions. the credit of state depends essentially on a regulated financial economy, which insures that the current outgoings are covered by the current incomings. other factors are the national wealth, the indebtedness of the state, and, lastly, the confidence in its productive and military capabilities. as regards the first point, i have already pointed out that in a great civilized world state the balancing of the accounts must never be brought about in the petty-state fashion by striking out expenditure for necessary requirements, more especially expenditure on the military forces, whose maintenance forms the foundation of a satisfactory general progress. the incomings must, on the contrary, be raised in proportion to the real needs. but, especially in a state which is so wholly based on war as the german empire, the old manly principle of keeping all our forces on the stretch must never be abandoned out of deference to the effeminate philosophy of the day. fichte taught us that there is only one virtue--to forget the claims of one's personality; and only one vice--to think of self. ultimately the state is the transmitter of all culture, and is therefore entitled to claim all the powers of the individual for itself.[a] these ideas, which led us out of the deepest gloom to the sunlit heights of success, must remain our pole-star at an epoch which in many respects can be compared with the opening years of the last century. the peace-loving contentment which then prevailed in prussia, as if the age of everlasting peace had come, still sways large sections of our people, and exerts an appreciable influence on the government. among that peaceful nation "which behind the rampart of its line of demarcation observed with philosophic calm how two mighty nations contested the sole possession of the world," nobody gave any thought to the great change of times. in the same way many germans to-day look contentedly and philosophically at the partition of the world, and shut their eyes to the rushing stream of world-history and the great duties imposed upon us by it. even to-day, as then, the same "super-terrestrial pride, the same super-clever irresolution" spreads among us "which in our history follows with uncanny regularity the great epochs of audacity and energy."[b] [footnote a: treitschke.] [footnote: b treitschke, "deutsche geschichte."] under conditions like the present the state is not only entitled, but is bound to put the utmost strain on the financial powers of her citizens, since it is vital questions that are at stake. it is equally important, however, to foster by every available means the growth of the national property, and thus to improve the financial capabilities. this property is to a certain extent determined by the natural productiveness of the country and the mineral wealth it contains. but these possessions are utilized and their value is enhanced by the labour of all fellow-countrymen--that immense capital which cannot be replaced. here, then, the state can profitably step in. it can protect and secure labour against unjustifiable encroachments by regulating the labour conditions; it can create profitable terms for exports and imports by concluding favourable commercial agreements; it can help and facilitate german trade by vigorous political representation of german interests abroad; it can encourage the shipping trade, which gains large profits from international commerce;[c] it can increase agricultural production by energetic home colonization, cultivation of moorland, and suitable protective measures, so as to make us to some extent less dependent on foreign countries for our food. the encouragement of deep-sea fishery would add to this.[d] [footnote: c england earns some 70 millions sterling by international commerce, germany about 15 millions sterling.] [footnote d: we buy annually some 2 millions sterling worth of fish from foreign countries.] from the military standpoint, it is naturally very important to increase permanently the supply of breadstuffs and meat, so that in spite of the annual increase in population the home requirements may for some time be met to the same extent as at present; this seems feasible. home production now supplies 87 per cent, of the required breadstuffs and 95 per cent, of the meat required. to maintain this proportion, the production in the next ten years must be increased by at most two double-centners per hectare, which is quite possible if it is considered that the rye harvest alone in the last twenty years has increased by two million tons. a vigorous colonial policy, too, will certainly improve the national prosperity if directed, on the one hand, to producing in our own colonies the raw materials which our industries derive in immense quantities from foreign countries, and so making us gradually independent of foreign countries; and, on the other hand, to transforming our colonies into an assured market for our goods by effective promotion of settlements, railroads, and cultivation. the less we are tributaries of foreign countries, to whom we pay many milliards, [e] the more our national wealth and the financial capabilities of the state will improve. [footnote e: we obtained from abroad in 1907, for instance, 476,400 tons of cotton, 185,300 tons of wool, 8,500,000 tons of iron, 124,000 tons of copper, etc.] if the state can thus contribute directly to the increase of national productions, it can equally raise its own credit by looking after the reduction of the national debt, and thus improving its financial position. but payment of debts is, in times of high political tension, a two-edged sword, if it is carried out at the cost of necessary outlays. the gain in respect of credit on the one side of the account may very easily be lost again on the other. even from the financial aspect it is a bad fault to economize in outlay on the army and navy in order to improve the financial position. the experiences of history leave no doubt on that point. military power is the strongest pillar of a nation's credit. if it is weakened, financial security at once is shaken. a disastrous war involves such pecuniary loss that the state creditors may easily become losers by it. but a state whose army holds out prospects of carrying the war to a victorious conclusion offers its creditors far better security than a weaker military power. if our credit at the present day cannot be termed very good, our threatened political position is chiefly to blame. if we chose to neglect our army and navy our credit would sink still lower, in spite of all possible liquidation of our debt. we have a twofold duty before us: first to improve our armament; secondly, to promote the national industry, and to keep in mind the liquidation of our debts so far as our means go. the question arises whether it is possible to perform this twofold task. it is inconceivable that the german people has reached the limits of possible taxation. the taxes of prussia have indeed, between 1893-94 and 1910-11, increased by 56 per cent, per head of the population--from 20.62 marks to 32.25 marks (taxes and customs together)--and the same proportion may hold in the rest of germany. on the other hand, there is a huge increase in the national wealth. this amounts, in the german empire now, to 330 to 360 milliard marks, or 5,000 to 6,000 marks per head of the population. in france the wealth, calculated on the same basis, is no higher, and yet in france annually 20 marks, in germany only 16 marks, per head of the population are expended on the army and navy. in england, on the contrary, where the average wealth of the individual is some 1,000 marks higher than in germany and france, the outlay for the army and navy comes to 29 marks per head. thus our most probable opponents make appreciably greater sacrifices for their armaments than we do, although they are far from being in equal danger politically. attention must at the same time be called to the fact that the increase of wealth in germany continues to be on an ascending scale. trades and industries have prospered vastly, and although the year 1908 saw a setback, yet the upward tendency has beyond doubt set in again. the advance in trade and industry, which began with the founding of the empire, is extraordinary. "the total of imports and exports has increased in quantity from 32 million tons to 106 million tons in the year 1908, or by 232 per cent., and in value from 6 milliards to 14 1/2-16 milliards marks in the last years. of these, the value of the imports has grown from 3 to 8-9 milliards marks, and the value of the exports from 3 1/2 to 6 1/2-7 milliards.... the value of the import of raw materials for industrial purposes has grown from 1 1/2 milliards in 1879 to 4 1/2 milliards marks lately, and the value of the export of such raw materials from 850 million to 1 1/2 milliard marks. the import of made goods had in 1879 a value of 600 million marks, and in 1908 a value of 1 1/4 milliard marks, while the value of the export of manufactured goods mounted from 1 to 4 milliards. the value of the import of food-stuffs and delicacies has grown from 1 to 2 1/2-2 1/3 milliard marks, while the value of the export of articles of food remained at about the same figure. the mineral output can also point to an undreamed-of extension in germany during the last thirty years. the amount of coal raised amounted in 1879 to only 42 million tons; up to 1908 it has increased to 148 1/2 million tons, and in value from 100 million to 1 1/2 milliard marks. the quantity of brown coal raised was only 11 1/2 million tons in 1879; in 1908 it was 66 3/4 million tons, and in value it has risen from 35 million to 170 million marks. the output of iron-ore has increased from 6 million tons to 27 million tons, and in value from 27 million to 119 million marks.... from 1888 to 1908 the amount of coal raised in germany has increased by 127 per cent.; in england only by about 59 per cent. the raw iron obtained has increased in germany from 1888 to 1908 by 172 per cent.; in england there is a rise of 27 per cent. only.[f] [footnote f: professor dr. wade, berlin.] similar figures can be shown in many other spheres. the financial position of the empire has considerably improved since the imperial finance reform of 1909, so that the hope exists that the budget may very soon balance without a loan should no new sacrifices be urgent. it was obvious that with so prodigious a development a continued growth of revenue must take place, and hand-in-hand with it a progressive capitalization. such a fact has been the case, and to a very marked extent. from the year 1892-1905 in prussia alone an increase of national wealth of about 2 milliard marks annually has taken place. the number of taxpayers and of property in the property tax class of 6,000 to 100,000 marks has in prussia increased in these fourteen years by 29 per cent., from 1905-1908 by 11 per cent.; in the first period, therefore, by 2 per cent., in the last years by 3 per cent. annually. in these classes, therefore, prosperity is increasing, but this is so in much greater proportion in the large fortunes. in the property tax class of 100,000 to 500,000 marks, the increase has been about 48 per cent.--i.e., on an average for the fourteen years about 3 per cent. annually, while in the last three years it has been 4.6 per cent. in the class of 500,000 marks and upwards, the increase for the fourteen years amounts to 54 per cent. in the taxpayers and 67 per cent. in the property; and, while in the fourteen years the increase is on an average 4.5 per cent. annually, it has risen in the three years 1905-1908 to 8.6 per cent. this means per head of the population in the schedule of 6,000 to 100,000 marks an increase of 650 marks, in the schedule of 100,000 to 500,000 marks an increase per head of 6,400 marks, and in the schedule of 500,000 marks and upwards an increase of 70,480 marks per head and per year. we see then, especially in the large estates, a considerable and annually increasing growth, which the prussian finance minister has estimated for prussia alone at 3 milliards yearly in the next three years, so that it may be assumed to be for the whole empire 5 milliards yearly in the same period. wages have risen everywhere. to give some instances, i will mention that among the workmen at krupp's factory at essen the daily earnings have increased from 1879-1906 by 77 per cent., the pay per hour for masons from 1885-1905 by 64 per cent., and the annual earnings in the dortmund district of the chief mining office from 1886 to 1907 by 121 per cent. this increase in earnings is also shown by the fact that the increase of savings bank deposits since 1906 has reached the sum of 4 milliard marks, a proof that in the lower and poorer strata of the population, too, a not inconsiderable improvement in prosperity is perceptible. it can also be regarded as a sign of a healthy, improving condition of things that emigration and unemployment are considerably diminished in germany. in 1908 only 20,000 emigrants left our country; further, according to the statistics of the workmen's unions, only 4.4 per cent, of their members were unemployed, whereas in the same year 336,000 persons emigrated from great britain and 10 per cent. (in france it was as much as 11.4 per cent.) of members of workmen's unions were unemployed. against this brilliant prosperity must be placed a very large national debt, both in the empire and in the separate states. the german empire in the year 1910 had 5,016,655,500 marks debt, and in addition the national debt of the separate states on april 1, 1910, reached in- marks prussia 9,421,770,800 bavaria 2,165,942,900 saxony 893,042,600 würtemberg 606,042,800 baden 557,859,000 hesse 428,664,400 alsace-lorraine 31,758,100 hamburg 684,891,200 lübeck 666,888,400 bremen 263,431,400 against these debts may be placed a considerable property in domains, forests, mines, and railways. the stock capital of the state railways reached, on march 31, 1908, in millions of marks, in- marks, prussia (hesse) 9,888 bavaria 1,694 saxony 1,035 würtemburg 685 baden 727 alsace-lorraine 724 --a grand total, including the smaller state systems, of 15,062 milliard marks. this sum has since risen considerably, and reached at the end of 1911 for prussia alone 11,050 milliards. nevertheless, the national debts signify a very heavy burden, which works the more disadvantageously because these debts are almost all contracted in the country, and presses the more heavily because the communes are also often greatly in debt. the debt of the prussian towns and country communes of 10,000 inhabitants and upwards alone amounts to 3,000 million marks, in the whole empire to some 5,000 million marks. this means that interest yearly has to be paid to the value of 150 million marks, so that many communes, especially in the east and in the western industrial regions, are compelled to raise additional taxation to the extent of 200, 300, or even 400 per cent. the taxes also are not at all equally distributed according to capacity to pay them. the main burden rests on the middle class; the large fortunes are much less drawn upon. some sources of wealth are not touched by taxation, as, for example, the speculative income not obtained by carrying on any business, but by speculations on the stock exchange, which cannot be taxed until it is converted into property. nevertheless, the german nation is quite in a position to pay for the military preparations, which it certainly requires for the protection and the fulfilment of its duties in policy and civilization, so soon as appropriate and comprehensive measures are taken and the opposing parties can resolve to sacrifice scruples as to principles on the altar of patriotism. the dispute about the so-called imperial finance reform has shown how party interests and selfishness rule the national representation; it was not pleasant to see how each tried to shift the burden to his neighbour's shoulders in order to protect himself against financial sacrifices. it must be supposed, therefore, that similar efforts will be made in the future, and that fact must be reckoned with. but a considerable and rapid rise of the imperial revenue is required if we wish to remain equal to the situation and not to abandon the future of our country without a blow. under these conditions i see no other effectual measure but the speedy introduction of the _reichserbrecht_ (imperial right of succession), in order to satisfy the urgent necessity. this source of revenue would oppress no class in particular, but would hit all alike, and would furnish the requisite means both to complete our armament and to diminish our burden of debt. if the collateral relations, with exception of brothers and sisters, depended on mention in the will for any claim--that is to say, if they could only inherit when a testimentary disposition existed in their favour--and if, in absence of such disposition, the state stepped in as heir, a yearly revenue of 500 millions, according to a calculation based on official material, could be counted upon. this is not the place to examine this calculation more closely. even if it is put at too high a figure, which i doubt, yet the yield of such a tax would be very large under any circumstances. since this, like every tax on an inheritance, is a tax on capital--that is to say, it is directly derived from invested capital--it is in the nature of things that the proceeds should be devoted in the first instance to the improvement of the financial situation, especially to paying off debts. otherwise there would be the danger of acting like a private gentleman who lives on his capital. this idea is also to be recommended because the proceeds of the tax are not constant, but liable to fluctuations. it would be advisable to devote the proceeds principally in this way, and to allow a part to go towards extinguishing the debt of the communes, whose financial soundness is extremely important. this fundamental standpoint does not exclude the possibility that in a national crisis the tax may be exceptionally applied to other important purposes, as for example to the completion of our armaments on land and sea. there are two objections--one economic, the other ethical--which may be urged against this right of the state or the empire to inherit. it is argued that the proceeds of the tax were drawn from the national wealth, that the state would grow richer, the people poorer, and that in course of time capital would be united in the hand of the state, that the independent investor would be replaced by the official, and thus the ideal of socialism would be realized. secondly, the requirement that relations, in order to inherit, must be specially mentioned in the will, is thought to be a menace to the coherence of the family. "according to our prevailing law, the man who wishes to deprive his family of his fortune must do some positive act. he must make a will, in which he bequeathes the property to third persons, charitable institutions, or to any other object. it is thus brought before his mind that his natural heirs are his relations, his kin, and that he must make a will if he wishes to exclude his legal heirs. it is impressed upon him that he is interfering by testamentary disposition in the natural course of things, that he is wilfully altering it. the imperial right of succession is based on the idea that the community stands nearer to the individual than his family. this is in its inmost significance a socialistic trait. the socialistic state, which deals with a society made up of atoms, in which every individual is freed from the bonds of family, while all are alike bound by a uniform socialistic tie, might put forward a claim of this sort."[f] [footnote f: bolko v. katte, in the _kreuzzeitung_ of november 18, 1910.] both objections are unconvincing. so long as the state uses the proceeds of the inheritances in order to liquidate debts and other outgoings, which would have to be met otherwise, the devolution of such inheritances on the state is directly beneficial to all members of the state, because they have to pay less taxes. legislation could easily prevent any accumulation of capital in the hands of the state, since, if such results followed, this right of succession might be restricted, or the dreaded socialization of the state be prevented in other ways. the science of finance could unquestionably arrange that. there is no necessity to push the scheme to its extreme logical conclusion. the so-called ethical objections are still less tenable. if a true sense of family ties exists, the owner of property will not fail to make a will, which is an extremely simple process under the present law. if such ties are weak, they are assuredly not strengthened by the right of certain next of kin to be the heirs of a man from whom they kept aloof in life. indeed, the crown's right of inheritance would produce probably the result that more wills were made, and thus the sense of family ties would actually be strengthened. the "primitive german sense of law," which finds expression in the present form of the law of succession, and is summed up in the notion that the family is nearer to the individual than the state, has so far borne the most mischievous results. it is the root from which the disruption of germany, the particularism and the defective patriotism of our nation, have grown up. it is well that in the coming generation some check on this movement should be found, and that the significance of the state for the individual, no less than for the family, should be thoroughly understood. these more or less theoretical objections are certainly not weighty enough to negative a proposal like that of introducing this imperial right of succession if the national danger demands direct and rapid help and the whole future of germany is at stake. if, therefore, no other proposals are forthcoming by which an equally large revenue can be obtained; the immediate reintroduction of such a law of succession appears a necessity, and will greatly benefit our sorely-pressed country. help is urgently needed, and there would be good prospects of such law being passed in the reichstag if the government does not disguise the true state of the political position. political preparations are not less essential than financial. we see that all the nations of the world are busily securing themselves against the attack of more powerful opponents by alliances or _ententes_, and are winning allies in order to carry out their own objects. efforts are also often made to stir up ill-feeling between the other states, so as to have a free hand for private schemes. this is the policy on which england has built up her power in europe, in order to continue her world policy undisturbed. she cannot be justly blamed for this; for even if she has acted with complete disregard of political morality, she has built up a mighty empire, which is the object of all policy, and has secured to the english people the possibility of the most ambitious careers. we must not deceive ourselves as to the principles of this english policy. we must realize to ourselves that it is guided exclusively by unscrupulous selfishness, that it shrinks from no means of accomplishing its aims, and thus shows admirable diplomatic skill. there must be no self-deception on the point that political arrangements have only a qualified value, that they are always concluded with a tacit reservation. every treaty of alliance presupposes the _rebus sic stantibus_; for since it must satisfy the interests of each contracting party, it clearly can only hold as long as those interests are really benefited. this is a political principle that cannot be disputed. nothing can compel a state to act counter to its own interests, on which those of its citizens depend. this consideration, however, imposes on the honest state the obligation of acting with the utmost caution when concluding a political arrangement and defining its limits in time, so as to avoid being forced into a breach of its word. conditions may arise which are more powerful than the most honourable intentions. the country's own interests--considered, of course, in the highest ethical sense--must then turn the scale. "frederick the great was all his life long charged with treachery, because no treaty or alliance could ever induce him to renounce the right of free self-determination."[a] the great statesman, therefore, will conclude political _ententes_ or alliances, on whose continuance he wishes to be able to reckon, only if he is convinced that each of the contracting parties will find such an arrangement to his true and unqualified advantage. such an alliance is, as i have shown in another place, the austro-german. the two states, from the military no less than from the political aspect, are in the happiest way complements of each other. the german theatre of war in the east will be protected by austria from any attempt to turn our flank on the south, while we can guard the northern frontier of austria and outflank any russian attack on galicia. alliances in which each contracting party has different interests will never hold good under all conditions, and therefore cannot represent a permanent political system. "there is no alliance or agreement in the world that can be regarded as effective if it is not fastened by the bond of the common and reciprocal interests; if in any treaty the advantage is all on one side and the other gets nothing, this disproportion destroys the obligation." these are the words of frederick the great, our foremost political teacher _pace_ bismarck. we must not be blinded in politics by personal wishes and hopes, but must look things calmly in the face, and try to forecast the probable attitude of the other states by reference to their own interests. bismarck tells us that "illusions are the greatest danger to the diplomatist. he must take for granted that the other, like himself, seeks nothing but his own advantage." it will prove waste labour to attempt to force a great state by diplomatic arrangements to actions or an attitude which oppose its real interests. when a crisis arises, the weight of these interests will irresistibly turn the scale. when napoleon iii. planned war against prussia, he tried to effect an alliance with austria and italy, and archduke albert was actually in paris to conclude the military negotiations.[b] these probably were going on, as the french general lebrun was in vienna on the same errand. both countries left france in the lurch so soon as the first prussian flag flew victoriously on the heights of the geisberg. a statesman less biassed than napoleon would have foreseen this, since neither austria nor italy had sufficient interests at stake to meddle in such a war under unfavourable conditions. [footnote b: when colonel stoffel, the well-known french military attaché in berlin, returned to paris, and was received by the emperor, and pointed out the danger of the position and the probable perfection of prussia's war preparations, the emperor declared that he was better informed. he proceeded to take from his desk a memoir on the conditions of the prussian army apparently sent to him by archduke albert, which came to quite different conclusions. the emperor had made the facts therein stated the basis of his political and military calculations. (communications of colonel stoffel to the former minister of war, v. verdy, who put them at the service of the author.)] france, in a similar spirit of selfish national interests, unscrupulously brushed aside the conventions of algeciras, which did not satisfy her. she will equally disregard all further diplomatic arrangements intended to safeguard germany's commercial interests in morocco so soon as she feels strong enough, since it is clearly her interest to be undisputed master in morocco and to exploit that country for herself. france, when she no longer fears the german arms, will not allow any official document in the world to guarantee german commerce and german enterprise any scope in morocco; and from the french standpoint she is right. the political behaviour of a state is governed only by its own interests, and the natural antagonism and grouping of the different great powers must be judged by that standard. there is no doubt, however, that it is extraordinarily difficult to influence the political grouping with purely selfish purposes; such influence becomes possible only by the genuine endeavour to further the interests of the state with which closer relations are desirable and to cause actual injury to its opponents. a policy whose aim is to avoid quarrel with all, but to further the interests of none, runs the danger of displeasing everyone and of being left isolated in the hour of danger. a successful policy, therefore, cannot be followed without taking chances and facing risks. it must be conscious of its goal, and keep this goal steadily in view. it must press every change of circumstances and all unforeseen occurrences into the service of its own ideas. above all things, it must he ready to seize the psychological moment, and take bold action if the general position of affairs indicates the possibility of realizing political ambitions or of waging a necessary war under favourable conditions. "the great art of policy," writes frederick the great, "is not to swim against the stream, but to turn all events to one's own profit. it consists rather in deriving advantage from favourable conjunctures than in preparing such conjunctures." even in his rheinsberg days he acknowledged the principle to which he adhered all his life: "wisdom is well qualified to keep what one possesses; but boldness alone can acquire." "i give you a problem to solve," he said to his councillors when the death of emperor charles vi. was announced. "when you have the advantage, are you to use it or not?" definite, clearly thought out political goals, wise foresight, correct summing up alike of one's own and of foreign interests, accurate estimation of the forces of friends and foes, bold advocacy of the interests, not only of the mother-country, but also of allies, and daring courage when the critical hour strikes--these are the great laws of political and military success. the political preparation for war is included in them. he who is blinded by the semblance of power and cannot resolve to act, will never be able to make political preparations for the inevitable war with any success. "the braggart feebleness which travesties strength, the immoral claim which swaggers in the sanctity of historical right, the timidity which shelters its indecision behind empty and formal excuses, never were more despised than by the great prussian king," so h. v. treitschke tells us. "old fritz" must be our model in this respect, and must teach us with remorseless realism so to guide our policy that the position of the political world may be favourable for us, and that we do not miss the golden opportunity. it is an abuse of language if our unenterprising age tries to stigmatize that energetic policy which pursued positive aims as an adventurist policy. that title can only be given to the policy which sets up personal ideals and follows them without just estimation of the real current of events, and so literally embarks on incalculable adventures, as napoleon did in mexico, and italy in abyssinia. a policy taking all factors into consideration, and realizing these great duties of the state, which are an historical legacy and are based on the nature of things, is justified when it boldly reckons with the possibility of a war. this is at once apparent if one considers the result to the state when war is forced on it under disadvantageous circumstances. i need only instance 1806, and the terrible catastrophe to which the feeble, unworthy peace policy of prussia led. in this respect the russo-japanese war speaks a clear language. japan had made the most judicious preparations possible, political as well as military, for the war, when she concluded the treaty with england and assured herself of the benevolent neutrality of america and china. her policy, no less circumspect than bold, did not shrink from beginning at the psychological moment the war which was essential for the attainment of her political ends. russia was not prepared in either respect. she had been forced into a hostile position with germany from her alliance with france, and therefore dared not denude her west front in order to place sufficient forces in the far east. internal conditions, moreover, compelled her to retain large masses of soldiers in the western part of the empire. a large proportion of the troops put into the field against japan were therefore only inferior reserves. none of the preparations required by the political position had been made, although the conflict had long been seen to be inevitable. thus the war began with disastrous retreats, and was never conducted with any real vigour. there is no doubt that things would have run a different course had russia made resolute preparations for the inevitable struggle and had opened the campaign by the offensive. england, too, was politically surprised by the boer war, and consequently had not taken any military precautions at all adequate to her aims or suited to give weight to political demands. two points stand out clearly from this consideration. first of all there is a reciprocal relation between the military and political preparations for war. proper political preparations for war are only made if the statesman is supported by a military force strong enough to give weight to his demands, and if he ventures on nothing which he cannot carry through by arms. at the same time the army must be developed on a scale which takes account of the political projects. the obligation imposed on the general to stand aloof from politics in peace as well as in war only holds good in a limited sense. the war minister and the head of the general staff must be kept _au courant_ with the all-fluctuating phases of policy; indeed, they must be allowed a certain influence over policy, in order to adapt their measures to its needs, and are entitled to call upon the statesman to act if the military situation is peculiarly favourable. at the same time the minister who conducts foreign policy must, on his side, never lose sight of what is in a military sense practicable; he must be constantly kept informed of the precise degree in which army and navy are ready for war, since he must never aim at plans which cannot, if necessary, be carried out by war. a veiled or open threat of war is the only means the statesman has of carrying out his aims; for in the last resort it is always the realization of the possible consequences of a war which induces the opponent to give in. where this means is renounced, a policy of compromise results, which satisfies neither party and seldom produces a permanent settlement; while if a statesman announces the possibility of recourse to the arbitrament of arms, his threat must be no empty one, but must be based on real power and firm determination if it is not to end in political and moral defeat. the second point, clearly brought before us, is that a timid and hesitating policy, which leaves the initiative to the opponent and shrinks from ever carrying out its purpose with warlike methods, always creates an unfavourable military position. history, as well as theory, tells us by countless instances that a far-seeing, energetic policy, which holds its own in the face of all antagonism, always reacts favourably on the military situation. in this respect war and policy obey the same laws; great results can only be expected where political and military foresight and resolution join hands. if we regard from this standpoint the political preparation for the next war which germany will have to fight, we must come to this conclusion: the more unfavourable the political conjuncture the greater the necessity for a determined, energetic policy if favourable conditions are to be created for the inevitably threatening war. so long as we had only to reckon on the possibility of a war on two fronts against france and russia, and could count on help in this war from all the three parties to the triple alliance, the position was comparatively simple. there were, then, of course, a series of various strategical possibilities; but the problem could be reduced to a small compass: strategical attack on the one side, strategical defence on the other, or, if the austrian army was taken into calculation, offensive action on both sides. to-day the situation is different. we must consider england, as well as france and russia. we must expect not only an attack by sea on our north sea coasts, but a landing of english forces on the continent of europe and a violation of belgo-dutch neutrality by our enemies. it is also not inconceivable that england may land troops in schleswig or jutland, and try to force denmark into war with us. it seems further questionable whether austria will be in a position to support us with all her forces, whether she will not rather be compelled to safeguard her own particular interests on her south and south-east frontiers. an attack by france through switzerland is also increasingly probable, if a complete reorganization of the grouping of the european states is effected. finally, we should be seriously menaced in the baltic if russia gains time to reconstruct her fleet. all these unfavourable conditions will certainly not occur simultaneously, but under certain not impossible political combinations they are more or less probable, and must be taken into account from the military aspect. the military situation thus created is very unfavourable. if under such uncertain conditions it should be necessary to place the army on a war footing, only one course is left: we must meet the situation by calling out strategic reserves, which must be all the stronger since the political conditions are so complicated and obscure, and those opponents so strong on whose possible share in the war we must count. the strategic reserve will be to some extent a political one also. a series of protective measures, necessary in any case, would have to be at once set on foot, but the mass of the army would not be directed to any definite point until the entire situation was clear and all necessary steps could be considered. until that moment the troops of the strategic reserve would be left in their garrisons or collected along the railway lines and at railway centres in such a way that, when occasion arose, they could be despatched in any direction. on the same principle the rolling-stock on the lines would have to be kept in readiness, the necessary time-tables for the different transport arrangements drawn up, and stores secured in safe depots on as many different lines of march as possible. previous arrangements for unloading at the railway stations must be made in accordance with the most various political prospects. we should in any case be forced to adopt a waiting policy, a strategic defensive, which under present conditions is extremely unfavourable; we should not be able to prevent an invasion by one or other of our enemies. no proof is necessary to show that a war thus begun cannot hold out good prospects of success. the very bravest army must succumb if led against a crushingly superior force under most unfavourable conditions. a military investigation of the situation shows that a plan of campaign, such as would be required here on the inner line, presents, under the modern system of "mass" armies, tremendous difficulties, and has to cope with strategic conditions of the most unfavourable kind. the disadvantages of such a situation can only be avoided by a policy which makes it feasible to act on the offensive, and, if possible, to overthrow the one antagonist before the other can actively interfere. on this initiative our safety now depends, just as it did in the days of frederick the great. we must look this truth boldly in the face. of course, it can be urged that an attack is just what would produce an unfavourable position for us, since it creates the conditions on which the franco-russian alliance would be brought into activity. if we attacked france or russia, the ally would be compelled to bring help, and we should be in a far worse position than if we had only one enemy to fight. let it then be the task of our diplomacy so to shuffle the cards that we may be attacked by france, for then there would be reasonable prospect that russia for a time would remain neutral. this view undoubtedly deserves attention, but we must not hope to bring about this attack by waiting passively. neither france nor russia nor england need to attack in order to further their interests. so long as we shrink from attack, they can force us to submit to their will by diplomacy, as the upshot of the morocco negotiations shows. if we wish to bring about an attack by our opponents, we must initiate an active policy which, without attacking france, will so prejudice her interests or those of england, that both these states would feel themselves compelled to attack us. opportunities for such procedure are offered both in africa and in europe, and anyone who has attentively studied prominent political utterances can easily satisfy himself on this point. in opposition to these ideas the view is frequently put forward that we should wait quietly and let time fight for us, since from the force of circumstances many prizes will fall into our laps which we have now to struggle hard for. unfortunately such politicians always forget to state clearly and definitely what facts are really working in their own interests and what advantages will accrue to us therefrom. such political wisdom is not to be taken seriously, for it has no solid foundation. we must reckon with the definitely given conditions, and realize that timidity and _laissez-aller_ have never led to great results. it is impossible for anyone not close at hand to decide what steps and measures are imposed upon our foreign policy, in order to secure a favourable political situation should the pending questions so momentous to germany's existence come to be settled by an appeal to arms. this requires a full and accurate knowledge of the political and diplomatic position which i do not possess. one thing only can be justly said: beyond the confusion and contradictions of the present situation we must keep before us the great issues which will not lose their importance as time goes on. italy, which has used a favourable moment in order to acquire settlements for her very rapidly increasing population (487,000 persons emigrated from italy in 1908), can never combine with france and england to fulfil her political ambition of winning the supremacy in the mediterranean, since both these states themselves claim this place. the effort to break up the triple alliance has momentarily favoured the italian policy of expansion. but this incident does not alter in the least the fact that the true interest of italy demands adherence to the triple alliance, which alone can procure her tunis and biserta. the importance of these considerations will continue to be felt. turkey also cannot permanently go hand-in-hand with england, france, and russia, whose policy must always aim directly at the annihilation of present-day turkey. islam has now as ever her most powerful enemies in england and russia, and will, sooner or later, be forced to join the central european alliance, although we committed the undoubted blunder of abandoning her in morocco. there is no true community of interests between russia and england; in central asia, in persia, as in the mediterranean, their ambitions clash in spite of all conventions, and the state of affairs in japan and china is forcing on a crisis which is vital to russian interests and to some degree ties her hands. all these matters open out a wide vista to german statesmanship, if it is equal to its task, and make the general outlook less gloomy than recent political events seemed to indicate. and, then, our policy can count on a factor of strength such as no other state possesses--on an army whose military efficiency, i am convinced, cannot be sufficiently valued. not that it is perfect in all its arrangements and details. we have amply shown the contrary. but the spirit which animates the troops, the ardour of attack, the heroism, the loyalty which prevail amongst them, justify the highest expectations. i am certain that if they are soon to be summoned to arms, their exploits will astonish the world, provided only that they are led with skill and determination. the german nation, too--of this i am equally convinced--will rise to the height of its great duty. a mighty force which only awaits the summons sleeps in its soul. whoever to-day can awaken the slumbering idealism of this people, and rouse the national enthusiasm by placing before its eyes a worthy and comprehensible ambition, will be able to sweep this people on in united strength to the highest efforts and sacrifices, and will achieve a truly magnificent result. in the consciousness of being able at any time to call up these forces, and in the sure trust that they will not fail in the hour of danger, our government can firmly tread the path which leads to a splendid future; but it will not be able to liberate all the forces of germany unless it wins her confidence by successful action and takes for its motto the brave words of goethe: "bid defiance to every power! ever valiant, never cower! to the brave soldier open flies the golden gate of paradise." epilogue after i had practically finished the preceding pages, the franco-german convention as to morocco and the congo compensation were published; the turko-italian war broke out; the revolution in china assumed dimensions which point to the probability of new disorders in eastern asia; and, lastly, it was known that not merely an _entente cordiale,_ but a real offensive and defensive alliance, aimed at us, exists between france and england. such an alliance does not seem to be concluded permanently between the two states, but clearly every possibility of war has been foreseen and provided for. i have been able to insert all the needful references to the two first occurrences in my text; but the light which has lately been cast on the anglo-french conventions compels me to make a few concluding remarks. the german government, from important reasons which cannot be discussed, have considered it expedient to avoid, under present conditions, a collision with england or france at any cost. it has accomplished this object by the arrangement with france, and it may be, of course, assumed that no further concessions were attainable, since from the first it was determined not to fight at present. only from this aspect can the attitude of the government towards france and england be considered correct. it is quite evident from her whole attitude that great britain was resolved to take the chance of a war. her immediate preparations for war, the movements of her ships, and the attack of english high finance on the foremost german banking establishments, which took place at this crisis, exclude all doubt on the point. we have probably obtained the concessions made by france only because she thought the favourable moment for the long-planned war had not yet come. probably she will wait until, on the one hand, the triple alliance is still more loosened and russia's efficiency by sea and land is more complete, and until, on the other hand, her own african army has been so far strengthened that it can actively support the rhine army. this idea may sufficiently explain the morocco policy of the government, but there can be no doubt, if the convention with france be examined, that it does not satisfy fully our justifiable wishes. it will not be disputed that the commercial and political arrangement as regards morocco creates favourable conditions of competition for our manufacturers, _entrepreneurs_ and merchants; that the acquisition of territory in the french congo has a certain and perhaps not inconsiderable value in the future, more especially if we succeed in obtaining the spanish _enclave_ on the coast, which alone will make the possession really valuable. on the other hand, what we obtained can never be regarded as a sufficient compensation for what we were compelled to abandon. i have emphasized in another place the fact that the commercial concessions which france has made are valuable only so long as our armed force guarantees that they are observed; the acquisitions in the congo region must, as the imperial chancellor announced in his speech of november 9, 1911, be regarded, not only from the point of view of their present, but of their future value; but, unfortunately, they seem from this precise point of view very inferior to morocco, for there can be no doubt that in the future morocco will be a far more valuable possession for france than the congo region for germany, especially if that spanish _enclave_ cannot be obtained. the access to the ubangi and the congo has at present a more or less theoretical value, and could be barred in case of war with us by a few companies of senegalese. it would be mere self-deception if we would see in the colonial arrangement which we have effected with france the paving of the way for a better understanding with this state generally. it certainly cannot be assumed that france will abandon the policy of _revanche_, which she has carried out for decades with energy and unflinching consistency, at a moment when she is sure of being supported by england, merely because she has from opportunist considerations come to terms with us about a desolate corner of africa. no importance can be attached to this idea, in spite of the views expounded by the imperial chancellor, v. bethmann-hollweg, in his speech of november 9, 1911. we need not, therefore, regard this convention as definitive. it is as liable to revision as the algeciras treaty, and indeed offers, in this respect, the advantage that it creates new opportunities of friction with france. the acquisition of territory in the congo region means at first an actual loss of power to germany; it can only be made useful by the expenditure of large sums of money, and every penny which is withdrawn from our army and navy signifies a weakening of our political position. but, it seems to me, we must, when judging the question as a whole, not merely calculate the concrete value of the objects of the exchange, but primarily its political range and its consequences for our policy in its entirety. from this standpoint it is patent that the whole arrangement means a lowering of our prestige in the world, for we have certainly surrendered our somewhat proudly announced pretensions to uphold the sovereignty of morocco, and have calmly submitted to the violent infraction of the algeciras convention by france, although we had weighty interests at stake. if in the text of the morocco treaty such action was called an explanation of the treaty of 1909, and thus the notion was spread that our policy had followed a consistent line, such explanation is tantamount to a complete change of front. an additional political disadvantage is that our relations with islam have changed for the worse by the abandonment of morocco. i cannot, of course, judge whether our diplomatic relations with turkey have suffered, but there can be little doubt that we have lost prestige in the whole mohammedan world, which is a matter of the first importance for us. it is also a reasonable assumption that the morocco convention precipitated the action of italy in tripoli, and thus shook profoundly the solidity of the triple alliance. the increase of power which france obtained through the acquisition of morocco made the italians realize the importance of no longer delaying to strengthen their position in the mediterranean. the worst result of our morocco policy is, however, undoubtedly the deep rift which has been formed in consequence between the government and the mass of the nationalist party, the loss of confidence among large sections of the nation, extending even to classes of society which, in spite of their regular opposition to the government, had heartily supported it as the representative of the empire abroad. in this weakening of public confidence, which is undisguisedly shown both in the press and in the reichstag (although some slight change for the better has followed the latest declarations of the government), lies the great disadvantage of the franco-german understanding; for in the critical times which we shall have to face, the government of the german empire must be able to rely upon the unanimity of the whole people if it is to ride the storm. the unveiling of the anglo-french agreement as to war removes all further doubt on this point. the existence of such relations between england and france confirms the view of the political situation which i have tried to bring out in the various chapters of this book. they show that we are confronted by a firm phalanx of foes who, at the very least, are determined to hinder any further expansion of germany's power. with this object, they have done their best, not unsuccessfully, to break up the triple alliance, and they will not shrink from a war. the english ministers have left no doubt on this point.[a] [footnote a: cf. speech of sir e. grey on november 27, 1911.] the official statements of the english statesmen have, in spite of all pacific assurances, shown clearly that the paths of english policy lead in the direction which i have indicated. the warning against aggressive intentions issued to germany, and the assurance that england would support her allies if necessary with the sword, clearly define the limits that germany may not transgress if she wishes to avoid war with england. the meaning of the english minister's utterances is not altered by his declaration that england would raise no protest against new acquisitions by germany in africa. england knows too well that every new colonial acquisition means primarily a financial loss to germany, and that we could not long defend our colonies in case of war. they form objects which can be taken from us if we are worsted. meanwhile a clear commentary on the minister's speech may be found in the fact that once more the budget includes a considerable increase in the naval estimates. in this position of affairs it would be more than ever foolish to count on any change in english policy. even english attempts at a _rapprochement_ must not blind us as to the real situation. we may at most use them to delay the necessary and inevitable war until we may fairly imagine we have some prospect of success. if the imperial government was of the opinion that it was necessary in the present circumstances to avoid war, still the situation in the world generally shows there can only be a short respite before we once more face the question whether we will draw the sword for our position in the world or renounce such position once and for all. we must not in any case wait until our opponents have completed their arming and decide that the hour of attack has come. we must use the respite we still enjoy for the most energetic warlike preparation, according to the principles which i have already laid down. all national parties must rally round the government, which has to represent our dearest interests abroad. the willing devotion of the people must aid it in its bold determination and help to pave the way to military and political success, without carrying still further the disastrous consequences of the morocco policy by unfruitful and frequently unjustified criticism and by thus widening the gulf between government and people. we may expect from the government that it will prosecute the military and political preparation for war with the energy which the situation demands, in clear knowledge of the dangers threatening us, but also, in correct appreciation of our national needs and of the warlike strength of our people, and that it will not let any conventional scruples distract it from this object. repeal of the five years act, reconstruction of the army on an enlarged basis, accelerated progress in our naval armaments, preparation of sufficient financial means--these are requirements which the situation calls for. new and creative ideas must fructify our policy, and lead it to the happy goal. the political situation offers many points on which to rest our lever. england, too, is in a most difficult position. the conflict of her interests with russia's in persia and in the newly arisen dardanelles question, as well as the power of islam in the most important parts of her colonial empire, are the subjects of permanent anxiety in great britain. attention has already been called to the significance and difficulty of her relations with north america. france also has considerable obstacles still to surmount in her african empire, before it can yield its full fruits. the disturbances in the far east will probably fetter russia's forces, and england's interests will suffer in sympathy. these are all conditions which an energetic and far-sighted german policy can utilize in order to influence the general political situation in the interests of our fatherland. if people and government stand together, resolved to guard the honour of germany and make every sacrifice of blood and treasure to insure the future of our country and our state, we can face approaching events with confidence in our rights and in our strength; then we need not fear to fight for our position in the world, but we may, with ernst moritz arndt, raise our hands to heaven and cry to god: "from the height of the starry sky may thy ringing sword flash bright; let every craven cry be silenced by thy might!" note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 36155-h.htm or 36155-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36155/36155-h/36155-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/36155/36155-h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by equal signs was in bold face in the original (=bold=). characters enclosed by curly braces after a carat character were superscripted in the original (example: 13^{th}). [illustration: the great fight.] the invasion by wm. le queux london: george newnes, ltd. preface. "i sometimes despair of the country ever becoming alive to the danger of the unpreparedness of our present position until too late to prevent some fatal catastrophe." this was the keynote of a solemn warning made in the house of lords by earl roberts. his lordship, whilst drawing attention to our present inadequate forces, strongly urged that action should be taken in accordance with the recommendations of the elgin commission that "no military system could be considered satisfactory which did not contain powers of expansion outside the limit of the regular forces of the crown." "the lessons of the late war appear to have been forgotten. the one prevailing idea seems to be," said earl roberts, "to cut down our military expenditure without reference to our increased responsibilities and our largely augmented revenue. history tells us in the plainest terms that an empire which cannot defend its own possessions must inevitably perish." and with this view both lord milner and the marquis of lansdowne concurred. but surely this is not enough. if we are to retain our position as the first nation of the world we must be prepared to defend any raid made upon our shores. the object of this book is to illustrate our utter unpreparedness for war from a military standpoint; to show how, under certain conditions which may easily occur, england can be successfully invaded by germany; and to present a picture of the ruin which must inevitably fall upon us on the evening of that not far-distant day. ever since lord roberts formulated his plans for the establishment of rifle-clubs i have been deeply interested in the movement: and after a conversation with that distinguished soldier the idea occurred to me to write a forecast, based upon all the available military knowledge--which would bring home to the british public vividly and forcibly what really would occur were an enemy suddenly to appear in our midst. at the outset it was declared by the strategists i consulted to be impossible. no such book could ever be written, for, according to them, the mass of technical detail was far too great to digest and present in an intelligible manner to the public. lord roberts, however, gave me encouragement. the skeleton scheme of the manner in which england could be invaded by germany was submitted to a number of the highest authorities on strategy, whose names, however, i am not permitted to divulge, and after many consultations, much criticism, and considerable difference of opinion, the "general idea," with amendment after amendment, was finally adopted. that, however, was only a mere preliminary. upon questions of tactics each tactician consulted held a different view, and each criticised adversely the other's suggestions. one way alone remained open--namely, to take the facts exactly as they stood, add the additional strength of the opposing nations as they at present are, and then draw logical conclusions. this, aided by experts, was done: and after many days of argument with the various authorities, we succeeded in getting them in accord as to the general practicability of an invasion. before putting pen to paper it was necessary to reconnoitre carefully the whole of england from the thames to the tyne. this i did by means of a motor-car, travelling 10,000 miles of all kinds of roads, and making a tour extending over four months. each town, all the points of vantage, military positions, all the available landing places on the coast, all railway connections, and telephone and telegraph communications, were carefully noted for future reference. with the assistance of certain well-known military experts, the battlefields were carefully gone over and the positions marked upon the ordnance map. thus, through four months we pushed on day by day collecting information and material, sometimes in the big cities, sometimes in the quietest and remotest hamlets, all of which was carefully tabulated for use. whatever critics may say, and however their opinions may differ, it can only be pointed out, first, that the "general idea" of the scheme is in accordance with the expressed and published opinions of the first strategists of to-day, and that, as far as the forecast of events is concerned, it has been written from a first-hand knowledge of the local colour of each of the scenes described. the enemy's proclamations reproduced are practically copies of those issued by the germans during the war of 1870. that the experts and myself will probably be condemned as alarmists and denounced for revealing information likely to be of assistance to an enemy goes without saying. indeed, an attempt was made in the house of commons to suppress its publication altogether. mr. r. c. lehmann, who asked a question of the prime minister, declared that it was "calculated to prejudice our relations with the other powers," while the late sir h. campbell-bannerman, in a subsequent letter apologising to me for condemning in the house a work he had not read, repeated that it was likely to "produce irritation abroad and might conceivably alarm the more ignorant public at home." such a reflection, cast by the late prime minister upon the british nation was, to say the least, curious, yet it only confirmed the truth that the government are strenuously seeking to conceal from our people the appalling military weakness and the consequent danger to which the country is constantly open. to be weak is to invite war: to be strong is to prevent it. to arouse our country to a sense of its own lamentable insecurity is the object of this volume, which is somewhat compressed from the form in which it originally appeared, and that other nations besides ourselves are interested in england's grave peril is proved by the fact that it has already been published in the german, french, spanish, danish, russian, italian, and even japanese languages. william le queux. speaking in the house of lords on the 10th july 1905, i said:--"it is to the people of the country i appeal to take up the question of the army in a sensible practical manner. for the sake of all they hold dear, let them bring home to themselves what would be the condition of great britain if it were to lose its wealth, its power, its position." the catastrophe that may happen if we still remain in our present state of unpreparedness is visibly and forcibly illustrated in mr. le queux's new book which i recommend to the perusal of every one who has the welfare of the british empire at heart. 29. nov. 1905 roberts, fm the invasion. book i. the attack. chapter i. the surprise. two of the myriad of london's nightworkers were walking down fleet street together soon after dawn on sunday morning, 2nd september. the sun had not yet risen. that main artery of london traffic, with its irregular rows of closed shops and newspaper offices, was quiet and pleasant in the calm, mystic light before the falling of the smoke-pall. only at early morning does the dear old city look its best; in that one quiet, sweet hour when the night's toil has ended and the day's has not yet begun. only in that brief interval at the birth of day, when the rose tints of the sky glow slowly into gold, does the giant metropolis repose--at least, as far as its business streets are concerned--for at five o'clock the toiling millions begin to again pour in from all points of the compass, and the stress and storm of london at once recommences. and in that hour of silent charm the two grey-bearded sub-editors, though engaged in offices of rival newspapers were making their way homeward to dulwich to spend sunday in a well-earned rest, and were chatting "shop," as press men do. "i suppose you had the same trouble to get that yarmouth story through?" asked fergusson, the news-editor of the "dispatch," as they crossed whitefriars street. "we got about half a column, and then the wire shut down." "telegraph or telephone?" inquired baines, who was four or five years younger than his friend. "we were using both--to make sure." "so were we. it was a rattling good story--the robbery was mysterious, to say the least--but we didn't get more than half of it. something's wrong with the line, evidently," baines said. "if it were not such a perfect autumn morning, i should be inclined to think there'd been a storm somewhere." "yes--funny, wasn't it?" remarked the other. "a shame we haven't the whole story, for it was a first-class one, and we wanted something. did you put it on the contents-bill?" "no, because we couldn't get the finish. i tried in every way--rang up the central news, p.a., exchange telegraph company, tried to get through to yarmouth on the trunk, and spent half an hour or so pottering about, but the reply from all the agencies, from everywhere, in fact, was the same--the line was interrupted." "just our case. i telephoned to the post office, but the reply came back that the lines were evidently down." "well, it certainly looks as though there'd been a storm, but----" and baines glanced at the bright, clear sky overhead, just flushed by the bursting sun--"there are certainly no traces of it." "there's often a storm on the coast when it's quite still in london, my dear fellow," remarked his friend wisely. "that's all very well. but when all communication with a big place like yarmouth is suddenly cut off, as it has been, i can't help suspecting that something has happened which we ought to know." "you're perhaps right, after all," fergusson said. "i wonder if anything has happened. we don't want to be called back to the office, either of us. my assistant, henderson, whom i've left in charge, rings me up over any mare's nest. the trunk telephones all come into the post office exchange up in carter lane. why not look in there before we go home? it won't take us a quarter of an hour, and we have several trains home from ludgate hill." baines looked at his watch. like his companion, he had no desire to be called back to his office after getting out to dulwich, and yet he was in no mood to go making reporter's inquiries. "i don't think i'll go. it's sure to be nothing, my dear fellow," he said. "besides, i have a beastly headache. i had a heavy night's work. one of my men is away ill." "well, at any rate, i think i'll go," fergusson said. "don't blame me if you get called back for a special edition with a terrible storm, great loss of life, and all that sort of thing. so long." and, smiling, he waved his hand and parted from his friend in the booking office of ludgate hill station. quickening his pace, he hurried through the office, and, passing out by the back, ascended the steep, narrow street until he reached the post office telephone exchange in carter lane, where, presenting his card, he asked to see the superintendent-in-charge. without much delay he was shown upstairs into a small private office, into which came a short, dapper, fair-moustached man with the bustle of a man in a great hurry. "i've called," the sub-editor explained, "to know whether you can tell me anything regarding the cause of the interruption of the line to yarmouth a short time ago. we had some important news coming through, but were cut off just in the midst of it, and then we received information that all the telephone and telegraph lines to yarmouth were interrupted." "well, that's just the very point which is puzzling us at this moment," was the night-superintendent's reply. "it is quite unaccountable. our trunk going to yarmouth seems to be down, as well as the telegraphs. yarmouth, lowestoft, and beyond beccles seem all to have been suddenly cut off. about eighteen minutes to four the operators noticed something wrong, switched the trunks through to the testers, and the latter reported to me in due course." "that's strange! did they all break down together?" "no. the first that failed was the one that runs through chelmsford, colchester, and ipswich up to lowestoft and yarmouth. the operator found that he could get through to ipswich and beccles. ipswich knew nothing, except that something was wrong. they could still ring up beccles, but not beyond." as they were speaking, there was a tap at the door, and the assistant night-superintendent entered, saying: "the norwich line through scole and long stratton has now failed, sir. about half-past four norwich reported a fault somewhere north, between there and cromer. but the operator now says that the line is apparently broken, and so are all the telegraphs from there to cromer, sheringham, and holt." "another line has gone, then!" exclaimed the superintendent-in-charge, utterly astounded. "have you tried to get on to cromer by the other routes--through nottingham and king's lynn, or through cambridge?" "the testers have tried every route, but there's no response." "you could get through to some of the places--yarmouth, for instance--by telegraphing to the continent, i suppose?" asked fergusson. "we are already trying," responded the assistant superintendent. "what cables run out from the east coast in that neighbourhood?" inquired the sub-editor quickly. "there are five between southwold and cromer--three run to germany, and two to holland," replied the assistant. "there's the cable from yarmouth to barkum, in the frisian islands; from happisburg, near mundesley, to barkum; from yarmouth to emden; from lowestoft to haarlem, and from kessingland, near southwold, to zandyport." "and you are trying all the routes?" asked his superior. "i spoke to paris myself an hour ago and asked them to cable by all five routes to yarmouth, lowestoft, kessingland, and happisburg," was the assistant's reply. "i also asked liverpool street station and king's cross to wire down to some of their stations on the coast, but the reply was that they were in the same predicament as ourselves--their lines were down north of beccles, wymondham, east dereham, and also south of lynn. i'll just run along and see if there's any reply from paris. they ought to be through by this time, as it's sunday morning, and no traffic." and he went out hurriedly. "there's certainly something very peculiar," remarked the superintendent-in-charge to the sub-editor. "if there's been an earthquake or an electrical disturbance, then it is a most extraordinary one. every single line reaching to the coast seems interrupted." "yes. it's uncommonly funny," fergusson remarked. "i wonder what could have happened. you've never had a complete breakdown like this before?" "never. but i think----" the sentence remained unfinished, for his assistant returned with a slip of paper in his hand, saying: "this message has just come in from paris, i'll read it. 'superintendent telephones, paris, to superintendent telephones, london.--have obtained direct telegraphic communication with operators of all five cables to england. haarlem, zandyport, barkum, and emden all report that cables are interrupted. they can get no reply from england, and tests show that cables are damaged somewhere near english shore.'" "is that all?" asked fergusson. "that's all. paris knows no more than we do," was the assistant's response. "then the norfolk and suffolk coasts are completely isolated--cut off from post office, railways, telephones, and cables!" exclaimed the superintendent. "it's mysterious--most mysterious!" and, taking up the instrument upon his table, he placed a plug in one of the holes down the front of the table itself, and a moment later was in conversation with the official in charge of the traffic at liverpool street, repeating the report from paris, and urging him to send light engines north from wymondham or beccles into the zone of the mystery. the reply came back that he had already done so, but a telegram had reached him from wymondham to the effect that the road-bridges between kimberley and hardingham had apparently fallen in, and the line was blocked by dã©bris. interruption was also reported beyond swaffham, at a place called little dunham. "then even the railways themselves are broken!" cried fergusson. "is it possible that there has been a great earthquake?" "an earthquake couldn't very well destroy all five cables from the continent," remarked the superintendent gravely. the latter had scarcely placed the receiver upon the hook when a third man entered--an operator who, addressing him, said: "will you please come to the switchboard, sir? there's a man in the ipswich call office who has just told me a most extraordinary story. he says that he started in his motor-car alone from lowestoft to london at half-past three this morning, and just as it was getting light he was passing along the edge of henham park, between wangford village and blythburgh, when he saw three men apparently repairing the telegraph wires. one was up the pole, and the other two were standing below. as he passed he saw a flash, for, to his surprise, one of the men fired point-blank at him with a revolver. fortunately, the shot went wide, and he at once put on a move and got down into blythburgh village, even though one of his tyres went down. it had probably been pierced by the bullet fired at him, as the puncture was unlike any he had ever had before. at blythburgh he informed the police of the outrage, and the constable, in turn, woke up the postmaster, who tried to telegraph back to the police at wrentham, but found that the line was interrupted. was it possible that the men were cutting the wires, instead of repairing them? he says that after repairing the puncture he took the village constable and three other men on his car and went back to the spot, where, although the trio had escaped, they saw that wholesale havoc had been wrought with the telegraphs. the lines had been severed in four or five places, and whole lengths tangled up into great masses. a number of poles had been sawn down, and were lying about the roadside. seeing that nothing could be done, the gentleman remounted his car, came on to ipswich, and reported the damage at our call office." "and is he still there?" exclaimed the superintendent quickly, amazed at the motorist's statement. "yes. i asked him to wait for a few moments in order to speak to you, sir." "good. i'll go at once. perhaps you'd like to come also, mr. fergusson?" and all three ran up to the gallery, where the huge switchboards were ranged around, and where the night operators, with the receivers attached to one ear, were still at work. in a moment the superintendent had taken the operator's seat, adjusted the ear-piece, and was in conversation with ipswich. a second later he was speaking with the man who had actually witnessed the cutting of the trunk line. while he was thus engaged an operator at the farther end of the switchboard suddenly gave vent to a cry of surprise and disbelief. "what do you say, beccles? repeat it," he asked excitedly. then a moment later he shouted aloud: "beccles says that german soldiers--hundreds of them--are pouring into the place! the germans have landed at lowestoft, they think." all who heard those ominous words sprang up dumbfounded, staring at each other. the assistant-superintendent dashed to the operator's side and seized his apparatus. "halloa--halloa, beccles! halloa--halloa--halloa!" the response was some gruff words in german, and the sound of scuffling could distinctly be heard. then all was silent. time after time he rang up the small suffolk town, but in vain. then he switched through to the testers, and quickly the truth was plain. the second trunk line to norwich, running from ipswich by harleston and beccles, had been cut farther towards london. but what held everyone breathless in the trunk telephone headquarters was that the germans had actually effected the surprise landing that had so often in recent years been predicted by military critics; that england on that quiet september sunday morning had been attacked. england was actually invaded. it was incredible! yet london's millions in their sunday morning lethargy were in utter ignorance of the grim disaster that had suddenly fallen upon the land. fergusson was for rushing at once back to the "dispatch" office to get out an extraordinary edition, but the superintendent, who was still in conversation with the motorist, urged judicious forethought. "for the present, let us wait. don't let us alarm the public unnecessarily. we want corroboration. let us have the motorist up here," he suggested. "yes," cried the sub-editor. "let me speak to him." over the wire fergusson begged the stranger to come at once to london and give his story, declaring that the military authorities would require it. then, just as the man who had been shot at by german advance spies--for such they had undoubtedly been--in order to prevent the truth leaking out, gave his promise to come to town at once, there came over the line from the coastguard at southwold a vague, incoherent telephone message regarding strange ships having been seen to the northward, and asking for connection with harwich; while king's cross and liverpool street stations both rang up almost simultaneously, reporting the receipt of extraordinary messages from king's lynn, diss, harleston, halesworth, and other places. all declared that german soldiers were swarming over the north, that lowestoft and beccles had been seized, and that yarmouth and cromer were isolated. various stationmasters reported that the enemy had blown up bridges, taken up rails, and effectually blocked all communication with the coast. certain important junctions were already held by the enemy's outposts. such was the amazing news received in that high-up room in carter lane, city, on that sweet, sunny morning when all the great world of london was at peace, either still slumbering or week-ending. fergusson remained for a full hour and a half at the telephone exchange, anxiously awaiting any further corroboration. many wild stories came over the wires telling how panic-stricken people were fleeing inland away from the enemy's outposts. then he took a hansom to the "dispatch" office, and proceeded to prepare a special edition of his paper--an edition containing surely the most amazing news that had ever startled london. fearing to create undue panic, he decided not to go to press until the arrival of the motorist from ipswich. he wanted the story of the man who had actually seen the cutting of the wires. he paced his room excitedly, wondering what effect the news would have upon the world. in the rival newspaper offices the report was, as yet, unknown. with journalistic forethought he had arranged that at present the bewildering truth should not leak out to his rivals, either from the railway termini or from the telephone exchange. his only fear was that some local correspondent might telegraph from some village or town nearer the metropolis which was still in communication with the central office. time passed very slowly. each moment increased his anxiety. he had sent out the one reporter who remained on duty to the house of colonel sir james taylor, the permanent under-secretary for war. halting before the open window, he looked up and down the street for the arriving motor-car. but all was quiet. eight o'clock had just boomed from big ben, and london still remained in her sunday morning peace. the street, bright in the warm sunshine, was quite empty, save for a couple of motor-omnibuses and a sprinkling of gaily dressed holiday-makers on their way to the day excursion trains. in that centre of london--the hub of the world--all was comparatively silent, the welcome rest after the busy turmoil that through six days in the week is unceasing, that fevered throbbing of the heart of the world's great capital. of a sudden, however, came the whirr-r of an approaching car, as a thin-faced, travel-stained man tore along from the direction of the strand and pulled up before the office. the fine car, a six-cylinder "napier," was grey with the mud of country roads, while the motorist himself was smothered until his goggles had been almost entirely covered. fergusson rushed out to him, and a few moments later the pair were in the upstairs room, the sub-editor swiftly taking down the motorist's story, which differed very little from what he had already spoken over the telephone. then, just as big ben chimed the half-hour, the echoes of the half-deserted strand were suddenly awakened by the loud, strident voices of the newsboys shouting: "'dispatch,' spe-shall! invasion of england this morning! germans in suffolk! terrible panic! spe-shall! 'dispatch,' spe-shall!" as soon as the paper had gone to press fergusson urged the motorist--whose name was horton, and who lived at richmond--to go with him to the war office and report. therefore, both men entered the car, and as they did so a man jumped from a hansom in breathless haste. he was the reporter whom fergusson had sent out to sir james taylor's house in cleveland square, hyde park. "they thought sir james spent the night with his brother up at hampstead," he exclaimed. "i've been there, but find that he's away for the week-end at chilham hall, near buckden." "buckden! that's on the great north road!" cried horton, "we'll go at once and find him. sixty miles from london. we can be there under two hours!" and a few minutes later the pair were tearing due north, turning at last into the handsome lodge-gates of chilham park, and running up the great elm avenue, drew up before the main door of the ancient hall, a quaint many-gabled old place of grey stone. a few moments later the breathless journalist faced the permanent under-secretary with the news that england was invaded--that the germans had actually effected a surprise landing on the east coast. sir james and his host stood speechless. like others, they at first believed the pale-faced, bearded sub-editor to be a lunatic, but a few moments later, when horton briefly repeated the story, they saw that, whatever might have occurred, the two men were at least in deadly earnest. "impossible!" cried sir james. "we should surely have heard something of it if such were actually the case. the coastguard would have telephoned the news instantly. besides, where is our fleet?" "the germans evidently laid their plans with great cleverness. their spies, already in england, cut the wires at a pre-arranged hour last night," declared fergusson. "they sought to prevent this gentleman from giving the alarm by shooting him. all the railways to london are already either cut or held by the enemy. one thing, however, is clear--fleet or no fleet, the east coast is entirely at their mercy." host and guest exchanged dark glances. "well, if what you say is the actual truth," exclaimed sir james, "to-day is surely the blackest day that england has ever known." "yes, they should have listened to lord roberts," snapped his lordship. "i suppose you'll go at once, taylor, and make inquiries?" "of course," responded the permanent secretary. and a quarter of an hour later, accepting horton's offer, he was sitting in the car as it headed back towards london. could the journalist's story be true? as he sat there, with his head bent against the wind and the mud splashing into his face, sir james recollected too well the repeated warnings of the past five years, serious warnings by men who knew our shortcomings, but to which no attention had been paid. both the government and the public had remained apathetic, the idea of peril had been laughed to scorn, and the country had, ostrich-like, buried its head in the sand, and allowed continental nations to supersede us in business, in armaments, in everything. the danger of invasion had always been ridiculed as a mere alarmist's fiction; those responsible for the defence of the country had smiled, the navy had been reduced, and the army had remained in contented inefficiency. if the blow had really been struck by germany? if she had risked three or four, out of her twenty-three, army corps, and had aimed at the heart of the british empire? what then? ay! what then? as the car glided down regent street into pall mall and towards whitehall, sir james saw on every side crowds discussing the vague but astounding reports now published in special editions of all the sunday papers, and shouted wildly everywhere. boys bearing sheets fresh from the fleet street presses were seized, and bundles torn from them by excited londoners eager to learn the latest intelligence. around both war office and admiralty great surging crowds were clamouring loudly for the truth. was it the truth, or was it only a hoax? half london disbelieved it. yet from every quarter, from the north and from across the bridges, thousands were pouring in to ascertain what had really occurred, and the police had the greatest difficulty in keeping order. in trafalgar square, where the fountains were plashing so calmly in the autumn sunlight, a shock-headed man mounted the back of one of the lions and harangued the crowd with much gesticulation, denouncing the government in the most violent terms; but the orator was ruthlessly pulled down by the police in the midst of his fierce attack. it was half-past two o'clock in the afternoon. the germans had already been on english soil ten hours, yet london was in ignorance of where they had actually landed, and utterly helpless. chapter ii. effect in the city. monday, 3rd september, 1910, was indeed black monday for london. by midnight on sunday the appalling news had spread everywhere. though the full details of the terrible naval disasters were not yet to hand, yet it was vaguely known that our ships had been defeated in the north sea, and many of them sunk. before 7 a.m. on monday, however, telegrams reaching london by the subterranean lines from the north gave thrilling stories of frightful disasters we had, while all unconscious, suffered at the hands of the german fleet. with london, the great cities of the north, liverpool, manchester, sheffield, and birmingham, awoke utterly dazed. it seemed incredible. and yet the enemy had, by his sudden and stealthy blow, secured command of the sea and actually landed. the public wondered why a formal declaration of war had not previously been made, ignorant of the fact that the declaration preceding the franco-german war was the first made by any civilised nation prior to the commencement of hostilities for one hundred and seventy years. the peril of the nation was now recognised on every hand. eager millions poured into the city by every train from the suburbs and towns in the vicinity of the metropolis, anxious to ascertain the truth for themselves, pale with terror, wild with excitement, indignant that our land forces were not already mobilised and ready to move eastward to meet the invader. as soon as the banks were opened there was a run on them, but by noon the bank of england had suspended all specie payments. the other banks, being thus unable to meet their engagements, simply closed the doors, bringing business to an abrupt standstill. consols stood at 90 on saturday, but by noon on monday were down to 42--lower even than they were in 1798, when they stood at 47-1/4. numbers of foreigners tried to speculate heavily, but were unable to do so, for banking being suspended they could not obtain transfers. on the stock exchange the panic in the afternoon was indescribable. securities of every sort went entirely to pieces, and there were no buyers. financiers were surprised that no warning in london had betrayed the position of affairs, london being the money centre of the world. prior to 1870 paris shared with london the honour of being the pivot of the money market, but on the suspension of cash payments by the bank of france during the franco-german war, paris lost that position. had it not been that the milliards comprising the french war indemnity were intact in golden louis in the fortress of spandau, germany could never have hoped to wage sudden war with great britain before she had made berlin independent of london in a money sense, or, at any rate, to accumulate sufficient gold to carry on the war for at least twelve months. the only way in which she could have done this was to raise her rate so as to offer better terms than london. yet directly the bank of england discovered the rate of exchange going against her, and her stock of gold diminishing, she would have responded by raising the english bank-rate in order to check the flow. thus competition would have gone on until the rates became so high that all business would be checked, and people would have realised their securities to obtain the necessary money to carry on their affairs. thus, no doubt, the coming war would have been forecasted had it not been for germany's already prepared war-chest, which the majority of persons have nowadays overlooked. its possession had enabled germany to strike her sudden blow, and now the bank of england, which is the final reserve of gold in the united kingdom, found that as notes were cashed so the stock of gold diminished until it was in a few hours compelled to obtain from the government suspension of the bank charter. this enabled the bank to suspend cash payment, and issue notes without a corresponding deposit of the equivalent in gold. the suspension, contrary to increasing the panic, had, curiously enough the immediate effect of somewhat allaying it. plenty of people in the city were confident that the blow aimed could not prove an effective one, and that the germans, however many might have landed, would quickly be sent back again. thus many level-headed business men regarded the position calmly, believing that when our command of the sea was again re-established, as it must be in a day or two, the enemy would soon be non-existent. business outside the money market was, of course, utterly demoralised. the buying of necessities was now uppermost in everyone's mind. excited crowds in the streets caused most of the shops in the city and west end to close, while around the admiralty were great crowds of eager men and women of all classes, tearful wives of bluejackets jostling with officers' ladies from mayfair and belgravia, demanding news of their loved ones--inquiries which, alas! the casualty office were unable to satisfy. the scene of grief, terror, and suspense was heartrending. certain ships were known to have been sunk with all on board after making a gallant fight, and those who had husbands, brothers, lovers, or fathers on board wept loudly, calling upon the government to avenge the ruthless murder of their loved ones. in manchester, in liverpool, indeed, all through the great manufacturing centres of the north, the excitement of london was reflected. in manchester there was a panic "on 'change," and the crowd in deansgate coming into collision with a force of mounted police, some rioting occurred, and a number of shop windows broken, while several agitators who attempted to speak in front of the infirmary were at once arrested. liverpool was the scene of intense anxiety and excitement, when a report was spread that german cruisers were about the estuary of the mersey. it was known that the coal staithes, cranes, and petroleum tanks at penarth, cardiff, barry, and llanelly had been destroyed; that aberdeen had been bombarded; and there were rumours that, notwithstanding the mines and defences of the mersey, the city of liverpool, with all its crowd of valuable shipping, was to share the same fate. the whole place was in a ferment. by eleven o'clock the stations were crowded by women and children sent by the men away into the country--anywhere from the doomed and defenceless city. the lord mayor vainly endeavoured to inspire confidence, but telegrams from london, announcing the complete financial collapse, only increased the panic. in london all through the morning, amid the chaos of business in the city, the excitement had been steadily growing, until shortly after three o'clock the "daily mail" issued a special edition containing a copy of a german proclamation which, it was said, was now posted everywhere in east norfolk, east suffolk, and in maldon in essex, already occupied by the enemy. the original proclamation had been found pasted by some unknown hand upon a barn door near the town of billericay, and had been detached and brought to london in a motor-car by a correspondent. it showed plainly the german intention was to deal a hard and crushing blow, and it struck terror into the heart of london, for it read as will be seen on next page. upon the walls of the mansion house, the guildhall, outside the bank of england, the royal exchange, upon the various public buildings within the city wards, and westward beyond temple bar, proclamations were being posted. indeed, upon all the hoardings in greater london appeared various broadsheets side by side. one by the chief commissioner of police, regulating the traffic in the streets, and appealing to the public to assist in the preservation of order; and a royal proclamation, brief but noble, urging every briton to do his duty, to take his part in the defence of king and country, and to unfurl the banner of the british empire that had hitherto carried peace and civilisation in every quarter of the world. germany, whose independence had been respected, had attacked us without provocation; therefore hostilities were, alas, inevitable. when the great poster printed in big capitals and headed by the royal arms made its appearance it was greeted with wild cheering. it was a message of love from king to people--a message to the highest and to the lowest. posted in whitechapel at the same hour as in whitehall, the throngs crowded eagerly about it and sang "god save our gracious king," for if they had but little confidence in the war office and admiralty, they placed their trust in their sovereign, the first diplomat in europe. therefore the loyalty was spontaneous, as it always is. they read the royal message, and cheered and cheered again. as evening closed in yet another poster made its appearance in every city, town, and village in the country, a poster issued by military and police officers, and naval officers in charge of dockyards--the order for mobilisation. proclamation. we, general commanding the 3rd german army, having seen the proclamation of his imperial majesty the emperor william, king of prussia, chief of the army, which authorises the generals commanding the different german army corps to establish special measures against all municipalities and persons acting in contradiction to the usages of war, and to take what steps they consider necessary for the well-being of the troops. hereby give public notice: (1) the military jurisdiction is hereby established. it applies to all territory of great britain occupied by the german army, and to every action endangering the security of the troops by rendering assistance to the enemy. the military jurisdiction will be announced and placed vigorously in force in every parish by the issue of this present proclamation. (2) any person or persons not being british soldiers, or not showing by their dress that they are soldiers: (a) serving the enemy as spies; (b) misleading the german troops when charged to serve as guides; (c) shooting, injuring, or robbing any person belonging to the german army, or forming part of its personnel; (d) destroying bridges or canals, damaging telegraphs, telephones, electric light wires, gasometers, or railways, interfering with roads, setting fire to munitions of war, provisions, or quarters established by german troops; (e) taking arms against the german troops, =will be punished by death.= in each case the officer presiding at the council of war will be charged with the trial, and pronounce judgment. councils of war may not pronounce any other condemnation save that of death. the judgment will be immediately executed. (3) towns or villages in the territory in which the contravention takes place will be compelled to pay indemnity equal to one year's revenue. (4) the inhabitants must furnish necessaries for the german troops daily as follows:- 1 lb. 10 oz. bread. 13 oz. meat. 3 lb. potatoes. 1 oz. tea. 1-1/2 oz. tobacco or 5 cigars. 1/2 pint wine. 1-1/2 pints beer, or 1 wine-glassful of brandy or whisky. the ration for each horse:- 13 lb. oats. 3 lb. 6 oz. hay. 3 lb. 6 oz. straw. (all persons who prefer to pay an indemnity in money may do so at the rate of 2s. per day per man.) (5) commanders of detached corps have the right to requisition all that they consider necessary for the well-being of their men, and will deliver to the inhabitants official receipts for goods so supplied. we hope in consequence that the inhabitants of great britain will make no difficulty in furnishing all that may be considered necessary. (6) as regards the individual transactions between the troops and the inhabitants, we give notice that one german mark shall be considered the equivalent to one english shilling. =the general commanding the ninth german army corps, von kronhelm.= beccles, _september the third, 1910_. [illustration: the enemy's famous proclamation.] the public, however, little dreamed of the hopeless confusion in the war office, in the various regimental depã´ts throughout the country, at headquarters everywhere, and in every barracks in the kingdom. the armed forces of england were passing from a peace to a war footing; but the mobilisation of the various units--namely, its completion in men, horses, and material--was utterly impossible in the face of the extraordinary regulations which, kept a strict secret by the council of defence until this moment, revealed a hopeless state of things. the disorder was frightful. not a regiment was found fully equipped and ready to march. there was a dearth of officers, equipment, horses, provisions--of, indeed, everything. men had guns without ammunition; cavalry and artillery were without horses; engineers only half equipped; volunteers with no transport whatever; balloon sections without balloons, and searchlight units vainly trying to obtain the necessary instruments. horses were being requisitioned everywhere. the few horses that, in the age of motor-cars, now remained on the roads in london were quickly taken for draught, and all horses fit to ride were commandeered for the cavalry. during the turmoil daring german spies were actively at work south of london. the southampton line of the london and south-western railway was destroyed--with explosives placed by unknown hands--by the bridge over the wey, near weybridge, being blown up; and again that over the mole, between walton and esher, while the reading line was cut by the great bridge over the thames at staines being destroyed. the line, too, between guildford and waterloo, was also rendered impassable by the wreck of the midnight train, which was blown up half-way between wansborough and guildford, while in several other places nearer london bridges were rendered unstable by dynamite, the favourite method apparently being to blow the crown out of an arch. the well-laid plans of the enemy were thus quickly revealed. among the thousands of germans working in london, the hundred or so spies, all trusted soldiers, had passed unnoticed but, working in unison, each little group of two or three had been allotted its task, and had previously thoroughly reconnoitred the position and studied the most rapid or effective means. the railways to the east and north-east coasts all reported wholesale damage done on sunday night by the advance agents of the enemy, and now this was continued on the night of monday in the south, the objective being to hinder troops from moving north from aldershot. this was, indeed, effectual, for only by a long _dã©tour_ could the troops be moved to the northern defences of london, and while many were on tuesday entrained, others were conveyed to london by the motor omnibuses sent down for that purpose. everywhere through london and its vicinity, as well as manchester, birmingham, sheffield, coventry, leeds, and liverpool, motor-cars and motor-omnibuses from dealers and private owners were being requisitioned by the military authorities, for they would, it was believed, replace cavalry to a very large extent. wild and extraordinary reports were circulated regarding the disasters in the north. hull, newcastle, gateshead, and tynemouth had, it was believed, been bombarded and sacked. the shipping in the tyne was burning, and the elswick works were held by the enemy. details were, however, very vague, as the germans were taking every precaution to prevent information reaching london. chapter iii. news of the enemy. terror and excitement reigned everywhere. the wildest rumours were hourly afloat. london was a seething stream of breathless multitudes of every class. on monday morning the newspapers throughout the kingdom had devoted greater part of their space to the extraordinary intelligence from norfolk and suffolk, and essex, and other places. only the slow, old-fashioned "globe" remained asleep, or pretended to know nothing of what was in progress. that we were actually invaded was plain, but most of the newspapers happily preserved a calm, dignified tone, and made no attempt at sensationalism. the situation was far too serious. like the public, however, the press had been taken entirely by surprise. the blow had been so sudden and so staggering that half the alarming reports were discredited. in addition to the details of the enemy's operations, as far as could as yet be ascertained, the "morning post" on monday contained an account of a mysterious occurrence at chatham, which read as follows: "chatham, _sept. 1_ (11.30 p.m.). "an extraordinary accident took place on the medway about eight o'clock this evening. the steamer 'pole star,' 1,200 tons register, with a cargo of cement from frindsbury, was leaving for hamburg, and came into collision with the 'frauenlob,' of bremen, a somewhat larger boat, which was inward bound, in a narrow part of the channel about half-way between chatham and sheerness. various accounts of the mishap are current, but whichever of the vessels was responsible for the bad steering or neglect of the ordinary rules of the road, it is certain that the 'frauenlob' was cut into by the stem of the 'pole star' on her port bow, and sank almost across the channel. the 'pole star' swung alongside her after the collision, and very soon afterwards sank in an almost parallel position. tugs and steamboats carrying a number of naval officers and the port authorities are about to proceed to the scene of the accident, and if, as seems probable, there is no chance of raising the vessels, steps will be at once taken to blow them up. in the present state of our foreign relations such an obstruction directly across the entrance to one of our principal war-ports is a national danger, and will not be allowed to remain a moment longer than can be helped." "_sept. 2._ "an extraordinary _dã©nouement_ has followed the collision in the medway reported in my telegram of last night, which renders it impossible to draw any other conclusion than that the affair is anything but an accident. everything now goes to prove that the whole business was premeditated and was the result of an organised plot with the object of 'bottling up' the numerous men-of-war that are now being hurriedly equipped for service in chatham dockyard. in the words of scripture, 'an enemy hath done this,' and there can be very little doubt as to the quarter from which the outrage was engineered. it is nothing less than an outrage to perpetrate what is in reality an overt act of hostility in a time of profound peace, however much the political horizon may be darkened by lowering war-clouds. we are living under a government whose leader lost no time in announcing that no fear of being sneered at as a 'little englander' would deter him from seeking peace and ensuring it by a reduction of our naval and military armaments, even at that time known to be inadequate to the demands likely to be made upon them if our empire is to be maintained. we trust, however, that even this parochially-minded statesman will lose no time in probing the conspiracy to its depths, and in seeking instant satisfaction from those personages, however highly placed and powerful, who have committed this outrage on the laws of civilisation. "as soon as the news of the collision reached the dockyard the senior officer at kethole reach was ordered by wire to take steps to prevent any vessel from going up the river, and he at once despatched several picket-boats to the entrance to warn in-coming ships of the blocking of the channel, while a couple of other boats were sent up to within a short distance of the obstruction to make assurance doubly sure. the harbour signals ordering 'suspension of all movings' were also hoisted at garrison point. "among other ships which were stopped in consequence of these measures was the 'van gysen,' a big steamer hailing from rotterdam, laden, it was stated, with steel rails for the london, chatham, and dover railway, which were to be landed at port victoria. she was accordingly allowed to proceed, and anchored, or appeared to anchor, just off the railway pier at that place. ten minutes later the officer of the watch on board h.m.s. 'medici' reported that he thought she was getting under way again. it was then pretty dark. an electric searchlight being switched on, the 'van gysen' was discovered steaming up the river at a considerable speed. the 'medici' flashed the news to the flagship, which at once fired a gun, hoisted the recall and the 'van gysen's' number in the international code, and despatched her steam pinnace, with orders to overhaul the dutchman and stop him at whatever cost. a number of the marines on guard were sent in her with their rifles. "the 'van gysen' seemed well acquainted with the channel, and continually increased her speed as she went up the river, so that she was within half a mile of the scene of the accident before the steamboat came up with her. the officer in charge called to the skipper through the megaphone to stop his engines and to throw him a rope, as he wanted to come on board. after pretending for some time not to understand him, the skipper slowed his engines and said, 'ver vel, come 'longside gangway.' as the pinnace hooked on at the gangway, a heavy iron cylinder cover was dropped into her from the height of the 'van gysen's' deck. it knocked the bowman overboard and crashed into the fore part of the boat, knocking a big hole in the port side forward. she swung off at an angle and stopped to pick up the man overboard. her crew succeeded in rescuing him, but she was making water fast, and there was nothing for it but to run her into the bank. the lieutenant in charge ordered a rifle to be fired at the 'van gysen' to bring her to, but she paid not the smallest attention, as might have been expected, and went on her way with gathering speed. "the report, however, served to attract the attention of the two picket-boats which were patrolling up the river. as she turned a bend in the stream they both shot up alongside out of the darkness, and ordered her peremptorily to stop. but the only answer they received was the sudden extinction of all lights in the steamer. they kept alongside, or rather one of them did, but they were quite helpless to stay the progress of the big wall-sided steamer. the faster of the picket-boats shot ahead with the object of warning those who were busy examining the wrecks. but the 'van gysen,' going all she knew, was close behind, an indistinguishable black blur in the darkness, and hardly had the officer in the picket-boat delivered his warning before she was heard close at hand. within a couple of hundred yards of the two wrecks she slowed down, for fear of running right over them. on she came, inevitable as fate. there was a crash as she came into collision with the central deckhouses of the 'frauenlob' and as her bows scraped past the funnel of the 'pole star.' then followed no fewer than half a dozen muffled reports. her engines went astern for a moment, and down she settled athwart the other two steamers, heeling over to port as she did so. all was turmoil and confusion. none of the dockyard and naval craft present were equipped with searchlights. the harbour-master, the captain of the yard, even the admiral superintendent, who had just come down in his steam launch, all bawled out orders. "lights were flashed and lanterns swung up and down in the vain endeavour to see more of what had happened. two simultaneous shouts of 'man overboard!' came from tugs and boats at opposite sides of the river. when a certain amount of order was restored it was discovered that a big dockyard tug was settling down by the head. it seems she had been grazed by the 'van gysen' as she came over the obstruction, and forced against some portion of one of the foundered vessels, which had pierced a hole in her below the water-line. "in the general excitement the damage had not been discovered, and now she was sinking fast. hawsers were made fast to her with the utmost expedition possible in order to tow her clear of the piled-up wreckage, but it was too late. there was only just time to rescue her crew before she too added herself to the underwater barricade. as for the crew of the 'van gysen,' it is thought that all must have gone down in her, as no trace of them has as yet been discovered, despite a most diligent search, for it was considered that, in an affair which had been so carefully planned as this certainly must have been, some provision must surely have been made for the escape of the crew. those who have been down at the scene of the disaster report that it will be impossible to clear the channel in less than a week or ten days, using every resource of the dockyard. "a little later i thought i would go down to the dockyard on the off-chance of picking up any further information. the metropolitan policeman at the gate would on no account allow me to pass at that hour, and i was just turning away when, by a great piece of good fortune, i ran up against commander shelley. "i was on board his ship as correspondent during the manoeuvres of the year before last. 'and what are you doing down here?' was his very natural inquiry after we had shaken hands. i told him that i had been down in chatham for a week past as special correspondent, reporting on the half-hearted preparations being made for the possible mobilisation, and took the opportunity of asking him if he could give me any further information about the collision between the three steamers in the medway. 'well,' said he, 'the best thing you can do is to come right along with me. i have just been hawked out of bed to superintend the diving operations, which will begin the moment there is a gleam of daylight.' needless to say, this just suited me, and i hastened to thank him and to accept his kind offer. 'all right,' he said, 'but i shall have to make one small condition.' "'and that is?' i queried. "'merely to let me "censor" your telegrams before you send them,' he returned. 'you see, the admiralty might not like to have too much said about this business, and i don't want to find myself in the dirt-tub.' "the stipulation was a most reasonable one, and however i disliked the notion of having probably my best paragraphs eliminated, i could not but assent to my friend's proposition. so away we marched down the echoing spaces of the almost deserted dockyard till we arrived at the 'thunderbolt' pontoon. here lay a pinnace with steam up, and lighted down the sloping side of the old ironclad by the lantern of the policeman on duty, we stepped on board and shot out into the centre of the stream. we blew our whistles and the coxswain waved a lantern, whereupon a small tug that had a couple of dockyard lighters attached gave a hoarse 'toot' in response, and followed us down the river. we sped along in the darkness against a strong tide that was making upstream, past upnor castle, that quaint old tudor fortress with its long line of modern powder magazines, and along under the deeper shadows beneath hoo woods till we came abreast of the medley of mud flats and grass-grown islets just beyond them. here above the thud of the engines and the plash of the water, a thin, long-drawn-out cry wavered through the night. 'some one hailing the boat, sir,' reported the lookout forward. we had all heard it. 'ease down,' ordered shelley, and hardly moving against the rushing tideway we listened for its repetition. again the voice was raised in quavering supplication. 'what the dickens does he say?' queried the commander. 'it's german,' i answered. 'i know that language well. i think he's asking for help. may i answer him?' "'by all means. perhaps he belongs to one of those steamers.' the same thought was in my own mind. i hailed in return, asking where he was and what he wanted. the answer came back that he was a shipwrecked seaman, who was cold, wet, and miserable, and implored to be taken off from the islet where he found himself, cut off from everywhere by water and darkness. we ran the boat's nose into the bank, and presently succeeded in hauling aboard a miserable object, wet through, and plastered from head to foot with black medway mud. the broken remains of a cork life-belt hung from his shoulders. a dram of whisky somewhat revived him. 'and now,' said shelley, 'you'd better cross-examine him. we may get something out of the fellow.' the foreigner, crouched down shivering in the stern-sheets half covered with a yellow oilskin that some charitable bluejacket had thrown over him, appeared to me in the light of the lantern that stood on the deck before him to be not only suffering from cold, but from terror. a few moments' conversation with him confirmed my suspicions. i turned to shelley and exclaimed, 'he says he'll tell us everything if we spare his life,' i explained. 'i'm sure i don't want to shoot the chap,' replied the commander. 'i suppose he's implicated in this "bottling up" affair. if he is, he jolly well deserves it, but i don't suppose anything will be done to him. anyway, his information may be valuable, and so you may tell him that he is all right as far as i'm concerned, and i will do my best for him with the admiral. i daresay that will satisfy him. if not, you might threaten him a bit. tell him anything you like if you think it will make him speak.' to cut a long story short, i found the damp dutchman amenable to reason, and the following is the substance of what i elicited from him. "he had been a deck hand on board the 'van gysen.' when she left rotterdam he did not know that the trip was anything out of the way. there was a new skipper whom he had not seen before, and there were also two new mates with a new chief engineer. another steamer followed them all the way till they arrived at the nore. on the way over he and several other seamen were sent for by the captain, and asked if they would volunteer for a dangerous job, promising them â£50 a-piece if it came off all right. he and five others agreed, as did two or three stokers, and were then ordered to remain aft and not communicate with any others of the crew. off the nore all the remainder were transferred to the following steamer, which steamed off to the eastward. after they were gone the selected men were told that the officers all belonged to the imperial german navy, and by orders of the kaiser were about to attempt to block up the medway. "a collision between two other ships had been arranged for, one of which was loaded with a mass of old steel rails into which liquid cement had been run, so that her hold contained a solid impenetrable block. the 'van gysen' carried a similar cargo, and was provided with an arrangement for blowing holes in her bottom. the crew were provided with life-belts, and the half of the money promised, and all except the captain, the engineer, and the two mates dropped overboard just before arriving at the sunken vessels. they were advised to make their way to gravesend, and then to shift for themselves as best they could. he had found himself on a small island, and could not muster up courage to plunge into the cold water again in the darkness. "'by jove! this means war with germany, man!--war!' was shelley's comment. at two o'clock this afternoon we knew that it did, for the news of the enemy's landing in norfolk was signalled down from the dockyard. we also knew from the divers that the cargo of the sunken steamers was what the rescued seamen had stated it to be. our bottle has been fairly well corked." this amazing revelation showed how cleverly contrived was the german plan of hostilities. all our splendid ships at chatham had, in that brief half-hour, been bottled up and rendered utterly useless. yet the authorities were not blameless in the matter, for in november, 1905, a foreign warship actually came up the medway in broad daylight, and was not noticed until she began to bang away her salutes, much to the utter consternation of every one. this incident, however, was but one of the many illustrations of german's craft and cunning. the whole scheme had been years in careful preparation. she intended to invade us, and regarded every stratagem as allowable in her sudden dash upon england, an expedition which promised to result in the most desperate war of modern times. at that moment the "globe," at last aroused from its long and peaceful sleep, reproduced those plain, prophetic words of lord overstone, written some years before to the royal defence commission: "negligence alone can bring about the calamity under discussion. unless we suffer ourselves to be surprised we cannot be invaded with success. it is useless to discuss what will occur or what can be done after london has fallen into the hands of an invading foe. the apathy which may render the occurrence of such a catastrophe possible will not afterwards enable the country, enfeebled, dispirited, and disorganised by the loss of its capital, to redeem the fatal error." was that prophecy to be fulfilled? some highly interesting information was given by the ipswich correspondent of the central news. repeated briefly, it was as follows:-"shortly before three o'clock on sunday morning the coastguard at lowestoft, corton, and beach end discovered that their telephonic communication was interrupted, and half an hour later, to the surprise of every one a miscellaneous collection of mysterious craft were seen approaching the harbour: and within an hour many of them were high and dry on the beach, while others were lashed alongside the old dock, the new fish-docks of the great eastern railway, and the wharves, disembarking a huge force of german infantry, cavalry, motor-infantry, and artillery. the town, awakened from its slumbers, was utterly paralysed, the more so when it was discovered that the railway to london was already interrupted, and the telegraph lines all cut. on landing, the enemy commandeered all provisions, including all motor-cars they could discover, horses and forage, while the banks were seized, and the infantry, falling in marched up old nelson street into high street, and out upon the beccles road. the first care of the invaders was to prevent the people of lowestoft damaging the swing bridge, a strong guard being instantly mounted upon it, and so quietly and orderly was the landing effected that it was plain the german plans of invasion were absolutely perfect in every detail. "few hitches seemed to occur. the mayor was summoned at six o'clock by general von kronhelm, the generalissimo of the german army, and briefly informed that the town of lowestoft was occupied, and that all armed resistance would be punished by death. then, ten minutes later, when the german war-flag was flying from several flagstaffs in various parts of the town, the people realised their utter helplessness. "the germans, of course, knew that, irrespective of the weather, a landing could be effected at lowestoft, where the fish-docks and wharves, with their many cranes, were capable of dealing with a large amount of stores. the denes, that flat, sandy plain between the upper town and the sea, they turned into a camping-ground, and large numbers were billeted in various quarters of the town itself. "the people were terror-stricken. to appeal to london for help was impossible, as the place had been cut entirely off, and around it a strong chain of outposts had already been thrown, preventing any one from escaping. the town had, in a moment, as it seemed, fallen at the mercy of the foreigners. even the important-looking police constables of lowestoft, with their little canes, were crestfallen, sullen, and inactive. "while the landing was continuing during all sunday the advance guard moved rapidly over mutford bridge, along the beccles road, occupying a strong position on the west side of the high ground east of lowestoft. beccles, where von kronhelm established his headquarters, resting as it does on the river waveney, is strongly held. the enemy's main position appears to run from windle hill, one mile north-east of gillingham, thence north-west through bull's green, herringfleet hill, over to grove farm and hill house to raveningham, whence it turns easterly to haddiscoe, which is at present its northern limit. the total front from beccles bridge north is about five miles, and commands the whole of the flat plain west towards norwich. it has its south flank resting on the river waveney, and to the north on thorpe marshes. the chief artillery position is at toft monks--the highest point. upon the high tower of beccles church is established a signal station, communication being made constantly with lowestoft by helio by day, and acetylene lamps by night. "the enemy's position has been most carefully chosen, for it is naturally strong, and, being well held to protect lowestoft from any attack from the west, the landing can continue uninterruptedly, for lowestoft beach and docks are now entirely out of the line of any british fire. proclamation. citizens of london. the news of the bombardment of the city of newcastle and the landing of the german army at hull, weybourne, yarmouth, and other places along the east coast is unfortunately confirmed. the enemy's intention is to march upon the city of london, which must be resolutely defended. the british nation and the citizens of london, in face of these great events, must be energetic in order to vanquish the invader. the advance must be challenged foot by foot. the people must fight for king and country. great britain is not yet dead, for indeed, the more serious her danger, the stronger will be her unanimous patriotism. =god save the king.= harrison, _lord mayor_. mansion house, london, _september 3rd, 1910_. [illustration: the lord mayor's appeal to london.] "march outposts are at blythburgh, wenhaston, holton, halesworth, wissett, rumburgh, homersfield, and bungay, and then north to haddiscoe, while cavalry patrols watch by day, the line roughly being from leiston through saxmundham, framlingham, and tannington, to hoxne. "the estimate, gleaned from various sources in lowestoft and beccles, is that up to monday at midday nearly a whole army corps, with stores, guns, ammunition, etc., had already landed, while there are also reports of a further landing at yarmouth, and at a spot still farther north, but at present there are no details. "the enemy," he concluded, "are at present in a position of absolute security." chapter iv. a prophecy fulfilled. this authentic news of the position of the enemy, combined with the vague rumours of other landings at yarmouth, along the coast at some unknown point north of cromer, at king's lynn, and other places, produced an enormous sensation in london, while the central news account, circulated to all the papers in the midlands and lancashire, increased the panic in the manufacturing districts. the special edition of the "evening star," issued about six o'clock on tuesday evening, contained another remarkable story which threw some further light upon the german movements. it was, of course, known that practically the whole of the norfolk and suffolk coast was already held by the enemy, but with the exception of the fact that the enemy's cavalry vedettes and reconnoitring patrols were out everywhere at a distance about twenty miles from the shore, england was entirely in the dark as to what had occurred anywhere else but at lowestoft. attempts had been made to penetrate the cavalry screen at various points, but in vain. what was in progress was carefully kept a secret by the enemy. the veil was, however, now lifted. the story which the "evening star" had obtained exclusively, and which was eagerly read everywhere, had been related by a man named scotney, a lobster-fisherman, of sheringham, in norfolk, who had made the following statement to the chief officer of coastguard at wainfleet, in lincolnshire: "just before dawn on sunday morning i was in the boat with my son ted off the robin friend, taking up the lobster pots, when we suddenly saw about three miles off shore a mixed lot of curious-looking craft strung out right across the horizon, and heading apparently for cromer. there were steamers big and little, many of them towing queer flat-bottomed kind of boats, lighters, and barges, which, on approaching nearer, we could distinctly see were filled to their utmost capacity with men and horses. "both ted and i stood staring at the unusual sight, wondering whatever it meant. they came on very quickly, however--so quickly, indeed, that we thought it best to move on. the biggest ships went along to weybourne gap, where they moored in the twenty-five feet of water that runs in close to the shore, while some smaller steamers and the flats were run high and dry on the hard shingle. before this i noticed that there were quite a number of foreign warships in the offing, with several destroyers far away in the distance both to east and west. "from the larger steamships all sorts of boats were lowered, including apparently many collapsible whaleboats, and into these, in a most orderly manner, from every gangway and accommodation-ladder, troops--germans we afterwards discovered them to be, to our utter astonishment--began to descend. "these boats were at once taken charge of by steam pinnaces and cutters and towed to the beach. when we saw this we were utterly dumbfounded. indeed, at first i believed it to be a dream, for ever since i was a lad i had heard the ancient rhyme my old father was so fond of repeating: "'he who would old england win, must at weybourne hoop begin.' "as everybody knows, nature has provided at that lonely spot every advantage for the landing of hostile forces, and when the spanish armada was expected, and again when napoleon threatened an invasion, the place was constantly watched. yet nowadays, except for the coastguard, it has been utterly unprotected and neglected. "the very first soldiers who landed formed up quickly, and under the charge of an officer ran up the low hill to the coastguard station, i suppose in order to prevent them signalling a warning. the funny thing was, however, that the coastguards had already been held up by several well-dressed men--spies of the germans, i suppose. i could distinctly see one man holding one of the guards with his back to the wall, and threatening him with a revolver. "ted and i had somehow been surrounded by the crowd of odd craft which dodged about everywhere, and the foreigners now and then shouted to me words that unfortunately i could not understand. "meanwhile, from all the boats strung out along the beach, from sheringham right across to the rocket house at salthouse, swarms of drab-coated soldiers were disembarking, the boats immediately returning to the steamers for more. they must have been packed as tightly as herrings in a barrel; but they all seemed to know where to go to, because all along at various places little flags were held by men, and each regiment appeared to march across and assemble at its own flag. "ted and i sat there as if we were watching a play. suddenly we saw from some of the ships and bigger barges horses being lowered into the water and allowed to swim ashore. hundreds seemed to gain the beach even as we were looking at them. then, after the first lot of horses had gone, boats full of saddles followed them. it seemed as though the foreigners were too busy to notice us, and we--not wanting to share the fate of mr. gunter, the coastguard, and his mates--just sat tight and watched. "from the steamers there continued to pour hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, who were towed to land, and then formed up in solid squares, which got bigger and bigger. horses innumerable--quite a thousand, i should reckon--were slung overboard from some of the smaller steamers which had been run high and dry on the beach, and as the tide had now begun to run down, they landed only knee-deep in water. those steamers, it seemed to me, had big bilge keels, for as the tide ebbed they did not heel over. they had, no doubt, been specially fitted for the purpose. out of some they began to hoist all sorts of things, wagons, guns, motor-cars, large bales of fodder, clothing, ambulances with big red crosses on them, flat-looking boats--pontoons i think they call them--and great piles of cooking pots and pans, square boxes of stores, or perhaps ammunition, and as soon as anything was landed it was hauled up above high-water mark. "in the meantime lots of men had mounted on horseback and ridden off up the lane which leads into weybourne village. at first half a dozen started at a time; then, as far as i could judge, about fifty more started. then larger bodies went forward, but more and more horses kept going ashore, as though their number was never-ending. they must have been stowed mighty close, and many of the ships must have been specially fitted up for them. "very soon i saw cavalry swarming up over muckleburgh, warborough, and telegraph hills, while a good many trotted away in the direction of runton and sheringham. then, soon after they had gone--that is, in about an hour and a half from their first arrival--the infantry began to move off, and as far as i could see, they marched inland by every road, some in the direction of kelling street and holt, others over weybourne heath towards bodham, and still others skirting the woods over to upper sheringham. large masses of infantry marched along the sheringham road, and seemed to have a lot of officers on horseback with them, while up on muckleburgh hill i saw frantic signalling in progress. "by this time they had a quantity of carts and wagons landed, and a large number of motor-cars. the latter were soon started, and, manned by infantry, moved swiftly in procession after the troops. the great idea of the germans was apparently to get the beach clear of everything as soon as landed, for all stores, equipment, and other tackle were pushed inland as soon as disembarked. "the enemy kept on landing. thousands of soldiers got ashore without any check, and all proceeding orderly and without the slightest confusion, as though the plans were absolutely perfect. everybody seemed to know exactly what to do. from where we were we could see the coastguards held prisoners in their station, with german sentries mounted around; and as the tide was now setting strong to the westward, ted and i just let our anchor off the ground and allowed ourselves to drift. it occurred to me that perhaps i might be able give the alarm at some other coastguard station if i could only drift away unnoticed in the busy scene now in progress. "that the germans had actually landed in england now apparent; yet we wondered what our own fleet could be doing, and pictured to ourselves the jolly good drubbing that our cruisers would give the audacious foreigner when they did haul in sight. it was for us, at all costs, to give the alarm, so gradually we drifted off to the nor'-westward, in fear every moment lest we should be noticed and fired at. at last we got around blakeney point successfully, and breathed more freely; then hoisting our sail, we headed for hunstanton, but seeing numbers of ships entering the wash, and believing them to be also germans, we put our helm down and ran across into wainfleet swatchway to gibraltar point, where i saw the chief officer of coastguards and told him all the extraordinary events of that memorable morning." the report added that the officer of coastguard in question had, three hours before, noticed strange vessels coming up the wash, and had already tried to report by telegraph to his divisional inspecting officer at harwich, but could obtain no communication. an hour later, however, it had become apparent that a still further landing was being effected on the south side of the wash, in all probability at king's lynn. the fisherman scotney's statement had been sent by special messenger from wainfleet on sunday evening, but owing to the dislocation of the railway traffic north of london, the messenger was unable to reach the offices of the coastguard in victoria street, westminster, until monday. the report received by the admiralty had been treated as confidential until corroborated, lest undue public alarm should be caused. it had then been given to the press as revealing the truth of what had actually happened. the enemy had entered by the back door of england, and the sensation it caused everywhere was little short of panic. some further very valuable information was also received by the intelligence department of the war office, revealing the military position of the invaders who had landed at weybourne hoop. the whole of the ivth german army corps, about 38,000 men, had been landed at weybourne, sheringham, and cromer. it consisted of the 7th and 8th divisions complete, commanded respectively by major-general dickmann and lieutenant-general von mirbach. the 7th division comprised the 13th and 14th infantry brigades, consisting of prince leopold of anhalt-dessau's 1st magdeburg regiment, the 3rd magdeburg infantry regiment, prince louis ferdinand von preussen's 2nd magdeburg regiment, and the 5th hanover infantry regiment. attached to this division were the magdeburg hussars no. 10, and the uhlan regiment of altmã¤rk no. 16. in the 8th division were the 15th and 16th brigades, comprising a magdeburg fusilier regiment, an anhalt infantry regiment, the 4th and 8th thuringen infantry, with the magdeburg cuirassiers, and a regiment of thuringen hussars. the cavalry were commanded by colonel frã¶lich, while general von kleppen was in supreme command of the whole corps. careful reconnaissance of the occupied area showed that immediately on landing, the german position extended from the little town of holt, on the west, eastward, along the main cromer road, as far as gibbet lane, slightly south of cromer, a distance of about five miles. this constituted a naturally strong position; indeed, nature seemed to have provided it specially to suit the necessities of a foreign invader. the ground for miles to the south sloped gently away down to the plain, while the rear was completely protected, so that the landing could proceed until every detail had been completed. _berlin um eins!_ _berlin um eins!_ das kleine journal mittags ausgabe. berlin, montag, den 3 september 1910 triumph der deutschen waffen. vernichtung der englischen flotte. von kronhelm auf dem vormarsche nach london. [illustration: the first news in berlin of the german victory.] artillery were massed on both flanks, namely, at holt and on the high ground near felbrigg, immediately south of cromer. this last-named artillery was adequately supported by the detached infantry close at hand. the whole force was covered by a strong line of outposts. their advanced sentries were to be found along a line starting from thornage village, through hunworth, edgefield, barningham green, squallham, aldborough, hanworth, to roughton. in rear of them lay their pickets, which were disposed in advantageous situations. the general line of these latter were at north street, pondhills to plumstead, thence over to matlash hall, aldborough hall, and the rising ground north of hanworth. these, in their turn, were adequately supplemented by the supports, which were near hempstead green, baconsthorpe, north narningham, bessingham, sustead, and melton. in case of sudden attack, reserves were at bodham, west beckham, east beckham, and aylmerton, but orders had been issued by von kleppen, who had established his headquarters at upper sheringham, that the line of resistance was to be as already indicated--namely, that having the holt-cromer road for its crest. cuirassiers, hussars, and some motorists--commanded by colonel von dorndorf--were acting independently some fifteen miles to the south scouring the whole country, terrifying the villagers, commandeering all supplies, and posting von kronhelm's proclamation, which has already been reproduced. from inquiries it was shown that on the night of the invasion six men, now known to have been advance agents of the enemy, arrived at the ship inn, at weybourne. three of them took accommodation for the night, while their companions slept elsewhere. at two o'clock the trio let themselves out quietly, were joined by six other men, and just as the enemy's ships hove in sight nine of them seized the coastguards and cut the wires, while the other three broke into the weybourne stores, and, drawing revolvers, obtained possession of the telegraph instrument to sheringham and cromer until they could hand it over to the germans. that the fourth german army corps were in a position as strong as those who landed at lowestoft could not be denied, and the military authorities could not disguise from themselves the extreme gravity of the situation. chapter v. state of siege declared. that our fleet had been taken unawares was apparent. there were all sorts of vague rumours of a sudden attack upon the north sea fleet at rosyth, and a fierce cruiser battle, in which we had been badly beaten by germany. it is, however, the land campaign which we have here to record. the authentic account of a further landing in essex--somewhere near maldon--was now published. the statement had been dictated by mr. henry alexander, j.p.,--the mayor of maldon, who had succeeded in escaping from the town,--to captain wilfred quare, of the intelligence department of the war office. this department had, in turn, given it to the newspapers for publication. it read as follows:-"on sunday morning, september 2, i had arranged to play a round of golf with my friend somers, of beeleigh, before church. i met him at the golf hut about 8.30. we played one round, and were at the last hole but three in a second round when we both thought we heard the sound of shots fired somewhere in the town. we couldn't make anything at all of it, and as we had so nearly finished the round, we thought we would do so before going to inquire about it. i was making my approach to the final hole when an exclamation from somers spoilt my stroke. i felt annoyed, but as i looked around--doubtless somewhat irritably--my eyes turned in the direction in which i now saw my friend was pointing with every expression of astonishment in his countenance. "'who on earth are those fellows?' he asked. as for me, i was too dumbfounded to reply. galloping over the links from the direction of the town came three men in uniform--soldiers, evidently. i had often been in germany, and recognised the squat pickelhaubes and general get-up of the rapidly approaching horsemen at a glance. "they were upon us almost as he spoke, pulling up their horses with a great spattering up of grass and mud, quite ruining one of our best greens. all three of them pointed big, ugly repeating pistols at us, and the leader, a conceited-looking ass in staff uniform, required us to 'surrender' in quite a pompous manner, but in very good english. by the king, proclamation for calling out the army reserve. edward r. whereas by the reserve forces act, 1882, it is amongst other things enacted that in case of imminent national danger or of great emergency, it shall be lawful for us, by proclamation, the occasion being declared in council and notified by the proclamation, if parliament be not then sitting, to order that the army reserve shall be called out on permanent service; and by any such proclamation to order a secretary of state from time to time to give, and when given, to revoke or vary such directions as may seem necessary or proper for calling out the forces or force mentioned in the proclamation, or all or any of the men belonging thereto: and whereas parliament is not sitting, and whereas we have declared in council and hereby notify the present state of public affairs and the extent of the demands on our military forces for the protection of the interests of the empire constitute a case of great emergency within the meaning of the said act: now therefore we do in pursuance of the said act hereby order that our army reserve be called out on permanent service, and we do hereby order the right honourable charles leonard spencer cotterell, one of our principal secretaries of state, from time to time to give, and when given, to revoke or vary such directions as may seem necessary or proper for calling out our army reserve, or all or any of the men belonging thereto, and such men shall proceed to and attend at such places and at such times as may be respectively appointed by him to serve as part of our army until their services are no longer required. given at our court at james', this fourth day of september, in the year of our lord, one thousand nine hundred and ten, and in the tenth year of our reign. =god save the king.= "'do we look so very dangerous, herr lieutenant?' inquired i in german. "he dropped a little of his frills when he heard me speak in his native language, asked which of us was the mayor, and condescended to explain that i was required in maldon by the officer at present in command of his imperial majesty the kaiser's forces occupying that place. "i looked at my captor in complete bewilderment. could he be some fellow trying to take a rise out of me by masquerading as a german officer? but no, i recognised at once that he was the genuine article. "he demanded my parole, which i made no difficulty about giving, since i did not see any way of escape, and in any case was only too anxious to get back to town to see how things were. "'but you don't want my friend, do you--he lives out the other way?' i queried. "'i don't want him, but he will have to come all the same,' rejoined the german. 'it isn't likely we're going to let him get away to give the alarm in colchester, is it?' "obviously it was not, and without more ado we started off at a sharp walk, holding on to the stirrup leathers of the horsemen. "as we entered the town there was on the bridge over the river, a small picket of blue-coated german infantry. the whole thing was a perfect nightmare. it was past belief. "'how on earth did you get here?' i couldn't help asking. "'by water,' he answered shortly, pointing down the river as he spoke, where i was still further astonished--if it were possible after such a morning--to see several steam pinnaces and boats flying the black and white german ensign. "i was conducted straight to the moot hall. there i found a grizzled veteran waiting on the steps, who turned round and entered the building as we came up. we followed him inside, and i was introduced to him. he appeared to be a truculent old ruffian. "'well, mr. mayor,' he said, pulling viciously at his white moustache, 'do you know that i've a great mind to take you out into the street and have you shot?' "i was not at all inclined to be browbeated. "'indeed, herr hauptman?' i answered. 'and may i inquire in what way i have incurred the displeasure of the hochwohlgeboren officer?' "'don't trifle with me, sir. why do you allow your miserable volunteers to come out and shoot my men?' "'my volunteers? i am afraid i don't understand what you mean,' i said. 'i'm not a volunteer officer. even if i were, i should have no cognisance of anything that has happened within the last two hours, as i have been down on the golf course. this officer will bear me out,' i added, turning to my captor. he admitted that he had found me there. "'but, anyway, you are the mayor,' persisted my interrogator. 'why did you allow the volunteers to come out?' "'if you had been good enough to inform us of your visit, we might have made better arrangements.' i answered; 'but in any case you must understand that a mayor has little or no authority in this country. his job is to head subscription-lists, eat a dinner or two, and make speeches on public occasions.' "he seemed to have some difficulty in swallowing this, but as another officer who was there, writing at a table, and who, it appears, had lived at some period in england, corroborated my statement, the choleric colonel seemed to be a little mollified, and contented himself with demanding my parole not to leave maldon until he had reported the matter to the general for decision. i gave it without more ado, and then asked if he would be good enough to tell me what had happened. from what he told me, and what i heard afterwards, it seems that the germans must have landed a few of their men about half an hour before i left home, down near the marine lake. they had not entered the town at once, as their object was to work round outside and occupy all entrances, to prevent anyone getting away with the news of their presence. they had not noticed the little lane leading to the golf course, and so i had gone down without meeting any of them, although they had actually got a picket just beyond the railway arch at that time. they had completed their cordon before there was any general alarm in the town, but at the first reliable rumour it seems that young shand, of the essex volunteers, had contrived to get together twenty or thirty of his men in their uniforms and foolishly opened fire on a german picket down by st. mary's church. they fell back, but were almost instantly reinforced by a whole company that had just landed, and our men, rushing forward, had been ridden into by some cavalry that came up a side street. they were dispersed, a couple of them were killed, and several wounded, among them poor shand, who was hit in the right lung. they had bagged four germans, however, and their commanding officer was furious. it was a pity that it happened, as it could not possibly have been of any use. but it seems that shand had no idea that it was more than a very small detachment that had landed from a gun-boat that some one said they had seen down the river. some of the volunteers were captured afterwards and sent off as prisoners, and the germans posted up a notice that all volunteers were forthwith to surrender either themselves or their arms and uniforms, under pain of death. most of them did the latter. they could do nothing after it was found that the germans had a perfect army somewhere between maldon and the sea, and were pouring troops into the town as fast as they could. "that very morning a saxon rifle battalion arrived from the direction of mundon, and just afterwards a lot spike-helmeted gentlemen came in by train from wickford way. so it went on all day, until the whole town was in a perfect uproar. the infantry were billeted in the town, but the cavalry and guns crossed the river and canal at heybridge, and went off in the direction of witham. "maldon is built on a hill that slopes gradually towards the east and south, but rises somewhat abruptly on the west and north, humping up a shoulder, as it were, to the north-west. at this corner they started to dig entrenchments just after one o'clock, and soon officers and orderlies were busy all round the town, plotting, measuring, and setting up marks of one kind and another. other troops appeared to be busy down in heybridge, but what they were doing i could not tell, as no one was allowed to cross the bridge over the river. "the german officer who had surprised me down on the golf course did not turn out to be a bad kind of youth on further acquaintance. he was a captain von hildebrandt, of the guard fusilier regiment, who was employed on the staff, though in what capacity he did not say. thinking it was just as well to make the best of a bad job, i invited him to lunch. he said he had to be off. he, however, introduced me to three friends of his in the 101st grenadiers, who, he suggested, should be billeted on me. i thought the idea a fairly good one, and von hildebrandt, having apparently arranged this with the billeting officer without any difficulty, i took them home with me to lunch. "i found my wife and family in a great state of mind, both on account of the untoward happenings of the morning and my non-return from golf at the expected time. they had imagined all sorts of things which might have befallen me, but luckily seemed not to have heard of my adventure with the choleric colonel. our three foreigners soon made themselves very much at home, but as they were undeniably gentlemen, they contrived to be about as agreeable as could be expected under the circumstances. indeed, their presence was to a great extent a safeguard against annoyance, as the stable and back premises were stuffed full of soldiers, who might have been very troublesome had they not been there to keep them in order. "of what was happening up in london we knew nothing. being sunday, all the shops were shut; but i went out and contrived to lay in a considerable stock of provisions one way and another, and it was just as well i did, for i only just anticipated the germans, who commandeered everything in the town, and put everybody on an allowance of rations. they paid for them with bills on the british government, which were by no means acceptable to the shopkeepers. however, it was 'hobson's choice'--that or nothing. the germans soothed them by saying that the british army would be smashed in a couple of weeks, and the defrayment of such bills would be among the conditions of peace. the troops generally seemed to be well-behaved, and treated those inhabitants with whom they came in contact in an unexceptionable manner. they did not see very much of them, however, as they were kept hard at work all day with their entrenchments and were not allowed out of their billets after eight o'clock that evening. no one, in fact, was allowed to be about the streets after that hour. two or three people were shot by the sentries as they tried to break out in one direction or the other. these affairs produced a feeling of horror and indignation in the town, as englishmen, having such a long experience of peace in their own country, have always refused to realise what war really means. "the german fortifications went on at a rapid rate. trenches were dug all round the northern and western sides of the town before dark on the first evening, and the following morning i woke up to find three huge gun-pits yawning in my garden, which looked to the northward. during breakfast there was a great rattling and rumbling in the street without, and presently three big field howitzers were dragged in and planted in the pits. there they stood, their ugly snouts pointing skyward in the midst of the wreck of flowers and fruit. "afterwards i went out and found that other guns and howitzers were being put in position all along the north side of beeleigh road, and round the corner by the old barracks. the high tower of the disused church of st. peter's, now utilised for the safe custody of dr. plume's library, had been equipped as a lookout and signal station." such was the condition of affairs in the town of maldon on monday morning. * * * * * the excitement in london, and indeed all over the country, on tuesday night was intense. scotney's story of the landing at weybourne was eagerly read everywhere. as the sun sank blood-red into the smoke haze behind nelson's monument in trafalgar square, it was an ominous sign to the panic-stricken crowds that day and night were now assembled there. the bronze lions facing the four points of the compass were now mere mocking emblems of england's departed greatness. the mobilisation muddle was known; for, according to the papers, hardly any troops had as yet assembled at their places of concentration. the whole of the east of england was helplessly in the invader's hands. from newcastle had come terrible reports of the bombardment. half the city was in flames, the elswick works were held by the enemy, and whole streets in newcastle, gateshead, sunderland, and tynemouth were still burning fiercely. the tynemouth fort had proved of little or no use against the enemy's guns. the germans had, it appeared, used petrol bombs with appalling results, spreading fire, disaster, and death everywhere. the inhabitants, compelled to fly with only the clothes they wore, had scattered all over northumberland and durham, while the enemy had seized a quantity of valuable shipping that had been in the tyne, hoisted the german flag, and converted the vessels to their own uses. many had already been sent across to wilhelmshaven, emden, bremerhaven, and other places to act as transports, while the elswick works--which surely ought to have been properly protected--supplied the germans with quantities of valuable material. panic and confusion were everywhere. all over the country the railway system was utterly disorganised, business everywhere was at a complete deadlock, for in every town and city all over the kingdom the banks were closed. lombard street, lothbury, and other banking centres in the city had all day on monday been the scene of absolute panic. there, as well as at every branch bank all over the metropolis, had occurred a wild rush to withdraw deposits by people who foresaw disaster. many, indeed, intended to fly with their families away from the country. the price of the necessities of life had risen further, and in the east end and poorer districts of southwark the whole population were already in a state of semi-starvation. but worst of all, the awful truth with which london was now face to face was that the metropolis was absolutely defenceless. every hour the papers were appearing with fresh details of the invasion, for reports were so rapidly coming in from every hand that the press had difficulty in dealing with them. hull and goole were known to be in the hands of the invaders, and grimsby, where the mayor had been unable to pay the indemnity demanded, had been sacked. but details were not yet forthcoming. londoners, however, learnt late that night more authentic news from the invaded zone, of which beccles was the centre, and it was to the effect that those who had landed at lowestoft were the ixth german army corps, with general von kronhelm, the generalissimo of the german army. this army corps, consisting of about 40,000 men, was divided into the 17th division, commanded by lieutenant-general hocker, and the 18th by lieutenant-general von rauch. the cavalry was under the command of major-general von heyden, and the motor-infantry under colonel reichardt. notice. to all german subjects resident in england. wilhelm. to all our loyal subjects, greeting. we hereby command and enjoin that all persons born within the german empire, or being german subjects, whether liable to military service or not, shall join our arms at any headquarters of either of our army corps in england within 24 hours of the date of this proclamation. any german subject failing to obey this our command will be treated as an enemy. by the emperor's command. given at beccles, sept. 3rd, 1910. =von kronhelm=, commanding the imperial german army in england. [illustration: facsimile of a proclamation posted by unknown hands all over the country.] according to official information which had reached the war office and been given to the press, the 17th division was made up of the bremen and hamburg infantry regiments, the grand duke of mecklenburg's grenadiers, the grand duke's fusiliers, the lã¼beck regiment no. 162, the schleswig-holstein regiment no. 163, while the cavalry brigade consisted of the 17th and 18th grand duke of mecklenburg's dragoons. the 18th division consisted of the schleswig regiment no. 84 and the schleswig fusiliers no. 86, the thuringen regiment, and the duke of holstein's regiment, the two latter regiments being billeted in lowestoft, while the cavalry brigade forming the screen across from leiston by wilby to castle hill were queen wilhelmina's hanover hussars and the emperor of austria's schleswig-holstein hussars no. 16. these, with the smart motor infantry, held every communication in the direction of london. as far as could be gathered, the german commander had established his headquarters in beccles, and had not moved. it now became apparent that the telegraph cables between the east coast and holland and germany, already described in the first chapter, had never been cut at all. they had simply been held by the enemy's advance agents until the landing had been effected. and now von kronhelm had actually established direct communication between beccles and emden, and on to berlin. reports from the north sea spoke of the enemy's transports returning to the german coast, escorted by cruisers; therefore the plan was undoubtedly not to move until a very much larger force had been landed. could england regain her command of the sea in time to prevent the completion of the blow? that night the london streets presented a scene of panic indescribable. the theatres opened, but closed their doors again, as nobody would see plays while in that excited state. every shop was closed, and every railway station was filled to overflowing with the exodus of terrified people fleeing to the country westward, or reserves on their way to join the colours. the incredulous manner in which the country first received the news had now been succeeded by wild terror and despair. on that bright sunday afternoon they laughed at the report as a mere journalistic sensation, but ere the sun set the hard, terrible truth was forced upon them, and now, on tuesday night, the whole country, from brighton to carlisle, from yarmouth to aberystwyth, was utterly disorganised and in a state of terrified anxiety. the eastern counties were already beneath the iron heel of the invader, whose objective was the world's great capital--london. would they reach it? that was the serious question upon every one's tongue that fevered, breathless night. chapter vi. how the enemy dealt the blow. meanwhile, at the regimental depã´ts feverish excitement prevailed on wednesday, september 5, now that every man was ordered on active service. all officers and men who had been on leave were recalled, and medical inspection of all ranks at once commenced. rations and bedding, stores and equipment were drawn, but there was a great lack of uniforms. unlike the german army, where every soldier's equipment is complete even to the last button on the proverbial gaiter, and stowed away where the owner knows where to obtain it, our officers commanding depã´ts commenced indenting for clothing on the royal army clothing department and the army corps clothing department. a large percentage of men were, of course, found medically unfit to serve, and were discharged to swell the mobs of hungry idlers. the plain clothes of the reservists coming in were disposed of, no man daring to appear in the ranks unless in uniform. von kronhelm's proclamation having forbidden the tactics of the boers of putting mere armed citizens into the field. horse-collecting parties went out all over the country, taking with them head-collars, head-ropes, bits, reins, surcingles, numnahs, horse-blankets, and nose-bags. these scoured every county in search of likely animals, every farm, every livery stable, every hunting-box, all hound-kennels and private stables were visited, and a choice made. all this, however, took time. precious hours were thus being wasted while the enemy were calmly completing their arrangements for the long-contemplated blow at the heart of the british empire. while the war office refused any information, special editions of the papers during wednesday printed sensational reports of the ruthless completion of the impenetrable screen covering the operations of the enemy on the whole of the east coast. news had, by some means, filtered through from yarmouth that a similar landing to those at lowestoft and weybourne had been effected. protected as such an operation was by its flanks being supported by the ivth and ixth army corps landing on either side, the xth army corps, under general von wilburg, had seized yarmouth, with its many miles of wharves and docks, which were now crowded by the lighters' craft of flotilla from the frisian islands. it was known that the landing had been effected simultaneously with that at lowestoft. the large number of cranes at the fish-docks were of invaluable use to the enemy, for there they landed guns, animals, and stores, while the provisions they found at the various ship's chandlers, and in such shops as blagg's, and the international stores in king street, peter brown's, doughty's, lipton's, penny's and barnes's, were at once commandeered. great stores of flour were seized in clarke's and press's mills, while the horse-provender mills in the vicinity supplied them with valuable forage. beyond these few details, as far as regarded the fate of yarmouth, nothing further was at present known. the british division at colchester, which comprised all the regular troops north of the thames in the eastern command, was, no doubt, in a critical position, threatened so closely north and south by the enemy. none of the regiments--the norfolks, the leicestershire, and the king's own scottish borderers of the 11th infantry brigade--were up to their strength. the 12th infantry brigade, which also belonged to the division, possessed only skeleton regiments stationed at hounslow and warley. of the 4th cavalry brigade, some were at norwich, the 21st lancers were at hounslow, while only the 16th lancers were at colchester. other cavalry regiments were as far away as canterbury, shorncliffe, and brighton, and although there were three batteries of artillery at colchester, some were at ipswich, others at shorncliffe, and others at woolwich. therefore it was quite evident to the authorities in london that unless both colchester and norwich were instantly strongly supported, they would soon be simply swept out of existence by the enormous masses of german troops now dominating the whole eastern coast, bent upon occupying london. helpless though they felt themselves to be, the garrison at colchester did all they could. all available cavalry had been pushed out past ipswich, north to wickham market, stowmarket, and across to bury st. edmunds, only to find on wednesday morning that they were covering the hasty retreat of the small body of cavalry who had been stationed at norwich. they, gallantly led by their officers, had done everything possible to reconnoitre and attempt to pierce the enemy's huge cavalry screen, but in every instance entirely in vain. they had been outnumbered by the squadrons of independent cavalry operating in front of the germans, and had, alas! left numbers of their gallant comrades upon the roads, killed and wounded. norwich had, therefore, on wednesday morning fallen into the hands of the german cavalry, utterly defenceless. from the castle the german flag was now flying, the britannia barracks were being used by the enemy, food had all been seized, the streets were in a state of chaos, and a complete reign of terror had been created when a company of british infantry, having fired at some uhlans, were ruthlessly shot down in the street close by the maid's head. in addition to this, the mayor of norwich was taken prisoner, lodged in the castle, and held as surety for the well-behaviour of the town. everywhere von kronhelm's famous proclamation was posted, and as the invaders poured into the city the inhabitants looked on in sullen silence, knowing that they were now under german military discipline, the most rigorous and drastic in the whole world. a special issue of the "times" in the evening of the 3rd september contained the following vivid account--the first published--of the happenings in the town of goole, in yorkshire: "goole, _september 3_. "shortly before five o'clock on sunday morning the night operator of the telephone call-office here discovered an interruption on the trunk-line, and on trying the telegraphs was surprised to find that there was no communication in any direction. the railway station, being rung up, replied that their wires were also down. "almost immediately afterwards a well-known north sea pilot rushed into the post office and breathlessly asked that he might telephone to lloyd's. when told that all communication was cut off he wildly shouted that a most extraordinary sight was to be seen in the river ouse, up which was approaching a continuous procession of tugs, towing flats, and barges filled with german soldiers. "this was proved to be an actual fact, and the inhabitants of goole, awakened from their sunday morning slumbers by the shouts of alarm in the streets, found, to their abject amazement, foreign soldiers swarming everywhere. on the quay they found activity everywhere, german being spoken on all hands. they watched a body of cavalry, consisting of the 1st westphalian hussars, the westphalian cuirassiers, land with order and ease at the victoria pier, whence, after being formed up on the quay, they advanced at a sharp trot up victoria street, ouse street, and north street to the railway stations, where, as is generally known, there are large sidings of the north-east lancashire and yorkshire lines in direct communication both with london and the great cities of the north. the enemy here found great quantities of engines and rolling stock, all of which was at once seized, together with huge stacks of coal at the new sidings. "before long the first of the infantry of the 13th division, which was commanded by lieutenant-general doppschutz, marched up to the stations. they consisted of the 13th and 56th westphalian regiments, and the cavalry on being relieved advanced out of the town, crossing the dutch river by the railway bridge, and pushed on as far as thorne and hensall, near which they at once strongly held the several important railway junctions. "meanwhile cavalry of the 14th brigade, consisting of westphalian hussars and uhlans, were rapidly disembarking at old goole, and, advancing southwards over the open country of goole moors and thorne waste, occupied crowle. both cavalry brigades were acting independently of the main body, and by their vigorous action both south and west they were entirely screening what was happening in the port of goole. city of norwich. =citizens--= as is well known, a hostile army has landed upon the coast of norfolk, and has already occupied yarmouth and lowestoft, establishing their headquarters at beccles. in these grave circumstances our only thought is for england, and our duty as citizens and officials is to remain at our post and bear our part in the defence of norwich, our capital now threatened. your patriotism, of which you have on so many occasions in recent wars given proof, will, i have no doubt, again be shown. by your resistance you will obtain the honour and respect of your enemies, and by the individual energy of each one of you the honour and glory of england may be saved. citizens of norwich, i appeal to you to view the catastrophe calmly, and bear your part bravely in the coming struggle. =charles carrington=, _mayor_. norwich, _september 4, 1910_. [illustration: appeal issued by the mayor of norwich] "infantry continued to pour into the town from flats and barges, arriving in endless procession. doppschutz's division landed at aldan dock, railway dock, and ship dock; the 14th division at the jetty and basin, also in the barge dock and at the mouth of the dutch river; while some, following the cavalry brigade, landed at old goole and swinefleet. "as far as can be ascertained, the whole of the viith german army corps have landed, at any rate as far as the men are concerned. the troops, who are under the supreme command of general baron von bistram, appear to consist almost entirely of westphalians, and include prince frederick of the netherlands' 2nd westphalians; count bulow von dennewitz's 6th westphalians; but one infantry brigade, the 79th, consisted of men from lorraine. "through the whole day the disembarkation proceeded, the townsmen standing there helpless to lift a finger and watching the enemy's arrival. the victoria pleasure grounds were occupied by parked artillery, which towards afternoon began to rumble through the streets. the german gunners, with folded arms, sat unconcernedly upon the ammunition boxes as the guns were drawn up to their positions. horses were seized wherever found, the proclamation of von kronhelm was nailed upon the church doors, and the terrified populace read the grim threat of the german field-marshal. "the wagons, of which there were hundreds, were put ashore mostly at goole, but others up the river at hook and swinefleet. when the cavalry advance was complete, as it was soon after midday, and when reports had come in to von bistram that the country was clear of the british, the german infantry advance began. by nightfall they had pushed forward, some by road, some by rail, and others in the numerous motor-wagons that had accompanied the force, until march-outposts were established, south of thorne, askern, and crowle, straddling the main road at bawtry. these places, including fishlake and the country between them, were at once strongly held, while ammunition and stores were pushed up by railway to both thorne and askern. "the independent cavalry advance continued through doncaster until dusk, when rotherham was reached, during which advance scattered bodies of british imperial yeomanry were met and compelled to retreat, a dozen or so lives being lost. it appears that late in the afternoon of sunday news was brought into sheffield of what was in progress, and a squadron of yeomanry donned their uniforms and rode forward to reconnoitre, with the disastrous results already mentioned. "the sensation caused in sheffield when it became known that german cavalry were so close as rotherham was enormous, and the scenes in the streets soon approached a panic; for it was wildly declared that that night the enemy intended to occupy the town. the mayor telegraphed to the war office, appealing for additional defensive force, but no response was received to the telegram. the small force of military in the town, which consisted of the 2nd battalion yorkshire light infantry, some royal artillery, and the local volunteers, were soon assembled, and going out occupied the strong position above sheffield between catcliffe and tinsley, overlooking the valley of the rother to the east. "the expectation that the germans intended an immediate descent on sheffield was not realised, because the german tactics were merely to reconnoitre and report on the defences of sheffield, if any existed. this they did by remaining to the eastward of the river rother, whence the high ground rising before sheffield could be easily observed. "before dusk one or two squadrons of cuirassiers were seen to be examining the river to find fords and ascertain the capacity of the bridges, while others appeared to be comparing the natural features of the ground with the maps with which they all appeared to be provided. "as night fell, however, the cavalry retired towards doncaster, which town was occupied, the angel being the cavalry headquarters. the reason the germans could not advance at once upon sheffield was that the cavalry was not strongly supported by infantry from their base, the distance from goole being too great to be covered in a single day. that the arrangements for landing were in every detail perfect could not be doubted, but owing to the narrow channel of the ouse time was necessary, and it is considered probable that fully three days must elapse from sunday before the germans are absolutely established. "an attempt has been made by the yorkshire light infantry and the york and lancaster regiment, with three battalions of volunteers stationed at pontefract, to discover the enemy's strength and position between askern and snaith, but so far without avail, the cavalry screen across the whole country being impenetrable. god save the king. proclamation. to all whom it may concern. in regard to the decree of september 3rd of the present year, declaring a state of siege in the counties of norfolk and suffolk. in regard to the decree of august 10th, 1906, regulating the public administration of all theatres of war and military servitude; upon the proposition of the commander-in-chief it is decreed as follows: (1) there are in a state of war: 1st. in the eastern command, the counties of northamptonshire, rutlandshire, cambridgeshire, norfolk, suffolk, essex, huntingdonshire, bedfordshire, hertfordshire, and middlesex (except that portion included in the london military district). 2nd. in the northern command, the counties of northumberland, durham, cumberland, and yorkshire, with the southern shore of the estuary of the humber. (2) i, charles leonard spencer cotterell, his majesty's principal secretary of state for war, am charged with the execution of this decree. war office, whitehall, _september the fourth, 1910_. [illustration: this proclamation was posted outside the war office in london at noon on wednesday, and was read by thousands. it was also posted upon the town hall of every city and town throughout the country.] "the people of the west riding, and especially the inhabitants of sheffield, are stupefied that they have received no assistance--not even a reply to the mayor's telegram. this fact has leaked out, and has caused the greatest dissatisfaction. an enemy is upon us, yet we are in ignorance of what step, if any, the authorities are taking for our protection. "there are wild rumours here that the enemy have burned grimsby, but these are generally discredited, for telegraphic and telephonic communication has been cut off, and at present we are completely isolated. it has been gathered from the invaders that the viiith army corps of the germans have landed and seized hull, but at present this is not confirmed. there is, alas! no communication with the place, therefore, the report may possibly be true. "dewsbury, huddersfield, wakefield, and selby are all intensely excited over the sudden appearance of german soldiers, and were at first inclined to unite to stem their progress. but the german proclamation, showing the individual peril of any citizen taking arms against the invaders, having been posted everywhere, has held every one scared and in silent inactivity. "'where is our army?' every one is asking. the whole country has run riot in a single hour, now that the germans are upon us. on every hand it is asked: 'what will london do?'" reports now reached london that the viith german army corps had landed at hull and goole, and taking possession of these towns, were moving upon sheffield in order to paralyse our trade in the midlands. hull had been bombarded, and was in flames! terrible scenes were taking place at that port. on that memorable sunday, when a descent had been made upon our shores, there were in german ports on the north sea nearly a million tons gross of german shipping. normally, in peace time, half a million tons is always to be found there, the second half having been quietly collected by ships putting in unobserved into such ports as emden, bremen, bremerhaven, and geestemunde, where there are at least ten miles of deep-sea wharves, with ample railway access. the arrival of these crafts caused no particular comment, but they had already been secretly prepared for the transport of men and horses while at sea. under the cover of the frisian islands, from every canal, river, and creek had been assembled a huge multitude of flats and barges, ready to be towed by tugs alongside the wharves and filled with troops. of a sudden, in a single hour it seemed, hamburg, altona, cuxhaven, and wilhelmshaven were in excited activity, and almost before the inhabitants themselves realised what was really in progress, the embarkation had well commenced. at emden, with its direct cable to the theatre of war in england, was concentrated the brain of the whole movement. beneath the lee of the covering screen of frisian islands, borkum, juist, norderney, langebog, and the others, the preparations for the descent upon england rapidly matured. troop-trains from every part of the fatherland arrived with the punctuality of clockwork. from dã¼sseldorf came the viith army corps, the viiith from coblenz, the ixth were already assembled at their headquarters at altona, while many of them being stationed at bremen embarked from there; the xth came up from hanover, the xivth from magdeburg, and the corps of german guards, the pride and flower of the kaiser's troops, arrived eagerly at hamburg from berlin and potsdam, among the first to embark. each army corps consisted of about 38,000 officers and men, 11,000 horses, 144 guns, and about 2,000 motor-cars, wagons, and carts. but for this campaign--which was more of the nature of a raid than of any protracted campaign--the supply of wheeled transport, with the exception of motor-cars, had been somewhat reduced. each cavalry brigade attached to an army corps consisted of 1,400 horses and men, with some thirty-five light machine guns and wagons. the german calculation--which proved pretty correct--was that each army corps could come over to england in 100,000 tons gross of shipping, bringing with them supplies for twenty-seven days in another 3,000 tons gross. therefore about 618,000 tons gross conveyed the whole of the six corps, leaving an ample margin still in german ports for any emergencies. half this tonnage consisted of about 100 steamers, averaging 3,000 tons each, the remainder being the boats, flats, lighters, barges, and tugs previously alluded to. [illustration: germany's points of embarkation] the saxons who, disregarding the neutrality of belgium, had embarked at antwerp, had seized the whole of the flat-bottomed craft in the scheldt and the numerous canals, as well as the merchant ships in the port, finding no difficulty in commandeering the amount of tonnage necessary to convey them to the blackwater and the crouch. as hour succeeded hour the panic increased. it was now also known that, in addition to the various corps who had effected a landing, the german guards had, by a sudden swoop into the wash, got ashore at king's lynn, seized the town, and united their forces with von kleppen's corps, who, having landed at weybourne, were now spread right across norfolk. this picked corps of guards was under the command of that distinguished officer, the duke of mannheim, while the infantry divisions were under lieutenant-generals von castein and von der decken. the landing at king's lynn on sunday morning had been quite a simple affair. there was nothing whatever to repel them, and they disembarked on the quays and in the docks, watched by the astonished populace. all provisions were seized at shops, while headquarters were established at the municipal buildings, and the german flag hoisted upon the old church, the tower of which was at once used as a signal station. old-fashioned people of lynn peered out of their quiet respectable houses in king street in utter amazement; but soon, when the german proclamation was posted, the terrible truth was plain. in half an hour, even before they could realise it, they had been transferred from the protection of the british flag to the militarism of the german. ere sundown on sunday, stalwart grey-coated sentries of the guards fusiliers from potsdam, and the grenadiers from berlin were holding the roads at gayton, east walton, narborough, markham, fincham, stradsett, and stow bardolph. therefore on sunday night, from spalding on the east, peterborough, chatteris, littleport, thetford, diss, and halesworth, were faced by a huge cavalry screen protecting the landing and repose of the great german army behind it. slowly but carefully the enemy were maturing their plans for the defeat of our defenders and the sack of london. chapter vii. desperate fighting in essex. london was at a standstill. trade was entirely stopped. shopkeepers feared to open their doors on account of the fierce, hungry mobs parading the street. orators were haranguing the crowds in almost every open space. the police were either powerless, or feared to come into collision with the assembled populace. terror and blank despair were everywhere. there was unrest night and day. the banks, head offices, and branches, unable to withstand the run upon them when every one demanded to be paid in gold, had, by mutual arrangement, shut their doors, leaving excited and furious crowds of customers outside unpaid. financial ruin stared every one in the face. those who were fortunate enough to realise their securities on monday were fleeing from london south and westward. day and night the most extraordinary scenes of frantic fear were witnessed at paddington, victoria, waterloo, and london bridge. the southern railways were badly disorganised by the cutting of the lines by the enemy, but the great western system was, up to the present, intact, and carried thousands upon thousands to wales, to devonshire, and to cornwall. in those three hot, breathless days the red hand of ruin spread out upon london. the starving east met the terrified west, but in those moments the bonds of terror united class with mass. restaurants and theatres were closed; there was but little vehicular traffic in the streets, for of horses there were none, while the majority of the motor 'buses had been requisitioned, and the transit of goods had been abandoned. "the city," that great army of daily workers, both male and female, was out of employment, and swelled the idlers and gossips, whose temper and opinion were swayed each half-hour by the papers now constantly appearing night and day without cessation. cabinet councils had been held every day, but their decisions, of course, never leaked out to the public. the king also held privy councils, and various measures were decided upon. parliament, which had been hurriedly summoned, was due to meet, and every one speculated as to the political crisis that must now ensue. in st. james's park, in hyde park, in victoria park, on hampstead heath, in greenwich park--in fact, in each of the "lungs of london,"--great mass meetings were held, at which resolutions were passed condemning the administration and eulogising those who, at the first alarm, had so gallantly died in defence of their country. it was declared that by the culpable negligence of the war office and the national defence committee we had laid ourselves open to complete ruin, both financially and as a nation. the man-in-the-street already felt the strain, for the lack of employment and the sudden rise in the price of everything had brought him up short. wives and families were crying for food, and those without savings and with only a few pounds put by looked grimly into the future and at the mystery it presented. most of the papers published the continuation of the important story of mr. alexander, the mayor of maldon, which revealed the extent of the enemy's operations in essex and the strong position they occupied. it ran as below: "of the events of the early hours of the morning i have no very clear recollection. i was bewildered, staggered, dumbfounded by the sights and sounds which beset me. of what modern war meant i had till then truly but a very faint idea. to witness its horrid realities enacted in this quiet, out-of-the-way spot where i had pitched my tent for so many years, brought them home to me literally as well as metaphorically. "i had run down cromwell hill, and seeing the flames of heybridge, was impelled to get nearer, if possible, to discover more particularly the state of affairs in that direction. but i was reckoning without the germans. when i got to the bridge over the river at the foot of the hill, the officer in charge there absolutely prevented my crossing. beyond the soldiers standing or kneeling behind whatever cover was offered by the walls and buildings abutting on the riverside, and a couple of machine guns placed so as to command the bridge and the road beyond, there was nothing much to see. a number of germans were, however, very busy in the big mill just across the river, but what they were doing i could not make out. as i turned to retrace my step the glare of the conflagration grew suddenly more and more intense. a mass of dark figures came running down the brightly illuminated road towards the bridge, while the rifle fire became louder, nearer, and heavier than ever. every now and again the air became alive with, as it were, the hiss and buzz of flying insects. the english must have fought their way through heybridge, and these must be the bullets from their rifles. it was dangerous to stay down there any longer, so i took to my heels. as i ran i heard a thundering explosion behind me, the shock of which nearly threw me to the ground. looking over my shoulder, i saw that the germans had blown up the mill at the farther end of the bridge, and were now pushing carts from either side in order to barricade it. the two maxims, too, began to pump lead with their hammering reports, and the men near them commenced to fall in twos and threes. i made off to the left, and passed into high street by the end of st. peter's church, now disused. at the corner i ran against mr. clydesdale, the optician, who looks after the library which now occupies the old building. he pointed to the tower, which stood darkly up against the blood-red sky. "'look at those infernal germans!' he said. 'they can't even keep out of that old place. i wish we could have got the books out before they came.' "i could not see any of our invaders where he was pointing, but presently i became aware of a little winking, blinking light at the very summit of the tower. "'that's them,' said clydesdale. 'they're making signals, i think. my boy says he saw the same thing on purleigh church tower last night. i wish it would come down with them, that i do. it's pretty shaky, anyway.' "the street was fairly full of people. the germans, it is true, had ordered that no one should be out of doors between eight in the evening and six in the morning; but just now they appeared to have their hands pretty full elsewhere, and if any of the few soldiers that were about knew of or thought anything of the interdiction, they said nothing. "the crash of a salvo of heavy guns from the direction of my own house interrupted him. "'that'll be the guns in my garden,' i said. "'yes, sir, and they've got three monstrous great ones in the opening between the houses just behind the church there,' said clydesdale. "as he spoke, the guns in question bellowed out, one after the other. "'look--look at the tower!' i cried. "the light at the top had disappeared and the lofty edifice was swaying slowly, slowly, over to the left. "'she's gone at last!' exclaimed clydesdale. "it was true. down came the old steeple that had pointed heavenward for so many generations, with a mighty crash and concussion that swallowed up even the noise of the battle, though cannon of all sorts and sizes were now joining in the hellish concert, and shell from the english batteries began to roar over the town. the vibration and shock of the heavy guns had been too much for the old tower, which, for years in a tottery condition, had been patched up so often. "as soon as the cloud of dust cleared off we ran towards the huge pile of dã©bris that filled the little churchyard. several other people followed. it was very dark down there, in the shadow of the trees and houses, despite the fire-light overhead, and we began striking matches as we looked about among the heaps of bricks and beams to see if there were any of the german signal party among them. why we should have taken the trouble under the circumstances i do not quite know. it was an instinctive movement of humanity on my part, and that of most of the others, i suppose. "i caught sight of an arm in a light blue sleeve protruding from the dã©bris, and took hold of it in a futile attempt to remove some of the bricks and rubbish which i thought were covering the body of its owner. to my horror, it came away in my hand. the body to which it belonged might be buried yards away in the immense heap of ruins. i dropped it with a cry, and fled from the spot. "dawn was now breaking. i do not exactly remember where i wandered to after the fall of st. peter's tower, but it must have been between half-past five and six when i found myself on the high ground at the north-western corner of the town, overlooking the golf links, where i had spent so many pleasant hours in that recent past that now seemed so far away. all around me were batteries, trenches, and gun-pits. but though the firing was still going on somewhere away to the right, where heybridge poured black smoke skyward like a volcano, gun and howitzer were silent, and their attendant artillerymen, instead of being in cover behind their earthen parapets, were clustered on the top, watching intently something that was passing in the valley below them. so absorbed were they that i was able to creep up behind them, and also get a sight of what was taking place. and this is what i saw: "over the railway bridge which spanned the river a little to the left were hurrying battalion after battalion of green and blue clad german infantry. they moved down the embankment after crossing, and continued their march behind it. where the railway curved to the right and left, about half a mile beyond the bridge, the top of the embankment was lined with dark figures lying down and apparently firing, while over the golf course from the direction of beeleigh trotted squadron after squadron of sky-blue riders, their green and white lance pennons fluttering in the breeze. they crossed the blackwater and chelmer canal, and cantered off in the direction of langford rectory. "at the same time i saw line after line of the germans massed behind the embankment spring over it and advance rapidly towards the lower portion of the town, just across the river. hundreds fell under the fire from the houses, which must have been full of englishmen, but one line after another reached the buildings. the firing was now heavier than ever--absolutely incessant and continuous--though, except for an occasional discharge from beyond heybridge, the artillery was silent. "i have but little knowledge of military matters, but it was abundantly evident, even to me, that what i had just seen was a very formidable counter-attack on the part of the germans, who had brought up fresh troops either from the rear of the town or from farther inland, and launched them against the english under cover of the railway embankment. i was not able to see the end of the encounter, but bad news flies apace, and it soon became common knowledge in the town that our troops from colchester had not only failed to cross the river at any point, but had been driven helter-skelter out of the lower town near the station and from the smoking ruins of heybridge with great loss, and were now in full retreat. "indeed, some hundreds of our khaki-clad fellow-countrymen were marched through the town an hour or two later as prisoners, to say nothing of the numbers of wounded, who, together with those belonging to the germans, soon began to crowd every available building suitable for use as an hospital. the wounded prisoners with their escort went off towards mundon, and are reported to have gone in the direction of steeple. it was altogether a disastrous day, and our hopes, which had begun to rise when the british had penetrated into the northern part of the town, now fell below zero. "it was a black day for us, and for england. during the morning the same officer who had captured me on the golf course came whirling into maldon on a 24-h.p. mercedes car. he drove straight up to my house, and informed me that he had orders to conduct me to prince henry, who was to be at purleigh early in the afternoon. "'was it in connection with the skirmish with the volunteers?' i asked. "'i don't know,' was the reply. 'but i don't fancy so. in the meantime, could i write here for an hour or two?' he asked politely. 'i have much to write to my friends in germany, and have not had a minute up to now.' "i was very glad to be able to oblige the young man in such a small way, and left him in my study till midday, very busy with pens, ink, and paper. "after a makeshift of a lunch, the car came round, and we got into the back seat. in front sat his orderly and the chauffeur, a fierce-looking personage in a semi-military uniform. we ran swiftly down the high street, and in a few minutes were spinning along the purleigh road, where i saw much that amazed me. i then for the first time realised how absolutely complete were the german plans." "tuesday, _september 4_. "about six o'clock this morning i awoke rather suddenly. the wind had gone round to the northward, and i was certain that heavy firing was going on somewhere in that direction. i opened the window and looked out. the 'thud' and rumble of a cannonade, with the accompaniment of an occasional burst of musketry, came clearly and loudly on the wind from the hills by wickham bishops village. the church spire was in plain view, and little faint puffs and rings of grey smoke were just visible in its vicinity every now and again, sometimes high up in the air, at others among the trees at its base. they were exploding shells; i had no doubt of that. what was going on it was impossible to say, but i conjectured that some of our troops from colchester had come into collision with the germans, who had gone out in that direction the day of their arrival. the firing continued for about an hour, and then died away. "soon after eight, count von ohrendorff, the general officer commanding the 32nd division, who appeared to be the supreme authority here, sent for me, and suggested that i should take steps to arrange for the manufacture of lint and bandages by the ladies living in the town. i could see no reason for objecting to this, and so promised to carry out his suggestion. i set about the matter at once, and, with the assistance of my wife, soon had a couple of score of more or less willing workers busily engaged in the national schoolroom. in the meantime the roll of a terrible cannonade had burst forth again from wickham bishops. it seemed louder and more insistent than ever. as soon as i got away from the schools i hurried home and climbed out on the roof. the top of the moot hall and other coigns of vantage had all been occupied by the germans. however, with the aid of a pair of field-glasses i was able to see a good bit. black smoke was now pouring from wickham bishops in clouds, and every now and again i fancied i could see the forked tongues of flame shooting up above the surrounding trees. a series of scattered black dots now came out on the open ground to the south of the church. the trees of eastland wood soon hid them from my sight, but others followed, mingled with little moving black blocks which i took to be formed bodies of troops. after them came four or five guns, driven at breakneck pace towards the road that passes between eastland and captain's woods, then more black dots, also in a desperate hurry. several of these last tumbled, and lay still here and there all over the slope. "other dots followed at their heels. they were not quite so distinct. i looked harder. hurrah! they were men in khaki. we were hustling these germans at last. they also disappeared behind the woods. then from the fringe of trees about wickham half a dozen big brilliant flashes, followed after an interval by the loud detonation of heavy cannon. i could not distinguish much more, though the rattle of battle went on for some time longer. soon after eleven four german guns galloped in from heybridge. these were followed by a procession of maimed and limping humanity. some managed to get along unaided, though with considerable difficulty. others were supported by a comrade, some carried between two men, and others borne along on stretchers. a couple of ambulance carts trotted out and picked up more wounded. our bandages and lint had not long to wait before being required. after this there was a cessation of firing. "about one o'clock the german general sent word to me that he thought an attack quite possible during the afternoon, and that he strongly advised me to get all the women and children out of the town--for the time being at any rate. this was evidently well meant, but it was a pretty difficult matter to arrange for, to say nothing of raising a panic among the inhabitants. however, in an hour and a half's time i had contrived to marshal several hundred of them together, and to get them out on the road to mundon. the weather was warm for the time of the year, and i thought, if the worst came to the worst, they could spend the night in the old church. i left the sad little column of exiles--old, bent women helped along by their daughters, tiny children dragged along through the dust, clutching their mothers' skirts; infants in arms; and other older and sturdier children staggering beneath the weight of the most precious home adornments--and made the best of my way back to arrange for the forwarding to them of their rations. "at every step on my homeward way i expected to hear the cannonade begin again. but beyond the twittering of the birds in the trees and hedgerows, the creak and rumble of a passing cart, and the rush of a train along the railway on my left--just the usual sounds of the countryside--nothing broke the stillness. as i stepped out on the familiar highway, i could almost bring myself to believe that the events of the past twenty-four hours were but the phantasmagoria of a dream. after interviewing some of the town councillors who were going to undertake the transport of provisions to the women and children at mundon, i walked round to my own house. "my wife and family had driven over to purleigh on the first alarm, and had arranged to stay the night with some friends, on whatever shake-downs could be improvised, since every house in the peninsula harboured some of the ubiquitous german officers and men. i wandered through the familiar rooms, and came out into the garden, or rather, what had been the garden. there i saw that the saxon gunners were all standing to their pieces, and one of my none too welcome guests accosted me as i left the house. "'if you'll take my advice, sare, you'll get away out of this,' he said in broken english. "'what! are you going to fire?' i asked. "'i don't fancy so. it wouldn't hurt you if we were. but i think your english friends from colchester are about to see if they can draw us.' "as he spoke i became aware of a sharp, hissing noise like a train letting off steam. it grew louder and nearer, passed over our heads, and was almost instantly followed by a terrible crash somewhere behind the house. a deeper and more muffled report came up from the valley beyond heybridge. "'well, they've begun now, and the best thing you can do is to get down into that gun epaulment there,' said the german officer. "i thought his advice was good, and i lost no time in following it. "'here comes another!' cried he, as he jumped down into the pit beside me. 'we'll have plenty of them now.' "so we did. shell after shell came hissing and screaming at us over the tree-tops in the gardens lower down the hill. each one of them sounded to me as if it were coming directly at my head, but one after another passed over us to burst beyond. the gunners all crouched close to the earthen parapet--and so did i. i am not ashamed to say so. my german officer, however, occasionally climbed to the top of the embankment and studied the prospect through his field-glasses. at length there was a loud detonation, and a column of dirt and smoke in the garden next below us. then two shells struck the parapet of the gun-pit on our left almost simultaneously. their explosion was deafening, and we were covered with the dust and stones they threw up. "immediately afterwards another shell passed so close over our heads that i felt my hair lift. it just cleared the parapet and plunged into the side of my house. a big hole appeared just to the right of the dining-room window, and through it came instantaneously the loud bang of the explosion. the glass was shattered in all the windows, and thick smoke, white and black, came curling from every one of them. "'the house is on fire!' i shouted, and sprang madly from the pit. heedless of the bombardment, i rushed into the building. another crash sounded overhead as i entered, and a blaze of light shone down the stairway for an instant. another projectile had found a billet in my home. i tried to make my way to my study, but found the passage blocked with fallen beams and ceiling. what with the smoke and dust, and the blocking of some of the windows, it was very dark in the hall, and i got quite a shock when, as i looked about me to find my way, i saw two red, glittering specks shining over the top of a heap of dã©bris. but the howl that followed told me that they were nothing but the eyes of miserable tim, the cat, who, left behind, had been nearly frightened out of his senses by the noise and concussion of the bursting shell. as i gazed at him another projectile struck the house quite close to us. tim was simply smashed by a flying fragment. i was thrown down, and half-buried under a shower of bricks and mortar. i think that i must have lost consciousness for a time. "the next thing i recollect was being dragged out into the garden by a couple of saxons. i had a splitting headache, and was very glad of a glass of water that one of them handed to me. their officer, who appeared to be quite a decent fellow, offered me his flask. "'the house is all right,' he said, with his strong accent. 'it caught fire once, but we managed to get it under. your friends have cleared off--at any rate for the present. they got too bold at last, and pushed their guns down till they got taken in the flank by the warship in the river. they had two of their pieces knocked to bits, and then cleared out. best thing you can do is to do the same.' "i was in two minds. i could not save the house by staying, and might just as well join my people at purleigh rectory. on the other hand, i felt that it would better become me, as mayor, to stick to the town. duty triumphed, and i decided to remain where i was--at least for the present. all was now quiet, and after an early supper i turned in, and, despite the excitement of the day and my aching head, was asleep the moment i touched the pillow." "wednesday, _september 5_. "it must have been about three in the morning when i awoke. my head was much better, and for a minute or two i lay comfortably in the darkness, without any recollection of the events of the preceding day. then i saw a bright reflection pass rapidly over the ceiling. i wondered vaguely what it was. presently it came back again, paused a moment, and disappeared. by this time i was wide awake. i went to the window and looked out. it was quite dark, but from somewhere over beyond heybridge a long white ray was sweeping all along this side of maldon. now the foliage of a tree in the garden below would stand out in pale green radiance against the blackness; now the wall of a house half a mile away would reflect back the moving beam, shining white as a sheet of notepaper. "presently another ray shone out, and the two of them, moving backwards and forwards, made the whole of our hillside caper in a dizzy dance. from somewhere far away to my right another stronger beam now streamed through the obscurity, directed apparently at the sources of the other two, and almost simultaneously came the crack of a rifle from the direction of heybridge, sharp and ominous in the quiet darkness of the night. half a dozen scattered shots followed; then a faint cheer. more and more rifles joined in, and presently the burring tap-tap-tap of a maxim. i hurried on my clothes. the firing increased in volume and rapidity; bugles rang out here, there, and everywhere through the sleeping town, and above the rolling, rattling clamour of the drums i could distinguish the hurried tramp of hundreds of feet. "i cast one glance from the window as i quitted the room. the electric searchlights had increased to at least half a dozen. some reached out long, steady fingers into the vague spaces of the night, while others wandered restlessly up and down, hither and thither. low down over the trees of the garden a dull red glare slowly increased in extent and intensity. the rattle of musketry was now absolutely continuous. as i ran out of the house into the street, i was nearly carried off my feet by the rush of a battalion that was pouring down cromwell hill at the double. hardly knowing what i did, i followed in their wake. the glare in front got brighter and brighter. a few steps, and i could see the cause of it. the whole of heybridge appeared to be on fire, the flames roaring skywards from a dozen different conflagrations." england halted breathless. fighting had commenced in real earnest. the greatest consternation was caused by the publication in the "times" of the description of the operations in essex, written by mr. henry bentley, the distinguished war correspondent, who had served that journal in every campaign since kitchener had entered khartum. all other papers, without exception, contained various accounts of the british defence at the point nearest london, but they were mostly of the scrappy and sensational order, based more on report than upon actual fact. the "times" account, however, had been written with calm impartiality by one of the most experienced correspondents at the front. whether he had been afforded any special facilities was not apparent, but, in any case, it was the most complete and truthful account of the gallant attempt on the part of our soldiers to check the advance from essex westward. during the whole of that hot, stifling day it was known that a battle was raging, and the excitement everywhere was intense. the public were in anxious terror as the hours crept by, until the first authentic news of the result of the operations was printed in a special evening edition of the "times," as follows: "(from our war correspondent.) "danbury, essex, _september 8_. "to-day has been a momentous one for england. the great battle has raged since dawn, and though just at present there seems to be a lull, during which the opposing forces are, so to speak, regaining their breath, it can be by no means over. "dead and living alike will lie out on the battlefield the whole night through, for we must hold on to the positions so hardly won, and be ready to press forward at the first glimmer of daylight. our gallant troops, regular and volunteers alike, have nobly vindicated the traditions of our race, and have fought as desperately as ever did their forebears at agincourt, albuera, or waterloo. but while a considerable success--paid for, alas! by the loss of thousands of gallant lives--has been achieved, it will take at least another day's hard fighting before victory is in our grasp. nowadays a soldier need not expect to be either victorious or finally defeated by nightfall, and although this battle, fought as it is between much smaller forces, and extending over a much more limited area, than the great engagement between the russians and japanese at liaoyang, will not take quite so long a time to decide, the end is not yet in sight. i wrote this after a hard day's travelling backwards and forwards behind our advancing line of battle. "i took my cycle with me in my motor-car, and whenever opportunity offered mounted it, and pushed forward as near to the fighting as i could get. frequently i had to leave the cycle also, and crawl forward on hands and knees, sheltering in some depression in the ground, while the enemy's bullets whined and whistled overhead. as reported in a previous issue, the army which had assembled at brentwood moved forward on the 5th. "during the afternoon the advanced troops succeeded in driving the enemy out of south hanningfield, and before sundown they were also in full retreat from the positions they had held at east hanningfield and danbury. there was some stiff fighting at the latter place, but after a pounding from the artillery, who brought several batteries into action on the high ground north-west of east hanningfield, the germans were unable to withstand the attack of the argyll and sutherlands and the london scottish, who worked their way through danbury park and hall wood right into their position, driving them from their entrenchments by a dashing bayonet charge. everything north and east of the enemy's main position, which is now known to lie north and south, between maldon and the river crouch, was now in our hands, but his troops still showed a stout front at wickford, and were also reported to be at rayleigh, hockley, and canewdon, several miles to the eastward. all preparations were made to assault the german position at wickford at daybreak to-day, but our scouts found that the place had been evacuated. the news that rayleigh and hockley had also been abandoned by the enemy came in shortly afterwards. the german invaders had evidently completed their arrangements for the defence of their main position, and now said, in effect, 'come on, and turn us out if you can.' "it was no easy task that lay before our gallant defenders. maldon, perched on a high knoll, with a network of river and canal protecting it from assault from the northward, fairly bristles with guns, many of them heavy field howitzers, and has, as we know to our cost, already repulsed one attack by our troops. farther south there are said to be many guns on the knolls about purleigh. great canney hill, standing boldly up like an immense redoubt, is reported to be seamed with entrenchments mounting many heavy guns. the railway embankment south of maldon forms a perfect natural rampart along part of the enemy's position, while the woods and enclosures south-west of great canney conceal thousands of sharpshooters. a sort of advanced position was occupied by the enemy at edwin hall, a mile east of woodham ferrers, where a pair of high kopjes a quarter of a mile apart offered command and cover to some of their field batteries. "our scouts have discovered also that an elaborate system of wire entanglements and other military obstacles protects almost the whole front of the somewhat extensive german position. on its extreme left their line is said to be thrown back at an angle, so that any attempt to outflank it would not only entail crossing the river crouch, but would come under the fire of batteries placed on the high ground overlooking it. altogether, it is a very tough nut to crack, and the force at our disposal none too strong for the work that lies before it. "further detail regarding our strength would be inadvisable for obvious reasons, but when i point out that the germans are supposed to be between thirty and forty thousand strong, and that it is laid down by competent military authorities that to attack troops in an entrenched position a superiority of six to one is advisable, my readers can draw their own conclusions. "the repairs to the railway line between brentwood and chelmsford, that had been damaged by the enemy's cavalry on their first landing, were completed yesterday, and all night reinforcements had been coming in by way of chelmsford and billericay. the general headquarters had been established at danbury, and, thither i made my way as fast as my car could get along the roads, blocked as they were by marching horse, foot, and artillery. i had spent the night at south hanningfield, so as to be on the spot for the expected attack on wickford; but as soon as i found it was not to come off, i considered that at danbury would be the best chance of finding out what our next move was to be. "nor was i mistaken. as i ran up to the village i found the roads full of troops under arms, and everything denoted action of some kind. i was lucky enough to come across a friend of mine on the staff--captain b----, i will call him--who spared a moment to give me the tip that a general move forward was commencing, and that a big battle was imminent. danbury is situated on the highest ground for many miles round, and as it bid fair to be a fine, clear day, i thought i could not do better than try and get a general look round from the summit of the church tower before proceeding farther. but i was informed that the general was up there with some of his staff and a signalling party, so that i could not ascend. "my pass, however, eventually procured me admission to the little platform, which, by the way, the general left a moment after my arrival. it was now eight o'clock, the sun was fairly high in the heavens, and the light mists that hung about the low ground in the vicinity of maldon were fast fading into nothingness. the old town was plainly distinguishable as a dark silhouette against the morning light, which, while it illumined the panorama spread out before me, yet rendered observation somewhat difficult, since it shone almost directly into my eyes. however, by the aid of my glasses i was able to see something of the first moves on the fatal chess-board where so many thousands of lives are staked on the bloody game of war. "i noticed among other things that the lessons of the recent war in the east had not passed unobserved, for in all the open spaces on the eastern slope of the hill, where the roads were not screened by trees or coppices, lofty erections of hurdles and greenery had been placed overnight to hide the preliminary movements of our troops from the glasses of the enemy. under cover of these, regiment after regiment of khaki-clad soldiers, batteries of artillery and ammunition carts, were proceeding to their allotted posts down the network of roads and lanes leading to the lower ground towards the south-east. two battalions stood in quarter column behind thrift wood. they were kilted corps, probably the argylls and the london scottish. several field batteries moved off to the left towards woodham walter. other battalions took up their position behind hyde woods, farther away to the right, the last of them, the grenadier guards, i fancy, passing behind them and marching still farther southward. "finally, two strong battalions, easily recognised as marines by their blue war-kit, marched rapidly down the main road and halted presently behind woodham mortimer place. all this time there was neither sight nor sound of the enemy. the birds carolled gaily in the old elms round my eyrie, the sparrows and martins piped and twittered in the eaves of the old church, and the sun shone genially on hill and valley, field and wood. to all appearance, peace reigned over the countryside, though the dun masses of troops in the shadows of the woodlands were suggestive of the autumn manoeuvres. but for all this the 'real thing' was upon us. as i looked, first one, then another long and widely scattered line of crouching men in khaki issued from the cover of hyde woods and began slowly to move away towards the east. then, and not till then, a vivid violet-white flash blazed out on the dim grey upland five miles away to the south-east, which had been pointed out to me as great canney, and almost at once a spout of earth and smoke sprang up a little way ahead of the advancing british. a dull boom floated up on the breeze, but was drowned in an ear-splitting crash somewhere close to me. i felt the old tower rock under the concussion, which i presently discovered came from a battery of at least six big 4â·7 guns established just outside the churchyard. "they were manned by a party of bluejackets, who had brought them over from chatham. the movement i saw developing below me was the first step towards what i eventually discovered was our main objective--purleigh. "could we succeed in establishing ourselves there, we should be beyond effective range from maldon, and should also take great canney in reverse, as well as the positions on the refused left flank of the enemy. maldon, too, would be isolated. purleigh, therefore, was the key of the position. our first move was in this direction. the scouts were picked men from the line battalions, but the firing lines were composed of volunteers and, in some cases, militiamen. it was considered more politic to reserve the regulars for the later stages of the attack. the firing from canney, and afterwards from purleigh, was at first at rather too long a range to be effective, even from the heavy guns that were in use, and later on the heavy long-range fire from 'bloody mary' and her sisters at danbury, and other heavy guns and howitzers in the neighbourhood of east hanningfield, kept it down considerably, although the big, high-explosive shells were now and again most terribly destructive to the advancing british. "when, however, the firing line--which as yet had not been near enough to fire a shot in reply--arrived in the neighbourhood of loddard's hill, its left came under a terrible rifle fire from hazeleigh wood, while its right and centre were all but destroyed by a tornado of shrapnel from some german field batteries to the north of purleigh. though dazed and staggered under the appalling sleet of projectiles, the volunteers stuck doggedly to their ground, though unable to advance. line after line was pushed forward, the men stumbling and falling over the thickly-scattered bodies of their fallen comrades. "it was a perfect holocaust. some other card must be played at once, or the attack must fail." the second of mr. henry bentley's descriptive articles in the "times" told a terrible truth, and was as follows: "(from our war correspondent.) "chelmsford, _september 7_. "when i sent off my despatch by motor-car last night, it was with very different feelings to those with which i take my pen in hand this evening, in the saracen's head hotel, which is the headquarters of my colleagues, the correspondents. "last night, despite the hard fighting and the heavy losses we had sustained, the promise of the morrow was distinctly a good one. but now i have little heart with which to commence the difficult and unpleasant task of chronicling the downfall of all our high hopes, the repulse--ay, and the defeat--it is no use mincing matters--of our heroic and sorely tried army. "yes, our gallant soldiers have sustained a reverse which, but for their stubborn fighting qualities and a somewhat inexplicable holding back on the part of the germans, might very easily have culminated in disaster. defeat although it undoubtedly is, the darkness of the gloomy outlook is illuminated by the brilliancy of the conduct of our troops. "from general down to the youngest volunteer drummer boy, our brave soldiers did all, and more, than could be humanly expected of them, and on none of them can be laid the blame of our ill-success. the plan of attack is agreed on all hands to have been as good a one as could have been evolved; the officers led well, their men fought well, and there was no running short of ammunition at any period of the engagement. "'who, then, was responsible?' it may well be asked. the answer is simple. the british public, which, in its apathetic attitude towards military efficiency, aided and abetted by the soothing theories of the extremists of the 'blue water' school, had, as usual, neglected to provide an army fitted to cope in numbers and efficiency with those of our continental neighbours. had we had a sufficiency of troops, more especially of regular troops, there is not the slightest doubt that the victory would have been ours. as it was, our general was obliged to attack the enemy's position with a force whose numbers, even if they had been all regular soldiers, were below those judged necessary by military experts for the task in hand. "having broken through the german lines, success was in his grasp had he had sufficient reinforcements to have established him in the position he had won, and to beat back the inevitable counter-attack. but it is best that i should continue my account of the fighting from the point at which i closed my letter of yesterday. i had arrived at the checking of our advance near loddard's hill by the blast of shrapnel from the german field batteries. it was plain that the volunteer brigade, though it held its ground, could not advance farther. but, unnoticed by them, the general had been preparing for this eventuality. "on the left the two battalions of marines that i noticed drawn up behind woodham mortimer place suddenly debouched on loddard's hill, and, carrying forward with them the dã©bris of the volunteer firing line, hurled themselves into hazeleigh wood. there was a sanguinary hand-to-hand struggle on the wire-entangled border, but the newcomers were not to be denied, and, after a quarter of an hour's desperate mãªlã©e, which filled the sylvan glades with moaning and writhing wounded and stark dead bodies, we remained masters of the wood, and even obtained a footing on the railway line where it adjoins it. "simultaneously a long line of our field batteries came into action near woodham mortimer, some trying to beat down the fire of the german guns opposite, while others replied to a battery which had been established near west maldon station to flank the railway, and which was now beginning to open on hazeleigh wood. the latter were assisted by a battery of 4â·7 guns manned by volunteers, which took up a position behind woodham walter. the firing on great canney from our batteries at east hanningfield redoubled, the whole summit of the hill being at times obscured by the clouds of smoke and dã©bris from the explosions of the big, high-explosive projectiles. "the main firing line, continually fed from the rear, now began slowly to gain ground, and when the grenadiers and the irish guards, who had managed to work up through the series of plantations that run eastwards for nearly two miles from woodham hall without drawing any particular attention from the busily engaged enemy, came into action on the right, there was a distinct move forward. but the defence was too stubborn, and about midday the whole line again came to a standstill, its left still in hazeleigh wood, its right at prentice farm. orders were passed that the men should try to entrench themselves as best they could, and spades and other tools were sent forward to those corps who were not provided with them already. "here we must leave the main attack to notice what was going on elsewhere. on the north the colchester garrison again brought their heavy artillery into action on the slopes south of wickham bishops, while others of our troops made a show of advancing against maldon from the west. these movements were, however, merely intended to keep the german garrison occupied. but on the right a rather important flanking movement was in progress. "we had a considerable body of troops at east hanningfield, which lies in a hollow between two little ridges, both running from south-west to north-east, and about a mile apart. the most easterly ridge is very narrow for the most part, and behind it were stationed several batteries of our field howitzers, which fired over it at great canney at a range of about 5,000 yards. a number of 4â·7-inch guns, scattered over the western hill, were also concentrated on the same target. although the range was an extremely long one, there is no doubt that they made a certain number of effective hits, since great canney offered a conspicuous and considerable target. but beyond this the flashes of their discharges drew off all attention from the howitzer batteries in front of them, and served to conceal their presence from the enemy. otherwise, although invisible, their presence would have been guessed at. as it was, not a single german projectile came anywhere near them. "when the fighting began, those troops who were not intended to be held in reserve or to co-operate with the right of the main attack moved off in the direction of woodham ferrers, and made a feint of attacking the german position astride the two kopjes at edwin's hall, their field guns coming into action on the high ground north of rettendon, and engaging those of the enemy at long range. but the real attack on this salient of the german position came from a very different quarter. "the troops detailed for this movement were those who had advanced against wickford at daybreak, and had found it abandoned by the enemy. they consisted of the oxfordshire light infantry, the honourable artillery company, and the inns of court volunteers, together with their own and three or four other machine-gun detachments, their maxims being mounted on detachable legs instead of carriages. co-operating with them were the essex and the east kent yeomanry, who were scouting in the direction of hockley. "the troops had a long, wearisome march before them, the design being to take advantage of the time of low tide, and to move along out of sight of the enemy behind the northern bank of the river crouch, as it had been discovered that the german line of defence turned back to the eastward at a mile or two north of the river at the point aimed at. its guns still commanded it, and might be trusted to render abortive any attempt to throw a bridge across it. the yeomanry had the task of occupying the attention of the enemy at canewdon, and of preventing the passage of boats from the german warships. this part of our operations succeeded admirably. the long creeping lines of the oxfordshires and the machine-gun detachments in their khaki uniforms were almost indistinguishable against the steep mud banks at any distance, and they escaped observation both from the german main lines and from their outpost at canewdon until they had reached the entrances of the two branch creeks for which they were making. "then, and not till then, came the sound of artillery from the left rear of the german position. but it was too late. the oxford companies pushed forward at the double. five companies lined the embankments of stow creek, the easternmost of the two, while the remainder, ensconced in clementsgreen creek, aligned the whole of their machine-guns on the southern of the two kopjes against which the manoeuvre had been directed. their fire, which, coming from a little to the rear of the left flank of the southern kopje, completely enfiladed it, created such slaughter and confusion that the honourable artillery company and the inns of court, who had been working up the railway line from battle bridge, had little difficulty in establishing themselves at woodham ferrers station and in an adjacent farm. being almost immediately afterwards reinforced by the arrival of two regular battalions who had been pushed forward from rettendon, a determined assault was made on the southern kopje. its defenders, demoralised by the pelting shower of lead from the machine-gun battery, and threatened also by the advance from woodham ferrers village, gave way, and our people, forcing their way over every obstacle, seized the position amid frantic cheering. "meanwhile the oxfordshires had been subjected to a determined counter-attack from north frambridge. preceded by a pounding from the guns on kit's hill, but aided by the fire of the yeomanry on the south bank of the river, who galloped up and lined the embankment, thus flanking the defenders of stow creek, it was beaten back with considerable loss. the machine-guns were transferred to the neighbourhood of south kopje, and used with such effect that its defenders, after repulsing several counter-attacks from the adjoining german entrenchment, were able to make themselves masters of the north kopje also. "elsewhere the fighting still continued strenuous and deadly. the main attack had contrived to make some little shelter for itself; but though three several attempts were made to advance from this, all ended in failure, one nearly in disaster. this was the last of the three, when the advancing line was charged by a mass of cavalry which suddenly appeared from behind great canney hill. i myself was a witness of this attack, the most picturesque incident of the day's fighting. "i was watching the progress of the engagement through my glasses from the high ground about wickham's farm, when i saw line after line of the german horsemen in their sky-blue tunics and glittering helmets trot out into the open, canter, and one after another break into a mad gallop, as they bore down upon the advancing lines of our citizen soldiers. staunchly as these had withstood the murderous fire which for hours had been directed upon them, this whirlwind of lance and sabre, the thunder of thousands of hoofs, and the hoarse cries of the riders, were rather more than such partially trained soldiers could stand. a scattering discharge from their rifles was followed by something very much approaching a _sauve qui peut_. "a large number of volunteers, however, sought shelter among the ruined houses of cock clarke's hamlet, from whence they opened a heavy fire on the adventurous horsemen. the argyll and sutherland highlanders, who were by this time in mosklyns copse, and the guards and other troops on the right, also opened a rapid and sustained fire on the german cavalry, which seconded by the shrapnel from our guns on loddard's hill, caused them to turn and ride back for their lives. there was a tremendous outburst of firing from both sides after this, followed by quite a lull. one could well imagine that all the combatants were exhausted by the prolonged effort of the day. it was now between five and six in the evening. it was at this time that the news of the capture of the two kopjes reached me, and i made for danbury to write my despatches. "shortly after my arrival i heard of the capture of spar hill, a detached knoll about 1,200 yards to the north-west of purleigh. the marines from hazeleigh wood and the highlanders from mosklyns copse had suddenly and simultaneously assaulted it from opposite sides, and were now entrenching themselves upon it. what wonder, then, that i reported satisfactory progress, and reckoned--too confidently, as it proved--on a victory for the morrow? "i spent a great part of that night under the stars on the hilltop near east hanningfield, watching the weird play of the searchlights which swept over the country from a score of different positions, and listening to the crash of artillery and clatter of rifle fire which now and again told of some attempted movement under cover of the darkness. just before daylight the continuous roar of battle began again, and when light dawned i found that our troops had cut right through the german lines, and had penetrated as far as cop kitchen's farm, on the maldon-mundon road. reinforcements were being hurried up, and an attack was being pushed towards the rear of purleigh and great canney, which was being heavily bombarded by some of our large guns, which had been mounted during the night on the two kopjes. "but the reinforcements were not enough. the germans held fast to purleigh and to some reserve positions they had established about mundon. after two or three hours of desperate effort, costing the lives of thousands, our attack was at a standstill. at this critical moment a powerful counter-attack was made from maldon, and, outnumbered and almost surrounded, our gallant warriors had to give ground. but they fell back as doggedly as they had advanced, the argylls, marines, and grenadiers covering the retreat on danbury. "the guns at east hanningfield and the two kopjes checked the pursuit to a great extent, and the germans seemed unwilling to go far from their works. the kopjes had to be abandoned later in the day, and we now occupy our former line from danbury to billericay, and are busily engaged in entrenching ourselves." chapter viii. defence at last. late on wednesday night came tardy news of the measures we were taking to mobilise. the aldershot army corps, so complete in the "army list," consisted, as all the world knew, of three divisions, but of these only two existed, the other being found to be on paper. the division in question, located at bordon, was to be formed on mobilisation, and this measure was now being proceeded with. the train service was practically suspended, owing to the damage done to the various lines south of london by the enemy's emissaries. several of these men had been detected, and, being in plain clothes, were promptly shot out of hand. however, their work had, unfortunately for us, been accomplished, and trains could only run as far as the destroyed bridges, so men on their way to join their respective corps were greatly delayed in consequence. all was confusion at bordon, where men were arriving in hundreds on foot and by the service of motor omnibuses, which the war office had on the day before established between charing cross and aldershot. perspiring staff officers strove diligently, without much avail, to sort out into their respective units this ever-increasing mass of reservists. there was perfect chaos. before the chief constituent parts of the division--that is to say, regiments who were stationed elsewhere--had arrived little could be done with the reservists. the regiments in question were in many cases stationed at considerable distance, and although they had received orders to start, were prevented from arriving owing to the universal interruptions of the railway traffic south. by this, whole valuable days were lost--days when at any hour the invaders might make a sudden swoop on london. reports were alarming and conflicting. some said that the enemy meant to strike a blow upon the capital just as suddenly as they had landed, while others reassured the alarmists that the german plans were not yet complete, and that they had not sufficient stores to pursue the campaign. reservists, with starvation staring them in the face, went eagerly south to join their regiments, knowing that at least they would be fed with regularity; while, in addition, the true patriotic spirit of the englishman had been roused against the aggressive teuton, and everyone, officer and man, was eager to bear his part in driving the invader into the sea. the public were held breathless. what would happen? arrivals at aldershot, however, found the whole arrangements in such a complete muddle that army service corps men, who ought to have been at woolwich, were presenting themselves for enrolment at bordon, and infantry of the line were conducted into the camp of the dragoons. the motor volunteer corps were at this moment of very great use. the cars were filled with staff officers and other exalted officials, who were settling themselves in various offices, and passing out again to make necessary arrangements for dealing with such a large influx of men. there were activity and excitement everywhere. men were rapidly drawing their clothing, or as much of it as they could get, and civilians were quickly becoming soldiers on every hand. officers of the reserve were driving up in motor-cars and cabs, many of them with their old battered uniform cases, that had seen service in the field in distant parts of the globe. men from the "junior" and the "senior" wrung each other's hands on returning to active duty with their old regiments, and at once settled down into the routine work they knew so well. the rumour, however, had now got about that a position in the neighbourhood of cambridge had been selected by the general staff as being the most suitable theatre of action where an effective stand could, with any hope of success, be made. it was evident that the german tactics were to strike a swift and rapid blow at london. indeed, nothing at present stood in their way except the gallant little garrison at colchester, who had been so constantly driven back by the enemy's cavalry on attempting to make any reconnaissance, and who might be swept out of existence at any hour. * * * * * during tuesday and wednesday large gangs of workmen had been busy repairing the damaged lines. the first regiment complete for the field was the 2nd battalion of the 5th fusiliers, who carried upon their colours the names of a score of battles, ranging from corunna and badajoz, all through the peninsula, afghanistan, and egypt, down to the modder river. this regiment left by train for london on tuesday evening, and was that same night followed by the 2nd battalion king's liverpool regiment and the 1st king's shropshire light infantry, while the manchester regiment got away soon after midnight. these formed the second infantry brigade of the 1st division, and were commanded by brigadier-general sir john money. they were several hours getting up to london, whence from clapham junction their trains circled london on to the great eastern system to braintree, where the horn hotel was made the headquarters. by other trains in the small hours of the morning the last of the guards brigade under colonel (temporary brigadier-general) lord wansford departed, and duly arrived at saffron walden, to join their comrades on the line of defence. the divisional troops were also on the move early on wednesday. six batteries of artillery and the field company of royal engineers left by road. there was a balloon section accompanying this, and searchlights, wireless instruments, and cables for field-telegraphy were carried in the waggons. the 2nd division, under lieutenant-general morgan, c.b., was also active. the 3rd infantry brigade, commanded by major-general fortescue, composed of 2nd battalion northamptonshire regiment, the 2nd bedfordshire, the 1st princess of wales' own, and the 1st royal welsh fusiliers, were preparing, but had not yet moved. the 4th infantry brigade of the same division, consisting of the 3rd and 4th battalions king's royal rifle corps, the 2nd sherwood foresters, and the 2nd south lancashire, with the usual smartness of those distinguished regiments, were quick and ready, now as ever, to go to the front. they were entrained to baldock, slightly east of hitchin, where they marched out on the icknield way. these were followed by fortescue's brigade, who were also bound for baldock and the neighbourhood. the bulk of the cavalry and field artillery of both divisions, together with the divisional troops, were compelled to set out by march-route from aldershot for the line of defences. the single and all-sufficient reason of this delay in sending out the cavalry and artillery was owing to the totally inadequate accommodation on the railways for the transport of so many horses and guns. the troop-trains, which were of course, necessary to transport the infantry, were not forthcoming in sufficient numbers, this owing to the fact that at several points the lines to london were still interrupted. the orders to the cavalry who went by march-route were to get up to the line proposed to be taken up by the infantry as quickly as possible, and to operate in front of it to the east and north-east in screening and reconnoitring duties. the temporary deficiency of cavalry, who ought, of course, to have been the first to arrive at the scene, was made good as far as possible by the general employment of hordes of motor-cyclists, who scoured the country in large armed groups, in order to ascertain, if possible, the dispositions of the enemy. this they did, and very soon after their arrival reported the result of their investigations to the general officers commanding the 1st and 2nd divisions. meanwhile both cavalry and artillery in great bodies, and strings of motor omnibuses filled with troops, were upon the white, dusty roads passing through staines to hounslow and brentford, thence to london, st. albans, _en route_ to their respective divisions. roughly, the distance was over fifty miles, therefore those marching were compelled to halt the night on the way, while those in the motor omnibuses got through to their destination. the sight of british troops hurrying to the front swelled the hearts of the villagers and townsfolk with renewed patriotism, and everywhere, through the blazing, dusty day, the men were offered refreshment by even the poorest and humblest cottagers. in bagshot, in staines, and in hounslow the people went frantic with excitement, as squadron after squadron rapidly passed along, with its guns, waggons, and ambulances rumbling noisily over the stones in the rear. following these came pontoon troops with their long grey waggons and mysterious-looking bridging apparatus, telegraph troops, balloon sections, supply columns, field bakery, and field hospitals, the last-named packed in waggons marked with the well-known red cross of the geneva convention. no sooner was aldershot denuded of its army corps, however, than battalions began to arrive from portsmouth on their way north, while troops from the great camp on salisbury plain were rapidly being pushed to the front, which, roughly speaking, extended through hitchin, royston, to saffron walden, across to braintree, and also the high ground commanding the valley of the colne to colchester. the line chosen by the general staff was the natural chain of hills which presented the first obstacle to the enemy advancing on london from the wide plain stretching eastward beyond cambridge to the sea. if this could be held strongly, as was intended, by practically the whole of the british forces located in the south of england, including the yeomanry, militia, and volunteers--who were now all massing in every direction--then the deadly peril threatening england might be averted. but could it be held? this was the appalling question on every one's tongue all over the country, for it now became generally known that upon this line of defence four complete and perfectly equipped german army corps were ready to advance at any moment, in addition to the right flank being exposed to the attack of the xiith saxon corps, entrenched on the essex coast. it was estimated that no fewer than two hundred thousand germans were already upon english soil! the outlook grew blacker every hour. london was in a state of absolute stagnation and chaos. in the city, business was now at an entire standstill. the credit system had received a fatal blow, and nobody wanted to buy securities. had people kept level heads in the crisis there would have been a moratorium, but, as it was, a panic had been created that nothing could allay. even consols were now unsaleable. some of the smaller banks were known to have failed, and traders and manufacturers all over the country had been ruined on account of credit, the foundation of all trade, having been swept away. only persons of the highest financial standing could have dealt with the banks, even if they had remained open. the opinion held in banking circles was that if the invasion should unfortunately prove disastrous to england, and germany demand a huge indemnity, there was still hope, however small. the experience of the franco-german war had proved that, though in such circumstances the bank, for a considerable period, might not be able to resume cash payments, yet, with sound finance, there was no reason that the currency should greatly depreciate. during the period of suspension of cash payments by the bank of france, the premium on gold never went above 1â·5 per cent., and during most of the period was 5, 4, or even less per mille. therefore what the french by sound banking had been able to do, there was no reason why english bankers could not also do. we, wilhelm, give notice to the inhabitants of those provinces occupied by the german imperial army, that- i make war upon the soldiers, and not upon english citizens. consequently, it is my wish to give the latter and their property entire security, and as long as they do not embark upon hostile enterprise against the german troops they have a right to my protection. generals commanding the various corps in the various districts in england are ordered to place before the public the stringent measures which i have ordered to be adopted against towns, villages, and persons who act in contradiction to the usages of war. they are to regulate in the same manner all the operations necessary for the well-being of our troops, to fix the difference between the english and german rate of exchange, and to facilitate in every manner possible the individual transactions between our army and the inhabitants of england. =wilhelm.= given at potsdam, _september 4th, 1910_. [illustration: the above is a copy of the german imperial decree, printed in english, which was posted by unknown german agents in london, and which appeared everywhere throughout east anglia and in that portion of the midlands held by the enemy.] at the outbreak of the war of 1870, on august 1, french three per cent. rentes were at 60â·85, and four and a half per cent. at 98. on the memorable day of sedan, september 2, they were at 50â·80 and 88â·50 respectively, and on january 2, 1871, three per cents. were down to 50â·95. at the commencement of the commune, on march 18, they were at 51â·50 and 76â·25, and on the 30th of that month down to 50â·60 and 76â·25 respectively. with so little money in england as there now was, securities had fallen to the value at which holders would as soon not sell as sell at such a great discount. high rates and the heavy fall in the value of securities had brought business in every quarter all over london to a standstill. firms all over the country were now hard put to in order to find the necessary money to carry on their various trades. instantly after the report of the reverse at sheffield, there was a wild rush to obtain gold, and securities dropped even a few more points. therefore there was little or nothing for the banks to do, and lombard street, lothbury, and the other banking centres were closed, as though it had been sunday or bank holiday. despair was, alas! everywhere, and the streets presented strange scenes. most of the motor omnibuses had been taken off the road and pressed into the service of the military. the walls bore a dozen different broadsides and proclamations, which were read by the gaping, hungry crowds. the royal standard was flying from st. stephen's tower, for parliament had now met, and all members who were not abroad for their summer vacation had taken their places at the heated debates now hourly in progress. over buckingham palace the royal standard also flew proudly, while upon every public building was displayed a union jack or a white ensign, many of which had done duty at the coronation of his majesty king edward. the admiralty flew its own flag, and upon the war office, the india office, the foreign office, and all the dark, sombre government buildings in whitehall was bunting displayed. the wild enthusiasm of sunday and monday, however, had given place to a dark, hopeless apprehension. the great mobs now thronging all the principal thoroughfares in london were already half-famished. food was daily rising in price, and the east end was already starving. bands of lawless men and women from the slums of whitechapel were parading the west end streets and squares, and were camping out in hyde park and st. james's park. the days were stifling, for it was an unusually hot september following upon a blazing august, and as each breathless evening the sun sank, it shed its blood-red afterglow over the giant metropolis, grimly precursory of the ruin so surely imminent. supplies were still reaching london from the country, but there had been immediate panic in the corn and provision markets, with the result that prices had instantly jumped up beyond the means of the average londoner. the poorer ones were eagerly collecting the refuse in covent garden market and boiling it down to make soup in lieu of anything else, while wise fathers of families went to the shops themselves and made meagre purchases daily of just sufficient food to keep body and soul together. for the present there was no fear of london being absolutely starved, at least the middle class and wealthier portion of it. at present it was the poor--the toiling millions now unemployed--who were the first to feel the pinch of hunger and its consequent despair. they filled the main arteries of london--holborn, oxford street, the strand, regent street, piccadilly, the haymarket, st. james's street, park lane, victoria street, and knightsbridge, overflowing northward into grosvenor, berkeley, portman, and cavendish squares, portland place, and to the terraces around regent's park. the centre of london became congested. day and night it was the same. there was no sleep. from across the river and from the east end the famished poor came in their bewildering thousands, the majority of them honest workers, indignant that by the foolish policy of the government they now found themselves breadless. before the houses of parliament, before the fine new war office and the admiralty, before downing street, and before the houses of known members of the government, constant demonstrations were being made, the hungry crowds groaning at the authorities, and singing "god save the king." though starving and in despair, they were nevertheless loyal, still confident that by the personal effort of his majesty some amicable arrangement would be arrived at. the french _entente cordiale_ was remembered, and our sovereign had long ago been declared to be the first diplomat in europe. every londoner believed in him, and loved him. many houses of the wealthy, especially those of foreigners, had their windows broken. in park lane, in piccadilly, and in grosvenor square more particularly, the houses seemed to excite the ire of the crowds, who, notwithstanding special constables having been sworn in, were now quite beyond the control of the police. the german ambassador had presented his letters of recall on sunday evening, and together with the whole staff had been accorded a safe conduct to dover, whence they had left for the continent. the embassy in carlton house terrace, and also the consulate-general in finsbury square, had, however, suffered severely at the hands of the angry crowd, notwithstanding that both premises were under police protection. all the german waiters employed at the cecil, the savoy, the carlton, the mã©tropole, the victoria, the grand, and the other big london hotels, had already fled for their lives out into the country, anywhere from the vengeance of the london mob. hundreds of them were trying to make their way within the german lines in essex and suffolk, and it was believed that many had succeeded--those, most probably, who had previously acted as spies. others, it was reported, had been set upon by the excited populace, and more than one had lost his life. pandemonium reigned in london. every class and every person in every walk of life was affected. german interests were being looked after by the russian ambassador, and this very fact caused a serious demonstration before chesham house, the big mansion where lives the representative of the czar. audacious spies had, in secret, in the night actually posted copies of von kronhelm's proclamation upon the griffin at temple bar, upon the marble arch, and upon the mansion house. but these had been quickly torn down, and if the hand that had placed them there had been known, it would certainly have meant death to the one who had thus insulted the citizens of london. yet the truth was, alas! too plain. spread out across essex and suffolk, making leisurely preparations and laughing at our futile defence, lay over one hundred thousand well-equipped, well-fed germans, ready, when their plans were completed, to advance upon and crush the complex city which is the pride and home of every englishman--london. on friday night an official communication from the war office was issued to the press, showing the exact position of the invaders. it was roughly this: "the ixth german corps, which had effected a landing at lowestoft, had, after moving along the most easterly route, including the road through saxmundham and ipswich, at length arrived at a position where their infantry outposts had occupied the higher slopes of the rising ground overlooking the river stour, near manningtree, which town, as well as ipswich, was held by them. "the left flank of this corps rested on the river stour itself, so that it was secure from any turning movement. its front was opposed to and directly threatened colchester, while its outposts, to say nothing of its independent cavalry, reached out in a northerly direction towards stowmarket, where they joined hands with the left flank of the xth corps--those under von wilburg, who had landed at yarmouth--whose headquarters were now at bury st. edmunds, their outposts being disposed south, overlooking the valley of the upper reaches of the stour." nor was this all. from newmarket there came information that the enemy who had landed at weybourne and cromer--viz., the ivth corps under von kleppen--were now encamping on the racecourse and being billeted in the town and villages about, including exning, ashley, moulton, and kentford. frã¶lich's cavalry brigade had penetrated south, covering the advance, and had now scoured the country, sweeping away the futile resistance of the british yeomanry, and scattering cavalry squadrons which they found opposed to them, all the time maintaining communication with the xth corps on their left, and the flower of the german army, the guards corps, from king's lynn, on their right. throughout the advance from holt, von dorndorf's motorists had been of the greatest utility. they had taken constantly companies of infantry hither and thither. at any threatened point, so soon as the sound of firing was heard in any cavalry skirmish or little engagement of outposts, the smart motor infantry were on the spot with the promptness of a fire brigade proceeding to a call. for this reason the field artillery, who were largely armed with quick-firing guns, capable of pouring in a hail of shrapnel on any exposed point, were enabled to push on much further than would have been otherwise possible. they were always adequately supported by a sufficient escort of these up-to-date troops, who, although infantry, moved with greater rapidity than cavalry itself, and who, moreover, brought with them their maxims, which dealt havoc far and near. the magnificent troops of the duke of mannheim, in their service uniforms, who had landed at king's lynn, had come across the wide, level roads, some by way of downham market, littleport, and ely, and arrived at cambridge. the 2nd division, under lieutenant-general von kasten, protecting the exposed flanks, had marched _viã¢_ wisbech, march, chatteris, and st. ives, while the masses of the cavalry of the guard, including the famous white cuirassiers, had been acting independently around the flat fen country, spalding and peterborough, and away to quaint old huntingdon, striking terror into the inhabitants, and effectively checking any possible offensive movement of the british that might have been directed upon the great german army during its ruthless advance. beyond this, worse remained. it was known that the viith corps, under von bristram, had landed at goole, and that general graf haeseler had landed at hull, new holland, and grimsby. this revealed what the real strategy of the generalissimo had been. their function seemed twofold. first and foremost their presence, as a glance at the map will show, effectually prevented any attack from the british troops gathered from the north and elsewhere, and who were, as shown, concentrated near sheffield and birmingham, until these two corps had themselves been attacked and repulsed, which we were, alas! utterly unable to accomplish. these were two fine german army corps, complete to the proverbial last button, splendidly equipped, well fed, and led by officers who had had life-long training and were perfectly well acquainted with every mile of the country they occupied, by reason of years of careful study given to maps of england. it was now entirely plain that the function of these two corps was to paralyse our trade in yorkshire and lancashire, to commit havoc in the big cities, to terrify the people, and to strike a crushing blow at our industrial centres, leaving the siege of london to the four other corps now so rapidly advancing upon the metropolis. events meanwhile were marching quickly in the north. the town of sheffield throughout tuesday and wednesday was the scene of the greatest activity. day and night the streets were filled with an excited populace, and hour by hour the terror increased. every train arriving from the north was crowded with volunteers and troops of the line from all stations in the northern command. the 1st battalion west riding regiment had joined the yorkshire light infantry, who were already stationed in sheffield, as had also the 19th hussars, and from every regimental district and depã´t came battalions of militia and volunteers. from carlisle came the reservists of the border regiment, from richmond those of the yorkshire regiment, from newcastle came what was left of the reservists of the durham light infantry, and the northumberland fusiliers, from lancaster the royal lancashires, while field artillery came from seaforth and preston, and small bodies of reservists of the liverpool and the south lancashire regiments came from warrington. contingents of the east and north lancashire regiments arrived from preston. the militia, including battalions of the liverpool regiment, the south lancashire regiment, the lancashire fusiliers, and other regiments in the command, were hurried to the scene of action outside sheffield. from every big town in the whole of the north of england and south of scotland came straggling units of volunteers. the mounted troops were almost entirely yeomanry, and included the duke of lancaster's own imperial yeomanry, the east riding of yorks, the lancashire hussars, northumberland yeomanry, westmorland and cumberland yeomanry, the queen's own yorkshire dragoons, and the york hussars. these troops, with their ambulances, their baggage, and all their impedimenta, created the utmost confusion at both railway stations. the great concourse of idlers cheered and cheered again, the utmost enthusiasm being displayed when each battalion forming up was marched away out of the town to the position chosen for the defence, which now reached from woodhouse on the south, overlooking and commanding the whole valley of the river rother, through catcliffe, brinsworth, and tinsley, previously alluded to, skirting greasborough to the high ground north of wentworth, also commanding the river don and all approaches to it through mexborough, and over the various bridges which spanned this stream--a total of about eight miles. the south flank was thrown back another four miles to norton, in an endeavour to prevent the whole position being turned, should the germans elect to deliver their threatened blow from a more southerly point than was anticipated. the total line, then, to be occupied by the defenders was about twelve miles, and into this front was crowded the heterogeneous mass of troops of all arms. the post of honour was at catcliffe, the dominating key to the whole position, which was occupied by the sturdy soldiers of the 1st battalion west riding regiment and the 2nd battalion yorkshire light infantry, while commanding every bridge crossing the rivers which lay between sheffield and the invaders were concentrated the guns of the 7th brigade royal horse artillery, and of the field artillery, the 2nd, the 30th, the 37th, and 38th brigades, the latter having hurriedly arrived from bradford. all along the crests of these slopes which formed the defence of sheffield, rising steeply from the river at times up to five hundred feet, were assembled the volunteers, all now by daybreak on thursday morning busily engaged in throwing up shelter-trenches and making hasty earthwork defences for the guns. the superintendence of this force had merged itself into that of the northern command, which nominally had its headquarters in york, but which had now been transferred to sheffield itself, for the best of reasons--that it was of no value at york, and was badly wanted farther south. general sir george woolmer, who so distinguished himself in south africa, had therefore shifted his headquarters to the town hall in sheffield, but as soon as he had begun to get the line of defence completed, he, with his staff, moved on to handsworth, which was centrally situated. in the command were to be found roughly twenty-three battalions of militia and forty-eight of volunteers; but, owing to the supineness and neglect of the government, the former regiments now found themselves, at the moment when wanted, greatly denuded of officers, and, owing to any lack of encouragement to enlist, largely depleted in men. as regards the volunteers, matters were even worse, only about fifteen thousand having responded to the call to arms. and upon these heroic men, utterly insufficient in point of numbers, sheffield had to rely for its defence. away to the eastward of sheffield--exactly where was yet unknown--sixty thousand perfectly equipped and thoroughly trained german horse, foot, and artillery, were ready at any moment to advance westward into our manufacturing districts! chapter ix. british success at royston. arrests of alleged spies were reported from manchester and other large towns. most of the prisoners were, however, able to prove themselves naturalised british subjects; but several were detained pending investigation and examination of correspondence found at their homes. in manchester, where there are always a number of germans, it is known that many slipped away on sunday night after the publication of the news of the invasion. in most of the larger midland towns notices had been issued by the mayors deprecating hostility towards residents of foreign origin, and stating that all suspicious cases were already receiving the attention of the police. in stafford the boot factories were idle. in the potteries all work was at a standstill. at stoke-on-trent, at hanley, at burslem, tunstall, and congleton all was chaos, and thousands upon thousands were already wanting bread. the silk-thread industry at leek was ruined, so was the silk industry at macclesfield; the great breweries at burton were idle, while the hosiery factories of leicester and the boot factories of northampton were all shut. with the german troops threatening sheffield, nottingham was in a state of intense alarm. the lace and hosiery factories had with one accord closed on tuesday, and the great market place was now filled day and night by thousands upon thousands of unemployed mill-hands of both sexes. on friday, however, came the news of how sheffield had built barricades against the enemy, and there ensued a frantic attempt at defence on the part of thousands of terrified and hungry men and women. in their frenzy they sacked houses in order to obtain material to construct the barricades, which were, however, built just where the fancy took the crowd. the white, interminable north road, that runs so straight from london through york and berwick to edinburgh, was, with its by-roads in the midlands, now being patrolled by british cavalry, and here and there telegraphists around a telegraph post showed that those many wires at the roadside were being used for military communication. at several points along the road between wansford bridge and retford the wires had been cut and tangled by the enemy's agents, but by friday all had been restored again. in one spot, between weston and sutton-on-trent, eight miles south of newark, a trench had actually been dug during the night, the tube containing the subterranean telegraph lines discovered, and the whole system to the north disorganised. similar damage had been done by german spies to the line between london and birmingham, two miles south of shipston-on-stour; and again the line between loughborough and nottingham had been similarly destroyed. the post office linesmen had, however, quickly made good the damage everywhere in the country not already occupied by the enemy, and telegraph and telephone communication north and south was now practically again in its normal state. through lincolnshire the enemy's advance patrols had spread south over every road between the humber and the wash, and in the city of lincoln itself a tremendous sensation was caused when on wednesday, market-day, several bodies of german motor-cyclists swept into the stonebow and dismounted at the saracen's head, amid the crowd of farmers and dealers who had assembled there, not, alas! to do business, but to discuss the situation. in a moment the city was panic-stricken. from mouth to mouth the dread truth spread, that the germans were upon them, and people ran indoors and barricaded themselves within their houses. a body of uhlans came galloping proudly through the stonebow a quarter of an hour later, and halted in high street as though awaiting orders. then in rapid succession troops seemed to arrive from all quarters, many halting in the cathedral close and by exchequer gate, and others riding through the streets in order to terrify the inhabitants. von kronhelm's famous proclamation was posted by german soldiers upon the police station, upon the stonebow, and upon the door of the grand old cathedral itself, and before noon a german officer accompanied by his staff called upon the mayor, and warned him that lincoln was occupied by the german troops, and that any armed resistance would be punished by death, as the generalissimo's proclamation stated. an indemnity was demanded, and then the powerless people saw upon the cathedral and upon several of the public buildings the german flag rise and float out upon the summer wind. boston was full of german infantry, and officers had taken up temporary quarters in the peacock and other hotels in the market-place, while upon the "stump" the enemy's colours were flying. no news came from london. people in norwich, ipswich, yarmouth, and other places heard vaguely of the invasion in the north, and of fighting in which the germans were careful to report that they were always successful. they saw the magnificently equipped army of the kaiser, and, comparing it with our mere apology for military force, regarded the issue as hopeless from the very first. in every town the german colours were displayed, and all kinds of placards in german and in english made their appearance. * * * * * the "daily chronicle," on september 10, published the following despatch from one of its war correspondents: "royston, _september_ 9. "victory at last. a victory due not only to the bravery and exertion of our troops, regular and auxiliary, but also to the genius of field-marshal lord byfield, our commander-in-chief, ably seconded by the energy and resource with which sir william packington, in command of the ivth army corps at baldock, carried out that part of the programme entrusted to him. "but though in this success we may hope that we are seeing the first glimmerings of dawn--of deliverance from the nightmare of german invasion that is now oppressing our dear old england--we must not be led into foolishly sanguine hopes. the snake has been scotched, and pretty badly into the bargain, but he is far from being killed. the german ivth army corps, under the famous general von kleppen, their magnificent garde corps commanded by the duke of mannheim, and frã¶lich's fine cavalry division, have been repulsed in their attack on our positions near royston and saffron walden, and driven back with great loss and confusion. but we are too weak to follow up our victory as it should be followed up. "the menace of the ixth and xth corps on our right flank ties us to our selected position, and the bulk of our forces being composed of indifferently trained volunteers and militia, is much more formidable behind entrenchments than when attempting to manoeuvre in a difficult and intricate country such as it is about here. but, on the other hand, we have given pause to the invaders, and have certainly gained a few days' time, which will be invaluable to us. "we shall be able to get on with the line of fortifications that are being constructed to bar the approaches to london, and behind which it will be necessary for us to make our final stand. i do not conceive that it is possible for such an agglomeration of amateur troops as ours are in the main to defeat in the open field such formidable and well-trained forces as the germans have succeeded in throwing into this country. but when our navy has regained command of the sea, we hope that we may, before very long, place our unwelcome visitors 'between the devil and the deep sea'--the part of the devil being played by our brave troops finally concentrated behind the strong defences of the metropolis. in short, that the germans may run out of ammunition and provisions. for if communication with the fatherland is effectively cut, they must starve, unless they have previously compelled our submission; for it is impossible for an army of the size that has invaded us to live on the country. "no doubt hundreds, nay thousands, of our non-militant countrymen--and, alas! women and children--will starve before the german troops are conquered by famine, that most terrible of enemies; but this issue seems to be the only possible one that will save the country. "but enough of these considerations of the future. it is time that i should relate what i can of the glorious victory which our gallant defenders have torn from the enemy. i do not think that i am giving any information away if i state that the british position lay mainly between saffron walden and royston, the headquarters respectively of the iind and iiird army corps. the ivth corps was at baldock, thrown back to cover the left flank and protect our communications by the great northern railway. a detached force, from what command supplied it is not necessary or advisable to say, was strongly entrenched on the high ground north-west of helions bumpstead, serving to strengthen our right. our main line of defence--very thinly held in some parts--began a little to the south-east of saffron walden, and ran westwards along a range of high ground through elmdon and chrishall to heydon. here it turned south through great chrishall to little chrishall, where it again turned west, and occupied the high range south of royston on which stands the village of therfield. "the night before the battle we knew that the greater portion of the german ivth and garde corps were concentrated, the former at newmarket, the 1st division of the latter at cambridge, the 2nd on this side of st. ives, while frã¶lich's cavalry division had been in constant contact with our outposts the greater part of the day previous. the garde cavalry brigade was reported to be well away to the westward towards kettering, as we suppose, on account of the reports which have been going about of a concentration of yeomanry and militia in the hilly country near northampton. our intelligence department, which appears to have been very well served by its spies, obtained early knowledge of the intention of the germans to make an attack on our position. in fact, they talked openly of it, and stated at cambridge and newmarket that they would not manoeuvre at all, and only hoped that we should hold on long enough to our position to enable them to smash up our iind and iiird corps by a frontal attack, and so clear the road to london. the main roads lent themselves admirably to such strategy, which rendered the reports of their intentions the more probable, for they all converged on our position from their main points of concentration. "the letter 'w' will exactly serve to show the positions of the contending forces. st. ives is at the top of the first stroke, cambridge at the junction of the two shorter centre ones, newmarket at the top of the last stroke, while the british positions at royston and saffron walden are at the junctions of all four strokes at the bottom of the letter. the strokes also represent the roads, except that from cambridge three good roads lead towards each of the british positions. the prisoners taken from the germans in the various preliminary skirmishes also made no bones of boasting that a direct attack was imminent, and our commander-in-chief eventually, and rightly as it proved, determined to take the risk of all this information having been specially promulgated by the german staff to cover totally different intentions, as was indeed quite probable, and to accept it as true. having made up his mind, he lost no time in taking action. he ordered the ivth corps under sir william packington to move on potton, twelve miles to the north-west, as soon as it was dark. as many cavalry and mounted infantry as could possibly be spared from royston were placed at his disposal. "it ought to be stated that while the auxiliary troops had been busily employed ever since their arrival in entrenching the british position, the greater part of the regular troops had been occupying an advanced line two or three miles to the northward on the lower spurs of the hills, and every possible indication of a determination to hold this as long as possible was afforded to the german reconnoitrers. during the night these troops fell back to the position which had been prepared, the outposts following just before daylight. about 6 a.m. the enemy were reported to be advancing in force along the icknield way from newmarket, and also by the roads running on either bank of the river cam. twenty minutes later considerable bodies of german troops were reported at fowlmere and melbourn on the two parallel royston-cambridge roads. they must have followed very close on the heels of our retiring outposts. it was a very misty morning--down in the low ground over which the enemy were advancing especially so--but about seven a gust of wind from the westward dispelled the white fog-wreaths that hung about our left front, and enabled our lookouts to get a glimpse along the famous ermine street, which runs straight as an arrow from royston for twenty or thirty miles to the n.n.w. "along this ancient roman way, far as the eye could reach, poured a steady stream of marching men, horse, foot, and artillery. the wind dropped, the mists gathered again, and once more enveloped the invaders in an impenetrable screen. but by this time the whole british line was on the _qui vive_. regulars, militia, and volunteers were marching down to their chin-deep trenches, while those who were already there busied themselves in improving their loopholes and strengthening their head cover. behind the ridges of the hills the gunners stood grouped about their 'long toms' and heavy howitzers, while the field batteries waited, ready horsed, for orders to gallop under cover of the ridge to whichever set of emplacements should first require to be manned and armed. we had not enough to distribute before the movements of the enemy should, to a certain extent, show his hand. "about seven o'clock a series of crackling reports from the outskirts of royston announced that the detachment of mounted infantry, who now alone held it, was exchanging shots with the advancing enemy, and in a few minutes, as the morning mistiness cleared off, the general and his staff, who were established at the northern edge of the village of therfield, three or four hundred feet higher up than the german skirmishers, were able to see the opening of the battle spread like a panorama before them. a thick firing line of drab-costumed germans extended right across from holland hall to the coach and horses on the fowlmere road. on their left moved two or three compact masses of cavalry, while the infantry reserves were easily apparent in front of the village of melbourn. our mounted infantry in the village were indistinguishable, but away on the spur to the north-east of royston a couple of batteries of horse artillery were unlimbered and were pushing their guns up to the brow of the hill by hand. in two minutes they were in action, and hard at work. "through the glasses the shrapnel could be seen bursting, half a dozen together, in front of the advancing germans, who began to fall fast. but almost at once came an overwhelming reply from somewhere out of sight behind melbourn. the whole hilltop around our guns was like a spouting volcano. evidently big high-explosive shells were being fired from the german field-howitzers. in accordance with previous orders, our horse-gunners at once ran down their guns, limbered up, and started to gallop back towards our main position. simultaneously a mass of german cavalry deployed into attack formation near the coach and horses, and swept down in their direction with the evident intention of cutting off and capturing them. but they reckoned without their escort of mounted infantry, who had been lying low behind the long, narrow line of copse north of lowerfield farm. safely ensconced behind this--to cavalry--impassable barrier, the company, all good shots, opened a terrible magazine fire on the charging squadrons as they passed at close range. a maxim they had with them also swept horses and men away in swathes. the charge was checked, and the guns saved, but we had not finished with the german reiters. away to the north-east a battery of our 4â·7 guns opened on the disorganised cavalry, firing at a range of four thousand yards. their big shells turned the momentary check into a rout, both the attacking cavalry and their supports galloping towards fowlmere to get out of range. we had scored the first trick! "the attacking lines of german infantry still pressed on, however, and after a final discharge the mounted infantry in royston sprang on their horses and galloped back over whitely hill, leaving the town to be occupied by the enemy. to the eastward the thunder of heavy cannon, gradually growing in intensity, proclaimed that the iind corps was heavily attacked. covered by a long strip of plantation, the german ivth corps contrived to mass an enormous number of guns on a hill about two miles north of the village of elmdon, and a terrific artillery duel began between them and our artillery entrenched along the elmdon-heydon ridge. under cover of this the enemy began to work his infantry up towards elmdon, obtaining a certain amount of shelter from the spurs which ran out towards the north-east of our line. other german troops with guns put in an appearance on the high ground to the north-east of saffron walden, near chesterton park. "to describe the fortunes of this fiercely contested battle, which spread along a front of nearly twenty miles, counting from the detached garrison of the hill at helions bumpstead--which, by the way, succeeded in holding its ground all day, despite two or three most determined assaults by the enemy--to kelshall on the left of the british position, would be an impossibility in the space at my disposal. the whole morning it raged all along the northern slopes of the upland held by our gallant troops. the fiercest fighting was, perhaps, in the neighbourhood of elmdon, where our trenches were more than once captured by the magdeburg battalions, only to be themselves hurled out again by the rush of the 1st coldstream guards, who had been held in reserve near the threatened point. by noon the magnificent old palace at audley end was in flames. art treasures which were of inestimable value and absolutely unreplaceable perished in this shocking conflagration. desperate fighting was going on in the streets of the little town of saffron walden, where a mingled mass of volunteers and militia strove hard to arrest the advance of a portion of the german army which was endeavouring to work round the right of our position. "on our left the foot guards and fusiliers of the 1st german guard division, after receiving a terrible pounding from our guns when they poured into royston at the heels of our mounted infantry, had fought their way up the heights to within fifteen hundred yards of our trenches on the upper slopes of the ridge. farther than that they had been unable to advance. their close formations offered an excellent target to the rifles of the volunteers and militia lining our entrenchments. the attackers had lost men in thousands, and were now endeavouring to dig themselves in as best they could under the hail of projectiles that continually swept the hillside. about noon, too, the 2nd division of the garde corps, after some skirmishing with the mounted infantry away on our left front, got into attack formation along the line of the hitchin and cambridge railway, and after pouring a deluge of projectiles from field guns and howitzers upon our position, advanced upon therfield with the greatest bravery and determination. they had succeeded by 2 p.m. in driving our men from the end of the spur running northward near therfield heath, and managed to get a number of their howitzers up there, and at once opened fire from the cover afforded by several copses out of which our men had been driven. "in short, things were beginning to look very bad for old england, and the watchers on the therfield heights turned their glasses anxiously northward in search of general sir william packington's force from potton. they had not long to wait. at 2.15 the winking flash of a heliograph away near wendy place, about eight miles up ermine street, announced that the advance guard, consisting of the 1st royal welsh fusiliers, was already at bassingbourn, and that the main body was close behind, having escaped detection by all the enemy's patrols and flank guards. they were now directly in the rear of the right of the german reserves, who had been pushed forward into the neighbourhood of royston to support the attack of their main body on the british position. a few minutes later it was evident that the enemy had also become aware of their advent. two or three regiments hurriedly issued from royston and deployed to the north-west. but the guns of the baldock corps turned such a 'rafale' fire upon them that they hesitated and were lost. "every long-range gun in the british entrenchments that would bear was also turned upon them, leaving the infantry and field guns to deal with the troops assaulting their position. the three battalions, as well as a fourth that was sent to their assistance, were simply swept out of existence by this terrible cross-fire. their remnants streamed away, a disorganised crowd of scattered stragglers, towards melbourn; while, still holding on to bassingbourn, the baldock force moved down on royston, driving everything before it. "the most advanced german troops made a final effort to capture our position when they saw what was going on behind them, but it was half-hearted; they were brought to a standstill, and our men, fixing bayonets, sprang from their trenches and charged down upon them with cheers, which were taken up all along the line for miles. the germans here and there made a partial stand, but in half an hour they were down on the low ground, falling back towards the north-east in the greatest confusion, losing men in thousands from the converging fire of our guns. their cavalry made a gallant attempt to save the day by charging our troops to the north of royston. it was a magnificent sight to see their enormous masses sweeping over the ground with an impetus which looked capable of carrying everything before it, but our men, clustering behind the hedges of ermine street, mowed them down squadrons at a time. not one of them reached the roadway. the magnificent garde corps was routed. [illustration: battle of royston sunday sept. 9th.] "the combined iiird and ivth corps now advanced on the exposed right flank of the german ivth corps, which, fighting gallantly, fell back, doing its best to cover the retreat of its comrades, who, on their part, very much hampered its movements. by nightfall there was no unwounded german south of whittlesford, except as a prisoner. by this time, too, we were falling back on our original position." chapter x. british abandon colchester. on tuesday, 10th september, the "daily news" published the following telegram from its war correspondent, mr. edgar hamilton: "chelmsford, _monday, sept._ 9. "i sit down, after a sleepless night, to indite the account of our latest move. we hear that sheffield has fallen, and our troops are in flight. as, by the time this appears in print, the enemy will of necessity be aware of our abandonment of colchester, the censor will not, i imagine, prevent the despatch of my letter. "for our move has been made one of a retrograde nature, and i do not doubt that the cavalry of the german ixth corps are close behind us and in touch with our own. but i must not, in using the word 'retrograde,' be supposed to criticise in any way the strategy of our generals. for every one here is, i am sure, fully persuaded of the wisdom of the step. colchester, with its plucky little garrison, was altogether too much 'in the air,' and stood a great risk of being isolated by a converging advance of the ixth and xth corps of the german invaders, to say nothing of the xiith (saxon) corps at maldon, which since the unfortunate battle of purleigh has shown itself very active to the north and east. "the saxons have refrained from attacking our vth corps since its repulse, and it has been left almost in peace to entrench its position from danbury to the southward; but, on the other hand, while not neglecting to further strengthen their already formidable defences between the blackwater and the crouch, their cavalry have scoured the country up to the very gates of colchester. yesterday morning the 16th lancers and the 17th hussars--who had fallen back from norwich--together with some of the local yeomanry, moved out by the tolleshunt d'arcy and great totham roads, and drove in their patrols with some loss. at tiptree heath there was a sharp cavalry engagement between our red lancers and several squadrons of a sky-blue hussar regiment. our people routed them, but in the pursuit that followed would have fared badly, as they fell in with the four remaining squadrons supported by another complete regiment, had it not been for the opportune arrival of the household cavalry brigade, which had moved north-east from danbury to co-operate. this completely changed the aspect of affairs. the germans were soundly beaten, with the loss of a large number of prisoners, and galloped back to maldon in confusion. in the meantime, the 2nd king's own royal lancaster regiment and the 5th battery r.f. artillery had been sent down to witham by train, whence they marched up to the high ground near wickham bishops. they and the yeomanry were left there in a position to cover the main london road and the great eastern railway, and at the same time threaten any movement of the enemy by the great totham road. when the news of our success reached colchester, soon after midday, we were all very jubilant. in fact, i fear that a great many people spent the afternoon in a species of fool's paradise. and when towards the evening the announcement of our splendid victory at royston was posted up on the red walls of the fine town hall, and outside the cups, there was an incipient outbreak of that un-english excitement known as 'mafficking.' "but this exultation was fated to be but short-lived, even though the mayor appeared on the balcony of the town hall and addressed the crowd, while the latest news was posted outside the offices of the 'essex telegraph,' opposite the post office. the wind was in the north, and about 5.45 in the afternoon the sound of a heavy explosion was heard from the direction of manningtree. i was in the cups hotel at the time arranging for an early dinner, and ran out into the street. as i emerged from the archway of the hotel i distinctly heard a second detonation from the same direction. a sudden silence, ominous and unnatural, seemed to fall on the yelping jingoes in the street, in the midst of which the rumble of yet another explosion rolled down on the wind, this time from a more westerly direction. men asked their neighbours breathlessly as to what all this portended. i myself knew no more than the most ignorant of the crowd, till in an officer who rushed hastily by me in head street, on his way into the hotel, i recognised my friend captain burton, of the artillery. "i buttonholed him at once. "'do i know what those explosions were?' repeated he in answer to my inquiry. 'well, i don't know, but i'm open to bet you five to one that it's the sappers blowing up the bridges over the stour at manningtree and stratford st. mary.' "'then the germans will have arrived there?' i queried. "'most probably. and look here,' he continued, taking me aside by the arm, and lowering his voice, 'you take my tip. we shall be out of this to-night. so you'd best pack up your traps and get into marching order.' "'do you know this?' said i. "'not officially, or i shouldn't tell you anything about it. but i can put two and two together. we all knew that the general wouldn't be fool enough to try and defend an open town of this size with such a small garrison against a whole army corps, or perhaps more. it would serve no good purpose, and expose the place to destruction and bring all sorts of disaster on the civil population. you could have seen that for yourself, for no attempt whatever has been made to erect defences of any kind, neither have we received any reinforcements at all. if they had meant to defend it they could certainly have contrived to send us some volunteers and guns at any rate. no, the few troops we have here have done their best in assisting the danbury force against the saxons, and are much too valuable to be left here to be cut off without being able to do much to check the advance of the enemy. if we had been going to try anything of that kind, we should have now been holding the line of the river stour; but i know we have only small detachments at the various bridges, sufficient only to drive off the enemy's cavalry patrols. by now, having blown up the bridges, i expect they are falling back as fast as they can get. besides, look here,' he added, 'what do you think that battalion was sent to wickham bishops for this morning?' "i told him my theories as set forth above. "'oh, yes, that's all right,' he answered. 'but you may bet your boots that there's more in it than that. in my opinion, the general has had orders to clear out as soon as the enemy are preparing to cross the stour, and the lancasters are planted there to protect our left flank from an attack from maldon while we are retreating on chelmsford.' "'but we might fall back on braintree?' i hazarded. "'don't you believe it. we're not wanted there--at least, i mean, not so much as elsewhere. where we shall come in is to help to fill the gap between braintree and danbury. i think, myself, we might just as well have done it before. we have been sending back stores by rail for the last two days. well, good-bye,' he said, holding out his hand. 'keep all this to yourself, and mark my words, we'll be off at dusk.' "away he went, and convinced that his prognostications were correct--as, indeed, in the main they proved--i hastened to eat my dinner, pay my bill, and get my portmanteau packed and stowed away in my motor. as soon as the evening began to close in i started and made for the barracks, going easy. the streets were still full of people, but they were very quiet, and mostly talking together in scattered groups. a shadow seemed to have fallen on the jubilant crowd of the afternoon, though, as far as i could ascertain, there were no definite rumours of the departure of the troops and the close advent of the enemy. "when i arrived at the barracks, i saw at once that there was something in the wind, and pulled up alongside the barrack railings, determined to watch the progress of events. i had not long to wait. in about ten minutes a bugle sounded, and the scattered assemblage of men on the barrack-square closed together and solidified into a series of quarter columns. at the same time the volunteer battalion moved across from the other side of the road and joined the regular troops. i heard a sharp clatter and jingling behind me, and, looking round, saw the general and his staff with a squad of cavalry canter up the road. they turned into the barrack gate, greeted by a sharp word of command and the rattle of arms from the assembled battalions. as far as i could make out, the general made them some kind of address, after which i heard another word of command, upon which the regiment nearest to the gate formed fours and marched out. "it was the 2nd dorsetshire. i watched anxiously to see which way they turned. as i more than expected, they turned in the direction of the london road. my friend had been right so far, but till the troops arrived at mark's tey, where the road forked, i could not be certain whether they were going towards braintree or chelmsford. the volunteers followed; then the leicestershires, then a long train of artillery, field batteries, big 4â·7 guns, and howitzers. the king's own scottish borderers formed the rearguard. with them marched the general and his staff; i saw no cavalry. i discovered afterwards that the general, foreseeing that a retirement was imminent, had ordered the 16th lancers and the 7th hussars, after their successful morning performance, to remain till further orders at kelvedon and tiptree respectively, so that their horses were resting during the afternoon. "during the night march the former came back and formed a screen behind the retiring column, while the latter were in a position to observe and check any movement northwards that might be made by the saxons, at the same time protecting its flank and rear from a possible advance by the cavalry of von kronhelm's army, should they succeed in crossing the river stour soon enough to be able to press after us in pursuit by either of the two eastern roads leading from colchester to maldon. after the last of the departing soldiers had tramped away into the gathering darkness through the mud, which after yesterday's downpour still lay thick upon the roads, i bethought me that i might as well run down to the railway station to see if anything was going on there. i was just in time. "the electric light disclosed a bustling scene as the last of the ammunition and a certain proportion of stores were being hurried into a long train that stood with steam up ready to be off. the police allowed none of the general public to enter the station, but my correspondent's pass obtained me admission to the departure platform. there i saw several detachments of the royal engineers, the mounted infantry--minus their horses, which had been already sent on--and some of the leicestershire regiment. many of the men had their arms, legs, or heads bandaged, and bore evident traces of having been in action. i got into conversation with a colour-sergeant of the engineers, and learned these were the detachments who had been stationed at the bridges over the stour. it appears there was some sharp skirmishing with the german advance troops before the officers in command had decided that they were in sufficient force to justify them in blowing up the bridges. in fact, at the one at which my informant was stationed, and that the most important one of all, over which the main road from ipswich passed at stratford st. mary, the officer in charge delayed just too long, so that a party of the enemy's cavalry actually secured the bridge, and succeeded in cutting the wires leading to the charges which had been placed in readiness to blow it up. luckily, the various detachments present rose like one man to the occasion, and, despite a heavy fire, hurled themselves upon the intruders with the bayonet with such determination and impetus, that the bridge was swept clear in a moment. the wires were reconnected, and the bridge cleared of our men just as the germans, reinforced by several of their supporting squadrons, who had come up at a gallop, dashed upon it in pursuit. the firing key was pressed at this critical moment, and, with a stunning report, a whole troop was blown into the air, the remaining horses, mad with fright, stampeding despite all that their riders could do. the road was cut, and the german advance temporarily checked, while the british detachment made off as fast as it could for colchester. "i asked the sergeant how long he thought it would be before the germans succeeded in crossing it. 'bless you, sir, i expect they're over by now,' he answered. 'they would be sure to have their bridging companies somewhere close up, and it would not take them more than an hour or two to throw a bridge over that place.' the bridges at boxted mill and nayland had been destroyed previously. "the railway bridge and the other one at manningtree were blown up before the germans could get a footing, and their defenders had come in by rail. but my conversation was cut short, the whistle sounded, the men were hustled on board the train, and it moved slowly out of the station. as for me, i hurried out to my car, and, putting on speed, was soon clear of the town, and spinning along for mark's tey. it is about five miles, and shortly before i got there i overtook the marching column. the men were halted, and in the act of putting on their greatcoats. i was stopped here by the rearguard, who took charge of me, and would not let me proceed until permission was obtained from the general. "eventually this officer ordered me to be brought to him, i presented my pass; but he said, 'i am afraid that i shall have to ask you either to turn back or to slow down and keep pace with us. in fact, you had better do the latter. i might, indeed, have to exercise my powers and impress your motor, should the exigencies of the service require it.' i saw that it was best to make virtue of necessity, and replied that it was very much at his service, and that i was very well content to accompany the column. in point of fact, the latter was strictly true, for i wanted to see what was to be seen, and there were no points about going along with no definite idea of where i wanted to get to, with a possible chance of falling into the hands of the saxons into the bargain. so a staff officer, who was suffering from a slight wound, was placed alongside me, and the column, having muffled itself in its greatcoats, once more began to plug along through the thickening mire. my position was just in front of the guns, which kept up a monotonous rumble behind me. my companion was talkative, and afforded me a good deal of incidental and welcome information. thus, just after we started, and were turning to the left at mark's tey, a bright glare followed by a loudish report came from the right of the road. 'what's that?' i naturally ejaculated. 'oh, that will be the sappers destroying the junction with the sudbury line,' he replied. 'there's the train waiting for them just beyond.' "so it was. the train that i had seen leaving had evidently stopped after passing the junction, while the line was broken behind it. 'they will do the same after passing the cross line at witham,' volunteered he. "a mile or two further on we passed between two lines of horsemen, their faces set northwards and muffled to the eyes in their long cloaks. 'that's some of the 16th,' he said, 'going to cover our rear.' "so we moved on all night through the darkness and rain, and with the first glimmer of dawn halted at witham. we had about nine miles still to go to reach chelmsford, which i learned was our immediate destination, and it was decided to rest here for an hour, while the men made the best breakfast they could from the contents of their haversacks. but the villagers brought out hot tea and coffee, and did the best they could for us, so we did not fare so badly after all. as for me, i got permission to go on, taking with me my friend the staff officer, who had despatches to forward from chelmsford. i pushed on at full speed. we were there in a very short space of time, and during the morning i learned that the braintree army was falling back on dunmow, and that the colchester garrison was to assist in holding the line of the river chelmer." notice. concerning wounded british soldiers. in compliance with an order of the commander-in-chief of the german imperial army, the governor-general of east anglia decrees as follows:- (1) every inhabitant of the counties of norfolk, suffolk, essex, cambridge, lincolnshire, yorkshire, nottingham, derby, leicester, northampton, rutland, huntingdon, and hertford, who gives asylum to or lodges one or more ill or wounded british soldier, is obliged to make a declaration to the mayor of the town or to the local police within 24 hours, stating name, grade, place of birth, and nature of illness or injury. every change of domicile of the wounded is also to be notified within 24 hours. in absence of masters, servants are ordered to make the necessary declarations. the same order applies to the directors of hospitals, surgeries, or ambulance stations, who receive the british wounded within our jurisdiction. (2) all mayors are ordered to prepare lists of the british wounded, showing the number, with their names, grade, and place of birth in each district. (3) the mayor, or the superintendent of police, must send on the 1st and 15th of each month a copy of his lists to the headquarters of the commander-in-chief. the first list must be sent on the 15th september. (4) any person failing to comply with this order will, in addition to being placed under arrest for harbouring british troops, be fined a sum not exceeding â£20. (5) this decree is to be published in all towns and villages in the province of east anglia. =count von schonburg-waldenburg, lieutenant-general, governor of german east anglia.= ipswich, _september_ 6, 1910. [illustration: copy of one of the enemy's proclamations.] chapter xi. fierce fighting at chelmsford. a despatch from mr. edgar hamilton to the "daily news," as follows, was published on saturday, 15th september: "at little waltham i found myself close to the scene of action. about a mile ahead of me the hamlet of howe street was in flames and burning furiously. i could see the shells bursting in and all over it in perfect coveys. i could not make out where they were coming from, but an officer i met said he thought the enemy must have several batteries in action on the high ground about littley green, a mile and a half to the north on the opposite side of the river. i crossed over myself, and got up on the knoll where the leicestershires and dorsets had been stationed, together with a number of the 4â·7-inch guns brought from colchester. "this piece of elevated ground is about two miles long, running almost north and south, and at the top of it i got an extensive view to the eastward right away to beyond witham, as the ground fell all the way. the country was well wooded, and a perfect maze of trees and hedgerows. if there were any germans down there in this plain they were lying very low indeed, for my glasses did not discover the least indication of their presence. due east my view was bounded by the high wooded ground about wickham bishops and tiptree heath, which lay a long blue hummock on the horizon, while to the south-east danbury hill, with our big war-balloon floating overhead, was plainly discernible. "while i gazed on the apparently peaceful landscape i was startled by a nasty, sharp hissing sound, which came momentarily nearer. it seemed to pass over my head, and was followed by a loud bang in the air, where now hung a ring of white smoke. it was a shell from the enemy. just ahead of me was a somewhat extensive wood; and, urged by some insane impulse of seeking shelter, i left the car, which i ordered my chauffeur to take back for a mile and wait, and made for the close-standing trees. if i had stopped to think i should have realised that the wood gave me actually no protection whatever, and i had not gone far when the crashing of timber and noise of the bursting projectiles overhead and in the undergrowth around made me understand clearly that the germans were making a special target of the wood, which, i imagine, they thought might conceal some of our troops. i wished heartily that i was seated beside my chauffeur in his fast-receding car. "however, my first object was to get clear of the wood again, and after some little time i emerged on the west side, right in the middle of a dressing station for the wounded, which had been established in a little hollow. two surgeons, with their assistants, were already busily engaged with a number of wounded men, most of whom were badly hit by shrapnel bullets about the upper part of the body. i gathered from one or two of the few most slightly wounded men that our people had been, and were, very hardly put to it to hold their own. 'i reckon,' said one of them, a bombardier of artillery, 'that the enemy must have got more than a hundred guns firing at us, and at howe street village. if we could only make out where the foreign devils were,' continued my informant, 'our chaps could have knocked a good many of them out with our four-point-sevens, especially if we could have got a go at them before they got within range themselves. but they must have somehow contrived to get them into position during the night, for we saw nothing of them coming up. they are somewhere about chatley, fairstead lodge, and little leighs, but as we can't locate them exactly, and only have ten guns up here, it don't give us much chance, does it?' later i saw an officer of the dorsets, who confirmed the gunner's story, but added that our people were well entrenched and the guns well concealed, so that none of the latter had been put out of action, and he thought we should be able to hold on to the hill all right. i regained my car without further adventure, bar several narrow escapes from stray shell, and made my way back as quickly as possible to chelmsford. "the firing went on all day, not only to the northward, but also away to the southward, where the saxons, while not making any determined attack, kept the vth corps continually on the alert, and there was an almost continuous duel between the heavy pieces. as it appeared certain that the knoll i had visited in the forenoon was the main objective of the enemy's attack, reinforcements had been more than once sent up there, but the german shell fire was so heavy that they found it almost impossible to construct the additional cover required. several batteries of artillery were despatched to pleshy and rolphy green to keep down, if possible, the fire of the germans, but it seemed to increase rather than diminish. they must have had more guns in action than they had at first. just at dusk their infantry had made the first openly offensive movement. "several lines of skirmishers suddenly appeared in the valley between little leighs and chatley, and advanced towards lyonshall wood, at the north end of the knoll east of little waltham. they were at first invisible from the british gun positions on the other side of the chelmer, and when they cleared the spur on which hyde hall stands they were hardly discernible in the gathering darkness. the dorsetshire and the other battalions garrisoning the knoll manned their breastworks as they got within rifle range, and opened fire, but they were still subjected to the infernal rafale from the hanoverian guns on the hills to the northward, and to make matters worse at this critical moment the xth corps brought a long line of guns into action between flacks green and great leighs wood, in which position none of the british guns except a few on the knoll itself could reach them. under this cross hurricane of projectiles the british fire was quite beaten down, and the germans followed up their skirmishers by almost solid masses, which advanced with all but impunity save for the fire of the few british long-range guns at pleshy mount. there they were firing almost at random, as the gunners could not be certain of the exact whereabouts of their objectives. there was a searchlight on the knoll, but at the first sweep of its ray it was absolutely demolished by a blizzard of shrapnel. every german gun was turned upon it. the hanoverian battalions now swarmed to the assault, disregarding the gaps made in their ranks by the magazine fire of the defenders as soon as their close advance masked the fire of their own cannon. [illustration: battle of chelmsford. position on the evening of september 11.] "the british fought desperately. three several times they hurled back at the attackers, but, alas! we were overborne by sheer weight of numbers. reinforcements summoned by telephone, as soon as the determined nature of the attack was apparent, were hurried up from every available source, but they only arrived in time to be carried down the hill again in the rush of its defeated defenders, and to share with them the storm of projectiles from the quick-firers of general von kronhelm's artillery, which had been pushed forward during the assault. it was with the greatest difficulty that the shattered and disorganised troops were got over the river at little waltham. as it was, hundreds were drowned in the little stream, and hundreds of others killed and wounded by the fire of the germans. they had won the first trick. this was indisputable, and as ill news travels apace, a feeling of gloom fell upon our whole force, for it was realised that the possession of the captured knoll would enable the enemy to mass troops almost within effective rifle range of our river line of defence. i believe that it was proposed by some officers on the staff that we should wheel back our left and take up a fresh position during the night. this was overruled, as it was recognised that to do so would enable the enemy to push in between the dunmow force and our own, and so cut our general line in half. all that could be done was to get up every available gun and bombard the hill during the night in order to hamper the enemy in his preparations for further forward movement and in his entrenching operations. "had we more men at our disposal i suppose there is little doubt that a strong counter-attack would have been made on the knoll almost immediately; but in the face of the enormous numbers opposed to us, i imagine that general blennerhasset did not feel justified in denuding any portion of our position of its defenders. so all through the dark hours the thunder of the great guns went on. in spite of the cannonade the germans turned on no less than three searchlights from the southern end of the knoll about midnight. two were at once put out by our fire, but the third managed to exist for over half an hour, and enabled the germans to see how hard we were working to improve our defences along the river bank. i am afraid that they were by this means able to make themselves acquainted with the positions of a great number of our trenches. during the night our patrols reported being unable to penetrate beyond pratt's farm, mount maskell, and porter's farm on the colchester road. everywhere they were forced back by superior numbers. the enemy were fast closing in upon us. it was a terrible night in chelmsford. "there was panic on every hand. a man mounted the tindal statue and harangued the crowd, urging the people to rise and compel the government to stop the war. a few young men endeavoured to load the old crimean cannon in front of the shire hall, but found it clogged with rust and useless. people fled from the villa residences in brentwood road into the town for safety, now that the enemy were upon them. the banks in high street were being barricaded, and the stores still remaining in the various grocers' shops, luckin smith's, martin's, cramphorn's, and pearke's, were rapidly being concealed from the invaders. all the ambulance waggons entering the town were filled with wounded, although as many as possible were sent south by train. by one o'clock in the morning, however, most of the civilian inhabitants had fled. the streets were empty, but for the bivouacking troops and the never-ending procession of wounded men. the general and his staff were deliberating to a late hour in the shire hall, at which he had established his headquarters. the booming of the guns waxed and waned till dawn, when a furious outburst announced that the second act of the tragedy was about to open. decree concerning the power of councils of war. we, governor-general of east anglia, in virtue of the powers conferred upon us by his imperial majesty the german emperor, commander-in-chief of the german armies, order, for the maintenance of the internal and external security of the counties of the government-general:- article i.--any individual guilty of incendiarism or of wilful inundation, of attack, or of resistance with violence against the government-general or the agents of the civil or military authorities, of sedition, of pillage, of theft with violence, of assisting prisoners to escape, or of exciting soldiers to treasonable acts, shall be punished by death. in the case of any extenuating circumstances, the culprit may be sent to penal servitude with hard labour for twenty years. article ii.--any person provoking or inciting an individual to commit the crimes mentioned in article i. will be sent to penal servitude with hard labour for ten years. article iii.--any person propagating false reports relative to the operations of war or political events will be imprisoned for one year, and fined up to â£100. in any case where the affirmation or propagation may cause prejudice against the german army, or against any authorities or functionaries established by it, the culprit will be sent to hard labour for ten years. article iv.--any person usurping a public office, or who commits any act or issues any order in the name of a public functionary, will be imprisoned for five years, and fined â£150. article v.--any person who voluntarily destroys or abstracts any documents, registers, archives, or public documents deposited in public offices, or passing through their hands in virtue of their functions as government or civic officials, will be imprisoned for two years, and fined â£150. article vi.--any person obliterating, damaging, or tearing down official notices, orders, or proclamations of any sort issued by the german authorities will be imprisoned for six months, and fined â£80. article vii.--any resistance or disobedience of any order given in the interests of public security by military commanders and other authorities, or any provocation or incitement to commit such disobedience, will be punished by one year's imprisonment, or a fine of not less than â£150. article viii.--all offences enumerated in articles i.--vii. are within the jurisdiction of the councils of war. article ix.--it is within the competence of councils of war to adjudicate upon all other crimes and offences against the internal and external security of the english provinces occupied by the german army, and also upon all crimes against the military or civil authorities, or their agents, as well as murder, the fabrication of false money, of blackmail, and all other serious offences. article x.--independent of the above, the military jurisdiction already proclaimed will remain in force regarding all actions tending to imperil the security of the german troops, to damage their interests, or to render assistance to the army of the british government. consequently, there will be punished by death, and we expressly repeat this, all persons who are not british soldiers and- (a) who serve the british army or the government as spies, or receive british spies, or give them assistance or asylum. (b) who serve as guides to british troops, or mislead the german troops when charged to act as guides. (c) who shoot, injure, or assault any german soldier or officer. (d) who destroy bridges or canals, interrupt railways or telegraph lines, render roads impassable, burn munitions of war, provisions, or quarters of the troops. (e) who take arms against the german troops. article xi.--the organisation of councils of war mentioned in articles viii. and ix. of the law of may 2, 1870, and their procedure are regulated by special laws which are the same as the summary jurisdiction of military tribunals. in the case of article x. there remains in force the law of july 21, 1867, concerning the military jurisdiction applicable to foreigners. article xii.--the present order is proclaimed and put into execution on the morrow of the day upon which it is affixed in the public places of each town and village, the governor-general of east anglia, =count von schonburg-waldenberg, lieutenant-general.= norwich, _september 7th_, 1910. "i had betaken myself at once to the round tower of the church, next the stone bridge, from which i had an excellent view both east and north. the first thing that attracted my eye was the myriad flashings of rifle fire in the dimness of the breaking day. they reached in a continuous line of coruscations from boreham hall, opposite my right hand, to the knoll by little waltham, a distance of three or four miles, i should say. the enemy were driving in all our outlying and advanced troops by sheer weight of numbers. presently the heavy batteries at danbury began pitching shell over in the direction of the firing, but as the german line still advanced, it had not apparently any very great effect. the next thing that happened was a determined attack on the village of howe street made from the direction of hyde hall. this is about two miles north of little waltham. in spite of our incessant fire, the germans had contrived to mass a tremendous number of guns and howitzers on and behind the knoll they captured last night, and there was any quantity more on the ridge above hyde hall. all these terrible weapons concentrated their fire for a few moments on the blackened ruins of howe street. not a mouse could have lived there. the little place was simply pulverised. "our guns at pleshy mount and rolphy green, aided by a number of field batteries, in vain endeavoured to make head against them. they were outnumbered by six to one. under cover of this tornado of iron and fire, the enemy pushed several battalions over the river, making use of the ruins of the many bridges about there which had been hastily destroyed, and which they repaired with planks and other materials they brought along with them. they lost a large number of men in the process, but they persevered, and by ten o'clock were in complete possession of howe street, langley's park, and great waltham, and moving in fighting formation against pleshy mount and rolphy green, their guns covering their advance with a perfectly awful discharge of shrapnel. our cannon on the ridge at partridge green took the attackers in flank, and for a time checked their advance, but, drawing upon themselves the attention of the german artillery, on the south end of the knoll, were all but silenced. "as soon as this was effected another strong column of germans followed in the footsteps of the first, and deploying to the left, secured the bridge at little waltham, and advanced against the gun positions on partridge green. this move turned all our river bank entrenchments right down to chelmsford. their defenders were now treated to the enfilade fire of a number of hanoverian batteries that galloped down to little waltham. they stuck to their trenches gallantly, but presently when the enemy obtained a footing on partridge green they were taken in reverse, and compelled to fall back, suffering terrible losses as they did so. the whole of the infantry of the xth corps, supported--as we understand--by a division which had joined them from maldon, now moved down on chelmsford. in fact, there was a general advance of the three combined armies stretching from partridge green on the west to the railway line on the east. the defenders of the trenches facing east were hastily withdrawn, and thrown back on writtle. the germans followed closely with both infantry and guns, though they were for a time checked near scot's green by a dashing charge of our cavalry brigade, consisting of the 16th lancers and the 7th, 14th, and 20th hussars, and the essex and middlesex yeomanry. we saw nothing of their cavalry, for a reason that will be apparent later. by one o'clock fierce fighting was going on all round the town, the german hordes enveloping it on all sides but one. we had lost a great number of our guns, or at any rate had been cut off from them by the german successes around pleshy mount, and in all their assaults on the town they had been careful to keep out of effective range of the heavy batteries on danbury hill. these, by the way, had their own work cut out for them, as the saxon artillery were heavily bombarding the hill with their howitzers. the british forces were in a critical situation. reinforcements--such as could be spared--were hurried up from the vth army corps, but they were not very many in numbers, as it was necessary to provide against an attack by the saxon corps. by three o'clock the greater part of the town was in the hands of the germans, despite the gallant way in which our men fought them from street to street, and house to house. a dozen fires were spreading in every direction, and fierce fighting was going on at writtle. the overpowering numbers of the germans, combined with their better organisation, and the number of properly trained officers at their disposal, bore the british mixed regular and irregular forces back, and back again. "fearful of being cut off from his line of retreat, general blennerhasset, on hearing from writtle soon after three that the hanoverians were pressing his left very hard, and endeavouring to work round it, reluctantly gave orders for the troops in chelmsford to fall back on widford and moulsham. there was a lull in the fighting for about half an hour, though firing was going on both at writtle and danbury. soon after four a terrible rumour spread consternation on every side. according to this, an enormous force of cavalry and motor infantry was about to attack us in the rear. what had actually happened was not quite so bad as this, but quite bad enough. it seems, according to our latest information, that almost the whole of the cavalry belonging to the three german army corps with whom we were engaged--something like a dozen regiments, with a proportion of horse artillery and all available motorists, having with them several of the new armoured motors carrying light, quick-firing and machine guns--had been massed during the last thirty-six hours behind the saxon lines extending from maldon to the river crouch. during the day they had worked round to the southward, and at the time the rumour reached us were actually attacking billericay, which was held by a portion of the reserves of our vth corps. by the time this news was confirmed the germans were assaulting great baddow, and moving on danbury from east, north, and west, at the same time resuming the offensive all along the line. the troops at danbury must be withdrawn or they would be isolated. this difficult manoeuvre was executed by way of west hanningfield. the rest of the vth corps conformed to the movement, the guards brigade at east hanningfield forming the rearguard, and fighting fiercely all night through with the saxon troops, who moved out on the left flank of our retreat. the wreck of the first corps and the colchester garrison was now also in full retirement. ten miles lay between it and the lines at brentwood, and had the germans been able to employ cavalry in pursuit, this retreat would have been even more like a rout than it was. luckily for us the billericay troops mauled the german cavalry pretty severely, and they were beset in the close country in that neighbourhood by volunteers, motorists, and every one that the officer commanding at brentwood could get together in this emergency. "some of them actually got upon our line of retreat, but were driven off by our advance guard; others came across the head of the retiring vth corps, but the terrain was all against cavalry, and after nightfall most of them had lost their way in the maze of lanes and hedgerows that covered the countryside. had it not been for this we should probably have been absolutely smashed. as it was, rather more than half our original numbers of men and guns crawled into brentwood in the early morning, worn out and dead-beat." reports from sheffield also showed the position to be critical. book ii. the siege of london. chapter i. the lines of london. the german successes were continued in the north and midlands, and notwithstanding the gallant defence of sir george woolmer before manchester and sir henry hibbard before birmingham, both cities were captured and occupied by the enemy after terrible losses. london, however, was the chief objective of von kronhelm, and towards the metropolis he now turned his attention. after the defeat of the british at chelmsford on that fateful wednesday, lord byfield decided to evacuate his position at royston and fall back on the northern section of the london defence line, which had been under construction for the last ten days. these hasty entrenchments, which would have been impossible to construct but for the ready assistance of thousands of all classes of the citizens of london and the suburbs, extended from tilbury on the east to bushey on the west, passing by the laindon hills, brentwood, kelvedon, north weald, epping, waltham abbey, cheshunt, enfield chase, chipping barnet, and elstree. they were more or less continuous, consisting for the most part of trenches for infantry, generally following the lines of existing hedgerows or banks, which often required but little improvement to transform them into well-protected and formidable cover for the defending troops. where it was necessary to cross open ground they were dug deep and winding, after the fashion adopted by the boers in the south african war, so that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to enfilade them. special bomb-proof covers for the local reserves were also constructed at various points, and the ground in front ruthlessly cleared of houses, barns, trees, hedges, and everything that might afford shelter to an advancing enemy. every possible military obstacle was placed in front of the lines that time permitted, abattis, military pits, wire entanglements, and small ground mines. at the more important points along the fifty miles of entrenchments, field works and redoubts for infantry were built, most of them being armed with 4â·7 or even 6 and 7â·5 in. guns, which had been brought from woolwich, chatham, portsmouth, and devonport, and mounted on whatever carriages could be adapted or improvised for the occasion. the preparation of the london lines was a stupendous undertaking, but the growing scarceness and dearness of provisions assisted in a degree, as no free rations were issued to any able-bodied man unless he went out to work at the fortifications. all workers were placed under military law. there were any number of willing workers who proffered their services in this time of peril. thousands of men came forward asking to be enlisted and armed. the difficulty was to find enough weapons and ammunition for them, to say nothing of the question of uniform and equipment, which loomed very large indeed. the attitude of the germans, as set forth in von kronhelm's proclamations, precluded the employment of fighting men dressed in civilian garb, and their attitude was a perfectly natural and justifiable one by all the laws and customs of war. it became necessary, therefore, that all men sent to the front should be dressed as soldiers in some way or another. in addition to that splendid corps, the legion of frontiersmen, many new armed organisations had sprung into being, some bearing the most fantastic names, such as the "whitechapel war-to-the-knives," the "kensington cowboys," the "bayswater braves," and the "southwark scalphunters." all the available khaki and blue serge was used up in no time; even though those who were already in possession of ordinary lounge suits of the latter material were encouraged to have them altered into uniforms by the addition of stand-up collars and facings of various colours, according to their regiments and corps. only the time during which these men were waiting for their uniforms was spent in drill in the open spaces of the metropolis. as soon as they were clothed, they were despatched to that portion of the entrenchments to which their corps had been allocated, and there, in the intervals of their clearing and digging operations, they were hustled through a brief musketry course, which consisted for the most part in firing. the question of the provision of officers and n.c.o.'s was an almost insuperable one. retired men came forward on every side, but the supply was by no means equal to the demand, and they themselves in many instances were absolutely out of date as far as knowledge of modern arms and conditions were concerned. however, every one, with but very few exceptions, did his utmost, and by the 11th or 12th of the month the entrenchments were practically completed, and manned by upwards of 150,000 "men with muskets" of stout heart and full of patriotism, but in reality nothing but an army _pour rire_ so far as efficiency was concerned. the greater part of the guns were also placed in position, especially on the north and eastern portions of the lines, and the remainder were being mounted as fast as it was practicable. they were well manned by volunteer and militia artillerymen, drawn from every district which the invaders had left accessible. by the 13th the eastern section of the fortifications was strengthened by the arrival of the remnants of the ist and vth army corps, which had been so badly defeated at chelmsford, and no time was lost in reorganising them and distributing them along the lines, thereby, to a certain extent, leavening the unbaked mass of their improvised defenders. it was generally expected that the enemy would follow up the success by an immediate attack on brentwood, the main barrier between von kronhelm and his objective--our great metropolis. but, as it turned out, he had a totally different scheme in hand. the orders to lord byfield to evacuate the position he had maintained with such credit against the german garde and ivth corps have already been referred to. their reason was obvious. now that there was no organised resistance on his right, he stood in danger of being cut off from london, the defences of which were now in pressing need of his men. a large amount of rolling stock was at once despatched to saffron walden and buntingford by the g.e.r. and to baldock by the g.n.r., to facilitate the withdrawal of his troops and stores, and he was given an absolutely free hand as to how these were to be used, all lines being kept clear and additional trains kept at his disposal at their london termini. [illustration: the lines of london rough sketch showing approximately the lines of entrenchments constructed for the defence of the metropolis.] september 13 proved a memorable date in the history of england. the evacuation of the baldock-saffron walden position could not possibly have been carried out in good order on such short notice, had not lord byfield previously worked the whole thing out in readiness. he could not help feeling that, despite his glorious victory on the ninth, a turn of fortune's wheel might necessitate a retirement on london sooner or later, and, like the good general that he was, he made every preparation both for this, and other eventualities. among other details, he had arranged that the mounted infantry should be provided with plenty of strong light wire. this was intended for the express benefit of frã¶lich's formidable cavalry brigade, which he foresaw would be most dangerous to his command in the event of a retreat. as soon, therefore, as the retrograde movement commenced, the mounted infantry began to stretch their wires across every road, lane and byway leading to the north and north-east. some wires were laid low, within a foot of the ground, others high up, where they could catch a rider about the neck or breast. this operation they carried out again and again, after the troops had passed, at various points on the route of the retreat. thanks to the darkness, this device well fulfilled its purpose. frã¶lich's brigade was on the heels of the retreating british soon after midnight, but as it was impossible for them to move over the enclosed country at night, his riders were confined to the roads, and the accidents and delays occasioned by the wires were so numerous and disconcerting that their advance had to be conducted with such caution that as a pursuit it was of no use at all. even the infantry and heavy guns of the retiring british got over the ground nearly twice as fast. after two or three hours of this, only varied by occasional volleys from detachments of our mounted infantry, who sometimes waited in rear of their snares to let fly at the german cavalry before galloping back to lay others, the enemy recognised the fact, and, withdrawing their cavalry till daylight, replaced them by infantry, but so much time had been lost, that the british had got several miles' start. as has been elsewhere chronicled, the brigade of four regular battalions with their guns, and a company of engineers which were to secure the passage of the stort and protect the left flank of the retirement, left saffron walden somewhere about 10.30 p.m. the line was clear, and they arrived at sawbridgeworth in four long trains in a little under an hour. their advent did not arouse the sleeping village, as the station lies nearly three-quarters of a mile distant on the further side of the river. it may be noted in passing that while the stort is but a small stream, easily fordable in most places, yet it was important, if possible, to secure the bridges to prevent delay in getting over the heavy guns and waggons of the retiring british. a delay and congestion at the points selected for passage might, with a close pursuit, easily lead to disaster. moreover, the great eastern railway crossed the river by a wooden bridge just north of the village of sawbridgeworth, and it was necessary to ensure the safe passage of the last trains over it before destroying it to preclude the use of the railway by the enemy. there were two road bridges on the great eastern railway near the village of sawbridgeworth, which might be required by the dunmow force, which was detailed to protect the same flank rather more to the northward. the most important bridge, that over which the main body of the saffron walden force was to retire, with all the impedimenta it had had time to bring away with it, was between sawbridgeworth and harlow, about a mile north of the latter village, but much nearer its station. thither, then, proceeded the leading train with the grenadiers, four 4â·7 guns, and half a company of royal engineers with bridging materials. their task was to construct a second bridge to relieve the traffic over the permanent one. the grenadiers left one company at the railway station, two in harlow village, which they at once commenced to place in a state of defence, much to the consternation of the villagers, who had not realised how close to them were trending the red footsteps of war. the remaining five companies with the other four guns turned northward, and after marching another mile or so occupied the enclosures round durrington house and the higher ground to its north. here the guns were halted on the road. it was too dark to select the best position for them, for it was now only about half an hour after midnight. the three other regiments which detrained at sawbridgeworth were disposed as follows, continuing the line of the grenadiers to the northward. the rifles occupied hyde hall, formerly the seat of the earls of roden, covering the operations of the engineers, who were preparing the railway bridge for destruction, and the copses about little hyde hall on the higher ground to the eastward. the scots guards with four guns were between them and the grenadiers, and distributed between sheering village and gladwyns house, from the neighbourhood of which it was expected that the guns would be able to command the chelmsford road for a considerable distance. the seaforth highlanders for the time being were stationed on a road running parallel to the railway, from which branch roads led to both the right, left, and centre of the position. an advanced party of the rifle brigade was pushed forward to hatfield heath with instructions to patrol towards the front and flanks, and, if possible, establish communication with the troops expected from dunmow. by the time all this was completed it was getting on for 3 a.m. on the 13th. at this hour the advanced guard of the germans coming from chelmsford was midway between leaden roding and white roding, while the main body was crossing the small river roding by the shallow ford near the latter village. their few cavalry scouts were, however, exploring the roads and lanes some little way ahead. a collision was imminent. the dunmow force had not been able to move before midnight, and, with the exception of one regular battalion, the 1st leinsters, which was left behind to the last and crowded into the only train available, had only just arrived at the northern edge of hatfield forest, some four miles directly north of hatfield heath. the leinsters, who left dunmow by train half an hour later, had detrained at this point at one o'clock, and just about three had met the patrols of the rifles. a yeomanry corps from dunmow was also not far off, as it turned to its left at the cross-roads east of takely, and was by this time in the neighbourhood of hatfield broad oak. in short, all three forces were converging, but the bulk of the dunmow force was four miles away from the point of convergence. it was still profoundly dark when the rifles at hatfield heath heard a dozen shots cracking through the darkness to their left front. almost immediately other reports resounded from due east. nothing could be seen beyond a very few yards, and the men of the advanced company drawn up at the cross-roads in front of the village inn fancied they now and again saw figures dodging about in obscurity, but were cautioned not to fire till their patrols had come in, for it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe. shots still rattled out here and there to the front. about ten minutes later the captain in command, having got in his patrols, gave the order to fire at a black blur that seemed to be moving towards them on the chelmsford road. there was no mistake this time. the momentary glare of the discharge flashed on the shiny "pickel-haubes" of a detachment of german infantry, who charged forward with a loud "hoch!" the riflemen, who already had their bayonets fixed, rushed to meet them, and for a few moments there was a fierce stabbing affray in the blackness of the night. the germans, who were but few in number, were overpowered, and beat a retreat, having lost several of their men. the rifles, according to their orders, having made sure of the immediate proximity of the enemy, now fell back to the rest of their battalion at little hyde hall, and all along the banks and hedges which covered the british front, our men, rifle in hand, peered eagerly into the darkness ahead of them. nothing happened for quite half an hour, and the anxious watchers were losing some of their alertness, when a heavy outburst of firing re-echoed from hatfield heath. to explain this we must return to the germans. von der rudesheim, on obtaining touch with the british, at once reinforced his advanced troops, and they, a whole battalion strong, advanced into the hamlet meeting with no resistance. almost simultaneously two companies of the leinsters entered it from the northward. there was a sudden and unexpected collision on the open green, and a terrible fire was exchanged at close quarters, both sides losing very heavily. the british, however, were borne back by sheer weight of numbers, and, through one of those unfortunate mistakes that insist on occurring in warfare, were charged as they fell back by the leading squadrons of the yeomanry who were coming up from hatfield broad oak. the officer commanding the leinsters decided to wait till it was a little lighter before again attacking the village. he considered that, as he had no idea of the strength of the enemy, he had best wait till the arrival of the troops now marching through hatfield forest. von der rudesheim, on his part, mindful of his instructions, determined to try to hold the few scattered houses on the north side of the heath which constituted the village, with the battalion already in it, and push forward with the remainder of his force towards harlow. his first essay along the direct road _viã¢_ sheering was repulsed by the fire of the scots guards lining the copses about gladwyns. he now began to have some idea of the british position, and made his preparations to assault it at daybreak. to this end he sent forward two of his batteries into hatfield heath, cautiously moved the rest of his force away to the left, arranged his battalions in the valley of the pincey brook ready for attacking sheering and gladwyns, placed one battalion in reserve at down hall, and stationed his remaining battery near newman's end. by this time there was beginning to be a faint glimmer of daylight in the east, and, as the growing dawn began to render vague outlines of the nearer objects dimly discernible, hell broke loose along the peaceful countryside. a star shell fired from the battery at newman's end burst and hung out a brilliant white blaze that fell slowly over sheering village, lighting up its walls and roofs and the hedges along which lay its defenders, was the signal for the devil's dance to begin. twelve guns opened with a crash from hatfield heath, raking the gladwyns enclosures and the end of sheering village with a deluge of shrapnel, whilst an almost solid firing line advanced rapidly against it, firing heavily. [illustration: battle of harlow 1^{st} phase about 5 a m sept 13^{th}] the british replied lustily with gun, rifle, and maxim, the big high-explosive shells bursting amid the advancing germans and among the houses of hatfield heath with telling effect. but the german assaulting lines had but six or seven hundred yards to go. they had been trained above all things to ignore losses and to push on at all hazards. the necessity for this had not been confused in their minds by maxims about the importance of cover, so the south side of the village street was taken at a rush. von der rudesheim continued to pile on his men, and, fighting desperately, the guardsmen were driven from house to house and from fence to fence. all this time the german battery at newman's end continued to fire star shells with rhythmical regularity, lighting up the inflamed countenances of the living combatants, and the pale up-turned faces of the dead turned to heaven as if calling for vengeance on their slayers. in the midst of this desperate fighting the leinsters, supported by a volunteer and a militia regiment, which had just come up, assaulted hatfield heath. the germans were driven out of it with the loss of a couple of their guns, but hung on to the little church, around which such a desperate conflict was waged that the dead above ground in that diminutive god's acre outnumbered the "rude forefathers of the hamlet" who slept below. it was now past five o'clock in the morning, and by this time strong reinforcements might have been expected from dunmow, but, with the exception of the militia and volunteer battalions just referred to, who had pushed on at the sound of the firing, none were seen coming up. the fact was that they had been told off to certain positions in the line of defence they had been ordered to take up, and had been slowly and carefully installing themselves therein. their commanding officer, sir jacob stellenbosch, thought that he must carry out the exact letter of the orders he had received from lord byfield, and paid little attention to the firing except to hustle his battalion commanders, to try to get them into their places as soon as possible. he was a pig-headed man into the bargain, and would listen to no remonstrance. the two battalions which had arrived so opportunely had been at the head of the column, and had pushed forward "on their own" before he could prevent them. at this time the position was as follows: one german battalion was hanging obstinately on to the outskirts of hatfield heath; two were in possession of the copses about gladwyns; two were in sheering village, or close up to it, and the sixth was still in reserve at down hall. on the british side the rifles were in their original position at little hyde hall where also were three guns, which had been got away from gladwyns. the seaforths had come up, and were now firing from about quickbury, while the scots guards, after suffering fearful losses, were scattered, some with the highlanders, others with the five companies of the grenadiers, who with their four guns still fought gallantly on between sheering and durrington house. chapter ii. repulse of the germans. the terrible fire of the swarms of germans who now lined the edges of sheering village became too much for the four 4â·7 guns on the open ground to the south. their gunners were shot down as fast as they touched their weapons, and when the german field battery at newman's end, which had been advanced several hundred yards, suddenly opened a flanking fire of shrapnel upon them, it was found absolutely impossible to serve them. a gallant attempt was made to withdraw them by the harlow road, but their teams were shot down as soon as they appeared. this enfilade fire, too, decimated the grenadiers and the remnant of the scots, though they fought on to the death, and a converging attack of a battalion from down hall and another from sheering drove them down into the grounds of durrington house, where fighting still went on savagely for some time afterwards. von der rudesheim had all but attained a portion of his object, which was to establish his guns in such a position that they could fire on the main body of the british troops when they entered sawbridgeworth by the cambridge road. the place where the four guns with the grenadiers had been stationed was within 3,000 yards of any part of that road between harlow and sawbridgeworth. but this spot was still exposed to the rifle fire of the seaforths who held quickbury. von der rudesheim therefore determined to swing forward his left, and either drive them back down the hill towards the river, or at least to so occupy them that he could bring up his field-guns to their chosen position without losing too many of his gunners. by six o'clock, thanks to his enormous local superiority in numbers, he had contrived to do this, and now the opposing forces with the exception of the british grenadiers, who still fought with a german battalion between durrington house and harlow, faced each other north and south, instead of east and west, as they were at the beginning of the fight. brigadier-general lane-edgeworth, who was in command of the british, had been sending urgent messages for reinforcements to the dunmow force, but when its commanding officer finally decided to turn his full strength in the direction of the firing, it took so long to assemble and form up the volunteer regiments who composed the bulk of his command, that it was past seven before the leading battalion had deployed to assist in the attack which it was decided to make against the german right. meantime, other important events had transpired. von der rudesheim had found that the battalion which was engaged with the grenadiers could not get near harlow village, or either the river or railway bridge at that place, both of which he wished to destroy. but his scouts had reported a lock and wooden footbridge immediately to the westward between harlow and sawbridgeworth, just abreast of the large wooded park surrounding pishobury house on the farther side. he determined to send two companies over by this, their movements being hidden from the english by the trees. after crossing, they found themselves confronted by a backwater, but, trained in crossing rivers, they managed to ford and swim over, and advanced through the park towards harlow bridge. while this was in progress, a large force was reported marching south on the cambridge road. while von der rudesheim, who was at the western end of sheering hamlet, was looking through his glasses at the new arrivals on the scene of action--who were without doubt the main body of the royston command, which was retiring under the personal supervision of lord byfield--a puff of white smoke rose above the trees about hyde hall, and at top speed four heavily loaded trains shot into sight going south. these were the same ones that had brought down the regular british troops, with whom he was now engaged. they had gone north again, and picked up a number of volunteer battalions belonging to the retreating force just beyond bishop's stortford. but so long a time had been taken in entraining the troops in the darkness and confusion of the retreat, that their comrades who had kept to the road, arrived almost simultaneously. von der rudesheim signalled, and sent urgent orders for his guns to be brought up to open fire on them, but by the time the first team had reached him the last of the trains had disappeared from sight into the cutting at harlow station. but even now it was not too late to open fire on the troops entering sawbridgeworth. things were beginning to look somewhat bad for von der rudesheim's little force. the pressure from the north was increasing every moment, his attack on the retreating troops had failed, he had not so far been able to destroy the bridges at harlow, and every minute the likelihood of his being able to do so grew more remote. to crown all, word was brought him that the trains which had just slipped by were disgorging men in hundreds along the railway west of harlow station, and that these troops were beginning to move forward as if to support the british grenadiers, who had been driven back towards harlow. in fact, he saw that there was even a possibility of his being surrounded. but he had no intention of discontinuing the fight. he knew he could rely on the discipline and mobility of his well-trained men under almost any conditions, and he trusted, moreover, that the promised reinforcements would not be very long in turning up. but he could not hold on just where he was. he accordingly, by various adroit manoeuvres, threw back his right to down hall, whose copses and plantations afforded a good deal of cover, and, using this as a pivot, gradually wheeled back his left till he had taken up a position running north and south from down hall to matching tye. he had not effected this difficult manoeuvre without considerable loss, but he experienced less difficulty in extricating his left than he had anticipated, since the newly arrived british troops at harlow, instead of pressing forward against him, had been engaged in moving into a position between harlow and the hamlet of foster street, on the somewhat elevated ground to the south of matching, which would enable them to cover the further march of the main body of the retreating troops to epping. but he had totally lost the two companies he had sent across the river to attack harlow bridge. unfortunately for them, their arrival on the harlow-sawbridgeworth road synchronised with that of the advanced guard of lord byfield's command. some hot skirmishing took place in and out among the trees of pishobury, and finally the germans were driven to earth in the big square block of the red-brick mansion itself. here they made a desperate stand, fighting hard as they were driven from one storey to another. the staircases ran with blood, the woodwork smouldered and threatened to burst into flame in a dozen places. at length the arrival of a battery of field guns, which unlimbered at close range, induced the survivors to surrender, and they were disarmed and carried off as prisoners with the retreating army. * * * * * by the time von der rudesheim had succeeded in taking up his new position it was past ten o'clock, and he had been informed by despatches carried by motor-cyclists that he might expect assistance in another hour and a half. the right column, consisting of the 39th infantry brigade of five battalions, six batteries, and a squadron of dragoons, came into collision with the left flank of the dunmow force, which was engaged in attacking von der rudesheim's right at down hall, and endeavouring to surround it. sir jacob stellenbosch, who was in command, in vain tried to change front to meet the advancing enemy. his troops were nearly all volunteers, who were incapable of quickly manoeuvring under difficult circumstances; they were crumpled up and driven back in confusion towards hatfield heath. had von kronhelm been able to get in the bulk of his cavalry from their luckless pursuit of the ist and vth british army corps, who had been driven back on brentwood the evening previous, and so send a proportion with the 20th division, few would have escaped to tell the tale. as it was, the unfortunate volunteers were shot down in scores by the "feu d'enfer" with which the artillery followed them up, and lay in twos and threes and larger groups all over the fields, victims of a selfish nation that accepted these poor fellows' gratuitous services merely in order that its citizens should not be obliged to carry out what in every other european country was regarded as the first duty of citizenship--that of learning to bear arms in the defence of the fatherland. by this time the greater portion of the retreating british army, with all its baggage, guns and impedimenta, was crawling slowly along the road from harlow to epping. unaccustomed as they were to marching, the poor volunteers who had already covered eighteen or twenty miles of road, were now toiling slowly and painfully along the highway. the regular troops, who had been engaged since early morning, and who were now mostly in the neighbourhood of moor hall, east of harlow, firing at long ranges on von der rudesheim's men to keep them in their places while sir jacob stellenbosch attacked their right, were now hurriedly withdrawn and started to march south by a track running parallel to the main epping road, between it and that along which the covering force of volunteers, who had come in by train, were now established in position. the 1st and 2nd coldstreamers, who had formed lord byfield's rearguard during the night, were halted in harlow village. immediately upon the success obtained by his right column, general richel von sieberg, who commanded the 20th hanoverian division, ordered his two centre and left columns, consisting respectively of the three battalions 77th infantry and two batteries of horse artillery, then at matching green, and the three battalions 92nd infantry, 10th pioneer battalion, and five batteries field artillery, then between high laver and tilegate green, to turn to their left and advance in fighting formation in a south-westerly direction, with the object of attacking the sorely-harassed troops of lord byfield on their way to epping. * * * * * the final phase of this memorable retreat is best told in the words of the special war correspondent of the "daily telegraph," who arrived on the scene at about one o'clock in the afternoon: "epping, 5 p.m., _september 9_. "thanks to the secrecy preserved by the military authorities, it was not known that lord byfield was falling back from the royston-saffron walden position till seven this morning. by eight, i was off in my car for the scene of action, for rumours of fighting near harlow had already begun to come in. i started out by way of tottenham and edmonton, expecting to reach harlow by 9.30 or 10. but i reckoned without the numerous military officials with whom i came in contact, who constantly stopped me and sent me out of my way on one pretext or another. i am sure i hope that the nation has benefited by their proceedings. in the end it was close on one before i pulled up at the cock inn, epping, in search of additional information, because for some time i had been aware of the rumbling growl of heavy artillery from the eastward, and wondered what it might portend. i found that general sir stapleton forsyth, who commanded the northern section of the defences, had made the inn his headquarters, and there was a constant coming and going of orderlies and staff-officers at its portals. opposite, the men of one of the new irregular corps, dressed in dark green corduroy, blue flannel cricketing caps, and red cummerbunds, sat or reclined in two long lines on either side of their piled arms on the left of the wide street. on inquiry i heard that the enemy were said to be bombarding kelvedon hatch, and also that the head of our retreating columns was only three or four miles distant. "i pushed on, and, after the usual interrogations from an officer in charge of a picket, where the road ran through the entrenchments about a mile farther on, found myself spinning along through the country in the direction of harlow. as i began to ascend the rising ground towards potter street i could hear a continuous roll of artillery away to my right. i could not distinguish anything except the smoke of shells bursting here and there in the distance, on account of the scattered trees which lined the maze of hedgerows on every side. close to potter street i met the head of the retreating army. very tired, heated and footsore looked the hundreds of poor fellows as they dragged themselves along through the heat. it was a sultry afternoon, and the roads inches deep in dust. "turning to the right of harlow common, i met another column of men. i noticed that these were all regulars, grenadiers, scots guards, a battalion of highlanders, another of riflemen, and, lastly, two battalions of the coldstreamers. these troops stepped along with rather more life than the citizen soldiers i had met previously, but still showed traces of their hard marching and fighting. many of them were wearing bandages, but all the more seriously wounded had been left behind to be looked after by the germans. all this time the firing was still resounding heavy and constant from the north-east, and from one person and another whom i questioned i ascertained that the enemy were advancing upon us from that direction. half a mile farther on i ran into the middle of the fighting. the road ran along the top of a kind of flat ridge or upland, whence i could see to a considerable distance on either hand. "partially sheltered from the view by its hedges and the scattered cottages forming the hamlet of foster street was a long, irregular line of guns facing nearly east. beyond them were yet others directed north. there were field batteries and big 4â·7's. all were hard at work, their gunners working like men possessed, and the crash of their constant discharge was ear-splitting. i had hardly taken this in when 'bang! bang! bang! bang!'--four dazzling flashes opened in the air overhead, and shrapnel bullets rattled on earth, walls, and roofs with a sound as of handfuls of pebbles thrown on a marble pavement. but the hardness with which they struck was beyond anything in my experience. "it was not pleasant to be here, but i ran my car behind a little public-house that stood by the wayside, and, dismounting, unslung my glasses and determined to get what view of the proceedings i could from the corner of the house. all around khaki-clad volunteers lined every hedge and sheltered behind every cottage, while farther off, in the lower ground, from a mile to a mile and a half away i could distinguish the closely-packed firing lines of the germans advancing slowly but steadily, despite the gaps made in their ranks by the fire of our guns. their own guns, i fancied, i could make out near tilegate green to the north-east. neither side had as yet opened rifle fire. getting into my car i motored back to the main road, but it was so blocked by the procession of waggons and troops of the retreating army that i could not turn into it. wheeling round i made my way back to a parallel lane i had noticed, and turning to the left again at a smithy, found myself in a road bordered by cottages and enclosures. here i found the regular troops i had lately met lining every hedgerow and fence, while i could see others on a knoll further to their left. there was a little church here, and, mounting to the roof, i got a comparatively extensive view. to my right the long dusty column of men and waggons still toiled along the epping road. in front, nearly three miles off, an apparently solid line of woods stretched along the horizon, surmounting a long, gradual and open slope. this was the position of our lines near epping, and the haven for which lord byfield's tired soldiery were making. to the left the serried masses of drab-clad german infantry still pushed aggressively forward, their guns firing heavily over their heads. [illustration: battle of harlow final phase] "as i watched them three tremendous explosions took place in their midst, killing dozens of them. fire, smoke, and dust rose up twenty feet in the air, while three ear-splitting reports rose even above the rolling thunder of the gunfire. more followed. i looked again towards the woodland. here i saw blaze after blaze of fire among the dark masses of trees. our big guns in the fortifications had got to work, and were punishing the germans most severely, taking their attack in flank with the big 6-inch and 7â·5-inch projectiles. cheers arose all along our lines, as shell after shell, fired by gunners who knew to an inch the distances to every house and conspicuous tree, burst among the german ranks, killing and maiming the invaders by hundreds. the advance paused, faltered and, being hurriedly reinforced from the rear, once more went forward. "but the big high explosive projectiles continued to fall with such accuracy and persistence that the attackers fell sullenly back, losing heavily as they did so. the enemy's artillery now came in for attention, and also was driven out of range with loss. the last stage in the retreat of lord byfield's command was now secured. the extended troops and guns gradually drew off from their positions, still keeping a watchful eye on the foe, and by 4.30 all were within the epping entrenchments. all, that is to say, but the numerous killed and wounded during the running fight that had extended along the last seven or eight miles of the retreat, and the bulk of the dunmow force under sir jacob stellenbosch, which with its commander, had, it was believed, been made prisoners. they had been caught between the 39th german infantry brigade and several regiments of cavalry, that it was said had arrived from the northward soon after they were beaten at hatfield heath. probably these were the advanced troops of general frã¶lich's cavalry brigade." chapter iii. battle of epping. the following is extracted from the "times" of 15th september: "epping, _14th september_, _evening_. "i have spent a busy day, but have no very important news to record. after the repulse of the german troops attacking lord byfield's retreating army and the arrival of our sorely harassed troops behind the epping entrenchments, we saw no more of the enemy that evening. all through the night, however, there was the sound of occasional heavy gun firing from the eastward. i have taken up my quarters at the bell, an inn at the south end of the village, from the back of which i can get a good view to the north-west for from two to four miles. beyond that distance the high ridge known as epping upland limits the prospect. the whole terrain is cut up into fields of various sizes and dotted all over with trees. close by is a lofty red brick water-tower, which has been utilised by sir stapleton forsyth as a signal station. away about a mile to my left front as i look from the back of the bell a big block of buildings stands prominently out on a grassy spur of high ground. this is copped hall and little copped hall. "both mansions have been transformed into fortresses, which, while offering little or no resistance to artillery fire, will yet form a tough nut for the germans to crack, should they succeed in getting through our entrenchments at that point. beyond, i can just see a corner of a big earthwork that has been built to strengthen the defence line, and which has been christened fort obelisk from a farm of that name, near which it is situated. there is another smaller redoubt on the slope just below this hostelry, and i can see the gunners busy about the three big khaki-painted guns which are mounted in it. there are a 6-inch and two 4â·7-inch guns i believe. this morning our cavalry, consisting of a regiment of yeomanry and some mounted infantry, who had formed a portion of lord byfield's force, went out to reconnoitre towards the north and east. they were not away long, as they were driven back in every direction in which they attempted to advance, by superior forces of the enemy's cavalry, who seemed to swarm everywhere. "later on, i believe, some of the german reiters became so venturesome that several squadrons exposed themselves to the fire of the big guns in the fort at skip's corner, and suffered pretty severely for their temerity. the firing continued throughout the morning away to eastward. at noon i thought i would run down and see if i could find anything out about it. i therefore mounted my car and ran off in that direction. i found that there was a regular duel going on between our guns at kelvedon hatch and some heavy siege guns or howitzers that the enemy had got in the neighbourhood of the high ground about norton heath, only about 3,000 yards distant from our entrenchments. they did not appear to have done us much damage, but neither, in all probability, did we hurt them very much, since our gunners were unable to exactly locate the hostile guns. "when i got back to epping, about three o'clock, i found the wide single street full of troops. they were those who had come in the previous afternoon with lord byfield, and who, having been allowed to rest till midday after their long fighting march, were now being told off to their various sections of the defence line. the guard regiments were allocated to the northernmost position between fort royston and fort skips. the rifles were to go to copped hall, and the seaforths to form the nucleus of a central reserve of militia and volunteers, which was being established just north of gaynes park. epping itself and the contiguous entrenchments were confided to the leinster regiment, which alone of sir jacob stellenbosch's brigade had escaped capture, supported by two militia battalions. the field batteries were distributed under shelter of the woods on the south, east, and north-east of the town. "during the afternoon the welcome news arrived that the remainder of lord byfield's command from baldock, royston, and elmdon had safely arrived within our entrenchments at enfield and new barnet. we may now hope that what with regulars, militia, volunteers, and the new levies, our lines are fully and effectively manned, and will suffice to stay the further advance of even such a formidable host as is that at the disposal of the renowned von kronhelm. it is reported too, from brentwood, that great progress has already been made in reorganising and distributing the broken remnants of the 1st and 5th armies that got back to that town after the great and disastrous battle of chelmsford. victorious as they were, the germans must also have suffered severely, which may give us some breathing time before their next onslaught." * * * * * the following are extracts from the diary picked up by a "daily telegraph" correspondent, lying near the body of a german officer after the fighting in the neighbourhood of enfield chase. it is presumed that the officer in question was major splittberger, of the kaiser franz garde grenadier regiment, since that was the name written inside the cover of the diary. from enquiries that have since been instituted, it is probable that the deceased officer was employed on the staff of the general commanding the ivth corps of the invading army, though it would seem from the contents of his diary that he saw also a good deal of the operations of the xth corps. our readers will be able to gather from it the general course of the enemy's strategy and tactics during the time immediately preceding the most recent disasters which have befallen our brave defenders. the first extract is dated september 15, and was written somewhere north of epping: "_sept. 15._--so far the bold strategy of our commander-in-chief, in pushing the greater part of the xth corps directly to the west immediately after our victory at chelmsford, has been amply justified by results. although we just missed cutting off lord byfield and a large portion of his command at harlow, we gained a good foothold inside the british defences north of epping, and i don't think it will be long before we have very much improved our position here. the ivth corps arrived at harlow about midday yesterday in splendid condition, after their long march from newmarket, and the residue of the xth joined us at about the same time. as there is nothing like keeping the enemy on the move, no time was lost in preparing to attack him at the very earliest opportunity. as soon as it was dark the ivth corps got its heavy guns and howitzers into position along the ridge above epping upland, and sent the greater portion of its field batteries forward to a position from which they were within effective range of the british fortifications at skip's corner. "the ixth corps, which had arrived from chelmsford that evening, also placed its field artillery in a similar position, from which its fire crossed that of the ivth corps. this corps also provided the assaulting troops. the xth corps, which had been engaged all day on thursday, was held in reserve. the howitzers on epping upland opened fire with petrol shell on the belt of woods that lies immediately in rear of the position to be attacked, and with the assistance of a strong westerly wind succeeded in setting them on fire and cutting off the most northerly section of the british defences from reinforcement. this was soon after midnight. the conflagration not only did us this service, but it is supposed so attracted the attention of the partially-trained soldiers of the enemy that they did not observe the ixth corps massing for the assault. "we then plastered their trenches with shrapnel to such an extent that they did not dare to show a finger above them, and finally carried the northern corner by assault. to give the enemy their due, they fought well, but we outnumbered them five to one, and it was impossible for them to resist the onslaught of our well-trained soldiers. news came to-day that the saxons have been making a demonstration before brentwood with a view of keeping the british employed down there so that they cannot send any reinforcements up here. at the same time they have been steadily bombarding kelvedon hatch from norton heath. "we hear, too, that the garde corps have got down south, and that their front stretches from broxbourne to little berkhamsted, while frã¶lich's cavalry division is in front of them, spread all over the country, from the river lea away to the westward, having driven the whole of the british outlying troops and patrols under the shelter of their entrenchments. once we succeed in rolling up the enemy's troops in this quarter, it will not be long before we are entering london." "_sept. 16._--fighting went on all yesterday in the neighbourhood of skip's corner. we have taken the redoubt at north weald basset and driven the english back into the belt of burnt woodland, which they now hold along its northern edge. all day long, too, our big guns, hidden away behind the groves and woods above epping upland, poured their heavy projectiles on epping and its defences. we set the village on fire three times, but the british contrived to extinguish the blaze on each occasion. "i fancy epping itself will be our next point of attack." "_sept. 17._--we are still progressing, fighting is now all but continuous. how long it may last i have no idea. probably there will be no suspension of the struggle until we are actually masters of the metropolis. we took advantage of the darkness to push forward our men to within three thousand yards of the enemy's line, placing them as far as possible under cover of the numerous copses, plantations, and hedgerows which cover the face of this fertile country. at 4 a.m. the general ordered his staff to assemble at latton park, where he had established his headquarters. he unfolded to us the general outline of the attack, which, he now announced, was to commence at six precisely. "i thought myself that it was a somewhat inopportune time, as we should have the rising sun right in our eyes; but i imagine that the idea was to have as much daylight as possible before us. for although we had employed a night attack against skip's corner, and successfully too, yet the general feeling in our army has always been opposed to operations of this kind. the possible gain is, i think, in no way commensurable with the probable risks of panic and disorder. the principal objective was the village of epping itself; but simultaneous attacks were to be carried out against copped hall, fort obelisk, to the west of it, and fort royston, about a mile north of the village. the ixth corps was to co-operate by a determined attempt to break through the english lining the burnt strip of woodland and to assault the latter fort in rear. it was necessary to carry out both these flanking attacks in order to prevent the main attack from being enfiladed from right and left. at 5.30 we mounted, and rode off to rye hill about a couple of miles distant, from which the general intended to watch the progress of the operations. the first rays of the rising sun were filling the eastern sky with a pale light as we cantered off, the long wooded ridge on which the enemy had his position standing up in a misty silhouette against the growing day. [illustration: german attack on the lines of london] "as we topped rye hill i could see the thickly-massed lines of our infantry crouching behind every hedge, bank, or ridge, their rifle-barrels here and there twinkling in the feeble rays of the early sun, their shadows long and attenuated behind them. epping with its lofty red water-tower was distinctly visible on the opposite side of the valley, and it is probable that the movement of the general's cavalcade of officers, with the escort, attracted the attention of the enemy's lookouts, for half-way down the hillside on their side of the valley a blinding violet-white flash blazed out, and a big shell came screaming along just over our heads, the loud boom of a heavy gun following fast on its heels. almost simultaneously another big projectile hurtled up from the direction of fort obelisk, and burst among our escort of uhlans with a deluge of livid flame and thick volumes of greenish brown smoke. it was a telling shot, for no fewer than six horses and their riders lay in a shattered heap on the ground. "at six precisely our guns fired a salvo directed on epping village. this was the preconcerted signal for attack, and before the echoes of the thunderous discharge had finished reverberating over the hills and forest, our front lines had sprung to their feet and were moving at a racing pace towards the enemy. for a moment the british seemed stupefied by the suddenness of the advance. a few rifle shots crackled out here and there, but our men had thrown themselves to the ground after their first rush before the enemy seemed to wake up. but there was no mistake about it when they did. seldom have i seen such a concentrated fire. gun, pom-pom, machine gun, and rifle blazed out from right to left along more than three miles of entrenchments. a continuous lightning-like line of fire poured forth from the british trenches, which still lay in shadow. i could see the bullets raising perfect sand-storms in places, the little pom-pom shells sparkling about all over our prostrate men, and the shrapnel bursting all along their front, producing perfect swathes of white smoke, which hung low down in the still air in the valley. "but our artillery was not idle. the field guns, pushed well forward, showered shrapnel upon the british position, the howitzer shells hurtled over our heads on their way to the enemy in constantly increasing numbers as the ranges were verified by the trial shots, while a terrible and unceasing reverberation from the north-east told of the supporting attack made by the ixth and xth corps upon the blackened woods held by the english. the concussion of the terrific cannonade that now resounded from every quarter was deafening; the air seemed to pulse within one's ears, and it was difficult to hear one's nearest neighbour speak. down in the valley our men appeared to be suffering severely. every forward move of the attacking lines left a perfect litter of prostrate forms behind it, and for some time i felt very doubtful in my own mind if the attack would succeed. glancing to the right, however, i was encouraged to see the progress that had been made by the troops detailed for the assault on copped hall and obelisk fort, and seeing this, it occurred to me that it was not intended to push the central attack on epping home before its flank had been secured from molestation from this direction. copped hall itself stood out on a bare down almost like some mediã¦val castle, backed by the dark masses of forest, while to the west of it the slopes of fort obelisk could barely be distinguished, so flat were they and so well screened by greenery. "but its position was clearly defined by the clouds of dust, smoke, and dã©bris constantly thrown up by our heavy high-explosive shells, while ever and anon there came a dazzling flash from it, followed by a detonation that made itself heard even above the rolling of the cannonade, as one of its big 7â·5 guns was discharged. the roar of their huge projectiles, too, as they tore through the air, was easily distinguishable. none of our epaulments were proof against them, and they did our heavy batteries a great deal of damage before they could be silenced. "to cut a long story short, we captured epping after a tough fight, and by noon were in possession of everything north of the forest, including the war-scarred ruins that now represented the mansion of copped hall, and from which our pom-poms and machine guns were firing into fort obelisk. but our losses had been awful. as for the enemy, they could hardly have suffered less severely, for though partially protected by their entrenchments, our artillery fire must have been utterly annihilating." "_sept. 18._--fighting went on all last night, the english holding desperately on to the edge of the forest, our people pressing them close, and working round their right flank. when day broke the general situation was pretty much like this. on our left the ixth corps were in possession of the fort at toothill, and a redoubt that lay between it and skip's fort. two batteries were bombarding a redoubt lower down in the direction of stanford rivers, which was also subjected to a cross fire from their howitzers near ongar. "as for the english, their position was an unenviable one. from copped hall--as soon as we have cleared the edge of the forest of the enemy's sharpshooters--we shall be able to take their entrenchments in reverse all the way to waltham abbey. they have, on the other hand, an outlying fort about a mile or two north of the latter place, which gave us some trouble with its heavy guns yesterday, and which it is most important that we should gain possession of before we advance further. the garde corps on the western side of the river lea is now, i hear, in sight of the enemy's lines, and is keeping them busily employed, though without pushing its attack home for the present. "at daybreak this morning i was in epping and saw the beginning of the attack on the forest. it is rumoured that large reinforcements have reached the enemy from london, but as these must be merely scratch soldiers they will do them more harm than good in their cramped position. the xth corps had got a dozen batteries in position a little to the eastward of the village, and at six o'clock these guns opened a tremendous fire upon the north-east corner of the forest, under cover of which their infantry deployed down in the low ground about coopersale, and advanced to the attack. petrol shells were not used against the forest, as von kronhelm had given orders that it was not to be burned if it could possibly be avoided. the shrapnel was very successful in keeping down the fire from the edge of the trees, but our troops received a good deal of damage from infantry and guns that were posted to the east of the forest on a hill near theydon bois. but about seven o'clock these troops were driven from their position by a sudden flank attack made by the ixth corps from theydon mount. von kleppen followed this up by putting some of his own guns up there, which were able to fire on the edge of the forest after those of the xth corps had been masked by the close advance of their infantry. to make a long story short, by ten the whole of the forest, east of the london road, as far south as the cross roads near jack's hill, was in our hands. in the meantime the ivth corps had made itself master of fort obelisk, and our gunners were hard at work mounting guns in it with which to fire on the outlying fort at monkham's hall. von kleppen was at copped hall about this time, and with him i found general von wilberg, commanding the xth corps, in close consultation. the once fine mansion had been almost completely shot away down to its lower storey. a large portion of this, however, was still fairly intact, having been protected to a certain extent by the masses of masonry that had fallen all around it, and also by the thick ramparts of earth that the english had built up against its exposed side. "our men were still firing from its loopholes at the edge of the woods, which were only about 1,200 yards distant, and from which bullets were continually whistling in by every window. two of our battalions had dug themselves in in the wooded park surrounding the house, and were also exchanging fire with the english at comparatively close ranges. they had, i was told, made more than one attempt to rush the edge of the forest, but had been repulsed by rifle fire on each occasion. away to the west i could see for miles, and even distinguish our shells bursting all over the enemy's fort at monkham's hall, which was being subjected to a heavy bombardment by our guns on the high ground to the north of it. about eleven frã¶lich's cavalry brigade, whose presence was no longer required in front of the garde corps, passed through epping, going south-east. it is generally supposed that it is either to attack the british at brentwood in the rear, or, which i think is more probable, to intimidate the raw levies by its presence between them and london, and to attack them in flank should they attempt to retreat. "just after eleven another battalion arrived at copped hall from epping, and orders were given that the english position along the edge of the forest was to be taken at all cost. just before the attack began there was a great deal of firing somewhere in the interior of the forest, presumably between the british and the advanced troops of the xth corps. however this may have been, it was evident that the enemy were holding our part of the forest much less strongly and our assault was entirely successful, with but small loss of men. once in the woods, the superior training and discipline of our men told heavily in their favour. while the mingled mass of volunteers and raw free-shooters, of which the bulk of their garrison was composed, got utterly disorganised and out of hand under the severe strain on them that was imposed by the difficulties of wood fighting, and hindered and broke up the regular units, our people were easily kept well in hand, and drove the enemy steadily before them without a single check. the rattle of rifle and machine gun was continuous through all the leafy dells and glades of the wood, but by two o'clock practically the whole forest was in the hands of our xth corps. it was then the turn of the ivth corps, who in the meantime, far from being idle, had massed a large number of their guns at copped hall, from which, aided by the fire from fort obelisk, the enemy's lines were subjected to a bombardment that rendered them absolutely untenable, and we could see company after company making their way to waltham abbey. "at three the order for a general advance on waltham abbey was issued. as the enemy seemed to have few, if any, guns at this place, it was determined to make use of some of the new armoured motors that accompanied the army. von kronhelm, who was personally directing the operations from copped hall, had caused each corps to send its own motors to epping, so that we had something like thirty at our disposal. these quaint, grey monsters came down through the forest and advanced on epping by two parallel roads, one passing by the south of warlies park, the other being the main road from epping. it was a weird sight to see these shore-going armour-clads flying down upon the enemy. they got within 800 yards of the houses, but the enemy contrived to block their further advance by various obstacles which they placed on the roads. "there was about an hour's desperate fighting in the village. the old abbey church was set on fire by a stray shell, the conflagration spreading to the neighbouring houses, and both british and germans being too busy killing each other to put it out, the whole village was shortly in flames. the british were finally driven out of it, and across the river by five o'clock. in the meantime every heavy gun that could be got to bear was directed on the fort at monkham's hall, which, during the afternoon, was also made the target for the guns of the garde corps, which co-operated with us by attacking the lines at cheshunt, and assisting us with its artillery fire from the opposite side of the river. by nightfall the fort was a mass of smoking earth, over which fluttered our black cross flag, and the front of the ivth corps stretched from this to gillwell park, four miles nearer london. "the xth corps was in support in the forest behind us, and forming also a front to cover our flank, reaching from chingford to buckhurst hill. the enemy was quite demoralised in this direction, and showed no indication of resuming the engagement. as for the ixth corps, its advanced troops were at lamboume end, in close communication with general frã¶lich, who had established his headquarters at havering-atte-bower. we have driven a formidable wedge right into the middle of the carefully elaborated system of defence arranged by the english generals, and it will now be a miracle if they can prevent our entry into the capital. "we had not, of course, effected this without great loss in killed and wounded, but you can't make puddings without breaking eggs, and in the end a bold and forward policy is more economical of life and limb than attempting to avoid necessary losses, as our present opponents did in south africa, thereby prolonging the war to an almost indefinite period, and losing many more men by sickness and in driblets than would have been the case if they had followed a more determined line in their strategy and tactics. just before the sun sank behind the masses of new houses which the monster city spreads out to the northward i got orders to carry a despatch to general von wilberg, who was stated to be at chingford, on our extreme left. i went by the forest road, as the parallel one near the river was in most parts under fire from the opposite bank. "he had established his headquarters at the foresters' inn, which stands high up on a wooded mound, and from which he could see a considerable distance and keep in touch with his various signal stations. he took my despatch, telling me that i should have a reply to take back later on. 'in the meanwhile,' said he, 'if you will fall in with my staff you will have an opportunity of seeing the first shots fired into the biggest city in the world.' so saying, he went out to his horse, which was waiting outside, and we started off down the hill with a great clatter. after winding about through a somewhat intricate network of roads and by-lanes we arrived at old chingford church, which stands upon a species of headland, rising boldly up above the flat and, in some places, marshy land to the westward. "close to the church was a battery of four big howitzers, the gunners grouped around them silhouetted darkly against the blood-red sky. from up here the vast city, spreading out to the south and west, lay like a grey, sprawling octopus spreading out ray-like to the northward, every rise and ridge being topped with a bristle of spires and chimney-pots. an ominous silence seemed to brood over the teeming landscape, broken only at intervals by the dull booming of guns from the northward. long swathes of cloud and smoke lay athwart the dull, furnace-like glow of the sunset, and lights were beginning to sparkle out all over the vast expanse which lay before us mirrored here and there in the canals and rivers that ran almost at our feet. 'now,' said von wilberg at length, 'commence fire.' one of the big guns gave tongue with a roar that seemed to make the church tower quiver above us. another and another followed in succession, their big projectiles hurtling and humming through the quiet evening air on their errands of death and destruction in i know not what quarter of the crowded suburbs. it seemed to me a cruel and needless thing to do, but i am told that it was done with the set purpose of arousing such a feeling of alarm and insecurity in the east end that the mob might try to interfere with any further measures for defence that the british military authorities might undertake. i got my despatch soon afterwards and returned with it to the general, who was spending the night at copped hall. there, too, i got myself a shakedown and slumbered soundly till the morning." "_sept. 19._--to-day we have, i think, finally broken down all organised military opposition in the field, though we may expect a considerable amount of street fighting before reaping the whole fruits of our victories. at daybreak we began by turning a heavy fire from every possible quarter on the wooded island formed by the river and various back-waters just north of waltham abbey. the poplar-clad islet, which was full of the enemy's troops, became absolutely untenable under this concentrated fire, and they were compelled to fall back over the river. our engineers soon began their bridging operations behind the wood, and our infantry, crossing over, got close up to a redoubt on the further side and took it by storm. again we were able to take a considerable section of the enemy's lines in reverse, and as they were driven out by our fire, against which they had no protection, the garde corps advanced, and by ten were in possession of cheshunt. "in the meanwhile, covered by the fire of the guns belonging to the ixth and xth corps, other bridges had been thrown across the lea at various points between waltham and chingford, and in another hour the crossing began. the enemy had no good positions for his guns, and seemed to have very few of them. he had pinned his faith upon the big weapons he had placed in his entrenchments, and those were now of no further use to him. he had lost a number of his field guns, either from damage or capture, and with our more numerous artillery firing from the high ground on the eastern bank of the river we were always able to beat down any attempt he made to reply to their fire. "we had a day of fierce fighting before us. there was no manoeuvring. we were in a wilderness of scattered houses and occasional streets, in which the enemy contested our progress foot by foot. edmonton, enfield wash, and waltham cross were quickly captured; our artillery commanded them too well to allow the british to make a successful defence; but enfield itself, lying along a steepish ridge, on which the british had assembled what artillery they could scrape together, cost us dearly. the streets of this not too lovely suburban town literally ran with blood when at last we made our way into it. a large part of it was burnt to ashes, including unfortunately the ancient palace of queen elizabeth, and the venerable and enormous cedar-tree that overhung it. "the british fell back to a second position they had apparently prepared along a parallel ridge farther to the westward, their left being between us and new barnet and their right at southgate. "we did not attempt to advance farther to-day, but contented ourselves in reorganising our forces and preparing against a possible counter-attack, by barricading and entrenching the farther edge of enfield ridge." "_sept. 20._--we are falling in immediately, as it has been decided to attack the british position at once. already the artillery duel is in progress. i must continue to-night, as my horse is at the door." the writer, however, never lived to complete his diary, having been shot half-way up the green slope he had observed the day previous. chapter iv. bombardment of london. day broke. the faint flush of violet away eastward beyond temple bar gradually turned rose, heralding the sun's coming, and by degrees the streets, filled by excited londoners, grew lighter with the dawn. fevered night thus gave place to day--a day that was, alas! destined to be one of bitter memory for the british empire. alarming news had spread that uhlans had been seen reconnoitring in snaresbrook and wanstead, had ridden along forest road and ferry lane at walthamstow, through tottenham high cross, up high street, hornsey, priory road, and muswell hill. the germans were actually upon london! the northern suburbs were staggered. in fortis green, north end, highgate, crouch end, hampstead, stamford hill, and leyton the quiet suburban houses were threatened, and many people, in fear of their lives, had now fled southward into central london. thus the huge population of greater london was practically huddled together in the comparatively small area from kensington to fleet street, and from oxford street to the thames embankment. people of fulham, putney, walham green, hammersmith, and kew had, for the most part, fled away to the open country across hounslow heath to bedfont and staines; while tooting, balham, dulwich, streatham, norwood, and catford had retreated farther south into surrey and kent. for the past three days thousands of willing helpers had followed the example of sheffield and birmingham, and constructed enormous barricades, obstructing at various points the chief roads leading from the north and east into london. detachments of engineers had blown up several of the bridges carrying the main roads out eastwards--for instance, the bridge at the end of commercial road, east, crossing the limehouse canal, while the six other smaller bridges spanning the canal between that point and the bow road were also destroyed. the bridge at the end of bow road itself was shattered, and those over the hackney cut at marshall hill and hackney wick were also rendered impassable. most of the bridges across the regent's canal were also destroyed, notably those in mare street, hackney, the kingsland road, and new north road, while a similar demolition took place in edgware road and the harrow road. londoners were frantic, now that the enemy were really upon them. the accounts of the battles in the newspapers had, of course, been merely fragmentary, and they had not yet realised what war actually meant. they knew that all business was at a standstill, that the city was in an uproar, that there was no work, and that food was at famine prices. but not until german cavalry were actually seen scouring the northern suburbs did it become impressed upon them that they were really helpless and defenceless. london was to be besieged! this report having got about, the people began building barricades in many of the principal thoroughfares north of the thames. one huge obstruction, built mostly of paving stones from the footways, overturned tramcars, waggons, railway trollies, and barbed wire, rose in the holloway road, just beyond highbury station. another blocked the caledonian road a few yards north of the police-station, while another very large and strong pile of miscellaneous goods, bales of wool and cotton stuffs, building material, and stones brought from the great northern railway depã´t, obstructed the camden road at the south corner of hilldrop crescent. across high street, camden town, at the junction of the kentish town and other roads, five hundred men worked with a will, piling together every kind of ponderous object they could pillage from the neighbouring shops--pianos, iron bedsteads, wardrobes, pieces of calico and flannel, dress stuffs, rolls of carpets, floorboards, even the very doors wrenched from their hinges--until, when it reached to the second storey window and was considered of sufficient height, a pole was planted on top, and from it hung limply a small union jack. the finchley road, opposite swiss cottage station; in shoot up-hill, where mill lane runs into it; across willesden lane where it joins the high road in kilburn; the harrow road close to willesden junction station; at the junction of the goldhawk and uxbridge roads; across the hammersmith road in front of the hospital, other similar obstructions were placed with a view to preventing the enemy from entering london. at a hundred other points, in the narrower and more obscure thoroughfares, all along the north of london, busy workers were constructing similar defences, houses and shops being ruthlessly broken open and cleared of their contents by the frantic and terrified populace. london was in a ferment. almost without exception the gunmakers' shops had been pillaged, and every rifle, sporting gun, and revolver seized. the armouries at the tower of london, at the various barracks, and the factory out at enfield had long ago all been cleared of their contents; for now, in this last stand, every one was desperate, and all who could obtain a gun did so. many, however, had guns but no ammunition; others had sporting ammunition for service rifles, and others cartridges, but no gun. those, however, who had guns and ammunition complete mounted guard at the barricades, being assisted at some points by volunteers who had been driven in from essex. upon more than one barricade in north london a maxim had been mounted, and was now pointed, ready to sweep away the enemy should they advance. other thoroughfares barricaded, beside those mentioned, were the stroud green road, where it joins hanley road; the railway bridge in the oakfield road in the same neighbourhood; the wightman road, opposite harringay station, the junction of archway road and highgate hill; the high road, tottenham, at its junction with west green road, and various roads around the new river reservoirs, which were believed to be one of the objectives of the enemy. these latter were very strongly held by thousands of brave and patriotic citizens, though the east london reservoirs across at walthamstow could not be defended, situated so openly as they were. the people of leytonstone threw up a barricade opposite the schools in the high road, while in wanstead a hastily-constructed, but perfectly useless, obstruction was piled across cambridge park, where it joins the blake road. of course, all the women and children in the northern suburbs had now been sent south. half the houses in those quiet, newly-built roads were locked up, and their owners gone; for as soon as the report spread of the result of the final battle before london, and our crushing defeat, people living in highgate, hampstead, crouch end, hornsey, tottenham, finsbury park, muswell hill, hendon, and hampstead saw that they must fly southward, now the germans were upon them. think what it meant to those suburban families of city men! the ruthless destruction of their pretty, long-cherished homes, flight into the turbulent, noisy, distracted, hungry city, and the loss of everything they possessed. in most cases the husband was already bearing his part in the defence of the metropolis with gun or with spade, or helping to move heavy masses of material for the construction of the barricades. the wife, however, was compelled to take a last look at all those possessions that she had so fondly called "home," lock her front door, and, with her children, join in those long mournful processions moving ever southward into london, tramping on and on--whither she knew not where. touching sights were to be seen everywhere in the streets that day. homeless women, many of them with two or three little ones, were wandering through the less frequented streets, avoiding the main roads with all their crush, excitement, and barricade-building, but making their way westward, beyond kensington and hammersmith, which was now become the outlet of the metropolis. all trains from charing cross, waterloo, london bridge, victoria, and paddington had for the past three days been crowded to excess. anxious fathers struggled fiercely to obtain places for their wives, mothers, and daughters--sending them away anywhere out of the city which must in a few hours be crushed beneath the iron heel. the south western and great western systems carried thousands upon thousands of the wealthier away to devonshire and cornwall--as far as possible from the theatre of war; the south eastern and chatham took people into the already crowded kentish towns and villages, and the brighton line carried others into rural sussex. london overflowed southward and westward until every village and every town within fifty miles was so full that beds were at a premium, and in various places, notably at chartham, near canterbury, at willesborough, near ashford, at lewes, at robertsbridge, at goodwood park, and at horsham, huge camps were formed, shelter being afforded by poles and rick cloths. every house, every barn, every school, indeed every place where people could obtain shelter for the night, was crowded to excess, mostly by women and children sent south, away from the horrors that it was known must come. central london grew more turbulent with each hour that passed. there were all sorts of wild rumours, but, fortunately, the press still preserved a dignified calm. the cabinet were holding a meeting at bristol, whither the houses of commons and lords had moved, and all depended upon its issue. it was said that ministers were divided in their opinions whether we should sue for an ignominious peace, or whether the conflict should be continued to the bitter end. disaster had followed disaster, and iron-throated orators in hyde and st. james's parks were now shouting "stop the war! stop the war!" the cry was taken up but faintly, however, for the blood of londoners, slow to rise, had now been stirred by seeing their country slowly yet completely crushed by germany. all the patriotism latent within them was now displayed. the national flag was shown everywhere, and at every point one heard "god save the king" sung lustily. two gunmakers' shops in the strand, which had hitherto escaped notice, were shortly after noon broken open, and every available arm and all the ammunition seized. one man, unable to obtain a revolver, snatched half a dozen pairs of steel handcuffs, and cried with grim humour as he held them up: "if i can't shoot any of the sausage-eaters, i can at least bag a prisoner or two!" the banks, the great jewellers, the diamond merchants, the safe-deposit offices, and all who had valuables in their keeping, were extremely anxious as to what might happen. below those dark buildings in lothbury and lombard street, behind the black walls of the bank of england, and below every branch bank all over london, were millions in gold and notes, the wealth of the greatest city the world has ever known. the strong rooms were, for the most part, the strongest that modern engineering could devise, some with various arrangements by which all access was debarred by an inrush of water, but, alas! dynamite is a great leveller, and it was felt that not a single strong room in the whole of london could withstand an organised attack by german engineers. a single charge of dynamite would certainly make a breach in concrete upon which a thief might hammer and chip day and night for a month without making much impression. steel doors must give to blasting force, while the strongest and most complicated locks would also fly to pieces. the directors of most of the banks had met and an endeavour had been made to co-operate and form a corps of special guards for the principal offices. in fact, a small armed corps was formed, and were on duty day and night in lothbury, lombard street, and the vicinity. yet what could they do if the germans swept into london? there was but little to fear from the excited populace themselves, because matters had assumed such a crisis that money was of little use, as there was practically very little to buy. but little food was reaching london from the open ports on the west. it was the enemy that the banks feared, for they knew that the germans intended to enter and sack the metropolis, just as they had sacked the other towns that had refused to pay the indemnity demanded. small jewellers had, days ago, removed their stock from their windows and carried it away in unsuspicious-looking bags to safe hiding in the southern and western suburbs, where people for the most part hid their valuable plate, jewellery, etc., beneath a floor-board, or buried them in some marked spot in their small gardens. the hospitals were already full of wounded from the various engagements of the past week. the london, st. thomas', charing cross, st. george's, guy's, and bartholomew's were overflowing; and the surgeons, with patriotic self-denial, were working day and night in an endeavour to cope with the ever-arriving crowd of suffering humanity. the field hospitals away to the northward were also reported full. the exact whereabouts of the enemy was not known. they were, it seemed, everywhere. they had practically over-run the whole country, and the reports from the midlands and the north showed that the majority of the principal towns had now been occupied. the latest reverses outside london, full and graphic details of which were now being published hourly by the papers, had created an immense sensation. everywhere people were regretting that lord roberts' solemn warnings in 1906 had been unheeded, for had we adopted his scheme for universal service such dire catastrophe could never have occurred. many had, alas! declared it to be synonymous with conscription, which it certainly was not, and by that foolish argument had prevented the public at large from accepting it as the only means for our salvation as a nation. the repeated warnings had been disregarded, and we had, unhappily, lived in a fool's paradise, in the self-satisfied belief that england could not be successfully invaded. now, alas! the country had realised the truth when too late. that memorable day, september 20, witnessed exasperated struggles in the northern suburbs of london, passionate and bloody collisions, an infantry fire of the defenders overwhelming every attempted assault; and a decisive action of the artillery, with regard to which arm the superiority of the germans, due to their perfect training, was apparent. a last desperate stand had, it appears, been made by the defenders on the high ridge north-west of new barnet, from southgate to near potter's bar, where a terrible fight had taken place. but from the very first it was utterly hopeless. the british had fought valiantly in defence of london, but here again they were outnumbered, and after one of the most desperate conflicts in the whole campaign--in which our losses were terrible--the germans at length had succeeded in entering chipping barnet. it was a difficult movement, and a fierce contest, rendered the more terrible by the burning houses, ensued in the streets and away across the low hills southward--a struggle full of vicissitudes and alternating successes, until at last the fire of the defenders was silenced, and hundreds of prisoners fell into the german hands. thus the last organised defence of london had been broken, and the barricades alone remained. the work of the german troops on the lines of communication in essex had for the past week been fraught with danger. through want of cavalry the british had been unable to make cavalry raids; but, on the other hand, the difficulty was enhanced by the bands of sharpshooters--men of all classes from london who possessed a gun and who could shoot. in one or two of the london clubs the suggestion had first been mooted a couple of days after the outbreak of hostilities, and it had been quickly taken up by men who were in the habit of shooting game, but had not had a military training. within three days about two thousand men had formed themselves into bands to take part in the struggle and assist in the defence of london. they were practically similar to the francs-tireurs of the franco-german war, for they went forth in companies and waged a guerilla warfare, partly before the front and at the flanks of the different armies, and partly at the communications at the rear of the germans. their position was one of constant peril in face of von kronhelm's proclamation, yet the work they did was excellent, and only proved that if lord roberts' scheme for universal training had been adopted the enemy would never have reached the gates of london with success. these brave adventurous spirits, together with "the legion of frontiersmen," made their attacks by surprise from hiding-places or from ambushes. their adventures were constantly thrilling ones. scattered all over the theatre of war in essex and suffolk, and all along the german lines of communication, the "frontiersmen" rarely ventured on an open conflict, and frequently changed scene and point of attack. within one week their numbers rose to over 8,000, and, being well served by the villagers, who acted as scouts and spies for them, the germans found them very difficult to get at. usually they kept their arms concealed in thickets and woods, where they would lie in wait for the germans. they never came to close quarters, but fired at a distance. many a smart uhlan fell by their bullets, and many a sentry dropped, shot by an unknown hand. thus they harassed the enemy everywhere. at need they concealed their arms and assumed the appearance of inoffensive non-combatants. but when caught red-handed the germans gave them "short shrift," as the bodies now swinging from telegraph poles on various high-roads in essex testified. in an attempt to put a stop to the daring actions of the "frontiersmen," the german authorities and troops along the lines of communication punished the parishes where german soldiers were shot, or where the destruction of railways and telegraphs had occurred, by levying money contributions, or by burning the villages. the guerilla war was especially fierce along from edgware up to hertford, and from chelmsford down to the thames. in fact, once commenced, it never ceased. attacks were always being made upon small patrols, travelling detachments, mails of the field post-office, posts or patrols at stations on the lines of communication, while field-telegraphs, telephones, and railways were everywhere destroyed. in consequence of the railway being cut at pitsea, the villages of pitsea, bowers gifford, and vange had been burned. because a german patrol had been attacked and destroyed near orsett, the parish was compelled to pay a heavy indemnity. upminster, near romford, theydon bois, and fyfield, near high ongar, had all been burned by the germans for the same reason; while at the cherrytree inn, near rainham, five "frontiersmen" being discovered by uhlans in a hayloft asleep, were locked in and there burned alive. dozens were, of course, shot at sight, and dozens more hanged without trial. but they were not to be deterred. they were fighting in defence of london, and around the northern suburbs the patriotic members of the "legion" were specially active, though they never showed themselves in large bands. within london every man who could shoot game was now anxious to join in the fray, and on the day that the news of the last disaster reached the metropolis, hundreds left for the open country out beyond hendon. the enemy having broken down the defence at enfield and cleared the defenders out of the fortified houses, had advanced and occupied the northern ridges of london in a line stretching roughly from pole hill, a little to the north of chingford, across upper edmonton, through tottenham, hornsey, highgate, hampstead, and willesden, to twyford abbey. all the positions had been well reconnoitred, for at grey of dawn the rumbling of artillery had been heard in the streets of those places already mentioned, and soon after sunrise strong batteries were established upon all the available points commanding london. these were at chingford green, on the left-hand side of the road opposite the inn at chingford; on devonshire hill, tottenham; on the hill at wood green; in the grounds of the alexandra palace; on the high ground about churchyard bottom wood; on the edge of bishop's wood, highgate; on parliament hill, at a spot close to the oaks on the hendon road; at dollis hill, and at a point a little north of wormwood scrubs, and at neasden, near the railway works. the enemy's chief object was to establish their artillery as near london as possible, for it was known that the range of their guns even from hampstead--the highest point, 441 feet above london--would not reach into the actual city itself. meanwhile, at dawn, the german cavalry, infantry, motor-infantry, and armoured motor-cars--the latter mostly 35-40 h.p. opel-darracqs, with three quick-firing guns mounted in each, and bearing the imperial german arms in black--advanced up the various roads leading into london from the north, being met, of course, with a desperate resistance at the barricades. [illustration: the bombardment and defences of london on sept. 20^{th} & 21^{st}] on haverstock hill, the three maxims, mounted upon the huge construction across the road, played havoc with the germans, who were at once compelled to fall back, leaving piles of dead and dying in the roadway, for the terrible hail of lead poured out upon the invaders could not be withstood. two of the german armoured motor-cars were presently brought into action by the germans, who replied with a rapid fire, this being continued for a full quarter of an hour without result on either side. then the germans, finding the defence too strong, again retired into hampstead, amid the ringing cheers of the valiant men holding that gate of london. the losses of the enemy had been serious, for the whole roadway was now strewn with dead; while behind the huge wall of paving-stones, overturned carts, and furniture, only two men had been killed and one wounded. across in the finchley road a struggle equally as fierce was in progress; but a detachment of the enemy, evidently led by some german who had knowledge of the intricate side-roads, suddenly appeared in the rear of the barricade, and a fierce and bloody hand-to-hand conflict ensued. the defenders, however, stood their ground, and with the aid of some petrol bombs which they held in readiness, they destroyed the venturesome detachment almost to a man, though a number of houses in the vicinity were set on fire, causing a huge conflagration. in highgate road the attack was a desperate one, the enraged londoners fighting valiantly, the men with arms being assisted by the populace themselves. here again deadly petrol bombs had been distributed, and men and women hurled them against the germans. petrol was actually poured from windows upon the heads of the enemy, and tow soaked in paraffin and lit flung in among them, when in an instant whole areas of the streets were ablaze, and the soldiers of the fatherland perished in the roaring flames. every device to drive back the invader was tried. though thousands upon thousands had left the northern suburbs, many thousands still remained bent on defending their homes as long as they had breath. the crackle of rifles was incessant, and ever and anon the dull roar of a heavy field gun and the sharp rattle of a maxim mingled with the cheers, yells, and shrieks of victors and vanquished. the scene on every side was awful. men were fighting for their lives in desperation. around the barricade in holloway road the street ran with blood; while in kingsland, in clapton, in west ham, and canning town the enemy were making an equally desperate attack, and were being repulsed everywhere. london's enraged millions, the germans were well aware, constituted a grave danger. any detachments who carried a barricade by assault--as, for instance, they did one in the hornsey road near the station--were quickly set upon by the angry mob and simply wiped out of existence. until nearly noon desperate conflicts at the barricades continued. the defence was even more effectual than was expected; yet, had it not been that von kronhelm, the german generalissimo, had given orders that the troops were not to attempt to advance into london before the populace were cowed, there was no doubt that each barricade could have been taken in the rear by companies avoiding the main roads and proceeding by the side streets. just before noon, however, it was apparent to von kronhelm that to storm the barricades would entail enormous losses, so strong were they. the men holding them had now been reinforced in many cases by regular troops, who had come in in flight, and a good many guns were now manned by artillerymen. von kronhelm had established his headquarters at jack straw's castle, from which he could survey the giant city through his field-glasses. below lay the great plain of roofs, spires, and domes, stretching away into the grey mystic distance, where afar rose the twin towers and double arches of the crystal palace roof. london--the great london--the capital of the world--lay at his mercy at his feet. the tall, thin-faced general, with the grizzled moustache and the glittering cross at his throat, standing apart from his staff, gazed away in silence and in thought. it was his first sight of london, and its gigantic proportions amazed even him. again he swept the horizon with his glass, and knit his grey brows. he remembered the parting words of his emperor as he backed out of that plainly-furnished little private cabinet at potsdam-"you must bombard london and sack it. the pride of those english must be broken at all costs. go, kronhelm--go--and may the best of fortune go with you!" the sun was at the noon causing the glass roof of the distant crystal palace to gleam. far down in the grey haze stood big ben, the campanile, and a thousand church spires, all tiny and, from that distance, insignificant. from where he stood the sound of crackling fire at the barricades reached him, and a little behind him a member of his staff was kneeling on the grass with his ear bent to the field telephone. reports were coming in fast of the desperate resistance in the streets, and these were duly handed to him. he glanced at them, gave a final look at the outstretched city that was the metropolis of the world, and then gave rapid orders for the withdrawal of the troops from the assault of the barricades, and the bombardment of london. in a moment the field-telegraphs were clicking, the telephone bell was ringing, orders were shouted in german in all directions, and next second, with a deafening roar, one of the howitzers of the battery in the close vicinity to him gave tongue and threw its deadly shell somewhere into st. john's wood. the rain of death had opened! london was surrounded by a semi-circle of fire. the great gun was followed by a hundred others as, at all the batteries along the northern heights, the orders were received. then in a few minutes, from the whole line from chingford to willesden, roughly about twelve miles, came a hail of the most deadly of modern projectiles directed upon the most populous parts of the metropolis. though the germans trained their guns to carry as far as was possible, the zone of fire did not at first it seemed extend farther south than a line roughly taken from notting hill through bayswater, past paddington station, along the marylebone and euston roads, then up to highbury, stoke newington, stamford hill and walthamstow. when, however, the great shells began to burst in holloway, kentish town, camden town, kilburn, kensal green, and other places lying within the area under fire, a frightful panic ensued. whole streets were shattered by explosions, and fires were breaking out, the dark clouds of smoke obscuring the sunlit sky. roaring flame shot up everywhere, unfortunate men, women, and children were being blown to atoms by the awful projectiles, while others distracted, sought shelter in any cellar or underground place they could find, while their houses fell about them like packs of cards. the scenes within that zone of terror were indescribable. when paris had been bombarded years ago, artillery was not at the perfection it now was, and there had been no such high explosive known as in the present day. the great shells that were falling everywhere, on bursting filled the air with poisonous fumes, as well as with deadly fragments. one bursting in a street would wreck the rows of houses on either side, and tear a great hole in the ground at the same moment. the fronts of the houses were torn out like paper, the iron railings twisted as though they were wire, and paving-stones hurled into the air like straws. anything and everything offering a mark to the enemy's guns was shattered. st. john's wood and the houses about regent's park suffered seriously. a shell from hampstead, falling into the roof of one of the houses near the centre of sussex place, burst and shattered nearly all the houses in the row; while another fell in cumberland terrace and wrecked a dozen houses in the vicinity. in both cases the houses were mostly empty, for owners and servants had fled southward across the river as soon as it became apparent that the germans actually intended to bombard. at many parts in maida vale shells burst with appalling effect. several of the houses in elgin avenue had their fronts torn out, and in one, a block of flats, there was considerable loss of life in the fire that broke out, escape being cut off owing to the stairs having been demolished by the explosion. abbey road, st. john's wood road, acacia road, and wellington road, were quickly wrecked. in chalk farm road, near the adelaide, a terrified woman was dashing across the street to seek shelter with a neighbour, when a shell burst right in front of her, blowing her to fragments; while in the early stage of the bombardment a shell bursting in the midland hotel at st. pancras caused a fire which in half an hour resulted in the whole hotel and railway terminus being a veritable furnace of flame. through the roof of king's cross station several shells fell, and burst close to the departure platform. the whole glass roof was shattered, but beyond that little other material damage resulted. shots were now falling everywhere, and londoners were staggered. in dense, excited crowds they were flying southwards towards the thames. some were caught in the streets in their flight, and were flung down, maimed and dying. the most awful sights were to be witnessed in the open streets; men and women blown out of recognition, with their clothes singed and torn to shreds, and helpless, innocent children lying white and dead, their limbs torn away and missing. euston station had shared the same fate as st. pancras, and was blazing furiously, sending up a great column of black smoke that could be seen by all london. so many were the conflagrations now breaking out that it seemed as though the enemy were sending into london shells filled with petrol, in order to set the streets aflame. this, indeed, was proved by an eye-witness, who saw a shell fall in liverpool road, close to the angel. it burst with a bright red flash, and next second the whole of the roadway and neighbouring houses were blazing furiously. thus the air became black with smoke and dust, and the light of day obscured in northern london. and through that obscurity came those whizzing shells in an incessant hissing stream, each one, bursting in these narrow, thickly populated streets, causing havoc indescribable, and a loss of life impossible to accurately calculate. hundreds of people were blown to pieces in the open but hundreds more were buried beneath the _dã©bris_ of their own cherished homes, now being so ruthlessly destroyed and demolished. on every side was heard the cry: "stop the war--stop the war!" but it was, alas! too late--too late. never in the history of the civilised world were there such scenes of reckless slaughter of the innocent and peace-loving as on that never-to-be-forgotten day when von kronhelm carried out the orders of his imperial master, and struck terror into the heart of london's millions. chapter v. the rain of death. through the whole afternoon the heavy german artillery roared, belching forth their fiery vengeance upon london. hour after hour they pounded away, until st. pancras church was a heap of ruins and the foundling hospital a veritable furnace, as well as the parcel post offices and the university college in gower street. in hampstead road many of the shops were shattered, and in tottenham court road both maple's and shoolbred's suffered severely, for shells bursting in the centre of the roadway had smashed every pane of glass in the fronts of both buildings. the quiet squares of bloomsbury were in some cases great yawning ruins--houses with their fronts torn out revealing the shattered furniture within. streets were indeed, filled with tiles, chimney pots, fallen telegraph wires, and _dã©bris_ of furniture, stone steps, paving stones, and fallen masonry. many of the thoroughfares, such as the pentonville road, copenhagen street, and holloway road, were, at points, quite impassable on account of the ruins that blocked them. into the northern hospital, in the holloway road, a shell fell, shattering one of the wards, and killing or maiming every one of the patients in the ward in question, while the church in tufnell park road was burning fiercely. upper holloway, stoke newington, highbury, kingsland, dalston, hackney, clapton, and stamford hill were being swept at long range by the guns on muswell hill and churchyard bottom hill, and the terror caused in those densely populated districts was awful. hundreds upon hundreds lost their lives, or else had a hand, an arm, a leg blown away, as those fatal shells fell in never-ceasing monotony, especially in stoke newington and kingsland. the many side roads lying between holloway road and finsbury park, such as hornsey road, tollington park, andover, durham, palmerston, campbell, and forthill roads, seven sisters road, and isledon road were all devastated, for the guns for a full hour seemed to be trained upon them. the german gunners in all probability neither knew nor cared where their shells fell. from their position, now that the smoke of the hundreds of fires was now rising, they could probably discern but little. therefore the batteries at hampstead heath, muswell hill, wood green, cricklewood, and other places simply sent their shells as far distant south as possible into the panic-stricken city below. in mountgrove and riversdale roads, highbury vale, a number of people were killed, while a frightful disaster occurred in the church at the corner of park lane and milton road, stoke newington. here a number of people had entered, attending a special service for the success of the british arms, when a shell exploded on the roof, bringing it down upon them and killing over fifty of the congregation, mostly women. the air, poisoned by the fumes of the deadly explosives and full of smoke from the burning buildings, was ever and anon rent by explosions as projectiles frequently burst in mid-air. the distant roar was incessant, like the noise of thunder, while on every hand could be heard the shrieks of defenceless women and children, or the muttered curses of some man who saw his home and all he possessed swept away with a flash and a cloud of dust. nothing could withstand that awful cannonade. walthamstow had been rendered untenable in the first half-hour of the bombardment, while in tottenham the loss of life had been very enormous, the german gunners at wood green having apparently turned their first attention upon that place. churches, the larger buildings, the railway station, in fact, anything offering a mark, was promptly shattered, being assisted by the converging fire from the batteries at chingford. on the opposite side of london, notting hill, shepherd's bush, and starch green, were being reduced to ruins by the heavy batteries above park royal station, which, firing across wormwood scrubs, put their shots into notting hill, and especially into holland park, where widespread damage was quickly wrought. a couple of shells falling into the generating station of the central london railway, or "tube," as londoners usually call it, unfortunately caused a disaster and loss of life which were appalling. at the first sign of the bombardment many thousands of people descended into the "tube" as a safe hiding-place from the rain of shell. at first the railway officials closed the doors to prevent the inrush, but the terrified populace in shepherd's bush, bayswater, oxford street, and holborn, in fact, all along the subterranean line, broke open the doors and descending by the lifts and stairs found themselves in a place which at least gave them security against the enemy's fire. the trains had long ago ceased running, and every station was crowded to excess, while many were forced upon the line itself, and actually into the tunnels. for hours they waited there in eager breathlessness, longing to be able to ascend and find the conflict over. men and women in all stations of life were huddled together, while children clung to their parents in wonder; yet as hour after hour went by, the report from above was still the same--the germans had not ceased. of a sudden, however, the light failed. the electric current had been cut off by the explosion of the shells in the generating station at shepherd's bush, and the lifts were useless! the thousands who, in defiance of the orders of the company, had gone below at shepherd's bush for shelter, found themselves caught like rats in a hole. true, there was the faint glimmer of an oil light here and there, but, alas! that did not prevent an awful panic. somebody shouted that the germans were above and had put out the lights, and when it was found that the lifts were useless a panic ensued that was indescribable. the people could not ascend the stairs, as they were blocked by the dense crowd, therefore they pressed into the narrow semi-circular tunnels in an eager endeavour to reach the next station, where they hoped they might escape; but once in there women and children were quickly crushed to death, or thrown down and trampled upon by the press behind. in the darkness they fought with each other, pressing on and becoming jammed so tightly that many were held against the sloping walls until life was extinct. between shepherd's bush and holland park stations the loss of life was worst, for being within the zone of the german fire the people had crushed in frantically in thousands, and with one accord a move had unfortunately been made into the tunnels, on account of the foolish cry that the german were waiting above. the railway officials were powerless. they had done their best to prevent any one going below, but the public had insisted, therefore no blame could be laid upon them for the catastrophe. at marble arch, oxford circus, and tottenham court road stations, a similar scene was enacted, and dozens upon dozens, alas! lost their lives in the panic. ladies and gentlemen from park lane, grosvenor square, and mayfair had sought shelter at the marble arch station, rubbing shoulders with labourers' wives and costerwomen from the back streets of marylebone. when the lights failed, a rush had been made into the tunnel to reach oxford circus, all exit by the stairs being blocked, as at shepherd's bush, on account of the hundreds struggling to get down. as at holland park, the terrified crowd fighting with each other became jammed and suffocated in the narrow space. the catastrophe was a frightful one, for it was afterwards proved that over four hundred and twenty persons, mostly weak women and children, lost their lives in those twenty minutes of darkness before the mains at the generating station, wrecked by the explosions, could be repaired. then, when the current came up again, the lights revealed the frightful mishap, and people struggled to emerge from the burrows wherein they had so narrowly escaped death. upon the baker street and waterloo and other "tubes," every station had also been besieged. the whole of the first-mentioned line from north to south was the refuge of thousands, who saw in it a safe place for retreat. the tunnels of the district railway, too, were filled with terror-stricken multitudes, who descended at every station and walked away into a subterranean place of safety. no trains had been running for several days, therefore there was no danger from that cause. meanwhile the bombardment continued with unceasing activity. the marylebone station of the great central railway, and the great central hotel, which seemed to be only just within the line of fire, were wrecked, and about four o'clock it was seen that the hotel, like that at st. pancras, was well alight, though no effort could be made to save it. at the first two or three alarms of fire the metropolitan fire brigade had turned out, but now that fresh alarms were reaching the chief station every moment, the brigade saw themselves utterly powerless to even attempt to save the hundred buildings, great and small, now furiously blazing. gasometers, especially those of the gas light and coke company at kensal green, were marked by the german gunners, who sent them into the air; while a well-directed petrol bomb at wormwood scrubs prison set one great wing of the place alight, and the prisoners were therefore released. the rear of kensington palace, and the fronts of a number of houses in kensington palace gardens were badly damaged, while in the dome of the albert hall was a great, ugly hole. shortly after five o'clock occurred a disaster which was of national consequence. it could only have been a mishap on the part of the germans, for they would certainly never have done such irreparable damage willingly, as they destroyed what would otherwise have been most valuable of loot. shots suddenly began to fall fast in bloomsbury, several of them badly damaging the hotel russell and the houses near, and it was therefore apparent that one of the batteries which had been firing from near jack straw's castle had been moved across to parliament hill, or even to some point south of it, which gave a wider range to the fire. presently a shell came high through the air and fell full upon the british museum, striking it nearly in the centre of the front, and in exploding carried away the grecian-ionic ornament, and shattered a number of the fine stone columns of the dark faã§ade. ere people in the vicinity had realised that the national collection of antiques was within range of the enemy's destructive projectiles, a second shell crashed into the rear of the building, making a great gap in the walls. then, as though all the guns of that particular battery had converged in order to destroy our treasure-house of art and antiquity, shell after shell crashed into the place in rapid succession. before ten minutes had passed, grey smoke began to roll out from beneath the long colonnade in front, and growing denser, told its own tale. the british museum was on fire. nor was that all. as though to complete the disaster--although it was certain that the germans were in ignorance--there came one of those terrible shells filled with petrol, which, bursting inside the manuscript room, set the whole place ablaze. in a dozen different places the building seemed to be now alight, especially the library, and thus the finest collection of books, manuscripts, greek and roman and egyptian antiques, coins, medals, and prehistoric relics, lay at the mercy of the flames. the fire brigade was at once alarmed, and at imminent risk of their lives, for shells were still falling in the vicinity, they, with the salvage corps and the assistance of many willing helpers--some of whom, unfortunately, lost their lives in the flames--saved whatever could be saved, throwing the objects out into the railed-off quadrangle in front. the left wing of the museum, however, could not be entered, although, after most valiant efforts on the part of the firemen, the conflagrations that had broken out in other parts of the building were at length subdued. the damage was, however, irreparable, for many unique collections, including all the prints and drawings, and many of the mediã¦val and historic manuscripts had already been consumed. shots now began to fall as far south as oxford street, and all along that thoroughfare from holborn as far as oxford circus, widespread havoc was being wrought. people fled for their lives back towards charing cross and the strand. the oxford music hall was a hopeless ruin, while a shell crashing through the roof of frascati's restaurant carried away a portion of the gallery and utterly wrecked the whole place. many of the shops in oxford street had their roofs damaged or their fronts blown out, while a huge block of flats in great russell street was practically demolished by three shells striking in rapid succession. then, to the alarm of all who realised it, shots were seen to be passing high over bloomsbury, south towards the thames. the range had been increased, for, as was afterwards known, some heavier guns had now been mounted upon muswell hill and hampstead heath, which, carrying to a distance of from six to seven miles, placed the city, the strand, and westminster within the zone of fire. the zone in question stretched roughly from victoria park through bethnal green and whitechapel, across to southwark, the borough, lambeth, and westminster to kensington, and while the fire upon the northern suburbs slackened, great shells now came flying through the air into the very heart of london. the german gunners at muswell hill took the dome of st. paul's as a mark, for shells fell constantly in ludgate hill, in cheapside, in newgate street, and in the churchyard itself. one falling upon the steps of the cathedral tore out two of the columns of the front, while another, striking the clock tower just below the face, brought down much of the masonry and one of the huge bells, with a deafening crash, blocking the road with _dã©bris_. time after time the great shells went over the splendid cathedral, which the enemy seemed bent upon destroying, but the dome remained uninjured, though about ten feet of the top of the second tower was carried away. on the cannon street side of st. paul's a great block of drapery warehouses had caught fire, and was burning fiercely, while the drapers and other shops on the paternoster row side all had their windows shattered by the constant detonations. within the cathedral two shells that had fallen through the roof had wrought havoc with the beautiful reredos and the choir-stalls, many of the fine windows being also wrecked by the explosions. whole rows of houses in cheapside suffered, while both the mansion house, where the london flag was flying, and the royal exchange were severely damaged by a number of shells which fell in the vicinity. the equestrian statue in front of the exchange had been overturned, while the exchange itself showed a great yawning hole in the corner of the faã§ade next cornhill. at the bank of england a fire had occurred, but had fortunately been extinguished by the strong force of guards in charge, though they gallantly risked their lives in so doing. lothbury, gresham street, old broad street, lombard street, gracechurch street, and leadenhall street were all more or less scenes of fire, havoc, and destruction. the loss of life was not great in this neighbourhood, for most people had crossed the river or gone westward, but the high explosives used by the germans were falling upon shops and warehouses with appalling effect. masonry was torn about like paper, ironwork twisted like wax, woodwork shattered to a thousand splinters as, time after time, a great projectile hissed in the air and effected its errand of destruction. a number of the wharves on each side of the river were soon alight, and both upper and lower thames streets were soon impassable on account of huge conflagrations. a few shells fell in shoreditch, houndsditch, and whitechapel, and these, in most cases, caused loss of life in those densely populated districts. westward, however, as the hours went on, the howitzers at hampstead began to drop high explosive shells into the strand, around charing cross, and in westminster. this weapon had a calibre of 4.14 inches, and threw a projectile of 35 lbs. the tower of st. clement dane's church crashed to the ground and blocked the roadway opposite milford lane; the pointed roof of the clock-tower of the law courts was blown away, and the granite fronts of the two banks opposite the law courts entrance were torn out by a shell which exploded in the footpath before them. shells fell time after time, in and about the law courts themselves, committing immense damage to the interior, while a shell bursting upon the roof of charing cross station, rendered it a ruin as picturesque as it had been in december, 1905. the national liberal club was burning furiously; the hotel cecil and the savoy did not escape, but no material damage was done to them. the garrick theatre had caught fire; a shot carried away the globe above the coliseum, and the shot tower beside the thames crashed into the river. the front of the grand hotel in trafalgar square showed, in several places, great holes where the shell had struck, and a shell bursting at the foot of nelson's monument turned over one of the lions--overthrowing the emblem of britain's might! the clubs in pall mall were, in one or two instances, wrecked, notably the reform, the junior carlton, and the athenã¦um, into each of which shells fell through the roof and exploded within. from the number of projectiles that fell in the vicinity of the houses of parliament, it was apparent that the german gunners could see the royal standard flying from the victoria tower, and were making it their mark. in the west front of westminster abbey several shots crashed, doing enormous damage to the grand old pile. the hospital opposite was set alight, while the westminster palace hotel was severely damaged, and two shells falling into st. thomas's hospital created a scene of indescribable terror in one of the overcrowded casualty wards. suddenly one of the german high explosive shells burst on the top of the victoria tower, blowing away all four of the pinnacles, and bringing down the flagstaff. big ben served as another mark for the artillery at muswell hill and several shots struck it, tearing out one of the huge clock faces and blowing away the pointed apex of the tower. suddenly, however, two great shells struck it right in the centre, almost simultaneously, near the base, and made such a hole in the huge pile of masonry that it was soon seen to have been rendered unsafe, though it did not fall. shot after shot struck other portions of the houses of parliament, breaking the windows and carrying away pinnacles. one of the twin towers of westminster abbey fell a few moments later, and another shell, crashing into the choir, completely wrecked edward the confessor's shrine, the coronation chair, and all the objects of antiquity in the vicinity. the old horse guards escaped injury, but one of the cupolas of the new war office opposite was blown away, while shortly afterwards a fire broke out in the new local government board and education offices. number 10, downing street, the chief centre of the government, had its windows all blown in--a grim accident, no doubt--the same explosion shattering several windows in the foreign office. many shells fell in st. james's and hyde parks, exploding harmlessly, but others, passing across st. james's park, crashed into that high building, queen anne's mansions, causing fearful havoc. somerset house, covent garden market, drury lane theatre, and the gaiety theatre and restaurant all suffered more or less, and two of the bronze footguards guarding the wellington statue at hyde park corner were blown many yards away. around holborn circus immense damage was being caused, and several shells bursting on the viaduct itself blew great holes in the bridge. so widespread, indeed, was the havoc, that it is impossible to give a detailed account of the day's terrors. if the public buildings suffered, the damage to property of householders and the ruthless wrecking of quiet english homes may well be imagined. the people had been driven out from the zone of fire, and had left their possessions to the mercy of the invaders. south of the thames very little damage was done. the german howitzers and long-range guns could not reach so far. one or two shots fell in york road, lambeth, and in the waterloo and westminster bridge roads, but they did little damage beyond breaking all the windows in the vicinity. when would it end? where would it end? half the population of london had fled across the bridges, and from denmark hill, champion hill, norwood, and the crystal palace they could see the smoke issuing from the hundred fires. london was cowed. these northern barricades, still held by bodies of valiant men, were making a last desperate stand, though the streets ran with blood. every man fought well and bravely for his country, though he went to his death. a thousand acts of gallant heroism on the part of englishmen were done that day, but alas! all to no purpose. the germans were at our gates, and were not to be denied. as daylight commenced to fade the dust and smoke became suffocating. and yet the guns pounded away with a monotonous regularity that appalled the helpless populace. overhead there was a quick whizzing in the air, a deafening explosion, and as the masonry came crashing down the atmosphere was filled with poisonous fumes that half asphyxiated all those in the vicinity. hitherto the enemy had treated us, on the whole, humanely, but finding that desperate resistance in the northern suburbs, von kronhelm was carrying out the emperor's parting injunction. he was breaking the pride of our own dear london, even at the sacrifice of thousands of innocent lives. the scenes in the streets within that zone of awful fire baffled description. they were too sudden, too dramatic, too appalling. death and destruction were everywhere, and the people of london now realised for the first time what the horrors of war really meant. dusk was falling. above the pall of smoke from burning buildings the sun was setting with a blood-red light. from the london streets, however, this evening sky was darkened by the clouds of smoke and dust. yet the cannonade continued, each shell that came hurtling through the air exploding with deadly effect and spreading destruction on all hands. meanwhile the barricades at the north had not escaped von kronhelm's attention. about four o'clock he gave orders by field telegraph for certain batteries to move down and attack them. this was done soon after five o'clock, and when the german guns began to pour their deadly rain of shell into those hastily improvised defences there commenced a slaughter of the gallant defenders that was horrible. at each of the barricades shell after shell was directed, and very quickly breaches were made. then upon the defenders themselves the fire was directed--a withering, awful fire from quick-firing guns which none could withstand. the streets, with their barricades swept away, were strewn with mutilated corpses. hundreds upon hundreds had attempted to make a last stand, rallied by the union jack they waved above, but a shell exploding in their midst had sent them to instant eternity. many a gallant deed was done that day by patriotic londoners in defence of their homes and loved ones--many a deed that should have earned the v.c.--but in nearly all cases the patriot who had stood up and faced the foe had gone to straight and certain death. till seven o'clock the dull roar of the guns in the north continued, and people across the thames knew that london was still being destroyed, nay, pulverised. then with accord came a silence--the first silence since the hot noon. von kronhelm's field telegraph at jack straw's castle had ticked the order to cease firing. all the barricades had been broken. london lay burning--at the mercy of the german eagle. and as the darkness fell the german commander-in-chief looked again through his glasses, and saw the red flames leaping up in dozens of places, where whole blocks of shops and buildings, public institutions, whole streets in some cases, were being consumed. london--the proud capital of the world, the "home" of the englishman--was at last ground beneath the iron heel of germany! and all, alas! due to one cause alone--the careless insular apathy of the englishman himself! chapter vi. fall of london. outside london the september night had settled down on the blood-stained field of battle. with a pale light the moon had risen, partly hidden by chasing clouds, her white rays mingling with the lurid glare of the fires down in the great terrified metropolis below. northward, from hampstead across to barnet--indeed, over that wide district where the final battle had been so hotly fought--the moonbeams shone upon the pallid faces of the fallen. along the german line of investment there had now followed upon the roar of battle an uncanny silence. away to the west, however, there was still heard the growling of distant conflict, now mounting into a low crackling of musketry fire, and again dying away in muffled sounds. the last remnant of the british army was being hotly pursued in the direction of staines. london was invested and bombarded, but not yet taken. for a long time the german field marshal had stood alone upon hampstead heath apart from his staff, watching the great tongues of flame leaping up here and there in the distant darkness. his grey, shaggy brows were contracted, his thin aquiline face thoughtful, his hard mouth twitching nervously, unable to fully conceal the strain of his own feelings as conqueror of the english. von kronhelm's taciturnity had long ago been proverbial. the kaiser had likened him to moltke, and had declared that "he could be silent in seven languages." his gaze was one of musing, and yet he was the most active of men, and perhaps the cleverest strategist in all europe. often during the campaign he had astonished his aides-de-camp by his untiring energy, for sometimes he would even visit the outposts in person. on many occasions he had actually crept up to the most advanced posts at great personal risk to himself, so anxious had he been to see with his own eyes. such visits from the field marshal himself were not always welcome to the german outposts, who, as soon as they showed the least sign of commotion consequent upon the visit, were at once swept by a withering english fire. yet he now stood there the conqueror. and while many of his officers were installing themselves in comfortable quarters in houses about north end, north hill, south hill, muswell hill, roslyn hill, fitzjohn's avenue, netherhall, and maresfield gardens, and other roads in that vicinity, the great commander was still alone upon the heath, having taken nothing save a nip from his flask since his coffee at dawn. time after time telegraphic despatches were handed to him from germany, and telephonic reports from his various positions around london, but he received them all without comment. he read, he listened, but he said nothing. for a full hour he remained there, strolling up and down alone in quick impatience. then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he called three members of his staff, and gave orders for an entry into london. this, as he knew, was the signal for a terrible and bloody encounter. bugles sounded. men and officers, who had believed that the storm and stress of the day were over, and that they were entitled to rest, found themselves called upon to fight their way into the city that they knew would be defended by an irate and antagonistic populace. still, the order had been given, and it must be obeyed. they had expected that the advance would be at least made at dawn, but evidently von kronhelm feared that six hours' delay might necessitate more desperate fighting. he intended, now that london was cowed, that she should be entirely crushed. the orders of his master the kaiser were to that effect. therefore, shortly before nine o'clock the first detachments of german infantry marched along spaniards road, and down roslyn hill to haverstock hill, where they were at once fired upon from behind the _dã©bris_ of the great barricade across the junction of prince of wales road and haverstock hill. this place was held strongly by british infantry, many members of the legion of frontiersmen--distinguished only by the little bronze badge in their buttonholes--and also by hundreds of citizens armed with rifles. twenty germans dropped at the first volley, and next instant a maxim, concealed in the first floor of a neighbouring house, spat forth its fire upon the invaders with deadly effect. the german bugle sounded the "advance rapidly," and the men emulously ran forward, shouting loud hurrahs. major van wittich, who had distinguished himself very conspicuously in the fighting round enfield chase, fell, being shot through the lung when just within a few yards of the half-ruined barricade. londoners were fighting desperately, shouting and cheering. the standard-bearer of the 4th battalion of the brunswick infantry regiment, no. 92, fell severely wounded, and the standard was instantly snatched from him in the awful hand-to-hand fighting which that moment ensued. five minutes later the streets were running with blood, for hundreds, both germans and british, lay dead and dying. every londoner struggled valiantly until shot down; yet the enemy, always reinforced, pressed forward, until ten minutes later, the defenders were driven out of their position, and the house from which the maxim was sending forth its deadly hail had been entered and the gun captured. volley after volley was still, however, poured out on the heads of the storming party, but already the pioneers were at work clearing a way for the advance, and very soon the germans had surmounted the obstruction and were within london. for a short time the germans halted, then, at a signal from their officers, they moved along both roads, again being fired upon from every house in the vicinity, many of the defenders having retired to continue their defence from the windows. the enemy therefore turned their attention to these houses, and after desperate struggles house after house was taken, those of the defenders not wearing uniform being shot down without mercy. to such no quarter was given. the contest now became a most furious one. britons and germans fought hand to hand. a battalion of the brunswick infantry with some riflemen of the guard took several houses by rush in chalk farm road; but in many cases the germans were shot by their own comrades. quite a number of the enemy's officers were picked off by the frontiersmen, those brave fellows who had seen service in every corner of the world, and who were now in the windows and upon roofs. thus the furious fight from house to house proceeded. this exciting conflict was practically characteristic of what was at that moment happening in fifty other spots along the suburbs of north london. the obstinate resistance which we made against the germans was met with equally obstinate aggression. there was no surrender. londoners fell and died fighting to the very last. against those well-trained teutons in such overwhelming masses we, however, could have no hope of success. the rushes of the infantry and rifles of the guards were made skilfully, and slowly but surely broke down all opposition. the barricade in the kentish town road was defended with valiant heroism. the germans were, as in chalk farm road, compelled to fight their way foot by foot, losing heavily all the time. but here, at length, as at other points, the barricade was taken, and the defenders chased, and either taken prisoner or else ruthlessly shot down. a body of citizens armed with rifles were, after the storming of the barricades in question, driven back into park street, and there, being caught between two bodies of germans, slaughtered to a man. through those unlit side streets between the kentish town and camden roads--namely, the lawford, bartholomew, rochester, caversham, and leighton roads--there was much skirmishing, and many on both sides fell in the bloody encounter. a thousand deeds of bravery were done that night, but were unrecorded. before the barricade in holloway road--which had been strongly repaired after the breach made in it by the german shells--the enemy lost very heavily, for the three maxims which had there been mounted did awful execution. the invaders, however, seeing the strong defence, fell back for full twenty minutes, and then, making another rush, hurled petrol bombs into the midst of our men. a frightful holocaust was the result. fully a hundred of the poor fellows were literally burned alive; while the neighbouring houses, being set in flames, compelled the citizen free-shooters to quickly evacuate their position. against such terrible missiles even the best trained troops cannot stand, therefore no wonder that all opposition at that point was soon afterwards swept away, and the pioneers quickly opened the road for the victorious legions of the kaiser. and so in that prosaic thoroughfare, the holloway road, brave men fought gallantly and died, while a scotch piper paced the pavement sharply, backwards and forwards, with his colours flying. then, alas! came the red flash, the loud explosions in rapid succession, and the next instant the whole street burst into a veritable sea of flame. high street, kingsland, was also the scene of several fierce conflicts; but here the germans decidedly got the worst of it. the whole infuriated population seemed to emerge suddenly from the side streets of the kingsland road on the appearance of the detachment of the enemy, and the latter were practically overwhelmed, notwithstanding the desperate fight they made. then ringing cheers went up from the defenders. the germans were given no quarter by the populace, all of whom were armed with knives or guns, the women mostly with hatchets, crowbars, or edged tools. many of the germans fled through the side streets towards mare street, and were hotly pursued, the majority of them being done to death by the maddened mob. the streets in this vicinity were literally a slaughterhouse. the barricades in finchley road, and in high road, kilburn, were also very strongly held, and at the first-named it was quite an hour before the enemy's pioneers were able to make a breach. indeed, then only after a most hotly contested conflict, in which there were frightful losses on both sides. petrol bombs were here also used by the enemy with appalling effect, the road being afterwards cleared by a couple of maxims. farther towards regent's park the houses were, however, full of sharpshooters, and before these could be dislodged the enemy had again suffered severely. the entry into london was both difficult and perilous, and the enemy suffered great losses everywhere. after the breaking down of the defences in high road, kilburn, the men who had held them retired to the town hall, opposite kilburn station, and from the windows fired at the passing battalions, doing much execution. all efforts to dislodge them proved unavailing, until the place was taken by storm, and a fearful hand to hand fight was the outcome. eventually the town hall was taken, after a most desperate resistance, and ten minutes later wilfully set fire to and burned. in the harrow road and those cross streets between kensal green and maida vale the advancing germans shared much the same fate as about hackney. surrounded by the armed populace, hundreds upon hundreds of them were killed, struck down by hatchets, stabbed by knives, or shot with revolvers, the crowd shouting, "down with the germans! kill them! kill them!" many of the london women now became perfect furies. so incensed were they at the wreck of their homes and the death of their loved ones that they rushed wildly into the fray with no thought of peril, only of bitter revenge. a german whenever caught was at once killed. in those bloody street fights the teutons got separated from their comrades and were quickly surrounded and done to death. [illustration: london after the bombardment.] across the whole of the northern suburbs the scenes of bloodshed that night were full of horror, as men fought in the ruined streets, climbing over the smouldering _dã©bris_, over the bodies of their comrades, and shooting from behind ruined walls. as von kronhelm had anticipated, his army was compelled to fight its way into london. the streets all along the line of the enemy's advance were now strewn with dead and dying. london was doomed. the germans now coming on in increasing, nay, unceasing numbers, were leaving behind them everywhere the trail of blood. shattered london stood staggered. though the resistance had been long and desperate, the enemy had again triumphed by reason of his sheer weight of numbers. yet, even though he were actually in our own dear london, our people did not mean that he should establish himself without any further opposition. therefore, though the barricades had been taken, the germans found in every unexpected corner men who shot at them, and maxims which spat forth their leaden showers beneath which hundreds upon hundreds of teutons fell. yet they advanced, still fighting. the scenes of carnage were awful and indescribable, no quarter being given to any armed citizens not in uniform, be they men, women, or children. the german army was carrying out the famous proclamation of field marshal von kronhelm to the letter! they were marching on to the sack of the wealthiest city of the world. it wanted still an hour of midnight. london was a city of shadow, of fire, of death. the silent streets, whence all the inhabitants had fled in panic, echoed to the heavy tread of german infantry, the clank of arms, and the ominous rumble of guns. ever and anon an order was shouted in german as the kaiser's legions went forward to occupy the proud capital of the world. the enemy's plans appeared to have been carefully prepared. the majority of the troops coming from the direction of hampstead and finchley entered regent's park, whence preparations were at once commenced for encampment; while the remainder, together with those who came down the camden, caledonian, and holloway roads, turned along euston road and oxford street to hyde park, where a huge camp was formed, stretching from the marble arch right along the park lane side away to knightsbridge. officers were very soon billeted in the best houses in park lane and about mayfair--houses full of works of art and other valuables that had only that morning been left to the mercy of the invaders. from the windows and balconies of their quarters in park lane they could overlook the encampment--a position which had evidently been purposely chosen. other troops who came in never-ending procession by the bow road, roman road, east india dock road, victoria park road, mare street, and kingsland road all converged into the city itself, except those who had come from edmonton down the kingsland road, and who, passing along old street and clerkenwell, occupied the charing cross and westminster districts. at midnight a dramatic scene was enacted when, in the blood-red glare of some blazing buildings in the vicinity, a large body of prince louis ferdinand of prussia's 2nd magdeburg regiment suddenly swept up threadneedle street into the great open space before the mansion house, whereon the london flag was still flying aloft in the smoke-laden air. they halted across the junction of cheapside with queen victoria street when, at the same moment, another huge body of the uhlans of altmark and magdeburg hussars came clattering along cornhill, followed a moment later by battalion after battalion of the 4th and 8th thuringen infantry out of moorgate street, whose uniforms showed plain traces of the desperate encounters of the past week. the great body of germans had halted before the mansion house, when general von kleppen, the commander of the ivth army corps--who, it will be remembered, had landed at weybourne--accompanied by lieutenant-general von mirbach, of the 8th division, and frã¶lich, commander of the cavalry brigade, ascended the steps of the mansion house and entered. within, sir claude harrison, the lord mayor, who wore his robes and jewel of office, received them in that great, sombre room wherein so many momentous questions concerning the welfare of the british empire had been discussed. the representative of the city of london, a short, stout, gray-haired man, was pale and agitated. he bowed, but he could not speak. von kleppen, however, a smart, soldierly figure in his service uniform and many ribbons, bowed in response, and in very fair english said:-"i regret, my lord mayor, that it is necessary for us to thus disturb you, but as you are aware, the british army has been defeated, and the german army has entered london. i have orders from field marshal von kronhelm to place you under arrest, and to hold you as hostage for the good behaviour of the city during the progress of the negotiations for peace." "arrest!" gasped the lord mayor. "you intend to arrest me?" "it will not be irksome, i assure you," smiled the german commander grimly. "at least, we shall make it as comfortable as possible. i shall place a guard here, and the only restriction i place upon you is that you shall neither go out nor hold any communication with any one outside these walls." "but my wife?" "if her ladyship is here i would advise that she leave the place. it is better that, for the present, she should be out of london." the civic officials, who had all assembled for the dramatic ceremonial, looked at each other in blank amazement. the lord mayor was a prisoner! sir claude divested himself of his jewel of office, and handed it to his servant to replace in safe keeping. then he took off his robe, and having done so, advanced closer to the german officers, who, treating him with every courtesy, consulted with him, expressing regret at the terrible loss of life that had been occasioned by the gallant defence of the barricades. von kleppen gave the lord mayor a message from von kronhelm, and urged him to issue a proclamation forbidding any further opposition on the part of the populace of london. with the three officers sir claude talked for a quarter of an hour, while into the mansion house there entered a strong guard of men of the 2nd magdeburg, who quickly established themselves in the most comfortable quarters. german double sentries stood at every exit and in every corridor, and when a few minutes later the flag was hauled down and the german imperial standard run up, wild shouts of triumph rang from every throat of the densely packed body of troops assembled outside. the joyous "hurrahs!" reached the lord mayor, still in conversation with von kleppen, von mirbach, and frã¶lich, and in an instant he knew the truth. the teutons were saluting their own standard. the civic flag had, either accidentally or purposely, been flung down into the roadway below, and was trampled in the dust. a hundred enthusiastic germans, disregarding the shouts of their officers, fought for the flag, and it was instantly torn to shreds, and little pieces preserved as souvenirs. shout after shout in german went up from the wildly excited troops of the kaiser when the light wind caused their own flag to flutter out, and then, as with one voice, the whole body of troops united in singing the german national hymn. the scene was weird and most impressive. london had fallen. around were the wrecked buildings, some still smouldering, some emitting flame. behind lay the bank of england with untold wealth locked within: to the right the damaged faã§ade of the royal exchange was illuminated by a flickering light, which also shone upon the piled arms of the enemy's troops, causing them to flash and gleam. in those silent, narrow city streets not an englishman was to be seen. every one save the lord mayor and his official attendants had fled. the government offices in whitehall were all in the hands of the enemy. in the foreign office, the india office, the war office, the colonial office, the admiralty, and other minor offices were german guards. sentries stood at the shattered door of the famous no. 10, downing street, and all up whitehall was lined with infantry. german officers were in charge of all our public offices, and all officials who had remained on duty were firmly requested to leave. sentries were stationed to guard the archives of every department, and precautions were taken to guard against any further outbreaks of fire. across at the houses of parliament, with their damaged towers, the whole great pile of buildings was surrounded by triumphant troops, while across at the fine old abbey of westminster was, alas! a different scene. the interior had been turned into a temporary hospital, and upon mattresses placed upon the floor were hundreds of poor maimed creatures, some groaning, some ghastly pale in the last moments of agony, some silent, their white lips moving in prayer. on one side in the dim light lay the men, some in uniform, others inoffensive citizens, who had been struck by cruel shells or falling _dã©bris_; on the other side lay the women, some mere girls, and even children. flitting everywhere in the half light were nurses, charitable ladies, and female helpers, with numbers of doctors, all doing their best to alleviate the terrible sufferings of that crowded place, the walls of which showed plain traces of the severe bombardment. in places the roof was open to the angry sky, while many of the windows were gaunt and shattered. a clergyman's voice somewhere was repeating a prayer in a low, distinct voice, so that all could hear, yet above all were the sighs and groans of the sufferers, and as one walked through that prostrate assembly of victims more than one was seen to have already gone to that land that lies beyond the human ken. the horrors of war were never more forcibly illustrated than in westminster abbey that night, for the grim hand of death was there, and men and women lying with their faces to the roof looked into eternity. every hospital in london was full, therefore the overflow had been placed in the various churches. from the battlefields along the northern defences, epping, edmonton, barnet, enfield, and other places where the last desperate stand had been made, and from the barricades in the northern suburbs ambulance waggons were continually arriving full of wounded, all of whom were placed in the churches and in any large public buildings which had remained undamaged by the bombardment. st. george's, hanover square, once the scene of many smart weddings, was now packed with unfortunate wounded soldiers, british and german lying side by side, while in the westminster cathedral and the oratory at brompton the roman catholic priests made hundreds of poor fellows as comfortable as they could, many members of the religious sisterhoods acting as nurses. st. james's church in piccadilly, st. pancras church, shoreditch church, and st. mary abbotts', kensington, were all improvised hospitals, and many grim and terrible scenes of agony were witnessed during that long eventful night. the light was dim everywhere, for there were only paraffin lamps, and by their feeble illumination many a difficult operation had to be performed by those london surgeons who one and all had come forward, and were now working unceasingly. renowned specialists from harley street, cavendish square, queen ann street, and the vicinity were directing the work in all the improvised hospitals, men whose names were world-famous kneeling and performing operations upon poor unfortunate private soldiers or upon some labourer who had taken up a gun in defence of his home. of lady helpers there were hundreds. from mayfair and belgravia, from kensington and bayswater, ladies had come forward offering their services, and their devotion to the wounded was everywhere apparent. in st. andrew's, wells street, st. peter's, eaton square, in the scottish church in crown court, covent garden, in the temple church, in the union chapel in upper street, in the chapel royal, savoy, in st. clement danes in the strand, and in st. martin's-in-the-fields, there were wounded in greater or less numbers, but the difficulties of treating them were enormous owing to the lack of necessaries for the performance of operations. weird and striking were the scenes within those hallowed places, as, in the half darkness with the long, deep shadows, men struggled for life or gave to the women kneeling at their side their name, their address, or a last dying message to one they loved. london that night was a city of shattered homes, of shattered hopes, of shattered lives. the silence of death had fallen everywhere. the only sounds that broke the quiet within those churches were the sighs, groans, and faint murmurings of the dying. chapter vii. germans sacking the banks. day dawned dismally and wet on september the 21st. over london the sky was still obscured by the smoke-pall, though as the night passed many of the raging fires had spent themselves. trafalgar square was filled with troops who had piled arms and were standing at their ease. the men were laughing and smoking, enjoying a rest after the last forward movement and the street fighting of that night of horrors. the losses on both sides during the past three days had been enormous; of the number of london citizens killed and wounded it was impossible to calculate. there had, in the northern suburbs, been wholesale butchery everywhere, so gallantly had the barricades been defended. great camps had now been formed in hyde park, in the green park between constitution hill and piccadilly, and in st. james's park. the magdeburg fusiliers were being formed up on the horse guards parade, and from the flagstaff there now fluttered the ensign of the commander of an army corps, in place of the british flag. a large number of uhlans and cuirassiers were encamped at the west end of the park, opposite buckingham palace, and both the wellington barracks and the cavalry barracks at knightsbridge were occupied by germans. many officers were already billeted in the savoy, the cecil, the carlton, the grand, and victoria hotels, while the british museum, the national gallery, the south kensington museum, the tower, and a number of other collections of pictures and antiques were all guarded strongly by german sentries. the enemy had thus seized our national treasures. london awoke to find herself a german city. in the streets lounging groups of travel-worn sons of the fatherland were everywhere, and german was heard on every hand. every ounce of foodstuff was being rapidly commandeered by hundreds of foraging parties, who went to each grocer's, baker's, or provision shop in the various districts, seized all they could find, valued it, and gave official receipts for it. the price of food in london that morning was absolutely prohibitive, as much as two shillings being asked for a twopenny loaf. the germans had, it was afterwards discovered, been all the time, since the sunday when they landed, running over large cargoes of supplies of all sorts to the essex, lincolnshire, and norfolk coasts, where they had established huge supply bases, well knowing that there was not sufficient food in the country to feed their armed hordes in addition to the population. shops in tottenham court road, holborn, edgware road, oxford street, camden road, and harrow road were systematically visited by the foraging parties, who commenced their work at dawn. those places that were closed and their owners absent were at once broken open, and everything seized and carted to either hyde park or st. james's park, for though londoners might starve, the kaiser's troops intended to be fed. in some cases a patriotic shopkeeper attempted to resist. indeed, in more than one case a tradesman wilfully set his shop on fire rather than its contents should fall into the enemy's hands. in other cases the tradesmen who received the official german receipts burned them in contempt before the officer's eyes. the guidance of these foraging parties was, in very many cases, in the hands of germans in civilian clothes, and it was now seen how complete and helpful the enemy's system of espionage had been in london. most of these men were germans who, having served in the army, had come over to england and obtained employment as waiters, clerks, bakers, hairdressers, and private servants, and being bound by their oath to the fatherland had served their country as spies. each man, when obeying the imperial command to join the german arms, had placed in the lapel of his coat a button of a peculiar shape, with which he had long ago been provided, and by which he was instantly recognised as a loyal subject of the kaiser. this huge body of german soldiers, who for years had passed in england as civilians, was, of course, of enormous use to von kronhelm, for they acted as guides not only on the march and during the entry to london, but materially assisted in the victorious advance in the midlands. indeed, the germans had for years kept a civilian army in england, and yet we had, ostrich-like, buried our heads in the sand, and refused to turn our eyes to the grave peril that had for so long threatened. systematically, the germans were visiting every shop and warehouse in the shopping districts, and seizing everything eatable they could discover. the enemy were taking the food from the mouths of the poor in east and south london, and as they went southward across the river, so the populace retired, leaving their homes at the mercy of the ruthless invader. upon all the bridges across the thames stood german guards, and none were allowed to cross without permits. soon after dawn von kronhelm and his staff rode down haverstock hill with a large body of cavalry, and made his formal entry into london, first having an interview with the lord mayor, and an hour afterwards establishing his headquarters at the new war office in whitehall, over which he hoisted his special flag as commander-in-chief. it was found that, though a good deal of damage had been done externally to the building, the interior had practically escaped, save one or two rooms. therefore the field marshal installed himself in the private room of the war minister, and telegraphic and telephonic communication was quickly established, while a wireless telegraph apparatus was placed upon the ruined summit of big ben for the purpose of communicating with germany, in case the cables were interrupted by being cut at sea. the day after the landing a similar apparatus had been erected on the monument at yarmouth, and it had been daily in communication with the one at bremen. the german left nothing to chance. the clubs in pall mall were now being used by german officers, who lounged in easy chairs, smoking and taking their ease, german soldiers being on guard outside. north of the thames seemed practically deserted, save for the invaders who swarmed everywhere. south of the thames the cowed and terrified populace were asking what the end was to be. what was the government doing? it had fled to bristol and left london to its fate, they complained. what the german demands were was not known until the "daily telegraph" published an interview with sir claude harrison, the lord mayor, which gave authentic details of them. they were as follows:- 1. indemnity of â£300,000,000, paid in ten annual instalments. 2. until this indemnity is paid in full, german troops to occupy edinburgh, rosyth, chatham, dover, portsmouth, devonport, pembroke, yarmouth, hull. 3. cession to germany of the shetlands, orkneys, bantry bay, malta, gibraltar, and tasmania. 4. india, north of a line drawn from calcutta to baroda, to be ceded to russia. 5. the independence of ireland to be recognised. of the claim of â£300,000,000, fifty millions was demanded from london, the sum in question to be paid within twelve hours. the lord mayor had, it appeared, sent his secretary to the prime minister at bristol bearing the original document in the handwriting of von kronhelm. the prime minister had acknowledged its receipt by telegraph both to the lord mayor and to the german field marshal, but there the matter had ended. the twelve hours' grace was nearly up, and the german commander, seated in whitehall, had received no reply. in the corner of the large, pleasant, well-carpeted room sat a german telegraph engineer with a portable instrument, in direct communication with the emperor's private cabinet at potsdam, and over that wire messages were continually passing and repassing. the grizzled old soldier paced the room impatiently. his emperor had only an hour ago sent him a message of warm congratulation, and had privately informed him of the high honours he intended to bestow upon him. the german eagle was victorious, and london--the great unconquerable london--lay crushed, torn, and broken. the marble clock upon the mantelpiece shelf chimed eleven upon its silvery bells, causing von kronhelm to turn from the window to glance at his own watch. "tell his majesty that it is eleven o'clock, and that there is no reply to hand," he said sharply in german to the man in uniform seated at the table in the corner. the instrument clicked rapidly, and a silence followed. the german commander waited anxiously. he stood bending slightly over the green tape in order to read the imperial order the instant it flashed from beneath the sea. five minutes--ten minutes passed. the shouting of military commands in german came up from whitehall below. nothing else broke the quiet. von kronhelm, his face more furrowed and more serious, again paced the carpet. suddenly the little instrument whirred, and clicked as its thin green tape rolled out. in an instant the generalissimo of the kaiser's army sprang to the telegraphist's side and read the imperial command. for a moment he held the piece of tape between his fingers, then crushed it in his hand and stood motionless. he had received orders which, though against his desire, he was compelled to obey. summoning several members of his staff who had installed themselves in other comfortable rooms in the vicinity, he held a long consultation with them. in the meantime telegraphic despatches were received from sheffield, manchester, birmingham, and other german headquarters, all telling the same story--the complete investment and occupation of the big cities and the pacification of the inhabitants. one hour's grace was, however, allowed to london--till noon. then orders were issued, bugles rang out across the parks, and in the main thoroughfares, where arms were piled, causing the troops to fall in, and within a quarter of an hour large bodies of infantry and engineers were moving along the strand, in the direction of the city. at first the reason of all this was a mystery, but very shortly it was realised what was intended when a detachment of the 5th hanover regiment advanced to the gate of the bank of england opposite the exchange, and, after some difficulty, broke it open and entered, followed by some engineers of von mirbach's division. the building was very soon occupied, and, under the direction of general von kleppen himself, an attempt was made to open the strong rooms, wherein was stored that vast hoard of england's wealth. what actually occurred at that spot can only be imagined, as the commander of the ivth army corps and one or two officers and men were the only persons present. it is surmised, however, that the strength of the vaults was far greater than they had imagined, and that, though they worked for hours, all was in vain. while this was in progress, however, parties of engineers were making organised raids upon the banks in lombard street, lothbury, moorgate street, and broad street, as well as upon branch banks in oxford street, the strand, and other places in the west end. at one bank on the left-hand side of lombard street, dynamite being used to force the strong room, the first bullion was seized, while at nearly all the banks sooner or later the vaults were opened, and great bags and boxes of gold coin were taken out and conveyed in carefully guarded carts to the bank of england, now in the possession of germany. in some banks--those of more modern construction--the greatest resistance was offered by the huge steel doors and concrete and steel walls and other devices for security. but nothing could, alas! resist the high explosives used, and in the end breaches were made, in all cases, and wealth uncounted and untold extracted and conveyed to threadneedle street for safe keeping. engineers and infantry handled those heavy boxes and those big bundles of securities gleefully, officers carefully counting each box or bag or packet as it was taken out to be carted or carried away by hand. german soldiers under guard struggled along lothbury beneath great burdens of gold, and carts, requisitioned out of the east end, rumbled heavily all the afternoon, escorted by soldiers. hammersmith, camberwell, hampstead, and willesden yielded up their quota of the great wealth of london; but though soon after four o'clock a breach was made in the strong rooms of the bank of england by means of explosives, nothing in the vaults was touched. the germans simply entered there and formally took possession. the coin collected from other banks was carefully kept, each separate from another, and placed in various rooms under strong guards, for it seemed to be their intention simply to hold london's wealth as security. that afternoon very few banks--except the german ones--escaped notice. of course, there were a few small branches in the suburbs which remained unvisited, yet by six o'clock von kronhelm was in possession of enormous quantities of gold. in one or two quarters there had been opposition on the part of the armed guards established by the banks at the first news of the invasion. but any such resistance had, of course, been futile, and the man who had dared to fire upon the german soldiers had in every case been shot down. thus, when darkness fell, von kronhelm, from the corner of his room in the war office, was able to report to his imperial master that not only had he occupied london, but that, receiving no reply to his demand for indemnity, he had sacked it and taken possession not only of the bank of england, but of the cash deposits in most of the other banks in the metropolis. that night the evening papers described the wild happenings of the afternoon, and london saw herself not only shattered, but ruined. the frightened populace across the river stood breathless. what was now to happen? though london lay crushed and occupied by the enemy, though the lord mayor was a prisoner of war and the banks in the hands of the germans, though the metropolis had been wrecked and more than half its inhabitants had fled southward and westward into the country, yet the enemy received no reply to their demand for an indemnity and the cession of british territory. von kronhelm, ignorant of what had occurred in the house of commons at bristol, sat in whitehall and wondered. he knew well that the english were no fools, and their silence, therefore, caused him considerable uneasiness. he had lost in the various engagements over 50,000 men, yet nearly 200,000 still remained. his army of invasion was a no mean responsibility, especially when at any moment the british might regain command of the sea. his supplies and reinforcements would then be at once cut off. it was impossible for him to live upon the country, and his food bases in suffolk and essex were not sufficiently extensive to enable him to make a prolonged campaign. indeed, the whole scheme of operations which had been so long discussed and perfected in secret in berlin was more of the nature of a raid than a prolonged siege. city of london. citizens of london. we, the general commanding the german imperial army occupying london, give notice that: (1) the state of war and of siege continues to exist, and all categories of crime, more especially the contravention of all orders already issued, will be judged by councils of war, and punished in conformity with martial law. (2) the inhabitants of london and its suburbs are ordered to instantly deliver up all arms and ammunition of whatever kind they possess. the term arms includes firearms, sabres, swords, daggers, revolvers, and sword-canes. landlords and occupiers of houses are charged to see that this order is carried out, but in the case of their absence the municipal authorities and officials of the london county council are charged to make domiciliary visits, minute and searching, being accompanied by a military guard. (3) all newspapers, journals, gazettes, and proclamations, of whatever description, are hereby prohibited, and until further notice nothing further must be printed, except documents issued publicly by the military commander. (4) any private person or persons taking arms against the german troops after this notice will be executed. (5) on the contrary, the imperial german troops will respect private property, and no requisition will be allowed to be made unless it bears the authorisation of the commander-in-chief. (6) all public places are to be closed at 8 p.m. all persons found in the streets of london after 8 p.m. will be arrested by the patrols. there is no exception to this rule except in the case of german officers, and also in the case of doctors visiting their patients. municipal officials will also be allowed out, providing they obtain a permit from the german headquarters. (7) municipal authorities must provide for the lighting of the streets. in cases where this is impossible, each householder must hang a lantern outside his house from nightfall until 8 a.m. (8) after to-morrow morning, at 10 o'clock, the women and children of the population of london will be allowed to pass without hindrance. (9) municipal authorities must, with as little delay as possible, provide accommodation for the german troops in private dwellings, in fire-stations, barracks, hotels, and houses that are still habitable. =von kronhelm, commander-in-chief.= german military headquarters, whitehall, london, _september_ 21, 1910. [illustration: von kronhelm's proclamation to the citizens of london.] the german field marshal sat alone and reflected. had he been aware of the true state of affairs he would certainly have had considerable cause for alarm. true, though lord byfield had made such a magnificent stand, considering the weakness of the force at his disposal, and london was occupied, yet england was not conquered. no news had leaked out from bristol. indeed, parliament had taken every precaution that its deliberations were in secret. the truth, however, may be briefly related. on the previous day the house had met at noon in the colston hall--a memorable sitting, indeed. the secretary of state for war had, after prayers, risen in the hall and read an official despatch he had just received from lord byfield, giving the news of the last stand made by the british north of enfield, and the utter hopelessness of the situation. it was received by the assembled house in ominous silence. during the past week through that great hall the minister's deep voice, shaken by emotion, had been daily heard as he was compelled to report defeat after defeat of the british arms. both sides of the house had, after the first few days, been forced to recognise germany's superiority in numbers, in training, in organisation--in fact in everything appertaining to military power. von kronhelm's strategy had been perfect. he knew more of eastern england than the british commander himself, and his marvellous system of spies and advance agents--germans who had lived for years in england--had assisted him forward, until he had now occupied london, the city declared to be impregnable. through the whole of september 20 the minister constantly received despatches from the british field marshal and from london itself, yet each telegram communicated to the house seemed more hopeless than its predecessor. the debate, however, proceeded through the afternoon. the opposition were bitterly attacking the government and the blue water school for its gross negligence in the past, and demanding to know the whereabouts of the remnant of the british navy. the first lord of the admiralty flatly refused to make any statement. the whereabouts of our navy at that moment was, he said, a secret, which must, at all hazards, be withheld from our enemy. the admiralty were not asleep, as the country believed, but were fully alive to the seriousness of the crisis. he urged the house to remain patient, saying that as soon as he dared he would make a statement. this was greeted by loud jeers from the opposition, from whose benches, members, one after another, rose, and, using hard epithets, blamed the government for the terrible disaster. the cutting down of our defences, the meagre naval programmes, the discouragement of the volunteers and of recruiting, and the disregard of lord roberts' scheme in 1906 for universal military training were, they declared, responsible for what had occurred. the government had been culpably negligent, and mr. haldane's scheme had been all insufficient. indeed, it had been nothing short of criminal to mislead the empire into a false sense of security which did not exist. for the past three years germany, while sapping our industries, had sent spies into our midst, and laughed at us for our foolish insular superiority. she had turned her attention from france to ourselves, notwithstanding the _entente cordiale_. she remembered how the much-talked-of franco-russian alliance had fallen to pieces, and relied upon a similar outcome of the friendship between france and great britain. the aspect of the house, too, was strange; the speaker in his robes looked out of place in his big uncomfortable chair, and members sat on cane-bottomed chairs instead of their comfortable benches at westminster. as far as possible the usual arrangement of the house was adhered to, except that the press were now excluded, official reports being furnished to them at midnight. the clerks' table was a large plain one of stained wood, but upon it was the usual array of despatches, while the serjeant-at-arms, in his picturesque dress, was still one of the most prominent figures. the lack of committee rooms, of an adequate lobby, and of a refreshment department caused much inconvenience, though a temporary post and telegraph office had been established within the building, and a separate line connected the prime minister's room with downing street. if the government were denounced in unmeasured terms, its defence was equally vigorous. thus, through that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon the sitting continued past the dinner hour on to late in the evening. time after time the despatches from london were placed in the hands of the war minister, but, contrary to the expectation of the house, he vouchsafed no further statement. it was noticed that just before ten o'clock he consulted in an earnest undertone with the prime minister, the first lord of the admiralty, and the home secretary, and that a quarter of an hour later all four went out and were closeted in one of the smaller rooms with other members of the cabinet for nearly half an hour. then the secretary of state for war re-entered the house and resumed his seat in silence. a few minutes afterwards mr. thomas askern, member of one of the metropolitan boroughs, and a well-known newspaper proprietor, who had himself received several private despatches, rose and received leave to put a question to the war minister. "i would like to ask the right honourable the secretary of state for war," he said, "whether it is not a fact that soon after noon to-day the enemy, having moved his heavy artillery to certain positions commanding north london, and finding the capital strongly barricaded, proceeded to bombard it? whether that bombardment, according to the latest despatches, is not still continuing at this moment; whether it is not a fact that enormous damage has already been done to many of the principal buildings of the metropolis, including the government offices at whitehall, and whether great loss of life has not been occasioned?" the question produced the utmost sensation. the house during the whole afternoon had been in breathless anxiety as to what was actually happening in london; but the government held the telegraphs and telephone, and the only private despatches that had come to bristol were the two received by some roundabout route known only to the ingenious journalists who had despatched them. indeed, the despatches had been conveyed the greater portion of the way by motor-car. a complete silence fell. every face was turned towards the war minister, who, seated with outstretched legs, was holding a fresh despatch he had just received. he rose, and, in his deep bass voice, said:-"in reply to the honourable member for south-east brixton, the statement he makes appears, from information which has just reached me, to be correct. the germans are, unfortunately, bombarding london. von kronhelm, it is reported, is at hampstead, and the zone of the enemy's artillery reaches, in some cases, as far south as the thames itself. it is true, as the honourable member asserts, an enormous amount of damage has already been done to various buildings, and there has undoubtedly been great loss of life. my latest information is that the non-combatant inhabitants--old persons, women, and children--are in flight across the thames, and that the barricades in the principal roads leading in from the north are held strongly by the armed populace, driven back into london." he sat down without further word. a tall, thin, white-moustached man rose at that moment from the opposition side of the house. colonel farquhar, late of the royal marines, was a well-known military critic, and represented west bude. "and this," he said, "is the only hope of england! the defence of london by an armed mob, pitted against the most perfectly equipped and armed force in the world! londoners are patriotic, i grant. they will die fighting for their homes, as every englishman will when the moment comes; yet, what can we hope, when patriotism is ranged against modern military science? there surely is patriotism in the savage negro races of central africa, a love of country perhaps as deep as in the white man's heart; yet a little strategy, a few maxims, and all defence is quickly at an end. and so it must inevitably be with london. i contend, mr. speaker," he went on, "that by the ill-advised action of the government from the first hour of their coming into power, we now find ourselves conquered. it only remains for them now to make terms of peace as honourable to themselves as the unfortunate circumstances will admit. let the country itself judge their actions in the light of events of to-day, and let the blood of the poor murdered women and children of london be upon their heads. (shame.) to resist further is useless. our military organisation is in chaos, our miserably weak army is defeated and in flight. i declare to this house that we should sue at this very moment for peace--a dishonourable peace though it be; but the bitter truth is too plain--england is conquered!" as he sat down amid the "hear, hears," and the loud applause of the opposition there rose a keen-faced, dark-haired, clean-shaven man of thirty-seven or so. he was gerald graham, younger son of an aristocratic house, the yorkshire grahams, who sat for north-east rutland. he was a man of brilliant attainments at oxford, a splendid orator, a distinguished writer and traveller, whose keen brown eye, lithe upright figure, quick activity, and smart appearance, rendered him a born leader of men. for the past five years he had been marked out as a "coming man." as a soldier he had seen hard service in the boer war, being mentioned twice in despatches; as an explorer he had led a party through the heart of the congo and fought his way back to civilisation through an unexplored land with valiant bravery that had saved the lives of his companions. he was a man who never sought notoriety. he hated to be lionised in society, refused the shoals of cards of invitation which poured in upon him, and stuck to his parliamentary duties, and keeping faith with his constituents to the very letter. as he stood up silent for a moment, gazing around him fearlessly, he presented a striking figure and in his navy serge suit he possessed the unmistakable cut of the smart, well-groomed englishman who was also a man of note. the house always listened to him, for he never spoke without he had something of importance to say. and the instant he was up a silence fell. "mr. speaker," he said, in a clear, ringing voice, "i entirely disagree with my honourable friend the member for west bude. england is not conquered! she is not beaten!" the great hall rang with loud and vociferous cheers. "london may be invested and bombarded. she may even be sacked, but englishmen will still fight for their homes and fight valiantly. if we have a demand for indemnity let us refuse to pay it. let us civilians--let the civilians in every corner of england--arm themselves and unite to drive out the invader! (loud cheers.) i contend, mr. speaker, that there are millions of able-bodied men in this country who, if properly organised, will be able to gradually exterminate the enemy. organisation is all that is required. our vast population will rise against the germans, and before the tide of popular indignation and desperate resistance the power of the invader must soon be swept away. do not let us sit calmly here in security, and acknowledge that we are beaten. remember, we have at this moment to uphold the ancient tradition of the british race, the honour of our forefathers, who have never been conquered. shall we acknowledge ourselves conquered in this the twentieth century?" "no!" rose from hundreds of voices, for the house was now carried away by young graham's enthusiasm. "then let us organise!" he urged. "let us fight on. let every man who can use a sword or gun come forward, and we will commence hostilities against the kaiser's forces that shall either result in their total extermination or in the power of england being extinguished. englishmen will die hard. i myself will, with the consent of this house, head the movement, for i know that in the country we have millions who will follow me and will be equally ready to die for our country if necessary. let us withdraw this statement that we are conquered. the real, earnest fight is now to commence," he shouted, his voice ringing clearly through the hall. "let us bear our part, each one of us. if we organise and unite, we shall drive the kaiser's hordes into the sea. they shall sue us for peace, and be made to pay us an indemnity, instead of us paying one to them. i will lead!" he shouted; "who will follow me?" in london the lord mayor's patriotic proclamations were now obliterated by a huge bill bearing the german imperial arms, the text of which told its own grim tale. in the meantime the news of the fall of london was being circulated by the germans to every town throughout the kingdom, their despatches being embellished by lurid descriptions of the appalling losses inflicted upon the english. in manchester, a great poster, headed by the german imperial arms, was posted up on the town hall, the exchange, and other places, in which von kronhelm announced the occupation of london; while in leeds, bradford, stockport, and sheffield similarly worded official announcements were also posted. the press in all towns occupied by the germans had been suppressed, papers only appearing in order to publish the enemy's orders. therefore this official intelligence was circulated by proclamation, calculated to impress upon the inhabitants of the country how utterly powerless they were. notice and advice. to the citizens of london. i address you seriously. we are neighbours, and in time of peace cordial relations have always existed between us. i therefore address you from my heart in the cause of humanity. germany is at war with england. we have been forced to penetrate into your country. but each human life spared, and all property saved, we regard as in the interests of both religion and humanity. we are at war, and both sides have fought a loyal fight. our desire is, however, to spare disarmed citizens and the inhabitants of all towns and villages. we maintain a severe discipline, and we wish to have it known that punishment of the severest character will be inflicted upon any who are guilty of hostility to the imperial german arms, either open or in secret. to our regret any incitements, cruelties, or brutalities we must judge with equal severity. i therefore call upon all local mayors, magistrates, clergy, and schoolmasters to urge upon the populace, and upon the heads of families, to urge upon those under their protection, and upon their domestics, to refrain from committing any act of hostility whatsoever against my soldiers. all misery avoided is a good work in the eye of our sovereign judge, who sees all men. i earnestly urge you to heed this advice, and i trust in you. take notice! =von kronhelm, commanding the imperial german army.= german military headquarters, whitehall, london, _september_ 20, 1910. while von kronhelm sat in that large sombre room in the war office, with his telegraph instrument to potsdam ever ticking, and the wireless telegraphy constantly in operation, he wondered, and still wondered, why the english made no response to his demands. he was in london. he had carried out his emperor's instructions to the letter, he had received the imperial thanks, and he held all the gold coin he could discover in london as security. yet, without some reply from the british government, his position was an insecure one. even his thousand and one spies who had served him so well ever since he had placed foot upon english soil could tell him nothing. the deliberations of the house of commons at bristol were a secret. in bristol the hot, fevered night had given place to a gloriously sunny morning with a blue and cloudless sky. above leigh woods the lark rose high in the sky, trilling his song, and the bells of bristol rang out as merrily as they ever did, and above the colston hall still floated the royal standard--a sign that the house had not yet adjourned. while von kronhelm held london, lord byfield and the remnant of the british army, who had suffered such defeat in essex and north of london, had, four days later, retreated to chichester and salisbury, where reorganisation was in rapid progress. one division of the defeated troops had encamped at horsham. the survivors of those who had fought the battle of charnwood forest, and had acted so gallantly in the defence of birmingham, were now encamped on the malvern hills, while the defenders of manchester were at shrewsbury. speaking roughly, therefore, our vanquished troops were massing at four points, in an endeavour to make a last attack upon the invader. the commander-in-chief, lord byfield, was near salisbury, and at any hour he knew that the german legions might push westward from london to meet him and to complete the _coup_. the league of defenders formed by gerald graham and his friends was, however, working independently. the wealthier classes, who, driven out of london, were now living in cottages and tents in various parts of berks, wilts, and hants, worked unceasingly on behalf of the league, while into plymouth, exmouth, swanage, bristol, and southampton more than one ship had already managed to enter laden with arms and ammunition of all kinds, sent across by the agents of the league in france. the cargoes were of a very miscellaneous character, from modern maxims to old-fashioned rifles that had seen service in the war of 1870. there were hundreds of modern rifles, sporting guns, revolvers, swords--in fact, every weapon imaginable, modern and old-fashioned. these were at once taken charge of by the local branches of the league, and to those men who presented their tickets of identification the arms were served out, and practice conducted in the open fields. three shiploads of rifles were known to have been captured by german warships, one off start point, another a few miles outside padstow, and a third within sight of the coastguard at selsey bill. two other ships were blown up in the channel by drifting mines. the running of arms across from france and spain was a very risky proceeding; yet the british skipper is nothing if not patriotic, and every man who crossed the channel on those dangerous errands took his life in his hand. into liverpool, whitehaven, and milford weapons were also coming over from ireland, even though several german cruisers, who had been up to lamlash to cripple the glasgow trade, had now come south, and were believed still to be in the irish sea. chapter viii. defences of south london. preparations were being continued night and day to place the working-class districts in southwark and lambeth in a state of strong defence, and the constant meetings convened in public halls and chapels by the newly-formed league of defenders incited the people to their work. everybody lent a willing hand, rich and poor alike. people who had hitherto lived in comfort in regent's park, hampstead, or one or other of the better-class northern suburbs, now found themselves herded among all sorts and conditions of men and women, and living as best they could in those dull, drab streets of lambeth, walworth, battersea, and kennington. it was, indeed, a strange experience for them. in the sudden flight from the north, parents had become separated from their children and husbands from their wives, so that in many cases haggard and forlorn mothers were in frantic search of their little ones, fearing that they might have already died of starvation or been trampled underfoot by the panic-stricken multitudes. the dense population of south london had already been trebled. they were penned in by the barricades in many instances, for each district seemed to be now placing itself in a state of defence, independent of any other. [illustration: the defences of south london on sept 26^{th} ] kennington, for instance, was practically surrounded by barricades, tons upon tons of earth being dug from the "oval" and the "park." besides the barricades in harleyford road and kennington lane, all the streets converging on the "oval" were blocked up, a huge defence arm just being completed across the junction of kennington and kennington park roads, and all the streets running into the latter thoroughfare from that point to the big obstruction at the "elephant" were blocked by paving-stones, bags of sand, barrels of cement, bricks, and such-like odds and ends impervious to bullets. in addition to this, there was a double fortification in lambeth road--a veritable redoubt--as well as the barricade at lambeth bridge, while all the roads leading from kennington into the lambeth road, such as st. george's road, kennington road, high street, and the rest, had been rendered impassable and the neighbouring houses placed in a state of defence. thus the whole district of kennington became therefore a fortress in itself. this was only a typical instance of the scientific methods of defence now resorted to. mistakes made in north london were not now repeated. day and night every able-bodied man, and woman too, worked on with increasing zeal and patriotism. the defences in haverstock hill, holloway road, and edgware road, which had been composed of overturned tramcars, motor 'buses, household furniture, etc., had been riddled by the enemy's bullets. the lesson had been heeded, and now earth, sand, tiles, paving-stones, and bricks were used. from nearly all the principal thoroughfares south of the river the paving-stones were being rapidly torn up by great gangs of men, and whenever the artillery brought up a fresh maxim or field-gun the wildest demonstrations were made. the clergy held special services in churches and chapels, and prayer meetings for the emancipation of london were held twice daily in the metropolitan tabernacle at newington. in kennington park, camberwell green, the oval, vauxhall park, lambeth palace gardens, camberwell park, peckham rye and southwark park a division of lord byfield's army was encamped. they held the waterloo terminus of the south-western railway strongly, the chatham railway from the borough road station--now the terminus--the south-eastern from bricklayers' arms, which had been converted into another terminus, as well as the brighton line, at battersea park and york road. the lines destroyed by the enemy's spies in the early moments of the invasion had long ago been repaired, and up to the present railway and telegraphic communication south and west remained uninterrupted. the "daily telegraph" had managed to transfer some of its staff to the offices of a certain printer's in southwark, and there, under difficulties, published several editions daily despite the german censorship. while northern london was without any news except that supplied from german sources, south london was still open to the world, the cables from the south coast being, as yet, in the hands of the british, and the telegraphs intact to bristol and to all places in the west. thus, during those stifling and exciting days following the occupation, while london was preparing for its great uprising, the "south london mirror," though a queer, unusual-looking sheet, still continued to appear, and was read with avidity by the gallant men at the barricades. contrary to expectation, von kronhelm was leaving south london severely alone. he was, no doubt, wise. full well he knew that his men, once within those narrow, tortuous streets beyond the river, would have no opportunity to manoeuvre, and would, as in the case of the assault of waterloo bridge, be slaughtered to a man. his spies reported that each hour that passed rendered the populace the stronger, yet he did nothing, devoting his whole time, energy, and attention to matters in that half of london he was now occupying. everywhere the walls of south london were placarded with manifestoes of the league of defenders. day after day fresh posters appeared, urging patience and courage, and reporting upon the progress of the league. the name of graham was now upon every one's lips. he had, it seemed, arisen as saviour of our beloved country. every word of his inspired enthusiasm, and this was well illustrated at the mass meeting on peckham rye, when, beneath the huge flag of st. george, the white banner with the red cross--the ancient standard of england--which the league had adopted as theirs, he made a brilliant and impassioned appeal to every londoner and every englishman. report had it that the germans had set a price upon his head, and that he was pursued everywhere by german spies--mercenaries who would kill him in secret if they could. therefore he was compelled to go about with an armed police guard, who arrested any suspected person in his vicinity. the government, who had at first laughed graham's enthusiasm to scorn, now believed in him. even lord byfield, after a long council, declared that his efforts to inspire enthusiasm had been amazingly successful, and it was now well known that the "defenders" and the army had agreed to act in unison towards one common end--the emancipation of england from the german thraldom. some men of the osnabrã¼ck regiment, holding canning town and limehouse, managed one night, by strategy, to force their way through the blackwall tunnel and break down its defences on the surrey side in an attempt to blow up the south metropolitan gas works. the men holding the tunnel were completely overwhelmed by the number that pressed on, and were compelled to fall back, twenty of their number being killed. the assault was a victorious one, and it was seen that the enemy were pouring out, when, of a sudden, there was a dull, heavy roar, followed by wild shouts and terrified screams, as there rose from the centre of the river a great column of water, and next instant the tunnel was flooded, hundreds of the enemy being drowned like rats in a hole. the men of the royal engineers had, on the very day previous, made preparations for destroying the tunnel if necessary, and had done so ere the germans were aware of their intention. the exact loss of life is unknown, but it is estimated that over 400 men must have perished in that single instant, while those who had made the sudden dash towards the gas works were all taken prisoners, and their explosives confiscated. the evident intention of the enemy being thus seen, general sir francis bamford, from his headquarters at the crystal palace, gave orders for the tunnels at rotherhithe and that across greenwich reach, as well as the several "tube" tunnels and subways, to be destroyed, a work which was executed without delay, and was witnessed by thousands, who watched for the great disturbances and upheavals in the bed of the river. in the old kent road the bridge over the canal, as well as the bridges in wells street, sumner road, glengall road, and canterbury road, were all prepared for demolition in case of necessity, the canal from the camberwell road to the surrey dock forming a moat behind which the defenders might, if necessary, retire. clapham common and brockwell park were covered with tents, for general bamford's force, consisting mostly of auxiliaries, were daily awaiting reinforcements. lord byfield, now at windsor, was in constant communication by wireless telegraphy with the london headquarters at the crystal palace, as well as with hibbard on the malvern hills and woolmer at shrewsbury. to general bamford at sydenham came constant news of the rapid spread of the national movement of defiance, and lord byfield, as was afterwards known, urged the london commander to remain patient, and invite no attack until the league were strong enough to act on the offensive. affairs of outpost were, of course, constantly recurring along the river bank between windsor and egham, and the british free-shooters and frontiersmen were ever harassing the saxons. very soon von kronhelm became aware of lord byfield's intentions, but his weakness was apparent when he made no counter-move. the fact was that the various great cities he now held required all his attention and all his troops. from manchester, from birmingham, from leeds, bradford, sheffield, and hull came similar replies. any withdrawal of troops from either city would be the signal for a general rising of the inhabitants. therefore, having gained possession, he could only now sit tight and watch. from all over middlesex, and more especially from the london area, came sensational reports of the drastic measures adopted by the germans to repress any sign of revolt. in secret, the agents of the league of defenders were at work, going from house to house, enrolling men, arranging for secret meeting-places, and explaining in confidence the programme as put forward by the bristol committee. now and then, however, these agents were betrayed, and their betrayal was in every case followed by a court-martial at bow street, death outside in the yard of the police station, and the publication in the papers of their names, their offence, and the hour of the execution. yet, undaunted and defiantly, the giant organisation grew as no other society had ever grown, and its agents and members quickly developed into fearless patriots. it being reported that the saxons were facing lord byfield with the thames between them, the people of west london began in frantic haste to construct barricades. the building of obstructions had, indeed, now become a mania north of the river as well as south. the people, fearing that there was to be more fighting in the streets of london, began to build huge defences all across west london. the chief were across king street, hammersmith, where it joins goldhawk road, across the junction of goldhawk and uxbridge roads, in the harrow road where it joins admiral road, and willesden lane, close to the paddington cemetery, and the latimer road opposite st. quintin park station. all the side streets leading into the goldhawk road, latimer road, and ladbroke grove road were also blocked up, and hundreds of houses placed in a state of strong defence. with all this von kronhelm did not interfere. the building of such obstructions acted as a safety-valve to the excited populace, therefore he rather encouraged than discountenanced it. the barricades might, he thought, be of service to his army if lord byfield really risked an attack upon london from that direction. crafty and cunning though he was, he was entirely unaware that those barricades were being constructed at the secret orders of the league of defenders, and he never dreamed that they had actually been instigated by the british commander-in-chief himself. thus the day of reckoning hourly approached, and london, though crushed and starving, waited in patient vigilance. at enfield chase was a great camp of british prisoners in the hands of the germans, amounting to several thousands. contrary to report, both officers and men were fairly well treated by the germans, though with his limited supplies von kronhelm was already beginning to contemplate releasing them. many of the higher-grade officers who had fallen into the hands of the enemy, together with the lord mayor of london, the mayors of hull, goole, lincoln, norwich, ipswich, and the lord mayors of manchester and birmingham, had been sent across to germany, where, according to their own reports, they were being detained in hamburg and treated with every consideration. nevertheless, all this greatly incensed englishmen. lord byfield, with hibbard and woolmer, was leaving no stone unturned in order to reform our shattered army, and again oppose the invaders. all three gallant officers had been to bristol, where they held long consultation with the members of the cabinet, with the result that the government still refused to entertain any idea of paying the indemnity. the admiralty were confident now that the command of the sea had been regained, and in parliament itself a little confidence was also restored. yet we had to face the hard facts that nearly two hundred thousand germans were upon british soil, and that london was held by them. already parties of german commissioners had visited the national gallery, the wallace collection, the tate gallery, and the british and south kensington museums, deciding upon and placing aside certain art treasures and priceless antiques ready for shipment to germany. the raphaels, the titians, the rubenses, the fra angelicos, the velasquezes, the elgin marbles, the best of the egyptian, assyrian, and roman antiques, the rosetta stone, the early biblical and classical manuscripts, the historic charters of england, and such-like treasures which could never be replaced, were all catalogued and prepared for removal. the people of london knew this; for though there had been no newspapers, information ran rapidly from mouth to mouth. german sentries guarded our world-famous collections, which were now indeed entirely in the enemy's hands, and which the kaiser intended should enrich the german galleries and museums. one vessel flying the british flag had left the thames laden with spoil, in an endeavour to reach hamburg, but off harwich she had been sighted and overhauled by a british cruiser, with the result that she had been steered to dover. therefore our cruisers and destroyers, having thus obtained knowledge of the enemy's intentions, were keeping a sharp lookout about the coast for any vessels attempting to leave for german ports. accounts of fierce engagements in the channel between british and german ships went the rounds, but all were vague and unconvincing. the only solid facts were that the germans held the great cities of england, and that the millions of great britain were slowly but surely preparing to rise in an attempt to burst asunder the fetters that now held them. government, army, navy, and parliament had all proved rotten reeds. it was now every man for himself--to free himself and his loved ones--or to die in the attempt. through the south and west of england graham's clear, manly voice was raised everywhere, and the whole population were now fast assembling beneath the banner of the defenders, in readiness to bear their part in the most bloody and desperate encounter of the whole war. the swift and secret death being meted out to the german sentries--or, in fact, to any german caught alone in a side street--having been reported to von kronhelm, he issued another of his now famous proclamations, which was posted upon half the hoardings in london; but the populace at once amused themselves by tearing it down wherever it was discovered. von kronhelm was the arch-enemy of london, and it is believed that there were at that moment no fewer than five separate conspiracies to encompass his death. londoners detested the germans, but with a hatred twenty times the more intense did they regard those men who, having engaged in commercial pursuits in england, had joined the colours and were now acting as spies. chapter ix. revolts in shoreditch and islington. on the night of september 27, a very serious conflict, entailing much loss of life on both the london civilian and german side, occurred at the point where kingsland road joins old street, hackney road, and high street. across both hackney and kingsland roads the barricades built before the bombardment still remained in a half-ruined state, any attempt at clearing them away being repulsed by the angry inhabitants. dalston, kingsland, bethnal green, and shoreditch were notably antagonistic to the invaders, and several sharp encounters had taken place. indeed, those districts were discovered by the enemy to be very unsafe. the conflict in question, however, commenced at the corner of old street at about 9.30 in the evening, by three german tailors from cambridge road being insulted by two men, english labourers. the tailors appealed in german to four westphalian infantrymen who chanced to be passing, and who subsequently fired and killed one of the englishmen. this was the signal for a local uprising. the alarm given, hundreds of men and women rushed from their houses, many of them armed with rifles and knives, and, taking cover behind the ruined barricades, opened fire upon a body of fifty germans, who very quickly ran up. the fire was returned, when from the neighbouring houses a perfect hail of lead was suddenly rained upon the germans, who were then forced to retire down high street towards liverpool street station, leaving many dead. very quickly news was sent over the telephone, which the germans had now established in many quarters of london, and large reinforcements were soon upon the scene. the men of shoreditch had, however, obtained two maxim guns, which had been secreted ever since the entry of the germans into the metropolis, and as the enemy endeavoured to storm their position they swept the street with a deadly fire. quickly the situation became desperate, but the fight lasted over an hour. the sound of firing brought hundreds upon hundreds of londoners upon the scene. all these took arms against the germans, who, after many fruitless attempts to storm the defences, and being fired upon from every side, were compelled to fall back again. they were followed along high street into bethnal green road, up great eastern street into hoxton square and pitfield street, and there cut up, being given no quarter at the hands of the furious populace. in those narrow thoroughfares they were powerless, and were therefore simply exterminated. the victory for the men of shoreditch was complete, over three hundred and fifty germans being killed, while our losses were only about fifty. the conflict was at once reported to von kronhelm, and the very fact that he did not send exemplary punishment into that quarter was sufficient to show that he feared to arouse further the hornets' nest in which he was living, and more especially that portion of the populace north of the city. news of the attack, quickly spreading, inspired courage in every other part of the oppressed metropolis. the successful uprising against the germans in shoreditch incited londoners to rebel, and in various other parts of the metropolis there occurred outbreaks. von kronhelm had found to his cost that london was not to be so easily cowed after all. the size and population of the metropolis had not been sufficiently calculated upon. it was as a country in itself, while the intricacies of its by-ways formed a refuge for the conspirators, who were gradually completing their preparations to rise _en masse_ and strike down the germans wherever found. in the open country his great army could march, manoeuvre, and use strategy, but here in the maze of narrow london streets it was impossible to know in one thoroughfare what was taking place in the next. supplies, too, were now running very short. the distress among our vanquished populace was most severe; while von kronhelm's own army was put on meagre rations. the increasing price of food and consequent starvation had not served to improve the relations between the invaders and the citizens of london, who, though they were assured by various proclamations that they would be happier and more prosperous under german rule, now discovered that they were being slowly starved to death. their only hope, therefore, was in the efforts of that now gigantic organisation, the league of defenders. a revolt occurred in pentonville road, opposite king's cross underground station, which ended in a fierce and terrible fray. a company of the bremen infantry regiment no. 75, belonging to the ixth corps, were marching from the city road towards regent's park, when several shots were fired at them from windows of shops almost opposite the station. five germans fell dead, including one lieutenant, a very gorgeous person who wore a monocle. another volley rang out before the infantrymen could realise what was happening, and then it was seen that the half-ruined shops had been placed in such a state of defence as to constitute a veritable fortress. the fire was returned, but a few moments later a maxim spat its deadly fire from a small hole in a wall, and a couple of dozen of the enemy fell upon the granite setts of the thoroughfare. the rattle of musketry quickly brought forth the whole of that populous neighbourhood--or all, indeed, that remained of them--the working-class district between pentonville road and copenhagen street. quickly the fight became general. the men of bremen endeavoured to take the place by assault, but found that it was impossible. the strength of the defences was amazing, and showed only too plainly that londoners were in secret preparing for the great uprising that was being planned. in such a position were the houses held by the londoners, that their fire commanded both the pentonville and king's cross roads; but very soon the germans were reinforced by another company of the same regiment, and these being attacked in the rear from rodney street, cumming street, weston street, york street, winchester street, and other narrow turnings leading into the pentonville road, the fighting quickly became general. the populace came forth in swarms, men and women, armed with any weapon or article upon which they could lay their hands, and all fired with the same desire. hundreds of men who came forth were armed with rifles which had been carefully secreted on the entry of the enemy into the metropolis. the greater part of those men, indeed, had fought at the barricades in north london, and had subsequently taken part in the street fighting as the enemy advanced. some of the arms had come from the league of defenders, smuggled into the metropolis nobody exactly knew how. up and down the king's cross, pentonville, and caledonian roads the crowd swayed and fought. the germans against that overwhelming mass of angry civilians seemed powerless. small bodies of the troops were cornered in the narrow by-streets, and then given no quarter. brave-hearted londoners, though they knew well what dire punishment they must inevitably draw upon themselves, had taken the law into their own hands, and were shooting or stabbing every german who fell into their hands. the scene of carnage in that hour of fighting was awful. the "daily chronicle" described it as one of the most fiercely contested encounters in the whole history of the siege. shoreditch had given courage to king's cross, for, unknown to von kronhelm, houses in all quarters were being put in a state of defence, their position being carefully chosen by those directing the secret operations of the league of defenders. for over an hour the houses in question gallantly held out, sweeping the streets constantly with their maxim. presently, however, on further reinforcements arriving, the german colonel directed his men to enter the houses opposite. in an instant a door was broken in, and presently glass came tumbling down as muzzles of rifles were poked through the panes, and soon sharp crackling showed that the germans had settled down to their work. the defence of the londoners was most obstinate. in the streets, londoners attacked the enemy with utter disregard for the risks they ran. women, among them many young girls, joined in the fray, armed with pistols and knives. after a while a great body of reinforcements appeared in the euston road, having been sent hurriedly along from regent's park. then the option was given to those occupying the fortified house to surrender, the colonel promising to spare their lives. the londoners peremptorily refused. everywhere the fighting became more desperate and spread all through the streets leading out of st. pancras, york, and caledonian roads, until the whole of that great neighbourhood became the scene of a fierce conflict, in which both sides lost heavily. right across islington the street fighting spread, and many were the fatal traps set for the unwary german who found himself cut off in that maze of narrow streets between york road and the angel. the enemy, on the other hand, were shooting down women and girls as well as the men, even the non-combatants--those who came out of their homes to ascertain what was going on--being promptly fired at and killed. in the midst of all this somebody ignited some petrol in a house a few doors from the chapel in pentonville road, and in a few moments the whole row of buildings were blazing furiously, belching forth black smoke and adding to the terror and confusion of those exciting moments. even that large body of germans now upon the scene were experiencing great difficulty in defending themselves. a perfect rain of bullets seemed directed upon them on every hand, and to-day's experience certainly proves that londoners are patriotic and brave, and in their own districts they possess a superiority over the trained troops of the kaiser. at length, after a most sanguinary struggle, the londoners' position was carried, the houses were entered, and twenty-two brave patriots, mostly of the working-class, taken prisoners. the populace now realising that the germans had, after all, overpowered their comrades, in their fortress, fell back; but being pursued northward towards the railway line between highbury and barnsbury stations, many of them were despatched on the spot. what followed was indeed terrible. the anger of the germans now became uncontrollable. having in view von kronhelm's proclamation--which sentenced to death all who, not being in uniform, fired upon german troops--they decided to teach the unfortunate populace a lesson. as a matter of fact, they feared that such revolts might be repeated in other quarters. so they seized dozens of prisoners, men and women, and shot them down. many of these summary executions took place against the wall of the st. pancras station at the corner of euston road. men and women were pitilessly sent to death. wives, daughters, fathers, sons were ranged up against that wall, and, at signal from the colonel, fell forward with bullets through them. of the men who so gallantly held the fortified house not a single one escaped. strings of men and women were hurried to their doom in one day, for the troops were savage with the lust of blood, and von kronhelm, though he was aware of it by telephone, lifted not a finger to stop those arbitrary executions. but enough of such details. suffice it to say that the stones of islington were stained with the blood of innocent londoners, and that those who survived took a fierce vow of vengeance. von kronhelm's legions had the upper hand for the moment, yet the conflict and its bloody sequel had the effect of arousing the fiercest anger within the heart of every briton in the metropolis. what was in store for us none could tell. we were conquered, oppressed, starved; yet hope was still within us. the league of defenders were not idle, while south london was hourly completing her strength. it seems that after quelling the revolt at king's cross wholesale arrests were made in islington. the guilt or innocence of the prisoners did not seem to matter. von kronhelm dealing out to them summary punishment. terror reigns in london. one newspaper correspondent--whose account is published this morning in south london, having been sent across the thames by carrier pigeon, many of which were now being employed by the newspapers--had an opportunity of witnessing the wholesale executions which took place yesterday afternoon outside dorchester house, where von kleppen has established his quarters. von kleppen seems to be the most pitiless of the superior officers. the prisoners, ranged up for inspection in front of the big mansion, were mostly men from islington, all of whom knew only too well the fate in store for them. walking slowly along and eyeing the ranks of these unfortunate wretches, the german general stopped here and there, tapping a man on the shoulder or beckoning him out of the rear ranks. in most cases, without further word, the individual thus selected was marched into the park at stanhope gate, where a small supplementary column was soon formed. league of defenders daily bulletin the league of defenders of the british empire publicly announce to englishmen, although the north of london is held by the enemy: (1) that england will soon entirely regain command of the sea, and that a rigorous blockade of the german ports will be established. (2) that three of the vessels of the north german lloyd transatlantic passenger service have been captured, together with a number of minor german ships in the channel and mediterranean. (3) that four german cruisers and two destroyers have fallen into the hands of the british. (4) that england's millions are ready to rise! therefore we are not yet beaten! be prepared, and wait. league of defenders. central office: bristol. [illustration: copy of the "daily bulletin" of the league of defenders.] those chosen knew that their last hour had come. some clasped their hands and fell upon their knees, imploring pity, while others remained silent and stubborn patriots. one man, his face covered with blood and his arm broken, sat down and howled in anguish, and others wept in silence. some women--wives and daughters of the condemned men--tried to get within the park to bid them adieu and to urge courage, but the soldiers beat them back with their rifles. some of the men laughed defiantly, others met death with a stony stare. the eye-witness saw the newly-dug pit that served as common grave, and he stood by and saw them shot and their corpses afterwards flung into it. one young fair-haired woman, condemned by von kleppen, rushed forward to that officer, threw herself upon her knees, imploring mercy, and protested her innocence wildly. but the officer, callous and pitiless, simply motioned to a couple of soldiers to take her within the park, where she shared the same fate as the men. how long will this awful state of affairs last? we must die, or conquer. london is in the hands of a legion of assassins--bavarians, saxons, wã¼rtembergers, hessians, badeners--all now bent upon prolonging the reign of terror, and thus preventing the uprising that they know is, sooner or later, inevitable. terrible accounts are reaching us of how the germans are treating their prisoners on hounslow heath, at enfield, and other places; of the awful sufferings of the poor unfortunate fellows, of hunger, of thirst, and of inhuman disregard for either their comfort or their lives. at present we are powerless, hemmed in by our barricades. behind us, upon sydenham hill, general bamford is in a strong position, and his great batteries are already defending any attack upon london from the south. from the terrace in front of the crystal palace his guns can sweep the whole range of southern suburbs. through dulwich, herne hill, champion hill, and denmark hill are riding british cavalry, all of whom show evident traces of the hard and fierce campaign. we see from sydenham constant messages being heliographed, for general bamford and lord byfield are in hourly communication by wireless telegraphy or by other means. what is transpiring at windsor is not known, save that every night there are affairs of outposts with the saxons, who on several occasions have attempted to cross the river by pontoons, and have on each occasion been driven back. it was reported to parliament at its sitting at bristol yesterday that the cabinet had refused to entertain any idea of paying the indemnity demanded by germany, and that their reply to von kronhelm is one of open defiance. the brief summary of the speeches published shows that the government are hopeful, notwithstanding the present black outlook. they believe that when the hour comes for the revenge, london will rise as a man, and that socialists, nonconformists, labour agitators, anarchists, and demagogues will unite with us in one great national patriotic effort to exterminate our conquerors as we would exterminate vermin. mr. gerald graham has made another great speech in the house, in which he reported the progress of the league of defenders and its wide-spread ramifications. he told the government that there were over seven millions of able-bodied men in the country ready to revolt the instant the word went forth. that there would be terrible bloodshed he warned them, but that the british would eventually prove the victors he was assured. he gave no details of the organisation, for to a great measure it was a secret one, and von kronhelm was already taking active steps to combat its intentions; but he declared that there was still a strong spirit of patriotism in the country, and explained how sturdy scots were daily making their way south, and how men from wales were already massing in oxford. the speech was received on both sides of the house with ringing cheers when, in conclusion, he promised them that, within a few days, the fiat would go forth, and the enemy would find himself crushed and powerless. "south london," he declared, "is our stronghold, our fortress. to-day it is impregnable, defended by a million british patriots, and i defy von kronhelm--indeed, i dare him to attack it!" von kronhelm was, of course, well aware of the formation of the defenders, but treated the league with contempt. if there was any attempt at a rising, he would shoot down the people like dogs. he declared this openly and publicly, and he also issued a warning to the english people in the german official "gazette," a daily periodical printed in one of the newspaper offices in fleet street in both german and english. the german commander fully believed that england was crushed; yet, as the days went on, he was puzzled that he received no response to his demand for indemnity. twice he had sent special despatch-bearers to bristol, but on both occasions the result was the same. diplomatic representations had been made in berlin through the russian ambassador, who was now in charge of british interests in germany, but all to no purpose. our foreign minister simply acknowledged receipt of the various despatches. on the continent the keenest interest was manifested at what was apparently a deadlock. the british had, it was known, regained command of the sea. von kronhelm's supplies were already cut off. the cables in direct communication between england and germany had been severed, and the continental press, especially the paris journals, gleefully recounted how two large hamburg-american liners attempting to reach hamburg by passing north of scotland had been captured by british cruisers. =englishmen!= your homes are desecrated! your children are starving! your loved ones are dead! will you remain in cowardly inactivity? the german eagle flies over london. hull, newcastle and birmingham are in ruins. manchester is a german city. norfolk, essex, and suffolk form a german colony. the kaiser's troops have brought death, ruin, and starvation upon you. will you become germans? =no!= join the defenders and fight for england. you have england's millions beside you. =let us rise!= let us drive back the kaiser's men. let us shoot them at sight. let us exterminate every single man who has desecrated english soil. join the new league of defenders. fight for your homes. fight for your wives. fight for england. fight for your king! the national league of defenders' head offices. bristol, september 21st, 1910. [illustration: a copy of the manifesto of the league of defenders issued on september 21, 1910.] in the channel, too, a number of german vessels had been seized, and one that showed fight off the north foreland was fired upon and sunk. the public at home, however, were more interested in supremacy on land. it was all very well to have command of the sea, they argued, but it did not appear to alleviate perceptibly the hunger and privations on land. the germans occupied london, and while they did so all freedom in england was at an end. a great poster headed "englishmen," here reproduced, was seen everywhere. the whole country was flooded with it, and thousands upon thousands of heroic britons, from the poorest to the wealthiest, clamoured to enrol themselves. the movement was an absolutely national one in every sense of the word. the name of gerald graham, the new champion of england's power, was upon every one's tongue. daily he spoke in the various towns in the west of england, in plymouth, taunton, cardiff, portsmouth, and southampton, and, assisted by the influential committee among whom were many brilliant speakers and men whose names were as household words, he aroused the country to the highest pitch of hatred against the enemy. the defenders, as they drilled in various centres through the whole of the west of england, were a strange and incongruous body. grey-bearded army pensioners ranged side by side with keen, enthusiastic youths, advised them and gave them the benefit of their expert knowledge. volunteer officers in many cases assumed command, together with retired drill sergeants. the digging of trenches and the making of fortifications were assigned to navvies, bricklayers, platelayers, and agricultural labourers, large bodies of whom were under railway gangers, and were ready to perform any excavation work. the maxims and other machine guns were mostly manned by volunteer artillery; but instruction in the working of the maxim was given to select classes in plymouth, bristol, portsmouth, and cardiff. time was of utmost value, therefore the drilling was pushed forward day and night. it was known that von kronhelm was already watchful of the movements of the league, and was aware daily of its growth. in london, with the greatest secrecy, the defenders were banding together. in face of the german proclamation posted upon the walls, londoners were holding meetings in secret and enrolling themselves. though the german eagle flew in whitehall and from the summit of st. stephen's tower, and though the heavy tramp of german sentries echoed in trafalgar square, in the quiet, trafficless streets in the vicinity, england was not yet vanquished. the valiant men of london were still determined to sell their liberty dearly, and to lay down their lives for the freedom of their country and honour of their king. book iii. the revenge. chapter i. a blow for freedom. "'daily telegraph' office. "_oct._ 1, 2 p.m. "three days have passed since the revolt at king's cross, and each day, both on the horse guards' parade and in the park, opposite dorchester house, there have been summary executions. von kronhelm is in evident fear of the excited london populace, and is endeavouring to cow them by his plain-spoken and threatening proclamations, and by these wholesale executions of any person found with arms in his or her possession. but the word of command does not abolish the responsibility of conscience, and we are now awaiting breathlessly for the word to strike the blow in revenge. "the other newspapers are reappearing, but all that is printed each morning is first subjected to a rigorous censorship, and nothing is allowed to be printed before it is passed and initialled by the two gold-spectacled censors who sit and smoke their pipes in an office to themselves. below, we have german sentries on guard, for our journal is one of the official organs of von kronhelm, and what now appears in it is surely sufficient to cause our blood to boil." "to-day, there are everywhere signs of rapidly increasing unrest. londoners are starving, and are now refusing to remain patient any longer. the "daily bulletin" of the league of defenders, though the posting of it is punishable by imprisonment, and it is everywhere torn down where discovered by the germans, still gives daily brief news of what is in progress, and still urges the people to wait in patience, for 'the action of the government,' as it is sarcastically put. "soon after eleven o'clock this morning a sudden and clearly premeditated attack was made upon a body of the bremen infantry, who were passing along oxford street from holborn to the marble arch. the soldiers were suddenly fired upon from windows of a row of shops between newman street and rathbone place, and before they could halt and return the fire they found themselves surrounded by a great armed rabble, who were emerging from all the streets leading into oxford street. "while the germans were manoeuvring, some unknown hand launched from a window a bomb into the centre of them. next second there was a red flash, a loud report, and twenty-five of the enemy were blown to atoms. for a few moments the soldiers were demoralised, but orders were shouted loudly by their officers, and they began a most vigorous defence. in a few seconds the fight was as fierce as that at king's cross; for out of every street in that working-class district lying between the tottenham court road and great portland street on the north, and out of soho on the south, poured thousands upon thousands of fierce londoners, all bent upon doing their utmost to kill their oppressors. from almost every window along oxford street a rain of lead was now being poured upon the troops, who vainly strove to keep their ground. gradually, however, they were, by slow degrees, forced back into the narrow side-turnings up newman street, and rathbone place into mortimer street, foley street, goodge street, and charlotte street; and there they were slaughtered almost to a man. "two officers were captured by the armed mob in tottenham street and, after being beaten, were stood up and shot in cold blood as vengeance for those shot during the past three days at von kleppen's orders at dorchester house. "the fierce fight lasted quite an hour; and though reinforcements were sent for, yet curiously none arrived. "the great mob, however, were well aware that very soon the iron hand of germany would fall heavily upon them; therefore, in frantic haste, they began soon after noon to build barricades and block up the narrow streets in every direction. at the end of rathbone place, newman street, berners street, wells street, and great tichfield street, huge obstructions soon appeared, while on the east all by-streets leading into tottenham court road were blocked up, and the same on the west in great portland street, and on the north where the district was flanked by the euston road. so that by two o'clock the populous neighbourhood bounded by the four great thoroughfares was rendered a fortress in itself. "within that area were thousands of armed men and women from soho, bloomsbury, marylebone, and even from camden town. there they remained in defiance of von kronhelm's newest proclamation, which stared one in the face from every wall." "_later._ "the enemy were unaware of the grave significance of the position of affairs, because londoners betrayed no outward sign of the truth. now, however, nearly every man and woman wore pinned upon their breasts a small piece of silk about two inches square, printed as a miniature union jack--the badge adopted by the league of defenders. though von kronhelm was unaware of it, lord byfield, in council with greatorex and bamford, had decided that, in order to demoralise the enemy and give him plenty of work to do, a number of local uprisings should take place north of the thames. these would occupy von kronhelm, who would experience great difficulty in quelling them, and would no doubt eventually recall the saxons from west middlesex to assist. if the latter retired upon london they would find the barricades held by londoners in their rear and lord byfield in their front, and be thus caught between two fires. "in each district of london there is a chief of the defenders, and to each chief these orders had been conveyed in strictest confidence. therefore, to-day, while the outbreak occurred in oxford street, there were fully a dozen others in various parts of the metropolis, each of a more or less serious character. every district has already prepared its own secret defences, its fortified houses, and its barricades in hidden by-ways. besides the quantity of arms smuggled into london, every dead german has had his rifle, pistol, and ammunition stolen from him. hundreds of the enemy have been surreptitiously killed for that very reason. lawlessness is everywhere, government and army have failed them, and londoners are now taking the law into their own hands. "in king street, hammersmith; in notting dale, in forest road, dalston; in wick road, hackney; in commercial road east, near stepney station; and in prince of wales road, kentish town, the league of defenders this morning--at about the same hour--first made their organisation public by displaying our national emblem, together with the white flags, with the scarlet st. george's cross, the ancient battle flag of england. "for that reason, then, no reinforcements were sent to oxford street. von kronhelm was far too busy in other quarters. in kentish town, it is reported, the germans gained a complete and decisive victory, for the people had not barricaded themselves strongly; besides, there were large reinforcements of germans ready in regent's park, and these came upon the scene before the defenders were sufficiently prepared. the flag was captured from the barricade in prince of wales road, and the men of kentish town lost over four hundred killed and wounded. "at stepney, the result was the reverse. the enemy, believing it to be a mere local disturbance and easily quelled, sent but a small body of men to suppress it. but very quickly, in the intricate by-streets off commercial road, these were wiped out, not one single man surviving. a second and third body were sent, but so fiercely was the ground contested that they were at length compelled to fall back and leave the men of stepney masters of their own district. in hammersmith and in notting dale the enemy also lost heavily, though in hackney they were successful after hard fighting. "every one declares that this secret order issued by the league means that england is again prepared to give battle, and that london is commencing by her strategic movement of local rebellions. the gravity of the situation cannot now, for one moment, be concealed. london north of the thames is destined to be the scene of the fiercest and most bloody warfare ever known in the history of the civilised world. the germans will, of course, fight for their lives, while we shall fight for our homes and for our liberty. but right is on our side, and right will win. "reports from all over the metropolis tell the same tale. london is alert and impatient. at a word she will rise to a man, and then woe betide the invader! surely von kronhelm's position is not a very enviable one. our two censors in the office are smoking their pipes very gravely. not a word of the street fighting is to be published. they will write their own account of it. "10 p.m. "there has been a most frightful encounter at the oxford street and tottenham court road barricades--a most stubborn resistance and gallant defence on the part of the men of marylebone and bloomsbury. "from the lips of one of our correspondents who was within the barricade i have just learned the details. it appears that just about four o'clock general von wilberg sent from the city a large force of the 19th division under lieutenant general frankenfeld, and part of these, advancing through the squares of bloomsbury into gower street, attacked the defenders' position from the tottenham court road, while others coming up holborn and new oxford street entered soho from charing cross road and threw up counter-barricades at the end of dean street, wardour street, berwick, poland, argyll, and the other streets, all of which were opposite the defences of the populace. in great portland street, too, they adopted a similar line, and without much ado the fight, commenced in a desultory fashion, soon became a battle. "within the barricades was a dense body of armed and angry citizens, each with his little badge, and every single one of them was ready to fight to the death. there is no false patriotism now, no mere bravado. men make declarations, and carry them out. the gallant londoners, with their several maxims, wrought havoc among the invaders, especially in the tottenham court road, where hundreds were maimed or killed. "in oxford street, the enemy being under cover of their counter-barricades, little damage could be done on either side. the wide, open, deserted thoroughfare was every moment swept by a hail of bullets, but no one was injured. on the great portland street side the populace made a feint of giving way at the mortimer street barricade, and a body of the enemy rushed in, taking the obstruction by storm. but next moment they regretted it, for they were set upon by a thousand armed men and wild haired women, so that every man paid for his courage with his life. the women, seizing the weapons and ammunition of the dead germans, now returned to the barricade to use them. "the mortimer street defences were at once repaired, and it was resolved to relay the fatal trap at some other point. indeed, it was repeated at the end of percy street, where about fifty more germans, who thought themselves victorious, were set upon and exterminated. "until dusk the fight lasted. the germans, finding their attack futile, began to hurl petrol bombs over the barricades and these caused frightful destruction among our gallant men, several houses in the vicinity being set on fire. fortunately, there was still water in the street hydrants, and two fire engines had already been brought within the beleaguered area in case of necessity. "at last, about seven o'clock, the enemy, having lost very heavily in attempting to take the well-chosen position by storm, brought down several light field-guns from regent's park; and, placing them at their counter-barricades--where, by the way, they had lost many men in the earlier part of the conflict while piling up their shelters--suddenly opened fire with shell at the huge obstructions before them. "at first they made but little impression upon the flagstones, etc., of which the barricades were mainly composed. but before long their bombardment began to tell; for slowly, here and there, exploding shells made great breaches in the defences that had been so heroically manned. more than once a high explosive shell burst right among the crowd of riflemen behind a barricade, sweeping dozens into eternity in a single instant. against the fortified houses each side of the barricades the german artillery trained their guns, and very quickly reduced many of those buildings to ruins. the air now became thick with dust and smoke; and mingled with the roar of artillery at such close quarters came the screams of the injured and the groans of the dying. the picture drawn by the eye-witness who described this was a truly appalling one. gradually the londoners were being overwhelmed, but they were selling their lives dearly, fully proving themselves worthy sons of grand old england. "at last the fire from the newman street barricade of the defenders was silenced, and ten minutes later, a rush being made across from dean street, it was taken by storm. then ensued fierce and bloody hand-to-hand fighting right up to cleveland street, while almost at the same moment the enemy broke in from great portland street. "a scene followed that is impossible to describe. through all those narrow, crooked streets the fighting became general, and on either side hundreds fell. the defenders in places cornered the germans, cut them off, and killed them. though it was felt that now the barricades had been broken the day was lost, yet every man kept courage, and fought with all his strength. "for half an hour the germans met with no success. on the contrary, they found themselves entrapped amid thousands of furious citizens, all wearing their silken badges, and all sworn to fight to the death. "while the defenders still struggled on, loud and ringing cheers were suddenly raised from tottenham court road. the people from clerkenwell, joined by those in bloomsbury, had arrived to assist them. they had risen, and were attacking the germans in the rear. "fighting was now general right across from tottenham court road to gray's inn road, and by nine o'clock, though von wilberg sent reinforcements, a victory was gained by the defenders. over two thousand germans are lying dead and wounded about the streets and squares of bloomsbury and marylebone. the league had struck its first blow for freedom. "what will the morrow bring us? dire punishment--or desperate victory?" "'daily chronicle' office, "_oct._ 4, 6 p.m. "the final struggle for the possession of london is about to commence. through all last night there were desultory conflicts between the soldiers and the people, in which many lives have, alas! been sacrificed. "von wilberg still holds the city proper, with the mansion house as his headquarters. within the area already shown upon the map there are no english, all the inhabitants having been long ago expelled. the great wealth of london is in german hands, it is true, but it is dead sea fruit. they are unable either to make use of it or to deport it to germany. much has been taken away to the base at southminster and other bases in essex, but the greater part of the bullion still remains in the bank of england. "the most exciting stories have been reaching us during the last twenty-four hours, none of which, however, have passed the censor. for that reason i, one of the sub-editors, am keeping this diary, as a brief record of events during the present dreadful times. "after the terrific struggle in marylebone three days ago, von kronhelm saw plainly that if london were to rise _en masse_ she would at once assume the upper hand. the german commander-in-chief had far too many points to guard. on the west of london he was threatened by lord byfield and hosts of auxiliaries, mostly sworn members of the national league of defenders; on the south, across the river, southwark, lambeth, and battersea formed an impregnable fortress, containing over a million eager patriots ready to burst forth and sweep away the vain, victorious army; while within central london itself the people were ready to rise. =league of defenders.= citizens of london and loyal patriots. the hour has come to show your strength, and to wreak your vengeance. to-night, oct. 4, at 10 p.m., rise, and strike your blow for freedom. a million men are with lord byfield, already within striking distance of london; a million follow them, and yet another million are ready in south london. rise, fearless and stern. let "england for englishmen" be your battle-cry, and avenge the blood of your wives and your children. avenge this insult to your nation. remember: ten o'clock to-night! "reports reaching us to-day from lord byfield's headquarters at windsor are numerous, but conflicting. as far as can be gathered, the authentic facts are as follows: great bodies of the defenders, including many women, all armed, are massing at reading, sonning, wokingham, and maidenhead. thousands have arrived, and are hourly arriving by train, from portsmouth, plymouth, exeter, bristol, gloucester, and, in fact, all the chief centres of the west of england, where gerald graham's campaign has been so marvellously successful. sturdy welsh colliers are marching shoulder to shoulder with agricultural labourers from dorset and devon, and clerks and citizens from the towns of somerset, cornwall, gloucestershire, and oxfordshire are taking arms beside the riff-raff of their own neighbourhoods. peer and peasant, professional man and pauper, all are now united with one common object--to drive back the invader, and to save our dear old england. "oxford has, it seems, been one of the chief points of concentration, and the undergraduates who re-assembled there to defend their colleges now form an advance-guard of a huge body of defenders on the march, by way of henley and maidenhead, to follow in the rear of lord byfield. the latter holds eton and the country across to high wycombe, while the saxon headquarters are still at staines. frã¶lich's cavalry division are holding the country across from pinner through stanmore and chipping barnet to the prison camp at enfield chase. these are the only german troops outside west london, the saxons being now barred from entering by the huge barricades which the populace of west london have during the past few days been constructing. every road leading into london from west middlesex is now either strongly barricaded or entirely blocked up. kew, richmond, and kingston bridges have been destroyed, and lord byfield, with general bamford at the crystal palace, remains practically in possession of the whole of the south of the thames. "the conflict which is now about to begin will be one to the death. while, on the one hand, the germans are bottled up among us, the fact must not be overlooked that their arms are superior, and that they are trained soldiers. yet the two or three local risings of yesterday and the day previous have given us courage, for they show that the enemy cannot manoeuvre in the narrow streets, and soon become demoralised. in london we fail because we have so few riflemen. if every man who now carries a gun could shoot, we could compel the germans to fly a flag of truce within twenty-four hours. indeed, if lord roberts' scheme of universal training in 1906 had been adopted, the enemy would certainly never have been suffered to approach our capital. "alas! apathy has resulted in this terrible and crushing disaster, and we have only now to bear our part, each one of us, in the blow to avenge this desecration of our homes and the massacre of our loved ones. "to-day i have seen the white banners with the red cross--the ensign of the defenders--everywhere. till yesterday it was not openly displayed, but to-day it is actually hung from windows or flown defiantly from flagstaffs in full view of the germans. "in kilburn, or, to be more exact, in the district lying between the harrow road and the high road, kilburn, there was another conflict this morning between some of the german garde corps and the populace. the outbreak commenced by the arrest of some men who were found practising with rifles in paddington recreation ground. one man who resisted was shot on the spot, whereupon the crowd who assembled attacked the german picket, and eventually killed them to a man. this was the signal for a general outbreak in the neighbourhood, and half an hour later, when a force was sent to quell the revolt, fierce fighting became general all through the narrow streets of kensal green, especially at the big barricade that blocks the harrow road where it is joined by admiral road. here the bridges over the grand junction canal have already been destroyed, for the barricades and defences have been scientifically constructed under the instruction of military engineers. "from an early hour to-day it has been apparent that all these risings were purposely ordered by the league of defenders to cause von kronhelm's confusion. indeed, while the outbreak at kensal green was in progress, we had another reported from dalston, a third from limehouse, and a fourth from homerton. therefore, it is quite certain that the various centres of the league are acting in unison upon secret orders from headquarters. "indeed, south london also took part in the fray this morning, for the defenders at the barricade at london bridge have now mounted several field guns, and have started shelling von wilberg's position in the city. it is said that the mansion house, where the general had usurped the apartments of the deported lord mayor, has already been half reduced to ruins. this action is, no doubt, only to harass the enemy, for surely general bamford has no desire to destroy the city proper any more than it has already been destroyed. lower thames street, king william street, gracechurch street, and cannon street have at any rate, been found untenable by the enemy, upon whom some losses have been inflicted. "south london is every moment anxious to know the truth. two days after the bombardment we succeeded at night in sinking a light telegraph cable in the river across from the embankment at the bottom of temple avenue, and are in communication with our temporary office in southwark street. "an hour ago there came, through secret sources, information of another naval victory to our credit, several german warships being sunk and captured. here we dare not print it, so i have just wired it across to the other side, where they are issuing a special edition. "almost simultaneously with the report of the british victory, namely, at five o'clock, the truth--the great and all-important truth--became revealed. the mandate has gone forth from the headquarters of the league of defenders that london is to rise in her might at ten o'clock to-night, and that a million men are ready to assist us. placards and bills on red paper are everywhere. "frantic efforts are being made by the germans all over london to suppress both posters and handbills. "it is now six o'clock. in four hours it is believed that london will be one huge seething conflict. night has been chosen, i suppose, in order to give the populace the advantage. the by-streets are for the most part still unlit, save for oil-lamps, for neither gas nor electric light are yet in proper working order after the terrible dislocation of everything. the scheme of the defenders is, as already proved, to lure the germans into the narrower thoroughfares, and then exterminate them. surely in the history of the world there has never been such a bitter vengeance as that which is now inevitable. london, the greatest city ever known, is about to rise! "_midnight._ "london has risen! how can i describe the awful scenes of panic, bloodshed, patriotism, brutality, and vengeance that are at this moment in progress? as i write, through the open window i can hear the roar of voices, the continual crackling of rifles, and the heavy booming of guns. i walked along fleet street at nine o'clock, and i found, utterly disregarding the order that no unauthorised persons are to be abroad after nightfall, hundreds upon hundreds of all classes, all wearing their little silk union jack badges pinned to their coats, on the way to join in their particular districts. some carried rifles, others revolvers, while others were unarmed. yet not a german did i see in the streets. it seemed as though, for the moment, the enemy had vanished. there was only the strong cordon across the bottom of ludgate hill, men who looked on in wonder, but without bestirring themselves. "is it possible that von kronhelm's strategy is to remain inactive, and refuse to fight? "the first shot i heard fired, just after ten o'clock, was at the strand end of fleet street, at the corner of chancery lane. there, i afterwards discovered, a party of forty german infantrymen had been attacked, and all of them killed. quickly following this, i heard the distant booming of artillery, and then the rattle of musketry and pom-poms became general, but not in the neighbourhood where i was. for nearly half an hour i remained at the corner of aldwych; then, on going farther along the strand, i found that the defenders from the waterloo road had made a wild sortie into the strand, but could find no germans there. "the men who had for a fortnight held that barricade at the bridge were more like demons than human beings; therefore i retired, and in the crush made my way back to the office to await reports. "they were not long in arriving. i can only give a very brief _rã©sumã©_ at the moment, for they are so numerous as to be bewildering. "speaking generally, the whole of london has obeyed the mandate of the league, and, rising, are attacking the germans at every point. in the majority of cases, however, the enemy hold strong positions, and are defending themselves, inflicting terrible losses upon the unorganised populace. every londoner is fighting for himself, without regard for orders or consequences. in bethnal green the germans, lured into the maze of by-streets, have suffered great losses, and again in clerkenwell, st. luke's, kingsland, hackney and old ford. whitechapel too, devoid of its alien population, who have escaped into essex, has held its own, and the enemy have had some great losses in the streets off cable and leman streets. "with the exception of the sortie across waterloo bridge, south london is, as yet, remaining in patience, acting under the orders of general bamford. "news has come in ten minutes ago of a fierce and sudden attack upon the saxons by lord byfield from windsor, but there are, as yet, no details. "from the office across the river i am being constantly asked for details of the fight, and how it is progressing. in southwark the excitement is evidently most intense, and it requires all the energy of the local commanders of the defenders to repress another sortie across that bridge. "there has just occurred an explosion so terrific that the whole of this building has been shaken as though by an earthquake. "london has struck her first blow of revenge. what will be its sequel?" chapter ii. scenes at waterloo bridge. the following is the personal narrative of a young chauffeur named john burgess, who assisted in the defence of the barricade at waterloo bridge. the statement was made to a reporter at noon on october 5, while he was lying on a mattress in the church of st. martin's-in-the-fields, so badly wounded in the chest that the surgeons had given him up. he related his story in the form of a farewell letter to his sister. the reporter chanced to be passing, and, hearing him asking for some one to write for him, volunteered to do so. "we all did our best," he said, "every one of us. myself, i was at the barricade for thirteen days--thirteen days of semi-starvation, sleeplessness, and constant tension, for we knew not, from one moment to another, when a sudden attack might be made upon us. at first our obstruction was a mere ill-built pile of miscellaneous articles, half of which would not stop bullets; but on the third day our men, superintended by several non-commissioned officers in uniform, began to put the position in a proper state of defence, to mount maxims in the neighbouring houses, and to place explosives in the crown of two of the arches of the bridge, so that we could instantly demolish it if necessity arose. "fully a thousand men were holding the position, but unfortunately few of them had ever handled a rifle. as regards myself, i had learned to shoot rooks when a boy in shropshire, and now that i had obtained a gun i was anxious to try my skill. when the league of defenders was started, and a local secretary came to us, we all eagerly joined, each receiving, after he had taken his oath and signed his name, a small silk union jack, the badge of the league, not to be worn till the word went forth to rise. "then came a period--long, dreary, shadeless days of waiting--when the sun beat down upon us mercilessly and our vigilance was required to be constant both night and day. so uncertain were the movements of the enemy opposite us that we scarcely dared to leave our positions for a moment. night after night i spent sleeping in a neighbouring doorway, with an occasional stretch upon somebody's bed in some house in the vicinity. now and then, whenever we saw germans moving in wellington street, we sent a volley into them, in return receiving a sharp reply from their pom-poms. constantly our sentries were on the alert along the wharves, and in the riverside warehouses, watching for the approach of the enemy's spies in boats. almost nightly some adventurous spirits among the germans would try and cross. on one occasion, while doing sentry duty in a warehouse backing on commercial road, i was sitting with a comrade at a window overlooking the river. the moon was shining, for the night was a balmy and beautiful one, and all was quiet. it was about two o'clock in the morning, and as we sat smoking our pipes, with our eyes fixed upon the glittering water, we suddenly saw a small boat containing three men stealing slowly along in the shadow. "for a moment the rowers rested upon their oars, as if undecided, then pulled forward again in search of a landing-place. as they passed below our window i shouted a challenge. at first there was no response. again i repeated it, when i heard a muttered imprecation in german. "'spies!' i cried to my comrade, and with one accord we raised our rifles and fired. ere the echo of the first shot had died away i saw one man fall into the water, while at the next shot a second man half rose from his seat, threw up his hands, and staggered back wounded. "the firing gave the alarm at the barricade, and ere the boat could approach the bridge, though the survivor pulled for dear life, a maxim spat forth its red fire, and both boat and oarsman were literally riddled. "almost every night similar incidents were reported. the enemy were doing all in their power to learn the exact strength of our defences, but i do not think their efforts were very successful. the surface of the river, every inch of it, was under the careful scrutiny of a thousand watchful eyes. "each day the 'bulletin' of our national association brought us tidings of what was happening outside. "at last, however, the welcome word came to us on the morning of october 4, that at ten that night we were to make a concerted attack upon the germans. a scarlet bill was thrust into my hand, and as soon as the report was known we were all highly excited, and through the day prepared ourselves for the struggle. "a gun sounded from the direction of westminster. we looked at our watches, and found it was ten o'clock. our bugles sounded and we sprang to our positions, as we had done dozens, nay, hundreds of times before. i felt faint, for i had only had half a pint of weak soup all day, for the bread did not go round. nevertheless, the knowledge that we were about to strike the blow inspired me with fresh life and strength. our officer shouted a brief word of command, and next moment we opened a withering fire upon the enemy's barricade in wellington street. "in a moment a hundred rifles and several maxims spat their red fire at us, but as usual the bullets flattened themselves harmlessly before us. then the battery of artillery which sir francis bamford had sent us three days before got into position, and in a few moments began hurling great shells upon the german defences. "behind us was a great armed multitude ready and eager to get at the foe, a huge, unorganised body of fierce, irate londoners, determined upon having blood for blood. from over the river the sound of battle was rising, a great roaring like the sound of a distant sea, with ever and anon the crackling of rifles and the boom of guns, while above the night sky grew a dark blood-red with the glare of a distant conflagration. "for half an hour we pounded away at the barricade in wellington street with our siege guns, maxims, and rifles, until a well-directed shell exploded beneath the centre of the obstruction, blowing open a great gap and sending fragments high into the air. then it seemed that all resistance suddenly ceased. at first we were surprised at this; but on further scrutiny we found that it was not our fire that had routed the enemy, but that they were being attacked in their rear by hosts of armed citizens surging down from kingsway and the strand. "we could plainly discern that the germans were fighting for their lives. into the midst of them we sent one or two shells; but fearing to cause casualties among our own comrades, we were compelled to cease firing. "the armed crowd behind us, finding that we were again inactive, at once demanded that our barricade should be opened, so that they might cross the bridge and assist their comrades by taking the germans in the rear. for ten minutes our officer in charge refused, for the order of general greatorex, commander-in-chief of the league, was that no sortie was to be made at present. however, the south londoners became so infuriated that our commander was absolutely forced to give way, though he knew not into what trap we might fall, as he had no idea of the strength of the enemy in the neighbourhood of the strand. a way was quickly opened in the obstruction, and two minutes later we were pouring across waterloo bridge in thousands, shouting and yelling in triumph as we passed the ruins of the enemy's barricade, and fell upon him with merciless revenge. with us were many women, who were, perhaps, fiercer and more unrelenting than the men. indeed, many a woman that night killed a german with her own hands, firing revolvers in their faces, striking with knives, or even blinding them with vitriol. "the scene was both exciting and ghastly. at the spot where i first fought--on the pavement outside the savoy--we simply slaughtered the germans in cold blood. men cried for mercy, but we gave them no quarter. london had risen in its might, and as our comrades fought all along the strand and around aldwych, we gradually exterminated every man in german uniform. soon the roadways of the strand, wellington street, aldwych, burleigh street, southampton street, bedford street, and right along to trafalgar square, were covered with dead and dying. the wounded of both nationalities were trodden underfoot and killed by the swaying, struggling thousands. the enemy's loss must have been severe in our particular quarter, for of the great body of men from hamburg and lã¼beck holding their end of waterloo bridge i do not believe a single one was spared, even though they fought for their lives like veritable devils. "our success intoxicated us, i think. that we were victorious at that point cannot be doubted, but with foolish disregard for our own safety, we pressed forward into trafalgar square, in the belief that our comrades were similarly making an attack upon the enemy there. the error was, alas! a fatal one for many of us. to fight an organised force in narrow streets is one thing, but to meet him in a large open space with many inlets, like trafalgar square, is another. "the enemy were no doubt awaiting us, for as we poured out from the strand at charing cross we were met with a devastating fire from german maxims on the opposite side of the square. they were holding whitehall--to protect von kronhelm's headquarters--the entrances to spring gardens, cockspur street, and pall mall east, and their fire was converged upon the great armed multitude which, being pressed on from behind, came out into the open square only to fall in heaps beneath the sweeping hail of german lead. "the error was one that could not be rectified. we all saw it when too late. there was no turning back now, i struggled to get into the small side-street that runs down by the bar of the grand hotel, but it was blocked with people already in refuge there. "another instant and i was lifted from my legs by the great throng going to their doom, and carried right in the forefront to the square. women screamed when they found themselves facing the enemy's fire. "the scene was awful--a massacre, nothing more or less. for every german's life we had taken, a dozen of our own were now being sacrificed. "a woman was pushed close to me, her grey hair streaming down her back, her eyes starting wildly from her head, her bony hands smeared with blood. suddenly she realised that right before her red fire was spitting from the german guns. "screaming in despair, she clung frantically to me. "i felt next second a sharp burning pain in my chest.... we fell forward together upon the bodies of our comrades.... when i came to myself i found myself here, in this church, close to where i fell." * * * * * on that same night desperate sorties were made from the london, southwark, and blackfriars bridges, and terrible havoc was committed by the defenders. the german losses were enormous, for the south londoners fought like demons and gave no quarter. chapter iii. great british victory. the following despatch from the war correspondent of the "times" with lord byfield was received on the morning of october 5, but was not published in that journal till some days later, owing to the german censorship, which necessitated its being kept secret:- "willesden, _october_ 4 (evening). "after a bloody but successful combat lasting from early dawn till late in the afternoon, the country to the immediate west of the metropolis has been swept clear of the hated invaders, and the masses of the 'league of defenders' can be poured into the west of london without let or hindrance. in the desperate street fighting which is now going on they will be much more formidable than they were ever likely to be in the open field, where they were absolutely incapable of manoeuvring. as for the saxons--what is left of them--and frã¶lich's cavalry division, with whom we have been engaged all day, they have now fallen back on harrow and hendon, it is said; but it is currently reported that a constant movement towards the high ground near hampstead is going on. these rumours come by way of london, since the enemy's enormous force of cavalry is still strong enough to prevent us getting any first-hand intelligence of his movements. "as has been previously reported, the xiith saxon corps, under the command of prince henry of wã¼rtemberg, had taken up a position intended to cover the metropolis from the hordes of 'defenders' which, supported by a small leaven of regulars, with a proportion of cavalry and guns, were known to be slowly rolling up from the west and south. their front, facing west, extended from staines on the south, to pinner on the north, passing through stanwell, west drayton, and uxbridge. in addition they had a strong reserve in the neighbourhood of hounslow, whose business it was to cover their left flank by keeping watch along the line of the thames. they had destroyed all bridges over the river between staines and hammersmith. putney bridge, however, was still intact, as all attacks on it had been repulsed by the british holding it on the south side. such was the general state of affairs when lord byfield, who had established his headquarters at windsor, formed his plan of attack. "as far as i have been able to ascertain, its general idea was to hold the saxons to their position by the threat of 300,000 defenders that were assembled and were continually increasing along a roughly parallel line to that occupied by the enemy at about ten miles' distance from it, while he attacked their left flank with what regular and militia regiments he could rapidly get together near esher and kingston. by this time the southern lines in the neighbourhood of london were all in working order, the damage that had been done here and there by small parties of the enemy who had made raids across the river having been repaired. it was, therefore, not a very difficult matter to assemble troops from windsor and various points on the south of london at very short notice. "general bamford, to whom had been entrusted the defence of south london, and who had established his headquarters at the crystal palace, also contributed every man he could spare from the remnant of the regular troops under his command. "it was considered quite safe now that the germans in the city were so hardly pressed to leave the defence of the thames bridges to the masses of irregulars who had all along formed the bulk of their defenders. the risk that prince henry of wã¼rtemberg would take the bull by the horns, and by a sudden forward move attack and scatter the inert and invertebrate mass of 'defenders' who were in his immediate front had, of course, to be taken; but it was considered that in the present state of affairs in london he would hardly dare to increase the distance between the saxon corps and the rest of the german army. events proved the correctness of this surmise; but owing to unforeseen circumstances, the course of the battle was somewhat different from that which had been anticipated. "despite the vigilance of the german spies our plans were kept secret till the very end, and it is believed that the great convergence of regular troops that began as soon as it was dark from windsor and from along the line occupied by the army of the league on the west, right round to greenwich on the east, went on without any news of the movement being carried to the enemy. "before dawn this morning every unit was in the position to which it had been previously detailed, and, everything being in readiness, the royal engineers began to throw a pontoon bridge over the thames at the point where it makes a bend to the south just above the site of walton bridge. the enemy's patrols and pickets in the immediate neighbourhood at once opened a heavy fire on the workers, but it was beaten down by that which was poured upon them from the houses in walton-on-thames, which had been quietly occupied during the night. the enemy in vain tried to reinforce them, but in order to do this their troops had to advance into a narrow peninsula which was swept by a cross-fire of shells from batteries which had been placed in position on the south side of the river for this very purpose. "by seven o'clock the bridge was completed, and the troops were beginning to cross over covered by the fire of the artillery and by an advance guard which had been pushed over in boats. simultaneously very much the same thing had been going on at long ditton, and fierce fighting was going on in the avenues and gardens round hampton court. success here, too, attended the british arms. as a matter of fact, a determined attempt to cross the river in force had not at all been anticipated by the germans. they had not credited their opponents with the power of so rapidly assembling an army and assuming an effective and vigorous offensive so soon after their terrible series of disasters. "what they had probably looked for was an attempt to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers. they doubtless calculated that lord byfield would stiffen his flabby masses of 'defenders' with what trained troops he could muster, and endeavour to attack their lines along their whole length, overlapping them on the flank. "they realised that to do this he would have to sacrifice his men in thousands upon thousands, but they knew that to do so would be his only possible chance of success in this eventuality, since the bulk of his men could neither manoeuvre nor deploy. still they reckoned that in the desperate situation of the british, he would make up his mind to do this. "on their part, although they fully realised the possibility of being overwhelmed by such tactics, they felt pretty confident that, posted as they were behind a perfect network of small rivers and streams which ran down to join the thames, they would at least succeed in beating off the attack with heavy loss, and stood no bad chance of turning the repulse into a rout by skilful use of frã¶lich's cavalry division, which would be irresistible when attacking totally untrained troops after they had been shattered and disorganised by artillery fire. this, at least, is the view of those experts with whom i have spoken. "what, perhaps, tended rather to confirm them in their theories as to the action of the british was the rifle firing that went on along the whole of their front all night through. the officers in charge of the various units which conglomerated together formed the forces facing the saxons, had picked out the few men under their command who really had some little idea of using a rifle, and, supplied with plenty of ammunition, had sent them forward in numerous small parties with general orders to approach as near the enemy's picket line as possible, and as soon as fired on to lie down and open fire in return. so a species of sniping engagement went on from dark to dawn. several parties got captured or cut up by the german outlying troops and many others got shot by neighbouring parties of snipers. but, although they did not in all probability do the enemy much damage, yet they kept them on the alert all night, and led them to expect an attack in the morning. one way and another luck was entirely on the side of the patriots that morning. "when daylight came the british massed to the westward of staines had such a threatening appearance from their immense numbers, and their fire from their batteries of heavy guns and howitzers on the south side of the river, which took the german left flank in, was so heavy that prince henry, who was there in person, judged an attack to be imminent, and would not spare a man to reinforce his troops at shepperton and halliford, who were, numerically, totally inadequate to resist the advance of the british once they got across the river. "he turned a deaf ear to the most imploring requests for assistance, but ordered the officer in command at hounslow to move down at once and drive the british into the river. so it has been reported by our prisoners. unluckily for him this officer had his hands quite full enough at this time; for the british, who had crossed at long ditton, had now made themselves masters of everything east of the thames valley branch of the london and south-western railway, were being continually reinforced, and were fast pushing their right along the western bank of the river. "their left was reported to be at kempton park, where they joined hands with those who had effected a crossing near walton-on-thames. more bridges were being built at platt's eyot, tagg's eyot, and sunbury lock, while boats and wherries in shoals appeared from all creeks and backwaters and hiding-places as soon as both banks were in the hands of the british. "regulars, militia, and, lastly, volunteers, were now pouring across in thousands. forward was still the word. about noon a strong force of saxons was reported to be retreating along the road from staines to brentford. they had guns with them, which engaged the field batteries which were at once pushed forward by the british to attack them. these troops, eventually joining hands with those at hounslow, opposed a more determined resistance to our advance than we had hitherto encountered. "according to what we learned subsequently from prisoners and others, they were commanded by prince henry of wã¼rtemberg in person. he had quitted his position at staines, leaving only a single battalion and a few guns as a rearguard to oppose the masses of the 'defenders' who threatened him in that direction, and had placed his troops in the best position he could to cover the retreat of the rest of his corps from the line they had been occupying. he had, it would appear, soon after the fighting began, received the most urgent orders from von kronhelm to fall back on london and assist him in the street fighting that had now been going on without intermission for the best part of two days. von kronhelm probably thought that he would be able to draw off some of his numerous foes to the westward. but the message was received too late. prince henry did his best to obey it, but by this time the very existence of the xiith corps was at stake on account of the totally unexpected attack on his left rear by the british regular troops. "he opposed such a stout resistance with the troops under his immediate command that he brought the british advance to a temporary standstill, while in his rear every road leading londonward was crowded with the rest of his army as they fell back from west drayton, uxbridge, ruislip and pinner. had they been facing trained soldiers they would have found it most difficult, if not impossible, to do this; but as it was the undisciplined and untrained masses of the league of defenders lost a long time in advancing, and still longer in getting over a series of streams and dykes that lay between them and the abandoned saxon position. "they lost heavily, too, from the fire of the small rearguards that had been left at the most likely crossing-places. the saxons were therefore able to get quite well away from them, and when some attempt was being made to form up the thousands of men who presently found themselves congregated on the heath east of uxbridge, before advancing farther, a whole brigade of frã¶lich's heavy cavalry suddenly swept down upon them from behind ickenham village. the _dã©bã¢cle_ that followed was frightful. the unwieldy mass of 'leaguers' swayed this way and that for a moment in the panic occasioned by the sudden apparition of the serried masses of charging cavalry that were rushing down on them with a thunder of hoofs that shook the earth. a few scattered shots were fired, without any perceptible effect, and before they could either form up or fly the german reiters were upon them. it was a perfect massacre. the 'leaguers' could oppose no resistance whatever. they were ridden down and slaughtered with no more difficulty than if they had been a flock of sheep. swinging their long, straight swords, the cavalrymen cut them down in hundreds and drove thousands into the river. the 'defenders' were absolutely pulverised and fled westwards in a huge scattered crowd. but if the germans had the satisfaction of scoring a local victory in this quarter, things were by no means rosy for them elsewhere. prince henry, by desperate efforts, contrived to hold on long enough in his covering position to enable the saxons from the central portion of his abandoned line to pass through hounslow and move along the london road, through brentford. "here disaster befell them. a battery of 4.7 guns was suddenly unmasked on richmond hill, and, firing at a range of 5,000 yards, played havoc with the marching column. the head of it also suffered severe loss from riflemen concealed in kew gardens, and the whole force had to extend and fall back for some distance in a northerly direction. near ealing they met the uxbridge brigade, and a certain delay and confusion occurred. however, trained soldiers such as these are not difficult to reorganise, and while the latter continued its march along the main road the remainder moved in several small parallel columns through acton and turnham green. before another half-hour had elapsed there came a sound of firing from the advanced guard. orders to halt followed, then orders to send forward reinforcements. "during all this time the rattle of rifle fire waxed heavier and heavier. it soon became apparent that every road and street leading into london was barricaded and that the houses on either side were crammed with riflemen. before any set plan of action could be determined on, the retiring saxons found themselves committed to a very nasty bout of street fighting. their guns were almost useless, since they could not be placed in positions from which they could fire on the barricades except so close as to be under effective rifle fire. they made several desperate assaults, most of which were repulsed. in goldhawk road a jã¤egar battalion contrived to rush a big rampart of paving-stones which had been improvised by the british; but, once over, they were decimated by the fire from the houses on either side of the street. big high explosive shells from richmond hill, too, began to drop among the saxons. though the range was long, the gunners were evidently well informed of the whereabouts of the saxon troops and made wonderfully lucky shooting. "for some time the distant rumble of the firing to the south-west had been growing more distinct in their ears, and about four o'clock it suddenly broke out comparatively near by. then came an order from prince henry to fall back on ealing at once. what had happened? it will not take long to relate this. prince henry's covering position had lain roughly between east bedfont and hounslow, facing south-east. he had contrived to hold on to the latter place long enough to allow his right to pivot on it and fall back to cranford bridge. here they were, to a certain extent, relieved from the close pressure they had been subjected to by the constantly advancing british troops, by the able and determined action of frã¶lich's cavalry brigade. "but in the meantime his enemies on the left, constantly reinforced from across the river--while never desisting from their so far unsuccessful attack on hounslow--worked round through twickenham and isleworth till they began to menace his rear. he must abandon hounslow, or be cut off. with consummate generalship he withdrew his left along the line of the metropolitan and district railway, and sent word to the troops on his right to retire and take up a second position at southall green. unluckily for him, there was a delay in transmission, resulting in a considerable number of these troops being cut off and captured. frã¶lich's cavalry were unable to aid them at this juncture, having their attention drawn away by the masses of 'leaguers' who had managed to get over the colne and were congregating near harmondsworth. "they cut these up and dispersed them, but afterwards found that they were separated from the saxons by a strong force of british regular troops who occupied harlington and opened a fire on the reiters that emptied numerous saddles. they, therefore, made off to the northward. from this forward nothing could check the steady advance of the english, though fierce fighting went on till dark all through hanwell, ealing, perivale, and wembley, the saxons struggling gamely to the last, but getting more and more disorganised. had it not been for frã¶lich's division on their right they would have been surrounded. as it was, they must have lost half their strength in casualties and prisoners. "at dark, however, lord byfield ordered a general halt of his tired though triumphant troops, and bivouacked and billeted them along a line reaching from willesden on the right through wembley to greenford. he established his headquarters at wembley. "i have heard some critics say that he ought to have pushed on his freshest troops towards hendon to prevent the remnant of our opponents from re-entering london; but others, with reason, urge that he is right to let them into the metropolis, which they will now find to be merely a trap." * * * * * extracts from the diary of general von kleppen, commander of the ivth german army corps, occupying london:- "dorchester house, park lane, _oct._ 6. "we are completely deceived. our position, much as we are attempting to conceal it, is a very grave one. we believed that if we reached london the british spirit would be broken. yet the more drastic our rule, the fiercer becomes the opposition. how it will end i fear to contemplate. the british are dull and apathetic, but, once roused, they fight like fiends. "last night we had an example of it. this league of defenders, which von kronhelm has always treated with ridicule, is, we have discovered too late, practically the whole of england. von bistram, commanding the viith corps, and von haeslen, of the viiith corps, have constantly been reporting its spread through manchester, leeds, bradford, sheffield, birmingham and the other great towns we now occupy; but our commander-in-chief has treated the matter lightly, declaring it to be a kind of offshoot of some organisation they have in england, called the primrose league.... "yesterday, at the council of war, however, he was compelled to acknowledge his error when i handed him a scarlet handbill calling upon the british to make a concerted attack upon us at ten o'clock. fortunately, we were prepared for the assault, otherwise i verily believe that the honours would have rested with the populace in london. as it is, we suffered considerable reverses in various districts, where our men were lured into the narrow side-streets and cut up. i confess i am greatly surprised at the valiant stand made everywhere by the londoners. last night they fought to the very end. a disaster to our arms in the strand was followed by a victory in trafalgar square, where von wilberg had established defences for the purpose of preventing the joining of the people of the east end with those of the west...." chapter iv. massacre of germans in london. "'daily telegraph' office, "_oct._ 12, 6 p.m. "through the whole of last week the germans occupying london suffered great losses. they are now hemmed in on every side. "at three o'clock this morning, von kronhelm, having withdrawn the greater part of the troops from the defence of the bridges, in an attempt to occupy defensive positions in north london, the south londoners, impatient with long waiting, broke forth and came across the river in enormous multitudes, every man bent upon killing a german wherever seen. "the night air was rent everywhere by the hoarse, exultant shouts as london--the giant, all-powerful city--fell upon the audacious invader. through our office windows came the dull roar of london's millions swelled by the 'defenders' from the west and south of england, and by the gallant men from canada, india, the cape, and other british colonies who had come forward to fight for the mother country as soon as her position was known to be critical. "in the streets are to be seen colonial uniforms side by side with the costermonger from whitechapel or walworth, and dark-faced indians in turbans are fighting out in fleet street and the strand. in the great struggle now taking place many of our reporters and correspondents have unfortunately been wounded, and, alas! four of them killed. "in these terrible days a man's life is not safe from one moment to another. both sides seem to have now lost their heads completely. among the germans all semblance of order has apparently been thrown to the winds. it is known that london has risen to a man, and the enemy are therefore fully aware of their imminent peril. already they are beaten. true, von kronhelm still sits in the war office directing operations--operations he knows too well are foredoomed to failure. "the germans have, it must be admitted, carried on the war in a chivalrous spirit, until those drastic executions exasperated the people. then neither side gave quarter, and now to-day, all through islington, hoxton, kingsland, and dalston, right out eastwards to homerton, a perfect massacre of germans is in progress. "lord byfield has issued two urgent proclamations, threatening the people of london with all sorts of penalties if they kill instead of taking an enemy prisoner, but they seem to have no effect. london is starved and angered to such a pitch, that her hatred knows no bounds, and only blood will atone for the wholesale slaughter of the innocent since the bombardment of the metropolis began. "the kaiser has, we hear, left the 'belvedere,' at scarborough, where he has been living incognito. a confidential report, apparently well founded, has reached us that he embarked upon the steam-trawler _morning star_ at scarborough yesterday, and set out across the dogger, with germany, of course, as his destination. surely he must now regret his ill-advised policy of making an attack upon england. he had gauged our military weakness very accurately, but he had not counted upon the patriotic spirit of our empire. it may be that he has already given orders to von kronhelm, but it is nevertheless a very significant fact that the german wireless telegraph apparatus on the summit of big ben is in constant use by the german commander-in-chief. he is probably in hourly communication with bremen, or with the emperor himself upon the trawler _morning star_. "near highbury fields about noon to-day some british cavalry surprised a party of germans, and attempted to take them prisoners. the latter showed fight, whereupon they were shot down to a man. the british held as prisoners by the germans near enfield have now been released, and are rejoining their comrades along the northern heights. many believe that another and final battle will be fought north of london, but military men declare that the german power is already broken. whether von kronhelm will still continue to lose his men at the rate he is now doing, or whether he will sue for peace, is an open question. personally, he was against the bombardment of london from the very first, yet he was compelled to carry out the orders of his imperial master. the invasion, the landing, and the successes in the north were, in his opinion, quite sufficient to have paralysed british trade and caused such panic that an indemnity would have been paid. to attack london was, in his opinion, a proceeding far too dangerous, and his estimate is now proved to have been the correct one. now that they have lost command of the sea, and are cut off from their bases in essex, the enemy's situation is hopeless. they may struggle on, but assuredly the end can only be an ignominious one. "yet the german eagle still flies proudly over the war office, over st. stephen's, and upon many other public buildings, while upon others british royal standards and union jacks are commencing to appear, each one being cheered by the excited londoners, whose hearts are now full of hope. germany shall be made to bite the dust. that is the war-cry everywhere. many a proud uhlan and cuirassier has to-day ridden to his death amid the dense mobs, mad with the lust of blood. some of the more unfortunate of the enemy have been lynched, and torn limb from limb, while others have died deaths too horrible to here describe in detail. "each hour brings to us further news showing how, by slow degrees, the german army of occupation is being wiped out. people are jeering at the audacious claim for indemnity presented to the british government when the enemy entered london, and are asking whether we will not now present a claim to germany. von kronhelm is not blamed so much as his emperor. he has been the cat's paw, and has burned his fingers in endeavouring to snatch the chestnuts from the fire. "as a commander, he has acted justly, fully observing the international laws concerning war. it was only when faced by the problem of a national uprising that he countenanced anything bordering upon capital punishment. an hour ago our censors were withdrawn. they came and shook hands with many members of the staff, and retired. this surely is a significant fact that von kronhelm hopes to regain the confidence of london by appearing to treat her with a fatherly solicitude. or is it that he intends to sue for peace at any price? "an hour ago another desperate attempt was made on the part of the men of south london, aided by a large body of british regulars, to regain possession of the war office. whitehall was once more the scene of a bloody fight, but so strongly does von kronhelm hold the place and all the adjacent thoroughfares--he apparently regarding it as his own fortress--that the attack was repulsed with heavy loss on our side. "all the bridges are now open, the barricades are in most cases being blown up, and people are passing and repassing freely for the first time since the day following the memorable bombardment. london streets are, however, in a most deplorable condition. on every hand is ruin and devastation. whole streets of houses rendered gaunt and windowless by the now spent fires meet the eye everywhere. in certain places the ruins were still smouldering, and in one or two districts the conflagrations spread over an enormous area. even if peace be declared, can london ever recover from this present wreck? paris recovered, and quickly too. therefore we place our faith in british wealth, british industry, and british patriotism. "yes. the tide has turned. the great revenge now in progress is truly a mad and bloody one. in kilburn this afternoon there was a wholesale killing of a company of german infantry, who, while marching along the high road, were set upon by the armed mob, and practically exterminated. the smaller thoroughfares, brondesbury road, victoria road, glendall road, and priory park road, across to paddington cemetery, were the scene of a frightful slaughter. the germans died hard, but in the end were completely wiped out. german-baiting is now, indeed, the londoner's pastime, and on this dark and rainy afternoon hundreds of men of the fatherland have died upon the wet roads. "sitting here, in a newspaper office, as we do, and having fresh reports constantly before us, we are able to review the whole situation impartially. every moment, through the various news-agencies and our own correspondents and contributors, we are receiving fresh facts--facts which all combine to show that von kronhelm cannot hold out much longer. surely the commander-in-chief of a civilised army will not allow his men to be massacred as they are now being! the enemy's troops, mixed up in the maze of london streets as they are, are utterly unable to cope with the oncoming multitudes, some armed with rifles, and others with anything they can lay their hands upon. "women--wild, infuriated women--have now made their reappearance north of the thames. in more than one instance, where german soldiers have attempted to take refuge in houses, these women have obtained petrol, and, with screams of fiendish delight, set the houses in question on fire. awful dramas are being enacted in every part of the metropolis. the history of to-day is written in german blood. "lord byfield has established temporary headquarters at jack straw's castle, where von kronhelm was during the bombardment, and last night we could see the signals exchanged between hampstead and sydenham hill, from whence general bamford has not yet moved. our cavalry in essex are, it is said, doing excellent work. lord byfield has also sent a body of troops across from gravesend to tilbury, and these have regained maldon and southminster after some hard fighting. advices from gravesend state that further reinforcements are being sent across the river to operate against the east of london and hem in the germans on that side. "so confident is london of success that several of the railways are commencing to reorganise their traffic. a train left willesden this afternoon for birmingham, the first since the bombardment--while another has left finsbury park for peterborough, to continue to york if possible. so wrecked are the london termini, however, that it must be some weeks before trains can arrive or be despatched from either euston, king's cross, paddington, marylebone, or st. pancras. in many instances the line just north of the terminus is interrupted by a blown-up tunnel or a fallen bridge, therefore the termination of traffic must, for the present, be at some distance north on the outskirts of london. "shops are also opening in south london, though they have but little to sell. nevertheless, this may be regarded as a sign of renewed confidence. besides, supplies of provisions are now arriving, and the london county council and the salvation army are distributing free soup and food in the lower-class districts. private charity, everywhere abundant during the trying days of dark despair, is doing inestimable good among every class. the hard, grasping employer and the smug financier, who had hitherto kept scrupulous accounts, and have been noteworthy on account of their uncharitableness, have now, in the hour of need, come forward and subscribed liberally to the great mansion house fund, opened yesterday by the deputy lord mayor of london. the subscription list occupies six columns of the issue of to-morrow's paper, and this, in itself, speaks well for the openheartedness of the moneyed classes of great britain. "no movement has yet been made in the financial world. bankers still remain with closed doors. the bullion seized at southminster and other places is now under strong british guard, and will, it is supposed, be returned to the bank immediately. only a comparatively small sum has yet been sent across to germany. therefore all von kronhelm's strategy has utterly failed. by the invasion, germany has, up to the present moment, gained nothing. she has made huge demands at which we can afford to jeer. true, she has wrecked london, but have we not sent the greater part of her fleet to the bottom of the north sea, and have we not created havoc in german ports? "the leave-taking of our two gold-spectacled censors was almost pathetic. we had come to regard them as necessities to puzzle and to play practical jokes of language upon. to-day for the first time we have received none of those official notices in german, with english translations, which of late have appeared so prominently in our columns. the german eagle is gradually disentangling his talons from london, and means to escape us--if he can." * * * * * 10.30 p.m. "private information has just reached us from a most reliable source that a conference has been arranged between von kronhelm and lord byfield. this evening the german field marshal sent a messenger to the british headquarters at hampstead under a flag of truce. he bore a despatch from the german commander asking that hostilities should be suspended for twenty-four hours, and that they should make an appointment for a meeting during that period. "von kronhelm has left the time and place of meeting to lord byfield, and has informed the british commander that he has sent telegraphic instruction to the german military governors of birmingham, sheffield, manchester, bradford, leeds, northampton, stafford, oldham, wigan, bolton, and other places, giving notice of his suggestion to the british, and ordering that for the present hostilities on the part of the germans shall be suspended. "it seems more than likely that the german field marshal has received these very definite instructions by wireless telegraph from the emperor at bremen or potsdam. "we understand that lord byfield, after a brief consultation by telegraph with the government at bristol, has sent a reply. of its nature, however, nothing is known, and at the moment of writing hostilities are still in progress. "in an hour's time we shall probably know whether the war is to continue, or a truce is to be proclaimed." "midnight. "lord byfield has granted a truce, and hostilities have now been suspended. "london has gone mad with delight, for the german yoke is cast off. further information which has just reached us from private sources states that thousands of prisoners have been taken by lord byfield to-day, and that von kronhelm has acknowledged his position to be absolutely hopeless. "the great german army has been defeated by our british patriots, who have fought so valiantly and so well. it is not likely that the war will be resumed. von kronhelm received a number of british officers at the war office half an hour ago, and it is said that he is already making preparations to vacate the post he has usurped. "lord byfield has issued a reassuring message to london, which we have just received with instructions to print. it declares that although for the moment only a truce is proclaimed, yet this means the absolute cessation of all hostilities. "the naval news of the past few days may be briefly summarised. the british main fleet entered the north sea, and our submarines did most excellent work in the neighbourhood of the maas lightship. prince stahlberger had concentrated practically the whole of his naval force off lowestoft, but a desperate battle was fought about seventy miles from the texel, full details of which are not yet to hand. all that is known is that, having now regained command of the sea, we were enabled to inflict a crushing defeat upon the germans, in which the german flagship was sunk. in the end sixty-one british ships were concentrated against seventeen german, with the result that the german fleet has practically been wiped out, there being 19,000 of the enemy's officers and men on the casualty list, the greatest recorded in any naval battle. "whatever may be the demands for indemnity on either side, one thing is absolutely certain, namely, that the invincible german army and navy are completely vanquished. the eagle's wings are trailing in the dust." chapter v. how the war ended. days passed--weary, waiting, anxious days. a whole month went by. what had really happened at sea was unknown. after the truce, london very gradually began to resume her normal life, though the gaunt state of the streets was indescribably weird. shops began to open, and as each day passed, food became more plentiful and consequently less dear. the truce meant the end of the war, therefore thanksgiving services were held in every town and village throughout the country. there were great prison-camps of germans at hounslow, brentwood, and barnet, while von kronhelm and his chief officers were also held as prisoners until some decision through diplomatic channels could be arrived at. meanwhile a little business began to be done; thousands began to resume their employment, bankers reopened their doors, and within a week the distress and suffering of the poor became perceptibly alleviated. the task of burying the dead after the terrible massacre of the germans in the london streets had been a stupendous one, but so quickly had it been accomplished that an epidemic was happily averted. parliament moved back to westminster, and daily meetings of the cabinet were being held in downing street. these resulted in the resignation of the ministry, and with a fresh cabinet, in which mr. gerald graham, the organiser of the defenders, was given a seat, a settlement was at last arrived at. to further describe the chaotic state of england occasioned by the terrible and bloody war would serve no purpose. the loss and suffering which it had caused the country had been incalculable; statisticians estimated that in one month of hostilities it had amounted to â£500,000,000, a part of which represented money transferred from british pockets to german, as the enemy had carried off some of the securities upon which the german troops had laid their hands in london. let us for a moment take a retrospective glance. consols were at 50; bread was still 1_s._ 6_d._ per loaf; and the ravages of the german commerce-destroyers had sent up the cost of insurance on british shipping sky-high. money was almost unprocurable; except for the manufacture of war material, there was no industry; and the suffering and distress among the poor could not be exaggerated. in all directions men, women, and children had been starving. the mercantile community were loud in their outcry for "peace at any price," and the pro-german and stop-the-war party were equally vehement in demanding a cessation of the war. they found excuses for the enemy, and forgot the frightful devastation and loss which the invasion had caused to the country. they insisted that the working class gained nothing, even though the british fleet was closely blockading the german coast, and their outcry was strengthened when a few days after the blockade of the elbe had begun, two british battleships were so unfortunate as to strike german mines, and sink with a large part of their crews. the difficulty of borrowing money for the prosecution of the war was a grave obstacle in the way of the party of action, and preyed upon the mind of the british government. socialism, with its creed of "thou shalt have no other god but thyself," and its doctrine, "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," had replaced the religious beliefs of a generation of englishmen taught to suffer and to die sooner than surrender to wrong. in the hour of trial, amidst smoking ruins, among the holocausts of dead which marked the prolonged, bloody, and terrible battles on land and at sea, the spirit of the nation quailed, and there was really no great leader to recall it to ways of honour and duty. the wholesale destruction of food, and particularly of wheat and meat, removed from the world's market a large part of its supplies, and had immediately sent up the cost of food everywhere, outside the united kingdom as well as in it. at the same time, the attacks upon shipping laden with food increased the cost of insurance to prohibitive prices upon vessels freighted for the united kingdom. the underwriters after the first few captures by the enemy would not insure at all except for fabulous rates. the withdrawal of all the larger british cruisers for the purpose of defeating the main german fleets in the north sea left the commerce-destroyers a free hand, and there was no force to meet them. the british liners commissioned as commerce-protectors were too few and too slow to be able to hold their adversaries in check. neutral shipping was molested by the german cruisers. whenever raw cotton or food of any kind was discovered upon a neutral vessel bound for british ports, the vessel was seized and sent into one or other of the german harbours on the west coast of africa. the united kingdom, indeed, might have been reduced to absolute starvation had it not been for the fact that the canadian government interfered in canada to prevent similar german tactics from succeeding, and held the german contracts for the cornering of canadian wheat, contrary to public policy. the want of food, the high price of bread and meat in england, and the greatly increased cost of the supplies of raw material sent up the expenditure upon poor relief to enormous figures. millions of men were out of employment, and in need of assistance. mills and factories in all directions had closed down, either because of the military danger from the operations of the german armies, or because of the want of orders, or, again, because raw materials were not procurable. unfortunately, when the invasion began, many rich foreigners who had lived in england collected what portable property they possessed and retired abroad to switzerland, italy, and the united states. their example was followed by large numbers of british subjects who had invested abroad, and now, in the hour of distress, were able to place their securities in a handbag and withdraw them to happier countries. they may justly be blamed for this want of patriotism, but their reply was that they had been unjustly and mercilessly taxed by men who derided patriotism, misused power, and neglected the real interests of the nation in the desire to pander to the mob. moreover, with the income-tax at 3_s._ 6_d._ in the pound, and with the cost of living enormously enhanced, they declared that it was a positive impossibility to live in england, while into the bargain their lives were exposed to danger from the enemy. as a result of this wholesale emigration, in london and the country the number of empty houses inordinately increased, and there were few well-to-do people left to pay the rates and taxes. the fearful burden of the extravagant debts which the british municipalities had heaped up was cruelly felt, since the nation had to repudiate the responsibility which it had incurred for the payment of interest on the local debts. the socialist dream, in fact, might almost be said to have been realised. there were few rich left, but the consequences to the poor, instead of being beneficial, were utterly disastrous. under the pressure of public opinion, constrained by hunger and financial necessities, and with thousands of german prisoners in their hands, the british government acceded to the suggested conference to secure peace. * * * * * peace was finally signed on january 13, 1911. the british empire emerged from the conflict outwardly intact, but internally so weakened that only the most resolute reforms accomplished by the ablest and boldest statesmen, could have restored it to its old position. germany, on the other hand, emerged with an additional 21,000 miles of european territory, with an extended seaboard on the north sea, fronting the united kingdom at rotterdam and the texel, and, it was calculated, with a slight pecuniary advantage. practically the entire cost of the war had been borne by england. as is always the case, the poor suffered most. the socialists, who had declared against armaments, were faithless friends of those whom they professed to champion. their dream of a golden age proved utterly delusive. but the true authors of england's misfortunes escaped blame for the moment, and the army and navy were made the scapegoats of the great catastrophe. when success did come, it came too late, and could not be utilised without a great british army capable of carrying the war into the enemy's country, and thus compelling a satisfactory peace. the end. printed by william clowes and sons, limited, london and beccles. * * * * * transcriber's note obvious punctuation errors were corrected. hyphens removed: "hill[-]side" (page 152), "look[-]out" (page 221), "mid[-]day" (page 149), "night[-]fall" (page 157), "rear[-]guard" (page 142), "sharp[-]shooters" (page 191), "wide[-]spread (page 230). hyphen added: "by[-]ways" (page 224). the following words appear both with and without hyphens and have not been changed: "back[-]waters", "motor[-]omnibuses", "pickel[-]haubes". page 43: the double quotation mark after "well, mr. mayor," was changed to a single quotation mark. page 50: "communciation" changed to "communication" (established direct communication). page 60: "to" changed to "the" (came the viith army corps). page 76: "thei" changed to "their" (some of their field batteries). page 85: "aryglls" changed to "argylls". page 89: "squardon" changed to "squadron" (squadron after squadron). page 143: "fellow" changed to "fellows" (hundreds of poor fellows). page 166: "fo" changed to "for" (for our salvation). page 178: "shepheard's bush" changed to "shepherd's bush". page 187: "rosyln hill" changed to "roslyn hill". page 253: added "as" (and as soon as fired on). the message [illustration: "i saw that queen of ancient britons at the head of her wild, shaggy legions" (_see page 233_)] the message _by_ a. j. dawson _author of_ "hidden manna," "african nights entertainments," "daniel whyte," "god's foundling," "ronald kestrel," etc. _illustrated from color sketches_ _by_ h. m. brock [device] dana estes & company, boston e. grant richards, london _copyright, april 17, 1907_ by dana estes & company _all rights reserved_ _entered at stationers' hall_ colonial press electrotyped and printed by c. h. simonds & co. boston, u.s.a. contents part i.--the descent chapter page i. in the making 3 ii. at the water's edge 12 iii. an interlude 17 iv. the launching 29 v. a journalist's equipment 41 vi. a journalist's surroundings 53 vii. a girl and her faith 66 viii. a stirring week 78 ix. a step down 90 x. facilis descensus averni 101 xi. morning callers 111 xii. saturday night in london 121 xiii. the demonstration in hyde park 131 xiv. the news 143 xv. sunday night in london 153 xvi. a personal revelation 163 xvii. one step forward 168 xviii. the dear loaf 177 xix. the tragic week 188 xx. black saturday 198 xxi. england asleep 208 part ii.--the awakening i. the first days 221 ii. ancient lights 228 iii. the return to london 237 iv. the conference 243 v. my own part 257 vi. preparations 262 vii. the sword of the lord 271 viii. the preachers 291 ix. the citizens 301 x. small figures on a great stage 312 xi. the spirit of the age 317 xii. blood is thicker than water 330 xiii. one summer morning 338 xiv. "for god, our race, and duty" 343 xv. "single heart and single sword" 352 xvi. hands across the sea 360 xvii. the penalty 366 xviii. the peace 374 xix. the great alliance 383 xx. peace hath her victories 389 list of illustrations page "i saw that queen of ancient britons at the head of her wild, shaggy legions" _frontispiece_ the roaring city 40 "rivers ushered in miss constance grey" 114 "i was on my knees and kissing the nerveless hand" 212 part i the descent non his juventus orta parentibus infecit aequor sanguine punico.--horace. the message i in the making "such as i am, sir--no great subject for a boaster, i admit--you see in me a product of my time, sir, and of very worthy parents, i assure you."--ezekiel joy. as a very small lad, at home in tarn regis, i had but one close chum, george stairs, and he went off with his father to canada, while i was away for my first term at elstree school. then came rugby, where i had several friends, but the chief of them was leslie wheeler. just why we should have been close friends i cannot say, but i fancy it was mainly because leslie was such a handsome fellow, and always seemed to cut a good figure in everything he did; while i, on the other hand, excelled in nothing, and was not brilliant even in the expression of my discontent, which was tolerably comprehensive. withal, in other matters beside discontent, i was a good deal of an extremist, and by no means lacking in enthusiasm. my father, too, was an enthusiast in his quiet way. his was the enthusiasm of the student, and his work as historian and archæologist absorbed, i must suppose, a great deal more of his interest and energy than was ever given to his cure of souls. he was rector of tarn regis, in dorset, before i was born, and at the time of his death, to be present at which i was called away in the middle of the last term of my third year at cambridge. i was to have spent four years at the university; but, as the event proved, i never returned there after my hurried departure, three days prior to my father's death. the personal tie between my father and those among whom he lived and worked was not a very close or intimate bond. his contribution to the cambridge history was greatly appreciated by scholars, and his archæological research won him the respect and esteem of his peers in that branch of study. but i cannot pretend that his loss was keenly felt by his parishioners, with most of whom his relations had been strictly professional rather than personal. a good man and true, without a trace of anything sordid or self-seeking in his nature, my father was yet singularly indifferent to everything connected with the daily lives and welfare of his fellow creatures. in this he was typical of a considerable section of the country clergy of the time. i knew colleagues of his who were more pronounced examples of the type. one in particular i call to mind (whose living was in the gift of a cambridge college, like my father's), who, though a good fellow and a clean-lived gentleman, was no more a christian than he was a buddhist--less, upon the whole. among scholarly folk he made not the slightest pretence of regarding the fundamental tenets of the christian faith in the light of anything more serious than interesting historical myths, notable sections in the mosaic of folk-lore, which it was his pride and delight to study and understand. such men as a---r---and my father (and there were many like them, and more who shared their aloofness while lacking half their virtues) lived hard-working, studious lives, in which the common kinds of self-indulgence played but a very small part. honourable, kindly at heart, gentle, rarely consciously selfish, these worthy men never gave a thought to the current affairs of their country, to their own part as citizens, or to the daily lives of their fellow countrymen. indeed, they exhibited a kind of gentle intolerance and contempt in all topical concerns; and though they preached religion and drew stipends as expounders of christianity, they no more thought of "prying" or "interfering," as they would have said, into the actual lives and hearts and minds of those about them, than of thrusting their hands into their parishioners' pockets. stated in this bald way the thing may sound incredible, but those whose recollections carry them back to the opening years of the century will bear me out in saying that this was far from being either the most distressing or the most remarkable among the outworkings of what was then extolled as a broad spirit of tolerance. our "tolerance," our vaunted "cosmopolitanism," were far more dangerous factors of our national life, had we but known it, than either the insularity of our sturdy forbears or the strength of our enemies had ever been. even my dear mother did not, i think, feel the shock of her bereavement so much as might have been supposed. one may say, without disrespect, that the loss of my father gave point and justification to my mother's attitude toward life. kind, gentle soul that she was, my mother was afflicted with what might be called the worrying temperament; a disposition characteristic of that troublous time. my memory seems to fasten upon the matter of domestic labour as representing the crux and centre of my dear mother's grievances and topics of lament prior to my father's death. the subject may seem to border upon the ridiculous, as an influence upon one's general point of view; but at that time it was really more tragic than farcical, and i know that what was called "the servant question"--as such it was gravely treated in books and papers, and even by leader-writers and lecturers--formed the basis of a great deal of my mother's conversation, just as i am sure that it coloured her outlook upon life, and strengthened her tendency to worry over everything, from the wear-and-tear of house-linen to the morality of the people. all this was incomprehensible and absurd to my father, though, had he but thought of it, it was really more human than his own attitude; for certainly my mother was interested and concerned in the daily lives of her fellow creatures, though not in a cheering or illuminating manner perhaps. but, as i say, the deprecatory, worrying attitude had become second nature with my mother long years before her widowhood, and had lined and seamed her poor forehead and silvered her hair before my rugby days were over. bereavement merely gave point to a mood already well established. that i should not return to cambridge was decided as a matter of course within the week of my father's funeral, when we learned that the little he had left behind him would not even pay for the dilapidations of the rectory. there was practically nothing, when my father's affairs were put in order, beyond my mother's little property, a recent legacy, the investment of which in canadian railway stocks brought in about a hundred and fifty a year. thus i found myself confronted with a sufficiently serious situation for a young man whose training so far had no more fitted him for taking part in any particular division of the battle of life, where the prize sought is an income, than for the administration of the planet mars. rugby was better than some of the great public schools in this respect, for a lad with definite purposes and ambitions, but its curriculum had far less bearing upon the working life of the age than it had upon its games and pastimes and the affairs of nations and peoples long since passed away. yet rugby belonged to a group of schools that were admittedly the best, and certainly the most outrageously costly, of the educational establishments of the period. i think my sister lucy was more shocked than any one else by the death of our father. i say shocked, because i am not certain whether or not the word grieved would apply accurately. for one thing, lucy had never before seen any dead person. neither had i, for that matter; but lucy was more affected by the actual presence in the house of death, than i was. twice a day for years she had kissed our father's forehead. now and again she had sat upon the arm of his chair and stroked his thin hair. these demonstrations were connected, i believe, with the quest of favours--permission, money, and so forth; but doubtless affection played a part in them. as for lucy's home life, a little conversation i recall on the occasion of her driving me to the station when i was leaving for what proved my last term at cambridge, seems to me to throw some light. i had but recently learned of lucy's engagement to marry doctor woodthrop, of davenham minster, our nearest market-town. i had found woodthrop a decent fellow enough, but thirty-four as against lucy's twenty-one, inclining ominously to corpulence, and as flatly prosaic and unadventurous a spirit as a small country town could produce. now, as lucy seemed to me to have hankerings in the direction of social pleasures and the like, with a penchant for brilliancy and daring, i was a little puzzled about her engagement, for woodthrop was one who kept a few conversational pleasantries on hand, as a man keeps old pipes on a rack, for periodical use at suitable times. "so you are actually going to be married, loo?" i said. "oh, well, engaged, dick," she replied, with a little blush. "with a view, i presume. then i suppose it follows that you are in love--h'm?" "why, dick, what a cross-examiner you are!" the blush increased. "well, my dear girl, surely it's a natural assumption, is it not?" "oh, i suppose so. but----" "yes?" "well, i don't think in real life it's the same thing that you read about in novels, do you, dick?" "what? being in love?" "yes." "well, perhaps not; but i imagine it ought to be something pretty pronounced, you know, even in such a pale reflection of the novels as real life. i gather that it ought to be; seriously, loo, i think it ought to be. i suppose you do love woodthrop, don't you?" my sister looked a little distressed, and i half-regretted having put so direct a question. i was sufficiently the product of my day to be terribly afraid of any kind of interference with my fellow creatures. our apotheosis of individual liberty had made any such action anathema, "bad form," a sin more resented in the sinner than cowardice or dishonesty, or than any kind of wickedness which was strictly personal and, as you might say, self-contained. our one object of universal reverence and respect was the personal equation. "there, loo," i said, "i didn't mean to tease you." thus, in accordance with my traditions, i brushed aside and apologized for my natural interest in her well-being in the same way that my poor father and his like brushed away all matters of topical import, and the average man of the period brushed aside all concern with his fellow men, all responsibility for the common weal. "no," she said, "i know you didn't. and, indeed, dick, i suppose i don't love herbert as well as i ought; but--but, dick, you don't know what it is to be a girl. you can go off to cambridge, and presently you will go out into the world and live your own life in your own way. but it's different for me, dick. a girl is not supposed to want to live her own life; she is just part of the home, and the home----. well, dick, you know father's life, and mother--poor mother----" "yes," i said, "that's so." "well, dick, i'm afraid it seems pretty selfish, but i do want to live my own way, and i do get terribly tired of--of----" "of the 'servant question,' for instance." "exactly." "and you think you can live your own life with woodthrop?" "why, i think he is very kind and good, dick, and he says there's no reason why i shouldn't hunt, if i can manage with one mount, and we can have friends of mine to stay, and--and so on." "yes, i see. you will be mistress of a house." "and, of course, i like him very much, dick; he really is good." "yes." that was how lucy felt about her marriage. there seemed to me to be a good deal lacking; but then i was rather given to concentrating my attention upon flaws and gaps. and when i was next at home, at the time of my father's death, i could not help feeling that the engagement was something to be thankful for. a hundred and fifty a year would mean a good deal of pinching for my mother alone, as things went then; but for mother and lucy together it would have been painfully short commons. life, even in the country, was an expensive business at that time despite the current worship of cheapness and of "free" trade, as our quixotic fiscal policy was called. the sum total of our wants and fancied wants had been climbing steadily, while our individual capability in domestic and other simple matters had been on the decline for a long while. in the end we decided that my mother and lucy should establish themselves in apartments on the outskirts of davenham minster, which apartments would serve my mother permanently, with the relinquishment of a single room after lucy's marriage. i saw them both established, gathered my few personal belongings in a trunk and a couple of bags, and started for london on a brilliantly fine morning toward the end of june. at that time a young man went to london as a matter of course, when launching out for himself. it was not that folk liked living in the huge city (though, curiously enough, many did), but they gravitated toward it because the great aim, always, and in those conditions necessarily, was to make money. there was more money "knocking about," so people said, in london than anywhere else; so that was the place for which one made. i started for london with a capital of precisely eleven guineas over and above my railway fare--and left it again on the same day. ii at the water's edge "now a little before them, there was on the left-hand of the road, a meadow, and a stile to go over into it, and that meadow is called by-path-meadow."--_the pilgrim's progress._ my friend, leslie wheeler, had left cambridge a few months before my summons home, in order to enter his father's office in moorgate street. his father was of the mysteriously named tribe of "financial agents," and had evidently found it a profitable calling. as i never understood anything of even the nomenclature of finance, i will not attempt to describe the business into which my friend had been absorbed; but i remember that it afforded occupation for dozens of gentlemanly young fellows, the correctness of whose _coiffure_ and general appearance was beyond praise. these beautifully groomed young gentlemen sat upon high stools at desks of great brilliancy. they used an ingenious arrangement of foolscap paper to protect their shirt-cuffs from contact with baser things, and one of the reasons for the evident care lavished upon the disposition of their hair may have been the fact that they made it a point of honour to go hatless when taking the air or out upon business during the day. their general appearance and deportment in the office and outside always conveyed to me the suggestion that they were persons of some wealth and infinite leisure; but i have been assured that they were hard-working clerks, whose salaries, even in these simpler days, would not be deemed extravagant. these salaries, i have been told, worked out at an average of perhaps £120 or £130 a year. now london meant no more to me at that time than a place where, upon rare occasions, one dined in splendour, went to a huge and gilded music-hall, cultivated a bad headache, and presently sought to ease it by eating a nightmarish supper, and eating it against time. my allowance at cambridge had, no doubt fortunately for my digestion, allowed of but few excursions to the capital; but my friend wheeler lived within twenty miles of it, and i figured him already burgeoning as a magnate of moorgate street. therefore i had of course written to him of my proposed descent upon the metropolis, and had been very kindly invited to spend a week at his father's house in weybridge before doing anything else. accordingly then, having reached waterloo by a fast train, i left most of my effects in the cloak-room there, and taking only one bag, journeyed down to weybridge. my friend welcomed me in person in the hall of his father's big and rather showy house, he having returned from the city earlier than usual for that express purpose. i had already met his mother and two sisters upon four separate occasions at cambridge. indeed, i may say that i had almost corresponded with leslie's second sister, sylvia. at all events, we had exchanged half a dozen letters, and i had even begged, and obtained, a photograph. at cambridge i thought i had detected in this delicately pretty, soft-spoken girl, some sympathy and fellow-feeling in the matter of my own crude gropings toward a philosophy of life. you may be sure i did not phrase it in that way then. the theories upon which my discontent with the prevailing order of things was based, seemed to me then both strong and practical; a little ahead of my time perhaps, but far from crude or unformed. as i see it now, my creed was rather a protest against indifference, a demand for some measure of activity in social economy. that my muse was socialistic seems to me now to have been mainly accidental, but so it was, and its nutriment had been drawn largely from such sources as carpenter's _civilization: its cause and cure_, in addition to the standard works of the socialist leaders. it is quite possible that one of the reasons of my continued friendship with leslie wheeler was the fact that, in his agreeable manner, he represented in person much of the butterfly indifference to what i considered the serious problems of life, against which my fulminations were apt to be directed. i may have clung to him instinctively as a wholesome corrective. at all events, he submitted, in the main good-humouredly, to my frequently personal diatribes, and, by his very complaisance and merry indifference, supplied me again and again with point and illustration for my sermons. leslie's elder sister, marjory, was his counterpart in petticoats; merry, frivolous, irresponsible, devoted to the chase of pleasure, and obdurately bent upon sparing neither thought nor energy over other interests; denying their very existence indeed, or good-humouredly ridiculing them when they were forced upon her. she was a very handsome girl; i was conscious of that; but, perhaps because i could not challenge her as i did her brother, her character made no appeal to me. but sylvia, on the other hand, with her big, spiritual-looking eyes, transparently fair skin, and earnest, even rapt expression; sylvia stirred my adolescence pretty deeply, and was assiduously draped by me in that cloth of gold and rose-leaves which every young man is apt to weave from out of his own inner consciousness for the persons of those representatives of the opposite sex in whom he detects sympathy and responsiveness. mrs. wheeler spoke in a kind and motherly way of my bereavement, and the generosity of youth somehow prevented my appreciation of this being dulled by the fact that, until reminded, she had forgotten whether i had lost a father or a mother. indeed, though not greatly interested in other folk's affairs, i believe that while the good soul's eyes rested upon the supposed sufferer, or his story, she was sincerely sorry about any kind of trouble, from her pug's asthma to the annihilation of a multitude in warfare or disaster. she had the kindest heart, and no doubt it was rather her misfortune than her fault that she could not clearly realize any circumstance or situation which did not impinge in some way upon her own small circle. i met leslie's father for the first time at dinner that evening. one could hardly have imagined him sparing time for visits to cambridge. he was a fine, soldierly-looking man, with no trace of city pallor in his well-shaven, purple cheeks. purple is hardly the word. the ground was crimson, i think, and over that there was spread a delicate tracery, a sort of netted film, of some kind of blue. the eyes had a glaze over them, but were bright and searching. the nose was a salient feature, having about it a strong predatory suggestion. the forehead was low, surmounted by exquisitely smooth iron-gray hair. mr. wheeler was scrupulously fine in dress, and used a single eye-glass. he gave me hearty welcome, and i prefer to think that the apparent chilling of his attitude to me after he had learned of my financial circumstances was merely the creation of some morbid vein of hyper-sensitiveness in myself. at all events, we were all very jolly together that evening, and i went happily to bed, after what i thought a hint of responsive pressure in my handshake with sylvia, and several entertaining anecdotes from mr. wheeler as to the manner in which fortunes had been made in the purlieus of throgmorton street. launching oneself upon a prosperous career in london seemed an agreeably easy process at the end of that first evening in the wheeler's home, and the butterfly attitude toward life appeared upon the whole less wholly blameworthy than before. what a graceful fellow leslie was, and how suave and genial the father when he sat at the head of his table toying with a glass of port! and these were capable men, too, men of affairs. doubtless their earnestness was strong enough below the surface, i thought--for that night. iii an interlude "to observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake." pope. though in no sense unfriendly or lacking in sympathy, i noticed that leslie wheeler showed no inclination to be drawn into intimate discussion of my prospects. i was not inclined to blame my friend for this, but told myself that he probably acted upon paternal instructions. for me, however, it was impossible to lay aside for long, thoughts regarding my immediate future. i was aware that a nest-egg of eleven or twelve pounds was not a very substantial barrier between oneself and want. mr. wheeler told no more stories of fortunes built out of nothing in the city, but he did take occasion to refer casually to the fact that city men did not greatly care for the products of public schools and universities, as employees. i was more than half-inclined to ask why, in this case, leslie had been sent to rugby and cambridge, but decided to avoid the personal application of his remark. it was, after all, no more than the expression of a commonly accepted view, striking though it seems as a comment upon the educational system of the period, when one remembers the huge proportion of the middle and upper-class populace which was absorbed by commercial callings of one kind or another. there was practically no demand for physical prowess or aptitude, outside the field of sport and games, nor even for those qualities which are best served by a good physical training. one need not, therefore, be greatly surprised that the public schools should have given no physical training outside games, and that even of the most perfunctory character, the majority qualifying as interested spectators merely, of the prowess of the minority. but it certainly is remarkable, that no practical business training, nor studies of a sort calculated to be of use in later business training, should have been given in the schools most favoured by those for whom business was a life's calling. in this, as in so many other matters, i suppose we were guided and directed entirely by habit and tradition; the line of least resistance. when i talked of my prospects with handsome leslie wheeler--his was his father's face, unblemished and unworn--our conversation was always three parts jocular, at all events upon his side. i was to recast society and mould our social system anew by means of my pen, and of journalism. i was to provide "the poor blessed poor" with hot-buttered rolls and devilled kidneys for breakfast, said leslie, and introduce old-age pensions for every british workman who survived his twenty-first birthday. i would not be understood to suggest that this sort of facetiousness indicated the average attitude of the period with regard to the horrible fact that the country contained millions of people permanently in a state of want and privation. but it was a quite possible attitude then. such people as my friend could never have mocked the sufferings of an individual. but with regard to the state of affairs, the pitiful millions, as an abstract proposition, indifference was the rule, a tone of light cynicism was customary, and "the poor we have always with us," quoted with a deprecatory shrug, was an accepted conversational refuge, even among such people as the clergy and charitable workers. and this, if one comes to think of it, was inevitable. the life and habits and general attitude of the period would have been absolutely impossible, in conjunction with any serious face-to-face consideration of a situation which embraced, for example, such preposterously contradictory elements as these: the existence of huge and growing armies of absolutely unemployed men; the insistence of the populace, and particularly the business people, upon the disbandment of regiments, and upon great naval and military reductions, involving further unemployment; the voting of considerable sums for distribution among the unemployed; violent opposition to the mere suggestion of state aid to enable the unemployed of england to migrate to those parts of the empire which actually needed their labour; the increasing difficulty of the problem which was wrapped up in the question of "what to do with our sons"; the absolute refusal of the nation to admit of universal military service; the successive closing by tariff of one foreign market after another against british manufactures, and the hysterical refusal of the people to protect their own markets from what was graphically called the "dumping" into them of the surplus products of other peoples. it is a queer catalogue, with a ring of insanity about it; but these were the merest commonplaces of life at that time, and the man who rebelled against them was a crank. my friend leslie's attitude was natural enough, therefore; and, with a few exceptions, it was my own, for, curiously enough, the political school i favoured was, root and branch, opposed to the only possible remedies for this situation. liberals, radicals, socialists, and the majority of those who arrogated to themselves the title of social reformers; these were the people who insisted, if not upon the actual evils and sufferings indicated in this illustrative note of social contradictions, then upon violent opposition to their complements in the way of mitigation and relief. and i was keenly of their number. many of these matters i discussed, or perhaps i should say, dilated upon, in conversation with sylvia, while her brother and father were in london. we would begin with racquets in the tennis-court, and end late for some meal, after long wanderings among the pines. and in sylvia, as it seemed to me, i found the most delightfully intelligent responsiveness, as well as sympathy. my knowledge of feminine nature, its extraordinary gifts of emotional and personal intuition, was of the scantiest, if it had any existence at all. but my own emotional side was active, and my mind an inchoate mass of ideals and more or less sentimental longings for social betterment. and so, with sylvia's gentle acquiescence, i rearranged the world. much i have forgotten, and am thus spared the humiliation of recounting. but, as an example of what i recall, i remember a conversation which arose from our passing a miniature rifle-range which some local resident--"some pompous jingo of retrogressive tendencies," i called him--had erected with a view to tempting young weybridge into marksmanship; a tolerably forlorn prospect at that time. "is it not pathetic," i said, "in twentieth-century england, to see such blatant attacks upon progress as that?" sylvia nodded gravely; sweetly sympathetic understanding, as i saw it. and, after all, why not? understanding of my poor bubbling mind, anyhow, and--nature's furnishing of young women's minds is a mighty subtle business, not very much more clearly understood to-day than in the era of knight-errantry. sylvia nodded gravely, as i spurned the turf by the range. "here we are surrounded by quagmires of poverty, injustice, social anomalies, and human distress, and this poor soul--a rich pork-butcher, angling for the favours of a moribund political party, i dare say--lavishes heaven knows how many pounds over an arrangement by which young men are to be taught how to kill each other with neatness and despatch at a distance of half a mile! it is more tragical than farcical. it is enough to make one despair of one's fellow countrymen, with their silly bombast about 'empire,' and their childish waving of flags. 'empire,' indeed; god save the mark! and our own little country groaning, women and children wailing, for some measure of common-sense internal reform!" "it is dreadful, dreadful," said sylvia. my heart leapt out to meet the gentle goodness of her. "but still, i suppose there must be soldiers," she added. of course, this touched me off as a spark applied to tinder. "but that is just the whole crux of the absurdity, and as long as so unreal a notion is cherished we can never be freed from the slavery of these huge armaments. soldiers are only necessary if war is necessary, and war can only be necessary while men are savages. the differences between masters and men are far more vital and personal than the differences between nations; yet they have long passed the crude stage of thirsting for each other's destruction as a means of settling quarrels. war is a relic of barbarous days. so long as armies are maintained, unscrupulous politicians will wage war. if we, who call ourselves the greatest nation in christendom, would even deserve the credit of plain honesty, we must put away savagery, and substitute boards of arbitration for armies and navies." "yes, i see," said sylvia, her face alight with interest, "i feel that must be the true, the christian view. but suppose the other nations would not agree to arbitration?" "but there is not a doubt they would. can you suppose that any people are so insensate as really to like war, carnage, slaughter, for their own sake, when peaceful alternatives are offered?" "no, i suppose not; and, indeed, i feel that all you say is true, mr. mordan." "please don't say 'mr. mordan,' sylvia. even your mother and sister call me dick. no, no, the other nations would be only too glad to follow our lead, and we, as the greatest power, should take that lead. what could their soldiers do to a soldierless people, anyhow; and even if we lost at the beginning, why, 'what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?' of what use is the dominion of a huge, unwieldy empire when even a tiny country like this is so administered that a quarter of its population live always on the verge of starvation? let the empire go, let army and navy go, let us concentrate our energies upon the arts of peace, science, education, the betterment of the conditions of life among the poor, the right division of the land among those that will till it. let us do that, and the world would have something to thank us for, and we should soon hear the last of these noisy, ranting idiots who are eternally waving flags like lunatics and mouthing absurd phrases about imperialism and patriotism, national destiny, and rubbish of that sort. our duty is to humanity, and not to any decayed symbols of feudalism. the talk of patriotism and imperialism is a gigantic fraud, and the tyranny of it makes our names hated throughout the world. we have no right to enforce our sway upon the peace-loving farmers and the ignorant blacks of south africa. they rightly hate us for it, and so do the millions of india, upon whom our yoke is held by armies of soldiers who have to be maintained by their victims. it casts one down to think of it, just as the sight of those ridiculous rifle-butts and the thought of the diseased sentiment behind them depresses one." "it all seems very mad and wrong, but--but i wish you would not take it so much to heart," said sylvia. "that is very sweet of you," i told her; "and, indeed, there is not so much real cause to be downhearted. the last elections showed clearly enough that the majority of our people are alive to all this. the leaven of enlightenment is working strongly among the people, and the old tyranny of jingoism is dying fast. one sees it in a hundred ways. boer independence has as warm friends in our parliament as on the veld. the rising movements of internationalism, of pan-islam, the swadeshi movement, the rising toward freedom in india; all these are largely directed from westminster. the jingo sentiment toward germany, a really progressive nation, full of natural and healthy ambitions, is being swept away by our own statesmen; by their courteous and friendly attitude toward the kaiser, who delights to honour our present minister of war. also, the work of disarmament has begun. the naval estimates are being steadily pruned, and whole regiments have been finally disbanded. and all this comes from within. so you see we have some grounds for hopefulness. it is a great step forward, for our own elected leaders to show the enthusiastic and determined opposition they are showing to the old brutal pretensions of england to sway the world by brute strength. but, forgive me! perhaps i tire you with all this--sylvia." "no, no, indeed you don't--dick, i--i think it is beautiful. it--it seems to make everything bigger, more kind and good. it interests me, immensely." and i knew perfectly well that i had not tired her--wearisome though the recital of it all may be now. for i knew instinctively how the personal note told in the whole matter. i had been really heated, and perfectly sincere, but a kind of subconscious cunning had led me to utilize the heat of the moment in introducing between us, for example, the use of first names. well i knew that i was not wearying sylvia. but coldly recited now, i admit the rhodomontade to be exceedingly tiresome. my excuse for it is that it serves to indicate the sort of ideas that were abroad at the time, the sort of sentiments which were shaping our destiny. after all, i was an educated youth. many of my hot statements, too, were of fact, and not merely of opinion and feeling. it is a fact that the sentiment called anti-british had come to be served more slavishly in england than in any foreign land. the duration of our disastrous war in south africa was positively doubled, as the result of british influence, by boer hopes pinned upon the deliberate utterances of british politicians. in egypt, south africa, india, and other parts of the empire, all opposition to british rule, all risings, attacks upon our prestige, and the like, were aided, and in many cases fomented, steered, and brought to a successful issue--not by germans or other foreigners, but by englishmen, and by englishmen who had sworn allegiance at st. stephens. it is no more than a bare statement of fact to say that, in the very year of my arrival in london, the party which ruled the state was a party whose members openly avowed and boasted of their opposition to british dominion, and that in terms, not less, but far more sweeping than mine in talking to sylvia among the pines at weybridge. but if sylvia appreciated and sympathized in the matter of my sermonizing, the rest of the family neither approved the sermons nor sylvia's interest in them. i was made to feel in various ways that no import must be attached to my attentions to sylvia. marjory began to shadow her sister in the daytime, and, as she was frankly rather bored by me, i could not but detect the parental will in this. then with regard to my social and political views, mr. wheeler joined with his son in openly deriding them. in leslie's case the thing never went beyond friendly banter. leslie had no political opinions; he laughed joyously at the mere notion of bothering his head about such matters for a moment. and, in his way, he represented an enormous section of the younger generation of englishmen in this. the father, on the other hand, was equally typical of his class and generation. this was how he talked to me over his port:-"i tell you what it is, you know, mordan: you're a regular firebrand, you know; by jove, you are; an out-and-out socialistic radical: that's what you are. by gad, sir, i don't mince my words. i consider that--er--opinions like yours are a danger to the country; i do, indeed; a danger to the country, and--er--to the--to the empire. i do, by gad. and as for your notions about disarmament and that, why, even if our army reductions are justifiable, which, upon my word, i very much doubt, it's ridiculous to suppose we can afford to cut down our navy. no, sir, the british navy is britain's safeguard, and it ought not to be tampered with. i'm an out-and-out imperialist myself, and--er--i can tell you i have no patience with your little englandism." i am not at all sure whether the class mr. wheeler belonged to was not almost the most dangerous class of all. the recent elections showed this class to be a minority. of course, this section had its strong men, but that it also included a large number of men like leslie's father was a fact--a fact which yielded pitiful evidence of its weakness. these men called themselves "out-and-out imperialists," and had not a notion of even the meaning of the word they used. still less had they any notion of accepting any rôle which involved the bearing of responsibilities, the discharge of civic and national duties. mr. wheeler's aim in life was to make money and to enjoy himself. he would never have exercised his right to vote if voting had involved postponing dinner. he liked to talk of the british empire, but he did not even know precisely of what countries it consisted, and i think he would cheerfully have handed canada to france, australia to germany, india to russia, and south africa to the boers, if by so doing he could have escaped the paying of income-tax. on sunday night, my last night at weybridge, i walked home from church alone with sylvia. marjory was in bed with a sore throat, and whatever their notions as to my undesirability, neither mr. nor mrs. wheeler were inclined to attend evening service. leslie was not home from golf at byfleet. we were late for dinner, sylvia and i, and during our walk she promised to write to me regularly, and i promised many things, and suggested many things, and was only deterred from actual declaration by the thought of the poor little sum which stood between me and actual want. next morning i went up to town with leslie and his father to open my campaign in london. as a first step toward procuring work, i was to present a letter of introduction from a cambridge friend to the editor of the _daily gazette_. after that, as leslie said, i was to "reform england inside out." iv the launching "o friend! i know not which way i must look for comfort, being, as i am, opprest to think that now our life is only drest for show; mean handi-work of craftsman, cook, or groom!--we must run glittering like a brook in the open sunshine, or we are unblest; the wealthiest man among us is the best; no grandeur now in nature or in book delight us...." wordsworth. looking back now upon that lonely launch of mine in london, i see a very curious and sombre picture. in the living i am sure there must have been mitigations, and light as well as shade. in the retrospect it seems one long disillusion. i see myself, and the few folk with whom my relations were intimate, struggling like ants across a grimy stage, in the midst of an inferno of noise, confusion, pointless turmoil, squalor, and ultimate cataclysm. the whole picture is lurid, superhuman in its chaotic gloom; but in the living, i know there were gleams of sunlight. the tragic muddle of that period was so monstrous, that even we who lived through it are apt in retrospect to see only the gloom and confusion. it is natural, therefore, that those who did not live through it should be utterly unable to discern any glimpse of relief in the picture. and that leads to misconception. as a fact, i found very much to admire in london when i sallied forth from the obscure lodging i had chosen in a bloomsbury back street, on the morning which brought an end to my stay with the wheelers at weybridge. also, it was not given to me at that time to recognize as such one tithe of the madness and badness of the state of affairs. some wholly bad features were quite good in my eyes then. london still clung to its "season," as it was called, though motor-cars and railway facilities had entirely robbed this of its sharply defined nineteenth-century limits. very many people, even among the wealthy, lived entirely in london, spending their week-ends in this or that country or seaside resort, and devoting the last months of summer with, in many cases, the first months of autumn, to holiday-making on the continent, or in scotland, or on the english moors or coasts. the london season was not over when i reached town, and in the western residential quarters the sun shone brightly upon many-coloured awnings and beautiful decorative plants and flowers. the annual rents paid by people who lived behind these flowers and awnings frequently ran into thousands of pounds, with ten shillings in each pound additional by way of rates and taxes. to live at all, in this strata, would cost a man and his wife perhaps eighty to a hundred pounds a week, without anything which would have been called extravagance. hundreds of people who lived in this way had neighbours within a hundred yards of their front doors who never had enough to eat. even such people as these had to pay preposterous rents for the privilege of huddling together in a single wretched room. but many of their wealthy neighbours spent hundreds, and even thousands of pounds a year over securing comfort and happiness for such domestic animals as horses, dogs, cats, and the like. amiable, kindly gentlefolk they were, with tender hearts and ready sympathies. most of them were interested in some form of charity. many of them specialized, and these would devote much energy to opposing the work of other charitable specialists. lady so-and-so, who advocated this panacea, found herself bitterly opposed by sir so-and-so, who wanted all sufferers to be made to take his nostrum in his special way. then sometimes poor lady so-and-so would throw up her panacea in a huff, and concentrate her energies upon the work of some society for converting jews, who did not want to be converted, or for supplying red flannel petticoats for south sea island girls, who infinitely preferred cotton shifts and floral wreaths. even these futile charities were permitted to overlap one another to a bewilderingly wasteful extent. but the two saddest aspects of the whole gigantic muddle so far as charitable work went, were undoubtedly these: the fact that much of it went to produce a class of men and women who would not do any kind of work because they found that by judicious sponging they could live and obtain alcohol and tobacco in idleness; and the fact that where charitable endeavour infringed upon vested interests, licit or illicit, it was savagely opposed by the persons interested. the discipline of the national schools was slack, intermittent, and of short reach. there was positively no duty to the state which a youth was bound to observe. broadly, it might be said that at that time discipline simply did not enter at all into the life of the poor of the towns, and charity of every conceivable and inconceivable kind did enter into it at every turn. the police service was excellent and crime exceedingly difficult of accomplishment. the inevitable result was the evolution in the towns of a class of men and women, but more especially of men, who, though compact of criminal instincts of every kind, yet committed no offence against criminal law. they committed nothing. they simply lived, drinking to excess when possible, determined upon one point only: that they never would do anything which could possibly be called work. it is obvious that among such people the sense of duty either to themselves, to each other, or to the state, was merely non-existent. london had long since earned the reputation of being the most charitable city in the world. its share in the production of an immense loafer class formed one sad aspect of london's charity when i first came to know the city. another was the opposition of vested interests--the opposition of the individual to the welfare of the mass. one found it everywhere. an instance i call to mind (it happened to be brought sharply home to me) struck at the root of the terribly rapid production of degenerates, by virtue of its relation to pauper children--that is, the children to whom the state, through its boards of guardians, stood in the light of parents, because their natural parents were dead, or in prison, or in lunatic asylums, or hopelessly far gone in the state of criminal inactivity which qualified so many for all three estates. huge institutions were built at great expense for the accommodation of these little unfortunates. here they were housed in the most costly manner, the whole work of the establishment being carried on by a highly paid staff of servants and officials. the children were not allowed to do anything at all, beyond the learning by rote of various theories which there was no likelihood of their ever being able to apply to any reality of life with which they would come in contact. they listened to lectures on the making of dainty dishes in the best style of french cookery, and in many cases they never saw a box of matches. they learned to repeat poetry as parrots might, but did not know the difference between shavings and raw coffee. they learned vague smatterings of roman history, but did not know how to clean their boots or brush their hair. it was as though experts had been called upon to devise a scheme whereby children might be reared into their teens without knowing that they were alive or where they lived, and this with the greatest possible outlay of money per child. then, at a given age, these children were put outside the massive gates of the institutions and told to run away and become good citizens. it followed as a matter of course that most of them fell steadily and rapidly into the pit; the place occupied by the criminally inactive, the "public-house props." so they returned poor, heavy-laden creatures, by way of charity, to the institutions of the "rates," thus completing the vicious circle of life forced upon them by an incredibly wrong-headed, topsyturvy administration. for the maintenance of this vicious circle enormous sums of public money were required. failing such vast expenditure, nature unaided would have righted matters to some extent, and the poor law guardians would have become by so much the less wielders of power and influence, dispensers of public money. some of these poor law guardians gave up more or less honest trades to take to poor law guardianship as a business; and they waxed fat upon it. every now and again came disclosures. guardians were shown to have paid ten shillings a score for such and such a commodity this year, and next year to have refused a tender for the supply of the same article at 9s. 8d. a score, in favour of the tender of a relative or protégé of one of their number at 109s. 8d. a score. i remember the newspapers showing up such cases as these during the week of my arrival in london. the public read and shrugged shoulders. "rascally thieves, these guardians," said the public; and straightway forgot the whole business in the rush of its own crazy race for money. "but," cried the reformer to the public, "this is really your business. it is your duty as citizens to stop this infamous traffic. don't you see how you yourselves are being robbed?" you must picture our british public of the day as a flushed, excited man, hurrying wildly along in pursuit of two phantoms--money and pleasure. these he desired to grasp for himself, and he was being furiously jostled by millions of his fellows, each one of whom desired just the same thing, and nothing else. faintly, amidst the frantic turmoil, came the warning voices in the wilderness: "this is your business. it is your duty as citizens," etc. over his shoulder, our poor possessed public would fling his answer: "leave me alone. i haven't time to attend to it. i'm too busy. you mustn't interrupt me. why the deuce don't the government see to it? lot of rascals! don't bother me. i represent commerce, and, whatever you do, you must not in any way interfere with the freedom of trade." the band of the reformers was considerable, embracing as it did the better, braver sort of statesmen, soldiers, sailors, clergy, authors, journalists, sociologists, and the whole brotherhood of earnest thinkers. but the din and confusion was frightful, the pace at which the million lived was terrific; and, after all, the cries of the reformers all meant the same thing, the one thing the great, sweating public was determined not to hear, and not to act on. they all meant: "step out from your race a moment. your duties are here. you are passing them all by. come to your duties." it was like a moslem call to prayer; but, alas! it was directed at a people who had sloughed all pretensions to be ranked among those who respond to such calls, to any calls which would distract them from their objective in the pelting pursuit of money and pleasure. but i am digressing--the one vice which, unfortunately for us, we never indulged or condoned at the time of my arrival in london. i wanted to give an instance of that aspect of charity and attempted social reform which aroused the opposition of vested interests and chartered brigands in the great money hunt. it was this: a certain charitable lady gave some years of her life to the study of those conditions in which, as i have said, the criminally inactive, the hopelessly useless, were produced by authorized routine, at a ruinous cost in money and degeneracy, and to the great profit of an unscrupulous few. this lady then gave some further years, not to mention money, influence, and energy, to the evolution of a scheme by which these pauper children could really be made good and independent citizens, and that at an all-round cost of about one-fifth of the price of the guardians' method for converting them into human wrecks and permanent charges upon the state. the wise practicability of this lady's system was admitted by independent experts, and denied by nobody. but it was swept aside and crushed, beaten down with vicious, angry thoroughness, in one quarter--the quarter of vested interest and authority; quietly, passively discouraged in various other quarters; and generally ignored, as another interrupting duty call, by the rushing public. here, then, were three kinds of opposition--the first active and deadly, the other two passive and fatal, because they withheld needed support. the reason of the first, the guardians' opposition, was frankly and shamelessly admitted in london at the time of my arrival there. the guardians said: "this scheme would reduce the rates. we want more rates. it would reduce the amount of money at our disposal. we aim at increasing that. it would divert certain streams of cash from our own channel into other channels in other parts of the empire. we won't have it." but their words were far less civil and more heated than these, though the sense of them was as i have said. the quiet, passive opposition was that of other workers in charity and reform. they said in effect: "yes, the scheme is all right--an excellent scheme. but why do you take it upon yourself to bring it forward in this direct manner? are you not aware of the existence of our b---nostrum for pauper children, or our c---specific for juvenile emigration? your scheme, admirable as it is, ignores both these, and therefore you must really excuse us if we---quite so! but, of course, as co-workers in the good cause, we wish you well----", and so forth. the opposition of the general public i have explained. it was not really opposition. it was simply a part of the disease of the period; the dropsical, fatty degeneration of a people. but the mere fact that the reformers sent forth their cries and still laboured beside the public's crowded race-course; that such people as the lady i have mentioned existed--and there were many like her--should show that london as i found it was not all shadow and gloom, as it seems when one looks back upon it from the clear light of better days. the darkness, the confusion, and the din, were not easy to see and hear through then. from this distance they are more impenetrable; but i know the light did break through continually in places, and good men and women held wide the windows of their consciousness to welcome it, striving their utmost to carry it into the thick of the fight. many broke their hearts in the effort; but there were others, and those who fell had successors. the heart of our race never was of the stuff that can be broken. it was the strongest thing in all that tumultuous world of my youth, and i recall now the outstanding figures of men already gray and bowed by long lives of strenuous endeavour, who yet fought without pause at this time on the side of those who strove to check the mad, blind flight of the people. london, as i entered it, was a battle-field; the perverse waste of human energy and life was frightful; but it was not quite the unredeemed chaos which it seems as we look back upon it. even in the red centre of the stampede (fleet street is within the city boundaries) men in the race took time for the exercise of human kindliness, when opportunity was brought close enough to them. the letter i took to the editor of the _daily gazette_ was from an old friend of his who knew, and told him, of my exact circumstances. this gentleman received me kindly and courteously. he and his like were among the most furiously hurried in the race, but their handling of great masses of diffuse information gave them, in many cases, a wide outlook, and where, as often happened, they were well balanced as well as honest, i think they served their age as truly as any of their contemporaries, and with more effect than most. this gentleman talked to me for ten minutes, during which time he learned most of all there was to know about my little journalistic and debating experience at cambridge, and the general trend of my views and purposes. i do not think he particularly desired my services; but, on the other hand, i was not an absolute ignoramus. i had written for publication; i had enthusiasm; and there was my cambridge friend's letter. "well, mr. mordan," he said, turning toward a table littered deep with papers, and cumbered with telephones and bells, "i cannot offer you anything very brilliant at the moment; but i see no reason why you should not make a niche for yourself. we all have to do that, you know--or drop out to make way for others. you probably know that in fleet street, more perhaps than elsewhere, the race is to the swift. there are no reserved seats. the best i can do for you now is to enter you on the reporting staff. it is stretching a point somewhat to make the pay fifty shillings a week for a beginning. that is the best i can do. would you care to take that?" "certainly," i told him; "and i'm very much obliged to you for the chance." "right. then you might come in to-morrow. i will arrange with the news-editor. and now----" he looked up, and i took my hat. then he looked down again, as though seeking something on the floor. "well, i think that's all. of course, it rests with you to make your own place, or--or lose it. i sympathize with what you have told me of your views--of course. you know the policy of the paper. but you must remember that running a newspaper is a complex business. one's methods cannot always be direct. life is made up of compromises, and--er--at times a turn to the left is the shortest way to the right--er--good night!" thus i was given my chance within a few hours of my descent upon the great roaring city. i was spared much. even then i knew by hearsay, as i subsequently learned for myself, that hundreds of men of far wider experience and greater ability than mine were wearily tramping london's pavements at that moment, longing, questing bitterly for work that would bring them half the small salary i was to earn. i wrote to sylvia that night, from my little room among the cat-infested chimney-pots of bloomsbury; and i am sure my letter did not suggest that london was a very gloomy place. my hopes ran high. [illustration: the roaring city] v a journalist's equipment "... rapine, avarice, expense, this is idolatry; and these we adore: plain living and high thinking are no more: the homely beauty of the good old cause is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, and pure religion breathing household laws." wordsworth. acting on the instructions i had received overnight, i presented myself at the office of the _daily gazette_ in good time on the morning after my interview with the editor. a pert boy showed me into the news-editor's room, after an interval of waiting, and i found myself confronting the man who controlled my immediate destiny. he was dictating telegrams to a shorthand writer, and, for the moment, took no notice whatever of me. i stood at the end of his table, hat in hand, wondering how so young-looking a man came to be occupying his chair. he looked about my age, but was a few years older. his face was as smooth as the head of a new axe, and had something else chopper-like about it. he reminded me of pictures i had seen in the advertisement pages of american magazines; pictures showing a wedge-like human face, from the lips of which some such an assertion as "it's _you_ i want!" was supposed to be issuing. i subsequently learned that this mr. charles n. pierce had spent several years in new york, and that he was credited with having largely increased the circulation of the _daily gazette_ since taking over his present position. he suddenly raised the even, mechanical tone in which he dictated, and snapped out the words: "right. get on with those now, and come back in five minutes." then he switched his gaze on to me, like a searchlight. "mr. mordan, i believe?" i admitted the charge with my best smile. mr. pierce ignored the smile, and said: "university man?" accepting his cue as to brevity, i said: "yes. corpus christi, cambridge." he pursed his thin lips. "ah well," he said, "you'll get over that." in his way he was perfectly right; but his way was as coldly offensive as any i had ever met with. "well, mr. mordan, i've only three things to say. reports for this paper must be sound english; they must be live stories; they must be short. you might ask a boy to show you the reporters' room. you'll get your assignment presently. as a day man, you'll be here from ten to six. that's all." and his blade of a face descended into the heart of a sheaf of papers. as i reached the door the blade rose again, to emit a kind of thin bark: "ah!" i turned on my heel, waiting. "do you know anything about spelling?" i tried to look pleasant, as i said i thought i was to be relied on in this. "well, ask my secretary for tickets for the meeting at memorial hall to-day; something to do with spelling. don't do more than thirty or forty lines. right." and the blade fell once more, leaving me free to make my escape, which i did with a considerable sense of relief. i found the secretary a meek little clerk, with a curious hidden vein of timid facetiousness. he supplied me with the necessary ticket and a hand-bill of particulars. then he said: "mr. pierce is quite bright and pleasant this morning." "oh, is he?" i said. "yes, very--for him. he's all right, you know, when you get into his way. of course, he's a real hustler--cleverest journalist in london, they say." "really!" i think i introduced the right note of admiration. at all events, it seemed to please this little pale-eyed rabbit of a man, who, as i found later, was reverentially devoted to his bullying chief, and positively took a kind of fearful joy in being more savagely browbeaten by pierce than any other man in the building. a queer taste, but a fortunate one for a man in his particular position. for myself, i was at once repelled and gagged by pierce's manner. i believe the man had ability, though i think this was a good deal overrated by himself, and by others, at his dictation; and i dare say he was a good enough fellow at heart. his manner was aggressive and feverish enough to be called a symptom of the disease of the period. if the blood in his veins sang any song at all to mr. pierce, the refrain of that song must have been, "hurry, hurry, hurry!" he and his like never stopped to ask "whither?" or "why?" they had not time. and further, if pressed for reasons, destination, and so forth, they would have admitted, to themselves at all events, that there could be no other goal than success; and that success could mean no other thing than the acquisition of money; and that the man who thought otherwise must be a fool--a fool who would soon drop out altogether, to go under, among those who were broken by the way. my general aim and purpose in journalistic work, at the outset, was the serving of social reform in everything that i did. as i saw it, society was in a parlous state indeed, and needed awaking to recognition of the fact, to the crying need for reforms in every direction. that attitude was justifiable enough in all conscience. the trouble was that i was at fault, first, in my diagnosis; second, in my notions as to what kind of remedies were required; and third, as to the application of those remedies. like the rest of the minority whose thoughts were not entirely occupied by the pursuit of pleasure and personal gain, i saw that the greatest obstacle in the path of the reformer was public indifference. but with regard to the causes of that indifference, i was entirely astray. i clung still to the nineteenth-century attitude, which had been justifiable enough during a good portion of that century, but had absolutely ceased to be justifiable before its end came. this was the attitude of demanding the introduction of reforms from above, from the state. though i fancied myself in advance of my time in thought, when i joined the staff of the _daily gazette_, i really was essentially of it. even my obscure work as reporter very soon brought me into close contact with some of the dreadful sores which disfigured the body social and politic at that time. but do you think they taught me anything? no more than they taught the blindest racer after money in all london. they moved me, moved me deeply; they stirred the very foundations of my being; for i was far from being insensitive. but not even in the most glaringly obvious detail did they move me in the right direction. they merely filled me with resentment, and a passionate desire to bring improvement, aid, betterment; a desire to force the authorities into some action. never once did it occur to me that the movement must come from the people themselves. poverty, though frequently a dreadful complication, was far from being at the root of all the sores. the average respectable working-class wage-earner with a wife and family, who earned from 25s. to 35s. or 40s. a week, would spend a quarter of that wage upon his own drinking; thereby not alone making saving for a rainy day impossible, but docking his family of some of the real necessities of life. but this was accepted as a matter of course. the man wanted the beer; he must have it. the state made absolutely no demand whatever upon such a man. but it did for him and his, more than he did for himself and his family. and, giving positively nothing to the state, he complainingly demanded yet more from it. these were respectable men. a large number of men spent a half, and even three-quarters of their earnings in drink. the middle class spent proportionately far less on liquor, and far more upon display of one kind and another; they seldom denied themselves anything which they could possibly obtain. the rich, as a class, lived in and for indulgence, in some cases refined and subtle, in others gross; but always indulgence. the sense of duty to the state simply did not exist as an attribute of any class, but only here and there in individuals. i believe i am strictly correct in saying that in half a century, while the population increased by seventy-five per cent., lunacy had increased by two hundred and fifty per cent. yet the majority rushed blindly on, paying no heed to any other thing on earth than their own gratification, their own pursuit of the money for the purchase of pleasure. one of the tragic fallacies of the period was this crazy notion that not alone pleasure, but happiness, could be bought with money, and in no other way. and the few who were stung by the prevailing suffering and wretchedness into recognition of our parlous state, we, for the most part, cherished my wild delusion, and insisted that the trouble could be remedied if the state would contract and discharge new obligations. we clamoured for more rights, more help, more liberty, more freedom from this and that; never seeing that our trouble was our incomplete comprehension of the rights and privileges we had, with their corresponding obligations. though i knew them not, and as a _daily gazette_ reporter was little likely to meet them, there were men who strove to open the eyes of the people to the truth, and strove most valiantly. i call to mind a great statesman and a great general, both old men, a great pro-consul, a great poet and writer, a great editor, and here and there politicians with elements of greatness in them, who fought hard for the right. but these men were lonely figures as yet, and i am bound to say of the people's leaders generally, at the time of my journalistic enterprise, that they were a poor, truckling, uninspired lot of sheep, with a few clever wolves among them, who saw the people's madness and folly and preyed upon it masterfully by every trick within the scope of their ingenuity. even those who were honourable, disinterested, and, for such a period, unselfish, were for the most part the disciples of tradition and the slaves of that life-sapping curse of british politics: the party spirit, which led otherwise honourable men to oppose with all their strength the measures of their party opponents, even in the face of their country's dire need. then there was the anti-british faction, a party which spread fast-growing shoots from out the then government's very heart and root. the government's half-hearted supporters were not anti-british, but they were not readers of the _daily gazette_; they were not, in short, whole-hearted government supporters. they were whigs, as the saying went. my party, the readers of the _gazette_, the out-and-out government party, to whom i looked for real progress, real social reform; they were unquestionably riddled through and through with this extraordinary sentiment which i call anti-british, a difficult thing to explain nowadays. with the newly and too easily acquired rights and liberties of the nineteenth century, with its universal spread of education, cheap literature, and the like, there came, of course, increased knowledge, a wider outlook. no discipline came with it, and one of its earliest products was a nervous dread of being thought behind the time, of being called ignorant, narrow-minded, insular. people would do anything to avoid this. they went to the length of interlarding their speech and writings with foreign words often in ignorance of the meaning of those words. broad-minded, catholic, tolerant, cosmopolitan--those were the descriptive adjectives which all desired to earn for themselves. it became a perfect mania, particularly with the young and clever, the half-educated, the would-be "smart" folk. but it was also the honest ambition of many very worthy people, who truly desired broad-minded understanding and the avoidance of prejudice. this sapped the bulldog qualities of british pluck and persistence terribly. you can see at a glance how it would shut out a budding nelson or a wellington. but its most notable effect was to be seen among politicians, who were able to claim fox for a precedent. to believe in the superiority of the british became vulgar, a proof of narrow-mindedness. but, by that token, to enlarge upon the inferiority of the british indicated a broad, tolerant spirit, and a wide outlook upon mankind and affairs. from that to the sentiment i have called anti-british was no more than a step. many thoroughly good, honourable, benevolent people took that step unwittingly, and all unconsciously became permeated with the vicious, suicidal sentiment, while really seeking only good. such people were saved by their natural goodness and sense from becoming actual and purposeful enemies of their country. but as "little englanders"--so they were called--they managed, with the best intentions, to do their country infinite harm. but there were others, the naturally vicious and unscrupulous, the morbid, the craven, the ignorant, the self-seeking; these were the dangerous exponents of the sentiment. with them, little englandism progressed in this wise: "there are plenty of foreigners just as good as the british; their rule abroad is just as good as ours." then: "there are plenty of foreigners far better than the british; their rule abroad is better than ours." then: "let the people of our empire fend for themselves among other peoples; our business is to look after ourselves." then: "we oppose the people of the empire; we oppose british rule; we oppose the british." from that to "we befriend the enemies of the british" was less than a step. it was the position openly occupied by many, in and out of parliament. "we are for you, for the people; and devil take flag, empire, and crown!" said these ranters; drunken upon liberties they never understood, freedom they never earned, privileges they were not qualified to hold. there were persons among them who spat upon the flag that protected their worthless lives, and cut it down; sworn servants of the state who openly proclaimed their sympathy with the state's enemies; carefully protected, highly privileged subjects of the crown, who impishly slashed at england's robes, to show her nakedness to england's foes. and these were supporters, members, protégés of the government, and readers of the _daily gazette_, upheld in all things by that organ. and i, the son of an english gentleman and clergyman, graduate of an english university, i looked to this party, the liberal government of england, as the leaders of reform, of progress, of social betterment. and so did the country; the british public. errors of taste and judgment we regretted. that was how we described the most ribald outbursts of the anti-british sentiment. it is hard to find excuse or palliation. instinct must have told us that the demands, the programme, of such diseased creatures, could only aggravate the national ills instead of healing them. yes, it would seem so. i can only say that comparatively few among us did see it. perhaps disease was too general among us for the recognition of symptoms. this then was the mental attitude with which i approached my duties as a reporter on the staff of a london daily newspaper of old standing and good progressive traditions. and my notion was that in every line written for publication, the end of social reform should be served, directly or indirectly. my idea of attaining social reformation was that the people must be taught, urged, spurred into extracting further gifts from the state; that the public must be shown how to make their lives easier by getting the state to do more for them. that was as much as my education and my expansive theorizing had done for me. assuredly i was a product of my age. i had forgotten one thing, however, and that was the thing which mr. charles n. pierce began now to drill into me, by analogy, and with a good deal more precision and directness than i had ever seen used at rugby or cambridge. this one thing was that the _daily gazette_ was not a philanthropic organ, but a people's paper; and that the people did not want instructing but interesting. "but," i pleaded, "surely, for their own sakes, in their own interests----" "damn their own sakes!" "well, but----" "there's no 'but' about it. the public is an aggregation of individuals. this paper must interest the individual. the individual doesn't care a damn about the people. he cares about himself. he is very busy making money, and when he opens his paper he wants to be amused and interested; and he is not either interested or amused by any instruction as to how the people may be served. he doesn't want 'em served. he wants himself served and amused. that's your job." i believe i had faint inclinations just then to wonder whether, after all, there might not be something to be said for the bloated tories: the opponents of progress, as i always considered them. my thoughts ran on parties, in the old-fashioned style, you see. also i was thinking, as a journalist, of the characteristics which distinguished different newspapers. i cordially hated mr. charles n. pierce, but he really had more discernment than i had, for he said: "don't you worry about teaching the people to grab more from the state. they'll take fast enough; they'll take quite as much as is good for 'em, without your assistance. but, for giving, the angel gabriel and two advertisement canvassers wouldn't make 'em give a cent more than they're obliged." vi a journalist's surroundings "religion crowns the statesman and the man, sole source of public and of private peace." young. i am bound to suppose that i must have been a tolerably tiring person to have to do with during my first year in london. the reason of this was that i could never concentrate my thoughts upon intimate, personal interests, either my own or those of the people i met. my thoughts were never of persons, but always of the people; never of affairs, but always of tendencies, movements, issues, ultimate ends. probably my crude unrest would have made me tiresome to any people. it must have been peculiarly irritating to my contemporaries at that period, who, whatever they may have lacked, assuredly possessed in a remarkable degree the faculty of concentration upon their own individual affairs, their personal part in the race for personal gain. i remember that i talked, even to the poor, overworked servant at my lodging, rather of the prospects of her class and order than of anything more intimate or within her narrow scope. poor bessie! she was of the callously named tribe of lodging-house "slaveys"; and what gave me some interest in her personality, apart from the type she represented, was the fact that she had come from the vale of blackmore, a part of dorset which i knew very well. i even remembered, for its exceptional picturesqueness and beauty of situation, the cottage in which bessie had passed her life until one year before my arrival at the fourth-rate bloomsbury "apartments" house in which she now toiled for a living. there was little enough of the sap of her native valley left in bessie's cheeks now. she had acquired the london muddiness of complexion quickly, poor child, in the semi-subterranean life she led. i was moved to inquire as to what had led her to come to london, and gathered that she had been anxious to "see a bit o' life." certainly she saw life, of a kind, when she entered her horrible underground kitchen of a morning, for, as a chance errand once showed me, its floor was a moving carpet of black-beetles until after the gas was lighted. in bloomsbury, bessie's daily work began about six o'clock--there were four stories in the house, and coals and food and water required upon every floor--and ended some seventeen hours later. occasionally, an exacting lodger would make it eighteen hours--the number of bessie's years in the world--but seventeen was the normal. the trains which every day came rushing in from the country to the various railway termini of london were almost past counting. the "rural exodus," as it was called, was a sadly real movement then. every one of them brought at least one bessie, and one of her male counterparts, with ruddy cheeks, a tin box, and bright eyes straining to "see life." insatiable london drew them all into its maw, and, while sapping the roses from their cheeks, enslaved many of them under one of the greatest curses of that day: the fascination of the streets. so terrible a power was exercised by this unwholesome passion that men and women became paralyzed by it, and incapable of plucking up courage enough to enable them to leave the streets. i talked with men--poor, sodden creatures, whose greasy black coats were buttoned to their stubbly chins to hide the absence of collar and waistcoat--who supported a wretched existence in the streets, between begging, stealing, opening cab-doors, and the like, in constant dread of police attention. among these i found many who had refused again and again offers of help to lead an honest, self-dependent life, for the sole reason that these offers involved quitting the streets. the same creeping paralysis of the streets kept men from emigration to parts of the empire in which independent prosperity was assured for the willing worker. they would not leave the hiving streets, with their chances, their flaunting vice, their incessant bustle, and their innumerable drinking bars. the disease did not stop at endowing the streets with fascination for these poor, undisciplined, unmanned creatures; it implanted in them a lively fear, hard to comprehend, but very real to them, of all places outside the streets, with their familiar, pent noises and enclosed strife. i met one old gentleman, the head of an important firm of printers, who, being impressed with the squalid wretchedness of the surroundings in which his work-people lived, decided to shift his works into the country. he chose the outskirts of a charmingly situated garden city, then in course of formation. he gave his people a holiday and entertained them at a picnic party upon the site of his proposed new works. he set before them plans and details of pleasant cottages he meant to build for them, with good gardens, and scores of conveniences which they could never know in the dingy, grimy tenements for which they paid extortionate rents in london. there were four hundred and thirty-eight of these work-people. twenty-seven of them, with some hesitation, expressed their willingness to enter into the new scheme for their benefit. the remaining four hundred and eleven refused positively to leave their warrens in london for this garden city, situated within an hour's run of the metropolis. figure to yourself the attitude of such people, where the great open uplands of the empire were concerned: the prairie, the veld, the bush. consider their relation to the elements, or to things elemental. we went farther than "little englandism" in those days; we produced little street and alley men by the hundred thousand; and then we bade them exercise their rights, their imperial heritage, and rule an empire. as for me, i was busy in my newspaper work trying to secure more rights for them; for men whose present freedom from all discipline and control was their curse. the reporters' room at the office of the _daily gazette_ was the working headquarters of five other men besides myself. one was a cambridge man, one had been at oxford, one came from cork, and the other two were products of scotch schools. two of the five would have been called gentlemen; four of them were good fellows; the fifth had his good points, but perhaps he had been soured by a hard upbringing. one felt that the desire for money--advancement, success, or whatever you chose to call it; it all meant the one thing to dunbar--mastered every feeling, every instinct even, in this young man, and made him about as safe and agreeable a neighbour as a wolf might be for a kennel of dogs. a certain part of our time was devoted to waiting in the reporters' room for what mr. pierce called our "assignments," to this or that reporting task. also, we did our writing here, and a prodigious amount of talking. the talk was largely of fleet street, the ruffianism of mr. pierce, the fortunes of our own and other journals, the poorness of our pay, the arduousness of our labours, the affairs of other newspaper offices, and the like. but at other times we turned to politics, and over our pipes and copy paper would readjust the concert of europe and the balance of world power. more often we dealt with local politics, party intrigue, and scandals of parliament; and sometimes--more frequently since my advent, it may be--we entered gaily upon large abstractions, and ventilated our little philosophies and views of the eternal verities. by my recollection of those queer confused days, my colleagues were cynically anarchical in their political views, unconvinced and unconvincing socialists, and indifferent agnostics. i am not quite sure that we believed in anything very thoroughly--except that things were in a pretty bad way. earnest belief in anything was not a feature of the period. i recall one occasion when consideration of some tyrannical act of our immediate chief, the news-editor, led our talk by way of character and morality to questions of religion. the _daily gazette_, i should mention, was a favourite organ with the most powerful religious community--the nonconformists. campbell, one of the two scotch reporters, hazarded the first remark about religion, if i remember aright: something it was to the effect that men like pierce had neither religion nor manners. brown, the cambridge man, took this up. "well now," he said, "that's a queer thing about religion. i'd like you to tell me what anybody's religion is in london." "it's the capital of a christian country, isn't it?" said dunbar. "yes," admitted brown. "that's just it. we're officially and politically christian. it's a national affair. we're a christian people; but who knows a christian individual? ours is a christian newspaper, christian city, christian country, and all the rest of it. there's no doubt about it. all england believes; but no single man i ever meet admits that he believes. i suppose it's different up your way, campbell. one gathers the scotch are religious?" "h'm! i won't answer for that," growled campbell. "as a people, yes, as you say; but as individuals--well, i don't know. but my father's a believer; i could swear to it." "ah, yes; so's mine. but i'm not talking of fathers. i mean our generation." "well," i began, "for my part, i'm not so sure of the fathers." "oh, we can count you out," said kelly, the irishman. "all parsons' sons are atheists, as a matter of course; and bad hats at that." "rather a severe blow at our christianity, isn't it?" said brown. i had no more to say on this point, not wishing to discuss my father. but i knew perfectly well that that good, kind man had cherished no belief whatever in many of what were judged to be the vital dogmas of christianity. "well, i've just been thinking," said campbell, "and upon my soul, brown--if i've got one--i believe you're right. i don't know any one of our generation who believes. every one thinks every one else believes, and everybody is most careful not to be disrespectful about the belief everybody else is supposed to hold. but, begad, nobody believes himself. we all wink at each other about it; accepting the certainty of every one else's belief, and only recognizing as a matter of course that you and me--we've got beyond that sort of thing." "well, i've often thought of it," said brown. "i'll write an article about it one of these days." "who'll you get to publish it?" "h'm! yes, that's a fact. and yet, hang it, you know, how absurd! who is there in this office that believes?" "echo answers, 'who?'" "i happen to know that both rainham and baddeley go to church," said dunbar, naming a proprietor and a manager. "i don't see the connection," said brown. "because there isn't any," said campbell. "but dunbar sees it, and so does the british public, begad. that's the kernel of the whole thing. that's why every one thinks every one else, except himself, believes. rainham and baddeley think their wives, and sons, and servants, and circle generally believe, and therefore would be shocked if rainham and baddeley didn't go to church. and every one else thinks the same. so they all go." "but, my dear chap, they don't all go. the parsons are always complaining about it. the women do, but the men don't--not as a rule, i mean; particularly when they've got motors, and golf, and things. you know they don't. here's six of us here. does any one of us ever go to church?" dunbar, looking straight down over his nose, said: "i do--often." "you're a fine fellow, dunbar, sure enough," said campbell; "and i believe you'll be a newspaper proprietor in five years. you've got your finger on the pulse. can you look me in the face and say you believe?" dunbar smiled in his knowing way and wobbled. "i certainly believe it's a good thing to go to church occasionally," he said. "and i believe you'll make a fortune in fleet street, my son." "well, in my humble opinion," said kelly, "the trouble with you people in england is not so much that you don't believe; a good many believe, in a kind of a way, like they believe in ventilation, without troubling to act on it. they believe, but they don't think about it; they don't care, it isn't real. the poor beggars 'ld go crazy with fear of hell-fire, if the sort of armchair belief they have was real to 'em. it isn't real to 'em, like business, and money, and that, or like patriotism is in japan." "well, it really is a rum thing," said brown, with an affectation of pathos, "that in all this christian country i shouldn't know a single believer of my generation." "it's a devilish bad thing for the country," said campbell. and even then, with all my fundamentally rotten sociological nostrums, i had a vague feeling that the scotchman was right there. "well, then, that's why it's good to go to church," said dunbar, with an air of finality. "i still don't see the connection," murmured brown. "because it still isn't there. but, of course, it's perfectly obvious. that's why dunbar sees it, and why he'll presently run a paper." then campbell turned to dunbar, and added slowly, as though speaking to a little child: "you see, my dear, it's not their not going to church that's bad; it's their not believing." if i remember rightly, mr. pierce ended the conversation, through his telephone, by assigning to brown the task of reporting a clerical gathering at exeter hall. brown was credited with having a particularly happy touch in the reporting of religious meetings. he certainly had an open mind, for i remember his saying that day that he thought christianity was perhaps better adapted to a skittish climate like ours than buddhism, and that ju-ju worship in london would be sure to cause friction with the county council. as i see it now, there was a terribly large amount of truth in the view taken by brown and campbell and kelly about belief in england, and more particularly in london. but there were devout men of all ages who did not happen to come within their circle of acquaintance. i met salvation army officers occasionally, who were both intelligent, self-denying, and hard-working; and i suppose that with them belief must have been at least as powerful a motive as devotion to their army, their general, and the work of reclamation among the very poor. also, there were high church clergymen, who toiled unceasingly among the poor. symbolism was a great force with them; but there must have been real belief there. also, there were some fine nonconformist missions. i recall one in west london, the work of which was a great power for good in such infected warrens as soho. but it certainly was not an age of faith or of earnest beliefs. the vast majority took their christianity, with the national safety and integrity, for granted--a thing long since established by an earlier generation; a matter about which no modern could spare time for thought or effort. i believe it was on the day following this particular conversation in the reporters' room that i met leslie wheeler by appointment at waterloo, and went down to weybridge with him for the week-end. my friend was in even gayer spirits than usual, and laughingly told me that i must "work up a better saturday face than that" before we got to weybridge. i had known leslie wheeler since our school-days; and i remember lying awake in the room next his own at weybridge that night, and wondering why in the world it was i felt so out of touch with my high-spirited friend. during that saturday afternoon and evening i had been pretty much preoccupied in securing as much as possible of sylvia's attention. but the journey down had been made with leslie alone, and when his father had gone to bed, we two had spent another half-hour together in the billiard-room, smoking and sipping whiskey and soda. leslie was in the vein most usual with him, of "turning to mirth all things on earth"; and i was conscious, upon my side, of a notable absence of reciprocal feeling, of friendly rapport. and i could find no explanation for this, as i lay thinking of it in bed. looking backward, i see many causes which probably contributed to my feeling of lost touch. i had only been about a month in london, but it had been a busy month, and full of new experiences, of intimate touch with realities of london life, sordid and otherwise. it was all very unlike rugby and cambridge; very unlike the life of the big luxurious weybridge house, and even more unlike lichen-covered tarn regis. in those days i took little stock of such mundane details as bed and board. but these things count; i had been made to take note of them of late. i paid 12s. 6d. a week for my garret, and 7s. a week for my breakfast, 1s. for lighting, and 1s. for my bath. that left me with 28s. 6d. a week for daily lunch and dinner, clothes, boots, tobacco, and the eternal penny outgoings of london life. the purchase of such a trifle as a box of sweets for sylvia made a week's margin look very small. already i had begun to note the expensiveness of stamps, laundry work, omnibus fares, and such matters. my training had not been a hopeful one, so far as small economies went. leslie twitted me with neglecting golf, and failing to attend the inter-'varsity cricket match. he found economy, like all other things under heaven, and in heaven for that matter, suitable subjects for the exercise of his tireless humour. but i wondered greatly that his incessant banter should jar upon me; that i should catch myself regarding him with a coldly appraising eye. indeed, it troubled me a good deal; and the more so when i thought of sylvia. i flatly declined to admit that london had affected my feeling for sylvia. whatever one's view, her big violet eyes were abrim with gentle sympathy. i watched her as i sat by her side in church, and thought of our irreverent talk at the office. here was sincere piety, at all events, i thought. mediævalism never produced a sweeter devotee, a worshipper more rapt. i could not follow her into the place of ecstasy she reached. but, i told myself, i could admire from without, and even reverence. could i? well, i was somewhat strengthened in the belief that very sunday night by sylvia's father. vii a girl and her faith "if faith produce no works, i see that faith is not a living tree." hannah more. during that sunday at weybridge i saw but little of my friend leslie. it was only by having obtained special permission from the _daily gazette_ office that i was able to remain away from town that day. my leisure was brief, my chances few, i felt; and that seemed to justify the devoting of every possible moment to sylvia's company. sylvia's church was not the family place of worship. when mrs. wheeler and marjory attended service, it was at st. mark's, but sylvia made her devotions at st. jude's, a church famous in that district for its high anglicanism and stately ritual. the incumbent of st. jude's, his reverence, or father hinton, as sylvia always called him, was a tall, full-bodied man, with flashing dark eyes, and a fine, dramatic presence. i believe he was an indefatigable worker among the poor. i know he had a keen appreciation of the dramatic element in his priestly calling, and in the ritual of his church, with its rich symbolism and elaborate impressiveness. even from my brief glimpses of the situation, i realized that this priest (the words clergyman and vicar were discouraged at st. jude's) played a very important, a vital part, in the scheme of sylvia's religion. i think sylvia would have said that the personality of the man was nothing; but she would have added that his office was much, very much to her. she may have been right, though not entirely so, i think. but it is certain that, in the case of father hinton, the dramatic personality of the man did nothing to lessen the magnitude of his office in the minds of such members of his flock as sylvia. i gathered that belief in the celibacy of the clergy was, if not an article of faith, at least a part of piety at st. jude's. before seven o'clock on sunday morning i heard footsteps on the gravel under my window, and, looking out, saw sylvia, book in hand, leaving the house. she was exquisitely dressed, the distinguishing note of her attire being, as always in my eyes, a demure sort of richness and picturesqueness. never was there another saint so charming in appearance, i thought. her very prayer book, or whatever the volume might be, had a seductive, feminine charm about its dimpled cover. i hurried over my dressing and was out of the house by half-past seven and on my way to st. jude's. breakfast was not until half-past nine, i knew. the morning was brilliantly sunny; and life in the world, despite its drawbacks and complexities, as seen from fleet street, seemed an admirably good thing to me as i strode over a carpet of pine-needles, and watched the slanting sun-rays turning the tree trunks to burnished copper. the service was barely over when i tiptoed into a seat beside the door at st. jude's. at this period the appurtenances of ritual in such churches as st. jude's--incense, candles, rich vestments, and the like--rivalled those of rome itself. i remember that, fresh from the dewy morning sunshine without, these symbols rather jarred upon my senses than otherwise, with a strong hint of artificiality and tawdriness, the suggestion of a theatre seen by daylight. but they meant a great deal to many good folks in weybridge, for, despite the earliness of the hour, there were fifty or sixty women present, besides sylvia, and half a dozen men. i could see sylvia distinctly from my corner by the door, and i was made rather uneasy by the fact that she remained in her place when every one else had left the building. five, ten minutes i waited, and then walked softly up the aisle to her place. i did not perceive, until i reached her side, that she was kneeling, or i suppose i should have felt obliged to refrain from disturbing her. as it was, sylvia heard me, and, having seen who disturbed her, rose, with the gravest little smile, and, with a curtsy to the altar, walked out before me. i found that sylvia generally stayed on in the church for the eight o'clock service; and i was duly grateful when she yielded to my solicitations and set out for a walk with me instead. i had taken a few biscuits from the dining-room and eaten them on my way out; but i learned later, rather to my distress, that sylvia had not broken her fast. i must suppose she was accustomed to such practices, for she seemed to enjoy almost as much as i did our long ramble in the fresh morning air. i learned a good deal during that morning walk, and the day that followed it, the greater part of which i spent by sylvia's side. upon the whole, i was perturbed and made uneasy; but i continued to assure myself, perhaps too insistently for confidence or comfort, that sylvia was wholly desirable and sweet. it was perhaps unfortunate for my peace of mind that the day was one of continuous religious exercises. the fact tinged all our converse, and indeed supplied the motive of most of it. i did not at the time realize exactly what chilled and disturbed me, but i think now that it was what i might call the inhumanity of sylvia's religion. i dipped into one of her sumptuous little books at some time during the day, and i remember this passage: "to this end spiritual writers recommend what is called a 'holy indifference' to all created things, including things inanimate, place, time, and the like. try as far as possible to be indifferent to all things. remember that the one thing important above all others to you is the salvation of your own soul. it is the great work of your life, far greater than your work as parent, child, husband, wife, or friend." it was a reputable sort of a book this, and fathered by a respected oxford cleric. there was singularly little of the mystic in my temperament. my mind, as you have seen, was surcharged with crude but fervent desires for the material betterment of my kind. i was nothing if not interested in human well-being, material progress, mortal ills and remedies. approaching sylvia's position and outlook from this level then, i thrust my way through what i impatiently dismissed as the "flummery"; by which i meant the poetry, the picturesqueness, the sacrosanct glamour surrounding his reverence and st. jude's; and found, or thought i found, that sylvia's religion was at worst a selfish gratification of the senses of the individual worshipper, and at best a devout and pious ministration to the worshipper's own soul; in which the loving of one's neighbour and caring for one another seemed to play precisely no part at all. true it was, as i already knew, that in the east end of london, and elsewhere, some of the very high church clergy were carrying on a work of real devotion among the poor, and that with possibly a more distinguished measure of success than attended the efforts of any other branch of christian service. they did not influence anything like the number of people who were influenced by dissenting bodies, but those who did come under their sway came without reservation. but the point which absorbed me was the question of how this particular aspect of religion affected sylvia. in this, at all events, it seemed to me a far from helpful or wholesome kind of religion. sylvia liked early morning services because so few people attended them. it was "almost like having the church to oneself." the supreme feature of religious life for sylvia had for its emblem the tinkle of the bell at the service she always called mass. the coming of the presence--that was the c major of life for sylvia. for the rest, meditation, preferably in the setting provided by st. jude's, with its permanent aroma of incense and its dim lights--the world shut out by stained glass--this, with prayer, genuflections, and the ecstasy of long thought upon the circumstances of the supreme act of christ's life upon earth, seemed to me to represent the sum total of sylvia's religion. but, over and above what was to me the chilling negativeness of all this, its indifference to the human welfare of all other mortals, there was in sylvia's religion something else, which i find myself unable, even now, to put into words. some indication of it, perhaps, is given by the little passage i have quoted from one of her books. it was the one thing positive which i found in my lady's religion; all the rest was to me a beautiful, intricate, purely artificial negation of human life and human interest. this one thing positive struck into my vitals with a chill premonition, as of something unnatural and, to me, unfathomable. it was a sentiment which i can only call anti-human. even as those of sylvia's persuasion held that the clergy should be celibate, so it seemed to me they viewed all purely human loves, ties, emotions, sentiments, and interests generally with a kind of jealous suspicion, as influences to be belittled as far as possible, if not actually suppressed. puritanism, you say? but, no; the thing had no concern with puritanism, for it lacked the discipline, the self-restraint that made cromwell's men invincible. there was no puritanism in the influence which could make women indifferent to the earthly ties of love and sentiment, to children, to the home and domesticity, while at the same time implanting in them an almost feverish appreciation of incense, rich vestments, gorgeous decorations, and the whole paraphernalia of such a service as that of st. jude's, weybridge. this religion, or, as i think it would be more just to say, sylvia's conception of this religion, did not say: "deny yourself this or that." it said: "deny yourself to the rest of your kind. deny all other mortals. wrap yourself in yourself, thinking only of your own soul and its relation to its maker and saviour." this was how i saw sylvia's religion, and, though she was sweetly kind and sympathetic to me, dick mordan, i was strangely chilled and perturbed by realization of the fact that nothing human really weighed with her, unless her own soul was human; that the people, our fellow men and women, of whose situation and welfare i thought so much, were far less to sylvia than the early fathers and the saints; that humanity had even less import for her, was less real, than to me, was the fascination of st. jude's incense-laden atmosphere. sylvia's dainty person had an infinite charm for me; the personality which animated and informed it chilled and repelled me as it might have been a thing uncanny. when i insisted upon the dear importance of some one of humanity's claims, the faraway gaze of her beautiful eyes, with their light that never was on sea or land, her faintly superior smile--all this thrust me back, as might a blow, and with more baffling effect. and then the accidental touch of her little hand would bring me back, with pulses fluttering, and the warm blood in my veins insisting that sweet sylvia was adorable; that everything would be well lost in payment for the touch of her lips. so, moth-like, i spent that pleasant sabbath day, attached to sylvia by ties over which my mind had small control; by bonds which, if the truth were known, were not wholly dissimilar, i believe, from the ties which drew her daily to the heavy atmosphere of the sanctuary rails of st. jude's. in the evening mr. wheeler asked me to come and smoke a cigar with him in his private room, and the invitation was not one to be evaded. i was subconsciously aware that it elicited a meaning exchange of glances between marjory and her mother. "well, mordan, i hope things go well with you in fleet street," said mr. wheeler, when his cigar was alight and we were both seated in his luxurious little den. "oh, tolerably," i said. "of course, i am quite an obscure person there as yet; quite on the lowest rungs, you know." "quite so; quite so; and from all i hear, competition is as keen there as in the city, though the rewards are--rather different, of course." i nodded, and we were silent for a few moments. then he flicked a little cigar-ash into a tray and looked up sharply, with quite the moorgate street expression, i remember thinking. "i think you are a good deal attracted by my youngest girl, mordan?" he said; and his tone demanded a reply even more than his words. "yes, i certainly admire her greatly," i said, more than a little puzzled by the wording of the question; more than a little fluttered, it may be; for it seemed to me a welcoming sort of question, and i was keenly aware of my ineligibility as a suitor. "exactly. that is no more than i expected to hear from you. indeed, i think anything less would--well, i shouldn't have been at all pleased with anything less." his complaisance quite startled me. somehow, too, it reminded me of my many baffled retirements of that day, before the elements in sylvia's character which chilled and repelled me. i was almost glad that i had not committed myself to any warmer or more definite declaration. mr. wheeler weighed his cigar with nice care. "yes," he continued. "if you had disputed the attraction--the attachment, i should perhaps say--i should have found serious ground for criticizing your--your behaviour to my girl. as it is, of course, the thing is natural enough. you have been attracted; the child is attractive; and you have paid her marked attentions--which is what any young man might be expected to do." "if he is going to suggest an engagement," i thought, "i must be very clear about my financial position, or want of position." mr. wheeler continued thoughtfully to eye his cigar. "yes, it is perfectly natural," he said; "and you will probably think, therefore, that what i am going to say is very unnatural and unkind. but you must just bear in mind that i am a good deal older than you, and, also, i am sylvia's father." i nodded, with a new interest. "well, now, mordan, let me say first that i know my girls pretty well, and i am quite satisfied that sylvia is not fitted to be a poor man's wife. you would probably think her far better fitted for that part than her sister, because marjory is a lot more gay and frivolous. well, you would be wrong. they are neither of them really qualified for the post, but sylvia is far less so than marjory. in point of fact she would be wretched in it, she would fail in it; and--i may say that the fact would not make matters easier for her husband." there did not seem to me any need for a reply, but i nodded again; and mr. wheeler resumed, after a long draw at his cigar. he smoked a very excellent, rather rich havana. "yes, girls are different now from the girls i sweethearted with; and girls like mine must have money. i dare say you think sylvia dresses very prettily, in a simple way. my dear fellow, her laundry bill alone would bankrupt a newspaper reporter." i may have indicated before, that mr. wheeler was not a person of any particular refinement. he had made the money which provided a tolerably costly upbringing for his children, but his own education i gathered had been of a much more exiguous character. there was, as i know, a good deal of truth in what he said of the girl of the period. "well, now, i put it to you, mordan, whether, admitting that what i say about sylvia is true--and you may take it from me that it is true--whether it would be very kind or fair on my part to allow you to go on paying attention to her at the rate of--say to-day's. do you think it would be wise or kind of me to allow it? i say nothing about your side in the matter, because--well, because i still have some recollection of how a young fellow feels in such a case. but would it be wise of me to allow it?" he was a shrewd man, this father of sylvia, and of my old friend; and i have no doubt that the tactics i found so disarming had served him well before that day in the city. at the same time, instinct seemed to forbid complete surrender on my side. "it is just consideration of the present difficulties of my position which has made me careful to avoid seeking to commit sylvia in any way," i said. it was probably an unwise remark. at all events, it struck the note of opposition, of contumacy, which it seemed my host had been anticipating; and he met it with a new inflection in his voice, as who should say: "well, now to be done with explanations and the velvet glove. have at you!" what he actually said was: "ah, there's a deal of mischief to be done without a declaration, my friend. but, however, i don't expect that you should share my view. i only suggested it on the off chance because--well, i suppose, because that would be the easiest way out for me, as host. but i don't know that i should have thought much of you if you had met me half-way. so now let me do my part and get it over, for it's not very pleasant. i have shown you my reasons, which, however they may seem to you, are undeniable to me. now for my wishes in the matter, as a father; i am sure there is no need for me to say 'instructions,' so i say 'wishes.' they are simply that for the time--for a year or two, anyhow--you should not give me the pleasure of being your host, and that you should not communicate in any way with sylvia. there, now it's said, and done, and i think we might leave it at that; for i don't think it's much more pleasant for me than for you. i'm sure i hope we shall have many a pleasant evening together--er--after a few years have passed. now, what do you say--shall we have another cigar, or go in to the ladies?" i flatter myself that, with all my shortcomings, i was never a sulky fellow. at all events, i elected to join the ladies; but my reward was not immediately apparent, for it seemed that sylvia had retired for the night. at least, we did not meet again until breakfast-time next morning, when departure was imminent, and the week's work had, so to say, begun. viii a stirring week ay! we would each fain drive at random, and not steer by rule. weakness! and worse, weakness bestows in vain. winds from our side the unsuiting consort rive. we rush by coasts where we had lief remain; man cannot, though he would, live chance's fool. . . . . . even so we leave behind, as, charter'd by some unknown powers, we stem across the sea of life by night. the joys which were not for our use design'd; the friends to whom we had no natural right, the homes that were not destined to be ours. matthew arnold. it goes without saying that mr. wheeler's attitude, and my being practically forbidden the house at weybridge, strengthened and sharpened my interest in sylvia. nothing else so fans the flame of a young man's fancy as being forbidden all access to its object. accordingly, in the weeks which followed that sunday at weybridge, i began an ardent correspondence with sylvia, after inducing her to arrange to call for letters at a certain newspaper shop not far from the station. it was a curious correspondence in many ways. some of my long, wordy epistles were indited from the reporters' room at the _daily gazette_ office, in the midst of noisy talk and the hurried production of "copy." others, again, were produced, long after--for my health's sake--i should have been in bed; and these were written on a corner of my little chest of drawers in the bloomsbury lodging-house. i was a great reader of the poet swinburne at the time, and i doubt not my muse was sufficiently passionate seeming. but, though i believe my phrases of endearment were alliteratively emphatic, and even, as i afterwards learned, somewhat alarming to their recipient, yet the real mainspring of my eloquence was the difference between our respective views of life, sylvia's and mine. in short, before very long my letters resolved themselves into fiery and vehement denunciation of sylvia's particular and chosen _metier_ in religion, and equally vehement special pleading on behalf of the claims of humanity and social reform, as i saw them. i find the thing provocative of smiles now, but i was terribly in earnest then, or thought so, and had realized nothing of the absolute futility of pitting temperament against temperament, reason against conviction, argument against emotional belief. we had some stolen meetings, too, in the evenings, i upon one side of a low garden wall, sylvia upon the other. stolen meetings are apt to be very sweet and stirring to young blood; but the sordid consideration of the railway fare to weybridge forbade frequent indulgence, and such was my absorption in social questions, such my growing hatred of sylvia's anti-human form of religion, that even here i could not altogether forbear from argument. indeed, i believe i often left poor sylvia weary and bewildered by the apparently crushing force of my representations, which, while quite capable of making her pretty head to ache, left her mental and emotional attitude as completely untouched as though i had never opened my lips. wrought up by means of my own eloquence, i would make my way back to london in a hot tremor of exaltation, which i took to be love and desire of sylvia. and then, as like as not, i would receive a letter from my lady-love the next day, the refrain of which would be: "how strange you are. how you muddle me! indeed, you don't understand; and neither, perhaps, do i understand you. it seems to me you would drag sacred matters down to the dusty level of your politics." the dusty level of my politics! that was it. the affairs of the world, of mortal men, they were as the affairs of ants to pretty sylvia. a lofty and soaring view, you say? why, no; not that exactly, for what remained of real and vital moment in her mind, to the exclusion of all serious interest in humanity? there remained, as a source of much gratification, what i called the daily dramatic performance at st. jude's; and there remained as the one study worthy of serious devotion and interest--sylvia wheeler's own soul. she never sought to influence the welfare of another person's soul. indeed, as she so often said to me, with a kind of plaintiveness which should have softened my declamatory ardour but did not, she did not like speaking of such matters at all; she regarded it as a kind of desecration. no, it did not seem to me a lofty and inspiring view that sylvia took. on the contrary, it exercised a choking effect upon me, by reason of what i regarded as its intense littleness and narrowness. the too often bitter and sordid realities of the struggle of life, as i saw it in london, had the effect upon me of making sylvia's esoteric exclusiveness of interest seem so petty as to be an insult to human intelligence. i would stare out of the train windows, on my way back from weybridge, at the countless lights, the endless huddled roofs of london; and, seeing in these a representation of the huge populace of the city, i would stretch out my arms in an impotent embrace, muttering: "yes, indeed, you _are_ real; you _are_ more important than any other consideration; you are _not_ the mere shadows she thinks you; your service is of more moment than any miracle, or than any nursing of one's own soul!" and so i would make my way to fleet street, where i forced myself to believe i served the people by teaching them to despise patriotism, to give nothing, but to organize and demand, and keep on demanding and obtaining, more and more, from a state whose business it was to give, and to ask nothing in return. i was becoming known, and smiled at mockingly, for my earnest devotion to the extreme of the _daily gazette's_ policy, which, if it made for anything, made, i suppose, for anti-nationalism, anti-militarism, anti-imperialism, anti-loyalty, and anti-everything else except state aid--by which was meant the antithesis of aid of the state. "i've got quite a good job for you this afternoon, mordan--something quite in your line," said mr. charles n. pierce one morning. "a lot of these south african firebrands are having a luncheon at the westminster palace hotel, and that fellow john crondall is to give an address afterwards on 'imperial interests and imperial duties.' i'll give you your fling on this up to half a column--three-quarters if it's good enough; but, be careful. a sort of contemptuous good humour will be the best line to take. make 'em ridiculous. and don't forget to convey the idea of the whole business being plutocratic. you know the sort of thing: park lane israelites, scooping millions, at the expense of the overtaxed proletariat in england. jingoism, a sort of swell bucket-shop business--you know the tone. none of your heroics, mind you. it's got to be news; but you can work in the ridicule all right." i always think of that luncheon as one of the stepping-stones in my life. however crude and mistaken i had been up till then, i had always been sincere. my report of that function went against my own convictions. the writing of it was a painful business; i knew i was being mean and dishonest. not that what i heard there changed my views materially. no; i still clung to my general convictions, which fitted the policy of the _daily gazette_. but the fact remained that in treating that gathering as i did, on the lines laid down by my news-editor, i knew that i was being dishonest, that i was conveying an untrue impression. in this feeling, as in most of a young man's keen feelings, the personal element played a considerable part. i was introduced to the speaker, john crondall, by a cambridge man i knew, who came there on behalf of a conservative paper, which had recently taken a new lease of life in new hands, and become the most powerful among the serious organs of the empire party. it is a curious thing, by the way, that overwhelming as was the dominance of the anti-national party in politics, the imperialist party could still claim the support of the greatest and most thoughtfully written newspapers. john crondall had no time to spare for more than a very few words with so obscure a person as myself; but in two minutes he was able to produce a deep impression upon me, as he did upon most people who met him. john crondall had a great deal of personal charm, but the thing about him which bit right into my consciousness that afternoon was his earnest sincerity. as crewe, the man who introduced me to him, said afterwards: "there isn't one particle of flummery in crondall's whole body." it was an obviously truthful criticism. you might agree with the man or not, but no intelligent human being could doubt his honesty, the reality of his convictions, the strength and sincerity of his devotion to the cause of those convictions. it was perfectly well known then that crondall had played a capable third or fourth fiddle in the maintenance, so far, of the imperial interest in south africa. his masterful leader, the man who, according to report, had inspired all his fiery earnestness in the imperialist cause, was dead. but john crondall had relinquished nothing of his activity as a lieutenant, and continued to spend a good share of his time in south africa, while, wherever he was, continuing to devote his energies to the same cause. as for his material interests, crewe assured me that crondall knew no more of business, south african or otherwise, than a schoolboy. he had inherited property worth about a couple of thousand a year, and had rather decreased than added to it. for, though he had acted as war correspondent in the russo-japan war, and through one or two "little wars," in outlying parts of the british empire, circumstances had prevented such work being of profit to him. in the south african war he had served as an irregular, and achieved distinction in scouting and guiding work. john crondall's life, i gathered, had been the very opposite of my own sheltered progress from dorset village to school, from school to university, and thence to my present street-bound routine in london. his views were clearly no less opposite to that vague tumult of resentment, protest, and aspiration which represented my own outlook upon life. indeed, his speech that day was an epitome of the sentiment and opinions which i had chosen to regard with the utmost abhorrence. with crondall, every other consideration hinged upon and was subservient to the imperialist idea of devotion to the bond which united all british possessions under one rule. the maintenance and furtherance of that tie, the absorption of all parts into that great whole, the subordination of all other interests to this: that i took to be john crondall's great end in life. by association i had come to identify myself, and my ideals of social reform, entirely with those to whom mere mention of the rest of the empire, or of the ties which made it an empire, was as a red rag to a bull. i have tried to explain something of the causes for this extraordinary attitude, but i am conscious that at the present time it cannot really be explained. it was there, however. we might interest ourselves in talk of germany, we might enthusiastically admire and even model ourselves upon the conduct of a foreign people; but mention of the outside places of our own empire filled us with anger, resentment, scorn, and contempt. it amounted to this: that we regarded as an enemy the man who sought to serve the empire. he cannot do that without opposing us, we said in effect; as one who should say: you cannot cultivate my garden, or repair my fences, without injuring my house and showing yourself an enemy to my family. a strange business; but so it was. therefore, john crondall's speech that day found me full enough of opposition, and not at all inclined to be sympathetic. but the thing of it was, i knew him for an honest and disinterested man; a man alight with high inspiration and lofty motive; a man immeasurably above sordid or selfish ends. and it was my task, first, to ridicule him; and, second, to attach sordidness and self-interest to him. that was the thing which made the day eventful for me. john crondall talked of british rule and british justice, as he had known them in the world's far places. he drew pictures of oriental rule, boer rule, russian rule, savage rule; and, again, of the methods and customs of foreign powers in their colonial administration. when he claimed this and that for british rule, and the imperial unity which must back it, as such, sneers came naturally to me. the anti-british sentiment covered that. my qualms began, when he based his plea upon the value of british administration to all concerned, the danger to civilization, to mankind, of its being allowed to weaken. remember, he spoke in pictures, and in the first person; not of imaginings, but of what he had seen: how a single anti-british speech in london, meant a month's prolongation of bloody strife in one country, or an added weight of cruel oppression in another. right or wrong, john crondall carried you with him; for he dealt with men and things as he had brothered and known them, before ever he let loose, in a fiery peroration, that abstract idea of empire patriotism which ruled his life. but it was not all this that made my paltry journalistic task a hard one. it was my certainty of crondall's lofty sincerity. from that afternoon i date the beginning of the end of my _daily gazette_ engagement. some men in my shoes would have moved to success from this point; gaining from it either complete unscrupulousness, or the bold decision which would have made them important as friends or enemies. for my part i was simply slackened by the episode. i met john crondall several times again. he chaffed me in the most generous fashion over my abominably unfair report of the luncheon gathering. he influenced me greatly, though my opinions remained untouched, so far as i knew. i cannot explain just how john crondall influenced me, but i am very conscious that he had a broadening effect on me--he enlarged my horizon. if he had remained in london things might have gone differently with me. one cannot tell. among other things, i know his influence mightily reduced the number and length of my letters to weybridge. in my mind i was always fighting john crondall. it was my crowded millions of england against his lonely, sun-browned men and women outside--his world interests. the war in my heart was real, unceasing. and then there was pretty sylvia and her little soul, and her meditations, and her daily miracles. the pin-point, bright as it was, became too tiny for me to concentrate upon it, when contrasted with these other tumultuous concerns. then came a crowded, confused week, in which i saw john crondall depart by the south african boat-train from waterloo. the first lieutenant of his dead leader out there had cabled for crondall to come and hold his broad shoulders against the side of some political dam. my eyes pricked when john crondall wrung my hand. "you're all right, sonny," he said. "don't you suppose i have the smallest doubt about you." i had never given him anything but sneers and opposition--i, a little unknown scrub of a reporter; he a man who helped to direct policies and shape states. here he was rushing off to the other side of the earth at his own expense, sacrificing his own interests and engagements at home, in the service of an idea, an abstract tie, a flag. my philosophy had seemed spacious beside, say, sylvia's: to secure better things for those about me, instead of for my own soul only. but what of crondall? as i say, my eyes pricked, even while i framed some sentence in my mind expressing regret for his wrong-headedness. ah, well! the same week--the same day--brought me the gentlest little note of dismissal from sylvia. her duty to her father, and--my ideas seemed too much for her peace of mind; so bewildering. "i am no politician, you know; and truth to tell, these matters which seem so much to you that you would have them drive religion from me, they seem to me so infinitely unimportant. forgive me!" no doubt my vanity was wounded, but i will not pretend that i was very seriously hurt. neither could i ponder long upon the matter, because another letter, received by the same post, claimed my attention. sylvia's letter threw out a hint of better things for us in a year or two's time. her notion of a break between us was "for the present." there were references to "later on, when you can come here again, and we need not hide things." but my other letter made more instant claims. it was type-written, and ran thus: "dear mr. mordan:--mr. chas. n. pierce directs me to inform you that after the expiration of the present month your services will no longer be required by the editor of the _daily gazette_. "i am, sir, yours faithfully, james martin, _secretary_." i pictured the little pale-eyed rabbit of a man typing the dictum of his napoleon, his hero, and wondering in his amiable way how "mr. mordan" would be affected thereby, and how he had managed to displease the great man. as for "the editor of the _daily gazette_," i had not seen him since the day of my engagement. but i recalled now various recent signs of chill disapproval of my work on mr. pierce's part. and, indeed, i was aware myself of a slackness in my work, a kind of reckless, windmill-tilting tendency in my general attitude. meantime, there was the fact that i had recently encroached twice upon my tiny nest-egg; once to buy a wedding present for my sister lucy, and once for a piece of silly extravagance. it was quite a notable week. ix a step down "cosmopolitanism is nonsense; the cosmopolite is a cipher, worse than a cipher; outside of nationality there is neither art, nor truth, nor life; there is nothing."--ivan turgenieff. i have mentioned a piece of reckless extravagance; it was reckless in view of my straightened circumstances. and the reason i mention this apparent trifle is that it and its attendant circumstances influenced me in my conduct after the abrupt termination of the _daily gazette_ engagement. one of my fellow knights of the reporters' room introduced me in a certain fleet street wine-bar to one of the characters of that classic highway--a man named clement blaine, who edited and owned a weekly publication called _the mass_. i hasten to add that this journal had nothing whatever to do with any kind of religious observance. its title referred to the people, or rather, to the section of the public which, at that time, we still described by the quaintly misleading phrase, "the working classes," as though work were a monopoly in the hands of the manual labourer. _the mass_ was a journal which had quite a vogue at that time. this was brought about, i suppose, by the wave of anti-nationalism which, in 1906, established the notorious administration which subsequently became known as "the destroyers." it was maintained largely, i fancy, by clement blaine's genius for getting himself quoted in other journals of every sort and standing. the existence of _the mass_, and the popularity which it earned by outraging every civic and national decency, stands in my mind as a striking example of the extraordinary laxity and slackness of moral which had grown out of our boasted tolerance, broad-mindedness, and cosmopolitanism. we had waxed drunken upon the parrot-like asseveration of "rights," which our fathers had won for us, and we had no time to spare for their compensating duties. this misguided apotheosis of what we considered freedom and broad-mindedness, produced the most startling and anomalous situations in our national life, including the almost incredible fact that, while nominally at peace with the world, the state was being bitterly warred against by cliques and parties among its own subjects. for instance, in any other state than our own, my new acquaintance, clement blaine, would have been safely disposed in a convenient prison cell, and his flamingly seditious journal would have been promptly and effectually squashed. in england the man was free as the prime minister, and a department of state, the post office, was engaged in the distribution of the journal which he devoted exclusively to stirring up animosity against that state, and traitorous opposition to its constitution. further, mr. blaine's vitriolic outpourings, his unnatural defilement of his own nest, were gravely quoted in every newspaper in the kingdom, without a hint of recognition of the fact that they were fundamentally criminal and a public offence. the sacrosanct "liberty of the subject" was involved; and though mr. blaine would have been forcibly restrained if he had shown any tendency to injure lamp-posts, or to lay hands upon his own worthless life, he was given every facility in his self-appointed task of inciting the public to all sorts of offences against the state, and to a variety of forms of national suicide. it was the commonest thing for a member of parliament, a man solemnly sworn and consecrated to the loyal service of the crown and state, to fill a signed column of clement blaine's paper, with an article or letter the whole avowed end of which would be the championing of some national enemy or rival, or the advocacy of means whereby a shrewd blow might be struck against british rule or british prestige in some part of the world. i recall one long and scurrilous article by a member of parliament, urging rebellious natives in south africa to take heart of grace and pursue with ever-increasing vigour their attacks upon the small and isolated white populace which upheld british rule in that part of the continent. i remember a long and venomous letter from another member of parliament (a strong advocate of the state payment of members) defending in the most ardently sympathetic manner both the action and the sentiments of a municipal official who had torn down and destroyed the union jack upon an occasion of public ceremony. we called this sort of thing british freedom in those chaotic days; and when our continental rivals were not jeering at the grotesqueness of it, they were lauding this particular form of madness to the skies, as well they might, seeing that our insensate profligacy and incontinence meant their gain. the cause of a foreigner, good, bad, or indifferent--that was the cause clement blaine most loved to champion in his journal. an attack upon anything british, though the author of it might be the basest creature ever outlawed from any community--that was certain of ready and eager hospitality in the columns of _the mass_. i can conceive of no infamy which that journal was not ready to condone, no offence it would not seek to justify--save and except the crime of patriotism, loyalty, avowed love of britain. and this obscene, mad-dog policy, so difficult even to imagine at this time, was by curious devious ways identified with socialism. _the mass_ was called a socialist organ. the fact may have been a libel upon socialism, if not upon socialists; but so it was. be it said that at cambridge i had rather surprised the evangelical section of my college (corpus christi) by the part i played in founding a short-lived institution called the anonymous society, the choicest spirits in which affected canvas shirts and abstention from the use of neckties. as socialists, we invited the waiters of the college to a soirée, at which a judicious blend of revolutionary economics and bitter beer was relied upon to provide a flow of reasonable and inexpensive entertainment. the society lapsed after a time, chiefly owing, if i remember rightly, to an insufficiency of funds for refreshments. but i had remained rather a person to be reckoned with at the union. i regarded my meeting with clement blaine as something of an event, and i very cheerfully and quite gratuitously contributed an article to his journal dealing with some form of government subvention which i held to be a state duty. (we wasted few words over the duties of the citizen in those days.) it was as a result of that article that i was invited to a socialist soirée in which the moving spirit, at all events in the refreshment-room, was mr. clement blaine. here i met a variety of queer fish who called themselves socialists. they were of both sexes, and upon the whole they were a silly, inconsequent set. their views rather wearied me, despite my predisposition to favour them. they were a kind of tepid, ineffectual anarchists, unconvinced and wholly unconvincing. broadly speaking, theirs was a policy of blind reversal. they were not constructive, but they were opposed vaguely to the existing order of things, and, particularly, to everything british. they pinned their faith to the foreigner in all things, even though the foreigner's whole energies might be devoted to the honest endeavour to raise conditions in his country to a level approaching the british standard. any contention against the existing order, and, above all, anything against britain, appealed directly to these rather tawdry people. in this drab, ineffective gathering, i found one point of colour, like a red rose on a dingy white tablecloth. this was beatrice, the daughter of clement blaine. i believe the man had a wife. one figures her as a worn household drudge. in any case, she made no appearance in any of the places in which i met blaine, or his handsome daughter. beatrice blaine was a new type to me. one had read of such girls, but i had never met them. and i suppose novelty always has a certain charm for youth. one felt that beatrice had crossed the rubicon. mentally, at all events, one gathered that she had thrown her bonnet over the windmill. physically, materially, i have no doubt that beatrice was perfectly well qualified to take care of herself. but here was a very handsome girl who was entirely without reticence or reserve. with her, many things usually treated with respect were--"all rot." beatrice's aim in life was pleasure, and she not merely admitted, but boasted of the fact. she did not think much of her father's friends as individuals. she probably objected to their dinginess. but she acclaimed herself a thoroughgoing socialist, i think because she believed that socialism meant the provision of plenty in money, dresses, pleasures, and so forth, for all who were short of these commodities. perhaps i was a shade less dingy than the others. at all events, beatrice honoured me with her favour upon this occasion, and talked to me of pleasure. so far as recollection serves me she connected pleasure chiefly with theatres, restaurants, the habit of supping in public, and the use of hansom cabs. at all events, within the week i squandered two whole sovereigns out of my small hoard on giving this young pagan what she called a "fluffy" evening. it reminded me more than a little of certain rather frantic undergraduate excursions from cambridge. but beatrice quoted luscious lines of minor poetry, and threw a certain glamour over a quarter of the town which was a warren of tawdry immorality; the hunting-ground of a pallid-faced battalion of alien pimps and parasites. england was then the one civilized country in the world which still welcomed upon its shores the outcast, rejected, refuse of other lands; and, as a matter of course, when foreign capitals became positively too hot for irreclaimable characters, they flocked into whitechapel and soho, there to indulge their natural bent for every kind of criminality known to civilization, save those involving physical risk or physical exertion for the criminal. there were then whole quarters of the metropolis out of which every native resident had gradually been ousted, in which the english language was rarely heard, except during a police raid. tens of thousands of these unclassed, denationalized foreigners lived and waxed fat by playing upon the foibles and pandering to the weaknesses of the great city's native population. others, of a higher class, steadily ousted native labour in the various branches of legitimate commerce. we know now, to our cost, something of the malignant danger these foreigners represented. in indirect ways one would have supposed their evil influence was sufficiently obvious then. but i remember that the parties represented by such organs as the _daily gazette_ prided themselves upon their furious opposition to any hint of precautions making for the restriction of alien immigration. england was the land of the free, they said. yet, while boasting that england was the refuge of the persecuted (as well as the rejected) of all lands, we were so wonderfully broad-minded that we upheld anything foreign against anything british, and were intolerant only of english sentiment, english rule, english institutions. i believe beatrice's conviction of the superiority of the continent and of foreigners generally was based upon the belief that: "on the continent people can really enjoy themselves. there's none of our ridiculous english puritanism, and early closing, and rubbish of that sort there." i am rather surprised that the crude hedonism of beatrice should have appealed to me, for my weaknesses had never really included mere fleshly indulgence. but, as i have said, the girl had the charm of novelty for me. i remember satirically assuring myself that, upon the whole, her frank concentration upon worldly pleasure was more natural and pleasing than sylvia's rapt concentration upon other kinds of self-ministration. ours was a period of self-indulgence. beatrice was, after all, only a little more naïve and outspoken than the majority in her thirst for pleasure. and she was quite charming to look upon. almost the first man to whom i spoke regarding my dismissal from the staff of the _daily gazette_ was clement blaine. i met him in fleet street, and was asked in to his cupboard of an office. "you are a man who knows every one in fleet street," i said. "i wish you would keep an eye lifting for a journalistic billet for me." and then i told him that i was leaving the _daily gazette_, and spoke of the work i had done, and of my little journalistic experiences at cambridge. he combed his glossy black beard with the fingers of one hand; a white hand it was, save where cigarettes had browned the first and second fingers; a hand that had never known physical toil, though its owner always addressed "working" men as one of themselves. he wore a fiery red necktie, and a fiery diamond on the little finger of the hand that combed his beard. a self-indulgent life in the city was telling on him, but clement blaine was still rather a fine figure of a man, in his coarse, bold way. he had a varnished look, and, dressed for the part, would have made a splendid stage pirate. "it's odd you should have come to me to-day," he said. "look here!" he handed me a cutting from a daily paper. at holloway, yesterday afternoon, an inquest was held on the body of a man named joseph cartwright, who is said to have been a journalist. this man was found dead upon his bed, fully dressed, on tuesday morning. the medical evidence showed death to be due to heart failure, and indicated alcoholism as the predisposing cause. a verdict was returned in accordance with the medical evidence. "he was my assistant editor," said clement blaine, as i looked up from my perusal of this sorry tale. "really?" i said. "yes, a clever fellow; most accomplished journalist, but----" and mr. blaine raised his elbow with a significant gesture, by which he suggested the act of drinking. within the hour i had accepted an engagement as assistant editor of _the mass_ with the magnificent sum of two pounds a week by way of remuneration. "it's poor pay," said blaine. "and i only wish i could double it. but that's all it will run to at present, and--well, of course, it counts for something to be working for the cause as directly as we do in _the mass_." i nodded, not without qualms. my education made it impossible for me to accept unreservedly the most scurrilous features of the journal. but the cause was good--i was assured of that; and i would introduce improvements, i thought. i was still very inexperienced. meantime, i was not to know the carking anxiety of the out-of-work. i could still pay my way at the bloomsbury lodging. this was something. beatrice expressed herself as delighted. i was to accumulate large sums in various vague ways, and enjoy innumerable "fluffy" evenings with her. what a queer mad jumble of a shut-in world our london was, and how blindly self-centred we all were in our pursuit of immediate gain, in our absolute indifference to the larger outside movements, the shaping of national destinies, the warring of national interests! i remember that we were quite triumphant, in our little owlish way, that year; for the weight of socialistic and anti-national, anti-responsible feeling had forced a time-serving cabinet into cutting down our navy by a quarter at one stroke. the hurried scramblers after money and pleasure were much gratified. "we can make defensive alliances with other powers," they said. "meantime--retrench, reduce, cut down, and give us more freedom in our race. freedom, freedom--that's the thing; and peace for the development of commerce." undoubtedly, as a people, we were fey. x facilis descensus averni love thou thy land, with love far-brought from out the storied past, and used within the present, but transfused thro' future time by power of thought. true love turned round on fixed poles, love that endures not sordid ends, for english natures, freemen, friends, thy brothers and immortal souls. but pamper not a hasty time, nor feed with crude imaginings the herd, wild hearts and feeble wings that every sophister can lime. deliver not the tasks of might to weakness, neither hide the ray from those, not blind, who wait for day, tho' sitting girt with doubtful light. tennyson. and now, as assistant editor of _the mass_, i entered a period of my life upon which i look back as one might who, by chance rather than by reason of any particular fitness for survival, had won safely through a whirlpool. the next few years were a troublous time, a stormy era of transition, for most english people. for many besides myself the period was a veritable maelstrom of confusion, of blind battling with unrecognized forces, of wasted effort, neglected duty, futile struggles, and slavish inertia. at an early stage i learned to know clement blaine for a sweater of underpaid labour, a man as grossly self-indulgent as he was unprincipled, as much a charlatan as he was, in many ways, an ignoramus. yet i see now, more clearly than then, that even clement blaine was not all bad. he was not even completely a charlatan. he believed he was justified in making all the money he could, in any way that was possible. it must be remembered, however, that at that time most people really thought, whatever they might say, that the first and most obvious duty in life was to make money for themselves. then, too, i think blaine really believed that the sort of anti-national, socialistic theories he advocated would make for the happiness of the people; for the profit and benefit of the majority. he was blinded by lack of knowledge of history and of human nature. he was an extreme example, perhaps, but, after all, his mistaken idea that happiness depended upon personal possession of this and that, upon having and holding, was very generally accepted at that time. the old saving sense of duty, love of country, national responsibility, and pride of race, had faded and become unreal to a people feverishly bent upon personal gain only. nelson's famous signal and watchword was kept alive, in inscriptions; in men's hearts and minds it no longer had any meaning; it made no appeal. this is to speak broadly, of course, and of the majority. we had some noble exceptions to the rule. in looking back now upon that period, it seems to me, as i suppose to all who lived through it, such a tragedy of confusion, of sordidness, and of futility, that one is driven to take too sweepingly pessimistic a view of the time. i have said a good deal of the anti-national sentiment, because it was undoubtedly in the ascendant then. as history shows us, this sentiment ruled; by it the ship of state was steered; by it the defences of the empire were cut down and down to the ultimate breaking point. we call the administration of that period criminally unpatriotic. as such "the destroyers" must always figure in history. but we must not forget that then, as now, we english people had as good a government as we deserved. the spirit of selfish irresponsibility was not confined to whitehall. on the other hand, it must not be supposed that no patriotic party existed. there was a patriotic party, and the exigencies of the time inspired some of its leaders nobly. but the sheer weight of numbers, of indifference, and of selfishness to which this party was opposed was too much for it. the best method of realizing this nowadays is by the study of the newspaper files for the early years of the century. from these it will be seen that even the people and journals in whom devoted patriotism survived, even the leaders who gave up their time and energy (politics gave us such a man, the army another, the navy another, literature another, and journalism gave us an editor in whom the right fire burned brightly) to the task of warning and adjuring the public, and seeking to awaken the nation to the lost sense of its dangers, its duties, and its responsibilities; even these were forced by the weight of public selfishness into using an almost apologetic tone, with reference to the common calls of patriotism and imperial unity. people dismissed an obvious challenge of the national conscience with a hurried and impatient wave of the hand. they were tired of this; they had heard enough of the other; they were occupied with local interests of the moment, and could not be bothered with this or that consideration affecting the welfare of the world-wide shores of greater outside britain. and, accordingly, we find that the most patriotic and public-spirited journal was obliged, for its life, to devote more attention to a football match at the crystal palace than to a change of public policy affecting the whole commercial future of a part of the empire twenty times greater than britain. there were other journals, organs of the self-centred majority, that would barely even mention an imperial development of that sort, and then but casually, as a matter of no particular interest to their readers; as indeed it was. i do not think that retrospection has coloured my view too darkly when i say that my brief experience in fleet street made me feel that the _daily gazette_ party, the supporters of "the destroyers" (as naval folk had named the government of the day) consisted of a mass of smugly hypocritical self-seekers; and that the party i served under clement blaine were a mass of blatantly frank self-seekers. such generalizations can never be quite just, however. there were earnest and devoted men in every section of the community. but, as a generalization, as indicating the typical characteristics of the parties, i fear that my view has been proved correct. it would be quite a mistake to suppose that in the political world the shortcomings were all on one side. writers like myself, even men like clement blaine, had only too much justification for the contempt they poured upon the conservative party. selfishness, indolence, and the worship of the fossilized party spirit, had eaten into the very vitals of this section of the political world. the form of madness we called party loyalty made the best men we had willing to sacrifice national to personal interests. so-and-so must retain his place; loyalty to the party demands our support there and there. we must give it, whatever the consequences. the thing is not easy to understand; but it was so, and the strongest and best men of the day were culpable in this. the farther my london experiences took me, the greater became the mass of my shattered illusions, broken ideals, and lost hopes. i remember my reflections during a brief visit i paid to my mother in dorset, when i had spent an evening talking with my sister lucy's husband. doctor woodthrop was a good fellow enough, and my sister seemed happier with him than one would have expected, remembering that it was rather the desire for freedom, than love, which gave her to him. woodthrop was popular, honest, steady-going; a fine, typical englishman of the period, i suppose. in politics he was as his father before him, though the name had changed from tory to conservative. he talked politics for a week at election time. i would not say that he ever thought politics. i know that he had no knowledge, and less interest, where the affairs of his country were concerned, when i met and talked with him during that visit. the country's defences were actually of far less importance in his eyes than the country's cricket averages. as for either social reform interests in england, or the affairs of the empire outside england, he simply could not be induced to give them even conversational breathing space. they were as exotic to my sister's husband as the ethics of esoteric buddhism. but he was a thick and thin conservative. to be sure, he would have said, nothing would cause him to waver in that. as for myself, i defended the anti-national party in its repudiation of imperial responsibility by arguing that the domestic needs of the country were too urgent and great to admit of any kind of expenditure, in money or energy, upon outside affairs. we did not recognize that internal reform and content were absolutely incompatible with shameless neglect of fundamental duties. we were as sailors who should concentrate upon drying and cleaning their cabin, seeking at all hazards to make that comfortable, while refusing to spare time for the ship's pumps, though the water was rising in her hold from a score of external fissures. our anti-nationalists and little englanders were little cabin-dwellers, shirkers from the open deck, careless of the ship's hull, and masts, and sails, busily bent only upon the enrichment of their particular divisions among her saloons. in the early days of my engagement as assistant editor of _the mass_, i think i may claim that i worked hard and with honest intent to make the paper represent truly what i conceived to be the good and helpful side of socialism, of social progress and reform. but, if i am to be frank, i fear i must admit that within six months of my first engagement by clement blaine, i had ceased to entertain any sincere hope or ambition in this direction. and yet i remained assistant editor of _the mass_. the two statements doubtless redound to my discredit, and i have little excuse to offer. the work represented bread and butter for me, and that counted for something, of course. but i will admit that i think i could have found some more worthy employment, and should have done so but for beatrice blaine, my employer's daughter. time and time again my gorge rose at being obliged to play my part--very often, as a writer, the principal part--in what i knew to be an absolutely dishonest piece of journalism. once i remember refusing to write a grossly malicious and untrue representation of certain actions of john crondall's in the transvaal. but i am ashamed to say i revised the proofs of the lying thing, and saw it to press, when a hireling of clement blaine's had prepared it. the man was a discharged servant of crondall's, a convicted thief, as i afterwards learned, as well as a most abandoned liar. but his scurrilous fabrication, after publication in _the mass_, was quoted at length by the _daily gazette_, and by the journals of that persuasion throughout the country. i hardly know how to explain my relations with blaine's daughter. i suppose the main point is she was beautiful, in the sense that certain cats are beautiful. i rarely heard of my weybridge friends now, and never, directly, of sylvia. my life seemed infinitely remote from that of the luxurious wheeler _ménage_. when i chanced to earn a few guineas with my pen outside the littered office of _the mass_ (where the bulk of the editorial work fell to me), the money was almost invariably devoted to the entertainment of beatrice. she was in several ways not unlike a kitten, or something feline, of larger growth: the panther, for example, in balzac's thrilling story, "a passion in the desert." i have never, before or since, met any woman so totally devoid of the moral sense as beatrice. yet she had a heart that was not bad; indeed it was a tender heart. but there was no moral sense to guide and balance her. i think of beatrice as very much a product of that time. her own personal enjoyment, pleasure, indulgence; these formed alike the centre and the limit of her thoughts and aims. and the suggestion that serious thought or energy should be given to any other end, struck beatrice as necessarily insincere and absurd. as for duty, the word had no more real application to her own life as beatrice saw it than the counsels of old-time chivalry for the pursuit of the holy grail. soberly considered, this is doubtless very grievous. but it must be said that if beatrice was singular in this, her singularity lay rather in her frank disclosure of her attitude than in the attitude itself. i am not sure that morally her absorption in such crude pleasures as she knew, was a whit more culpable than the equal absorption of nine people out of ten at that time, in money-getting, in sport, in society functions, or in sheer idleness. the same oblivion to the sense of duty was very generally characteristic; though in other matters, no doubt, the moral sense was more active. in beatrice it simply was not present at all. all this was tolerably clear to me even then; but i will not pretend that it interfered much with the physical and emotional attraction which beatrice had for me. apart from her my life was very drab in colour. i had no recreations. in my time at rugby and at cambridge we either practically ignored sport (so far, at all events, as actual participation in it went), or lived for it. i had very largely ignored it. now, beatrice blaine represented, not exactly recreation, perhaps--no, not that i think--but gaiety. the hours i spent in her company were the only form of gaiety that entered into my life. my feeling for beatrice was not serious love, not at all a grand passion; but denying myself the occasional pleasure of ministering to her appetite for little outings would have been a harder task for me than the acceptation of sylvia wheeler's dismissal. my attentions to beatrice were very much those of balzac's provençal to his panther, after he had overcome his first terrors. there were times when her acceptance of gifts or compliments from another man made me believe myself really in love with beatrice. then some peculiarly distasteful aspect of my journalistic work would be forced upon me; i would receive some striking illustration of the hopelessly sordid character of blaine and his circle, of the policy of _the mass_, of the general trend of my life; and, seeing beatrice's indifferent acceptance of all this venality, i would turn from her with a certain sense of revulsion--for three days. after that, i would return to handsome beatrice, with her feline graces and her warm colouring, as a chilly, tired man turns from his work to his fireside. in short, as time went on, i became as indifferent to ends and aims as the most callous among those at whose indifference to matters of real moment i had once girded so vehemently. and i lacked their excuse. i cut no figure at all in the race for money and pleasure; unless my clinging to beatrice be accounted pursuit of pleasure. certainly it lacked the rapt absorption which characterized the multitude really in the race. i fear i was rapidly degenerating into a common type of fleet street hack; into nothing more than clement blaine's assistant. and then a quite new influence came into my life. xi morning callers a woman mixed of such fine elements that were all virtue and religion dead she'd make them newly, being what she was. george eliot. a sandy-haired youth-of-all-work, named rivers, spent his days in the box we called the front office; a kind of lobby really, by which one entered the tolerably large and desperately untidy room in which blaine and myself compiled each issue of _the mass_. blaine spent a good slice of all his days in keeping appointments, usually in fleet street bars. my days were spent in the main office of the paper, among the files, the scissors and paste, the books of reference, and the three gargantuan waste-paper baskets. here at different times i interviewed men of every european nationality and every known calling, besides innumerable followers of no recognized trade or profession. among them all i cannot call to mind more than two or three who, by the most charitable stretch of imagination, could have been called gentlemen. most of them were obviously, and in all ways seedy, shady characters--furtive, wordy creatures, full of vague, involved grievances. the greater proportion were foreigners; scallywags from the mean streets of every continental capital; men familiar with prisons; men who talked of the fraternity of labour, and never did any work; men full of windy plans for the enrichment of humanity, who themselves must always borrow and never repay--money, food, shelter, and the other things for which honest folk give their labour. if an english cabinet minister had offered us an explanation of any political development we should have had small use for his contribution in _the mass_, unless as an advertisement of our importance. for their teaching, for the text they gave us in our fulminations, we greatly preferred the rancorous and generally scurrilous vapourings of some unknown alien dumped upon our shores for the relief and benefit of his own country. we wanted no information from admiralty lords about the navy, from commanding officers about the army, from pro-consuls about the colonies, or from the foreign office about foreign relations. but a deserter or a man dismissed from either of the services, a broker ne'er-do-well rejected as unfit by one of the colonies, or a foreign agitator with stories to tell of britain's duplicity abroad; these were all welcome fish for our net, and folk whom it was my duty to receive with respectful attention. from their perjured lips it became my mechanical duty to extract and publish wisdom for the use of our readers in the guidance of their lives and the exercise of their rights as citizens and ratepayers. i became adept at the work, and in the end accomplished it daily without interest, and with only occasional qualms of conscience. it was my living. on a sunshiny morning in june, which i remember very well, the sandy-haired rivers brought me a visiting-card upon which i read the name of "miss constance grey." in one corner of the card the words "cape town" had been crossed out and a london address written over them. i was engaged at the time with a large, pale, fat man from stettin, whose mission it was to show me that the socialist working men of the fatherland dearly loved their comrades in england, and that the paying of taxes for the defence of these islands was a preposterously absurd thing, for the reason that the socialists would never allow germany to go to war with england or with any other country. "the destroyers," in their truckling to demos, had already cut down naval and army estimates by more than one-half since their rise to power, and our stettin ambassador was priming me regarding a demand for further reductions, prior to actual disarmament, to provide funds for the fixing of a minimum day's pay and a maximum day's work. the gentleman from stettin was to provide us with material for a special article and a leading article. his proposals were to be made a "feature." however, i thought i had gone far enough with him at this time; and so, looking from his pendulous jowl to the card in my hand, i told rivers to ask the lady to wait for two minutes, and to say that i would see her then. i remember herr mitmann found the occasion opportune for the airing of what i suppose he would have called his sense of humour. his english and his front teeth were equally badly broken, and his taste in jokes was almost as swinishly gross as his appearance. but i was able to be quit of him at length, and then rivers ushered in miss constance grey. as i rose to provide my visitor with a chair, i received the impression that she was a young and quietly well-dressed woman, with a notable pair of dark eyes. i thought of her as being no more than five-and-twenty years of age and pleasant to look upon. but her eyes were the feature that seized one's attention. they produced an impression of light and brilliancy, of vigour, intelligence, and charm. "i called to see you at the office of the _daily gazette_, mr. mordan, and this was the only address of yours they could give me, or i should have hesitated about intruding on you in working hours. i bring you an introduction from john crondall." and with that she handed me a letter in crondall's writing, and nodded in a friendly way when i asked permission to read it at once. "please do," she said. she had no particular accent, but yet her speech differed slightly from that of the conventional englishwoman of her class--the refined and well-educated englishwoman, that is. i suppose the difference was rather one of expression, tone, and choice of phrase than a matter of accent. i doubt if one could easily find an example of it nowadays, increased communication having so much broadened our own colloquial diction that many of its conventional peculiarities have disappeared. but it existed then, and after a time i learned to place it as characteristic of the speech of greater britain, as distinguished from the english of those of us who lived always in this capital centre of the empire. [illustration: "rivers ushered in miss constance grey"] miss grey had the colonial directness and vividness of speech; a larger, freer diction upon the whole than that of the londoner born and bred; more racy, less clipped and formal, but, in certain ways, more correct. the society _cliche_, and the society fads of abbreviation and accent, were missing; and in their place was an easy, idiomatic directness, distinctly noticeable to a man like myself who had actually never been out of england. this it was that first struck me about miss grey; this and the warm brilliance of her eyes: a graphic, moving speech, a frank, compelling gaze; both indicative, as it seemed to me, of broadly sympathetic understanding. i read john crondall's kindly letter with a good deal of interest, moved by the fact that his terse, friendly phrases recalled to me a phase of my own life which, though no more than a couple of years past, seemed to me wonderfully remote. i had been new to london and to fleet street then, full of aspirations, of earnestness, of independent aims and hopes; fresh from the university and the more leisured days of my life as the son of the rector of tarn regis. i had had glimpses of much that was sordid and squalid in london life, at the period john crondall's letter recalled, but as yet there had been no sordidness in my own life. all that was far otherwise now, i felt. cambridge and dorset were a long way from the office of _the mass_. i thought of the greasy teuton nondescript for whom i had kept miss grey waiting, and i felt colour rise in my face as i read john crondall's letter: "i expect you have been burgeoning mightily since i left london, and i should not be surprised to learn that you have put the _daily gazette_ and its kind definitely behind you. you remember our talks? tut, my dear fellow, liberalism, conservatism, radicalism--it's of not the slightest consequence, and they're all much of a muchness. the thing is to stand to one's duty as a citizen of the empire, not as a member of this or that little tin coterie; and if we stick honourably to that, nothing else matters. you will like constance grey; that is why i have asked her to look you up. she's sterling all through; her father's daughter to the backbone. and he was the man of whom talbot said: 'give me two greys, and'--and a couple of other men he mentioned--'and a free hand, and whitehall could go to sleep with its head on south africa, and never be disturbed again.'"--when crondall quoted his dead chief, the man whose personality had dominated british south africa, one felt he had said his utmost.--"the principal thing that takes her to london now, i believe, is detail connected with a special series she has been engaged upon for _the times_; fine stuff, from what i have seen of it. it is marvellous the grip this one little bit of a girl has of south african affairs." "yes," i thought, now the fact was mentioned, "i suppose she is small." "i hope the articles will be well read, for there's a heap of the vitals of south africa in them; and even if they are to cut us adrift altogether, it's as well 'the destroyers' should know a little about us, and the country. constance grey's name and introductions will take her anywhere in london, or i would have asked your help in that way." i thought of clement blaine's friends, my own fleet street circle, and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "as it is, the boot may be rather on the other leg, and she may be of some service to you. but in any case, i want you to know each other, because you are a good chap, and will interest her, i know; and because she is of the bigger britain and will interest you. things political are, of course, looking pretty blue for us all, and your particular friends--i rather hope perhaps they're not so much your friends by now--are certainly doing their level best to cut all moorings. but one must keep pegging away. the more cutting for them, the more splicing for us. but i do wish we could blindfold europe until these 'destroyers' had got enough rope, and satisfactorily hanged themselves; for if they go much farther, their hanging will come too late to save the situation. well, salue!" i allowed my eyes to linger over the tail-end of the letter, while i thought. i was sensible of a very real embarrassment. there seemed a kind of treachery to john crondall, a kind of unfairness to miss grey, in my receiving her there at all. by this time one had no illusions left regarding clement blaine and his circle, nor about _the mass_. i knew that, at heart, i was ashamed, and with good reason, of my connection with both. still, there i was; it was my living; and--i suppose my eyes must have wandered from the letter. at all events, evidently seeing that i had finished reading it, my visitor spoke. "i had an introduction to the editor of the _daily gazette_, so i took advantage of being there this afternoon to see him. a nice man, i thought, though i don't care for his paper. he remembered you as soon as i mentioned your name, and told me you--you were here. he seemed quite sorry you had left his paper; but i am sure i can understand the attraction of a position in which the whole concern is more or less in one's own hands. mr. delaney found me a copy of _the mass_; so i have been studying you before calling. perhaps you have inadvertently done so much by me, through _the times_--a rather high and dry old institution, isn't it?" naturally i had punctuated these remarks of hers, here and there. she had a very bright, alert way in talking, and now she added, easily, a sentence or two to the effect that it would be a dull world if we all held precisely the same views. she did the thing well, and in a few minutes i found myself chatting away with her in the most friendly manner. she managed with the utmost deftness to remove all ground for my embarrassment regarding my position. she talked for a while of south africa, and the life she had lived there prior to her father's death; but she touched no topic which contained any controversial element. it seemed her aunt, a sister of her father's, had accompanied her to england, and she said: "i promised my aunt, mrs. van homrey, that i would induce you to spare us an evening soon. she loves meeting friends of john crondall. we dine at eight, but would fix any other hour if it suited you better." the end of it was i promised to dine with miss grey and her aunt in south kensington on the following evening, and, after a quarter of an hour's very pleasant chat (twice interrupted by rivers, who had people in his cupboard waiting to see me) my visitor rose to take her departure, with apologies for having trespassed upon a busy man's time. i told her with some warmth that the loss of my time was of no importance, and, with a thought as to the nature of my petty routine, i repeated the assurance. she smiled: "ah, that's just the masculine insincerity of your gallantry," she said, "unworn, i see, by working with women. john crondall would have sent me packing." "no doubt his time is of more value--better occupied." i had a mental vision of clement blaine (who grew stouter and slacker day by day) sitting drinking with herr mitmann of stettin, in a favourite bar, within fifty yards of the office. "still the insincerity of politeness," she laughed. "you forget i have read _the mass_. i find you a terribly earnest partisan; very keenly occupied, i should say. till to-morrow evening, then!" and she was gone, and rivers was leading in, like a bear on a cord, a tousled polish jew named kraunski, who was teaching us how the metropolitan police force should be run, and how tyrannically its wicked myrmidons oppressed worthy citizens of houndsditch, like mr. kraunski--quite a good _mass_ feature. so i stepped back again, feeling as though constance grey had carried away the pale london sunlight with her when she left my littered den. xii saturday night in london "corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves."--david garrick. i remember that the evening of the day following my dinner engagement with miss grey and her aunt was consecrate, by previous arrangement, to beatrice blaine. i had received seven guineas a couple of days before for a rather silly and sensational descriptive article, the subject of which had been suggested by beatrice. indeed, she had made me write it, and liked the thing when it appeared in print. it described certain aspects of the quarter of london which stood for pleasure in her eyes; the quarter bounded by charing cross and oxford street, leicester square and hyde park corner. i think i would gladly have escaped the evening with beatrice if i could have done so fairly. seeing that i could not do this, and that my mood seemed chilly, i plunged with more than usual extravagance, and sought to work up all the gaiety i could. i had a vague feeling that i owed so much to beatrice; that the occasion in some way marked a crisis in our relations. i did not mentally call it a last extravagance, but yet i fancy that must have been the notion at the back of my mind; from which one may assume, i think, that constance grey had already begun to exercise some influence over me. with the seven guineas clinking in the pockets of my evening clothes--here, at all events, was a link with university days, for these seldom-worn garments bore the name of a cambridge tailor--i drove to the corner of the road beside battersea park in which the blaines lived, and there picked up beatrice, in all her vivid finery, by appointment. she loved bright colours and daring devices in dress. that i should come in a cab to fetch her was an integral part of her pleasure, and, if funds could possibly be stretched to permit it, she liked to retain the services of the same cab until i brought her back to her own door. we drove to a famous showy restaurant close to piccadilly circus, where beatrice accomplished the kind of entrance which delighted her heart, with attendants fluttering about her, and a messenger posting back to the cab for a forgotten fan, and a deal of bustle and rustle of one sort and another. a quarter of an hour was devoted to the choice of a menu in a dining-room which resembled the more ornate type of music-hall, and was of about the same size. the flashing garishness of it all delighted beatrice, and the heat of its atmosphere suited both her mood and her extremely _décolleté_ toilette. i remember beginning to speak of my previous evening's engagement while beatrice sipped the rather sticky champagne, which was the first item of the meal to reach us. but a certain sense of unfitness or disinclination stopped me after a few sentences, and i did not again refer to my new friends; though i had been thinking a good deal of constance grey and her plain-faced, plain-spoken aunt. i felt strangely out of key with my environment in that glaring place, and the strains of an overloud orchestra, when they came crashing through the buzz of talk and laughter, and the clatter of glass and silver, were rather a relief to me as a substitute for conversation. i drank a great deal of champagne, and resented the fact that it seemed to have no stimulating effect upon me. but beatrice was in a purring stage of contentment, her colour high, her passionate eyes sparkling, and low laughter ever atremble behind her full, red lips. after the dinner we drove to another place exactly like the restaurant, all gilding and crimson plush, and there watched a performance, which for dulness and banality it would be difficult to equal anywhere. it was more silly than a peep-show at a country fair, but it was all set in a most gorgeous and costly frame. the man who did crude and ancient conjuring tricks was elaborately finely dressed, and attended by monstrous footmen in liveries of oriental splendour. what he did was absurdly tame; the things he did it with, his accessories, were barbarously gorgeous. this was not one of the great "middle class halls," as they were called during their first year of existence, but an old-established haunt of those who aimed at "seeing life"--a great resort of ambitious young bloods about town. not very long before this time, a powerful trust had been formed to confer the stuffy and inane delights of the "hall" upon that sturdily respectable suburban middle class--the backbone of london society--which had hitherto, to a great extent, eschewed this particular form of dissipation. the trust amassed wealth by striking a shrewd blow at our national character. its entertainments were to be all refinement--"fun without vulgarity"; the oily announcements were nauseating. but they answered their purpose only too well. the great and still religious bourgeois class was securely hooked; and then the name of "middle class halls" was dropped, and the programme provided in these garish palaces became simply an inexpensive and rather amateurish imitation of those of the older halls, plus a kind of prudish, sentimental, and even quasi-religious lubricity, which made them altogether revolting, and infinitely deleterious. but our choice upon this occasion had fallen upon the most famous of the old halls. of the performance i remember a topical song which evoked enthusiastic applause. it was an incredibly stupid piece of doggerel about england's position in the world; and the shiny-faced exquisite who declaimed it strutted to and fro like a bantam cock at each fresh roar of applause from the heated house. when he used the word "fight" he waved an imaginary sword and assumed a ridiculous posture, which he evidently connected with warlike exercises of some kind. the song praised the government--"a government er business men; men that's got sense"--and told how this wonderful government had stopped the pouring out of poor folks' money upon flag-waving, to devote it to poor folks' needs. it alluded to the title that administration had earned: "the destroyers"; and acclaimed it a proud title, because it meant the destruction of "gold-laced bunkcombe," and of "vampires that were preying on the british working man." but the chorus was the thing, and the perspiring singer played conductor with all the airs and graces of a spangled showman in a booth, while the huge audience yelled itself hoarse over this. i can only recall two lines of it, and these were to the effect that: "they"--meaning the other powers of civilization--"will never go for england, because england's got the dibs." it was rather a startling spectacle; that vast auditorium, in which one saw countless flushed faces, tier on tier, gleaming through a haze of tobacco smoke; their mouths agape as they roared out the vapid lines of this song. i remember thinking that the doggerel might have been the creation of my fat contributor from stettin, herr mitmann, and that if the music-hall public had reached this stage, i must have been oversensitive in my somewhat hostile and critical attitude toward the writings of that ponderous teuton. i thought that for once _the mass_ would almost lag behind its readers; though in the beginning i had regarded herr mitmann's proposals as going beyond even our limits. we left the hall while its roof echoed the jingling tail-piece of another popular ditty, which tickled beatrice's fancy hugely. in it the singer expressed, without exaggeration and without flattery, a good deal of the popular london attitude toward the pursuit of pleasure and the love of pleasure resorts. i recall phrases like: "give my regards to leicester square--greet the girls in regent street--tell them in bond street we'll soon meet"--and, "give them my love in the strand." the atmosphere reeked now of spirits, smoke, and overheated humanity. the voice of the great audience was hoarse and rather bestial in suggestion. the unescorted women began to make their invitations dreadfully pressing. doubtless my mood coloured the whole tawdry business, but i remember finding those last few minutes distinctly revolting, and experiencing a genuine relief when we stepped into the outer air. but the lights were just as brilliant outside, the pavements as thronged as the carpeted promenade, its faces almost as thickly painted as those of the lady who wished her "regards" given to leicester square, or the gentleman who had assured us that nobody wanted to fight england, because england had the "dibs." beatrice was now in feverishly high spirits. she no longer purred contentment; rather it seemed to me she panted in avid excitement, while pouring out a running fire of comment upon the dress and appearance of passers-by, as we drove to another palace of gilt and plush--a sort of magnified pullman car, with decorations that made one's eyes ache. here we partook of quite a complicated champagne supper. i dare say fifty pounds was spent in that room after the gorgeously uniformed attendants had begun their chant of "time, gentlemen, please; time!" which signified that the closing hour had arrived. beatrice kept up her excitement--or perhaps the champagne did this for her--until our cab was half-way across chelsea bridge. then she lay back in her corner, and, i suppose, began to feel the grayness of the as yet unseen dawn of a new day. but as i helped her out of the cab in battersea, she said she had thoroughly enjoyed her "fluffy" evening, and thanked me very prettily. i returned in the cab as far as westminster, and there dismissed the man with the last of my seven guineas, having decided to walk from there to my bloomsbury lodging. for a socialist, my conduct was certainly peculiar. there were two of us. we had had two meals, one of which was as totally unnecessary as the other was overelaborate. and we had spent an hour or two in watching an incredibly stupid and vulgar performance. and over this i had spent a sum upon which an entire family could have been kept going for a couple of months. but there were scores of people in london that night--some of them passed me in cabs and carriages, as i walked from the abbey toward fleet street--who had been through a similar programme and spent twice as much over it as i had. it was an extraordinarily extravagant period; and it seemed that the less folk did in the discharge of their national obligations as citizens, the more they demanded, and the more they spent, in the name of pleasure. the people who passed me, as i made my way eastward, were mostly in evening dress, pale and raffish-looking. many, particularly among the couples in hansoms, were intoxicated, and making a painful muddle of such melodies as those we had listened to at the music hall. overeaten, overdrunken, overexcited, overextravagant, in all ways figures of incontinence, these noisy londoners made their way homeward, pursued by the advancing gray light of a sabbath dawn in midsummer. and beatrice loved everything foreign, because the foreigners had none of our stupid british puritanism! and the british public was mightily pleased with its government, "the destroyers," because they were cutting down to vanishing point expenditure upon such superfluous vanities as national defence, in order to devote the money to improving the conditions in which the public lived, and to the reducing of their heavy burdens as citizens of a great empire. money could not possibly be spared for such ornamentation as ships and guns and bodies of trained men. we could not afford it! as i passed the corner of agar street a drunken cabdriver, driving two noisily intoxicated men in evening dress, brought his cab into collision with a gaunt, wolf-eyed man who had been scouring the gutter for scraps of food. he was one of an army prowling london's gutters at that moment: human wolves, questing for scraps of refuse meat. the space between each prowler was no more than a few yards. this particular wretch was knocked down by the cab, but not hurt. cabby and his fares roared out drunken laughter. the horse was never checked. but in the midst of their laughter one of the passengers threw out a coin, upon which the human wolf pounced like a bird of prey. i saw the glint of the coin. it was a sovereign; very likely the twentieth those men had spent that night. for that sum, four hundred of the gaunt, gutter-prowling wolves might have been fed and sheltered. entering holborn i ran against a man i knew, named wardle, one of the sub-editors of a sunday newspaper, then on his way home from fleet street. wardle was tired and sleepy, but stopped to exchange a few words of journalistic gossip. "rather sickening about the wind-up of the east anglian pageant," he said, "isn't it? did you hear of it?" i explained that i had not been in fleet street that night, and had heard nothing. "why, there was to be no end of a tumashi for the saturday evening wind-up, you know, and we were featuring it. we sent a special man up yesterday to help the local fellow. well, just as we'd got in about a couple of hundred words of his introductory stuff, word came through that the wires were interrupted, and not another blessed line did we get. i tell you there was some tall cursing done, and some flying around in the editorial 'fill-up' drawers. we were giving it first place--three columns. one blessing, we found the stoppage was general. no one else has got a line of east anglian stuff to-night. ours was the last word from the submerged city of ipswich. but it really is rather an odd breakdown. no sign of rough weather; and, mind you there are a number of different lines of communication. but they're all blocked, telegraph and telephone. our chief tried to get through viâ the continent, just to give us something to go on. but it was no go. odd, isn't it?" "very," i agreed, as we turned; and i added, rather inanely: "one hears a lot about east anglian coast erosion." wardle yawned and grinned. "yes, to be sure. perhaps east anglia is cruising down channel by now. or perhaps the kaiser's landed an army corps and taken possession. that mediterranean business on tuesday was pretty pronounced cheek, you know, and, by all accounts, the result of direct orders from potsdam. only the kaiser's bluff, i suppose, but i'm told it's taken most of the channel fleet down into spanish waters." i smiled at the activity of wardle's journalistic imagination, and thought of the music-hall crowd. "ah, well," i said, "'they'll never go for england, because england's got the dibs'!" "what ho!" remarked wardle, with another yawn. and this time he was really off. and so i walked home alone to my lodgings, and climbed into bed, thinking vaguely of constance grey, and what she would have thought of my night's work; this, as the long, palely glinting arms of the sabbath dawn thrust aside the mantle of summer night from bloomsbury. xiii the demonstration in hyde park winds of the world give answer! they are whimpering to and fro- and what should they know of england who only england know?- the poor little street-bred people that vapour and fume and brag, they are lifting their heads in the stillness to yelp at the english flag. rudyard kipling. as was usually the case on the day following one of beatrice's "fluffy" evenings, i descended to my never very tempting lodging-house breakfast on that sunday morning feeling the reverse of cheerful, and much inclined to take the gloomiest view of everything life had to offer me. sunday was generally a melancholy day for me. it was my only day out of fleet street, and, though i had long since taken such steps as i thought i could afford toward transforming my bedroom into a sitting-room, there was nothing very comfortable or homelike about it. i had dropped the habit of churchgoing after the first few months of my london life, without any particular thought or intention, but rather, i think, as one kind of reflex action--a subconscious reflection of the views and habits of those among whom i lived and worked. hearing a newsboy crying a "special" edition of some paper, i threw up the window and bought a copy, across the area railings. it was the paper for which wardle worked. i found in it no particular justification for any special issue, and, as a fact, the probability is the appearance of this edition was merely a device to increase circulation, suggested mainly by the fact that the ordinary issue had been delayed by the east anglian telegraphic breakdown. regarding this, i found the following item of editorial commentary: "as is explained elsewhere, a serious breakdown of telegraphic communication has occurred between london and harwich, ipswich and east anglia generally, as a result of which our readers are robbed of special despatches regarding last night's conclusion of the east anglian pageant. it is thought that the breakdown is due to some electrical disturbance of the atmosphere resulting in a fusion of wires. "but as an example of the ridiculous lengths to which the national defence cranks will go in their hatching of alarmist reports, a rumour was actually spread in fleet street at an early hour this morning that this commonplace accident to the telegraph wires was caused by an invading german army. this ridiculous _canard_ is reminiscent of some of the foolish scares which frightened our forefathers a little more than a century ago, when the corsican terrorized europe. but our rumour-mongers are too far out of date for this age. it is unfortunate that the advocates of militarism should receive parliamentary support of any kind. the opposition is weakly and insignificant enough in all conscience, without courting further unpopularity by floating british public feeling in this way, and encouraging the cranks among its following to bring ridicule upon the country. "the absurd _canard_ to which we have referred is maliciously ill-timed. it will doubtless be reported on the continent, and may injure us there. but we trust our friends in germany will do us the justice of recognizing at once that this is merely the work of an irresponsible and totally unrepresentative clique, and in no sort a reflection of any aspect of public feeling in this country. we are able to state with certainty that last tuesday's regrettable incident in the mediterranean has been satisfactorily and definitely closed. admiral blennerhaustein displayed characteristic german courtesy and generosity in his frank acceptance of the apology sent to him from whitehall; and the report that our channel fleet had entered the straits of gibraltar is incorrect. a portion of the channel fleet had been cruising off the coast of the peninsula, and is now on its way back to home waters. our relations with his imperial majesty's government in berlin were never more harmonious, and such a _canard_ as this morning's rumour of invasion is only worthy of mention for the sake of a demonstration of its complete absurdity. if, as was stated, the author of this puerile invention is a navy league supporter, who reached london in a motor-car from harwich soon after daylight this morning, our advice to him is to devote the rest of the day to sleeping off the effects of an injudicious evening in east anglia." failing the east anglian pageant, the paper's "first feature," i noticed, consisted of a lot of generously headed particulars regarding the big disarmament demonstration to be held in hyde park that afternoon. it seemed that this was to be a really big thing, and i decided to attend in the interests of _the mass_. the president of the local government board and three well-known members on the government side of the house were to speak. the demonstration had been organized by the national peace association for disarmament and social reform, of which the prime minister had lately been elected president. delegates, both german and english, of the anglo-german union had promised to deliver addresses. among other well-known bodies who were sending representatives i saw mention of the anti-imperial and free tariff society, the independent english guild, the home rule association, the free trade league, and various republican and socialist bodies. the paper said some amusement was anticipated from a suggested counter demonstration proposed by a few navy league enthusiasts; but that the police would take good care that no serious interruptions were allowed. as the demonstration was fixed for three o'clock in the afternoon, i decided to go up the river by steamboat to kew after my late breakfast. it was a gloriously fine morning, and on the river i began to feel a little more cheerful. as we passed battersea park i thought of beatrice, who always suffered from severe depressions after her little outings. her spirits were affected; in my case, restaurant food, inferior wine, and the breathing of vitiated air was paid for by nothing worse than a headache and a morning's discomfort. (one of the curses of the time, which seemed to grow more acute as the habit of extravagance and the thirst for pleasure increased, was the outrageous adulteration of all food-stuffs, and more particularly of all alcoholic liquors, which prevailed not alone in the west end of london, but in every city. home products could only be obtained in clubs and in the houses of the rich. their quantity was insufficient to admit of their reaching the open markets. in the cities we lived entirely upon foreign products, and their adulteration had reached a most amazing limit of badness.) my thought of beatrice was brief that morning, but i continued during most of my little excursion to dwell upon my new friends in south kensington. i wondered how constance grey spent sunday in london, and whether the confinement of the town oppressed her after the spacious freedom of the south african life she had described to me. i remembered that i had promised to call upon her and her aunt very soon, and wondered whether that afternoon, after the demonstration, would be too soon. i mentally decided that it would, but that i would go all the same. and then, suddenly, as the steamer passed under hammersmith bridge, a thought went through me like cold steel: "she will very soon return to that freer, wider life out there in south africa." how i hated the place. south africa! i had always associated it with imperialism, militarism--"empireism," as i called it in my own mind: the strange, outside interests, which one regarded as opposing home interests, social reform, and the like. though i did not know that any political party considerations influenced me one atom, i was in reality, like nearly every one else at that time, mentally the slave and creature of party feeling, party tradition, party prejudice. but now i had a new cause for hating those remote uplands of empire, those outside places. sitting under a tree in kew gardens, i had leisure in which to browse over the matter, and, upon reflection, i was astonished that this sudden thought of mine should have struck so shrewdly, so violently, into my peace of mind. i tried to neutralize its effect by reminding myself that i had met constance grey only twice; that she was in many ways outside my purview; that she was the intimate friend of people who had helped to make history, the special contributor to _the times_, with her introductions to ex-cabinet ministers in england and her other relations with great people; that such a woman could never play an intimate part in my life. her friendliness could not be the prelude to friendship with the assistant editor of _the mass_; it probably meant no more than a courteous deference to john crondall's whim, i told myself. but i would call at the south kensington flat, certainly; it would be boorish to refrain, and--there was no denying i should have been mightily perturbed if any valid reason had appeared against my going to see constance grey after doing my duty by the demonstration. the newsboys were putting a good deal of feeling into their crying of special editions when i reached the streets again; but i was not inclined to waste further pence upon the _sunday news'_ moralizings over the evolution of _canards_. i took a mess of some adulterated pottage at a foreign restaurant in notting hill, as i had no wish to return to bloomsbury before the demonstration. the waiter--either a swiss or a german--asked me: "vad you sink, sare, of ze news from ze country?" i asked him what it was, and he handed me a fresh copy of the _sunday news_, headed: "special edition. noon." "by jove!" i thought; "no sunday dinner for wardle! they couldn't have printed this in the small hours." but the only new matter in this issue was a short announcement, headed in poster type, as follows: "east anglia's isolation railway communication stopped strange support of invasion canard _is this a tory hoax?_ (special) "the preposterous rumour of a german invasion of england is receiving mysterious support. we hear from a reliable source that some imperialist and navy league cranks have organized a gigantic hoax by way of opposition to the disarmament demonstration. if the curious breakdown of communication with the east coast does prove to be the work of political fanatics, we think, and hope, that these gentry may shortly be convinced, in a manner they are never likely to forget, that, even in this land of liberty, the crank is not allowed to interfere with the transaction of public business. "no trains have reached liverpool street from the northeast this morning, and communication cannot be established beyond chelmsford. whatever the cause of this singular breakdown may be, our readers will soon know it, for, in order finally to dispel any hint of credence which may be attached in some quarters to the absurd invasion report, we have already despatched two representatives in two powerful motor-cars, northeastward from brentwood, with instructions to return to that point and telegraph full particulars directly they can discover the cause of the stoppage of communication. "further special editions will be issued when news is received from east anglia." "yes," i said to the waiter; "it's a curious affair." "you believe him, sare--zat shermany do it?" "eh? no; certainly not. do you?" "me? oh, sare, i don' know nozzing. vaire shstrong, sare, ze sherman armay." the fellow's face annoyed me in some way. it, and his grins and gesticulations, had a sinister seeming. my trade brought me into contact with so many low-class aliens. i told myself i was getting insular and prejudiced, and resumed my meal with more thought for myself and my tendencies and affairs than for the east anglian business. i have wondered since what the waiter thought about while i ate; whether he thought of england, germany, and of myself, as representing the british citizen. but, to be sure, for aught i know, his thoughts may have been ordered for him from berlin. the demonstration drew an enormous concourse of people to hyde park. the weather being perfect, a number of people made an outing of the occasion, and one saw whole groups of people who clearly came from beyond whitechapel, the borough, shepherd's bush, and islington. as had been anticipated, a few well-dressed people endeavoured to run a counter-demonstration under a navy league banner; but their following was absurdly small, and the crowd gave them nothing but ridicule and contempt. the president of the local government board received a tremendous ovation. for some minutes after his first appearance that enormous crowd sang, "he's a jolly good fellow!" with great enthusiasm. then, when this member of the government at last succeeded in getting as far as: "mr. chairman, ladies and gentlemen," some one started the song with the chorus containing the words: "they'll never go for england, because england's got the dibs." this spread like a line of fire in dry grass, and in a moment the vast crowd was rocking to the jingling rhythm of the song, the summer air quivering to the volume of its thousand-throated voice. the president of the local government board had been rather suspected of tuft-hunting recently, and his appearance in the stump orator's rôle, and in the cause of disarmament, was wonderfully popular. in his long career as labour agitator, socialist, and radical, he had learned to know the popular pulse remarkably well; and now he responded cleverly to the call of the moment. his vein was that of the heavy, broad bludgeoning sarcasm which tickles a crowd, and his theme was not the wickedness, but the stupidity and futility of all "jingoism," "spread-eagleism," "tall-talk," and "gold-lace bunkcombe." "i am told my honourable friends of the opposition," he said, with an ironical bow in the direction of the now folded navy league banner, "have played some kind of a practical joke in the eastern counties to-day. well, children will be children; but i am afraid there will have to be spankings if half that i hear is true. they have tried to frighten you into abandoning this demonstration with a pretended invasion of england. well, my friends, it does not look to me as though their invasion had affected this demonstration very seriously. i seem to fancy i see quite a number of people gathered together here. (it is estimated that over sixty thousand people were trying to hear his words.) but all i have to say on this invasion question is just this: if our friends from germany have invaded east anglia, let us be grateful for their enterprise, and, as a nation of shopkeepers should, let us make as much as we can out of 'em. but don't let us forget our hospitality. if our neighbours have dropped in in a friendly way, why, let's be sure we've something hot for supper. perhaps a few sausages wouldn't be taken amiss. (the laughter and applause was so continuous here that for some moments nothing further could be heard.) no, my friends, this invasion hoax should now be placed finally upon the retired list. it has been on active service now since the year 1800, and i really think it's time our spread-eagle friends gave us a change. let me for one moment address you in my official capacity, as your servant and a member of the government. this england of ours is about as much in danger of being invaded as i am of becoming a millionaire, and those of you----" the speaker's next words never reached me, being drowned by a great roar of laughter and applause. just then i turned round to remonstrate with a man who was supporting himself upon my right shoulder. i was on the edge of the one narrow part of the crowd, against some iron railings. as i turned i noticed a number of boys tearing along in fan-shaped formation, and racing toward the crowd from the direction of marble arch. my eyes followed the approaching boys, and i forgot the fellow who had been plaguing me. the lads were all carrying bundles of papers, and now, as they drew nearer, i could see and hear that they were yelling as they ran. "another special edition," i thought. "no sort of a sunday for poor wardle." the president of the local government board had resumed his speech, and i could hear his clean-cut words distinctly. he had a good incisive delivery. across his words now the hoarse yell of an approaching newsboy smote upon my ears: "extry speshul! sixpence! german army corps in england! speshul! invashen er sufferk! speshul--sixpence! german army corps--sixpence! invashen!" "by jove!" i thought. "that's rough on our disarmament feature from herr mitmann!" i very well remember that that precisely was my thought. xiv the news he could not hear death's rattle at the door, he was so busy with his sottishness. turner. the chance of my position on the edge of the crowd nearest to marble arch caused me to be among those who secured a paper, and at the comparatively modest price of sixpence. two minutes later, i saw a member of the committee of the demonstration hand over half-a-crown for one of the same limp sheets, all warm and smeary from the press. and in two more minutes the newsboys (there must have been fifty of them) were racing back to marble arch, feverishly questing further supplies, and, i suppose, reckoning as they ran their unaccustomed gains. the news, mostly in poster type, was only a matter of a few lines of comment, and a few more lines of telegraphic despatch from brentwood: "telegraphic communication with chelmsford has now been cut off, but one of our special representatives, who succeeded in obtaining a powerful six-cylinder motor-car, has reached brentwood, after a racing tour to the northeastward. we publish his despatch under all possible reserve. he is a journalist of high repute, but we venture to say with confidence that he has evidently been imposed upon by the promoters of the most abominably wicked hoax and fraud ever perpetrated by criminal fanatics upon a trusting public. we have very little doubt that a number of these rabid advocates of that spirit of militarism to which the british public will never for one moment submit, will be cooling their heated brains in prison cells before the night is out." and then followed the despatch from brentwood, which said: "roads, railways, communication of all kinds absolutely blocked. coastal regions of suffolk and south norfolk, and possibly essex, are occupied by german soldiers. a cyclist from near harwich says the landing was effected last evening, the most elaborate preparations and arrangements having been made beforehand. my car was fired at near colchester. chelmsford is now occupied by german cavalry, cyclist and motor corps. have not heard of any loss of life, but whole country is panic-stricken. cannot send further news. telegraph office closed to public, being occupied in official business." that was all. as my eyes rose from the blurred surface of the news-sheet the picture of the crowd absorbed me, like a stage-spectacle. there were from forty to sixty thousand people assembled, of all ages and classes. among them were perhaps one thousand, perhaps two thousand, copies of the newspaper. some ten thousand people were craning necks and straining eyes to read those papers. the rest were making short, hoarse, frequently meaningless ejaculations. i saw one middle-aged man, who might have been a grocer, and a deacon in his place of worship, fold up his paper after reading it and thrust it, for future reference, in the tail-pocket of his sombre sunday coat. but his neighbours in the crowd would not have that. a number of outstretched hands suddenly surrounded him. i saw his face pale. "give us a look!" was all the sense i grasped from a score of exclamations. the grocer's paper was in fragments on the grass ten seconds later, and its destroyers were reaching out in other directions. "it's abominable," i heard the grocer muttering to himself; and his hands shook as though he had the palsy. but in other cases the papers passed whole from hand to hand, and their holders read the news aloud. i think the entire crowd had grasped the gist of it inside of four minutes; and their exclamatory comments were extraordinary, grotesque. "my god!" and "my gawd!" reached my ears frequently. but they were less representative than were short, sharp bursts of laughter, harsh and staccato, like a dog's bark, and, it may be, half-hysterical. and, piercing these snaps of laughter, one heard the curious, contradictory yapping of such sentences as: "i sye; 'ow about them 'ot sossiges?" "'taint true, bill, is it?" "disgraceful business; perfectly disgraceful!" "wot price the kaiser? not arf!" "anything to sell the papers, you know!" "what? no. jolly lot of rot!" "johnny get yer gun, get yer gun!" "some one must be punished for this. might have caused a panic, you know." "true? good lord, no! what would our navy be doing?" "well, upon my word, i don't know." "nice business for the fish trade!" "well, if that's it, i shall take the children down to their aunt rebecca's." "wot price piccadilly an' regent street to-night?" "come along, my dear; let's get home out of this." "absolute bosh, my dear boy, from beginning to end--doing business with 'em every day o' my life!" and then a hoarse snatch of song: "'they'll never go for england'--not they! what ho! 'because england's got the dibs!'" suddenly then, above and across the thousand-voiced small talk, came the trained notes of the voice of the president of the local government board. "my friends, the whole story is a most transparent fraud. it's a shameful hoax. i tell you the thing is physically and morally impossible. it couldn't have been done in the time; and it is all a lie, anyhow. i beg to propose a hearty vote of thanks to our chairman for----" the crowd had listened attentively enough to the old agitator's comment on the news. they liked his assurances on that point. but they were in no mood for ceremonial. thousands were already straggling across the grass toward marble arch and down to hyde park corner. the speaker's further words were drowned in a confused hubbub of applause, cheers, laughter, shouts of "are we downhearted?" raucous answers in the negative, and cries of "never mind the chairman!" and "he's a jolly good fellow!" in ten minutes that part of the park seemed to have been stripped naked, and the few vehicles, tables, and little platforms which had formed the centre of the demonstration appeared, like the limbs of a tree suddenly bereft of foliage, looking curiously small and bare. i am told that restaurants and refreshment places did an enormous trade during the next few hours. when the public-houses opened they were besieged, and, in many cases, closed again after a few hours, sold out. for my part, i made at once, and without thinking, for constance grey's flat in south kensington. the crowds in the streets were not only much larger, but in many ways different from the usual run of sunday crowds. the people wore their sunday clothes, but they had doffed the sunday manners and air. there was more of a suggestion of saturday night in the streets; the suggestion that a tremendous number of people were going to enjoy a "spree" of some kind. a kind of noisy hilarity, combined with a general desire for cigars, drinks, singing, and gaiety, seemed to be ruling the people. at the upper end of sloane street a german band was blaring out the air of "the holy city," and people stood about in groups laughing and chatting noisily. the newspaper boys had some competitors now, and the bank holiday flavour of the streets was added to by a number of lads and girls who had appeared from nowhere, with all sorts of valueless commodities for sale, such as peacocks' feathers, paper fans, and streamers of coloured paper. why these things should have been wanted i cannot say; but their sellers knew their business very well. the demand was remarkably brisk. indeed, i noticed one of three young men, who walked abreast, purchase quite a bunch of the long feathers, only to drop them beside the curb a few moments later, whence another vendor promptly plucked them, and sold them again. i suppose that by this time the vast majority of the people had no doubt whatever about the news being a monstrous hoax; but there was no blinking the fact that the public had been strongly moved. it was with a distinct sense of relief that i learned from a servant that miss grey was at home--had just come in, as a matter of fact. it was as though i had some important business to transact with this girl from south africa, with her brilliant dark eyes, and alert, thoughtful expression. i felt that it would have been serious if she should have been away, if i had missed her. it was not until i heard her step outside the door of the little drawing-room into which i had been shown, that i suddenly became conscious that i had no business whatever with constance grey, and that this call, on sunday, within forty-eight hours of my dining there, might perhaps be adjudged a piece of questionable taste. a minute later, and, if i had thought again of the matter at all, i should have known that constance grey wasted no time over any such petty considerations. she entered to me with a set, grave face, taking my hand mechanically, as though too much preoccupied for such ceremonies. "what do you think of the news?" she said, without a word of preliminary greeting. i felt more than a little abashed at this; for, truth to tell, i really had given no serious thought to the news. i had observed its reception by the public as a spectator might. but, in the first place, i had been early warned that it was all a hoax; and then, too, like so many of my contemporaries, i was without the citizen feeling altogether, so far as national interests were concerned. i had grown to regard citizenship as exclusively a matter of domestic politics and social progress, municipal affairs, and the like. i never gave any thought to our position as a people and a nation in relation to foreign powers. "oh, well," i said, "it's an extraordinary business, isn't it? i have just come from the demonstration in hyde park. it was practically squashed by the arrival of the special editions. the people seemed pretty considerably muddled about it, so i suppose those who arranged it all may be said to have scored their point." "so you don't believe it?" "well, i believe it is generally admitted to be a gigantic hoax, is it not?" "but, my dear mr. mordan, how--how wonderful english people are! you, your own self; what do _you_ think about it? but forgive me for heckling. won't you sit down? or will you come into the study? aunt is in there." we went into the study, a cheerful, bright room, with low wicker chairs, and a big, littered writing-table. "mr. mordan doesn't believe it," said constance grey, when i had shaken hands with her aunt. "doesn't he?" said that strong, plain-spoken woman. "well, i fancy there are a good many more by the same way of thinking, who'll have their eyes opened pretty widely by this time to-morrow." "then you take the whole thing seriously?" i asked them. somehow, my own thoughts had become active in the presence of these women, and were racing over everything that i had seen and heard that day, from the moment of my chat with wardle, before sunrise, in holborn. "i don't see any other way to take it," said mrs. van homrey, with laconic emphasis. "do you?" she added. "well, you see, i did not begin by taking your view. my first word of it was just before dawn this morning, from a newspaper man in holborn; and, somehow--well, you know, the general idea seems to be that the whole thing is an elaborate joke worked up by the navy league, or somebody, as a counter-stroke to the disarmament demonstration--to teach us a lesson, and all that, you know." i had to remind myself that i was addressing two ladies who were sure to be whole-hearted supporters of the navy league and all other imperialist organizations. constance grey seemed to me to be appraising me. i fancied those brilliant eyes of hers were looking right into me with grave criticism, and discovering me unworthy. my heart sickened at the thought. i should have been more distressed had not a vague, futile anger crept into my mind. after all, i thought, what right had this girl from south africa to criticize me? i was a man. i knew england better than she did. i was a journalist of experience. bah! my twopenny thoughts drooped and fainted as they rose. "but perhaps you are better informed?" i said, weakly. "perhaps you have other information?" constance grey looked straight at me, and as i recall her gaze now, it was almost maternal in its yearning gravity. "i think it's going to be a lesson all right," she said. "what cuts me to the heart is the fear that it may have come too late." never have i heard such gravity in a young woman's voice. her words overpowered me almost by the weight of prescient meaning she gave them. they reached me as from some solemn sanctuary, a fount of inspiration. "we haven't any special information," said mrs. van homrey. "we have only read, like every one else, that east anglia is occupied by german soldiers, landed last night; that the east anglian pageant has been made the cloak of most elaborate preparations for weeks past; that the mediterranean incident last week was a deliberate scheme to draw the channel fleet south; and that the whole dreadful business has succeeded so far, like--like perfect machinery; like the thing it is: the outcome of perfect discipline and long, deliberate planning. we have heard no more; but the only hoaxing that i can see is done by the purblind people who have made the public think it a hoax--and that is not conscious hoaxing, of course; they are too bemuddled with their disarmament farce for that." "more tragedy than farce, aunt, i'm afraid," said constance grey. and then, turning to me, she said: "we lunched at general penn dicksee's to-day; and they have no doubt about the truth of the news. the general has motored down to aldershot. they will begin some attempt at mobilizing at once, i believe. but it seemed impossible to get into touch with headquarters. all the war office people are away for the week-end. in fact, they say the minister's in ipswich, and can't get away. general penn dicksee says they have practically no material to work with for any immediate mobilization purposes. he says that under the present system nothing can be done in less than a week. he thinks the most useful force will be the sailors from the naval barracks. but i should suppose they would be wanted for the ships--if we have any ships left fit for sea. the general thinks there may be a hundred thousand german soldiers within twenty or thirty miles of london by to-morrow." "yes," said mrs. van homrey, "it doesn't seem easy to take it any other way than seriously; not if one's on the british side. and, for the matter of that, if i know the teuton, they are taking it pretty seriously in east anglia, and--and in berlin." and up till now, i had been thinking of the extra sunday work for wardle, and the way they had started selling peacocks' feathers and things, in the streets! xv sunday night in london . . . "ah," they cry, "destiny, prolong the present! time, stand still here!" the prompt stern goddess shakes her head, frowning; time gives his hour-glass its due reversal; their hour is gone. matthew arnold. i stayed to dinner at the flat in south kensington, and after dinner, when i spoke of leaving, constance grey asked if i would care to accompany her into blackfriars. she wanted to call at printing house square, and ascertain what further news had arrived. the implied intimacy and friendliness of the suggestion gave me a pleasurable thrill; it came as something of a reinstatement for me, and compensated for much. constance grey's views of me had in some way become more important to me than anything else. i was even now more concerned about that than about the news. we made the journey by omnibus. i suggested a cab, as in duty bound, but, doubtless with a thought of my finances, my companion insisted upon the cheaper way. we had some trouble to get seats, but found them at last on a motor omnibus bound for whitechapel. the streets were densely crowded, and the bank holiday spirit which i had remarked before was now general, and much more marked. "it reminds me exactly of 'mafeking night,'" i said, referring to that evening of the south african war during which london waxed drunk upon the news of the relief of mafeking. "was it as bad even then?" said my companion. and her question showed me, what i might otherwise have overlooked, that a good deal of water had passed under the bridges since south african war days. we had been a little ashamed of our innocent rowdiness over the mafeking relief. we had become vastly more inconsistent and less sober since then. i think the "middle class music halls" had taken their share in the progress, by breaking down much of the staid reserve and self-restraint of the respectable middle class. but, of course, one sees now that the rapid growth among us of selfish irresponsibility and repudiation of national obligations was the root cause of that change in public behaviour which i saw clearly enough, once it had been suggested to me by constance grey's question. i saw that, among the tens of thousands of noisy promenaders of both sexes who filled the streets, and impeded traffic at all crossings, the class which had always been rowdily inclined was now far more rowdy, and that its ranks were reinforced, doubled in strength, by recruits from a class which, a few years before, had been proverbially noted for its decorous and decent reserve. and this was sunday night. i learned afterwards that the clergy had preached to practically empty churches. a man we met in _the times_ office told us of this, and my companion's comment was: "yes, even their religion has less meaning for them than their pleasure; and, with religion a dead letter, the spirit that won trafalgar and armed the thames against napoleon, must be dead and buried." the news we received at _the times_ office was extraordinary. it seemed there was no longer room for the smallest doubt that a large portion of east anglia was actually occupied by a german army. positive details of information could not be obtained. "the way the coastal districts have been hermetically sealed against communication, and the speed and thoroughness with which the occupation has been accomplished, will remain, i believe, the most amazing episode in the history of warfare," said the solemn graybeard, to whom i had been presented by constance grey. (if he had known that i was the assistant editor of _the mass_, i doubt if this mr. poole-smith would have consented to open his mouth in my presence. but my obscurity and his importance combined to shelter me, and i was treated with confidence as the friend of a respected contributor.) "already we know enough to be certain that the enemy has received incalculably valuable assistance from within. i am afraid there will presently be only too much evidence of the blackest kind of treachery from british subjects, members of one or other among the anti-national coteries. but in the meantime, we hear of extraordinary things accomplished by aliens employed in this country, many of them in official capacities. we have learned through the great eastern railway company, and through one or two shipping houses, of huge consignments of stores, and, i make very little doubt, of munitions of war. the thing must have been in train on this side for many months--possibly for years. here, for instance, is an extraordinary item, which is hardly likely to be only coincidence: out of one hundred postmasters within a sixty-mile radius of harwich, eighty-one have obtained their positions within the last two years, and of those sixty-nine bear names which indicate german nationality or extraction. but that is only one small item. an analysis of the eastern railway employees, and of the larger business firms between here and ipswich, will tell a more startling tale, unless i am greatly mistaken." but to me, i think the part of the news we gathered which seemed most startling was the fact that a tiny special issue of _the times_, then being sold in the streets, contained none of the information given to us, but only a cautiously worded warning to the public that the news received from east anglia had been grossly exaggerated, and that no definite importance should be attached to it, until authoritative information, which would appear in the first ordinary issue of _the times_ on monday, had been considered. it was all worded very pompously, and vaguely, in a deprecating tone, which left it open for the reader to conclude that _the times_ supported the generally accepted hoax theory. and we found that all the daily papers of repute and standing had issued similar bulletins to the public. asked about this, our grave informant stroked his whiskers, and alluded distantly to "policy decided upon in consultation with representatives of the crown." "for one thing, you see, london is extraordinarily full of germans, though we have already learned that vast numbers of them went to swell the attendance at the east anglian pageant, and may now, for all we know, be under arms. then, too, anything in the nature of a panic on a large scale, and that before the authorities have decided upon any definite plan of action, would be disastrous. unfortunately our reports from correspondents at the various southern military depôts are all to the effect that mobilization will be a slow business. as you know, the regulars in england have been reduced to an almost negligible minimum, and the mobilization of the 'haldane army' involves the slow process of drawing men out of private life into the field. what is worse, it means in many cases edinburgh men reporting themselves at aldershot, and south-country men reporting themselves in the north. and then their practical knowledge so far leaves them simply men in the street. "but the great trouble is that the government and the official heads of departments have been at loggerheads this long time past, and now are far from arriving at any definite policy of procedure. of course, the majority of the leaders are out of town. you will understand that every possible precaution must be taken to avoid unduly alarming the public, or provoking panic. we hope to be able to announce something definite in the morning. the sympathy of all the powers will undoubtedly be with us, for every known tenet of international law has been outraged by this entirely unprovoked invasion." "and what do you think will be the practical effect and use of their sympathy, mr. poole-smith?" asked constance grey. "well," said our solemn friend, caressing his whiskers, "as to its _practical_ effect, my dear miss grey, why, i am afraid that in such bitter matters as these the practical value of sympathy, or of international law, is--er--cannot very easily be defined." "quite so. exactly as i thought. it would not make one pennyworth of difference, mr. poole-smith. the british public is on the eve of learning the meaning of brave old lord roberts's teaching: that no amount of diplomacy, of 'cordiality,' of treaties, or of anything else in the répertoire of the disarmament party, can ever counterbalance the uses of the rifle in the hands of disciplined men. their twentieth-century notions will avail us pitifully little against the advance of the kaiser's legions. the brotherhood of man and the sacred arts of commerce and peace will have little in the way of reply to machine guns. if only our people could have had even one year of universal military training! but no; they would not even pay for the maintenance of such defence force as they had when it took three years to beat the boers; and now--didn't some man write a book called 'the defenceless isles'? we live in them." "but that is not the worst, miss grey," said our friend. "these are now not only defenceless, but invaded isles." "ah! how long before they become surrendered isles, mr. poole-smith?" "the answer to that is with a higher power than any in printing house square, miss grey. but, let me say this, in strict confidence, please. you wonder, and perhaps are inclined to condemn our--well, our reticence about this news. do you know my fear? it is that if, in its present mood, suddenly, the british public, and more especially the london public, were allowed to realize clearly both what has happened in east anglia, and the monumental unfitness of our authorities and defences to meet and cope with such an emergency--that then we should see england torn in sunder by the most terrible revolution of modern times. we should see statesmen hanging from lamp-posts in whitehall; 'the destroyers' would be destroyed; the crown would be in danger, as well as its unworthy servants. and the kaiser's machine-like army would find it had invaded a ravaged inferno, occupied by an infuriated populace hopelessly divided against itself, and already in the grip of the deadliest kind of strife. that, i think, is a danger to be guarded against, so far as it is possible, at all or any cost." one could not but be impressed by this rather pompous, but sincere and earnest man's words. "i see that very clearly, mr. poole-smith," said constance grey. "but can the thing be done? can the public be deluded for more than a few hours?" "not altogether, my dear young lady, not altogether. but, as we learn early in journalism, life is made up of compromises. we hope to school them to it, and give them the truth gradually, with as little shock as may be." soon after this we left the great office, and, as we passed out into the crowded streets, constance grey said to me: "thank god, _the times_ managed to win clear of the syndicate's clutches when it did. there is moral and strength of purpose there now. i think the press is behaving finely--if only the public can be made to do as well. but, oh, 'the destroyers'--what a place they have cut out for themselves in history!" but for the glorious summer weather, one could have fancied christmas at hand from the look of ludgate hill. from the circus we took a long look up at paul's great dome, massive and calm against the evening sky. but between it and us was a seething crowd, promenading at the rate of a mile an hour, and served by two solid lines of vendors of useless trifles and fruit, and so forth. crossing ludgate circus, as we fought our way to the steps of an omnibus, was a band of youths linked arm in arm, and all apparently intoxicated. there must have been forty in a line. as they advanced, cutting all sorts of curious capers, they bawled, in something like unison, the melancholy music-hall refrain: "they'll never go for england, because england's got the dibs." the crowd caught up the jingle as fire licks up grass, and narrow fleet street echoed to the monstrous din of their singing. i began to feel anxious about getting constance safely to her flat. six out of the fourteen people on the top of our omnibus were noticeably and noisily tipsy. "ah me, dick, where, where is their british reserve? how i hate that beloved word cosmopolitan!" she looked at me, and perhaps that reminded her of something. "forgive my familiarity," she said. "john crondall spoke of you as dick mordan. it's rather a way we have--out there." i do not remember my exact reply, but it earned me the friendly short name from her for the future; and, with england tumbling about our ears, for aught we knew, that, somehow, made me curiously happy. but it was none the less with a sigh of relief that i handed her in at the outer door of the mansions in which their flat was situated. we paused for a moment at the stairs' foot, the first moment of privacy we had known that evening, and the last, i thought, with a recollection of mrs. van homrey waiting in the flat above. i know i was deeply moved. my heart seemed full to bursting. perhaps the great news of that day affected me more than i knew. but yet it seemed i had no words, or very few. i remember i touched the sleeve of her dress with my finger-tips. what i said was: "you know i am--you know i am at your orders, don't you?" and she smiled, with her beautiful, sensitive mouth, while the light of grave watching never flickered in her eyes. "yes, dick; and thank you!" she said, as we began to mount the stairs. yet i was still the assistant editor of _the mass_--clement blaine's right hand. xvi a personal revelation the thorns which i have reap'd are of the tree i planted; they have torn me, and i bleed. i should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. byron. that sunday night was not one of london's black nights that have been so often described. the police began to be a little sharp with the people after nine or ten o'clock, and by midnight the streets were getting tolerably clear. for the great majority, i believe it had been a day of more or less pleasurable excitement and amusement. for the minority, who were better informed, it was a day and night of curious bewilderment and restless anxiety. i looked in at several newspaper offices on my way home from south kensington, but found that subordinate members of the staffs had no information to give, and that their superiors maintained an attitude of strict reticence. as i passed the dark windows of my own office i thought of our "feature" for the coming week: the demand for disarmament, in order that naval and military expenditure might be diverted into labour reform channels; herr mitmann's voluble assurances of the friendliness of the german people; of the ability and will of the german socialists to make german aggression impossible, for the sake of their brother workers in england. i thought of these things, and wished i could spurn under foot my connection with _the mass_. then, sitting at the window of my little bed-sitting-room in bloomsbury, i looked into my petty finances. if i left clement blaine i had enough to subsist upon for six or eight weeks. it was a risky business. then i pictured myself casually mentioning to constance grey that i was no longer connected with _the mass_. i fancied that i saw the bright approval in her eyes. before blowing my light out, i had composed the little speech to blaine which, in the morning, should set a period to our connection. and then i thought of beatrice. it was barely twenty-four hours since we had parted beside battersea park (though it seemed more like twenty-four days), and recollection showed me beatrice in her rather rumpled finery, with the bleakness of the gray hour that follows such pleasures as most appealed to her, beginning to steal over her handsome face, sapping its warm colour, thinning and sharpening its ripe, smooth contours. beatrice would pout when she heard of my leaving her father. the thought showed me her full red lips, and the little even white teeth they so often disclosed. the curves of beatrice's mouth were of a kind that have twisted many men's lives awry; and those men have thought straightness well lost for such red lips. yes, beatrice was good to look upon. she had a way of throwing her head back, and showing the smooth, round whiteness of her throat when she laughed, that had thrilled me time and again. and how often, and how gaily she laughed. in the midst of a picture of beatrice, laughing at me across a restaurant table with a raised glass in her hand, i had a shadowy vision of constance grey beside the foot of the stairs in south kensington. there was no laughter in her face. i had gathered, when i dined there, that constance did not care for wine. she had said: "i don't care for anything that makes me feel as though i couldn't work if i wanted to." how beatrice would have scoffed at that! and then, how constance would have smiled over beatrice's ideals--her "fluffy" evenings--in a kind of regretful, wondering way; almost as she had smiled when she first called me "dick," in asking what had become of our staid english reserve; as she watched the noisy crowd in fleet street, singing its silly doggerel about england's security and england's "dibs." and then, suddenly, my picture-making thoughts swept out across low essex flats to the only part of east anglia with which i was familiar, and gave me a vision of burning farmhouses, and terror-smitten country-folk fleeing blindly before a hail of bullets, and the pitiless advance of legions of fair-haired men in long coats of a kind of roan-gray, buttoned across the chest with bright buttons arranged to suggest the inward curve to an imaginary waist-line. the faces of the soldiers were all the same; they all had the face of herr mitmann of stettin. and a hot wave of angry resentment and hatred of these machine-like invaders of a peaceful unprotected countryside pulsed through my veins. could they dare--here on english soil? my fists clenched under the bed-clothes. if it was true, by heavens, there was work for englishmen toward! my blood was hot at the thought. it was perhaps the first swelling of a patriotic emotion i had known; the first hint of any larger citizenship than that which claims and demands, without thought of giving. and, immediately, it was succeeded by a sharp chill, a chill that ushered me into one of the bitterest moments of humiliation that i can remember. the thought accompanying that chill was this: "what can you do? what are you fit for? what boy's part, even, can you take, though the roof were being burned over your mother's head? what of constance, or beatrice? could you strike a blow for either? work for englishmen, forsooth! yes, for those of them who have ever learned a man's part in such work. but you--you have never had a gun in your hand. what have you done? you have poured out for your weekly wage so many thousands of words; words meaning--what? why, they have meant what the roadside beggar means: 'give! give! give!' they have urged men to demand more from the state, and give the state nothing; to rob the state of even its defences, for the sake of adding to their own immediate ease. and you have ridiculed, as a survival of barbarous times, the efforts of such men as the brave old field marshal who gave his declining years to the thankless task of urging england to make some effort of preparation to fend off just that very crisis which has now come upon her, and found her absolutely unprepared. that is how you have earned your right to live, a citizen of the freest country in the world, a subject of the greatest empire the world has ever seen. and when you have had leisure and money to spend, you have devoted it to overeating and drinking, and helping to fill the tills of alien parasites in soho. that has been your part. and now, now that the fatal crisis has arrived, you, whose qualification is that you can wield the pen of a begging letter-writer, who is also scurrilous and insolent--you lie in bed and clench your useless hands, and prate of work for englishmen!" that was the thought that came to me with a sudden chill that night; and i suppose i was one of the earliest among millions doomed to writhe under the impotent shame of such a thought. i shall never forget that night in my bloomsbury lodging. it was my ordeal of self-revelation. i suppose i slept a little toward morning; but i rose early with a kind of vague longing to escape from the company of the personality my thought had shown me in the night. it is natural that the awakening of an individual should be a more speedy process than the awakening of a people--a nation. i regard my early rising on that monday morning as the beginning of my first real awakening to life as an englishman. i had still far to go--i had not even crossed the threshold as yet. xvii one step forward thy trust, thy honours, these were great; the greater now thy shame, for thou hast proved both unready and unfit, unworthy offspring of a noble sire!--merrow's _country tales_. five minutes after clement blaine reached the office of _the mass_ that morning, he had lost the services of his assistant editor, and i felt that i had taken one step upward from a veritable quagmire of humiliation. blaine was almost too excited about the news of the day to pay much heed to my little speech of resignation. the morning paper to which he subscribed--a radical journal of pronounced tone--had observed far less reticence than most of its contemporaries, and, in its desire to lend sensational interest to its columns, had not minimized in any way the startling character of such intelligence as it had received. "the bloodthirsty german devils!" said blaine, the erstwhile apostle of internationalism and the socialistic brotherhood of man. "by god, the admiralty and the war office ought to swing for this! here are we taxed out of house and home to support their wretched armies and navies, and german soldiers marching on london, they say, with never a sign of a hand raised to oppose 'em--damn them! nice time you choose to talk of leaving. by god, mordan, you may be leaving from against a wall with a bullet through your head, next thing you know. these german devils don't wear kid gloves, i fancy. they're not like our tin-pot army. army!--we haven't got one--lot of gold-laced puppets!" that was how clement blaine was moved by the news. last week: "bloated armaments," "huge battalions of idle men eating the heart out of the nation through its revenues." this week, we had no army, and because of it the admiralty and the war office ought to "swing." in blaine's ravings i had my foretaste of public opinion on the crisis. on the previous day i had listened to a prominent member of parliament urging that our children should be preserved from the contamination of contact with those who taught the practice of the "hellish art" of shooting. the leading daily papers of this monday morning admitted the central fact that england had been invaded during saturday night, and even allowed readers to assume that portions of the eastern counties were then occupied by "foreign" troops. but they used the word "raid" in place of "invasion," and generally qualified it with such a word as "futile." the general tone was that a power with whom we had believed ourselves to be upon friendly terms had been guilty of rash and provocative action toward us, which it would speedily be made to regret. it was an insult, which would be promptly avenged; full atonement for which would be demanded and obtained at once. it was even suggested that some tragic misunderstanding would be found to lie at the root of the whole business; and in any case, things were to be set right without delay. one journal, the _standard_, did go so far as to say that the british public was likely to be forced now into learning at great cost a lesson which had been offered daily as a free gift since the opening of the century, and as steadily repudiated or ignored. "two things it should teach england," said this journal; "never to invite insult and contempt by a repetition of sunday's disarmament demonstration or enunciation of its fallacious and dangerous teaching; and the necessity for paying instant heed to the warnings of the advocates of universal military training for purposes of home defence." but at that time the nicknames of the "the imperialist banner" and "the patriotic pulpit," applied by various writers and others to this great newspaper, were scornful names, applied with opprobrious intent; and london was still full of people whose only comment upon this sufficiently badly-needed warning would be: "oh, of course, the _standard_!" but the policy of reticence, though i have no doubt that it did save london from some terrible scenes of panic, was not to be tenable for many hours. within half an hour of noon special editions of a halfpenny morning paper, and an evening paper belonging to the same proprietors, were issued simultaneously with a full, sensational, and quite unreserved statement of all the news obtainable from east anglia. a number of motor-cyclists had been employed in the quest of intelligence, and one item of the news they had to tell was that colchester had offered resistance to the invaders, and as a result had been shelled and burned to the ground. a number of volunteers and other civilians had been found bearing arms, and had been tried by drum-head court martial and shot within the hour, by order of the commander-in-chief of the german forces. another sensational item was a copy of a proclamation issued by the german commander-in-chief. this proclamation was dated from ipswich, and i think it struck more terror into the people than any other single item of intelligence published during that eventful day. it was headed with the imperial german arms, and announced the establishment of german military jurisdiction in england. it announced that the penalty of immediate death would be inflicted without any exception upon any british subject not wearing and being entitled to wear british military uniform who should be found: 1. taking arms against the invaders. 2. misleading german troops. 3. injuring in any manner whatever any german subject. 4. injuring any road, rail, or waterway, or means of communication. 5. offering resistance of any kind whatsoever to the advance and occupation of the german army. then followed peremptory details of instructions as to the supplies which every householder must furnish for the german soldiers quartered in his neighbourhood, and an announcement as to the supreme and inviolable authority of the german officer in command of any given place. nothing else yet published brought home to the public the realization of what had happened as did this coldly pompous and, in the circumstances, very brutal proclamation. and no item in it so bit into the hearts of the bewildered londoners who read it as did the clear incisive statement to the effect that a british subject who wore no military uniform would be shot like a dog if he raised a hand in the defence of his country or his home. he must receive the invader with open arms, and provide him food, lodging, and assistance of every kind, or be led out and shot. there were hundreds of thousands of men in london that day who would have given very much for the right to wear a uniform which they had learned almost to despise of late years; a uniform many of them had wished to abolish altogether, as the badge of a primitive and barbarous trade, a "hellish art." we had talked glibly enough of war, of its impossibility in england, and of the childish savagery of the appeal to arms; just as, a few years earlier, before the naval reductions, we had talked of england's inviolability, secured her by her unquestioned mastery of the sea. we had written and spoken hundreds of thousands of fine words upon these subjects; and, within the last forty-eight hours, we had demonstrated with great energy the needlessness of armed forces for england. for and against, about it and about, we had woven a mazy network of windy platitudes and catch-phrases, all devised to hide the manifest and manly duties of citizenship; all intended to justify the individual's exclusive concentration upon his own personal pleasures and aggrandizement, without waste of time or energy upon any claims of the commonwealth. and now, in a few score of short, sharp words, in a single brief document, peremptorily addressed to the fifty million people of these islands, a german soldier had brought an end to all our vapourings, all our smug, self-interested theories, and shattered the monstrous fabric of our complaisance, as it were, with a rattle of his sword-hilt. never before in history had a people's vanity been so shaken by a word. in the early afternoon an unavoidable errand took me to a northeastern suburb. i made my return to town as one among an army of refugees. the people had begun flocking into london from as far north and east as brentwood. the great eastern railway was disorganized. the northern highways leading into london were occupied by unbroken lines of people journeying into the city for protection--afoot, in motor-cars, on cycles, and in every kind of horse-drawn vehicle, and carrying with them the strangest assortment of personal belongings. at the earliest possible hour i made my way toward south kensington. i told myself there might be something i could do for constance grey. beyond that there was the fact that i craved another sight of her, and i longed to hear her comment when she knew i had finished with _the mass_. a porter on the underground railway told me that the southwestern and great western termini were blocked by feverish crowds of well-to-do people, struggling, with their children, for places in trains bound south and west. huge motor-cars of the more luxurious type whizzed past one in the street continuously, their canopies piled high with bags, their bodies full of women and children, their chauffeurs driving hard toward the southern and western highways. outside south kensington station i had my first sight of a royal proclamation upon the subject of the invasion. evidently the government realized that, prepared or unprepared, the state of affairs could no longer be hidden from the public. the king was at buckingham palace that day i knew, and it seemed to me that i read rather his majesty's own sentiments than those of his cabinet in the proclamation. i gathered that the general public also formed this impression. there is no need for me to reproduce a document which forms part of our history. the king's famous reference to the government--"the destroyers"--"though admittedly unprepared for such a blow, my government is taking prompt steps for coping in a decisive manner," etc.; and again, the equally famous reference to the german emperor, in the sentence beginning: "this extraordinary attack by the armed forces of my royal and imperial nephew." these features of a nobly dignified and restrained address seemed to me to be a really direct communication from their sovereign to the english people. whatever might be said of the position of "the destroyers" in whitehall, it became evident, even at this early stage, that the throne was in no danger--that the sanctity pertaining to the person of the monarch who, as it were in despite of his government, had done more for the true cause of peace than any other in europe, remained inviolate in the hearts of the people. for the rest, the proclamation was a brief, simple statement of the facts, with an equally simple but very heart-stirring appeal to every subject of the crown to concentrate his whole energies, under proper guidance, upon the task of repelling "this dastardly and entirely unprovoked attack upon our beloved country." i heard many deeply significant and interesting comments from the circle of men and women who were reading this copy of the proclamation. the remarks of two men i repeat here because in both cases they were typical and representative. the first remark was from a man dressed as a navvy, with a short clay pipe in his mouth. he said: "oh, yus; the king's all right; gawd bless un! no one 'ld mind fightin' for 'im. it's 'is blighted gov'nment wot's all bloomin' wrong--blast 'em!" the reply came from a young man evidently of sedentary occupation--a shop-assistant or clerk: "you're all right, too, old sport; but don't you forget the other feller's proclamation. if you 'aven't got no uniform, your number's up for lead pills, an' don't you forget it. a fair fight an' no favour's all right; but i'm not on in this blooming execution act, thank you. edward r. i. will have to pass me, i can see." "well, 'e won't lose much, matey, when all's said. but you're english, anyway; that seems a pity. why don't yer run 'ome ter yer ma, eh?" "go it, old sport. you're a blue-blooded tory; an imperialist, aren't you?" "not me, boy; i'm only an able-bodied man." "what ho! got a flag in your pocket, have you? you watch the germans don't catch you fer sausage meat." and then i passed on, heading for constance grey's flat. i reflected that i had done my share toward forming the opinions, the mental attitude of that young clerk or shop-assistant. the type was familiar enough. but i had had no part nor lot in the preservation of that navvy's simple patriotism. rather, by a good deal, had the tendency of all i said and wrote been toward weakening the sturdy growth, and causing it to be deprecated as a thing archaic, an obstacle in the way of progress. progress! the expounding of herr mitmann of stettin! that monday was a minor day of judgment for others beside myself. xviii the dear loaf a third of the people, then, in the event of war, would immediately be reduced to starvation: and the rest of the thirty-eight million would speedily be forced thither.--l. cope cornford's _the defenceless islands_ (london, 1906). i saw constance grey only for a few minutes during that day. she had passed the stage of shocked sorrow and sad fear in which i had found her on sunday, and was exceedingly busy in organizing a corps of assistant nurses, women who had had some training, and were able to provide a practical outfit of nursing requisites. she had the countenance of the army medical authorities, but her nursing corps was to consist exclusively of volunteers. the organizing ability this girl displayed was extraordinary. she spared five minutes for conversation, and warmed my heart with her appreciation of my severance of _the mass_ connection. and then, before i knew what had happened, she had me impressed, willingly enough, in her service, and i was off upon an errand connected with the volunteer nursing corps. news had arrived of some wounded refugees in romford, unable to proceed on their way into london; and a couple of motor-cars, with nurses and medical comforts, were despatched at once. detailed news of the sacking of colchester showed this to have been a most extraordinarily brutal affair for the work of a civilized army. the british regular troops at colchester represented the whole of our forces of the northeastern division, and included three batteries of artillery. the regiments of this division had been reduced to three, and for eighteen months or more these had been mere skeletons of regiments, the bulk of the men being utilized to fill other gaps caused by the consistently followed policy of reduction which had characterized "the destroyers'" régime. a german spy who had been captured in romford and brought to london, said that the commander-in-chief of the german forces in england had publicly announced to his men that the instructions received from their imperial master were that the pride of the british people must be struck down to the dust; that the first blows must be crushing; that the british people were to be smitten with terror from which recovery should be impossible. be this as it may, the sacking of colchester was a terrible business. a number of citizens had joined the shockingly small body of regulars in a gallant attempt at defence. the attempt was quite hopeless; the german superiority in numbers, discipline, metal, and material being quite overwhelming. but the german commander was greatly angered by the resistance offered, and, as soon as he ascertained that civilians had taken part in this, the town was first shelled and then stormed. it was surrounded by a cordon of cavalry, and--_no prisoners were taken_. the town was burned to the ground, though many valuable stores were first removed from it; and those of the inhabitants who had not already fled were literally mown down in their native streets, without parley or quarter--men, women, and children being alike regarded as offenders against the edict forbidding any civilian british subject, upon pain of death, to offer any form of resistance to german troops. i myself spoke to a man in knightsbridge that evening who had definite news that his nineteen-year-old daughter, a governess in the house of a colchester doctor, was among those shot down in the streets of the town while endeavouring to make her escape with two children. the handful of british regulars had been shot or cut to pieces, and the barracks and stores taken over by the germans. as i left constance grey's flat that evening i passed a small baker's shop, before which an angry crowd was engaged in terrifying a small boy in a white apron, who was nervously endeavouring to put up the window shutters. i asked what the trouble was, and was told the baker had refused to sell his half-quartern loaves under sevenpence, or his quartern loaves under a shilling. "it's agin the law, so it is," shouted an angry woman. "i'm a policeman's wife, an' i know what i'm talking about. i'll have the law of the nasty mean hound, so i will, with his shillin' for a fivepenny loaf, indeed!" long before this time, and while britain still held on to a good proportion of her foreign trade, it had been estimated by statisticians that in the united kingdom some ten to twelve million persons lived always upon the verge of hunger. but since then the manufacturers of protected countries, notably germany and the united states, had, as was inevitable in the face of our childish clinging to what we miscalled "free" trade, crowded the british manufacturer out of practically every market in the world, except those of canada. those also must of necessity have been lost, but for the forbearing and enduring loyalty of the canadian people, who, in spite of persistent rebuffs, continued to extend and to increase their fiscal preference for imports from the mother-country. but, immense as canada's growth was even then, no one country could keep the manufacturers of britain busy; and i believe i am right in saying that at this time the number of those who lived always on the verge of hunger had increased to at least fifteen millions. cases innumerable there were in which manufacturers themselves had gone to swell the ranks of the unemployed and insufficiently employed; the monstrous legion of those who lived always close to the terrifying spectre of hunger. if the spirit of richard cobden walked the earth at that time, even as his obsessions assuredly still cumbered it, it must have found food for bitter reflection in the hundreds of empty factories, grass-grown courtyards, and broken-windowed warehouses, which a single day's walk would show one in the north of england. you may be sure i thought of those things as i walked away from that baker's shop in south kensington. a journalist, even though he be only the assistant of a man like blaine, is apt to see the conditions of life in his country fairly plainly, because he has a wider vision of them than most men. into fleet street, each day brings an endless stream of "news items," not only from all parts of the world, but from every town and city in the kingdom. and your journalist, though he may have scant leisure for its digestion, absorbs the whole of this mass of intelligence each day in the process of conveying one-tenth part of it, in tabloid form, to the public. if one assumes for the moment that only twelve million people in great britain were living on hunger's extreme edge at that time, the picture i had of the sullen, angry crowd outside the baker's shop remains a sufficiently sinister one. as a matter of fact, i believe that particular baker was a shade premature, or a penny or two excessive, in his advance of prices. but i know that by nightfall you could not have purchased a quartern loaf for elevenpence halfpenny within ten miles of charing cross. the bakers' society had issued its mandates broadcast. shop-windows were stoned that night in south and east london; but twenty-four hours later the price of the quartern loaf was 1s. 3d., and a man offering 1s. 2d. would go empty away. and with the same loaf selling at one-third the price, twelve million persons at least had lived always on the verge of hunger. i mention the staple food only, but precisely the same conditions applied to all other food-stuffs with the exception of dairy produce, the price of which was quadrupled by tuesday afternoon, and fish, the price of which put it at once beyond the reach of all save the rich, and all delicacies, the prices of which became prohibitive. twelve million persons had lived on the verge of hunger, before, under normal conditions, and when the country's trade had been far larger and more prosperous than of late. now, with the necessities of life standing at fully three times normal prices, a large number of trades employing many thousands of work-people were suddenly shut down upon, and rendered completely inoperative. it must be borne in mind that we had been warned again and again that matters would be precisely thus and not otherwise in the event of war, and we had paid no heed whatever to the telling. historians have explained for us that the primary reason of the very sudden rise to famine rates of the prices of provisions was the persistent rumour that the effective bulk of the channel fleet had been captured or destroyed on its way northward from spanish waters. german strategy had drawn the fleet southward, in the first place, by means of an international "incident" in the mediterranean, which was clearly the bait of what rumour called a death-trap. once trapped, it was said, german seamanship and surprise tactics had done the rest. the crews of the channel fleet ships (considerably below full strength) had been rushed out of shore barracks, in which discipline had fallen to a terribly low ebb, to their unfamiliar shipboard stations, at the time of the mediterranean scare. beset by the flower of the german navy, in ships manned by crews who lived afloat, it was asserted that the channel fleet had been annihilated, and that the entire force of the german navy was concentrated upon the task of patrolling english waters. we know that men and horses, stores and munitions of war, were pouring steadily and continuously into east anglia from germany during this time, escorted by german cruisers and torpedo-boats, and uninterrupted by british ships. there was yet no report of the channel fleet, the ships of which were already twenty-four hours overdue at portsmouth. two things, more than any others, had influenced the british navy during the administration of "the destroyers": the total cessation of building operations, and the withdrawal of ships and men from sea service. the reserve ships had long been unfit to put to sea, the reserve crews had, for all practical purposes, become landsmen--landsmen among whom want of sea-going discipline had of late produced many mutinous outbreaks. it had been said by the most famous admiral of the time, and said without much exaggeration, that, within twelve months of "the destroyers'" abandonment of the traditional two-power standard of efficiency, the british navy had "fallen to half-power standard." the process was quickened, of course, by the unprecedented progress of the german navy during the same period. it was said that at the end of 1907 the german government had ships of war building in every great dockyard in the world. it is known that the entire fleet of the "kaiser" class torpedo-boats and destroyers was built and set afloat at the german emperor's own private expense. then there were the "well-borns," as they were called--vessels of no great weight of metal, it is true, but manned, armed, officered, and found better perhaps than any other war-ships in the world; entirely at the instigation of the german navy league, and out of the pockets of the german nobility. the majority of our own wealthy classes preferred sinking their money in german motor-cars and german pleasure resorts; or one must assume so, for it is well known that our navy league had long since ceased to exert any active influence, because it was unable to raise funds enough to pay its office expenses. our navy might have had a useful reserve to draw upon in the various auxiliary naval bodies if these had not, one by one, been abolished. the mercantile marine was not in a position to lend much assistance in this respect, for our ships at that time carried eighty-seven thousand foreign officers and men, three parts of whom were teutons. these facts were presumably all well known to the heads and governing bodies of the various trades, and, that being so, the extremely pessimistic attitude adopted by them, directly the fact of invasion was established, is scarcely to be wondered at. in banking, insurance, underwriting, stock and share dealing, manufacturing, and in every branch of shipping the lead of the bakers were followed, and in many cases exceeded. the premiums asked in insurance and underwriting, and the unprecedented advance in the bank-rate, corresponding as it did with a hopeless "slump" in every stock and share quoted on the stock exchange, from consols to mining shares, brought business to a standstill in london on monday afternoon. on tuesday entire blocks of offices remained unopened. in business, more perhaps than in any other walk of life, self-preservation and self-advancement were at that time, not alone the first, but the only fixed law. with bread at 1s. 4d. a loaf, great ship-owners in england were cabling the masters of wheat ships in both hemispheres to remain where they were and await orders. this last fact i learned from leslie wheeler, whom i happened to meet hurrying from the city to waterloo, on his way down to weybridge. his family were leaving for devonshire next morning, to stay with relatives there. "but, bless me!" i said, when he told me that friends of his father, shipping magnates, had despatched such cable messages that morning, "surely that's a ruffianly thing to do, when the english people are crying out for bread?" leslie shrugged his smartly-clad shoulders. "it's the english people's own affair," he said. "how's that?" "why, you see it's all a matter of insurance. all commerce is based on insurance, in one form or another. the cost of shipping insurance to-day is absolutely prohibitive; in other words, there isn't any. we did have a permanent and non-fluctuating form of insurance of a kind one time. but you socialist chaps--social reform, little england for the english, and all that--you swept that away. wouldn't pay for it; said it wasn't wanted. now it's gone, and you're feeling the pinch. the worst of it is, you make the rest of us feel it, too. i'm thankful to say the dad's pulling out fairly well. he told me yesterday he hadn't five hundred pounds in anything british. wise old bird, the dad!" my friend's "you socialist chaps" rather wrang my withers; its sting not being lessened at all by my knowledge of its justice. i asked after the welfare of the wheeler family generally, but it was only as leslie was closing the door of the cab he hailed that i mentioned sylvia. "yes, sylvia's all right," he said, as he waved me good-bye; "but she won't come away with the rest of us--absolutely refuses to budge." and with that he was off, leaving me wondering about the girl who had at one time occupied so much of my mind, but of late had had so little of it. during the next few hours i wove quite a pretty story round sylvia's refusal to accompany her family. i even thought of her as joining constance grey's nursing corps. the thought of this development of sylvia wheeler's character interested me so much that i wrote to her that evening, tentatively sympathizing with her determination not to be frightened away from her own place. the whole thing was a curious misapprehension on my part; but sylvia's reply (explaining that it was her particular place of worship she refused to leave, and that she was staying "with his reverence's sister"), though written within twenty-four hours, did not reach me until after many days--days such as england will never face again. xix the tragic week england can never have an efficient army during peace, and she must, therefore, accept the rebuffs and calamities which are always in store for the nation that is content to follow the breed of cowards who usually direct her great affairs. the day will come when she will violently and suddenly lose her former fighting renown to such an unmistakable extent that the plucky fishwives will march upon downing street, and if they can catch its usual inmates, will rend them. one party is as bad as the other, and i hope and pray that when the national misfortune of a great defeat at sea overtakes us, followed by the invasion of england, that john bull will turn and rend the jawers and talkers who prevent us from being prepared to meet invasion.--_from a letter written by lord wolsley, ex-commander-in-chief of the british army, to lord wemyss, and published, and ignored by the public, in the year 1906._ it is no part of my intention to make any attempt to limp after the historians of the invasion. the official history, the half-dozen of standard military treatises, and the well-known works of low, forster, gordon, and others, have allowed few details of the invasion to escape unrecorded. but i confess it has always seemed to me that these writers gave less attention to the immediate aftermath of the invasion than that curious period demanded. yet here was surely a case in which effect was of vastly more importance than cause, and aftermath than crisis. but perhaps i take that view because i am no historian. to the non-expert mind, the most bewildering and extraordinary feature of that disastrous time was the amazing speed with which crisis succeeded crisis, and events, each of themselves epoch-making in character, crashed one upon another throughout the progress toward black saturday. we know now that much of this fury of haste which was so bewildering at the time, which certainly has no parallel in history, was due to the perfection of germany's long-laid plans. major-general farquarson, in his "military history of the invasion," says: "it may be doubted whether in all the history of warfare anything so scientifically perfect as the preparations for this attack can be found. it is safe to say that every inch of general von füchter's progress was mapped out in berlin long months before it came to astound and horrify england. the maps and plans in the possession of the german staff were masterpieces of cartographical science and art. the german army knew almost to a bale of hay what provender lay between london and the coast, and where it was stored; and certainly their knowledge of east anglia far exceeded that of our own authorities. the world has never seen a quicker blow struck; it has seldom seen a blow so crushingly severe; it has not often seen one so aggressively unjustifiable. and, be it noted, that down to the last halter and the least fragment of detail, the german army was provided with every conceivable aid to success--_in duplicate_. "never in any enterprise known to history was less left to chance. the german war office left nothing at all to chance, not even its conception--a certainty really--of britain's amazing unreadiness. and the german army took no risks. a soldier's business, whether he be private or field marshal, is, after all, to obey orders. it would be both foolish and unjust to blame general von füchter. but the fact remains that no victorious army ever risked less by generosity than the invading german army. its tactics were undoubtedly ruthless; they were the tactics necessitated by the orders of the chief of the army. they were more severe, more crushing, than any that have ever been adopted even by a punitive expedition under british colours. they were successful. for that they were intended. swiftness and thoroughness were of the essence of the contract. "with regard to their humanity or morality i am not here concerned. but it should always be remembered by critics that british apathy and neglect made british soil a standing temptation to the invader. the invasion was entirely unprovoked, so far as direct provocation goes. but who shall say it was entirely undeserved, or even unforeseen, by advisers whom the nation chose to ignore? this much is certain: black saturday and the tragic events leading up to it were made possible, not so much by the skill and forethought of the enemy, which were notable, as by a state of affairs in england which made that day one of shame and humiliation, as well as a day of national mourning. no just recorder may hope to escape that fact." in london, the gravest aspect of that tragic week was the condition of the populace. it is supposed that over two million people flocked into the capital during the first three days. and the prices of the necessities of life were higher in london than anywhere else in the country. the government measures for relief were ill-considered and hopelessly inadequate. but, in justice to "the destroyers," it must be remembered that leading authorities have said that adequate measures were impossible, from sheer lack of material. during one day--i think it was wednesday--huge armies of the hungry unemployed--nine-tenths of our wage-earners were unemployed--were set to work upon entrenchments in the north of london. but there was no sort of organization, and most of the men streamed back into the town that night, unpaid, unfed, and sullenly resentful. then, like cannon shots, came the reports of the fall of york, bradford, leeds, halifax, hull, and huddersfield, and the apparently wanton demolition of norwich cathedral. the sinking of the _dreadnought_ near the nore was known in london within the hour. among the half-equipped regulars who were hurried up from the southwest, i saw dozens of men intercepted in the streets by the hungry crowds, and hustled into leaving their fellows. then came friday's awful "surrender riot" at westminster, a magnificent account of which gives martin's big work its distinctive value. i had left constance grey's flat only half an hour before the riot began, and when i reached trafalgar square there was no space between that and the abbey in which a stone could have been dropped without falling upon a man or a woman. there were women in that maddened throng, and some of them, crying hoarsely in one breath for surrender and for bread, were suckling babies. no englishman who witnessed it could ever forget that sight. the prime minister's announcement that the surrender should be made came too late. the panic and hunger-maddened incendiaries had been at work. smoke was rising already from downing street and the back of the treasury. then came the carnage. one can well believe that not a single unnecessary bullet was fired. not to believe that would be to saddle those in authority with a less than human baseness. but the question history puts is: who was primarily to blame for the circumstances which led up to the tragic necessity of the firing order? posterity has unanimously laid the blame upon the administration of that day, and assuredly the task of whitewashing "the destroyers" would be no light or pleasant one. but, again, we must remind ourselves that the essence of the british constitution has granted to us always, for a century past at least, as good a government as we have deserved. "the destroyers" may have brought shame and humiliation upon england. unquestionably, measures and acts of theirs produced those effects. but who and what produced "the destroyers" as a government? the only possible answer to that is, in the first place, the british public; in the second place, the british people's selfish apathy and neglect, where national duty and responsibility were concerned, and blindly selfish absorption, in the matter of its own individual interests and pleasures. one hundred and thirty-two men, women, and children killed, and three hundred and twenty-eight wounded; the treasury buildings and the official residence of the prime minister gutted; that was the casualty list of the "surrender riot" at westminster. but the figures do not convey a tithe of the horror, the unforgettable shame and horror, of the people's attack upon the empire's sanctuary. the essence of the tragedy lay in their demand for immediate and unconditional surrender; the misery of it lay in "the destroyers'" weak, delayed, terrified response, followed almost immediately by the order to those in charge of the firing parties--an order flung hysterically at last, the very articulation of panic. no one is likely to question martin's assertion that friday's tragedy at westminster must be regarded--"not alone as the immediate cause of black saturday's national humiliation, but also as the crucial phase, the pivot upon which the development of the whole disastrous week turned." but the westminster riot at least had the saving feature of unpremeditation. it was, upon the one side, the outcry of a wholly undisciplined, hungry, and panic-smitten public; and, upon the other side, the irresponsible, more than half-hysterical action of a group of terrified and incompetent politicians. these men had been swept into great positions, which they were totally unfitted to fill, by a tidal wave of reactionary public feeling, and of the blind selfishness of a decadence born of long freedom from any form of national discipline; of liberties too easily won and but half-understood; of superficial education as to rights, and abysmal ignorance as to duties. but, while fully admitting the soundness of martin's verdict, for my part i feel that my experiences during that week left me with memories not perhaps more shocking, but certainly more humiliating and disgraceful to england, than the picture burnt into my mind by the westminster riot. i will mention two of these. by wednesday a large proportion of the rich residents of western london had left the capital to take its chances, while they sought the security of country homes, more particularly in the southwestern counties. such thoroughfares as piccadilly, regent street, and bond street were no longer occupied by well-dressed people with plenty of money to spend. their usual patrons were for the most part absent; but, particularly at night, they were none the less very freely used--more crowded, indeed, than ever before. the really poor, the desperately hungry people, had no concern whatever with the wrecking of the famous german restaurants and beer-halls. they were not among the regent street and piccadilly promenaders. the londoners who filled these streets at night--the people who sacked the leicester square hotel and took part in the famous orgy which blackburn describes as "unequalled in england since the days of the plague, or in europe since the french revolution"; these people were not at all in quest of food. they were engaged upon a mad pursuit of pleasure and debauchery and drink. "eat, drink, and be vicious; but above all, drink and be vicious; for this is the end of england!" that was their watchword. i have no wish to repeat blackburn's terrible stories of rapine and bestiality, of the frenzy of intoxication, and the blind savagery of these saturnalias. in their dreadful nakedness they stand for ever in the pages of his great book, a sinister blur, a fiery warning, writ large across the scroll of english history. i only wish to say that scenes i actually saw with my own eyes (one episode in trying to check the horror of which i lost two fingers and much blood), prove beyond all question to me that, even in its most lurid and revolting passages, blackburn's account is a mere record of fact, and not at all, as some apologists have sought to show, an exaggerated or overheated version of these lamentable events. regarded as an indication of the pass we had reached at this period of our decadence, this stage of our trial by fire, the conduct of the crowds in western london during those dreadful nights, impressed me more forcibly than the disaster which martin considers the climax and pivot of the week's tragedy. one does not cheerfully refer to these things, but, to be truthful, i must mention the other matter which produced upon me, personally, the greatest sense of horror and disgrace. military writers have described for us most fully the circumstances in which general lord wensley's command was cut and blown to pieces in the epping and romford districts. authorities are agreed that the records of civilized warfare have nothing more horrible to tell than the history of that ghastly butchery. as a slaughter, there was nothing exactly like it in the russo-japanese war--for we know that there were less than a hundred survivors of the whole of lord wensley's command. but those who mourned the loss of these brave men had a consolation of which nothing could rob them; the consolation which is graven in stone upon the epping monument; a consolation preserved as well in german as in english history. germany may truthfully say of the epping shambles that no quarter was given that day. england may say, with what pride she may, that none was asked. the last british soldier slaughtered in the epping trenches had no white flag in his hand, but a broken bayonet, and, under his knee, the colours of his regiment. the british soldiers in those blood-soaked trenches were badly armed, less than half-trained, under-officered, and of a low physical standard. but these lamentable facts had little or nothing to do with their slaughter. there were but seven thousand of them, while the german force has been variously estimated at between seventy thousand and one hundred thousand horse and foot, besides artillery. one need not stop to question who should bear the blame for the half-trained, vilely equipped condition of these heroic victims. the far greater question, to which the only answer can be a sad silence of remorse and bitter humiliation, bears upon the awful needlessness of their sacrifice. the circumstances have been described in fullest detail from authentic records. the stark fact which stands out before the average non-expert observer is that lord wensley was definitely promised reinforcements to the number of twenty thousand horse and foot; that after the westminster riot not a single man or horse reached him; _and he was never informed of the government's forced decision to surrender_. and thus those half-trained boys and men laid down their lives for england within a dozen miles of westminster, almost twelve hours after a weak-kneed, panic-stricken cabinet had passed its word to the people that england would surrender. that, to my thinking, was the most burning feature of our disgrace; that, as an indication of our parlous estate, is more terrible than martin's "pivot" of the tragic week. xx black saturday milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: england hath need of thee: she is a fen of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, have forfeited their ancient english dower of inward happiness. we are selfish men. wordsworth. in the afternoon of black saturday, general von füchter, the commander-in-chief of the german army in england, took up his quarters, with his staff, in the residence of the german ambassador to the court of st. james in carlton house terrace, and, so men said, enjoyed the first sleep he had had for a week. (the german ambassador had handed in his credentials, and been escorted out of england on the previous monday.) throughout the small hours of saturday morning i was at work near romford as one of the volunteer bearers attached to constance grey's nursing corps. that is one reason why the memory of the north of london massacre will never leave me. one may assume that the german army had no wish to kill nurses, but, as evidence of the terrible character of the onslaught on the poor defences of london, i may recall the fact that three of our portable nursing shelters were blown to pieces; while of constance grey's nurses alone five were killed and fourteen were badly wounded. myself, i had much to be thankful for, my only wound being the ploughing of a little furrow over the biceps of my right arm by a bullet that passed out through the back of my coat. but a circumstance for which my gratitude was more deeply moved was the fact that constance grey, despite a number of wonderfully narrow escapes, was entirely uninjured. the actual entry of general von füchter and his troops into london has been so often described that nothing remains for me to say about that. also, i am unable to speak as an eye witness, since constance grey and myself were among those who returned to london, in the rear of the german troops, with the ambulances. the enemy's line of communications stretched now from the wash to london, and between brentwood and london there were more germans than english. i believe the actual number of troops which entered london behind general von füchter was under forty-eight thousand; but to the northward, northeast, and northwest the huge force which really invested the capital was spread in careful formation, and amply provided with heavy artillery, then trained upon central london from all such points as the hampstead heights. although a formal note of surrender had been conveyed to general von füchter at romford, _after_ the annihilation of our entrenched troops, occasional shots were fired upon the enemy as they entered london. indeed, in the whitechapel road, one of the general's aides-de-camp, riding within a few yards of his chief, was killed by a shot from the upper windows of a provision shop. but the german reprisals were sharp. it is said that fifty-seven lives paid the penalty for the shooting of that aide-de-camp. several streets of houses in northeast london were burned. by this time the lord mayor of london had been notified that serious results would accrue if any further opposition were offered to the german acceptance of london's surrender; and proclamations to that effect were posted everywhere. but the great bulk of london's inhabitants were completely cowed by hunger and terror. practically, it may be said that, throughout, the only resistance offered to the army of the invaders was that which ended so tragically in the trenches beyond epping and romford, with the equally tragical defence of colchester, and some of the northern towns captured by the eighth german army corps. in london the people's demand from the first had been for unconditional surrender. it was this demand which had culminated in the westminster riot. the populace was so entirely undisciplined, so completely lacking in the sort of training which makes for self-restraint, that even if the government had been possessed of an efficient striking force for defensive purposes, the public would not have permitted its proper utilization. the roar of german artillery during friday night and saturday morning, with the news of the awful massacre in the northern entrenchments, had combined to extinguish the last vestige of desire for resistance which remained in london. almost all the people with money had left the capital. those remaining--the poor, the refugees from northward, irresponsibles, people without a stake of any kind; these desired but the one thing: food and safety. the german commander-in-chief was wise. he knew that if time had been allowed, resistance would have been organized, even though the british regular army had, by continuous reductions in the name of "economy," practically ceased to exist as a striking force. and therefore time was the one thing he had been most determined to deny england. it is said that fatigue killed more german soldiers than fell to british bullets; and the fact may well be believed when we consider the herculean task general von füchter had accomplished in one week. his plan of campaign was to strike his hardest, and to keep on striking his hardest, without pause, till he had the british government on its knees before him; till he had the british public--maddened by sudden fear, and the panic which blows of this sort must bring to a people with no defensive organization, and no disciplinary training--cowed and crying for quarter. the german commander has been called inhuman, a monster, a creature without bowels. all that is really of small importance. he was a soldier who carried out orders. his orders were ruthless orders. the instrument he used was a very perfect one. he carried out his orders with the utmost precision and thoroughness; and his method was the surest, quickest, and, perhaps, the only way of taking possession of england. at noon precisely, the lord mayor of london was brought before the german commander-in-chief in the audience chamber of the mansion house, and formally placed under arrest. a triple cordon of sentries and two machine-gun parties were placed in charge of the bank of england, and quarters were allotted for two german regiments in the immediate vicinity. two machine-guns were brought into position in front of the stock exchange, and all avenues leading from the heart of the city were occupied by mixed details of cavalry and infantry, each party having one machine-gun. my acquaintance, wardle, of the _sunday news_, was in the audience chamber of the mansion house at this time, and he says that he never saw a man look more exhausted than general von füchter, who, according to report, had not had an hour's sleep during the week. but though the general's cheeks were sunken, his chin unshaven, and his eyes blood-red, his demeanour was that of an iron man--stern, brusque, taciturn, erect, and singularly immobile. food was served to this man of blood and iron in the mansion house, while the lord mayor's secretary proceeded to whitehall, with word to the effect that the commander-in-chief of the german forces in england awaited the sword and formal surrender of the british commander, before proceeding to take up quarters in which he would deal with peace negotiations. forster's great work, "the surrender," gives the finest description we have of the scene that followed. the field marshal in command of the british forces had that morning been sent for by a cabinet council then being held in the prime minister's room at the house of commons. with nine members of his staff, the white-haired field marshal rode slowly into the city, in full uniform. his instructions were for unconditional surrender, and a request for the immediate consideration of the details of peace negotiations. the field marshal had once been the most popular idol of the british people, whom he had served nobly in a hundred fights. of late years he himself had been as completely disregarded, as the grave warnings, the earnest appeals, which he had bravely continued to urge upon a neglectful people. the very government which now despatched him upon the hardest task of his whole career, the tendering of his sword to his country's enemy, had for long treated him with cold disfavour. the general public, in its anti-national madness, had sneered at this great little man, their one-time hero, as a jingo crank. (as an instance of the lengths to which the public madness went in this matter, the curious will find in the british museum copies of at least one farcical work of fiction written and published with considerable success, as burlesques of that very invasion which had now occurred, of the possibility of which this loyal servant in particular had so earnestly and so unavailingly warned his countrymen.) now, the blow he had so often foreshadowed had fallen; the capital of the british empire was actually in possession of an enemy; and the british leader knew himself for a commander without an army. he had long since given his only son to the cause of britain's defence. the whole of his own strenuous life had been devoted to the same cause. his declining years had known no ease by reason of his unceasing and thankless striving to awaken his fellow countrymen to a sense of their military responsibilities. now he felt that the end of all things had come for him, in the carrying out of an order which snapped his life's work in two, and flung it down at the feet of england's almost unopposed conqueror. the understanding englishman has forgiven general von füchter much, by virtue of his treatment of the noble old soldier, who with tear-blinded eyes and twitching lips tendered him the surrender of the almost non-existent british army. no man ever heard a speech from general von füchter, but the remark with which he returned our field marshal's sword to him will never be forgotten in england. he said, in rather laboured english, with a stiff, low bow: "keep it, my lord. if your countrymen had not forgotten how to recognize a great soldier, i could never have demanded it of you." and the man of iron saluted the heart-broken chief of the shattered british army. we prefer not to believe the report that this, the german commander's one act of gentleness and magnanimity in england, was subsequently paid for by the loss of a certain imperial decoration. but, if the story was true, then the decoration it concerned was well lost. it was a grim, war-stained procession that followed general von füchter when, between two and three o'clock, he rode with his staff by way of ludgate hill and the strand to carlton house terrace. but the cavalry rode with drawn sabres, the infantry marched with fixed bayonets, and, though weariness showed in every line of the men's faces, there was as yet no sign of relaxed tension. throughout that evening and night the baggage wagons rumbled through london, without cessation, to the two main western encampments in hyde park. the whole of pall mall and park lane were occupied by german officers that night, few of the usual occupants of the clubs in the one thoroughfare, or the residences in the other, being then in london. by four o'clock general von füchter's terms were in the hands of the government which had now completed its earning of the title of "the destroyers." the chief commissioner of police and the principal municipal authorities of greater london had all been examined during the day at the house of commons, and were unanimous in their verdict that any delay in the arrangement of peace and the resumption of trade, ashore and afloat, could mean only revolution. whole streets of shops had been sacked and looted already by hungry mobs, who gave no thought to the invasion or to any other matter than the question of food supply. a great, lowering crowd of hungry men and women occupied westminster bridge and the southern embankment (no german soldiers had been seen south of the thames) waiting for the news of the promised conclusion of peace terms. there is not wanting evidence that certain members of the government had already bitterly repented of their suicidal retrenchment and anti-defensive attitude in the past. but repentance had come too late. the government stood between a hungry, terrified populace demanding peace and food, and a mighty and victorious army whose commander, acting upon the orders of his government, offered peace at a terrible price, or the absolute destruction of london. for general von füchter's brief memorandum of terms alluded threateningly to the fact that his heavy artillery was so placed that he could blow the house of commons into the river in an hour. at six o'clock the german terms were accepted, a provisional declaration of peace was signed, and public proclamations to that effect, embodying reference to the deadly perils which would be incurred by those taking part in any kind of street disorder, were issued to the public. as to the nature of the german terms, it must be admitted that they were as pitiless as the german tactics throughout the invasion, and as surely designed to accomplish their end and object. berlin had not forgotten the wonderful recuperative powers which enabled france to rise so swiftly from out of the ashes of 1870. britain was to be far more effectually crippled. the money indemnity demanded by general von füchter was the largest ever known: one thousand million pounds sterling. but it must be remembered that the enemy already held the bank of england. one hundred millions, or securities representing that amount, were to be handed over within twenty-four hours. the remaining nine hundred millions were to be paid in nine annual instalments of one hundred millions each, the first of which must be paid within three months. until the last payment was made, german troops were to occupy glasgow, cardiff, portsmouth, devonport, chatham, yarmouth, harwich, hull, and newcastle. the transvaal was to be ceded to the boers under a german protectorate. britain was to withdraw all pretensions regarding egypt and morocco, and to cede to germany, gibraltar, malta, ceylon, and british west africa. it is not necessary for me to quote the few further details of the most exacting demands a victor ever made upon a defeated enemy. there can be no doubt that, in the disastrous circumstances they had been so largely instrumental in bringing about, "the destroyers" had no choice, no alternative from their acceptance of these crushing terms. and thus it was that--not at the end of a long and hard-fought war, as the result of vast misfortunes or overwhelming valour on the enemy's side, but simply as the result of the condition of utter and lamentable defencelessness into which a truckling government and an undisciplined, blindly selfish people had allowed england to lapse--the greatest, wealthiest power in civilization was brought to its knees in the incredibly short space of one week, by the sudden but scientifically devised onslaught of a single ambitious nation, ruled by a monarch whose lack of scruples was more than balanced by his strength of purpose. xxi england asleep evil springs up, and flowers, and bears no seed, and feeds the green earth with its swift decay, leaving it richer for the growth of truth. lowell. general von füchter and his splendidly trained troops were not the only people in england for whom the mere fatigue of that week was something not easily to be forgotten. my impression of its last three days is that they brought no period of rest for any one. i know that there were as many people in the streets by night as by day. the act of going within doors or sitting down, seemed in some way to be a kind of cowardice, a species of shirking, or disloyalty. i remember constance grey assuring me that she had lain down for an hour on thursday. i can say with certainty that we were both of us on our feet from that time until after the terms of the surrender were made known on saturday evening. i can also say that no thought of this matter of physical weariness occurred to me until that period of saturday evening--soon after seven o'clock it was--when the proclamations were posted up in whitehall, and the special issues of the newspapers containing the peace announcements began to be hawked. an issue of the _standard_, a single sheet, with broad black borders, was the first press announcement to reach the public; and it contained a grave, closely reasoned address from the most famous statesman of the opposition, urging upon the public the need vital of exercising the utmost cautiousness and self-restraint. "england has been stricken to the earth," said this dignified statement. "her condition is critical. if the injury sustained is not to prove mortal, the utmost circumspection is required at this moment. the immediate duty of every loyal subject is quietly to concentrate his energies for the time upon the restoration of normal conditions. in that way only can our suffering country be given that breathing space which is the first step toward recuperation. for my part, i can conceive of no better, quicker method for the individual of serving this end than for him to make the speediest possible return to the pursuit of his ordinary avocation in life. it is to be hoped that, bearing in mind our urgent need, all employers of labour will do their utmost to provide immediate occupation for their work-people. it is not in the tragic catastrophe of the past week, but in the ordeal of this moment, of the coming days, that the real test of england's endurance lies. never before was her need so great; never before has nelson's demand had so real and intimate a message for each and every one of us. i pray god the response may ring true. 'england expects that every man will do his duty!'" i must not omit my tribute to those responsible for the salient fact that this important issue of the journal whose unwavering imperialism had been scoffed at in the mad times before the invasion, was not sold, but distributed. employment was found for hundreds of hungry men, women, and children in its free distribution; their wage being the thing they most desired: bread, with soup, which, as i learned that night, was prepared in huge coppers in the foundry of the printing works. i was with constance grey in trafalgar square when the news of the accepted terms of peace reached us. we had just secured admission into charing cross hospital--not without considerable difficulty, for its wards were crowded--for two wounded nurses from epping. together we read the news, and when the end was reached it seemed to me that the light of life and energy passed suddenly out of my companion. she seemed to suffer some bodily change and loss, to be bereft of her spring and erectness. "ah, well," she said, "i am very tired, dick; and, do you know, it occurs to me i have had nothing to eat since yesterday afternoon. i wonder can we get away from these men, anywhere?" the streets between victoria and hyde park were lined by german cavalry men, who sat motionless on their chargers, erect and soldierly, but, in many cases, fast asleep. we began to walk eastward, looking for some place in which we could rest and eat. but every place seemed to be closed. "how long have you been on your feet?" said constance, as we passed the law courts. "only since thursday evening," i said. "i had a long rest in that cart, you remember--the one i brought the lint and bandages in." just then we passed a tailor's shop-window, and, in a long, narrow strip of mirror i caught a full-length reflection of myself. i positively turned swiftly to see who could have cast that reflection. four days without shaving and without a change of collar; two days without even washing my hands or face; four days without undressing, and eight hours' work beside the north london entrenchments--these experiences had made a wild-looking savage of me, and, until that moment, i had never thought of my appearance. smoke, earth, and blood had worked their will upon me. my left hand, from which two fingers were missing, was swathed in blackened bandages. my right coat-sleeve had been cut off by a good-natured fellow who had bandaged the flesh wound in my arm to stop its bleeding. my eyes glinted dully in a black face, with curious white fringes round them, where their moisture had penetrated my skin of smoked dirt. and here was i walking beside constance grey! then i realized, for the first time, that constance herself bore many traces of these last few terrible days. in some mysterious fashion her face and collar seemed to have escaped scot free; but her dress was torn, ragged, and stained; and the intense weariness of her expression was something i found it hard to bear. just then we met wardle of the _sunday news_, and he told us of the bread and soup distribution in the _standard_ office. something warned me that constance had reached the limit of her endurance, and, in another moment, she had reeled against me and almost fallen. i took her in my arms, and wardle walked beside me, up a flight of stairs and into the office of the great newspaper. there i walked into the first room i saw--the sanctum of some managerial bashaw, for aught i knew--and placed constance comfortably in a huge easy chair of green leather. wardle brought some water, for constance was in a fainting state still; but i hurried him off again to look for bread and soup. meantime i lowered constance to the floor, having just remembered that in such a case the head should be kept low. her face was positively deathly--lips, cheeks, all alike gray-white, save for the purple hollows under both eyes. one moment i was taking stock of these things, as a doctor might; the next i was on my knees and kissing the nerveless hand at her side, all worn and bruised and stained as it was from her ceaseless strivings of the past week. i knew then that, for me, though i should live a hundred years and constance should never deign to speak to me again, there was but one woman in the world. i am afraid wardle found me at the same employ; but, though i remember vaguely resenting his fresh linen and normally smart appearance, he was a good fellow, and knew when to seem blind. all he said was: "here's the soup!" [illustration: "i was on my knees and kissing the nerveless hand"] he had brought a small wash-hand basin full to the brim, and a loaf of warm, new bread. as the steam of the hot soup reached me, i realized that i was a very hungry animal, whatever else i might be besides. it may have been the steam of the soup that rallied constance. i know that within two minutes i was feeding her with it from a cracked teacup. it is a wonderful thing to watch the effect of a few mouthfuls of hot soup upon an exhausted woman, whose exhaustion is due as much to lack of food as need of rest. there was no spoon, but the teacup, though cracked, was clean, and i found a tumbler in a luxurious little cabinet near the chair one felt was dedicated to the fleet street magnate whose room we had invaded. a tumbler is almost as convenient to drink soup from as a cup, but requires more careful manipulation when hot. if the side of the tumbler becomes soupy, it can easily be wiped with the crumb of new bread. wardle seemed to be as sufficiently nourished as he was neatly dressed; but he found a certain vicarious pleasure, i think, in watching constance and myself at the bowl. we sat on the turkey carpet, and used the seat of the green chair as a table--a strange meal, in strange surroundings; but a better i never had, before or since. there was a physical gratification, a warmth and a comfort to me, in watching the colour flowing gradually back into constance's face; a singularly beautiful process of nature i thought it. presently the door of the room opened with a jerk, and a tallish man wearing a silk hat looked in. "h'm!" he said brusquely. "beg pardon!" and he was gone. i learned afterwards that the room belonged to him, and that he came direct from a conference of newspaper pundits called together at westminster by the home secretary. i do not know where he took refuge, but as for us we went on with our soup and bread till repletion overtook us, as it quickly does after long fasts, and renewed strength brought sighs of contentment. "wardle," i remember saying to my journalistic friend, with absurd earnestness, "have you anything to smoke?" "i haven't a thing but my pipe," he said. "but wait a moment! there used to be--yes. look here!" there was a drawer in a side-table near the great writing-table, and one division of it was half-full of cigarettes, the other of upman's "torpedoes." "i will repay thee," i murmured irreverently, as i helped myself to one of each, and lit the cigarette, having obtained permission from constance. it was the first tobacco i had tasted for forty-eight hours, and i was a very regular smoker. i had not known my need till then, a fact which will tell much to smokers. "and now?" said constance. her eyelids were drooping heavily. "now i am going to take you straight out to south kensington, and you are going to rest." i had never used quite that tone to constance before. i think, till now, hers had been the guiding and directing part. yet her influence had never been stronger upon me than at that moment. "well, of course, there are no cabs or omnibuses," said wardle, "but a man told me the underground was running trains at six o'clock." we had a long, long wait at blackfriars' station, but a train came eventually, and we reached the flat in south kensington as a neighbouring church clock struck ten. the journey was curious and impressive from first to last. fleet street had been very much alive still when we left it; and we saw long files of baggage wagons rumbling along between prussian lancers. but blackfriars was deserted, the ticket collector slept soundly on his box; the streets in south kensington were silent as the grave. london slept that night for the first time in a week. i learned afterwards how the long lines of german sentries in pall mall, park lane, and elsewhere slept solidly at their posts; how the metropolitan police slept on their beats; how thousands of men, women, and children slept in the streets of south london, whither they had fled panic-stricken that morning. conquerors and conquered together, the whole vast city slept that night as never perhaps before or since. after a week of terror, of effort, of despair, and of debauchery, the sorely stricken capital of the british empire lay that night like a city of the dead. england and her invaders were worn out. at the flat we found mrs. van homrey placidly knitting. "well, young folk," she said cheerily; "i've had all the news, and there's nothing to be said; and--there's bath and bed waiting for you, conny. i shall bring you something hot in your room." ah, the kindly comfort of that motherly soul's words! it was but a few hours since her "conny" had stood by my side on ground that was literally blood-soaked. since the previous night we had both seen death in his most terrible guise; death swinging his dripping scythe through scores of lives at a stroke. we had been in england's riven heart throughout the day of england's bitterest humiliation; and mrs. van homrey had bed and bath waiting, with "something hot" for constance to take in her room. "but, aunty, if you could have seen----" "dear child, i know it all." she patted her niece's shoulder, and i noticed the rings and the shiny softness of her fingers. she saw at a glance--indeed, had seen beforehand, in anticipation--the wrought-up, exhausted condition constance had reached. "i know it all, dear," she said soothingly. "but the time has come for rest now. nothing else is any good till that is done with. come, child. god will send better days for england. first, we must rest." so constance turned to leave the room. "and you?" she said to me. "i will see to him. you run along, my dear," said her aunt. so constance took my hand. "good night, dick. you have been very good and kind, and--patient. good night!" there was no spare bedroom in that little flat, but the dear old lady had actually made up a bed for me on a couch in the drawing-room, and before she retired for the night she made me free of the bathroom, and supplied me with towels and such like matters, and gave me cake and cocoa; a delicious repast i thought it. and so, while crushed and beaten london lay sleeping off its exhaustion, i slept under constance grey's roof, full of gratitude, and of a kind of new hope and gladness, very foreign, one would have said, to my gruesome experiences of the past forty-eight hours. england, the old victorious island kingdom, bequeathed to us by raleigh, drake, nelson; the nineteenth-century england of triumphant commercialism; england till then inviolate for a thousand years; rich and powerful beyond all other lands; broken now under the invader's heel--that ancient england slept. part ii the awakening exoriare aliquis de nostris ex ossibus ultor.--virgil. i the first days the river glideth at his own sweet will. dear god! the very houses seem asleep; and all that mighty heart is lying still! . . . . . without thee, what is all the morning's wealth? come, blessed barrier between day and day, dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! wordsworth. it is safe to say that england's exhausted sleep on the night of black saturday marked the end of an era in british history. it was followed by a curious, quiescent half-consciousness during sunday. for the greater part of that day i should suppose that more than half london's populace continued its sleep. one of the first things i realized after monday morning's awakening in my bloomsbury lodging was that i must find wages and work speedily, since i possessed no more than a very few pounds. as a fact, upon that and several subsequent days i found plenty of work, if nothing noticeable in the way of wages. i was second in command of one of the food and labour bureaux which constance grey helped to organize, and all the workers in these bureaux were volunteers. another of my first impressions after the crisis was a sense of my actual remoteness, in normal circumstances, from constance. her father had left constance a quite sufficient income. mrs. van homrey was in her own right comfortably well-to-do. but, despite the exiguous nature of my own resources, it was not the money question which impressed me most in this connection, but rather the fact that, while my only acquaintances in london were of a more or less discreditable sort, constance seemed to have friends everywhere, and these in almost every case people of standing and importance. her army friends were apt to be generals, her political friends ex-ministers, her journalistic friends editors, and so forth. and i---but you have seen my record up to this point. nobody could possibly want constance so much as i did, i thought. but an astonishing number of persons of infinitely more consequence than myself seemed to delight to honour her, to obtain her coöperation. and i loved her. there was no possibility of my mistaking the fact. i had been used to debate with myself regarding sylvia wheeler. there was no room for debate where my feeling for constance was concerned. the hour of her breakdown in fleet street on black saturday had taught me so much. in the face of my circumstances just then, the idea of making any definite disclosure of my feelings to constance seemed impracticable. yet there was one intimate passage between us during that week, the nature of which i cannot precisely define. i know i conveyed some hint to constance of my feeling toward her, and i was made vaguely conscious that anything like a declaration of love would have seemed shocking to her at that time. she held that, at such a juncture, no merely personal interests ought to be allowed to weigh greatly with any one. the country's call upon its subjects was all-absorbing in the eyes of this "one little bit of a girl from south africa," as crondall had called her. it made me feel ashamed to realize how far short i fell (even after the shared experiences culminating in black saturday) of her personal standard of patriotism. even now, my standing in her eyes, my immediate personal needs, loomed nearer, larger in my mind than england's fate. i admitted as much with some shamefacedness, and constance said: "ah, well, dick, i suspect that is a natural part of life lived entirely in england, the england of the past. there was so little to arouse the other part in one. all the surrounding influences were against it. my life has been different. once one has lived, in one's own home, through a native rising, for instance, purely personal interests never again seem quite so absorbing. the elemental things had been so long shut out of english life. why, do you know----?" and she began to tell me of one of the schemes in which she was interested; in connection with which i learned of a cable message she had received that day telling that john crondall was then on his way to england. the least forgiving critics of "the destroyers" have admitted that they did their best and worked well during those strange weeks which came immediately after the invasion. one reason of this was that party feeling in politics had been scotched. the house of commons met as one party. there was no longer any real opposition, unless one counted a small section of rabid anti-britishers, who were incapable of learning a lesson; and even they carped but feebly, while the rest of the house devoted its united energies to the conduct of the country's shattered business with the single aim of restoring normal conditions. throughout the country two things were tacitly admitted. that the government in power must presently answer for its doings to the public before ceasing to be a government; and that the present was no time for such business as that of a general election. and so we had the spectacle of a government which had entirely lost the confidence of the electors, a government anathematized from the orkneys to land's end, carrying on its work with a unison and a complete freedom from opposition such as had not been known before, even by the biggest majority or the most popular administration which had ever sat at westminster. for the first time, and by no effort of our own, we obtained the rule of an imperial parliament devoted to no other end than the nation's welfare. the house of commons witnessed many novel spectacles at that time--such as consultations between the leading members of the government and the opposition. most of its members learned many valuable lessons in those first weeks of the new régime. it is to be supposed that the surrender riot had taught them something. it must also be admitted that general, or, as he now was, general baron von füchter, accomplished some fine work during this same period. it has been said that he was but consulting the safety of his imperial master's armed forces; but credit may safely be given the general for the discretion and despatch he used in distributing the huge body of troops at his command, without hitch or friction, to the various centres which it was his plan to occupy. his was a hand of iron, but he used it to good purpose; and the few errors of his own men were punished with an even more crushing severity than he showed where british offences were concerned. the task of garrisoning those english ports with german soldiers was no light or easy one; no task for a light or gentle hand. in carrying out this undertaking a very little weakness, a very small display of indecision, might easily have meant an appalling amount of bloodshed. as it was, the whole business was completed in a wonderfully short while, and with remarkable smoothness. the judicial and municipal administration of these centres was to remain english; but supreme authority was vested in the officer commanding the german forces in each place, and the heads of such departments as the postal and the police, were german. no kind of public gathering or demonstration was permissible in these towns, unless under the auspices of the german officer in command, who in each case was given the rank of governor of the town. we had learned by this time that the channel fleet had not been entirely swept away. but a portion of it was destroyed, and the remaining ships had been entrapped. it was strategy which had kept british ships from our coasts during the fatal week of the invasion. "the destroyers" were responsible for our weak-kneed concessions to berlin some years earlier, in the matter of wireless telegraphy. in the face of urgent recommendations to the contrary from experts, the government had yielded to german pressure in the matter of making our own system interchangeable, and had even boasted of their diplomacy in thus ingratiating themselves with germany. as a consequence, the enemy had been able to convey messages purporting to come from the british admiralty and ordering british commanders to keep out of home waters. that these messages should have been conveyed in secret code form was a mystery which subsequent investigations failed to solve. some one had played traitor. but the history of the invasion has shown us that we had very many traitors among us in those days; and there came a time when the british public showed clearly that it was weary of commissions of inquiry. where so many, if not indeed all of us, were at fault, where the penalty was so crushing, it was felt that there were other and more appropriate openings for official energy and public interest than the mere apportioning of blame and punishment, however well deserved. the issue of what was called the "invasion budget" was parliament's first important act, after the dispersal of the german forces in england, and the termination of the government distribution of food supplies. the alterations of customs tariff were not particularly notable. the house had agreed that revenue was the objective to be considered, and fiscal adjustments with reference to commerce were postponed for the time. the great change was in the income-tax. the minimum income to be taxed was £100 instead of, as formerly, £160. the scale ran like this: sixpence in the pound upon incomes of between £100 and £150, ninepence from that to £200, one shilling from that to £250, one and threepence from that to £500, one and sixpence from that to £1,000, two shillings upon all incomes of between £1,000 and £5,000, and four shillings in the pound upon all incomes of over £5,000. it was on the day following that of the invasion budget issue that i received a letter from my sister lucy, in davenham minster, telling me of my mother's serious illness, and asking me to come to her at once. and so, after a hurried visit to the south kensington flat to explain my absence to constance, i turned my back upon london, for the first time in a year, and journeyed down into dorset. ii ancient lights then the progeny that springs from the forests of our land, armed with thunder, clad with wings, shall a wider world command. regions cæsar never knew thy posterity shall sway. . . . . . cowper. in the afternoon of a glorious summer's day, exactly three weeks after leaving london, i stood beside the newly filled grave of my mother in the moss-grown old churchyard of davenham minster. my dear mother was not one of those whose end was hastened by the shock of england's disaster. doctor wardle gave us little hope of her recovery from the first. the immediate cause of death was pneumonia; but i gathered that my mother had come to the end of her store of vitality, and, it may be, of desire for life. i have sometimes thought that her complete freedom from those domestic cares of housekeeping, which had seemed to be the very source and fountainhead of continuous worry for her, may actually have robbed my mother of much of her hold upon life. in these last days i had been almost continuously beside her, and i know that she relinquished her life without one sigh that spelt regret. standing there at the edge of her grave in the hoary churchyard of the minster, i was conscious of the loss of the last tie that bound me to the shelter of youth: the cared-for, irresponsible division of a man's life. the england of my youth was no more. now, in the death of my mother, it seemed as if i had stepped out of one generation into another. i had entered a new generation, and was alone in it. i was to sleep at my sister's house that night, but i had no wish to go there now. doctor wardle's forced gravity, his cheerful condolences, rather worried me. so it happened that i set out to walk from the churchyard, and presently found myself upon the winding upland road that led out of the rich davenham valley, over the ridgeway, and into the hilly tarn regis country, where i was born. i drank a mug of cider in the quaint little beerhouse kept by gammer joy in tarn regis, and read again the doggerel her grandfather had painted on its sign-board, in which the traveller was advised of the various uses of liquor, taken in moderation, and the evil effects of its abuse. taken wisely, i remember, it was suggested that liquor proved the best of lubricants for the wheels of life. mrs. joy looked just as old and just as active and rosy as she had always looked for so long as i could remember; and she hospitably insisted upon my eating a large slab of her dough cake with my cider--a very excellent comestible it was. the old dame's mood was cheerfully pessimistic--that is to say, she was garrulous, and spoke cheerily of generally downward tendencies. thus, the new rector, by her way of it, was of a decadent modern type, full of newfangled "papish" notions as to church vestments and early services, and neglectful of traditional responsibilities connected with soup and coal and medical comforts. cider was no longer what it used to be, i gathered, since the big brewers took it in hand, and spoiled the trade of those who had hand-presses. as for farming, gammer joy held that it was not near so good a trade for master or man with land at fifteen shillings the acre, as much of it was thereabouts, as it had been with rents up to two or three pounds, and food twice as dear as now. "but there, master dick," said the old lady; "i suppose we be all germans now--so they do tell me, however; an' if we be no better nor furriners here in darset, why i doan't know as't matters gertly wha' cwomes to us at all. but i will say things wor different in your feyther's time, master dick--that they was. ah doan't believe he'd ha' put up wi' this german business for a minute, that ah doan't." i gathered that the new rector was an earnest young man and a hard worker; but, evidently, those of gammer joy's generation preferred my father's aloofness in conjunction with his regular material dispensations, and his habit of leaving folk severely to themselves, so far as their thoughts and feelings were concerned. the cottagers with whom i talked that summer's evening cherished a monumental ignorance regarding the real significance of the events which had shaken england to its very roots since i had last seen tarn regis. gammer joy's view seemed to be fairly typical. we had become german; england belonged to germany; the radicals had sold us to the kaiser--and so forth. but no german soldiers had been seen in dorset. the whole thing was shadowy, academic, a political business; suitable enough for the discussion of londoners, no doubt, but, after all, of small bearing upon questions of real and intimate interest, such as the harvest, the weather, and the rate of wages. "sims queer, too, that us should be born again like, and become germans," said one man to me; "but ah doan't know as it meakes much odds to the loike o' we; though ah hev heerd as how farmer jupp be thinkin' o' gettin' shut o' his shartharn bull that won the prize to davenham, an' doin' wi' fower men an' a b'y, in place o' sevin. well, o' course, us has to keep movin' wi' the times, as sayin' is; an' 'tis trew them uplan' pastures o' farmer jupp's they do be mos' onusual poor an' leery, as you med say." twilight already held the land in its grave embrace when i made my way along abbott's lane (my father had devoted months to the task of tracing the origin of that name) and began the ascent of barebarrow, by crossing which diagonally one reaches the davenham turnpike from tarn regis, a shorter route by nearly a mile than that of the road past the mill and over the bridge. and so, presently, my feet were treading turf which had probably been turf before the christian era. smooth and vast against the sky-line, barebarrow lay above me, like a mammoth at rest. on its far side was our tarn regis giant, a famous figure cut in the turf, and clearly visible from the tower of davenham minster. long ago, in my earliest childhood, village worthies had given me the story of this figure--how once upon a time a giant came and slew all the tarn regis flocks for his breakfast. then he lay down to sleep behind barebarrow, and while he slept the enraged shepherds and work-folk bound him with a thousand cart-ropes, and slew him with a thousand scythes and forks and other homely implements. and then, that posterity might know his fearsome bulk, they cut out the turf all round his form, and eke the outline of the club beside him, and left the figure there to commemorate their valour and the loss of their flocks. some three hundred feet long it was, i think, with a club the length of a tall pine-tree. in any case, the tarn regis lad who would excel in feats of strength had but to spend the night of midsummer's eve in the crook of the giant's arm (as some one or two did every year), and other youths of the countryside could never stand a chance with him. i paused on the ledge below the barrow beside a ruined shepherd's hut, and recalled the fact that here my father had unearthed sundry fragments of stone and pieces of implements which the dorchester museum curator had welcomed as very early british relics. they went back, i remembered, to long before the roman period; to days possibly more remote than those of ancient barebarrow himself. if you refer to a good map you will find this spot surrounded by such indications of immemorial antiquity as "tumuli," "british village," and the like. the roman encampment on the other side of davenham minster was modernity itself, i thought, compared with this ancient haunt of the neolithic forerunners of the early briton; this resting-place of men whose doings were a half-forgotten story many centuries before the birth of julius cæsar. i sat down on the grassy ledge and looked out across the lichen-covered roofs and squat, rugged church tower of tarn regis; and pictures rose in my mind, pictures to some extent inspired, perhaps, by scraps i had read of learned essays written by my father. he had loved this ancient ground; he had been used to finger the earth hereabouts as a man might finger his mistress's hair. i do not know what period my twilit fancy happened upon, but it was assuredly a later one than that of barebarrow, for i saw shaggy warriors with huge pointless swords, their hilts decorated with the teeth of wild beasts--a bronze age vision, no doubt. i saw rude chariots of war, with murderous scythe-blades on their wheels--and, in a flash then, the figure of boadicea: that valiant mother of our race, erect and fearless in her chariot- regions cæsar never knew, thy posterity shall sway! "thy posterity shall sway!" if you repeat the lines to yourself you may see the outline of my vision. there at the foot of barebarrow i saw that queen of ancient britons at the head of her wild, shaggy legions. "the roman army can never withstand the shouts and clamour of so many thousands, far less their shock and fury," said the queen. i saw her lead her valiant horde upon colchester, and for me the ancient rudeness of it all was shot through and through with glimpses of the scientific sacking of colchester, as i had read of it but a few weeks ago. i saw the advance of the roman governor; the awful slaughter of the british; the end of the brave queen who could not brook defeat: the most heart-stirring episode in english history. "thy posterity shall sway!" i recalled the solemn splendour of another great queen's passing--that which i had seen with my own eyes while still a lad at rugby: the stately gathering of the great ships at spithead; the end of victoria the good. no more than a step it seemed from my vision of the unconquerable boadicea. but to that other onslaught upon colchester--to general von füchter's slaughter of women and children and unarmed men in streets of houses whose ashes must be warm yet--o lord, how far! i thought. could it really be that a thousand years of inviolability had been broken, ended, in those few wild days; ended for ever? lights twinkled now among the nestling houses of the little place where i was born. they made me think of torches, the clash of arms, the spacious mediæval days when davenham minster supported a great monastery, whose lordly abbot owned the land tarn regis stood upon. and then the little lights grew misty and dim in my eyes as glimpses came of my own early days; of play on that very ridge-side where i sat now, where i had then romantically sworn friendship with george stairs on the eve of my departure for elstree school, and his leaving with his father for canada. how had i kept my vow? where was george stairs now? there was not a foot of that countryside we had not roamed together. my eyes pricked as i looked and listened. exactly so, i thought, the sheep-bells had sounded below barebarrow when i had lain listening to them in that low-pitched back bedroom of the rectory which i had been proud to hear called "dick's room," after my first experience of sleeping alone. then for a space my mind was blank as the dark valley beyond the village--until thoughts and pictures of recent happenings began to oust the gentler memories, and i lived over again the mad, wild, tragic week which culminated in the massacre of the north london trenches. but in the light of my previous musings i saw these happenings differently, more personally, than in the actual experience of them. it seemed now that not my country only, but myself, had been struck down and humbled to the dust by the soldiers of the kaiser. i saw the broad fair faces of the german cavalry as they had sat their horse in whitehall on the evening of black saturday. i heard again the clank of their arms, the barking of guttural orders. could it be that they had mastered england? that for nine long years we were to be encircled by their garrisons? nine years of helotry! a sudden coolness in the air reminded me of the lateness of the hour, and i rose and began to cross barebarrow. but this ancient land was british in every blade of its grass, i thought--root and crop, hill and dale, above and beneath, no single sod of it but was british. surely nothing could alter that. nine years of helotry! i heard again the confused din of the westminster riot; the frantic crowd's insistent demand for surrender, for unconditional surrender. and now the nation's word was pledged. our heads were bowed for nine years long. suddenly, then, as i descended upon the turnpike, a quite new thought came to me. the invasion had overridden all law, all custom, all understandings. the invasion was an act of sheer lawless brutality. no surrender could bind a people to submission in the face of such an outrage as that. the germans must be driven out; the british people must rise and cast them out, and overthrow for ever their insolent dominion. but too many of the english people were--like myself! well, they must learn; we must all learn; every able-bodied man must learn; for a blow had to be struck that should free england for ever. the country must be awakened to realization of that need. we owed so much to the brave ones who gave us england; so much could be demanded of us by those that came after. the thing had got to be. i walked fast, i remember, and singing through my head as i entered davenham minster, long after my sister's supper hour, were the lines to which i had never till then paid any sort of heed: regions cæsar never knew, thy posterity shall sway! iii the return to london oh! 'tis easy to beget great deeds; but in the rearing of them- the threading in cold blood each mean detail, and furze brake of half-pertinent circumstance- there lies the self-denial. charles kingsley. i spent but one other day in dorset after my walk out to tarn regis, and then took train in the morning for london. i believe i have said before that doctor wardle, my sister's husband, was prosperous and popular. the fact made it natural for me to accept my mother's disposition of her tiny property, which, in a couple of sentences, she had bequeathed solely to me. my sister had no need of the hundred and fifty pounds a year that was derived from my mother's little capital, which had been invested in canadian securities and was unaffected by england's losses. thus i was now possessed of means sufficient to provide me with the actual necessities of life; and, though i had not thought of it before, realization of this came to me while i attended to the winding up of my mother's small affairs, bringing with it a certain sense of comfort and security. it was with a strongly hopeful feeling, a sense almost of elation, that i stepped from the train at waterloo. my quiet days and nights in dorset had taught me something; and, particularly, i had gained much, in conviction and in hope, from the evening spent by barebarrow. i cannot say that i had any definite plans, but i was awake to a genuine sense of duty to my native land, and that was as strange a thing for me as for a great majority of my fellow countrymen. i was convinced that a great task awaited us all, and i determined upon the performance of my part in it. i suppose i trusted that london would show me the particular form that my effort should take. meanwhile, as a convert, the missionary feeling was strong in me. i might have made shift to afford better quarters, perhaps, but it was to my original lodging in bloomsbury that i drove from waterloo. some few belongings of mine were there, and i entertained a friendly sort of feeling for my good-hearted but slatternly landlady, and for poor, overworked bessie, with her broad, generally smutty face, and lingering remains of a dorset accent. the part of london with which i was familiar had resumed its normal aspect now, and people were going about their ordinary avocations very much as though england never had been invaded. but in the north and east of the capital were streets of burned and blackened houses, and the epping and romford districts were one wilderness of ruins, and of graves; while across east anglia, from the coast to the thames, the trail of the invaders was as the track of a locust plague, but more terrible by reason of its blood-soaked trenches, its innumerable shallow graves, and its charred remains of once prosperous towns. hundreds of ruined farmers and small landholders were working as navvies at bridge and road and railway repairs. a great many people had been ruined during those few nightmare days of the invasion, and every man in england was burdened now with a scale of taxation never before known in the country. but business had resumed its sway, and london looked very much as ever. the need there was for a general making good, from london to the wash, provided a great deal of employment, and the government had taken such steps as it could to make credit easy. but consols were still as low as sixty-eight; prices had not yet fallen to the normal level, and money was everywhere scarce. in the middle afternoon i set out for south kensington to see constance grey, to whom i had written only once during my absence, and then only to tell her of my mother's death. she had replied by telegraph, a message of warm and friendly sympathy. i knew well that she was always busy, and, like most moderns who have written professionally, i suppose we were both bad correspondents. now there was much of which i wanted to talk with constance, and it was with a feeling of sharp disappointment that i learned from the servant at the flat that she was not at home. mrs. van homrey was in, however, and in a few moments i was with her in the little drawing-room where i had passed the night of london's exhausted sleep on black saturday. "yes, you have just missed my niece," said mrs. van homrey, after a kindly reference to the strip of crepe on my arm. "she has gone in to victoria street to a 'conference of the powers' of john crondall's convening. oh, didn't you know he was here again? yes, he arrived last week, and, as usual, is up to his neck in affairs already, and constance with him. i verily believe that child has discovered the secret of perpetual motion." at first mention of john crondall's name my heart had warmed to its recollection of the man, and a pleasurable thought of meeting him again. and immediately then the warm feeling had been penetrated by a vague sense of disquiet, when mrs. van homrey spoke of his affairs--"and constance with him." but i was not then conscious of the meaning of my momentary discomfort, though, both then and afterwards, i read emphasis and meaning into mrs. van homrey's coupling of the two names. i asked what the "conference" was about, but gathered that mrs. van homrey was not very fully informed. "i know they are to meet these young canadian preachers who are so tremendously praised by the _standard_---what are their names, again? tcha! how treacherous my memory grows! you know the men i mean. john crondall met them the day after their arrival last week, and is enthusiastic about them." i felt very much out of the movement. during the few days immediately preceding my mother's death, and since then, i had not even seen a newspaper, and, being unusually preoccupied, not only over the events of my stay at davenham minster, but by developments in my own thoughts, i seemed to have lost touch with current affairs. "and what does john crondall think of the outlook?" i asked. "well, i think his fear is that people in the country--outside east anglia, of course--may fail to realize all that the invasion has meant and will mean; and that londoners and townsfolk generally may slip back into absorption in business and in pleasure as soon as they can afford that again, and forget the fact that england is practically under germany's heel still." "the taxes will hardly allow them to do that, surely," i said. "well, i don't know. the english are a wonderful people. the invasion was so swift and sudden; the opposition to it was so comparatively trifling; surrender and peace came so soon, that really i don't know but what john is right. he generally is. you must remember that millions of the people have not seen a german soldier. they have had no discipline yet. even here in london, as soon as the people spoke decidedly, peace followed. they did not have to strike a blow. they did not feel a blow. they were not with you and conny, remember, at those awful trenches. anyhow, john thinks the danger is lest they forget again, and regard the whole tragic business as a new proof of england's ability to 'muddle through' anything, without any assistance from them. of course, england's wealth is still great, and her recuperative powers are wonderful; but john crondall holds that, in spite of that, submission to nine years of german occupation and german tribute-paying will mean the end of the british empire." "and he feels that the people must be stirred into seeing that and acting on it?" i said, recalling my own thoughts during the night walk from barebarrow. "yes, i suppose that is his view. but, now i come to think of it, why should you waste your time in talking to an old woman who can only give you echoes? it is only half an hour since conny started. why not hurry on to john crondall's place, and join them there? he has often spoken of you, conny tells me." this seemed to me too good a suggestion to neglect, and ten minutes later i was on my way to st. james's park by underground railway. i bought an evening paper on my way, and read an announcement to the effect that general baron von füchter, after returning to portsmouth from his visit to berlin, had definitely decided that portsmouth and devonport could no longer remain british naval bases, and that no british sailors or soldiers in uniform could in future be admitted into any of the towns in england now occupied by germany. iv the conference once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, in the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side; some great cause, god's new messiah offering each the bloom or blight, parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right; and the choice goes by for ever 'twixt that darkness and that light. james russell lowell. a few seconds after his servant had shown me into the dining-room of john crondall's flat, the man himself entered to me with a rush, as his manner was, both hands outstretched to welcome me. "good man!" he said. "i've had fine news of you from constance grey, and now you're here to confirm it. splendid!" and then, with sudden gravity, and a glance at my coat sleeve: "i heard of your loss. i know what it means. i lost my mother when i was in port arthur, and i know london looked different because of it when i got back. it's a big wrench; one we've all got to face." "yes. i think my mother died without regret; she was very tired." there was a pause, and then i said: "but i may have chosen my time badly, to-day. mrs. van homrey said you had a conference. if you----" "tut, tut, man! don't talk nonsense. i was just going to say how well you'd timed things. i don't know about a conference, but constance is here, and varley, and sir herbert tate--he took on the secretaryship of the army league, you know, after gilbert chucked it--and winchester. you know winchester, the australian rough-rider, who did such fine work with his bushman corps in the south african war--and--let me see! and forbes thompson, the great rifle clubman, you know; _and_ the canadian preachers--splendid fellows, by jove! simply splendid they are, i can tell you. i look for great things from those two. stairs is english, of course, but he's been nearly all his life in british columbia and the northwest, and he's got all the eternal youth, the fire and grit and enthusiasm of the canadian, with--somehow, something else as well--good. his chum, reynolds, is an out-and-out canadian, born in toronto of canadian parents. gad, there's solid timber in that chap, i can tell you. but, look here! come right in, and take a hand. i'm awfully glad you came. i heard all about _the mass_ and that; but, bless me, i can see in your eye that that's all past and done with for ever. by the way, i heard last night that your mr. clement blaine had got a job after his own heart, in the pay of the germans at chatham--interpreter in the passport office, or some such a thing. what a man! well, come along in, my dear chap, and give us the benefit of your wisdom." we were leaving the room now. "i knew you'd like constance," he said. "she's the real thing, isn't she?" i despised myself for the hint of chill his words brought me. what right had i to suspect or resent? and in any case john crondall spoke in his customary frank way, with never a hint of afterthought. "yes," i said; "she's splendid." "and such a head-piece, my boy. by jove, she has a better head for business than---here we are, then." constance grey was naturally the first to greet me in the big room where john crondall did his work and met his friends. there was welcome in her beautiful eyes, but, obviously, constance was very much preoccupied. then i was presented to sir morell strachey, sir herbert tate, and forbes thompson, and then to the canadian parson, the rev. george stairs. i had paid no attention to the name when crondall had mentioned it in the other room. now, as he named the parson again, i looked into the man's face, and---"mordan? why, not dick mordan, of tarn regis?" said the parson. "by gad! george stairs! i was thinking of you on the side of barebarrow the night before last." "and i was thinking of you, dicky mordan, yesterday afternoon, when i met the present rector of tarn regis at a friend's house." it was a long strong handshake that we exchanged. sixteen years on the young side of thirty is a considerable stretch of time, and all that had passed since i had last seen my old tarn regis playmate. stairs introduced me to his friend, reynolds, and i learned the curious fact that this comrade and chum of my old friend's was also a parson, but not of stairs's church. reynolds had qualified at a theological training college in ontario, and had been congregational minister in the parish of which stairs had been vicar for the last three years. there was a big table in the middle of the room, littered over with papers and writing materials. about this table we presently all found seats. "now look here, my friends," said john crondall, "this is no time for ceremoniousness, apologies, and the rest of it, and i'm not going to indulge in any. no doubt we've all of us got special interests of our own, but there's one we all share; and it comes first with all of us, i think. we all want the same thing for england and the empire, and we all want to do what we can to help. it's because of that i dismiss the ceremonies, and don't say anything about the fear of boring you, and all that. i don't even make exceptions of you, stairs, or you, reynolds. i tell you quite frankly i want to poke and pry into your plans. i want to know all about 'em. i've sense enough to see that you wield a big influence. i am certain i have your sympathy in my aims. and i want to find out how far i can make your aims help my aims. all i know is that you have addressed three meetings, each bigger than the last; and that your preaching is the real right thing. now i want you to tell us as much as you will about your plans. you know we are all friends here." stairs looked at reynolds, and reynolds nodded at stairs. "well," said the latter, smiling, first at crondall, and then at me, "our plans are simplicity itself. in canada we have not risen yet to the cultivation of much diplomacy. we don't understand anything of your high politics, and we don't believe in roundabout methods. for instance, i suppose here in england you don't find parsons of one denomination working in partnership much with parsons of another denomination. well, now, when i took over from my predecessor at kootenay, i found my friend reynolds doing a fine work there, among the farmers and miners, as congregational minister. he was doing precisely the work i wanted to do; but there was only one of him. was i to fight shy of him, or set to work, as it were, in opposition to him? well, anyhow, that didn't seem to me the way. we had our own places of worship; but, for the rest, both desiring the one thing--the christian living of the folk in our district--we worked absolutely shoulder to shoulder. there were a few worthy folk who objected; but when reynolds and i came to talk it over, we decided that these had as much religion as was good for them already, and that we could afford rather to ignore them, if by joint working we could rope in the folk who had next to none at all---you must forgive my slang, miss grey." constance smiled across at the parson. "you forget, mr. stairs, i grew up on the veld," she said. "ah, to be sure; i suppose one is as close to the earth and the realities there as in canada." "quite," said crondall. "and, anyhow, we are not doing any apologies to-day; so please go ahead." "well," continued george stairs, "we often talked over old country affairs, reynolds and i. reynolds had only spent three months over here in his life, but i fancy i learned more from him than he from me." "that's a mistake, of course," said reynolds. "he had the facts and the knowledge. i merely supplied a fresh point of view--home-grown canadian." "ah, well, we found ourselves very much in agreement, anyhow, about home affairs and about the position of the anglican church in canada; the need there is for less exclusiveness and more direct methods. the idea of coming home and preaching through england, a kind of pilgrimage--that was entirely reynolds's own. i would have come with him gladly, when we had our district in good going order out there. but, you see, i had no money. my friend had a little. then my father died. he had been ailing for a long time, and i verily think the news of the invasion broke his heart. he died in the same week that it reached him, and left his two farms, with some small house property, to me. "my father's death meant for me a considerable break. the news from england shocked me inexpressibly. it was such a terrible realization of the very fears that reynolds and myself had so often discussed--the climax and penalty of england's mad disregard of duty; of every other consideration except pleasure, easy living, comfort, and money-making." "this is the pivot of the whole business, that duty question," interposed crondall. "it was your handling of that on tuesday that burdened you with my acquaintance. i listened to that, and i said, 'mr. george stairs and you have got to meet, john crondall!' but i didn't mean to interrupt." "well, as i say, i found myself rather at a parting of the ways, and then came my good friend here, and he said, 'what about these farms and houses of yours, stairs? they represent an income. what are you going to do about it?' and--well, you see, that settled it. we just packed our bags and came over." "and now that you are here?" said john crondall. "well, you heard what we had to say the other afternoon?" "i did--every word of it." "well, that's what we are here for. our aim is to take that message to every man and woman in this country; and we believe god will give us zest and strength enough to bring it home to them--to make them _feel_ the truth of it. your aim, naturally, is political and patriotic. i don't think you can have any warmer sympathizers than reynolds and myself. but our part, as you see, is another one, and outside politics. we believe the folk at home have lost their bearings; their compasses want adjusting. i say here what i should not venture to admit to a less sympathetic and indulgent audience: reynolds and myself aim at arousing, by god's will, the sleeping sense of duty in our kinsmen here at home. we have no elaborate system, no finesse, no complicated issues to consider. our message is simply: 'you have forgotten duty; and the christian life is not possible while duty remains forgotten or ignored.' our purpose is just to give the message; to prove it; make it real; make it felt." crondall had been looking straight at the speaker while he listened, his face resting between his two hands, his elbows planted squarely on the table. now he seemed to pounce down upon stairs's last words. "and yet you say your part is another one than ours. but why not the same? why not the very essence and soul of our part, stairs?" "gad--he's right!" said sir herbert tate, in an undertone. reynolds leaned forward in his chair, his lean, keen face alight. "why not the very soul of our part, stairs--the essential first step toward our end? our part is to urge a certain specific duty on them--a duty we reckon urgent and vital to the nation. but we can't do that unless we, or you, can first do your part--rousing them to the sense of duty--duty itself. man, but your part is the foundation of our part--foundation, walls, roof, corner-stone, complete! we only give the structure a name. why, i give you my word, stairs, that that address of yours on tuesday was the finest piece of patriotic exhortation i ever listened to." "but--it's very kind of you to say so; but i never mentioned king or country." "exactly! you gave them the root of the whole matter. you cleared a way into their hearts and heads which is open now for news of king and country. it's as though i had to collect some money for an orphanage from a people who'd never heard of charity. before i see the people you teach 'em the meaning and beauty of charity--wake the charitable sense in them. you needn't bother mentioning orphanages; but if i come along in your rear, my chances of collecting the money are a deal rosier than if you hadn't been there first--what?" "i see--i see," said stairs, slowly. "mr. crondall, you ought to have been a canadian," said reynolds, in his dry way. his use of the "mr.," even to a man who had no hesitation in calling him plain "reynolds," was just one of the tiny points of distinction between himself and stairs. "oh, canada has taught me something; and so have south africa and india; and so have you and stairs, with your mission, or pilgrimage, or whatever it is--your message." "well," said stairs, "it seems to me your view of our pilgrimage is a very kindly, and perhaps flattering one; and as i have said, your aims as a citizen of the empire and a lover of the old country could not have warmer sympathizers than reynolds and myself; but----" "mind, i'm not trying to turn your religious teaching to any ignoble purpose," said crondall, quickly. "i am not asking you to introduce a single new word or thought into it for my sake." "that's so," said reynolds, his eye upon stairs. "quite so, quite so," said stairs. "and, of course, i am with you in all you hope for; but you know, crondall, religion is perhaps a rather different matter to a parson from what it is to you. forgive me if i put it clumsily, but----" and now, greatly daring, i ventured upon an interruption, speaking upon impulse, without consideration, and hearing my voice as though it were something outside myself. "george stairs," i said--and i fancy the thoughts of both of us went back sixteen years--"what was it you thought about the congregational minister when you took over your post at kootenay? how did you decide to treat him? did you ever regret the partnership?" "now if that isn't straight out western fashion!" murmured reynolds. constance beamed at me from her place beside john crondall. "i leave it at that," said our host. "a palpable bull's-eye," said forbes thompson. i hardly needed george stairs's friendly clap on the shoulder, nor the assurance of his: "you are right, dick. you have shown me my way in three words." "good," said reynolds. "well, now i don't mind saying what i wouldn't have said before, that among the notes we drew up nearly three years ago----" "you drew up, my friend," said stairs. "among the notes we drew up, i say, on this question of neglected duty, were details as to the citizen's obligations regarding the defence of his home and native land, with special reference to the callous neglect of lord roberts's campaign of warning and exhortation. now, stairs, you know as well as i do, you wrote with your own hand the passage about the englishman's sphere of duty being as much wider than his country as greater britain was wider than great britain. you know you did." "oh, you can count me in, all right, reynolds; you know i'm not one for half-measures." "well, now, my friends, i believe i see daylight. by joining hands i really believe we are going to accomplish something for england." crondall looked round the table at the faces of his friends. "we are all agreed, i know, that the present danger is the danger kipling tried to warn us about years and years ago." "'lest we forget!'" quoted sir herbert quietly. "exactly. there are so many in england who have neither seen nor felt anything of the blow we have had." and here i told them something of what i had seen and heard in dorset; how remote and unreal the whole thing was to folk there. "that's it, exactly," continued crondall. "that's one difficulty which has just got to be overcome. another is the danger that, among those who did see and feel something of it, here in london, and even in east anglia, the habit of apathy in national matters, and the calls of business and pleasure may mean forgetting, indifference--the old fatal neglect. you see, we must remember that, crushing as the blow was, it did not actually reach so very many people. it did not force them to get up and fight for their lives. it was all over so soon. directly they cried out, 'the destroyers' answered with surrender, and so helped to strengthen the fatal delusion they had cherished so long, that everything is a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence." "'they'll never go for england, because england's got the dibs,'" quoted forbes thompson, with a nod of assent. "yes, yes. 'make alliances, and leave me to my business!' one knows it all so well. but, mind you, even to the blindest of them, the invasion has meant something." "and the income-tax will mean something to 'em, too," said sir morell strachey. "yes. but the english purse is deep, and the englishman has long years of money-spinning freedom from discipline behind him. still, here is this brutal fact of the invasion. here we are actually condemned to nine years of life inside a circle of german encampments on english soil, with a hundred millions a year of tribute to pay for the right to live in our own england. now my notion is that the lesson must not be lost. the teaching of the thing must be forced home. it must be burnt into these happy-go-lucky countrymen of ours--if stairs and reynolds are to achieve their end, or we ours." "our aim is to awake the sense of duty which seems to us to have become atrophied, even among the professedly religious," said stairs. "and ours," said crondall, sharp as steel, "is to ram home your teaching, and to show them that the nearest duty to their hand is their duty to the state, to the race, to their children--the duty of freeing england and throwing over german dominion." "to render unto cæsar the things which are cæsar's," said reynolds. and stairs nodded agreement. "now, by my way of it, stairs and reynolds must succeed before we can succeed," said crondall. "that is my view, and because that is so, you can both look to me, up till the last breath in me, for any kind of support i can give you--for any kind of support at all. but that's not all. where you sow, i mean to reap. we both want substantially the same harvest--mine is part of yours. i know i can count on you all. you, stairs, and you, reynolds, are going to carry your message through england. i propose to follow in your wake with mine. you rouse them to the sense of duty; i show them their duty. you make them ready to do their duty; i show it them. i'll have a lecturer. i'll get pictures. they shall _feel_ the invasion, and know what the german occupation means. you shall convert them, and i'll enlist them." "enlist them! by jove! that's an idea," said forbes thompson. "a patriotic league, a league of defenders, a nation in arms." "the liberators!" "ah! yes, the liberators." "or the patriots, simply?" "i would enrol them just as citizens," said crondall. "by that time they should have learned the meaning of the word." "yes, by jove! it is good enough--just 'the citizens,'" said sir morell strachey. and then a servant came in with a message for forbes thompson, and we realized that dinner-time had come and almost gone. but we were in no mood for separating just then, and so every one welcomed john crondall's invitation to dine with him at a neighbouring hotel. v my own part free men freely work; whoever fears god, fears to sit at ease. e. b. browning. constance grey and myself were the last of john crondall's guests to leave him on that evening of the conference. as soon as we three were alone, constance turned to crondall, and said: "you must expect to have me among your camp followers if i find aunt mary can stand the travelling. i dare say there will be little things i can do." "things you can do! by george, i should think so!" said crondall. "i shall look to you to capture the women; and if we get the women, it will surprise me if we don't get the men as well. besides, don't you fancy i have forgotten your prowess as a speaker in cape town and pretoria. you remember that meeting of your father's, when you saved him from the wrath of vrow bischoff? why, of course, i reckon on you. we'll have special women's meetings." "and where do i come in?" i asked, with an assumed lightness of tone which was far from expressing my feeling. "yes," said crondall, eying me thoughtfully; "i've been thinking of that." as he said that, i had a swift vision of myself and my record, as both must have appeared to a man like crondall, whose whole life had been spent in patriotic effort. the vision was a good corrective for the unworthy shafts of jealousy--for that no doubt they were--which had come to me with john crondall's references to constance. i was admitted cordially into the confidences of these people from whom, on my record, i scarcely deserved common courtesy. it was with a distinctly chastened mind that i gave them both some outline of the thoughts and resolutions which had come to me during my evening beside barebarrow, overlooking sleepy little tarn regis. "it's a kind of national telepathy," said crondall. "god send it's at work in other counties besides dorset." "it had need be," i told them; "for all those that i spoke to in dorset accepted the german occupation like a thing as absolutely outside their purview as the movements of the planets." "yes, they want a lot of stirring, i know; but i believe we shall stir 'em all right. but about your part in the campaign. of course, i recognize that every one has to earn his living, just as much now as before. but yet i know you'd like to be in this thing, dick mordan, and i believe you can help it a lot. what i thought of was this: i shall want a secretary, and want him very badly. he will be the man who will do half my work. on the other hand, i can't pay him much, for every cent of my income will be wanted in the campaign, and a good deal more besides. the thing is, would you tackle it, for the sake of the cause, for a couple of hundred a year? of course, i should stand all running expenses. what do you think? it's not much of an offer, but it would keep us all together?" constance looked expectantly at me, and i realized with a sudden thrill the uses of even such small means as i now possessed. "well, no," i said; "i couldn't agree to that." the pupils of john crondall's eyes contracted sharply, and a pained, wondering look crept into the face i loved, the vivid, expressive face of constance grey. "but what i would put my whole heart and soul into, would be working as your secretary for the sake of the cause, as long as you could stand the running expense, and--and longer." i think the next minute was the happiest i had ever known. i dare say it seems a small enough matter, but it was the only thing of the kind i had ever been able to do. these friends of mine had always given so much to our country's cause. i had felt myself so far beneath them in this. now, as john crondall's strong hand came down on my shoulder, and constance's bright eyes shone upon me in affectionate approval, my heart swelled within me, with something of the glad pride which should be the possession of every man, as it indubitably is of every true citizen and patriot. "you see," i explained deprecatingly, as crondall swayed my shoulder affectionately to and fro in his firm grip; "i have become a sort of a minor capitalist. i have about a hundred and fifty a year coming in, and so i'm as free as i am glad to work with you, and--there'll be two hundred more for the campaign, you see." "god bless you, old chap! you and constance and i, we'll move mountains--even the great mountain of apathy--between us. sir herbert offers a thousand pounds toward expenses, and forbes thompson and varley are ready to speak for us anywhere we like, and winchester has a pal who he says will work wonders as a kind of advance agent. i'm pretty sure of government help, too--or opposition help; they'll be governing before christmas, you'll find. now, we all meet here again the day after to-morrow. we three will see each other to-morrow, i expect. i must write a stack of letters before the midnight post." "well, can i lend a hand?" i asked. "no, not to-night, mr. secretary dick, thank you! but it's late. will you take constance home? i'll get my fellow to whistle up a cab." ten minutes earlier i should have been chilled by his implied guardianship of constance; but now i had that within which warmed me through and through: the most effectual kind of protection against chill. so all was settled, and we left john crondall to his letters. and, driving out to south kensington, we talked over our hopes, constance and i, as partners in one cause. "this is the beginning of everything for me, constance," i said, when we parted in the hall below her flat. "it is going to be the beginning of very much for a good many," she said, as she gave me her hand. "i wonder if you know how much--for me!" "i think so. i am tremendously glad about it all." but she did not know, could not know, just how much it meant to me. "good night, my patriotic muse!" i said. "good night, mr. secretary dick!" and so we parted on the night of my return to london. vi preparations we were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town; we yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down. came the whisper, came the vision, came the power, with the need, till the soul that is not man's soul was lent us to lead. . . . . . follow after--follow after--for the harvest is sown: by the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own! rudyard kipling. never before had i known days so full, so compact of effort and achievement, as were those of the week following the conference in john crondall's rooms. i could well appreciate winchester's statement when he said that: "john crondall is known through three continents as a glutton for work." our little circle represented canada, south africa, australia, and the mother country; and, while i admit that my old friend, george stairs, and his canadian-born partner, reynolds, could give points to most people in the matter of unwearying energy, yet i am proud to report that the member of our circle who, so to say, worked us all to a standstill was john crondall, an englishman born and bred. i said as much in the presence of them all, and when my verdict was generally endorsed, john crondall qualified it with the remark: "well, i can only say that pretty nearly all i know about work i learned in the colonies." and i learned later on to realize the justice of this qualification. colonial life does teach directness and concentration. action of any sort in england was at that time hedged about by innumerable complications and cross issues and formalities, many of which we have won clear from since then. perhaps it was the strength of our colonial support which set the pace of our procedure. whatever the cause, i know i never worked harder, or accomplished more; and i had never been so happy. i think john crondall must have interviewed from two to three hundred prominent politicians and members of the official world during that week. i have heard it said by men who should know, that the money crondall spent in cable messages to the colonies that week was the price of the first imperial parliament ever assembled in westminster hall. i use these words in their true sense, their modern sense, of course. nominally, the house of commons had long been the "imperial" parliament. i know that week's work established _the citizens_ as an already powerful organization, with a long list of names famous in history among its members, with a substantial banking account, and with volunteer agents in every great centre in the kingdom. the motto and watchword of _the citizens_, as engraved upon a little bronze medal of membership, was: "for god; our race; and duty." the oath of enrolment said: "i ---do hereby undertake and promise to do my duty to god, to our race, and to the british empire to the utmost limit of my ability, without fear and without compromise, so help me god!" john crondall interviewed the editors of most of the leading london newspapers during that week, and thereby earned a discreet measure of journalistic support for his campaign. there was a great need of discretion here, for our papers were carefully studied in berlin, as well as by the german generals commanding the various english towns now occupied by the kaiser's troops. it was, of course, most important that no friction should be caused at this stage. but it was with regard to the preaching pilgrimage of the two canadian parsons that crondall's friends of the press rendered us the greatest possible service. here no particular reticence was called for, and the press could be, and was, unreservedly helpful and generous. in estimating the marvellous achievements of the two preachers, i do not think enough weight has been attached to the great services rendered to their mission by such journals as the great london daily which published each morning a column headed, "the new evangel," and, indeed, by all the newspapers both in london and the provinces. we were not directly aiming, during that first week, at enrolling members. no recruiting had been done. yet when, at the end of the week, a meeting of the executive committee was held at the westminster palace hotel, the founder, john crondall, was able to submit a list of close upon six hundred sworn members of _the citizens_; and, of these, i suppose fully five hundred were men of high standing in the world of politics, the services, commerce, and the professions. among them were three dukes, twenty-three peers, a field marshal, six newspaper proprietors, eleven editors, seven of the wealthiest men in england, and ninety-eight prominent members of parliament. and, as i say, no systematic recruiting had been done. at that meeting of the executive a great deal of important business was transacted. john crondall was able to announce a credit balance of ten thousand pounds, with powers to overdraw under guarantee at the bank of england. a simple code of membership rules and objects was drawn up for publication, and a short code of secret rules was formed, by which every sworn member was to be bound. these rules stipulated for implicit obedience to the decision and orders of the executive, and by these every member was bound to take a certain course of rifle drill, and to respond immediately to any call that should be made for military service within the british isles during a period of twelve months from the date of enrolment. john crondall announced that there was every hope of _the citizens_ obtaining from the government a grant of one service rifle and one hundred rounds of ammunition for every member who could pass a simple medical examination. "we may not actually secure this grant until after the general election," crondall explained; "but it can be regarded as a certain asset." it was decided that, officially, there should be no connection between the canadian preachers, as every one called them, and the propaganda of _the citizens_. but it was also privately agreed that steps should be taken to follow the canadians throughout their pilgrimage with lectures and addresses, and meetings at which members could be enrolled upon the roster of _the citizens_, including volunteer instructors in rifle drill. my friend stairs attended this meeting with reynolds, and, after discussion, it was agreed that, for the present, they should not visit the towns occupied by the germans. "the people there have their lesson before them every day and all day long," said john crondall. "the folk we want to reach are those who have not yet learned their lesson. my advice is to attack london first. enlist london on your side, and on that go to the provinces." there was a good deal of discussion over this, and finally an offer john crondall made was accepted by stairs and reynolds, and our meeting was brought to a close. what crondall said was this: "to-day is monday. there is still a great deal of detail to be attended to. officially, there must be no connection between stairs and reynolds and _the citizens_. actually, we know the connection is vital. give me the rest of this week for arrangements, and i promise that we shall all gain by it. i will not appear in the matter, and i will see you each evening for consultation. your pilgrimage shall begin on sunday, and ours within a day or so of that." then followed another week of tense effort. stairs and reynolds both addressed minor gatherings during the week, and met john crondall every evening for consultation. on wednesday the principal imperialistic newspaper in london appeared with a long leading article and three columns of descriptive exposition of "the new evangel." on the same day the papers published despatches telling of the departure from their various homes of the premiers, and two specially elected representatives of all the british colonies, who were coming to england for an imperial conference at westminster. the government's resignation was expected within the month, and writs for the election were to be issued immediately afterwards. on wednesday evening and thursday morning the newspapers of london alone published one hundred and thirteen columns of matter regarding the message and the pilgrimage of the rev. george stairs and the rev. arthur j. reynolds. during the latter part of the week all london was agog over the canadian preachers. as yet, very little had appeared in print regarding _the citizens_. on sunday morning at three o'clock john crondall went into his bedroom to sleep, and i slept in the room he had set aside for me in his flat--too tired out to undress. even crondall's iron frame was weary that night, and he admitted to me before retiring from a table at which we had kept three typewriters busy till long after midnight, that he had reached his limit and must rest. "i couldn't stand another hour of it--unless it were necessary, you know," was his way of putting it. by my persuasion he kept his bed during a good slice of sunday morning, and lunched with me at constance grey's flat. he always said that mrs. van homrey was the most restful tonic london could supply to any man. i went to the morning service at westminster abbey that day with constance, and listened to a magnificent sermon from the bishop of london, whose text was drawn from the sixth chapter of exodus: "and i will take you to me for a people, and i will be to you a god." the bishop struck a strong note of hopefulness, but there was also warning and exhortation in his discourse. he spoke of sons of our race who had gone into far countries, and, carrying our faith and traditions with them, had preserved these and wrought them into a finer fabric than the original from which they were drawn. and now, when a great affliction had come upon the people of england, their sons of the greater britain oversea were holding out kindly hands of friendship and support. but it was not alone in the material sense that we should do well to avail ourselves of the support offered us from the outside places. these wandering children of the old land had cherished among them a strong and simple godliness, a devout habit of christian morality, from which we might well draw spiritual sustenance. "you have all heard of the canadian preachers, and i hope you will all learn a good deal more of their message this very afternoon at the albert hall, where i am to have the honour of presiding over a meeting which will be addressed by these christian workers from across the sea." we found john crondall a giant refreshed after his long sleep. "i definitely promise you a seat this afternoon, mrs. van homrey," he said, as we all sat down to lunch in the south kensington flat, "but that's as much as i can promise. you and i will have to keep our feet, dick, and you will have to share lady tate's seat, constance. if every ticket-holder turns up this afternoon, there won't be a single vacant seat in the whole of that great hall." "you earned your sunday morning in, john," said mrs. van homrey. "is the prime minister coming?" "no, he has failed me at the last, but half the members of the last government will be there, and i have promises from prominent representatives of every religious denomination in england. there will be sixty military officers above captain's rank, in uniform, and forty-eight naval officers in uniform. there will be many scores of bluejackets and private soldiers, a hundred training-ship lads, fifty of the legion of frontiersmen, and a number of volunteers all in full uniform. there will be a tremendous number of society people, but the mass will be leavened, and i should say one-half the people will be middle-class folk. for to-night, no tickets have been issued. the attendance will depend to some extent on the success of this afternoon, but, to judge from the newspapers and the talk one hears, i should say it would be enormous." just before we left the flat crondall told us a secret. "you know they have a volunteer choir of fifty voices?" he said. "it was stairs's idea, and he has carried it out alone. the choir consists entirely of bluejackets, soldiers, volunteers, red cross nurses, and boys from the army bands." vii the sword of the lord stern daughter of the voice of god! o duty! if that name thou love who art a light to guide, a rod to check the erring, and reprove; thou who art victory and law when empty terrors overawe; from vain temptations dost set free, and calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! wordsworth's _ode to duty_. i have always been glad that i was able to attend that first great service of the canadian preachers; and so, i think, has every one else who was there. other services of theirs may have been more notable in certain respects--indeed, i know they were; but this one was the beginning, the first wave in a great tide. and i am glad that i was there to see that first grand wave rise upon the rock of british apathy. i have said something of the audience, but a book might well be devoted to its description, and, again, a sentence may serve. it was a representative english gathering, in that it embraced a member of the royal family, a little group of old men and women from an asylum for the indigent, and members of every grade of society that comes between. also, it was a very large gathering--even for the albert hall. it should be remembered that not many weeks prior to this sunday afternoon, the people of london, maddened by hunger, fear, and bewildered panic, had stormed westminster to enforce their demand for surrender, and had seen von füchter with his bloodstained legions take possession of the capital of the british empire. fifty londoners had been cut down, almost in as many seconds, within two miles of the mansion house. in one terrible week london had passed through an age of terror and humiliation, the end of which had been purchased in panic and disorder by means of a greater humiliation than any. now england had to pay the bill. some, in the pursuit of business and pleasure, were already forgetting; but the majority among the great concourse of londoners who sat waiting in the albert hall that afternoon, clothed in their sunday best, were still shrewdly conscious of the terrible severity of the blow which had fallen upon england. having found constance her half-seat with lady tate, i stood beside one of the gangways below the platform, which lead to the dressing-rooms and other offices. beside me was a table for press representatives. there, with their pencils, i noted campbell, of the _daily gazette_, and other men i knew, including carew, for the _standard_, who had an assistant with him. he told me that somewhere in the hall his paper had a special descriptive writer as well. looking up and down that vast building, from dome to amphitheatre, i experienced, as it were vicariously, something of the nervousness of stage fright. londoners were not simple prairie folk, i thought. how should my friend george stairs hold that multitude? two plain men from western canada, accustomed to minister to farmers and miners, what could they say to engage and hold these serried thousands of londoners, the most blasé people in england? i had never heard either of the preachers speak in public, but--i looked out over that assemblage, and i was horribly afraid for my friends. a church of england clergyman and a nonconformist minister from canada, and i told myself they had never had so much as an elocution lesson between them! and then the bishop of london appeared on the crowded platform, followed by george stairs and arthur reynolds; and a dead silence descended upon the hall. in the forefront of the platform was a plain table with a chair at either end of it, and a larger one in the middle. here the bishop and the two preachers placed themselves. then the bishop rose with right hand uplifted, and said solemnly: "may god bless to us all the message which his two servants have brought us from oversea; for christ's sake, amen." george stairs remained kneeling at his end of the table. but as the bishop resumed his seat arthur reynolds stepped forward, and, pitching his voice well, said: "my friends, let us sing the british anthem." and at that the great organ spoke, and the choir of sailors, soldiers, and nurses led the singing of the national anthem. the first bar was sung by the choir alone, but by the time the third bar was reached thousands among the standing congregation were singing with them, and the volume of sound was most impressive. i think that a good many people besides myself found this solemn singing of the anthem, from its first line to its last, something of a revelation. it made "god save the king" a real prayer instead of a musical intimation that hats might be felt for and carriages ordered. it struck a note which the canadian preachers desired to strike. they began with a national hymn which was a prayer for king and country. the people were at first startled, and then pleased, and then stirred by a departure from all customs known to them. and that this should be so was, i apprehend, the deliberate intention of the canadian preachers. still george stairs knelt at his end of the bare table. as the last note of the organ accompaniment died away, arthur reynolds stepped to the front. "will you all pray, please?" he said. he closed his eyes and extended one hand. i cannot tell you what simple magic the man used. i know those were his words. but the compelling appeal in them was most remarkable. there was something childlike about his simple request. i do not think any one could have scoffed at the man. after a minute's silence, he prayed aloud, and this is what he said: "father in heaven, give us strength to understand our duty and to do it. thou knowest that two of the least among thy servants have crossed the sea to give a message to their kinsmen in england. our kinsmen are a great and proud people, and we, as thou knowest, are but very simple men. but our message is from thee, and with thee all things are possible. father, have pity upon our weakness to-day. open to us the hearts of even the proudest and the greatest of our kinsmen. do not let them scorn us. and, o father of all men, gentle and simple, breathe thou upon us that we may have a strength not of ourselves; a power worthy of the message we bring, which shall make its truth to shine so that none may mistake it. for christ's sake. amen." arthur reynolds resumed his seat, and a great australian singer, a _prima donna_ of world-wide repute, stepped forward very simply and sang as a solo the hymn beginning: church of the living god, pillar and ground of truth, keep the old paths the fathers trod in thy illumined youth. the prayer had softened all hearts by its simplicity, its humility. the exquisitely rendered hymn attuned all minds to thoughts of ancient, simple piety, and the traditions which guided and inspired our race in the past. when it was ended, and not till then, george stairs rose from his knees, and stepped forward to where a little temporary extension jutted out beyond the rest of the platform. he stood there with both hands by his side, and a bible held in one of them. his head inclined a little forward. it was an attitude suggestive rather of submission to that great assembly, or to some power above it, than of exhortation. watching him as he stood there, i realized what a fine figure of a man george was, how well and surely canadian life had developed him. his head was massive, his hair thick and very fair; his form lithe, tall, full of muscular elasticity. he stood so, silent, for a full minute, till i began to catch my breath from nervousness. then he opened the bible, and: "may i just read you a few verses from the bible?" he said. there was the same directness, the same simple, almost childlike appeal that had touched the people in reynolds's prayer. he read some verses from the first book of samuel. i remember: "'and did i choose him out of all the tribes of israel to be my priest, to offer upon mine altar, to burn incense, to wear an ephod before me? and did i give unto the house of thy father all the offerings made by fire of the children of israel? wherefore kick ye at my sacrifice and at mine offering, which i have commanded in my habitation; and honouredst thy sons above me to make yourselves fat with the chiefest of all the offerings of israel, my people? wherefore the lord god of israel saith, i said indeed that thy house and the house of thy father should walk before me for ever; but now the lord saith, be it far from me; for them that honour me i will honour, and them that despise me shall be lightly esteemed. behold the day is come, that i will cut off thine arm, and the arm of thy father's house, and there shall not be an old man in my house. and thou shalt see an enemy in my habitation, in all the wealth which god shall give israel.... and i will raise me up a faithful priest, that shall do according to that which is in mine heart and in my mind....'" there was a pause, and then the preacher read a passage from judges, ending with the famous war-cry: "the sword of the lord and of gideon." he looked up then, and, without reference to the bible in his hand, repeated several verses: "'and by thy sword thou shalt live, and shalt serve thy brother: and it shall come to pass when thou shalt have the dominion, that thou shalt break his yoke from off thy neck.' "'he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one.' "'for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of god, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.' "'and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit, which is the word of god.' "'think not that i am come to send peace on earth; i came not to send peace but a sword.' not the peace of indolence and dishonour; not the fatted peace of mercenary well-being; but a sword; the sword of the lord, the sword of duty, which creates, establishes, and safeguards the only true peace--the peace of honourable peoples." i remember his slow turning of leaves in his bible, and i remember: "'let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear god, and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man--' the whole duty---yes, 'but isn't duty rather an early victorian sort of business, and a bit out of date, anyhow?' that was what a young countryman of mine--from dorset, he came--said to me in calgary, last year. i told him that, according to my reading of history, it had come down a little farther than early victorian days. i remember i mentioned rorke's drift; and he rather liked that. but, of course, i knew what he meant." it was in this very simple strain, without a gesture, without a trace of dramatic appeal, that george stairs began to address that great gathering. much has been said and written of the quality of revelation which was instinct in that first address; of its compelling force, its inspired strength, the convincing directness of it all. and i should be the last to deny to my old friend's address any of the praises lavished upon it by high and low. but what i would say of it is that, even now, sufficient emphasis and import are never attached to the most compelling quality of all in george stairs's words: their absolutely unaffected simplicity. i think a ten-year-old child could have followed his every word with perfect understanding. nowadays we take a fair measure of simplicity for granted. anything less would condemn a man as a fool or a mountebank. but be it remembered that the key-note and most striking feature of all recent progress has been the advance toward simplicity in all things. at the period of george stairs's first exposition of the new evangel in the albert hall, we were not greatly given to simplicity. it was scarcely noticeable at that time even among tillers of the earth. not to put too fine a point upon it, we were a tinselled lot of mimes, greatly given to apishness, and shunning naked truth as though it were the plague. past masters in compromise and self-delusion, we had stripped ourselves of simplicity in every detail of life, and, from the cradle to the grave, seemed willingly to be hedged about with every kind of complexity. we so maltreated our physical palates that they responded only to flavours which would have alarmed a plain-living man; and, metaphorically, the same thing held good in every concern of our lives, until simplicity became non-existent among us, and was forgotten. there were men and women in that sunday afternoon gathering at the albert hall whose very pleasures were a complicated and laborious art, whose pastimes were a strain upon the nervous system, whose leisure was quite an arduous business. this it was which gave such striking freshness, such compelling strength, to the simple, forthright directness, the unaffected earnestness and modesty of the message brought us by the canadian preachers. the most bumptious and self-satisfied cockney who ever heard the ringing of bow bells, would have found resentment impossible after george stairs's little account of his leaving dorset as a boy of twelve, and picking up such education as he had, while learning how to milk cows, bed down horses, split fire-wood, and perform "chores" generally, on a canadian farm. even during his theological course, vacations had found him in the harvest field. "you may guess my diffidence, then," he said, "in lifting up my voice before such a gathering as this, here in the storied heart of the empire, the city i have reverenced my life long as the centre of the world's intelligence. but there is not a man or woman here to-day who would chide a lad who came home from school with tidings of something he had learned there. that is my case, precisely. i have been to one of our outside schools, from my home here in this beloved island. home and school alike, they are all part of our family heritage--yours and mine. i only bring you your own word from another part of our own place. that is my sole claim to stand before you to-day. yet, when i think of it, it satisfies me; it safeguards me from the effect of misunderstanding or offence, so long as my hearers are of my kin--british." his description of canada and the life he had lived there occupied us for no more than ten minutes, at the outside. it has appeared in so many books that i will not attempt to quote that little masterpiece of illumination. but by no means every reproduction of this passage adds the simple little statement which divided it from its successor. "that has been my life. no brilliant qualities are demanded of a man in such a life. the one thing demanded is that he shall do his duty. you remember that passage in ecclesiastes--'the conclusion of the whole matter'?" and then came the story of edward hare. that moved the people deeply. "my first curacy was in southern manitoba. when i was walking from the church to the farmhouse where i lodged, after morning service, one perfect day in june, i passed a man called edward hare, sitting at the edge of a little bluff, on a rising piece of ground. i had felt drawn toward this man. he was a londoner, and, in his first two years, had had a tough fight. but he had won through, and now had just succeeded in adding a hundred and sixty acres to his little farm, which was one of the most prosperous in the district. "'i didn't see you at church this morning, hare,' i said, after we had chatted a minute or two. "'no,' said he; 'i wasn't at church. i've been here by this bluff since breakfast, and--parson!' he said, with sudden emphasis, 'i shall give up the farm. i'm going back home.' "well, of course, i was surprised, and pressed him for reasons. 'well,' he said, 'i don't know as i can make much of a show of reasons; but i'm going. did you notice anything special about the weather, or--or that, this morning, parson?' i told him i had only noticed that it was a very sweet, clear, happy sort of a morning. 'that's just it, parson,' he said; 'sweet and clear and clean it is; and i don't believe there's any sweeter, cleaner thing than this morning on my farm--no, not in heaven, parson,' he said. 'and that's why i'm going back home to london; to battersea; that's where i lived before i came here.' "i waited for him to tell me more, and presently he said: 'you know, parson, i was never what you might call a drunkard, not even at home, where drinking's the regular thing. but i used to get through a tidy lot of liquor, one way and another, and most generally two or three pints too many of a saturday night. then, of a sunday morning, the job was waiting for the pubs to open. nobody in our street ever did much else of a sunday. i suppose you don't happen to have ever been down the falcon road of a sunday morning, parson? no? well, you see, the street's a kind of market all saturday night, up till long after midnight--costers' barrows with flare-lights, gin-shops full to the door, and all the fun of the fair--all the fun of the fair. mothers and fathers, lads and sweethearts, babies in prams, and toddlers in blue plush and white wool; you see them all crowding the bars up till midnight, and they see--well, they see battersea through a kind of a bright gaze. then comes sunday, and a dry throat, and waiting for the pubs to open. the streets are all a litter of dirty newspaper and cabbage-stumps, and worse; and the air's kind of sick and stale.' "at that hare stopped talking, and looked out over the prairie on that june morning. presently he went on again: 'well, parson, when i came out here this morning--i haven't tasted beer for over three years--i sat down and looked around; and, somehow, i thought i'd never seen anything so fine in all my life; so sweet and clean; the air so bright, like dew; and green--well, look at it, far as your eye can carry! and all this round, away to the bluff there, and the creek this way; it's mine, every foot of it. well, after a bit, i was looking over there to the church, and what d'ye think i saw, all through the pretty sunlight? i saw the falcon road, a pub i know there, and a streak of sunshine running over the wire blinds into the bar, all frowsy and shut in, with the liquor stains over everything. and outside, i saw the pasty-faced crowd waiting to get in, and all the sunday litter in the road. parson, i got the smell of it, the sick, stale smell of it, right here--in paradise; i got the frowsy smell of it, and heard the waily children squabbling, and--i can't tell you any more of what i saw. if you'd ever seen it, you'd know.' "and there he stopped again, until i moved. then he said: 'parson, if you saw a fellow starving on a bit of land over there that wouldn't feed a prairie-chick, and you knew of a free homestead across the creek, where he could raise five and twenty bushels to the acre and live like a man, would you leave him to rot on his bare patch? not you. that's why i'm going home--to battersea.' "if hare had been a married man i might have advised him otherwise. but he was married only to the farm he had wrought so well, and it did not seem to me part of my business to come between a man and his duty--as he saw it. that man came home, and took the cheapest lodging he could get in battersea. he had sold his farm well. now he took to street preaching, and what he preached was, not religion, but the prairie. 'lord sake, young folk!' he used to say to the lads and girls when they turned toward the public-houses. 'hold on! wait a minute! i want to tell you something!' and he would tell them what four years' clean work had given him in canada. "he got into touch with various emigration agencies. the money he had lasted him, living as he did, for five years. in that time he was the means of sending nine hundred and twenty men and five hundred and forty women and girls to a free and independent life in canada. just before his money was exhausted, england's affliction, england's chastisement, came upon her like god's anger in a thunderbolt. hare had meant to return to canada to make another start, and earn money enough to return to his work here. instead of that, my friends, instead of what he called paradise in manitoba, god took him straight into heaven. he left his body beside the north london entrenchments, where, so one of his comrades told me, he fought like ten men for england, knowing well that, if captured, he would be shot out of hand as a civilian bearing arms. one may say of edward hare, i think, that he saw his duty very clearly--and did it. * * * * * "but what of us? what of you, and i, my friends? how do we stand regarding duty?" i never heard such questions in my life. he had been speaking smoothly, evenly, calmly, and without gesticulation. with the questions, his body was bent as though for a leap; his hands flung forward. these questions left him like bullets. it was as though that great hall had been in blackest darkness, and with a sudden movement the speaker had switched on ten thousand electric lights. i saw men rise to a half-erect posture. i heard women catch their breath. the air of the place seemed all aquiver. "my friends, will you please pray with me?" he leaned forward, an appeal in every line of his figure, addressed confidentially to each soul present. then his right hand rose: "please god, help me to give my message! please god, open london's heart to hear my message! please god, give me strength to tell it--now! for christ's sake. amen!" one heard a low, emphatic, and far-carrying "amen!" from the lips of london's bishop; and i think that, too, meant something to the great congregation of londoners assembled there. immediately then, it was, while the electric thrill of his questions and the simple prayer still held all his audience at high tension, that george stairs plunged into the famous declaration of the new evangel of duty and simplicity. if any man in the world has learned for himself that prayer is efficacious, that man is the rev. george stairs. for it is now universally admitted that such winged words as those of his first great exposition of the doctrine of duty and simple living, the doctrine which has placed the english-speaking peoples in the forefront of christendom, had never before thrilled an english audience. his own words were a perfect example of the invincible virtue of simplicity; his presence there was a glowing evidence of the force of duty. it is quite certain that the knowledge shown in his flashing summary of nineteenth-century english history was not knowledge based upon experience. but neither the poets, nor the most learned historians, nor the most erudite of naval experts, has ever given a picture so instantly convincing as the famous passage of his oration which showed us, first, the british fleet on the morning of trafalgar; then, nelson going into action; then, the great sailor's dying apotheosis of duty; and, finally, england's reception of her dead hero's body. the delivery of this much-quoted passage was a matter of moments only, but from where i stood i saw streaming eyes in women's faces, and that stiff, unwinking stare on men's faces which indicates tense effort to restrain emotion. and so, with a fine directness and simplicity of progress, he carried us down through the century to its stormy close, with vivid words of tribute for the sturdy pioneers of victorian reform who fought for and built the freest democracy in the world, and gave us the triumphant enlightenment which illumined victoria's first jubilee. "'but isn't duty a rather early victorian sort of business, and out of date, anyhow?' said my young countryman in calgary. to the first half of his question there can be no answer but 'yes.' to deny it were to slander our fathers most cruelly. but what of the question's second half? our fathers have no concern with the answering of that. is duty 'out of date,' my friends? if so, let us burn our churches. if so, let the bishops resign their bishoprics. if so, let us lower for ever the flag which our fathers made sacred from pole to pole. if so, let britain admit--as well first as last--that she has retired for ever from her proud place among the nations, and is no more to be accounted a power in christendom; for that is no place for a people with whom duty is out of date. "'and did i choose him out of all the tribes of israel to be my priest, to offer upon mine altar?... but now the lord saith, be it far from me, for them that honour me i will honour, and them that despise me shall be lightly esteemed. _behold the days come that i will cut off thine arm!_'" it was almost unbearable. no one had guessed the man had such a voice. he had recited that passage quietly. then came the rolling thunder of the: "behold the days come that i will cut off thine arm!" a woman in the centre of the hall cried aloud, upon a high note. the roar of german artillery in north london never stirred londoners as this particular sentence of god's word stirred them in the albert hall. and then, in a voice keyed down again to calm and tender wisdom, the words of the scriptural poet stole out over the heads of the perturbed people, stilling their minds once more into the right receptive vein: "'let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear god and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.'" like balm, the stately words fell upon the people, as a light to lighten their darkness, as an end and a solution to a situation found intolerable. but, though calm resolve was in george stairs's gift that day, he suffered no complaisance; and, by this time, he held that great assembly in the hollow of his hand. it was then he dealt with the character of our own century, as distinguished from that of the victorian era. it was then his words taught me, personally, more than all he had said besides. i will not quote from a passage which has been incorporated in hundreds of school-books. it is generally admitted that the end and purpose underlying the civil and national code of our age has never since been more admirably stated than on the day of its first enunciation in the albert hall by george stairs. his words were glowing when he showed us how the key-note of our fathers' age had been the claiming and establishing of rights and privileges. his words stung like whip-thongs when he depicted our greedy, self-satisfied enjoyment of those rights and privileges, with never a thought, either of the various obligations pertaining to them, or of our plain duty in the conservation for our children of all that had been won for us. finally, his words were living fire of incentive, red wine of stimulation, when he urged upon us the twentieth-century watchword of duty, and the loyal discharge of obligations. "theirs, an age crowned by well-won triumph, was the century of claimant demand; ours is the century of grateful obedience. theirs was the age of claims; ours the age of duty. theirs the century of rights; ours the century of duty. theirs the period of brave, insistent constructive effort; ours the period of duty--duty--duty! "in fighting to obtain all that they won for us, our fathers pledged themselves--and us--to be fit recipients, true freemen. for a moment, misled by the glare of wealth and pleasure, we have played the caitiff's part; grasped freemen's privileges, without thanks, and with repudiation of the balancing duties and obligations without which no rights can survive. and--'behold, the days come that i will cut off thine arm!' "the god of our fathers trusted them, in our behalf; and we played traitor. so god smote england, through the arrogant war-lords of another people. that blow, self-administered, is heaven's last warning to england. in truth, the blow was ours, yours and mine; we ourselves it was who played the traitor and struck a cruel blow at britain's heart. unworthy sons of valiant sires, we snatched our wages and shirked our work; seized the reward and refused the duty. god in his mercy gave us many warnings; but we hid our faces and pursued our selfish ends. 'behold, the days come----' "but god stayed his hand. england lies bloody but unbroken. there can be no more warnings. the time for warnings has gone by. there can be no more paltering. now is the day of final choice. will ye be men--or helots and outcasts? will you choose duty, and the favour of god's appointed way for us, of progress and of leadership; or will you choose--pleasure, swift decay, annihilation? upon your heads be it! our fathers nobly did their part. upon your choice hangs the future of our race, the fate of your children, the destiny of god's chosen people, who have paltered with strange gods, blasphemed the true faith, and stepped aside from the white path--the only way: duty!" he turned, raising one hand, and the notes of the great organ rose and swelled mightily, filling the hall with the strains of the british national anthem. every soul in the building stood erect, and following the choir's lead, that great gathering sang the british hymn as it was never sung before. as the last note throbbed into silence in the hall's dome, george stairs, who had knelt through the singing of the anthem, advanced, with hand uplifted. "god helping us, as, if we choose aright, he surely will help us, do we choose duty, or pleasure? choose, my kinsmen! is it duty, or is it pleasure?" it was a severe test to put to such an assembly, to a congregation of all classes of london society. there was a moment of silence in which i saw george stairs's face, white and writhen, through a mist which seemed to cloud my vision. and then the answer came, like a long, rolling clap of thunder: "duty!" and i saw george stairs fall upon his knees in prayer, as the bishop dismissed the people with a benediction, delivered somewhat brokenly, in a hoarse voice. viii the preachers there are who ask not if thine eye be on them; who in love and truth where no misgiving is, rely upon the genial sense of youth: glad hearts! without reproach or blot, who do thy work, and know it not: o! if through confidence misplaced they fail, thy saving arms, dread power! around them cast. _ode to duty._ it was with something of a shock that i learned, while endeavouring to make my way through a dense crowd to the canadian preacher's dressing-room, that my friend, george stairs, was lying unconscious in a fainting fit. but my anxiety was not long-lived. several doctors had volunteered their services, and from one of them i learned that the fainting fit was no more than the momentary result of an exceptional strain of excitement. within half an hour, stairs and reynolds were both resting comfortably in a private sitting-room at a neighbouring hotel, and there i visited them, with constance grey and mrs. van homrey, and john crondall. stairs assured us that his fainting was of no consequence, and that he felt perfectly fit and well again. "you see it was something of an ordeal for me, a nobody from nowhere, to face such an assembly." "well," said john crondall, "i suppose that at this moment there is not a man in london who is much more a somebody, and less a nobody from nowhere." "you think we succeeded, then?" "my dear fellow! i think your address of this afternoon was the most important event england has known this century. mark my words, that great thunder of 'duty!' that you drew from them--from a london audience, mind--is to have more far-reaching results for the british empire than the acquisition of a continent." "no, no, my dear crondall, you surely overrate the thing," said stairs, warm colour spreading over his pale face. "well, you can take my deliberate assurance that in my opinion you achieved more for your country this afternoon than it has been my good fortune to achieve in the whole of a rather busy life." stairs protested, blushing like a girl. but we know now that, so far at all events as his remarks were prophetic, john crondall was absolutely right; though whether or not the new evangel could have achieved what it did without the invasion is another matter. myself, i believe nothing could have been more triumphantly successful, more pregnant with great possibilities for good, than the event of that afternoon. yet i was assured that fully two thousand five hundred more people crowded into the hall for the evening service than had been there to hear stairs's address. and i had thought the huge place crowded in the afternoon. as before, the service began and ended with the national anthem; but in the evening the great assembly was thrilled to its heart by the australian _prima donna's_ splendid singing of wordsworth's _ode to duty_ in the setting specially composed for this occasion by doctor elgar. i saw very many faces that i had seen at the first service, but i believe that there was a far greater proportion of poorer folk present than there had been in the afternoon. the president of the congregational union presided, and the address was delivered by arthur reynolds. as with stairs, so with reynolds, duty was the gist and heart of the message delivered--duty, plain living, simplicity; these they both urged to be the root of the whole matter. both men gave substantially the same message, there can be no doubt of that; but there were differences, and upon the whole i am inclined to think that reynolds's address was more perfectly adapted to his hearers than stairs's would have been if his had been given that evening. reynolds's diction in public speaking was not quite his conversational speech, because nothing like slang, nothing altogether colloquial crept into it, but its simplicity was notable; it was the diction of a frank, earnest child. there were none of the stereotyped phrases of piety; yet i never heard a more truly pious and deeply religious discourse. the social and political aspects of duty were more cursorily treated by reynolds than its moral and religious aspect. there was nothing heterodox in the view put forward by this preacher from oversea. a man may find salvation in this world and the next through love and faith, he said in effect; but the love and faith must be of the right sort. the redemption of the world was the world's greatest miracle; but it did not offer mankind salvation in return for a given measure of psalm-singing, sentimentalizing, and prayerful prostrations. christianity was something which had to be lived, not merely contemplated. love and faith were all-sufficient, but they must be the true love and faith, of which duty was the legitimate offspring. the man who thought that any form of piety which permitted the neglect of duty, would win him either true peace in this life or salvation in the next, was as pitifully misled as the man who indulged himself in a vicious life with a view to repentance when he should be too near his demise to care for indulgence. "but, even if one could put aside all thought of god and the life compared with which this life is but an instant of time; even then there would be nothing left really worth serious consideration besides duty. dear friends, you who listen so kindly to the man who comes to you from across the sea, i ask you to look about you in the streets and among the people you know, and to tell me if the majority are really happy. in this connection i dare not speak of the land of my birth, because, though it is yours as truly as it is mine, and we are all blood-brothers, yet i might be thought guilty of a vain partiality. but i do say that i cannot think the majority of the people of england are really happy. i do not believe the majority of londoners are happy. i am sure that the majority of those who spend an immense amount of money here in the west end of london, are not one whit happier than the average man who works hard for a few pounds a week. "if i am certain of anything in this world, i am certain that the pursuit of pleasure never yet brought real happiness to any intelligent human being, and never will. true, i have met some happy people in london, even now, when england lies wounded from a cruel blow--a blow which i believe may prove the greatest blessing england ever knew. but those happy people are not running after pleasure or concentrating their intelligence upon their own gratification. no, no; those happy people are strenuously, soberly striving to do the whole of their duty as christians and british citizens. they are happy because of that. "oh, my dear friends, do please believe me, that, even apart from god's will and the all-sacrificing love of his son, _there is absolutely no real happiness in this world outside the clean, sweet way of duty_. if you profess you love a woman, but shirk your duty by her, of what worth is such love? is god of less importance to you? is eternity of less importance? are king and country, and the future of our race and the millions who depend on us for light and guidance and protection, of less importance? as god hears me, _nothing_ is of _any_ importance, beside the one thing vital to salvation, to happiness, to honour, to life, here and hereafter. that one thing is duty." the evening congregation was more demonstrative than that of the afternoon, and though i do not think the impression produced by reynolds's address was deeper or stronger than that made by stairs--it could hardly have been that--its effects were more noticeable. the great crowd that streamed out of the hall after the benediction had been pronounced, testified in a hundred ways to the truth of john crondall's assertion that the canadian preachers had stirred the very depths of london's heart as no other missioners had ever stirred them. by george stairs's invitation, mrs. van homrey, constance, crondall, myself, sir herbert tate, and forbes thompson, joined the preachers that evening, quite informally, at their very modest supper board. it must have been a little startling to a _bon vivant_ like sir herbert to find that the men who had stormed london, supped upon bread and cheese and celery and cold rice pudding, and, without a hint of apology, offered their guests the same spartan entertainment. but it was quite a brilliant function so far as mental activity and high spirits were concerned. we were discussing the possibilities of the canadian preachers' pilgrimage, and crondall said: "i know that some of you think i take too sanguine a view, but, mark my words, these meetings to-day are the beginning of the greatest religious, moral, and national revival that the british people have ever seen. i am certain of it. your blushes are quite beside the point, stairs; they are wholly irrelevant; so is your modesty. why, my dear fellow, you couldn't help it if you tried. you two men are the mouthpiece of the hour. the hour having come, you could not stay its message if you tried, nor check the tide of its effect. i know my london. in a matter of this kind--a moral movement--london is the hardest place in the kingdom to move, because its bigness and variety make it so many-sided. having achieved what you have achieved to-day in london, i say nothing can check your progress. my counsel is for no more than a week in london; two days more in the west, three in the east, and one in the south; and then a bee-line due north through england, with a few days in all big centres." "well," said reynolds, "whatever happens after to-night, i just want to say what george stairs has more than once said to me, and that is, that to-day's success is three parts due to mr. crondall for every one part due to us." "and to his secretary," said stairs. "it really is no more than bare truth. without you, crondall, there would have been no albert hall for us." "and no bishop," added reynolds. "and no great personages." "_and_ no columns and columns of newspaper announcements." "in point of fact, there would have been none of the splendid organization which made to-day possible. i recognize it very clearly. if this is to prove the beginning of a really big movement, then it is a beginning in which _the citizens_ and their founder have played a very big part. you won't find that we shall forget that; and i know reynolds is with me when i say that we shall leave no word unsaid, or act undone, which could make our pilgrimage helpful to _the citizens'_ campaign. i tell you, standing before that vast assembly to-day, it was borne in upon me as i had not felt it before, that your aims and ours are inseparable. we cannot succeed without your succeeding, nor you without our succeeding. our interpretation of christianity, our message, is duty and simple living, and unless the people will accept that message they will never achieve what you seek of them. on the other hand, if they will answer your call they will be going a long way toward accepting and acting upon our message." "i am mighty thankful that has come home to you, stairs," said crondall. "i felt it very strongly when i first asked you to come and talk things over. your pilgrimage is going to wake up england, morally. it will be our business to see that newly waked england choose the right direction for the first outlay of its energy. the thing will go far--much farther than i have said, and far beyond england's immediate need. but, of course, we mustn't lose sight of that immediate need. if i am not greatly mistaken, one of the first achievements of this movement will be the safe steering of the british public through the general election. with the new year i hope to see a real imperial parliament sitting. by that i mean a strong government administering england from the house of commons, while some of its members sit in an imperial chamber--westminster hall--and help elected representatives of every one of the colonies to govern the empire. my belief is there will be no such thing as an opposition in the house. why should england continue to waste its time and energy over pulling both ways in every little job its legislators have to tackle? it sterilizes the efforts of the good men, and gives innumerable openings to the fools and cranks and obstructionists. you will find the very names of the old futile cross-purposes of party warfare will fall into the limbo which has swallowed up the pillory, the stocks, and little englandism. with deference to the cloth present in the person of our reverend friends here, let me quote you what to me is one of the most strikingly interesting passages in the bible: '_the vile person shall be no more called liberal._' it will become clear to all men that the only possible party, the only people who can possibly stand for progress, movement, advance, are those who stand firm for imperial federation." "and then?" said constance, leaning forward, her face illumined by her shining eyes. crondall drew a long breath. "and then--then britain will have something to say to the kaiser." as we rose from the table, george stairs laid his hand on reynolds's shoulder. "deep waters these, my friend," said he, "for simple parsons from the backwoods. but our part is plain, and close at hand. our work is to make the writing on the wall flame till all can read and feel: duty first, last, and all the time. 'the conclusion of the whole matter.'" "yes, yes; that's so," said reynolds, thoughtfully. and then he added, as it were an afterthought: "but was that remark about vile people no more being called liberal really scriptural, i wonder--i wonder!" "without a doubt," said crondall, with a broad grin. "you look up isaiah xxxii. 5. you will find it there, written maybe three thousand years ago, fitting to-day's situation like a glove." on the way out to south kensington, where i accompanied the ladies, i asked constance what she thought of my old chum, george stairs. "why, dick," she said, "he makes me feel that an english village can still produce the finest type of man that walks the earth. but, as things have been, in our time, i'm glad this particular man didn't remain in his native village--aren't you?" "yes," i agreed, with a half-sad note i could not keep out of my voice. "i suppose colonial life has taught him a lot." "oh, he is magnificent!" "and look at john crondall!" "ah, john is a wonderful man; empire-taught, is john." "and i suppose the man who has never lived the outside life in the big, open places can never----" and then i think she saw what had brought the twinge of sadness to me; for she touched my arm, her bright eyes gleamed upon me, and-"you're a terribly impatient man, dick," she said, with a smile. "it seems to me you've trekked a mighty long way from _the mass_ office in--how many weeks is it?" ix the citizens serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security. and they a blissful course may hold ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold, live in the spirit of this creed, yet find that other strength, according to their need. _ode to duty._ charles corbett's _history of the revival_ is to my mind the most interesting book of this century. there are passages in it which leave me marvelling afresh each time i read them, that any writer, however gifted, could make quite so intimate a revelation, without personal knowledge of the inside workings of the movement he describes so perfectly. but it is a fact that corbett never spoke with stairs or reynolds, or crondall; neither, i think, was he personally known to any member of the executive of _the citizens_. yet i know from my own working experience of the revival, both in connection with the pilgrimage of the canadian preachers and the campaign of _the citizens_, that corbett's descriptions are marvellously accurate and lifelike, and that the conclusions he draws could not have been made more correct and luminous if they had been written by the leaders of the great joint movement themselves. the educational authorities were certainly well advised in making corbett's great work the base from which the contemporary history text-books for use in the national schools were drawn. your modern students, by the way, would find it hard to realize that, even at the time of the revival, our school-children were obliged to waste most of the few hours a week which were devoted to historical studies, to the wearisome memorizing of dates and genealogies connected with the saxon heptarchy. as a rule they had no time left in which to learn anything whatever of the progress of their own age, or the nineteenth-century development of the empire. at that time a national schoolboy destined to earn his living as a soldier or a sailor, or a tinker or a tailor, sometimes knew a little of the saxon kings of england, or even a few dates connected with the norman conquest, and the fact that henry viii. had six wives. but he had never heard of the reform bill, and knew nothing whatever of the incorporation of india, australia, south africa, or canada. i suppose the most notable and impressive intimation received by the british public of the fact that a great religious, moral, and social revival had begun among them, was contained in monday morning's newspapers, after the first great albert hall services. the recognized chief among imperialistic journals became from the beginning the organ of the new movement. upon that monday morning i remember that this journal's first leading article was devoted to the message of the canadian preachers, its second to the coming of the various colonial delegates for the westminster hall conference. for the rest, the centre of the paper was occupied by a four-page supplement, with portraits, describing fully, and reporting verbatim the albert hall services. the opening sentences of the leading article gave the public its cue: "there can be little doubt, we think, that yesterday's services at the albert hall mark the inauguration of a national movement in morals, which, before it has gone far, is as likely to earn the name of the revolution as that of revival. a religious, moral, and social revolution is what we anticipate as the result of the mission of the canadian preachers. never before has london been so stirred to its moral and emotional depths. in such a movement the provincial centres are not likely to prove less susceptible than the metropolis." as a matter of fact, i had occasion to know that mr. james bryanstone, the preachers' secretary (in whose name john crondall had carried out the whole work of organization, while i served him as secretary and assistant) received during that monday no fewer than thirty-four separate telegraphic invitations from provincial centres subsequently visited by stairs and reynolds. it was, as crondall had said: the time was ripe, and the canadian preachers were the mouthpiece of the hour. their message filled them, and england was conscious of its need of that message. on monday and tuesday the afternoon and evening services at the albert hall were repeated. thousands of people were unable to obtain admission upon each occasion. some of these people were addressed by friends of john crondall's and _the citizens_, within the precincts of the hall. on tuesday morning, sunrise found a great throng of people waiting to secure places when the hall should open. on both days members of the royal family were present, and on tuesday the primate of england presided over the service addressed by stairs. during all this time, john crondall was working night and day, and i was busy with him in organizing the recruiting campaign of _the citizens_. the legion of frontiersmen, and the members of some scores of rifle clubs, had been enrolled _en bloc_ as members, and applications were pouring in upon us by every post from men who had seen service in different parts of the world, and from men able to equip themselves either as mounted or foot riflemen. on tuesday evening the canadian preachers announced that their next day services would be held at the people's palace, in the east end. but i fancy that, among the packed thousands who attended _the citizens'_ first public meeting at the albert hall on wednesday afternoon, many came under the impression that they were to hear the canadian preachers. the man of all others in england most fitted for the office, presided over that first meeting, in full review uniform, and wearing the sword which had been returned to him by general baron von füchter, after the historic surrender at the mansion house on black saturday. the great little field marshal rose at three o'clock and stood for full five minutes, waiting for the tempest of cheering which greeted him to subside, before he could introduce john crondall to that huge audience. even when the field marshal began to speak he could not obtain complete silence. as one burst of cheering rumbled to its close, another would rise from the hall's far side like approaching thunder, swelling as it came. it seemed the london public was trying to make up to its erstwhile hero for its long neglect of his brave endeavours to warn them against the evils which had actually befallen. at last, not to waste more time, the little field marshal drew his sword, and waved it above his head till a penetrant ray of afternoon sunlight caught and transformed the blade into a streak of living flame. "there is a stain on it!" he shouted, shaking the blade. "it belongs to you--to england--and there's a stain on it; got on black saturday. now silence, for the man who's for wiping out all stains. silence!" it was long since the little man had delivered himself of such a roar, as that last "silence!" there were one or two indian veterans in the hall who remembered the note. it had its effect, and john crondall stood, presently, before an entirely silent and eagerly expectant multitude, when he began his explanation of the ends and aims of _the citizens_. i remember he began by saying: "i cannot pretend to be a canadian preacher--i wish i could." and here there was another demonstration of cheering. one realized that afternoon that the canadians had lighted a fire in london that would not easily be put out. "no, i am a native of your own london," said crondall; "but i admit to having learned most of the little i know in canada, south africa, india, and australia. and if there is one thing i have learned very thoroughly in those countries, it is to love england. she has no braver or more devoted sons and lovers within her own shores than our kinsmen oversea. you will find we shall have fresh proofs of that very soon. meantime, just in passing, i want to tell you this: you have read something in the papers of _the citizens_, the organization of britishers who are sworn to the defence of britain. i am here to tell you about them. well, in the past fortnight, i have received two hundred and forty cable messages from representative citizens in canada, south africa, australia, india, and other parts of the empire, claiming membership, and promising support through thick and thin, from thousands of our kinsfolk oversea. so, before i begin, i give you the greeting of men of our blood from all the ends of the earth. they are with us heart and hand, my friends, and eager to prove it. and now i am going to tell you something about _the citizens_." but before that last sentence had left crondall's lips, we were in the thick of another storm of cheering. the religious character of the canadian preachers' meetings had been sufficient to prevent these outbursts of popular feeling; but now the public seemed to welcome the secular freedom of _the citizens'_ gathering, as an opportunity for giving their feelings vent. i am not sure that it was john crondall's message from the colonies that they cheered. they were moved, i am sure, by a vague general approval of the idea of a combination of citizens for british defence. but their cheering i take to have been produced by feelings they would have been hard put to it to define in any way. they had been deeply stirred by the teaching of the canadian preachers. in short, they had been seized by the fundamental tenets of the simple faith which has since come to be known to the world as "british christianity"; and they were eager to find some way in which they could give tangible expression to the faith that was burgeoning within them; stirring them as young mothers are stirred, filling them with resolves and aspirations, none the less real and deep-seated because they were as yet incoherent and shapeless. i am only quoting the best observers of the time in this description of public feeling when john crondall made his great recruiting speech for _the citizens_. the event proved my chief to have been absolutely right in his reckoning, absolutely sound in his judgment. he had urged from the beginning that _the citizens_ and the canadian preachers had a common aim. "but you teach a general principle," he had said to george stairs, "while we supply the particular instance. we must reap where you sow; we must glean after you; we must follow you, as night follows day, as accomplishment follows preparation--because you arouse the sense of duty, you teach the sacredness of duty, while we give it particular direction. it's you who will make them _citizens_, my dear fellow--for what you mean by a true christian is what i mean by a true citizen--our part is to swear them in. or, as you might say, you prepare, and we confirm. those that won't come up to your standard as christians, won't be any use to us as _citizens_." just how shrewdly john crondall had gauged the matter perhaps no one else can realize, even now, so clearly as those who played a recorder's part in the recruiting campaign, as i did from that first day in the albert hall, with constance grey's assistance, and, later on, with the assistance of many other people. at a further stage, and in other places, we made arrangements for enrolling members after every meeting. upon this occasion we were unable to face the task, and, instead, a card was given to every applicant, for subsequent presentation at _the citizens'_ headquarters in victoria street, where i spent many busy hours, with a rapidly growing clerical staff, swearing in new members, and booking the full details of each man's position and capabilities, for registration on the roster. we had no fees of any kind, but every new member was invited to contribute according to his means to _the citizens'_ equipment fund. during the twenty-four hours following that first meeting at the albert hall, over twenty-seven thousand pounds was received in this way from new members. but we enrolled many who contributed nothing; and we enrolled a few men to whom we actually made small payments from a special fund raised privately for that purpose. all this last-named minority, and a certain proportion of other members, went directly into camp training on the estates of various wealthy members, who themselves were providing camp equipment and instructors, while, in many cases, arranging also for employment which should make these camps as nearly as might be self-supporting. among the list of people who agreed to deliver addresses at our meetings we now included many of the most eloquent speakers, and some of the most famous names in england. but i am not sure that any of them ever evoked the same storms of enthusiasm, the same instant and direct response that john crondall earned by his simple speeches. heart and soul, john crondall was absorbed in the perfection and furtherance of the organization he had founded, and when he sought public support he was irresistible. in those first days of the campaign there were times when john crondall was so furiously occupied, that his bed hardly knew the touch of him, and i could not exchange a word with him outside the immediate work of our hands. this was doubtless one reason why i took a certain idea of mine to constance grey, instead of to my chief. together, she and i interviewed brigadier-general hapgood, of the salvation army, and, on the next day, the venerable chief of that remarkable organization, general booth. the proposition we put before general booth was that he should join hands with us in dealing with that section of our would-be members who described themselves as unemployed and without resources. for five minutes the old general stroked his beard, and offered occasional ejaculatory interrogations. i pointed out that the converts of the canadian preachers (for whom the general expressed unbounded admiration and respect) flocked to our standard, full of genuine eagerness to carry out the gospel of duty and simple living. suddenly, in the middle of one of my sentences, this commander-in-chief of an army larger than that of any monarch in christendom made up his mind, and stopped me with a gesture. "we will do it," he said. "yes, yes, i see what you would say. yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure; that is quite so. we will do it. come and see me again, and i will put a working plan before you. good day--god bless you!" and we were being shown out. it was all over in a few minutes; but that was the beginning of the connection between the salvation army and that section of _the citizens_ whose members lacked both means and employment. according to a safe and conservative estimate, we are told that the total number of sworn _citizens_ subsequently handled by the salvation army was six hundred and seventy-five thousand. we supplied the instructors, officers, and all equipment; the salvation army carried out all the other work of control, organization, and maintenance, and made their great farm camps so nearly self-supporting as to be practically no burden upon _the citizens'_ funds. the effect upon the men themselves was wholly admirable. every one of them was a genuinely unemployed worker, and the way they all took their training was marvellous. i think constance grey was as pleased as i was with the praise we won from john crondall over this. a little while before this time i should have felt jealous pangs when i saw her sweet face lighten and glow at a word of commendation from john crondall. but my secretaryship was teaching me many things. no other woman could ever mean to me one tithe of all that constance grey meant. of that i was very sure. to think of such women as handsome beatrice blaine or sylvia wheeler, in a vein of comparison, was for me like comparing the light of a candle in a distant window with the moon herself. the mere sound of constance's voice thrilled me as nothing else could. but i am glad to remember now that i no longer knew so small an emotion as jealousy where she was concerned. john crondall was the strongest man of all the men i knew; constance was the sweetest woman. here was a natural and fitting comradeship. i thought of my chief as the mate of the woman i loved. my heart ached at times. but i am glad and proud that i had no jealousy. x small figures on a great stage i, loving freedom and untried, no sport of every random gust, yet being to myself a guide, too blindly have reposed my trust; and oft, when in my heart was heard thy timely mandate, i deferred the task, in smoother walks to stray, but thee i now would serve more strictly, if i may. _ode to duty._ it has often been said of the canadian preachers that they conferred the gift of eloquence upon all their converts. it is certainly a fact that long before stairs and reynolds had traversed half the length of england, disciples of theirs were winning converts to "british christianity"--as the religion of duty and simple living came to be called--in every county in the kingdom. in the same way, the progress of _the citizens'_ recruiting campaign was made marvellously rapid and triumphant in character by reason of the enthusiastic activity of all new adherents. during the second of john crondall's great meetings in birmingham, for example, we received telegraphic greeting from the chairmen presiding over one hundred and ninety-eight other meetings then being held for the furtherance of our cause in different parts of the country. and, in many cases, those who addressed these meetings were among the most famous public speakers in england. in most towns we spent no more than twenty-four hours, in others no more than twelve hours, and in some we stayed only a third of that time. in one memorable day we addressed immense gatherings in four different towns, and travelled one hundred and thirty miles to boot. but in each one of those towns, as in every centre visited, we left a properly organized committee at work, with arrangements for frequent meetings, and the swearing in of new members. the canadian preachers spent only one day in many of the places they visited. but in large centres they stayed longer, because, after the first week of the pilgrimage, the attendances at their meetings became unmanageably large, owing to the arrangements made by railway companies, who ran special trains to tap the outlying parts of every district visited. advance agents--a hard-working band, many of whom were well-to-do volunteers--prepared the way in every detail for the progress of both the canadians and ourselves, and local residents placed every possible facility at our disposal. never in the history of religious revivals in england has anything been known to equal the whole-souled enthusiasm with which the new evangel of duty was welcomed as the basis of our twentieth-century national life. the facts that the canadian preachers were rarely seen apart, and that the teaching of each was identical with that of the other, combined with the general knowledge that one represented the church of england and the other a great nonconformist body; these things divested the pilgrimage of any suggestion of denominationalism, and lent it the same urgent strength of appeal for members of all sects, and members of none. this seems natural enough to us now, ours being a christian country. but it was regarded then as a wonderful testimony to the virtue of the new teaching, because at that time sectarian differences, animosities even, were very clearly marked, and led far more naturally to opposition and hostility between the representatives of different denominations than to anything approaching united effort in a common cause. it was during the day we spent in york that chance led to my witnessing an incident which greatly affected me. my relations with my chief, john crondall, were not such as to call for the observance of much ceremony between us. accordingly, it was with no thought of interference with his privacy that i blundered into my chief's sitting-room to announce the number of new members we had enrolled after the meeting. john crondall was standing on the hearth-rug, his right hand was resting on constance grey's shoulder, his lips were touching her forehead. for an instant i thought of retreat. but the thing seemed too clumsy. accordingly, having turned to close the door, with deliberation, i advanced into the room with some awkward remark about having thought my chief was alone, and produced my figures of the enrolment of new members. after a few moments constance left us, referring to some errand she had in view. i did not look at her, and john crondall plunged at once into working talk. as for me, i was acutely conscious that i had seen crondall kiss constance; but my chief made no sign to show me whether or not he was aware that i had seen this. although i thought i had accustomed myself to the idea of these two being predestined mates, i realized now that no amount of reasoning would ever really reconcile me to the practical outworking of the idea. of course, my feeling about it would be described as jealousy pure and simple. perhaps it was; but i cherish the idea that it was some more kindly shade of feeling. i know it brought no hint of resentment or weakening in my affection for john crondall; and most assuredly i harboured no unkind thought of constance. but i loved her; every pulse in me throbbed love and longing at her approach. again and again i had demonstrated to myself my own unworthiness of such a woman; the natural affinity between constance and crondall. yet now, the sight of that kiss was as the sound of a knell in my heart; it filled me with an aching lament for the death of----of something which had still lived in me, whether admitted or not, till then. for days after that episode of the kiss i lived in hourly expectation of a communication from john crondall. our relations were so intimate that i felt certain he would not withhold his confidence for long. but day succeeded day in our strenuous, hurried life, and no word came to me from my chief regarding any other thing than our own work. indeed, i thought i detected a certain new sternness in john crondall's demeanour, an extra rigid concentration upon work, which carried with it, for me, a suggestion of his being unwilling to meet one upon any other than the working footing. i was surprised and a little hurt about this, because of late there had been no reservations in the confidence with which my chief treated me. also, i could not see any possible reason for secrecy in such a matter; it might as well be told first as last, i thought. and i watched constance with a brooding eye for signs she never made, for a confidence which did not come from either of my friends. the thing possessed my mind, and must, i fear, have interfered materially with my work. but after a time the idea came to me that these two had decided to allow our joint work to take precedence of their private happiness, and to put aside their own affairs until the aims of _the citizens_ had been attained. i recalled certain little indications i myself had received from constance before john crondall's return from south africa, to the effect that personal feeling could have no great weight with her, while our national fate hung in the balance. and, by dulling the edge of my expectancy, this conclusion somehow eased the ache which had possessed me since the day of the kiss to which chance had made me a witness. but it did not altogether explain to me the new reserve, the hint of stiffness in john crondall's manner; and, rightly or wrongly, i knew when i took constance's hand in mine, or met the gaze of her shining eyes, that i did so as a devout lover, and not merely as a friend. xi the spirit of the age through no disturbance of my soul or strong compunction in me wrought, i supplicate for thy controul; but in the quietness of thought: me this unchartered freedom tires; i feel the weight of chance desires: my hopes no more must change their name; i long for a repose that ever is the same. _ode to duty._ from the first, the courtesy of the press was securely enlisted in _the citizens'_ favour by john crondall. for many months the _standard_, now firmly established as the principal organ of the reform movement, devoted an entire page each day to the progress of our campaign and the pilgrimage of our forerunners--the canadian preachers. john crondall had gone thoroughly into the matter at the beginning with the editor of this journal, and the key-note thus given was taken by the press of the whole country. the essence of our treatment by the newspapers lay in their careful avoidance of all matter which would be likely to earn for the movement the hostility of germany, or of the officers in command of the german forces in england. our language took on a new and special meaning in the columns of the newspapers, where reports of our campaign were concerned. such adjectives as "social," "moral," and the like were made to cover quite special meanings, as applied to the organization of _the citizens_. so ably was all this done, that the german authorities regarded the whole movement as social and domestic, with a direct bearing upon the general election, perhaps, but none whatever upon international politics or anglo-german relations. in elberfeld's ponderous history we are given the text of a despatch to the kaiser in which general baron von füchter assured his imperial master that any interference with _the citizens_ and their meetings would be gratuitous and impolitic: "their aims being purely social and domestic, and those of a quasi-religious friendly society, resembling something between their 'band of hope' and their 'antediluvian buffaloes.' the english have a passion for this kind of child's play, and are absurdly impatient of official surveillance. their incorrigible sentimentality is soothed by such movements as those of the canadian preachers and _the citizens_; but even the rudiments of discipline or efficient coördination are lacking among them. combination against us would be impossible for them, for this is a country of individualists, among whom the matter of obligations to the state is absolutely not recognized. there is no trace of military feeling among the people, and in my opinion the invasion might safely have been attempted five, if not ten years, before it was. the absence of any note of resentment in their newspapers against our occupation has been quite marked since their preoccupation with the canadian preachers and _the citizens_. the people accept it in the most matter-of-course manner, and are already entirely absorbed once more in their own affairs, and even in their sports. british courage and independence have been no more than a myth for many years past--a bubble which your majesty's triumphantly successful policy has burst for ever." another important feature, alike of our campaign and the pilgrimage of the preachers, was their positively non-party and non-sectarian character. john crondall had been firm upon this point from the beginning. i remember his saying at the first meeting of the executive of _the citizens_: "our party government, party conflict, here in england, have sapped the vitality of the british empire long enough. i believe the invasion has scotched the thing, and we must be very careful to do nothing that might help to bring it to life again. a radical, as such, is neither better nor worse than a conservative. it does not matter two pins what becomes of the conservative organization, or the liberal party, as parties. i should be delighted never to hear of either again. our business is the empire's business; and we want the people of the empire with us--the whole lot of them--as one solid party." accordingly, no mention of any political party was ever heard at our meetings. we made no appeal to any given section of the community, but only to the british public as a whole. we aimed at showing that there could be no division in national affairs, save the division which separates citizens and patriots from men worthy of neither name. and that is why maurice hall, in his famous _british renaissance_, was able to write that: "the general elections of the invasion year were practically directed and decided by two forces: the influence of _the citizens_ and the influence of the canadian preachers' duty teaching. political opinions and traditions, as previously understood, played no part whatever." of course, it seems natural enough now that the british public should be united in matters of national and imperial import; but those whose memories are long enough will bear me out in saying that in previous elections nine voters in ten had been guided, not by any question of the needs of the country or the empire, but by their support of this party or of that, of this colour or of that. our politicians had strenuously supported the preposterous faction system, and fanned party rivalry in every way, because they recognized that it gave them personal power and aggrandizement, which they had long placed before any consideration of the common weal. by this they had brought shame and disaster upon the nation, in precisely the same manner that the same results had been produced by the same means, when these were used by the oligarchs of the dutch republic, prior to the downfall of the netherlands. indeed, for some time before the invasion our politicians might have been supposed to be modelling their lives and policy entirely upon those of the dutch republic in the eighteenth century; particularly with regard to their mercenary spoliation of the nation's defence forces, and their insane pertinacity in clinging to the policy of "cheapness," which killed both the manufacturing and the agricultural industries of the country, by allowing other properly protected nations to oust our producers from all foreign markets, and to swamp our home markets with their surplus stocks. down to the minutest detail, the same causes and actions had produced the same results a century earlier in the netherlands; and even as, first, king william of prussia, and then revolutionary france, had devastated the netherlands, so had the kaiser's legions overrun england. it was not for lack of warning that our politicians had blindly followed so fatal a lead. "the destroyers" were still being warned most urgently at the very time of the invasion by public speakers, and in such lucid works as ellis barker's _the rise and decline of the netherlands_. in spite of the emphatically non-party character of _the citizens'_ campaign, john crondall kept in close touch throughout with all his political friends, and very many members of parliament were among our leading workers. my chief's idea was that, when the elections drew near, we should cease to map out our movements in accordance with those of the canadian preachers, and allow them to be guided by the exigencies of the electoral campaign; bringing all our influence to bear wherever we saw weakness in the cause of patriotism and reform. already we had arrangements made for leading members of _the citizens_ to address meetings throughout the elections at a good many centres. but, before the electioneering had gone far, it became evident that more had already been accomplished than we supposed. candidates who came before their constituents with any kind of party programme were either angrily howled down or contemptuously ignored. old supporters of "the destroyers," who ventured upon temporizing tactics, were peremptorily faced with demands for straight-out declarations of policy upon the single issue of patriotic reform and duty to the state. with a single exception, the actual members of the cabinet in "the destroyers'" administration refrained from any attempt to secure reëlection. such an electoral campaign had never before been known in england. candidates who, even inadvertently, used such words as "conservative," "radical," or "liberal," were hissed into silence. even the word "labour" was taboo, so far as it referred to any political party. "duty," "patriotism," "defence," "citizenship," "united empire," "british federation," and, again, ringing loudly above all other cries, "duty"--those were the watchwords and the platforms of the invasion year elections. the candidate who promised relief from taxation was laughed at. the candidate who promised legislation directed toward the citizen's defence of the citizen's hearth and home, was cheered to the echo. the one member of "the destroyers'" administration who sought reëlection, found it well to assert the claims of his youth by making a public recantation of all his previously expressed views and policy, and seeking to outdo every one else in the direction of patriotic reform. though he gulled nobody, he was listened to good-humouredly, and defeated with great ease by abel winchester, the australian, who saw years of work before him, in conjunction with forbes thompson, in the supervision of village rifle corps throughout the country. in many ways the country had never known a parliamentary election so constructive; in one respect it was absolutely destructive. it destroyed all previously existing political parties. no single member was returned as the representative of a previously existing party. the voters of britain had refused to consider any other than the one issue of patriotic reform: the all-british policy, as it was called; and the consequence was, that when parliament assembled it was found that the house of commons could no longer boast possession of an opposition. the members of that assembly had been sent to st. stephens to busy themselves, in unison, with the accomplishment of a common end; and if one among them should waste the time of the house by any form of obstruction, he could only do so by breaking the pledges upon the strength of which he had been elected. this fact was clearly set forth in the speech from the throne, delivered by the king in person. the business of parliament was in full swing before its second sitting was far advanced. though then an aged man, the famous statesman to whom the king had entrusted the task of forming a new cabinet bore himself with the vigour of early manhood, and no prime minister had ever faced parliament with so great a driving power behind him of unity, confidence, and national sympathy. the fact that for years his name had been most prominently associated with every movement making for unity within the empire; that he had striven valiantly for many years against the anti-british forces of disintegration; this was admitted to augur well for the success of the conference of colonial representatives then holding its first sitting in historic westminster hall. meantime, the patriotic enthusiasm of the general public seemed to have been greatly heightened by the result of the general elections. by common consent a note of caution, of warning, took the place of the stirring note of appeal and stimulation which had formerly characterized every public address delivered under the auspices of _the citizens_. almost without invitation now the cream of the country's manhood flocked into our travelling headquarters for enrolment on the roster of _the citizens_; and: "hasten slowly--and silently," became john crondall's counsel to all our supporters. the effect upon the whole public of this counsel of caution and restraint was one of the most remarkable features of that period; and it showed, more clearly, i think, than anything else, the amazing depth and strength of the influence exerted by the canadian preacher's duty teaching. our relations with the power to which we were in effect a people in vassalage, and payers of tribute, demanded at this stage the exercise of the most cautious restraint; and finely the people responded to this demand. in his _history of the revival_, charles corbett says, with good reason: "it was the time of waiting, of cautious preparation, of enthusiasm restrained and harnessed to prudence, which must really be regarded as the probationary era of the revival. it is in no sense a depreciation of the incalculable value of the work done by the canadian apostles of the new faith, to say that their splendid efforts might well have proved of no more than transitory effect, but for that stern, silent period of repression, of rigid, self-administered discipline, which followed the access to office of the first free government.[1] that period may be regarded as the crucible in which british christianity was tested and proven; in which the steel of the new patriotism was tempered and hardened to invincible durability. the canadian preachers awakened the people; _the citizens_ set them their task; the period of waiting schooled them in the spirit of the twentieth century, the key-note of which is discipline, the meaning of which is duty." [1] this title, applied by the prince of wales in a speech delivered at the guildhall to the first parliament which met without an opposition, remained in use for a number of years afterwards. i do not regard that as a statement of more than the truth; and i do not think it would be easy to overrate, either the value of the period or the excellence of the response to the demand it made upon them. the only dissatisfied folk were the publicans and the theatre and music-hall lessees. the special journals which represented the interests of this class--caterers for public amusement and public dissipation--were full of covert raillery against what they called the new puritanism. their raillery was no more than covert, however; the spirit of the time was too strong to permit more than that, and i do not think it produced any effect worth mentioning. here again our difficulties proved real blessings in disguise. the burden of invasion taxation was heavy; all classes felt the monetary pinch of it, apart altogether from the humiliation of the german occupation; and this helped very materially in the development of common sense ideals regarding economy and simple living. not for nothing had john crondall called the canadian preachers the mouthpiece of the hour. one saw very plainly, in every walk of life, a steadily growing love of sobriety. the thing was perhaps most immediately noticeable in the matter of the liquor traffic. throughout the country, those public-houses and hotels which were in reality only drinking-shops were being closed up by the score, or converted into other sorts of business premises, for lack of custom in their old misery-breeding trade. the consumption of spirits, and of all the more expensive wines, decreased enormously. it is true there was a slight increase in the consumption of cider, and the falling off of beer sales was slight. but this was because a large number of people, who had been in the habit of taking far less wholesome and more costly beverages, now made use of both beer and cider. it was not at all evidence that the consumption of alcohol among the poorer classes maintained its old level. the sales of gin, for example, fell to less than half the amounts used in the years before the invasion. and this was no more than one aspect of the great national progress toward realization of the ideals of duty and simple living. extravagance of every sort became, not merely unpopular, but hated and despised, as evidence of unpatriotic feeling. in this, i think, the women of england deserve the greater meed of gratitude and respect. the change they wrought in domestic economy was not less than wonderful when one realizes how speedily it was brought about, and how great was the change. for in the years immediately preceding the invasion the women had been sad offenders in this respect, particularly, perhaps, in their vulgar and ostentatious extravagance in matters of dress. now, the placards of the british commercial union, exhorting the public to "buy british empire goods only," became out of date almost as soon as they were printed, their advice being no longer needed. no more could one see the wives and daughters of england competing with their unfortunate sisters of the _demi-monde_ in the extravagance of their attire. one of the first evidences of the effect of the canadian preachers' teaching that i can remember was the notable access of decorum and simplicity in dress which dominated the fashion of our clothes. in this, as in sundry other matters, i think we were helped by the unprecedented number of colonials who began to flock into england at this time from canada, south africa, and australia. but, despite the general desire for economy, it is certain that from that time on the middle-class folk at all events began to wear better clothes and buy better commodities generally--articles which lasted longer, and were better worth using. the reason of this was all a part of the same teaching, the same general tendency. shoddy goods, representing the surplus output of german and american firms, could no longer be sold in england, however low the prices at which they were offered; and shopkeepers soon found that they lost standing when they offered such goods to the public. thus true economy and true patriotism were served at one and the same time. extravagance in eating, dress, entertainment, and the like, became that year more disgraceful than drunkenness had been a year before in the public eye. in the same way we attained to clearer vision and a saner sense of proportion in very many matters of first-rate social importance. i remember reading that the market for sixty and seventy horse-power touring motor-cars had almost ceased to exist, while the demand for industrial motor-vehicles, and for cars of something under twenty horse-power, had never been so flourishing. before this time we had fallen into incredible extravagance in our attitude toward all the parasitical occupations, and paid absurd tributes of respect to many of those who waxed fat upon pandering to our weaknesses. this passed away now, like a single night's dream, and incidentally gave rise to a certain amount of complaining from those who suffered by it. but the public was no more inclined to heed these complainings than it was to fritter away its time and substance in drinking-bars or in places of amusement. the famous "middle-class music-halls" faded quickly into the limbo of forgotten failures, and the most popular of public performers were those--and they were not a few--who forsook grease-paint for khaki, and posturing on stages for exercising on rifle-ranges and drill-grounds. the word "puritanism" was still a term of reproach then, by virtue of its old associations; but, as we see things nowadays, there is room only for gladness in admitting that the wave of feeling which swept through the homes of england in the wake of the canadian preachers, _the citizens_, and the organizers of the village rifle corps, was in very truth a mighty revival of puritanism, backed by the newly awakened twentieth-century spirit of imperial patriotism, with its recognition of the duty of loyalty, not alone to country, but to race and empire. yes, it was true puritanism--stern, unfaltering puritanism; and it came to england not a day too soon. without it, we could never have been purged of our insensate selfishness; without it, the loose agglomeration of states, then called the british empire, could never have been welded into the state; without it, the great events of that year would have been impossible, and the dominion of the english-speaking peoples must, ere this, have become no more than a matter of historical interest. xii blood is thicker than water stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear the godhead's most benignant grace; nor know we anything so fair as is the smile upon thy face: flowers laugh before thee on their beds, and fragrance in thy footing treads; thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; and the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. _ode to duty._ i suffered no change so far as constance grey's demeanour to me was concerned; but certainly john crondall had altered since the day upon which i had so inopportunely entered his room when constance was with him. at times i fancied his change was toward me personally, and i thought it curiously unlike the man to cherish any sort of unkindness over an accident. but then, again, at odd times, i watched him with other men among our now considerable train, and the conclusion was borne in upon me that the change had nothing to do with me, but was general in its character. he was more stern, less cheery, and far more reserved than before. and this i thought most strange, for it seemed to me that, even though constance and my chief might have agreed that nothing like an engagement between them must come till our work was done, yet the understanding which could lead to the kiss i had seen was surely warrant enough for a change of quite another character than this one. i thought of it whenever i took constance's hand in greeting her; and i think my eyes must sometimes have told her what my heart always felt: that in me, this right to do as crondall had done would have seemed an entry into paradise, let circumstances and conditions be what they might. and with such a thought i would recall what, to me, would never be the least of black saturday's events: that once constance grey had lain in my arms--unconsciously, it was true; and that upon the same occasion i had kissed her, and known in that moment that never again could she be as other women for me. i was often tempted to speak to constance of the change i saw in john crondall, and one day in carlisle i yielded to the temptation. at one and the same time i both craved and dreaded definite news of the understanding between the woman i loved and the man i liked and respected more than any other. i wanted constance's confidence; yet i felt as though my life would be stripped bare by definite knowledge that she was betrothed. so, moth-like, i hovered about the perilous subject, with a nervous endeavour to lend natural composure to my voice. "do you notice any particular change in john crondall of late?" i asked. and it seemed to me that constance flushed slightly as she answered me: "change? no. has he changed?" "well, he does not seem to be nearly so happy as----" and there i broke away from a dangerous comparison, and substituted--"as he was awhile back." "really? but what makes you think that?" "i fancy he is much more reserved--less frank and more preoccupied; not so jolly, in fact, as he always was. i have thought so for several weeks." "i am sorry, very sorry; and i do hope you are mistaken. of course he is overworked--we all are; but that never hurt him before; and with things going so splendidly---oh, i hope you are mistaken." "perhaps so," i said. "certainly i think he has every reason to be happy--to be happy and proud; every reason." and i stopped at that; but constance made no sign to me; and i wondered she did not, for we were very intimate, and she was sweetly kind to me in those days. indeed, once when i looked up sharply at her with a question from some work we were engaged upon, i saw a light in her beautiful eyes which thrilled my very heart with strange delight. her expression had changed instantly, and i told myself i had no sort of business to be thrilled by a look which was obviously born of reverie, of thoughts about john crondall. such a sweet light of love her eyes held! i told myself for the hundredth time that no consideration should ever cloud the happiness of the man who was so fortunate as to inspire it--to have won the heart which looked out through those shining eyes. but it must not be supposed that i had much leisure for this sort of meditation. my feeling for constance certainly dominated me. indeed, it accounted for everything of import in my life--for my general attitude of mind and, i make no doubt, for my being where i was and playing the part i did play in _the citizens'_ campaign. but our life was not one that admitted of emotional preoccupation of any sort. we were too close to the working mechanism of national progress. there never was more absorbing work than the making and enrolment of _citizens_ at such a juncture in the history of one's country. the spirit of our work, no less than that of the canadian preachers' teaching, was actually in the air at that time. it dominated english life, from the mansions of the great landholders to the cottages of the field-labourers and the tenements of the factory-hands. it affected every least detail of the people's lives, and coloured all thought and action in england--a process which i am sure was strengthened by the remarkable growth of colonial sentiment throughout the country at this time. the tide of emigration seemed to have been reversed by some subtle process of nature: the strong ebb of previous years had become a flow of immigration. everywhere one met canadians, australians, south africans, and an unusual number of anglo-indians. "we've been doing pretty well of late," said one of the canadians to me when i commented to him upon this influx into the old country of her colonial sons; "and i reckon we can most of us spare time to see things through a bit at home. the way our folk look at it on the other side is this: they reckon we've got to worry through this german business somehow and come out the right way up on the other side, and a good deal more solid than we went in. we don't reckon there's going to be any more 'little englandism' or cobdenism after this job's once put through; and that's a proposition we're mighty keenly interested in, you see. we put most of our eggs into the empire basket, away back, while you people were still busy giving africa to the boers, and your navy to the dogs, and your markets to germany, and your trade and esteem to any old foreigner that happened along with a nest to feather. i reckon that's why we're most of us here; and maybe that's why we mostly bring our cartridge-belts along. a new south wales chap told me last night you couldn't get up a cricket match aboard a p. and o. or orient boat, not for a wager--nothing but shooting competitions and the gentle art of drill. you say 'shun!' to the next colonial you meet, and listen for the click of his heels! not that we set much store by that business ourselves, but we learned about the old country taste for it in south africa, and it's all good practice, anyhow, and good discipline." but, whatever the motives and causes behind their coming, it is certain that an astonishingly large number of our oversea kinsmen were arriving in england each week; and i believe every one of them joined _the citizens_. their presence and the part they played in affairs had a marked effect upon the spirit of the time. all sorts and conditions of people, whose thoughts in the past had never strayed far from their own parishes, now talked familiarly of people, things, and places colonial. the idea of our race being one big tribe, though our homes might be hemispheres apart, seemed to me to take root for the first time in the minds of the general public at about this period. i spoke of it to john crondall, and reminded him how he had urged this idea upon us years before in westminster with but indifferent success. "ah, well," he said, "they have come to it of their own accord now; and that means they'll get a better grip of it than any one could ever have given them. that's part of our national character, and not a bad part." we were heading southward through lancashire, when the news reached us of that extension of the british constitution which first gave us a really imperial parliament. the country received the news with a deep-seated and sober satisfaction. perhaps the majority hardly appreciated at once the full significance of this first great accomplishment of the free government. but the published details showed the simplest among us that by this act the congeries of scattered nations we had called the british empire were now truly welded into an imperial state. it showed us that we english, and all those stalwart kinsmen of ours across the atlantic and on the far side of the pacific--north, south, east, and west, wherever the old flag flew--were now actually as well as nominally subjects of one government, and that that government would for the future be composed of men chosen as their representatives by the people of every country in the empire; men drawn together under one historic roof by one firm purpose--the service and administration of a great imperial state. as i say, the realization produced deep-seated satisfaction. of late we had learned to take things soberly in england; but there was no room for doubt about the effect of this news upon the public. the events of the past half-year, the pilgrimage of the canadian preachers, the new devotion to duty (which seemed almost a new religion though it was actually but an awakening to the religion of our fathers), the influx among us of colonial kinsmen, and the campaign of _the citizens_; these things combined to give us a far truer and more keen appreciation of the news than had been possible before. indeed, looking back upon my experience in fleet street, i must suppose the whole thing would have been impossible before. i could imagine how my _daily gazette_ colleagues would have scoffed at the imperial parliament's first executive act, which was the devising of an imperial customs tariff to give free trade within the empire, and complete protection so far as the rest of the world was concerned, with strictly reciprocatory concessions to such nations as might choose to offer these to us, and to no others. truly crondall had said that the canadian preachers accomplished more than they knew. the sense of duty, individual and national, burned in england for the first time since nelson's day: a steady, white flame. the acceptance by all classes of the community of the imperial parliament's programme of work proved this. the public had been shown that our duty to the whole empire, and to our posterity, demanded this thing. that was enough. five years before, one year before, the country had been shown very clearly where its duties lay; and the showing had not moved five men in a hundred from their blind pursuit of individual pleasure and individual gain. army, navy, colonies, imperial prestige--all might go by the board. but now, all that was changed. my old friend, stairs, with reynolds, and their following, had given meaning and application to the teaching of our national chastisement. religion ruled england once more; and it was the religion, not of professions and asseverations, but of duty. the house of commons and, more even than our first free government, the imperial parliament in westminster hall had behind them the absolute confidence of a united people. if england could have been convinced at that time that duty demanded a barefoot pilgrimage to palestine, i verily believe europe would have speedily been dissected by a thousand-mile column of marching britishers. but the canadian preachers taught a far more practical faith than that; and, behind them, john crondall and his workers opened the door upon a path more urgent and direct than that of any pilgrimage; the path to be trodden by all british citizens who respected the white hairs of their fathers, and the innocent trust of their children; the path of duty to god and king and empire; the path for all who could hear and understand the call of our own blood. xiii one summer morning to humbler functions, awful power! i call thee: i myself commend unto thy guidance from this hour; o, let my weakness have an end! give unto me, made lowly wise, the spirit of self-sacrifice; the confidence of reason give; and in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. _ode to duty._ winter rushed past us like a tropical squall that year, and, before one had noted the beautiful coming of spring, young summer was upon the land. for me, serving as i did the founder and leader of _the citizens_, life was filled as never before. i had never even dreamed of a life so compact of far-reaching action, of intimate relation with great causes. i know now that the speed and strenuousness of it was telling upon all of us. but we did not realize it then. john crondall seemed positively tireless. the rest of us had our moments of exhaustion, but never, i think, of depression. our work was too finely productive and too richly rewarded for that. but we were thin, and a little fine-drawn, like athletes somewhat overtrained. published records have analyzed our progress through the country, the canadian preachers' and our own; but nothing i have read, or could tell, gives more than a pale reflection of that triumphal progress, as we lived it. in our wake, harlots forsook harlotry to learn something of nursing by doing the rough domestic work of hospitals; famous misers and money-grubbers gave fortunes to _the citizens'_ cause, and peers' sons left country mansions to learn defensive arts, in the ranks; drunkards left their toping for honest work, and actresses sold their wardrobes to provide funds for village rifle corps. there was no light sentiment, no sort of hysteria, at the back of these miracles. be it remembered that the streets of english towns had never been so orderly; public-houses and places of amusement had never been so empty; churches and chapels had never been one-half so full. during that year, as the records show, it became the rule in many places for curates and deacons to hold services outside the churches and chapels, while packed congregations attended the services held within. and it was then that, for the first time, we saw parsons leading the young men of their flocks to the rifle-ranges, and competing with them there. the lessons we learned in those days will never, i suppose, seem so wonderful to any one else as to those of us who had lived a good slice of our lives before the lessons came; before the need of them was felt or understood. "for god, our race, and duty!" conceive the stirring wonder of the watchword, when it was no more than a month old! the seasons rushed by us, as i said. but one short conversation served to mark for me the coming of summer. we had reached the surrey hills in our homeward progress toward london. on a saturday night we held a huge meeting in guildford, and very early on sunday morning i woke with a curiously insistent desire to be out in the open. full of this inclination i rose, dressed, and made my way down to the side entrance of the hotel, where a few servants were moving about drowsily. as i passed out under a high archway into the empty, sunny street, with its clean sabbath hush, constance grey stepped out from the front entrance to the pavement. "i felt such a longing to be out in the open this morning," she said, when we had exchanged greeting. "it's months since i had a walk for the walk's sake, and now i mean to climb that hill that we motored over from farnham--the hog's back, as they call it." we both thought it deserved some more beautiful name, when we turned on its crest and looked back at guildford in the hollow, shining in summer morning haze. "now surely that's king arthur's camelot," said constance. and then we looked out over the delectable valley toward the towers of charterhouse, across the roofs of two most lovable hamlets, from which blue smoke curled in delicate spirals up from the bed of the valley, through a nacreous mist, to somewhere near our high level. we gazed our fill, and i only nodded when constance murmured: "it's worth a struggle, isn't it?" i knew her thought exactly. it was part of our joint life, of the cause we both were serving. i had been pointing to some object across the valley, and as my hand fell it touched constance's hand, which was cool and fresh as a flower. mine was moist and hot. i never was more at a loss for words. i took her hand in mine and held it. so we stood, hand in hand, like children, looking out over that lovely english valley. my heart was all abrim with tenderness; but i had no words. i had been a good deal moved by the curious instance of telepathic sympathy or understanding which had brought me from my bed that morning and led to our meeting. "you have given me so much, taught me so much, constance," i said at last. "no, no; i am no teacher," she said. "but i do think god has taught all of us a good deal lately--all our tribe--dick." there was a rare hint of nervousness in her voice; and i felt i knew the cause. i felt she must be thinking of john crondall. and yet, if my life had depended on it, i could not help saying: "it is love that taught me." constance drew her hand away gently. "would not the canadian preachers say we meant the same thing?" she said. i had my warning; but, though haltingly, the words would come, now. "ah, constance, it is love of you, i mean--love of you. oh, yes, i know," i hurried on now. "i know. have no fear of me. i understand. but it is love of you, constance, that rules every minute of my life. i couldn't alter that if i tried; and--and i would not alter it if i had to die for it. but--you must forgive me. tell me you do not want me to stop loving you, constance. you see, i do not ask any more of you. i understand. but--let me go on loving you, dear heart, because that means everything to me. it has guided me in everything i have done since that day you came to me in _the mass_ office. constance, you do not really want me to stop loving you?" i was facing her now; kneeling to her, in my mind, though not in fact. her head was bowed toward me. then she raised her glorious eyes, and gave to me the full tender sweetness of them. "no, dick," she said, quite firmly, but soft and low; "i don't want you ever to stop loving me." whatever else fate brings or takes from me, i shall never lose the lovely music of those words. that is mine for ever. xiv "for god, our race, and duty" soldiers, prepare! our cause is heaven's cause; soldiers, prepare! be worthy of our cause: prepare to meet our fathers in the sky: prepare, o troops that are to fall to-day! prepare, prepare. alfred shall smile, and make his harp rejoice; the norman william, and the learned clerk, and lion-heart, and black-browed edward, with his loyal queen shall rise, and welcome us! prepare, prepare. blake. we had two other meetings before finally taking train for london; but virtually our campaign was brought to an end at guildford. our peregrination ended there, but the canadian preachers continued their pilgrimage till long afterwards. scores of rich men were anxious to finance these expounders of the new teaching, and even to build them churches. but stairs and reynolds were both agreed in wanting no churches. their mission was to the public as a whole. when we returned to our headquarters in london, the membership of _the citizens_ stood within a few hundreds of three million and a half of able-bodied men. and still new members were being sworn in every day. some few of these members had contributed as much as five thousand pounds to our funds. very many had contributed a fifth of that sum, and very many more had given in hundreds of pounds. there were some who gave us pence, and they were very cordially thanked, giving as they did from the slenderest of purses. there were women who had sold dresses and jewels for us, hundreds of them; and there were little children whose pocket-money had helped to swell the armament and instruction funds. joseph farquharson, the well-known coal and iron magnate, who had been famous for his "little england" sentiments--a man who had boasted of his parochialism--must have learned very much from the invasion and the teaching of the new movement. he gave one hundred thousand pounds to _the citizens_ after john crondall's first address in newcastle. when crondall attended the famous council at the war office, he did so as the founder and representative of the most formidable organization ever known in england. he had no official standing at the council: he took his seat there as an unofficial commoner. yet, in a sense, he held the defensive strength of britain in his hand. but several of the ministers and officials who formed that council were members of our executive, and our relations with the government were already well defined and thoroughly harmonious. it was from the war office that we received the bronze badge which was supplied to every sworn _citizen_ and bore our watchword--"for god, our race, and duty"; and the government had given substantial aid in the matter of equipment and instruction. but now john crondall represented three million and a half of british men, all sworn to respond instantly to his call as president of the executive. and every _citizen_ had some training--was then receiving some training. "the canadian preachers waked and inspired the people; we swore them in," said john crondall modestly. "their worth is the faith in them, and their faith spells duty. that's what makes _the citizens_ formidable." "the grace of god," stairs called it; and so did many others. crondall bowed to that, and added a line from his favourite poet: "then it's the grace of god in those 'who are neither children nor gods, but men in a world of men!'" he said. no wise man has ever doubted, so far as i know, that simple piety, simple religion, "british christianity," was the motive force at work behind the whole of the revival movement. without that foundation, the enduring results achieved must have been impossible. but this was entirely unlike any previously known religious revival, in that it supplied no emotional food whatever. there was no room for sentimentality, still less for hysteria, in the acceptation of george stairs's message from that "stern daughter of the voice of god," whose name is duty. tears and protestations were neither sought nor found among converts to the faith which taught all to be up and doing in duty's name. from the records, i know that eight weeks passed after the famous council at the war office before england spoke. when i say that during that time i acted as my chief's representative in controlling an office of over ninety clerks (all drilled men and fair shots), besides several times traversing the length and breadth of the kingdom on special missions, it will be understood that the period was to me a good deal more like eight days. during that time, too, i was able to help constance grey in her organization of the women helpers' branch of _the citizens_, in which over nine thousand members were enrolled. constance had an executive committee of twenty-five volunteer workers, who spent money and energy ungrudgingly in helping her. we kept in close touch with the heads of provincial committees during the whole of that period, and several times we communicated by means of printed circular letters, franked gratis for us by the war office, with every single _citizen_. then came the day of the now historic telegram which the post office was authorized to transmit to every sworn _citizen_ in the kingdom: "be ready! 'for god, our race, and duty.'" this was signed by john crondall, and came after some days of detailed instruction and preparation. it has been urged by some writers that the government was at fault in the matter of its famous declaration of war with germany. it has been pointed out that for the sake of a point of etiquette, the government had no right to yield a single advantage to an enemy whose conduct toward us had shown neither mercy nor courtesy. there is a good deal to be said for this criticism; but, when all is said and done, i believe that every englishman is glad at heart that our government took this course. i believe it added strength to our fighting arm; i believe it added weight and consequence to the first blows struck. be that as it may, there was no sign of hesitancy or weakness in the action of the government when the declaration had once been made; and it speaks well for the deliberate thoroughness of all preparations that, twenty-four hours after the declaration, every one of the nine german garrisons in the kingdom was hemmed in by land and by sea. on the land side the germans were besieged by more than three million armed men. almost the whole strength of the british navy was then concentrated upon the patrolling of our coasts generally, and the blockading of the german-garrisoned ports particularly. thirty-six hours had not passed when the german battle-ships _hohenzollern_ and _kaiserin_, and the cruisers _elbe_ and _deutschland_, were totally destroyed off portsmouth and cardiff respectively; britain's only loss at that time being the _corfe castle_, almost the smallest among the huge flotilla of armed merchantmen which had been subsidized and fitted out by the government that year. i believe all the authorities had admitted that, once it was known that our declaration had reached berlin, the british tactics could not have been excelled for daring, promptitude, and devastating thoroughness. it is true that masterman, in his well-known _history of the war_, urges that much loss of life might have been spared at portsmouth and devonport "if more deliberate and cautious tactics had been adopted, and the british authorities had been content to achieve their ends a little less hurriedly." but masterman is well answered by the passage in general hatfield's introduction to low's important work, which tells us that: "the british plan of campaign did not admit of leisurely tactics or great economy. britain was striking a blow for freedom, for her very life. failure would have meant no ordinary loss, but mere extinction. the loss of british life in such strongly armed centres as portsmouth was very great. it was the price demanded by the immediate end of britain's war policy, which was to bring the enemy to terms without the terrible risks which delay would have represented, for the outlying and comparatively defenceless portions of our own empire. when the price is measured and analyzed in cold blood, the objective should be as carefully considered. the price may have been high; the result purchased was marvellous. it should be borne in mind, too, that britain's military arm, while unquestionably long and strong (almost unmanageably so, perhaps), was chiefly composed of what, despite the excellent instructive routine of _the citizens_, must, from the technical standpoint, be called raw levies. yet that great citizen army, by reason of its fine patriotism, was able in less than one hundred hours from the time of the declaration, to defeat, disarm, and extinguish as a fighting force some three hundred thousand of the most perfectly trained troops in the world. that was the immediate objective of britain's war policy; or, to be exact, the accomplishment of that in one week was our object. it was done in four days; and, notwithstanding the unexpected turn of events afterwards, no military man will ever doubt that the achievement was worth the price paid. it strengthened britain's hand as nothing else could have strengthened it. it gave us at the outset that unmistakable lead which, in war as in a race, is of incalculable value to its possessors." and, the general might have added, as so many other writers have, that no civilized and thinking men ever went more cheerfully and bravely to their deaths, or earned more gladly the eternal reward of duty accomplished, than did _the citizens_, the "raw levies," with their stiffening of regulars, who fell at portsmouth and devonport. they were not perfectly disciplined men, in the professional sense, or one must suppose they would have paid some heed to general sir robert calder's repeated orders to retire. but they were british citizens of as fine a calibre as any nelson or wellington knew, and they carried the sword of duty that day into the camp of an enemy who, with all his skill, had not learned, till it was written in his blood for survivors to read, that england had awakened from her long sleep. for my part, if retrospective power were mine, i would not raise a finger to rob those stern converts of their glorious end. it is easy to be wise after the event, but no government could have foretold the cynical policy adopted by berlin. no one could have guessed that the german government would have said, in effect, that it was perfectly indifferent to the fate of nearly three hundred thousand of its own loyal subjects and defenders, and that britain might starve or keep them at her own pleasure. after all, the flower of the german army was in england, and only a government to the last degree desperate, unscrupulous, and cynical could have adopted germany's callous attitude at this juncture. britain's aim was not at all the annihilation of germany, but the freeing of her own soil; and it was natural that our government should have acted on the assumption that this could safely be demanded when we held a great german army captive, by way of hostage. the british aim was a sound one, and it was attained. that it did not bring about the results anticipated was due to no fault in our government, nor even to any lack of foresight upon their part; but solely to the cynical rapacity of a ruler whose ambition had made him fey, or of a court so far out of touch with the country which supported it as to have lost its sense of honour. in the meantime, though saddled with a huge army of prisoners, and the poorer by her loss of eighteen thousand gallant citizens, britain had freed her shores. in an even shorter time than was occupied over the invasion, the yoke of the invader had been torn in sunder, and not one armed enemy was left in england. and for our losses--the shedding of that british blood partook of the nature of a sacrament; it was life-giving. by that fiery jet we were baptized again. england had found herself. once more his people had been found worthy to bear the sword of the lord. britain that had slept, was wide-eyed and fearless again, as in the glorious days which saw the rise of her empire. throughout the land one watchword ran: "for god, our race, and duty!" we had heard and answered to the poet's call: strike--for your altars and your fires; strike--for the green graves of your sires; god, and your native land! i find it easy to believe and read between the lines of the grim official record which told us that outside portsmouth "white-haired men smiled over the graves of their sons, and armed youths were heard singing triumphant chants while burying their fathers." meantime, simple folk in the southern country lanes of dorset and of hampshire (tarn regis yokels among them, no doubt) heard the dull, rumbling thunder of great guns at sea, and the talk ran on naval warfare. xv "single heart and single sword" yea, though we sinned--and our rulers went from righteousness- deep in all dishonour though we stained our garment's hem. . . . . . . hold ye the faith--the faith our fathers sealed us; whoring not with visions--overwise and overstale. except ye pay the lord single heart and single sword, of your children in their bondage shall he ask them treble-tale! rudyard kipling. the learned german, professor elberfeld, has told the world, in sentences of portentous length and complication, that "the petty trader's instincts which form the most typical characteristic of the british race" came notably to the fore in our treatment of the german prisoners of war who were held under military surveillance in the british ports which they had garrisoned. the learned professor notes with bitter contempt that no wines, spirits, cigars, or "other customary delicacies" were supplied to our prisoners, and that the german officers received very little more than the rations served to their men. the professor makes no mention of one or two other pertinent facts in this connection; as, for example, that none of these "customary delicacies" were supplied to the british troops. we may endure his reproaches with the more fortitude, i think, when we remember that the german government absolutely ignored our invitation to send weekly shipments of supplies under a white flag for the towns they had garrisoned on british soil. it is known that the officers in command of the german forces in england had previously maintained a very lavish and luxurious scale of living; in the same way that, since the invasion of england, extravagance was said to have reached unparallelled heights in germany itself. but the british government which had reached depletion of our own supplies, by assisting our prisoners to maintain a luxurious scale of living while held as hostages, would certainly have forfeited the confidence of the public, and justly so. upon the whole, it is safe to say that german sneers at british parsimony and puritanism may fairly be accepted as tribute, and, as such, need in no sense be resented. as soon as we received germany's cynical reply to britain's demand for a complete withdrawal of all the invasion claims, it became evident that the war was to be a prolonged and bitter one, and that no further purpose could be served by the original british plan of campaign, which, as its object had been the freeing of our own soil, had been based on the assumption that the defeat and capture of the invader's forces would be sufficient. troops had to be despatched at once to south africa, where german overlordship had aroused the combined opposition of the boers and the british. this opposition burst at once into open hostility immediately the news of england's declaration of war reached south africa. while the boers and the british, united in a common cause, were carrying war into german southwest africa, troops from german east africa were said to have landed in delagoa bay, and to be advancing southward. in all this, the british cause was well served by germany's initial blunder; by the huge mistake which cost her four-fifths of her naval strength at a blow. this mistake in germany's policy was distinctly traceable to one cause: the national arrogance which, since the invasion, had approached near to madness; which had now led germany into contemptuously underrating the striking power still remaining in the british navy. it was true that, prior to the invasion, our navy had been consistently starved and impoverished by "the destroyers." it was that, of course, which had first earned them their title. but germany herself, when she struck her great blow at england, hardly wounded the british navy at all. her cunning had drawn our ships into a mediterranean impasse when they were sadly needed upon our coasts, and her strategy had actually destroyed one british line of battle-ship, one cruiser, and two gunboats. but that was the whole extent of the naval damage inflicted by her at the time of the invasion. but the lesson she gave at the same time was of incalculable value to us. the ships she destroyed had been manned by practically untrained, short-handed crews, hurriedly rushed out of portsmouth barracks. yet german arrogance positively inspired berlin with the impression that the navies of the two countries had tried conclusions, and that our fleet had been proved practically ineffective. prior to the invasion our navy had indeed reached a low ebb. living always in barracks, under the pernicious system gradually forced upon the country by "the destroyers" in the name of economy, our bluejackets had fallen steadily from their one high standard of discipline and efficiency into an incompetent, sullen, half-mutinous state, due solely to the criminal parsimony and destructive neglect of an administration which aimed at "peace at any price," and adopted, of all means, the measures most calculated to provoke foreign attack. but, since the invasion, an indescribable spirit of emulation, a veritable fury of endeavour, had welded the british fleet into a formidable state of efficiency. first "the destroyers," actuated by a combination of panic and remorse, and then the first free government, representing the convinced feeling of the public, had lavished liberality upon the navy since the invasion. increased pay, newly awakened patriotism, the general change in the spirit of the age, all had combined to fill the admiralty recruiting offices with applicants. almost all our ships had been kept practically continuously at sea. "the destroyers'" murderous policy in naval matters had been completely reversed, and our fleet was served by a great flotilla of magnificently armed leviathans of the mercantile marine, including two of the fastest steamships in the world, all subsidized by government. we know now that exact official records of these facts were filed in the intelligence department at berlin. but german arrogance prohibited their right comprehension, and britain's declaration of war was instantly followed by an imperial order which, in effect, divided the available strength of the german navy into eight fleets, and despatched these to eight of the nine british ports garrisoned by german troops, with orders of almost childish simplicity. these ports were to be taken, and british insurrection crushed, ashore and afloat. if the german navy had been free of its imperial commander-in-chief, and of the insensate arrogance of his entourage, it could have struck a terrible blow at the british empire, while almost the whole fighting strength of our navy was concentrated upon the defence of england. as it was, this fine opportunity was flung aside, and with it the greater part of germany's fleet. divided into eight small squadrons, their ships were at the mercy of our concentrated striking force. our men fell upon them with a berserker fury born of humiliation silently endured, and followed by eight or nine months of the finest sort of sea-training which could possibly be devised. the few crippled ships of the german fleet which survived those terrible north sea and channel engagements must have borne with them into their home waters a bitter lesson to the ruler whom they left, so far as effective striking power was concerned, without a navy. here, again, critics have said that our tactics showed an extravagant disregard of cost, both as to men and material. but here also the hostile critics overlook various vital considerations. the destruction of germany's sea-striking power at this juncture was worth literally anything that britain could give; not perhaps in england's immediate interest, but in the interests of the empire, without which england would occupy but a very insignificant place among the powers of civilization. then, too, the moral of our bluejackets has to be considered. since the invasion and the sinking of the _dreadnought_, ours had become a navy of berserkers. the duty teaching, coming after the invasion, made running fire of our men's blood. they fought their ships as nelson's men fought theirs, and with the same invincible success. it was said the _terrible's_ men positively courted the penalty of mutiny in time of war by refusing to turn in, in watches, after forty-two hours of continuous fighting. there remained work to be done, and the "terribles" refused to leave it undone. the commander who had lessened the weight of the blow struck by britain's navy, in the interests of prudence or economy, would have shown himself blind to the significance of the new spirit with which england's awakening had endowed her sons; the stern spirit of the twentieth-century faith which gave us for watchword, "for god, our race, and duty!" with the major portion of our navy still in fighting trim, and twenty-five-knot liners speeding southward laden with british troops, it speedily became evident that germany's chance of landing further troops in south africa was hardly worth serious consideration, now that her naval power was gone. on the other hand, it was known that the enemy had already massed great bodies of troops in east and southwest africa, and it became the immediate business of the british admiralty to see that german oversea communications should be cut off. further, we had to face ominous news of german preparations for aggression in the pacific and in the near east, with persistent rumours of a hurriedly aggressive alliance with russia for action in the far east. the attitude of berlin itself was amazingly cynical, as it had been from the very time of the unprovoked invasion of our shores. in effect, the kaiser said: "you hold a german army as prisoners of war, and you have destroyed my navy; but you dare not invade my territory, and i defy you to hit upon any other means of enforcing your demands. you can do nothing further." the british demands, made directly the german troops in england were in our hands, were, briefly, for the complete withdrawal of the whole of claims enforced by germany at the time of the invasion. that, then, was the position when i returned to our london headquarters from a journey i had undertaken for my chief in connection with the work of drafting large numbers of _citizens_ back from the camps into private life. various questions had to be placed in writing before every _citizen_ as to his attitude in the matter of possible future calls made upon his services. i had only heard of seven cases of men physically fit failing to express perfect readiness to respond to any future call for active service at home or abroad, in case of british need. here was a shield of which i knew both sides well. the thing impressed me more than i can tell, or most folk would understand nowadays. i knew so well how the god of business (which served to cover all individual pursuit of money or pleasure) would have been invoked to prove the utter impracticability of this--one short year before. i looked back toward my fleet street days, and i thanked god for the awakening of england, which had included my own awakening. my return to london was a matter of considerable personal interest to me, for constance grey was there, having been recalled by john crondall from her active superintendence of nursing at portsmouth. xvi hands across the sea there is a pride whose father is understanding, whose mother is humility, whose business is the recognition and discharge of duty. that is the true pride.--merrow's _essays of the time_. i was impatient to reach london, but i should have been far more impatient if i had known that constance grey stood waiting to meet me on the arrival platform at waterloo. "they told me your train at the office," she said, as i took one of her hands in both of mine, "and i could not resist coming to give you the news. don't say you have had it!" "no," i told her. "my best news is that constance has come to meet me, and that i am alive to appreciate the fact very keenly. another trifling item is that, so far as i can tell, practically every member of _the citizens_ would respond to-morrow to a call for active service in timbuctoo--if the call came. i tell you, constance, this is not reform, it's revolution that has swept over england. we call our membership three and a half millions; it's fifty millions, really. they're all _citizens_, every mother's son of them; and every daughter, too." we were in a cab now. "but what about my news?" said constance. "yes, tell me, do. and isn't it magnificent about the navy? how about those 'terrible' fellows? constance, do you realize how all this must strike a man who was scribbling and fiddling about disarmament a year ago? and do you realize who gave that man decent sanity?" "hush! it wasn't a person, it was a force; it was the revolution that brought the change." "ah, well, god bless you, constance! i wish you'd give me the news." "i will, directly you give me a chance to get in a word. well, john is at westminster, in consultation with the foreign office people, and nothing definite has been done yet; but the great point is, to my thinking, that the offer should ever have been made." "why, constance, whatever has bewitched you? i never knew you to begin at the end of a thing before." and indeed it was unlike constance grey. she was in high spirits, and somehow this little touch of illogical weakness in her struck me as being very charming. she laughed, and said it was due to my persistent interruptions. and then she gave me the news. "america has offered to join hands with us." "never!" "yes. the most generous sort of defensive alliance, practically without conditions, and--'as long as great britain's present need endures.' isn't it splendid? john crondall regards it as the biggest thing that has happened; but he is all against accepting the offer." there had been vague rumours at the time of the invasion, and again, of a more pointed sort, when britain declared war. but every one had said that the pro-german party and the ultra-american party were far too strong in the united states to permit of anything beyond expressions of good-will. but now, as i gathered from the copy of the _evening standard_ which constance gave me: "the heart of the american people has been deeply stirred by two considerations: germany's unwarrantable insolence and arrogance, and britain's magnificent display of patriotism, ashore and afloat, in fighting for her independence. the patriotic struggle for independence--that is what has moved the american people to forgetfulness of all jealousies and rivalries. the rather indiscreet efforts of the german sections of the american public have undoubtedly hastened this offer, and made it more generous and unqualified. the suggestion that any foreign people could hector them out of generosity to the nation from whose loins they sprang, finally decided the american public; and it is fair to say that the president's offer of alliance is an offer from the american people to the british people." "but how about the monroe doctrine?" i said to constance, after running through the two-column telegram from washington, of which this passage formed part. "i don't know about that; but you see, dick, this thing clearly comes from the american people, not her politicians and diplomatists only. that is what gives it its tremendous importance, i think." "yes; to be sure. and why does john crondall want the offer declined?" "oh, he hadn't time to explain to me; but he said something about its being necessary for the new britain to prove herself, first; our own unity and strength. 'we must prove our own imperial british alliance first,' he said." "i see; yes, i think i see that. but it is great news, as you say--great news." how much john crondall's view had to do with the government's decision will never be known, but we know that england's deeply grateful message pointed out that, in the opinion of his majesty's imperial government, the most desirable basis for an alliance between two great nations was one of equality and mutual respect. while in the present case there could be nothing lacking in the affection and esteem in which great britain held the united states, yet the equality could hardly be held proven while the former power was still at war with a nation which had invaded its territory. the message expressed very feelingly the deep sense of grateful appreciation which animated his majesty's imperial government and the british people, which would render unforgettable in this country the generous magnanimity of the american nation. and, finally, the message expressed the hope, which was certainly felt by the entire public, that those happier circumstances which should equalize the footing of the two nations in the matter of an alliance would speedily come about. to my thinking, our official records contain no document more moving or more worthy of a great nation than that message, which, as has so frequently been pointed out, was in actual truth a message from the people of one nation to the people of another nation--from the heart of one country to the heart of another country. the message of thanks, no less than the generous offer itself, was an assertion of blood-kinship, an appeal to first principles, a revelation of the underlying racial and traditional tie which binds two great peoples together through and beneath the whole stiff robe of artificial differences which separated them upon the surface and in the world's eyes. the offer stands for all time a monument to the frank generosity and humanity of the american people. and in the hearts of both peoples there is, in my belief, another monument to certain sturdy qualities which have gone to the making and cementing of the british empire. the shape that monument takes is remembrance of the message in which that kindly offer was for the time declined. the declining of the american offer has been called the expression of a nation's pride. it was that, incidentally. first and foremost--and this, i think, is the point which should never be forgotten--it was the expression of a nation's true humility. pride we had always with us in england, of the right sort and the wrong sort; of the sort that adds to a people's stature, and sometimes, of late, of the gross and senseless sort that leads a people into decadence. but in the past year we had learned to know and cherish that true pride which has its foundations in the rock of duty, and is buttressed all about and crowned by that quality which st. peter said earned the grace of god--humility. for my part, i see in that message the ripe fruit of the canadian preachers' teaching; the crux and essence of the simple faith which came to be called "british christianity." i think the spirit of it was the spirit of the general revival in england that came to us with the canadian preachers; even as so much other help, spiritual and material, came to us from our kinsmen of the greater britain overseas, which, before that time, we had never truly recognized as actually part, and by far the greater part, of our state. xvii the penalty we cannot all be masters, nor all masters cannot be truly followed. _othello._ it would be distinctly a work of supererogation for me to attempt to tell the story of the anglo-german war--of all modern wars the most remarkable in some ways, and certainly the war which has been most exhaustively treated by modern historians. a. low says in the concluding chapter of his fine history: "putting aside the fighting in south africa, and after the initial destruction of both the german navy and its army in england (as effective forces), we must revert to the wars of more than a century ago to find parallels for this remarkable conflict. there can be no doubt that at the time of the invasion of england germany's effective fighting strength was enormous. its growth had been very rapid; its decline must be dated from general von füchter's occupation of london on black saturday. "at that moment everything appeared to bode well for the realization of the emperor's ambition to be dictator of europe, as the ruler of by far the greatest power in the old world. from that moment the german people, but more particularly the german official and governing class, and her naval and military men, would appear to have imbibed of some distillation of their emperor's exaggerated pride, and found it too heady an elixir for their sanity. it would ill become us to dilate at length upon the extremes into which their arrogance and luxuriousness led them. with regard, at all events, to the luxury and indulgence, we ourselves had been very far from guiltless. but it may be that our extravagance was less deadly, for the reason that it was of slower growth. certain it is, that before ever an english shot was fired the fighting strength of germany waned rapidly from the period of the invasion. by some writers this has been attributed to the insidious spread of socialism. but it must be remembered that the deterioration was far more notable in the higher than in the lower walks of life; and most of all it was notable among the naval and military official nobility, who swore loudest by lineage and the divine privileges of ancient pedigrees. "when the german army of occupation in england was disarmed, prisoners in barracks and camps, and the german navy had, to all intents and purposes, been destroyed, the imperial german government adopted the extraordinary course of simply defying england to strike further blows. germany practically ceased to fight (no reinforcements were ever landed in south africa, and the german troops already engaged there had no other choice than to continue fighting, though left entirely without imperial backing), but emphatically refused to consider the extremely moderate terms offered by britain, which, at that time, did not even include an indemnity. but this extraordinary policy was not so purely callous and cynical as was supposed. like most things in this world, it had its different component parts. there was the cynical arrogance of the prussian court upon the one side; but upon the other side there was the ominous disaffection of the lesser german states, and the rampant, angry socialism of the lower and middle classes throughout the empire, which had become steadily more and more virulent from the time of the reactionary elections of the early part of 1907, in which the socialists felt that they had been tricked by the court party. in reality germany had two mouthpieces. the court defied britain; the people refused to back that defiance with action." for a brief summary of the causes leading up to the strange half-year which followed our receipt of the american offer of assistance, i think we have nothing more lucid than this passage of low's important work. that the forces at work in germany, which he described from the vantage-point of a later date, were pretty clearly understood, even at that time, by our government, is proved, i think, by the tactics we adopted throughout that troublous period. in south africa our troops, though amply strong, never adopted an aggressive line. they defended our frontiers, and that defence led to some heavy fighting. but, after the first outbreak of hostilities, our men never carried the war into the enemy's camp. there was a considerable party in the house of commons which favoured an actively aggressive policy in the matter of seizing the mediterranean strongholds ceded to germany at the time of the invasion. it was even suggested that we should land a great _citizen_ army in germany and enforce our demands at the point of the sword. in this john crondall rendered good service to the government by absolutely refusing to allow his name to be used in calling out _the citizens_ for such a purpose. but, in any case, wiser counsels prevailed without much difficulty. there was never any real danger of our returning to the bad old days of a divided parliament. the gospel of duty taught by the canadian preachers, and the stern sentiment behind _the citizens'_ watchword, had far too strong a hold upon the country for that. accordingly, the government policy had free play. no other policy could have been more effective, more humane, or more truly direct and economical. in effect, the outworking of it meant a strictly defensive attitude in africa, and in the north a naval siege of germany. germany had no navy to attack, and, because they believed england would never risk landing an army in germany, the purblind camarilla who stood between the emperor's arrogance and the realities of life assumed that england would be powerless to carry hostilities further. or if the imperial court did not actually believe this, it was ostensibly the government theory, the poor sop they flung to a disaffected people while filling their official organs with news of wonderful successes achieved by the german forces in south africa. but within three months our navy had taught the german people that the truth lay in quite another direction. the whole strength of the british navy which could be spared from southern and eastern bases was concentrated now upon the task of blocking germany's oversea trade. practically no loss of life was involved, but day by day the ocean-going vessels of germany's mercantile marine were being transferred to the british flag. the great oversea carrying trade, whose growth had been the pride of germany, was absolutely and wholly destroyed during that half-year. the destruction of her export trade spelt ruin for germany's most important industries; but it was the cutting off of her imports which finally robbed even the german emperor of the power to shut his eyes any longer to the fact that his empire had in reality ceased to exist. the actual overthrow of monarchical government in prussia was not accomplished without scenes of excess and violence in the capital. but, in justice to the german people as a whole, it should be remembered that the revolution was carried out at remarkably small cost; that the people displayed wonderful patience and self-control, in circumstances of maddening difficulty, which were aggravated at every turn by the emperor's arbitrary edicts and arrogant obtrusion of his personal will, and by the insolence of the official class. one must remember that for several decades germany had been essentially an industrial country, and that a very large proportion of her population were at once strongly imbued with socialistic theories, and wholly dependent upon industrial activity. bearing these things in mind, one is moved to wonder that the german people could have endured so long as they did the practically despotic sway of a ruler who, in the gratification of his own insensate pride, allowed their country to be laid waste by the stoppage of trade, and their homes to be devastated by the famine of an unemployed people whose communications with the rest of the world were completely severed. that such a ruler and such a court should have met with no worse fate than deposition, exile, and dispersal is something of a tribute to the temperate character of the teutonic race. bavaria, württemberg, saxony, and the southern grand duchies elected to retain their independent forms of government under hereditary rule; and to this no objection was raised by the new prussian republic, in which all but one of the northern principalities were incorporated. within, forty-eight hours of the election of dr. carl möller to the presidency of the new republic, hostilities ceased between great britain and germany, and three weeks later the peace was signed in london and berlin. even hostile critics have admitted that the british terms were not ungenerous. the war was the result of germany's unprovoked invasion of our shores. the british terms were, in lieu of indemnity, the cession of all german possessions in the african continent to the british crown, unreservedly. for the rest, britain demanded no more than a complete and unqualified withdrawal of all german claims and pretensions in the matter of the peace terms enforced after the invasion by general baron von füchter, including, of course, the immediate evacuation of all those points of british territory which had been claimed in the invasion treaty, an instrument now null and void. the new republic was well advised in its grateful acceptance of these terms, for they involved no monetary outlay, and offered no obstacle to the new government's task of restoration. at that early stage, at all events, the prussian republic had no colonial ambitions, and needed all its straitened financial resources for the rehabilitation of its home life. (in the twelve months following the declaration of war between great britain and germany, the number of germans who emigrated reached the amazing total of 1,134,378.) to me, one of the most interesting and significant features of the actual conclusion of the peace--which added just over one million square miles to britain's african possessions, and left the empire, in certain vital respects, infinitely richer and more powerful than ever before in its history--is not so much as mentioned in any history of the war i have ever read, though it did figure, modestly, in the report of the commissioner of police for that year. as a sidelight upon the development of our national character since the arrival of the canadian preachers and the organization of _the citizens_, this one brief passage in an official record is to my mind more luminous than anything i could possibly say, and far more precious than the fact of our territorial acquisitions: "the news of the signature of the peace was published in the early editions of the evening papers on saturday, 11 march. returns show that the custom of the public-houses and places of entertainment during the remainder of that day was 37-1/2 per cent. below the average saturday returns. divisional reports show that the streets were more empty of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, than on any ordinary week-day. police-court cases on the following monday were 28-1/2 per cent. below the average, and included, in the metropolitan area, only five cases of drunkenness or disorderly conduct. all reports indicate the prevalence throughout the metropolitan area of private indoor celebrations of the peace. all london churches and chapels held thanksgiving services on sunday, 12 march, and the attendances were abnormally large." withal, i am certain that the people of london had never before during my life experienced a deeper sense of gladness, a more general consciousness of rejoicing. not for nothing has "british christianity" earned its parisian name of "new century puritanism." as the president of the french republic said in his recent speech at lyons: "it is the 'new century puritanism' which leads the new century's civilization, and maintains the world's peace." xviii the peace fair is our lot--o goodly is our heritage! (humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!) for the lord our god most high he hath made the deep as dry, he hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the earth. rudyard kipling. at a very early stage of the war with germany, before the end of the first month, in fact, it became evident that, our own soil having once been freed, this was to be a maritime and not a land war. a little later on it was made quite clear that there would be no need to draw further upon our huge reserve force of _citizen_ defenders. it was then that john crondall concentrated his efforts upon giving permanent national effect to our work of the previous year. fortunately, the government recognized that it would be an act of criminal wastefulness and extravagance to allow so splendid a defensive organization as ours to lapse because its immediate purpose had been served. accordingly, special legislation, which was to have been postponed for another session, was now hurried forward; and long before the german revolution and the conclusion of the peace, england was secure in the possession of that permanent organization of home defence which, humanly speaking, has made these shores positively impregnable, by converting great britain, the metropolis and centre of the empire, into a nation in arms. there is no need for me to enlarge now upon the other benefits, the mental, moral, and physical advancement which this legislation has given us. our doctors and schoolmasters and clergymen have given us full and ample testimony upon these points. prior to the passing of the national defence act, which guaranteed military training as a part of the education of every healthy male subject, the great majority of _the citizens_ had returned to private life. yet, with the exception of some few hundreds of special cases, every one of _the citizens_ remained members of the organization. and it was that fact which provided incessant employment, not alone for john crondall and myself, and our headquarters staff, during the progress of the war, but for our committees throughout the country. before reëntering private life, every _citizen_ was personally interviewed and given the opportunity of being resworn under conditions of permanent membership. the new conditions applied only to home defence, but they included specific adherence to our propaganda for the maintenance of universal military training. they included also a definite undertaking upon the part of every _citizen_ to further our ends to the utmost of his ability, and, irrespective of state legislation, to secure military training for his own sons, and to abide by _the citizens'_ executive in whatever steps it should take toward linking up our organization, under government supervision, with the regular national defence force of the country. it should be easy to understand that this process involved a great deal of work. but it was work that was triumphantly rewarded, for, upon the passage into law of the imperial defence act, which superseded the national defence act, after the peace had been signed, we were able to present the government with a nucleus consisting of a compact working organization of more than three million british _citizens_. these _citizens_ were men who had undergone training and seen active service. they were sworn supporters of universal military training, and of a minimum of military service as a qualification for the suffrage. all political writers have agreed that the knowledge of what was taking place in england, with regard to our organization, greatly strengthened the hands of the imperial parliament in its difficult task of framing and placing upon the statute book those two great measures which have remained the basis of politics and defence throughout the empire: the imperial defence act and the imperial parliamentary representation act. at the time there were not wanting critics who held that a short reign of peace would bring opposition to legislation born of a state of war; but if i remember rightly we heard the last of that particular order of criticism within twelve months of the peace, it being realized once and for all then, that the maintenance of an adequate defence system was to be regarded, not so much as a preparation for possible war, as the one and only means of preventing war. constance grey worked steadily throughout the progress of the war, and it was owing almost entirely to her efforts that the volunteer nursing corps, which she had organized under _citizens'_ auspices, was placed on a permanent footing. admirable though this organization was as a nursing corps, its actual value to the nation went far beyond the limits of its nominal scope. by her tireless activity, and as a result of her own personal enthusiasm, constance was able before the end of the war to establish branches of her corps in every part of the country, with a committee and headquarters in all large centres. meetings were held regularly at all these headquarters, every one of which was visited in turn by constance herself; and in the end _the citizens' nursing corps_, as this great league of englishwomen was always called, became a very potent force, an inexhaustible spring of what the prime minister called "the domestic patriotism of britain." in the earliest stage of this work of hers constance had to cope with a certain inertia on the part of her supporters, due to the fact that no active service offered to maintain their enthusiasm. but constance's watchword was, "win mothers and sisters, and the fathers and brothers cannot fail you." it was in that belief that she acted, and before long the nursing corps might with equal justice have been called _the women citizens_. it became a great league of domestic patriots, and it would not be easy to overstate the value of its influence upon the rising generation of our race. war has always been associated in men's minds with distress and want, and that with some reason. but after the first few months of the anglo-german war it became more and more clearly apparent that this war, combined with the outworking of the first legislation of the imperial parliament, was to produce the greatest commercial revival, the greatest access of working prosperity, britain had ever known. two main causes were at work here; and the first of them, undoubtedly, was the protection afforded to our industries by imperial preference. the time for tinkering with half-measures had gone by, and, accordingly, the fiscal belt with which the first really imperial parliament girdled the empire was made broad and strong. the effect of its application was gradual, but unmistakable; its benefits grew daily more apparent as the end of the war approached. factories and mills which had long lain idle in the north of england were hastily refitted, and they added every day to the muster-roll of hands employed. our shipping increased by leaps and bounds, but even then barely kept pace with the increased rate of production. the price of the quartern loaf rose to sixpence, in place of fivepence; but the wages of labourers on the land rose by nearly 25 per cent., and the demand exceeded the supply. thousands of acres of unprofitable grass-land and of quite idle land disappeared under the plough to make way for corn-fields. wages rose in all classes of work; but that was not of itself the most important advance. the momentous change was in the demand for labour of every kind. the statistics prove that while wages in all trades showed an average increase of 19-1/2 per cent., unemployment fell during the year of the peace to a lower level than it had ever reached since records were instituted. in that year the cost of living among working people was 5-1/2 per cent. higher than it had been five years previously. the total working earnings for the year were 38-1/2 per cent. greater than in any previous year. since then, as we know, expenditure has fallen considerably; but wages have never fallen, and the total earnings of our people are still on the up grade. another cause of the unprecedented access of prosperity which changed the face of industrial and agricultural england, was the fact that some seven-tenths of the trade lost by germany was now not only carried in british ships, but held entirely in british hands. germany's world markets became britain's markets, just as the markets of the whole empire became our own as the result of preference, and just as the great oversea countries of the empire found britain's home markets, with fifty million customers, exclusively their own. the british public learned once and for all, and in one year, the truth that reformers had sought for a decade to teach us--that the empire was self-supporting and self-sufficing, and that common-sense legislative and commercial recognition of this fundamental fact spelt prosperity for british subjects the world over. but, as john crondall said in the course of the guildhall speech of his which, as has often been said, brought the disciplinary regiments into being, "we cannot expect to cure in a year ills that we have studiously fostered through the better part of a century." there was still an unemployed class, though everything points to the conclusion that before that first year of the peace was ended this class had been reduced to those elements which made it more properly called "unemployable." there were the men who had forgotten their trades and their working habits, and there were still left some of those melancholy products of our decadent industrial and social systems--the men who were determined not to work. in a way, it is as well that these ills could not be swept aside by the same swift, irresistible wave which gave us "british christianity," _the citizens'_ watchword, imperial federation, and the beginning of great prosperity. it was the continued existence of a workless class that gave us the famous discipline bill. at that time the title "disciplinary regiments" had a semidisgraceful suggestion, connected with punishment. in view of that, i shared the feeling of many who said that another name should be chosen. but now that the disciplinary regiments have earned their honourable place as the most valuable portion of our non-professional defence forces, every one can see the wisdom of john crondall's contention that not the name, but the public estimate of that name, had to be altered. theoretically the value and necessity of discipline was, i suppose, always recognized. actually, people had come to connect the word, not with education, not with the equipment of every true citizen, but chiefly with punishment and disgrace. at first there was considerable opposition to the law, which said, in effect: no able-bodied man without means shall live without employment. indeed, for a few days there was talk of the government going to the country on the question. but in the end the discipline act became law without this, and i know of no other single measure which has done more for the cause of social progress. its effects have been far-reaching. among other things, it was this measure which led to the common-sense system which makes a soldier of every mechanic and artisan employed upon government work. it introduced the system which enables so many men to devote a part of their time to soldiering, and the rest to various other kinds of government work. but, of course, its main reason of existence is the triumphant fact that it has done away with the loafer, as a class, and reduced the chances of genuine employment to a minimum. some of the best mechanics and artisans in england to-day are men who learned their trade, along with soldiering and general good citizenship, in one of the disciplinary regiments. despite the increase of population, the numerical strength of our police force throughout the kingdom is 30 per cent. lower to-day than it was before the anglo-german war; while, as is well known, the prison population has fallen so low as to have led to the conversion of several large prisons into hospitals. the famous military training school at dartmoor was a convict prison up to three years after the war. there can be no doubt that, but for the discipline bill, our police force would have required strengthening and prisons enlarging, in place of the reverse process of which we enjoy the benefit to-day. its promoters deserve all the credit which has been paid them for the introduction of this famous measure; and i take the more pleasure in admitting this by token that the chief among them has publicly recorded his opinion that the man primarily responsible for the introduction of the discipline bill was john crondall. at the same time it should not be forgotten that we have john crondall's own assurance that the bill could never have been made law but for that opening and awakening of the hearts and minds of the british people which followed the spreading of the gospel of duty by the canadian preachers. xix the great alliance truly ye come of the blood; slower to bless than to ban; little used to lie down at the bidding of any man. . . . . . deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether; but we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together. . . . . . draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands, and the law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands. rudyard kipling. during all this time i was constantly with john crondall, and saw a good deal of constance grey; yet the announcement that i had once expected every day, the announcement which seemed the only natural sequence to the kiss of which i had been an unwilling witness, never came. neither did any return come, in john crondall, of his old frank gaiety of manner. there remained always the shadow of reserve, of gravity, and of a certain restraint, which dated in my mind from the day of my inadvertent intrusion upon the scene between himself and constance. knowing john crondall as i knew him then, it was not possible for me to think ill of him; but he perplexed me greatly at times. for at times it did seem to me that i read in constance's face, when we three were together, a look that was almost an appeal to my chief--a half-sorrowful, half-abashed appeal. then i would recall that kiss, and in my puzzlement i would think: "john crondall, if you were any other man, i should say you----" and there my thought would stop short. of what should i accuse him? there was the kiss, the long silence, john crondall's stiffness, and then this look of distress, this hint of appeal, in the face of constance. well! and then my intimate knowledge of my chief would silence me, giving me assurance that i should never be a good enough man justly to reproach john crondall. but it was all very puzzling, and more, to me, loving constance as i loved her. you may judge, then, of my surprise when crondall came into my room at _the citizens'_ headquarters office one morning and said: "you have been the real secretary for some time, dick, not only mine, but _the citizens'_; so there's no need for me to worry about how you'll manage. i'm going to america." "going to america! why--when?" "well, on friday, i believe i sail. as to why, i'm afraid i mustn't tell you about that just yet. i've undertaken a government mission, and it's confidential." "i see. and how long will you be away?" "oh, not more than two or three months, i hope." that simplified the thing somewhat. my chief's tone had suggested at first that he was going to live in the united states. even as it was, however, surely, i thought, he would tell me something now about himself and constance. but though i made several openings, he told me nothing. while john crondall was away a new state under-secretaryship was created. it was announced that for the future the government would include an under-secretary of state for the civilian defence forces, whose chief would be the secretary of state for war. a few days later came the announcement that the first to hold this appointment would be john crondall. i had news of this a little in advance of the public, for my work in connection with _the citizens'_ organization brought me now into frequent contact with the war office, particularly with regard to supplies and general arrangements for our different village rifle-ranges. this piece of news seemed tolerably important to constance grey and myself, and we talked it over with a good deal of interest and enthusiasm. but before many weeks had passed this and every other item of news was driven out of our minds by a piece of intelligence which, in different ways, startled and excited the whole civilized world, for the reason that it promised to affect materially the destiny of all the nations of civilization. every newspaper published some kind of an announcement on the subject, but the first full, authoritative statement was that contained in the great _london daily_ which was now the recognized principal organ of imperial federation. the opening portion of this journal's announcement read in this way: "we are able to announce, upon official authority, the completion of a defensive and commercial alliance between the british empire and the united states of america, which amounts for all practical purposes to a political and commercial federation of the english-speaking peoples of the world. "rumours have been current for some time of important negotiations pending between london and washington, and, as we pointed out some time ago, mr. john crondall's business in washington has been entirely with our ambassador there. "the exact terms of the new alliance will probably be made public within the next week. in the meantime, we are able to say that the alliance will be sufficiently comprehensive to admit united states trade within the british empire upon practically british terms--that is to say, the united states will, in almost every detail, share in imperial preference. "further, in the event of any foreign power declaring war with either the british empire or the united states, both nations would share equally in the conduct of subsequent hostilities, unless the war were the direct outcome of an effort upon the part of either of the high contracting parties in the direction of territorial expansion. the united states will not assist the british empire to acquire new territory, but will share from first to last the task of defending existing british territory against the attack of an enemy. precisely the same obligations will bind the british empire in the defence of the united states. "it would scarcely be possible to exaggerate the importance to christendom of this momentous achievement of diplomacy; and future generations are little likely to forget the act or the spirit to which this triumph may be traced: the united states' offer of assistance to britain during the late war. "the advantages of the alliance to our good friends and kinsmen across the atlantic are obviously great, for they are at once given free entry into a market which has four hundred and twenty millions of customers, and is protected by the world's greatest navy and the world's greatest citizen defence force. upon our side we are given free entry into the second richest and most expansive market in the world, with eighty million customers, and an adequate defence force. upon a preferential footing, such as the alliance will secure to both contracting powers, the united states offer us the finest market in the world as an extension of our own. in our own markets we shall meet the american producer upon terms of absolute equality, to our mutual advantage, where a couple of years ago we met him at a cruel disadvantage, to our great loss. "we have said enough to indicate the vast and world-wide importance of the alliance we are able to announce. but we have left untouched its most momentous aspect. the new alliance is a guarantee of peace to that half of the world which is primarily concerned; it renders a breach of the peace in the other half of the world far more unlikely than it ever was before. as a defensive alliance between the english-speaking peoples, this should represent the beginning of an era of unexampled peace, progress, and prosperity for the whole civilized world." before i had half-digested this tremendous piece of news, and with never a thought of breakfast, i found myself hurrying in a hansom to constance grey's flat. in her study i found constance, her beautiful eyes full of shining tears, poring over the announcement. xx peace hath her victories yet i doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, and the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. tennyson. i had hoped to be the bearer of the alliance news to constance, and seeing how deeply she was moved by it made me the more regretful that i had not arrived at the flat before her morning paper. constance had been the first to give me the news of the american offer of help at the beginning of the war; she had been the first to give me any serious understanding of the invasion, there in that very room of the little south kensington flat, on the fateful sunday of the disarmament demonstration. now she raised her gleaming eyes to me as i entered: "a thing like this makes up for all the ills one's ever known, dick," she said, and dropped one hand on the paper in her lap. "yes, it's something like a piece of news, is it not? i had hoped to bring it you, but i might have known you would be at your paper betimes." "oh, it's magnificent, dick, magnificent! i have no words to tell you how glad i am about this. i see john crondall's hand here, don't you?" "yes," i said; and thought: "naturally! you see john crondall everywhere." "he was dead against any sort of an alliance while we were under a cloud. and he was right. the british people couldn't afford to enter any compact upon terms of less than perfect equality and independence. but now--why, dick, it's a dream come true: the english-speaking peoples against the world. it's imperial federation founded on solid rock. no! with its roots in the beds of all the seven seas. and never a hint of condescension, but just an honourable pact between equals of one stock." "yes; and a couple of years ago----" "a couple of years ago, there were englishmen who spat at the british flag." "there was a paper called _the mass_." constance smiled up at me. "do you remember the disarmament demonstration?" she said. "do you remember going down fleet street into a wretched den, to call on the person who was assistant editor of _the mass_?" "the person! come! i found him rather nice." "ah, constance, how sweet you were to me!" "now, there," she said, with a little smile, "i think you might have changed your tense." "but i was talking of two years ago, before---well, you see, i thought of you, then, as just an unattached angel from south africa." "and now you have learned that my angelic qualities never existed outside your imagination. ah, dick, your explanations make matters much worse." "but, no; i didn't say you were the less an angel; only that i thought of you as unattached, then--you see." constance looked down at her paper, and a silence fell between us. the silence was intolerable to me. i was standing beside her chair, and i cannot explain just what i felt in looking down at her. i know that the very outline of her figure and the loose hair of her head seemed at once intimately familiar and inexpressibly sacred and beautiful to me. looking down upon them caused a kind of mist to rise before my eyes. it was as though i feared to lose possession of my faculties. that must end, i felt, or an end would come to all reserve and loyalty to john crondall. and yet--yet something in the curve of her cheek--she was looking down--held me, drew me out of myself, as it might be into a tranced state in which a man is moved to contempt of all risks. "dear, i loved you, even then," i said; "but then i thought you free." "so i was." she did not look at me, and her voice was very low; but there was some quality in it which thrilled me through and through, as i stood at her side. "but now, of course, i know---but why have you never told me, constance?" "i am just as free now as then, dick." "why, constance! but, john crondall?" "he is my friend, just as he is yours." "but i--but he----" "dick, i asked him if i might tell you, and he said, yes. john asked me to marry him, and when i said i couldn't, he asked me to wait till our work was done, and let him ask me again. can't you see, dick, how hard it was for me? and john is--he is such a splendid man. i could not deny him, and--that was when you came into the room--don't you remember--dick?" the mist was thickening about me; it seemed my mind swam in clouds. i only said: "yes?" "oh, dick, i am ashamed! you know how i respect him--how i like him. he did ask me again, before he went to america." "and now--now, you----" "it hurt dreadfully; but i had to say no, because----" and there she stopped. she was not engaged to john crondall. she had refused him--refused john crondall! yet i knew how high he stood in her eyes. could it be that there was some one else--some one in africa? the suggestion spelled panic. it seemed to me that i must know--that i could not bear to leave her without knowing. "forgive me, constance," i said, "but is there some one else who--is there some one else?" to see into her dear face, i dropped on one knee beside her chair. "i--i thought there was," she said very sweetly. and as she spoke she raised her head, and i saw her beautiful eyes, through tears. it was there i read my happiness. i am not sure that any words could have given it me, though i found it sweeter than anything else i had known in my life to have her tell me afterwards in words. it was an unforgettable morning. why did she love him? curious fool! be still; is human love the growth of human will? john crondall was my best man, as he has been always my best friend. he insisted on my taking over the permanent secretaryship of _the citizens_ when he went to the war office. and since then i hope i have not ceased to take my part in making our history; but it is true that there is not much to tell that is not known equally well to everybody. assuredly peace hath her victories. our national life has been a daily succession of victories since we fought for and won real peace and overcame the slavish notion that mere indolent quiescence could ever give security. our daily victory as a race is the triumph of race loyalty over individual self-seeking; and i can conceive of no real danger for the british empire unless the day came, which god forbid, when englishmen forgot the gospel of our "new century puritanism"--the canadian preachers' teaching of duty and simple living. and that day can never come while our _citizens'_ watchword endures: "for god, our race, and duty!" for me, i feel that my share of happiness, since those sombre days of our national chastisement, since those stern, strenuous months of england's awakening to the new life and faith of the twentieth century, has been more, far more, than my deserts. but i think we all feel that in these days; i hope we do. if we should ever again forget, punishment would surely come. but it is part of my happiness to believe that, at long last, our now really united race, our whole family, four hundred and twenty millions strong, has truly learned the lesson which our great patriot poet tried to teach in the wild years before discipline came to us, in the mailed hand of our one-time enemy: _god of our fathers, known of old, lord of our far-flung battle-line, beneath whose awful hand we hold dominion over palm and pine- lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget!_ _the tumult and the shouting dies; the captains and the kings depart: still stands thine ancient sacrifice, an humble and a contrite heart. lord god of hosts, be with us yet, lest we forget--lest we forget!_ . . . . . _for heathen heart that puts her trust in reeking tube and iron shard, all valiant dust that builds on dust, and guarding, calls not thee to guard, for frantic boast and foolish word- thy mercy on thy people, lord!_ _amen!_ transcriber's note: minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. archaic, dialect and variant spellings remain as printed. transcriber's note: extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. first lensman e. e. "doc" smith pyramid books · new york _to e. everett evans_ first lensman a pyramid book published by arrangement with the author fantasy press edition published 1950 pyramid edition published december, 1964 second printing july, 1966 third printing april, 1967 fourth printing september, 1967 fifth printing may, 1968 copyright 1950 by edward e. smith, ph.d. all rights reserved. no part of this book may be reprinted without written permission of the publishers. printed in the united states of america pyramid books are published by pyramid publications, inc. 444 madison avenue, new york, n.y. 10022, u.s.a. * * * * * _attack from space_ the enemy spacefleet arrowed toward the armored mountain--nerve center of the galactic patrol. the patrol battle cruisers swerved to meet them, and a miles-long cone of pure energy ravened out at the invaders, destroying whatever it touched. but the moment before the force beam struck, thousands of tiny objects dropped from the enemy fleet and, faster than light, flashed straight at their target--each one an atom bomb powerful enough to destroy patrol headquarters by itself! the galactic patrol--and civilization itself--had seconds to live. unless a miracle happened.... a lensman adventure _second in the great series_ chapter 1 the visitor, making his way unobserved through the crowded main laboratory of the hill, stepped up to within six feet of the back of a big norwegian seated at an electrono-optical bench. drawing an automatic pistol, he shot the apparently unsuspecting scientist seven times, as fast as he could pull the trigger; twice through the brain, five times, closely spaced, through the spine. "ah, gharlane of eddore, i have been expecting you to look me up. sit down." blonde, blue-eyed dr. nels bergenholm, completely undisturbed by the passage of the stream of bullets through his head and body, turned and waved one huge hand at a stool beside his own. "but those were not ordinary projectiles!" the visitor protested. neither person--or rather, entity--was in the least surprised that no one else had paid any attention to what had happened, but it was clear that the one was taken aback by the failure of his murderous attack. "they should have volatilized that form of flesh--should at least have blown you back to arisia, where you belong." "ordinary or extraordinary, what matter? as you, in the guise of gray roger, told conway costigan a short time since, 'i permitted that, as a demonstration of futility.' know, gharlane, once and for all, that you will no longer be allowed to act directly against any adherent of civilization, wherever situate. we of arisia will not interfere in person with your proposed conquest of the two galaxies as you have planned it, since the stresses and conflicts involved are necessary--and, i may add, sufficient--to produce the civilization which must and shall come into being. therefore, neither will you, or any other eddorian, so interfere. you will go back to eddore and you will stay there." "think you so?" gharlane sneered. "you, who have been so afraid of us for over two thousand million tellurian years that you dared not let us even learn of you? so afraid of us that you dared not take any action to avert the destruction of any one of your budding civilizations upon any one of the worlds of either galaxy? so afraid that you dare not, even now, meet me mind to mind, but insist upon the use of this slow and unsatisfactory oral communication between us?" "either your thinking is loose, confused, and turbid, which i do not believe to be the case, or you are trying to lull me into believing that you are stupid." bergenholm's voice was calm, unmoved. "i do not _think_ that you will go back to eddore; i know it. you, too, as soon as you have become informed upon certain matters, will know it. you protest against the use of spoken language because it is, as you know, the easiest, simplest, and surest way of preventing you from securing any iota of the knowledge for which you are so desperately searching. as to a meeting of our two minds, they met fully just before you, operating as gray roger, remembered that which your entire race forgot long ago. as a consequence of that meeting i so learned every line and vibration of your life pattern as to be able to greet you by your symbol, gharlane of eddore, whereas you know nothing of me save that i am an arisian, a fact which has been obvious from the first." in an attempt to create a diversion, gharlane released the zone of compulsion which he had been holding; but the arisian took it over so smoothly that no human being within range was conscious of any change. "it is true that for many cycles of time we concealed our existence from you," bergenholm went on without a break. "since the reason for that concealment will still further confuse you, i will tell you what it was. had you eddorians learned of us sooner you might have been able to forge a weapon of power sufficient to prevent the accomplishment of an end which is now certain. "it is true that your operations as lo sung of uighar were not constrained. as mithridates of pontus--as sulla, marius, and nero of rome--as hannibal of carthage--as those self-effacing wights alcixerxes of greece and menocoptes of egypt--as genghis khan and attila and the kaiser and mussolini and hitler and the tyrant of asia--you were allowed to do as you pleased. similar activities upon rigel four, velantia, palain seven, and elsewhere were also allowed to proceed without effective opposition. with the appearance of virgil samms, however, the time arrived to put an end to your customary pernicious, obstructive, and destructive activities. i therefore interposed a barrier between you and those who would otherwise be completely defenseless against you." "but why now? why not thousands of cycles ago? and why virgil samms?" "to answer those questions would be to give you valuable data. you may--too late--be able to answer them yourself. but to continue: you accuse me, and all arisia, of cowardice; an evidently muddy and inept thought. reflect, please, upon the completeness of your failure in the affair of roger's planetoid; upon the fact that you have accomplished nothing whatever since that time; upon the situation in which you now find yourself. "even though the trend of thought of your race is basically materialistic and mechanistic, and you belittle ours as being 'philosophic' and 'impractical', you found--much to your surprise--that your most destructive physical agencies are not able to affect even this form of flesh which i am now energizing, to say nothing of affecting the reality which is i. "if this episode is the result of the customary thinking of the second-in-command of eddore's innermost circle ... but no, my visualization cannot be that badly at fault. overconfidence--the tyrant's innate proclivity to underestimate an opponent--these things have put you into a false position; but i greatly fear that they will not operate to do so in any really important future affair." "rest assured that they will not!" gharlane snarled. "it may not be--exactly--cowardice. it is, however, something closely akin. if you could have acted effectively against us at any time in the past, you would have done so. if you could act effectively against us now, you would be acting, not talking. that is elementary--self-evidently true. so true that you have not tried to deny it--nor would you expect me to believe you if you did." cold black eyes stared level into icy eyes of norwegian blue. "deny it? no. i am glad, however, that you used the word 'effectively' instead of 'openly'; for we have been acting effectively against you ever since these newly-formed planets cooled sufficiently to permit of the development of intelligent life." "what? you have? how?" "that, too, you may learn--too late. i have now said all i intend to say. i will give you no more information. since you already know that there are more adult arisians than there are eddorians, so that at least one of us can devote his full attention to blocking the direct effort of any one of you, it is clear to you that it makes no difference to me whether you elect to go or to stay. i can and i will remain here as long as you do; i can and i will accompany you whenever you venture out of the volume of space protected by eddorian screen, wherever you go. the election is yours." gharlane disappeared. so did the arisian--instantaneously. dr. nels bergenholm, however, remained. turning, he resumed his work where he had left off, knowing exactly what he had been doing and exactly what he was going to do to finish it. he released the zone of compulsion, which he had been holding upon every human being within sight or hearing, so dexterously that no one suspected, then or ever, that anything out of the ordinary had happened. he knew these things and did these things in spite of the fact that the form of flesh which his fellows of the triplanetary service knew as nels bergenholm was then being energized, not by the stupendously powerful mind of drounli the molder, but by an arisian child too young to be of any use in that which was about to occur. arisia was ready. every arisian mind capable of adult, or of even near-adult thinking was poised to act when the moment of action should come. they were not, however, tense. while not in any sense routine, that which they were about to do had been foreseen for many cycles of time. they knew exactly what they were going to do, and exactly how to do it. they waited. "my visualization is not entirely clear concerning the succession of events stemming from the fact that the fusion of which drounli is a part did not destroy gharlane of eddore while he was energizing gray roger," a young watchman, eukonidor by symbol, thought into the assembled mind. "may i take a moment of this idle time in which to spread my visualization, for enlargement and instruction?" "you may, youth." the elders of arisia--the mightiest intellects of that tremendously powerful race--fused their several minds into one mind and gave approval. "that will be time well spent. think on." "separated from the other eddorians by inter-galactic distance as he then was, gharlane could have been isolated and could have been destroyed," the youth pointed out, as he somewhat diffidently spread his visualization in the public mind. "since it is axiomatic that his destruction would have weakened eddore somewhat and to that extent would have helped us, it is evident that some greater advantage will accrue from allowing him to live. some points are clear enough: that gharlane and his fellows will believe that the arisian fusion could not kill him, since it did not; that the eddorians, contemptuous of our powers and thinking us vastly their inferiors, will not be driven to develop such things as atomic-energy-powered mechanical screens against third-level thought until such a time as it will be too late for even those devices to save their race from extinction; that they will, in all probability, never even suspect that the galactic patrol which is so soon to come into being will in fact be the prime operator in that extinction. it is not clear, however, in view of the above facts, why it has now become necessary for us to slay one eddorian upon eddore. nor can i formulate or visualize with any clarity the techniques to be employed in the final wiping out of the race; i lack certain fundamental data concerning events which occurred and conditions which obtained many, many cycles before my birth. i am unable to believe that my perception and memory could have been so imperfect--can it be that none of that basic data is, or ever has been available?" "that, youth, is the fact. while your visualization of the future is of course not as detailed nor as accurate as it will be after more cycles of labor, your background of knowledge is as complete as that of any other of our number." "i see." eukonidor gave the mental equivalent of a nod of complete understanding. "it is necessary, and the death of a lesser eddorian--a watchman--will be sufficient. nor will it be either surprising or alarming to eddore's innermost circle that the integrated total mind of arisia should be able to kill such a relatively feeble entity. i see." then silence; and waiting. minutes? or days? or weeks? who can tell? what does time mean to any arisian? then drounli arrived; arrived in the instant of his leaving the hill--what matters even inter-galactic distance to the speed of thought? he fused his mind with those of the three other molders of civilization. the massed and united mind of arisia, poised and ready, awaiting only his coming, launched itself through space. that tremendous, that theretofore unknown concentration of mental force arrived at eddore's outer screen in practically the same instant as did the entity that was gharlane. the eddorian, however, went through without opposition; the arisians did not. * * * * * some two thousand million years ago, when the coalescence occurred--the event which was to make each of the two interpassing galaxies teem with planets--the arisians were already an ancient race; so ancient that they were even then independent of the chance formation of planets. the eddorians, it is believed, were older still. the arisians were native to this, our normal space-time continuum; the eddorians were not. eddore was--and is--huge, dense, and hot. its atmosphere is not air, as we of small, green terra, know air, but is a noxious mixture of gaseous substances known to mankind only in chemical laboratories. its hydrosphere, while it does contain some water, is a poisonous, stinking, foully corrosive, slimy and sludgy liquid. and the eddorians were as different from any people we know as eddore is different from the planets indigenous to our space and time. they were, to our senses, utterly monstrous; almost incomprehensible. they were amorphous, amoeboid, sexless. not androgynous or parthenogenetic, but absolutely sexless; with a sexlessness unknown in any earthly form of life higher than the yeasts. thus they were, to all intents and purposes and except for death by violence, immortal; for each one, after having lived for hundreds of thousands of tellurian years and having reached its capacity to live and to learn, simply divided into two new individuals, each of which, in addition to possessing in full its parent's mind and memories and knowledges, had also a brand-new zest and a greatly increased capacity. and, since life was, there had been competition. competition for power. knowledge was worth while only insofar as it contributed to power. warfare began, and aged, and continued; the appallingly efficient warfare possible only to such entities as those. their minds, already immensely powerful, grew stronger and stronger under the stresses of internecine struggle. but peace was not even thought of. strife continued, at higher and even higher levels of violence, until two facts became apparent. first, that every eddorian who could be killed by physical violence had already died; that the survivors had developed such tremendous powers of mind, such complete mastery of things physical as well as mental, that they could not be slain by physical force. second, that during the ages through which they had been devoting their every effort to mutual extermination, their sun had begun markedly to cool; that their planet would very soon become so cold that it would be impossible for them ever again to live their normal physical lives. thus there came about an armistice. the eddorians worked together--not without friction--in the development of mechanisms by the use of which they moved their planet across light-years of space to a younger, hotter sun. then, eddore once more at its hot and reeking norm, battle was resumed. mental battle, this time, that went on for more than a hundred thousand eddorian years; during the last ten thousand of which not a single eddorian died. realizing the futility of such unproductive endeavor, the relatively few survivors made a peace of sorts. since each had an utterly insatiable lust for power, and since it had become clear that they could neither conquer nor kill each other, they would combine forces and conquer enough planets--enough galaxies--so that each eddorian could have as much power and authority as he could possibly handle. what matter that there were not that many planets in their native space? there were other spaces, an infinite number of them; some of which, it was mathematically certain, would contain millions upon millions of planets instead of only two or three. by mind and by machine they surveyed the neighboring continua; they developed the hyper-spatial tube and the inertialess drive; they drove their planet, space-ship-wise, through space after space after space. and thus, shortly after the coalescence began, eddore came into our space-time; and here, because of the multitudes of planets already existing and the untold millions more about to come into existence, it stayed. here was what they had wanted since their beginnings; here were planets enough, here were fields enough for the exercise of power, to sate even the insatiable. there was no longer any need for them to fight each other; they could now cooperate whole-heartedly--as long as each was getting more--and _more_ and more! enphilisor, a young arisian, his mind roaming eagerly abroad as was its wont, made first contact with the eddorians in this space. inoffensive, naive, innocent, he was surprised beyond measure at their reception of his friendly greeting; but in the instant before closing his mind to their vicious attacks, he learned the foregoing facts concerning them. the fused mind of the elders of arisia, however, was not surprised. the arisians, while not as mechanistic as their opponents, and innately peaceful as well, were far ahead of them in the pure science of the mind. the elders had long known of the eddorians and of their lustful wanderings through plenum after plenum. their visualizations of the cosmic all had long since forecast, with dreadful certainty, the invasion which had now occurred. they had long known what they would have to do. they did it. so insidiously as to set up no opposition they entered the eddorians' minds and sealed off all knowledge of arisia. they withdrew, tracelessly. they did not have much data, it is true; but no more could be obtained at that time. if any one of those touchy suspicious minds had been given any cause for alarm, any focal point of doubt, they would have had time in which to develop mechanisms able to force the arisians out of this space before a weapon to destroy the eddorians--the as yet incompletely designed galactic patrol--could be forged. the arisians could, even then, have slain by mental force alone all the eddorians except the all-highest and his innermost circle, safe within their then impenetrable shield; but as long as they could not make a clean sweep they could not attack--then. be it observed that the arisians were not fighting for themselves. as individuals or as a race they had nothing to fear. even less than the eddorians could they be killed by any possible application of physical force. past masters of mental science, they knew that no possible concentration of eddorian mental force could kill any one of them. and if they were to be forced out of normal space, what matter? to such mentalities as theirs, any given space would serve as well as any other. no, they were fighting for an ideal; for the peaceful, harmonious, liberty-loving civilization which they had envisaged as developing throughout, and eventually entirely covering the myriads of planets of, two tremendous island universes. also, they felt a heavy weight of responsibility. since all these races, existing and yet to appear, had sprung from and would spring from the arisian life-spores which permeated this particular space, they all were and would be, at bottom, arisian. it was starkly unthinkable that arisia would leave them to the eternal dominance of such a rapacious, such a tyrannical, such a hellishly insatiable breed of monsters. therefore the arisians fought; efficiently if insidiously. they did not--they could not--interfere openly with eddore's ruthless conquest of world after world; with eddore's ruthless smashing of civilization after civilization. they did, however, see to it, by selective matings and the establishment of blood-lines upon numberless planets, that the trend of the level of intelligence was definitely and steadily upward. four molders of civilization--drounli, kriedigan, nedanillor, and brolenteen, who, in fusion, formed the "mentor of arisia" who was to become known to every wearer of civilization's lens--were individually responsible for the arisian program of development upon the four planets of tellus, rigel iv, velantia, and palain vii. drounli established upon tellus two principal lines of blood. in unbroken male line of descent the kinnisons went back to long before the dawn of even mythical tellurian history. kinnexa of atlantis, daughter of one kinnison and sister of another, is the first of the blood to be named in these annals; but the line was then already old. so was the other line; characterized throughout its tremendous length, male and female, by peculiarly spectacular red-bronze-auburn hair and equally striking gold-flecked, tawny eyes. nor did these strains mix. drounli had made it psychologically impossible for them to mix until the penultimate stage of development should have been reached. while that stage was still in the future virgil samms appeared, and all arisia knew that the time had come to engage the eddorians openly, mind to mind. gharlane-roger was curbed, savagely and sharply. every eddorian, wherever he was working, found his every line of endeavor solidly blocked. gharlane, as has been intimated, constructed a supposedly irresistible weapon and attacked his arisian blocker, with results already told. at that failure gharlane knew that there was something terribly amiss; that it had been amiss for over two thousand million tellurian years. really alarmed for the first time in his long life, he flashed back to eddore; to warn his fellows and to take counsel with them as to what should be done. and the massed and integrated force of all arisia was only an instant behind him. * * * * * arisia struck eddore's outermost screen, and in the instant of impact that screen went down. and then, instantaneously and all unperceived by the planet's defenders, the arisian forces split. the elders, including all the molders, seized the eddorian who had been handling that screen--threw around him an impenetrable net of force--yanked him out into inter-galactic space. then, driving in resistlessly, they turned the luckless wight inside out. and before the victim died under their poignant probings, the elders of arisia learned everything that the eddorian and all of his ancestors had ever known. they then withdrew to arisia, leaving their younger, weaker, partially-developed fellows to do whatever they could against mighty eddore. whether the attack of these lesser forces would be stopped at the second, the third, the fourth, or the innermost screen; whether they would reach the planet itself and perhaps do some actual damage before being driven off; was immaterial. eddore must be allowed and would be allowed to repel that invasion with ease. for cycles to come the eddorians must and would believe that they had nothing really to fear from arisia. the real battle, however, had been won. the arisian visualizations could now be extended to portray every essential element of the climactic conflict which was eventually to come. it was no cheerful conclusion at which the arisians arrived, since their visualizations all agreed in showing that the only possible method of wiping out the eddorians would also of necessity end their own usefulness as guardians of civilization. such an outcome having been shown necessary, however, the arisians accepted it, and worked toward it, unhesitatingly. chapter 2 as has been said, the hill, which had been built to be the tellurian headquarters of the triplanetary service and which was now the headquarters of the half-organized solarian patrol, was--and is--a truncated, alloy-sheathed, honey-combed mountain. but, since human beings do not like to live eternally underground, no matter how beautifully lighted or how carefully and comfortably air-conditioned the dungeon may be, the reservation spread far beyond the foot of that gray, forbidding, mirror-smooth cone of metal. well outside that farflung reservation there was a small city; there were hundreds of highly productive farms; and, particularly upon this bright may afternoon, there was a recreation park, containing, among other things, dozens of tennis courts. one of these courts was three-quarters enclosed by stands, from which a couple of hundred people were watching a match which seemed to be of some little local importance. two men sat in a box which had seats for twenty, and watched admiringly the pair who seemed in a fair way to win in straight sets the mixed-doubles championship of the hill. "fine-looking couple, rod, if i do say so myself, as well as being smooth performers." solarian councillor virgil samms spoke to his companion as the opponents changed courts. "i still think, though, the young hussy ought to wear some clothes--those white nylon shorts make her look nakeder even than usual. i told her so, too, the jade, but she keeps on wearing less and less." "of course," commissioner roderick k. kinnison laughed quietly. "what did you expect? she got her hair and eyes from you, why not your hard-headedness, too? one thing, though, that's all to the good--she's got what it takes to strip ship that way, and most of 'em haven't. but what i can't understand is why they don't...." he paused. "i don't either. lord knows we've thrown them at each other hard enough, and jack kinnison and jill samms would certainly make a pair to draw to. but if they won't ... but maybe they will yet. they're still youngsters, and they're friendly enough." if samms père could have been out on the court, however, instead of in the box, he would have been surprised; for young kinnison, although smiling enough as to face, was addressing his gorgeous partner in terms which carried little indeed of friendliness. "listen, you bird-brained, knot-headed, grand-standing half-wit!" he stormed, voice low but bitterly intense. "i ought to beat your alleged brains out! i've told you a thousand times to watch your own territory and _stay out of mine_! if you had been where you belonged, or even taken my signal, frank couldn't have made that thirty-all point; and if lois hadn't netted she'd've caught you flat-footed, a kilometer out of position, and made it deuce. what do you think you're doing, anyway--playing tennis or seeing how many innocent bystanders you can bring down out of control?" "what do _you_ think?" the girl sneered, sweetly. her tawny eyes, only a couple of inches below his own, almost emitted sparks. "and just look at who's trying to tell who how to do what! for your information, master pilot john k. kinnison, i'll tell you that just because you can't quit being 'killer' kinnison even long enough to let two good friends of ours get a point now and then, or maybe even a game, is no reason why i've got to turn into 'killer' samms. and i'll also tell you...." "you'll tell me nothing, jill--i'm telling _you_! start giving away points in anything and you'll find out some day that you've given away too many. i'm not having any of that kind of game--and as long as you're playing with me you aren't either--or else. if you louse up this match just once more, the next ball i serve will hit the tightest part of those fancy white shorts of yours--right where the hip pocket would be if they had any--and it'll raise a welt that will make you eat off of the mantel for three days. so watch your step!" "you insufferable lug! i'd like to smash this racket over your head! i'll do it, too, and walk off the court, if you don't...." the whistle blew. virgilia samms, all smiles, toed the base-line and became the personification and embodiment of smoothly flowing motion. the ball whizzed over the net, barely clearing it--a sizzling service ace. the game went on. and a few minutes later, in the shower room, where jack kinnison was caroling lustily while plying a towel, a huge young man strode up and slapped him ringingly between the shoulder blades. "congratulations, jack, and so forth. but there's a thing i want to ask you. confidential, sort of...?" "shoot! haven't we been eating out of the same dish for lo, these many moons? why the diffidence all of a sudden, mase? it isn't in character." "well ... it's ... i'm a lip-reader, you know." "sure. we all are. what of it?" "it's only that ... well, i saw what you and miss samms said to each other out there, and if that was lovers' small talk i'm a venerian mud-puppy." "_lovers!_ who the hell ever said we were lovers?... oh, you've been inhaling some of dad's balloon-juice. _lovers!_ me and that red-headed stinker--that jelly-brained sapadilly? _hardly!_" "hold it, jack!" the big officer's voice was slightly edged. "you're off course--a hell of a long flit off. that girl has got everything. she's the class of the reservation--why, she's a regular twelve-nineteen!" "huh?" amazed, young kinnison stopped drying himself and stared. "you mean to say you've been giving her a miss just because...." he had started to say "because you're the best friend i've got in the system," but he did not. "well, it would have smelled slightly cheesy, i thought." the other man did not put into words, either, what both of them so deeply knew to be the truth. "but if you haven't got ... if it's o.k. with you, of course...." "stand by for five seconds--i'll take you around." jack threw on his uniform, and in a few minutes the two young officers, immaculate in the space-black-and-silver of the patrol, made their way toward the women's dressing rooms. "... but she's all right, at that ... in most ways ... i guess." kinnison was half-apologizing for what he had said. "outside of being chicken-hearted and pig-headed, she's a good egg. she really qualifies ... most of the time. but i wouldn't have her, bonus attached, any more than she would have me. it's strictly mutual. you won't fall for her, either, mase; you'll want to pull one of her legs off and beat the rest of her to death with it inside of a week--but there's nothing like finding things out for yourself." in a short time miss samms appeared; dressed somewhat less revealingly than before in the blouse and kilts which were the mode of the moment. "hi, jill! this is mase--i've told you about him. my boat-mate. master electronicist mason northrop." "yes, i've heard about you, 'troncist--a lot." she shook hands warmly. "he hasn't been putting tracers on you, jill, on accounta he figured he'd be poaching. can you feature that? i straightened him out, though, in short order. told him why, too, so he ought to be insulated against any voltage you can generate." "oh, you did? how sweet of you! but how ... oh, those?" she gestured at the powerful prism binoculars, a part of the uniform of every officer of space. "uh-huh." northrop wriggled, but held firm. "if i'd only been as big and husky as you are," surveying admiringly some six feet two of altitude and two hundred-odd pounds of hard meat, gristle, and bone, "i'd have grabbed him by one ankle, whirled him around my head, and flung him into the fifteenth row of seats. what's the matter with him, mase, is that he was born centuries and centuries too late. he should have been an overseer when they built the pyramids--flogging slaves because they wouldn't step just so. or better yet, one of those people it told about in those funny old books they dug up last year--liege lords, or something like that, remember? with the power of life and death--'high, middle, and low justice', whatever that was--over their vassals and their families, serfs, and serving-wenches. _especially_ serving-wenches! he likes little, cuddly baby-talkers, who pretend to be utterly spineless and completely brainless--eh, jack?" "ouch! touché, jill--but maybe i had it coming to me, at that. let's call it off, shall we? i'll be seeing you two, hither or yon." kinnison turned and hurried away. "want to know why he's doing such a quick flit?" jill grinned up at her companion; a bright, quick grin. "not that he was giving up. the blonde over there--the one in rocket red. very few blondes can wear such a violent shade. dimples maynard." "and is she ... er...?" "cuddly and baby-talkish? uh-uh. she's a grand person. i was just popping off; so was he. you know that neither of us really meant half of what we said ... or ... at least...." her voice died away. "i don't know whether i do or not," northrop replied, awkwardly but honestly. "that was savage stuff if there ever was any. i can't see for the life of me why you two--two of the world's finest people--should have to tear into each other that way. do you?" "i don't know that i ever thought of it like that." jill caught her lower lip between her teeth. "he's splendid, really, and i like him a lot--usually. we get along perfectly most of the time. we don't fight at all except when we're too close together ... and then we fight about anything and everything ... say, suppose that that could be it? like charges, repelling each other inversely as the square of the distance? that's about the way it seems to be." "could be, and i'm glad." the man's face cleared. "and i'm a charge of the opposite sign. let's go!" * * * * * and in virgil samms' deeply-buried office, civilization's two strongest men were deep in conversation. "... troubles enough to keep four men of our size awake nights." samms' voice was light, but his eyes were moody and somber. "you can probably whip yours, though, in time. they're mostly in one solar system; a short flit covers the rest. languages and customs are known. but how--_how_--can legal processes work efficiently--work at all, for that matter--when a man can commit a murder or a pirate can loot a space-ship and be a hundred parsecs away before the crime is even discovered? how can a tellurian john law find a criminal on a strange world that knows nothing whatever of our patrol, with a completely alien language--maybe no language at all--where it takes months even to find out who and where--if any--the native police officers are? but there must be a way, rod--there's _got_ to be a way!" samms slammed his open hand resoundingly against his desk's bare top. "and by god i'll find it--the patrol _will_ come out on top!" "'crusader' samms, now and forever!" there was no trace of mockery in kinnison's voice or expression, but only friendship and admiration. "and i'll bet you do. your interstellar patrol, or whatever...." "galactic patrol. i know what the name of it is going to be, if nothing else." "... is just as good as in the bag, right now. you've done a job so far, virge. this whole system, nevia, the colonies on aldebaran ii and other planets, even valeria, as tight as a drum. funny about valeria, isn't it...." there was a moment of silence, then kinnison went on: "but wherever diamonds are, there go dutchmen. and dutch women go wherever their men do. and, in spite of medical advice, dutch babies arrive. although a lot of the adults died--three g's is no joke--practically all of the babies keep on living. developing bones and muscles to fit--walking at a year and a half old--living normally--they say that the third generation will be perfectly at home there." "which shows that the human animal is more adaptable than some ranking medicos had believed, is all. don't try to side-track me, rod. you know as well as i do what we're up against; the new headaches that inter-stellar commerce is bringing with it. new vices--drugs--thionite, for instance; we haven't been able to get an inkling of an idea as to where that stuff is coming from. and i don't have to tell you what piracy has done to insurance rates." "i'll say not--look at the price of aldebaranian cigars, the only kind fit to smoke! you've given up, then, on the idea that arisia is the pirates' ghq?" "definitely. it isn't. the pirates are even more afraid of it than tramp spacemen are. it's out of bounds--absolutely forbidden territory, apparently--to everybody, my best operatives included. all we know about it is the name--arisia--that our planetographers gave it. it is the first completely incomprehensible thing i have ever experienced. i am going out there myself as soon as i can take the time--not that i expect to crack a thing that my best men couldn't touch, but there have been so many different and conflicting reports--no two stories agree on anything except in that no one could get anywhere near the planet--that i feel the need of some first-hand information. want to come along?" "try to keep me from it!" "but at that, we shouldn't be too surprised," samms went on, thoughtfully. "just beginning to scratch the surface as we are, we should expect to encounter peculiar, baffling--even completely inexplicable things. facts, situations, events, and beings for which our one-system experience could not possibly have prepared us. in fact, we already have. if, ten years ago, anyone had told you that such a race as the rigellians existed, what would you have thought? one ship went there, you know--once. one hour in any rigellian city--one minute in a rigellian automobile--drives a tellurian insane." "i see your point." kinnison nodded. "probably i would have ordered a mental examination. and the palainians are even worse. people--if you can call them that--who live on pluto and _like_ it! entities so alien that nobody, as far as i know, understands them. but you don't have to go even that far from home to locate a job of unscrewing the inscrutable. who, what, and why--and for how long--was gray roger? and, not far behind him, is this young bergenholm of yours. and by the way, you never did give me the lowdown on how come it was the 'bergenholm', and not the 'rodebush-cleveland', that made trans-galactic commerce possible and caused nine-tenths of our headaches. as i get the story, bergenholm wasn't--isn't--even an engineer." "didn't i? thought i did. he wasn't, and isn't. well, the original rodebush-cleveland free drive was a killer, you know...." "_how_ i know!" kinnison exclaimed, feelingly. "they beat their brains out and ate their hearts out for months, without getting it any better. then, one day, this kid bergenholm ambles into their shop--big, awkward, stumbling over his own feet. he gazes innocently at the thing for a couple of minutes, then says: "'why don't you use uranium instead of iron and rewind it so it will put out a wave-form like this, with humps here, and here; instead of there, and there?' and he draws a couple of free-hand, but really beautiful curves. "'why should we?' they squawk at him. "'because it will work that way,' he says, and ambles out as unconcernedly as he came in. can't--or won't--say another word. "well in sheer desperation, they tried it--and it worked! and nobody has ever had a minute's trouble with a bergenholm since. that's why rodebush and cleveland both insisted on the name." "i see; and it points up what i just said. but if he's such a mental giant, why isn't he getting results with his own problem, the meteor? or is he?" "no ... or at least he wasn't as of last night. but there's a note on my pad that he wants to see me sometime today--suppose we have him come in now?" "fine! i'd like to talk to him, if it's o.k. with you and with him." the young scientist was called in, and was introduced to the commissioner. "go ahead, doctor bergenholm," samms suggested then. "you may talk to both of us, just as freely as though you and i were alone." "i have, as you already know, been called psychic," bergenholm began, abruptly. "it is said that i dream dreams, see visions, hear voices, and so on. that i operate on hunches. that i am a genius. now i very definitely am _not_ a genius--unless my understanding of the meaning of that word is different from that of the rest of mankind." bergenholm paused. samms and kinnison looked at each other. the latter broke the short silence. "the councillor and i have just been discussing the fact that there are a great many things we do not know; that with the extension of our activities into new fields, the occurrence of the impossible has become almost a commonplace. we are able, i believe, to listen with open minds to anything you have to say." "very well. but first, please know that i am a scientist. as such, i am trained to observe; to think calmly, clearly, and analytically; to test every hypothesis. i do not believe at all in the so-called supernatural. this universe did not come into being, it does not continue to be, except by the operation of natural and immutable laws. and i mean _immutable_, gentlemen. everything that has ever happened, that is happening now, or that ever is to happen, was, is, and will be statistically connected with its predecessor event and with its successor event. if i did not believe that implicitly, i would lose all faith in the scientific method. for if one single 'supernatural' event or thing had ever occurred or existed it would have constituted an entirely unpredictable event and would have initiated a series--a succession--of such events; a state of things which no scientist will or can believe possible in an orderly universe. "at the same time, i recognize the fact that i myself have done things--caused events to occur, if you prefer--that i cannot explain to you or to any other human being in any symbology known to our science; and it is about an even more inexplicable--call it 'hunch' if you like--that i asked to have a talk with you today." "but you are arguing in circles," samms protested. "or are you trying to set up a paradox?" "neither. i am merely clearing the way for a somewhat startling thing i am to say later on. you know, of course, that any situation with which a mind is unable to cope; a really serious dilemma which it cannot resolve; will destroy that mind--frustration, escape from reality, and so on. you also will realize that i must have become cognizant of my own peculiarities long before anyone else did or could?" "ah. i see. yes, of course." samms, intensely interested, leaned forward. "yet your present personality is adequately, splendidly integrated. how could you possibly have overcome--reconciled--a situation so full of conflict?" "you are, i think, familiar with my parentage?" samms, keen as he was, did not consider it noteworthy that the big norwegian answered his question only by asking one of his own. "yes ... oh, i'm beginning to see ... but commissioner kinnison has not had access to your dossier. go ahead." "my father is dr. hjalmar bergenholm. my mother, before her marriage, was dr. olga bjornson. both were, and are, nuclear physicists--very good ones. pioneers, they have been called. they worked, and are still working, in the newest, outermost fringes of the field." "oh!" kinnison exclaimed. "a mutant? born with second sight--or whatever it is?" "not second sight, as history describes the phenomenon, no. the records do not show that any such faculty was ever demonstrated to the satisfaction of any competent scientific investigator. what i have is something else. whether or not it will breed true is an interesting topic of speculation, but one having nothing to do with the problem now in hand. to return to the subject, i resolved my dilemma long since. there is, i am absolutely certain, a science of the mind which is as definite, as positive, as immutable of law, as is the science of the physical. while i will make no attempt to prove it to you, i _know_ that such a science exists, and that i was born with the ability to perceive at least some elements of it. "now to the matter of the meteor of the patrol. that emblem was and is purely physical. the pirates have just as able scientists as we have. what physical science can devise and synthesize, physical science can analyze and duplicate. there is a point, however, beyond which physical science cannot go. it can neither analyze nor imitate the tangible products of that which i have so loosely called the science of the mind. "i know, councillor samms, what the triplanetary service needs; something vastly more than its meteor. i also know that the need will become greater and greater as the sphere of action of the patrol expands. without a really efficient symbol, the solarian patrol will be hampered even more than the triplanetary service; and its logical extension into the space patrol, or whatever that larger organization may be called, will be definitely impossible. we need something which will identify any representative of civilization, positively and unmistakably, wherever he may be. it must be impossible of duplication, or even of imitation, to which end it must kill any unauthorized entity who attempts imposture. it must operate as a telepath between its owner and any other living intelligence, of however high or low degree, so that mental communication, so much clearer and faster than physical, will be possible without the laborious learning of language; or between us and such peoples as those of rigel four or of palain seven, both of whom we know to be of high intelligence and who must already be conversant with telepathy." "are you or have you been, reading my mind?" samms asked quietly. "no," bergenholm replied flatly. "it is not and has not been necessary. any man who can think, who has really considered the question, and who has the good of civilization at heart, must have come to the same conclusions." "probably so, at that. but no more side issues. you have a solution of some kind worked out, or you would not be here. what is it?" "it is that you, solarian councillor samms, should go to arisia as soon as possible." "arisia!" samms exclaimed, and: "arisia! of all the hells in space, why arisia? and how can we make the approach? don't you know that _nobody_ can get anywhere near that damn planet?" bergenholm shrugged his shoulders and spread both arms wide in a pantomime of complete helplessness. "how do you know--another of your hunches?" kinnison went on. "or did somebody tell you something? _where_ did you get it?" "it is not a hunch," the norwegian replied, positively. "no one told me anything. but i _know_--as definitely as i know that the combustion of hydrogen in oxygen will yield water--that the arisians are very well versed in that which i have called the science of the mind; that if virgil samms goes to arisia he will obtain the symbol he needs; that he will never obtain it otherwise. as to _how_ i know these things ... i can't ... i just ... i _know_ it, i tell you!" without another word, without asking permission to leave, bergenholm whirled around and hurried out. samms and kinnison stared at each other. "well?" kinnison asked, quizzically. "i'm going. now. whether i can be spared or not, and whether you think i'm out of control or not. i believe him, every word--and besides, there's the bergenholm. how about you? coming?" "yes. can't say that i'm sold one hundred percent; but, as you say, the bergenholm is a hard fact to shrug off. and at minimum rating, it's got to be tried. what are you taking? not a fleet, probably--the _boise_? or the _chicago_?" it was the commissioner of public safety speaking now, the commander-in-chief of the armed forces. "the _chicago_, i'd say--the fastest and strongest thing in space." "recommendation approved. blast-off; twelve hundred hours tomorrow!" chapter 3 the superdreadnought _chicago_, as she approached the imaginary but nevertheless sharply defined boundary, which no other ship had been allowed to pass, went inert and crept forward, mile by mile. every man, from commissioner and councillor down, was taut and tense. so widely variant, so utterly fantastic, were the stories going around about this arisia that no one knew what to expect. they expected the unexpected--and got it. "ah, tellurians, you are precisely on time." a strong, assured, deeply resonant pseudo-voice made itself heard in the depths of each mind aboard the tremendous ship of war. "pilots and navigating officers, you will shift course to one seventy eight dash seven twelve fifty three. hold that course, inert, at one tellurian gravity of acceleration. virgil samms will now be interviewed. he will return to the consciousnesses of the rest of you in exactly six of your hours." practically dazed by the shock of their first experience with telepathy, not one of the _chicago's_ crew perceived anything unusual in the phraseology of that utterly precise, diamond-clear thought. samms and kinnison, however, precisionists themselves, did. but, warned although they were and keyed up although they were to detect any sign of hypnotism or of mental suggestion, neither of them had the faintest suspicion, then or ever, that virgil samms did not as a matter of fact leave the _chicago_ at all. samms _knew_ that he boarded a lifeboat and drove it toward the shimmering haze beyond which arisia was. commissioner kinnison _knew_, as surely as did every other man aboard, that samms did those things, because he and the other officers and most of the crew watched samms do them. they watched the lifeboat dwindle in size with distance; watched it disappear within the peculiarly iridescent veil of force which their most penetrant ultra-beam spy-rays could not pierce. they waited. and, since every man concerned _knew_, beyond any shadow of doubt and to the end of his life, that everything that seemed to happen actually did happen, it will be so described. virgil samms, then, drove his small vessel through arisia's innermost screen and saw a planet so much like earth that it might have been her sister world. there were the white ice-caps, the immense blue oceans, the verdant continents partially obscured by fleecy banks of cloud. would there, or would there not, be cities? while he had not known at all exactly what to expect, he did not believe that there would be any large cities upon arisia. to qualify for the role of _deus ex machina_, the arisian with whom samms was about to deal would have to be a super-man indeed--a being completely beyond man's knowledge or experience in power of mind. would such a race of beings have need of such things as cities? they would not. there would be no cities. nor were there. the lifeboat flashed downward--slowed--landed smoothly in a regulation dock upon the outskirts of what appeared to be a small village surrounded by farms and woods. "this way, please." an inaudible voice directed him toward a two-wheeled vehicle which was almost, but not quite, like a dillingham roadster. this car, however, took off by itself as soon as samms closed the door. it sped smoothly along a paved highway devoid of all other traffic, past farms and past cottages, to stop of itself in front of the low, massive structure which was the center of the village and, apparently, its reason for being. "this way, please," and samms went through an automatically-opened door; along a short, bare hall; into a fairly large central room containing a vat and one deeply-holstered chair. "sit down, please." samms did so, gratefully. he did not know whether he could have stood up much longer or not. he had expected to encounter a tremendous mentality; but this was a thing far, far beyond his wildest imaginings. this was a brain--just that--nothing else. almost globular; at least ten feet in diameter; immersed in and in perfect equilibrium with a pleasantly aromatic liquid--a brain! "relax," the arisian ordered, soothingly, and samms found that he _could_ relax. "through the one you know as bergenholm i heard of your need and have permitted you to come here this once for instruction." "but this ... none of this ... it isn't ... it _can't_ be real!" samms blurted. "i am--i must be--imagining it ... and yet i know that i _can't_ be hypnotized--i've been psychoed against it!" "what is reality?" the arisian asked, quietly. "your profoundest thinkers have never been able to answer that question. nor, although i am much older and a much more capable thinker than any member of your race, would i attempt to give you its true answer. nor, since your experience has been so limited, is it to be expected that you could believe without reservation any assurances i might give you in thoughts or in words. you must, then, convince yourself--definitely, by means of your own five senses--that i and everything about you are real, as you understand reality. you saw the village and this building; you see the flesh that houses the entity which is i. you feel your own flesh; as you tap the woodwork with your knuckles you feel the impact and hear the vibrations as sound. as you entered this room you must have perceived the odor of the nutrient solution in which and by virtue of which i live. there remains only the sense of taste. are you by any chance either hungry or thirsty?" "both." "drink of the tankard in the niche yonder. in order to avoid any appearance of suggestion i will tell you nothing of its content except the one fact that it matches perfectly the chemistry of your tissues." gingerly enough, samms brought the pitcher to his lips--then, seizing it in both hands, he gulped down a tremendous draught. it was good! it smelled like all appetizing kitchen aromas blended into one; it tasted like all of the most delicious meals he had ever eaten; it quenched his thirst as no beverage had ever done. but he could not empty even that comparatively small container--whatever the stuff was, it had a satiety value immensely higher even than old, rare, roast beef! with a sigh of repletion samms replaced the tankard and turned again to his peculiar host. "i am convinced. that was real. no possible mental influence could so completely and unmistakably satisfy the purely physical demands of a body as hungry and as thirsty as mine was. thanks, immensely, for allowing me to come here, mr....?" "you may call me mentor. i have no name, as you understand the term. now, then, please think fully--you need not speak--of your problems and of your difficulties; of what you have done and of what you have it in mind to do." samms thought, flashingly and cogently. a few minutes sufficed to cover triplanetary's history and the beginning of the solarian patrol; then, for almost three hours, he went into the ramifications of the galactic patrol of his imaginings. finally he wrenched himself back to reality. he jumped up, paced the floor, and spoke. "but there's a vital flaw, one inherent and absolutely ruinous fact that makes the whole thing impossible!" he burst out, rebelliously. "no one man, or group of men, no matter who they are, can be trusted with that much power. the council and i have already been called everything imaginable; and what we have done so far is literally nothing at all in comparison with what the galactic patrol could and must do. why, i myself would be the first to protest against the granting of such power to _anybody_. every dictator in history, from philip of macedon to the tyrant of asia, claimed to be--and probably was, in his beginnings--motivated solely by benevolence. how am i to think that the proposed galactic council, or even i myself, will be strong enough to conquer a thing that has corrupted utterly every man who has ever won it? who is to watch the watchmen?" "the thought does you credit, youth," mentor replied, unmoved. "that is one reason why you are here. you, of your own force, can not know that you are in fact incorruptible. i, however, know. moreover, there is an agency by virtue of which that which you now believe to be impossible will become commonplace. extend your arm." samms did so, and there snapped around his wrist a platinum-iridium bracelet carrying, wrist-watch-wise, a lenticular something at which the tellurian stared in stupefied amazement. it seemed to be composed of thousands--millions--of tiny gems, each of which emitted pulsatingly all the colors of the spectrum; it was throwing out--broadcasting--a turbulent flood of writhing, polychromatic light! "the successor to the golden meteor of the triplanetary service," mentor said, calmly. "the lens of arisia. you may take my word for it, until your own experience shall have convinced you of the fact, that no one will ever wear arisia's lens who is in any sense unworthy. here also is one for your friend, commissioner kinnison; it is not necessary for him to come physically to arisia. it is, you will observe, in an insulated container, and does not glow. touch its surface, but lightly and very fleetingly, for the contact will be painful." samms' finger-tip barely touched one dull, gray, lifeless jewel: his whole arm jerked away uncontrollably as there swept through his whole being the intimation of an agony more poignant by far than any he had ever known. "why--it's _alive_!" he gasped. "no, it is not really alive, as you understand the term ..." mentor paused, as though seeking a way to describe to the tellurian a thing which was to him starkly incomprehensible. "it is, however, endowed with what you might call a sort of pseudo-life; by virtue of which it gives off its characteristic radiation while, and only while, it is in physical circuit with the living entity--the ego, let us say--with whom it is in exact resonance. glowing, the lens is perfectly harmless; it is complete--saturated--satiated--fulfilled. in the dark condition it is, as you have learned, dangerous in the extreme. it is then incomplete--unfulfilled--frustrated--you might say seeking or yearning or demanding. in that condition its pseudo-life interferes so strongly with any life to which it is not attuned that that life, in a space of seconds, is forced out of this plane or cycle of existence." "then i--i alone--of all the entities in existence, can wear this particular lens?" samms licked his lips and stared at it, glowing so satisfyingly and contentedly upon his wrist. "but when i die, will it be a perpetual menace?" "by no means. a lens cannot be brought into being except to match some one living personality; a short time after you pass into the next cycle your lens will disintegrate." "wonderful!" samms breathed, in awe. "but there's one thing ... these things are ... priceless, and there will be millions of them to make ... and you don't...." "what will we get out of it, you mean?" the arisian seemed to smile. "exactly." samms blushed, but held his ground. "nobody does anything for nothing. altruism is beautiful in theory, but it has never been known to work in practice. i will pay a tremendous price--any price within reason or possibility--for the lens; but i will have to know what that price is to be." "it will be heavier than you think, or can at present realize; although not in the sense you fear." mentor's thought was solemnity itself. "whoever wears the lens of arisia will carry a load that no weaker mind could bear. the load of authority; of responsibility; of knowledge that would wreck completely any mind of lesser strength. altruism? no. nor is it a case of good against evil, as you so firmly believe. your mental picture of glaring white and of unrelieved black is not a true picture. neither absolute evil nor absolute good do or can exist." "but that would make it still worse!" samms protested. "in that case, i can't see any reason at all for your exerting yourselves--putting yourselves out--for us." "there is, however, reason enough; although i am not sure that i can make it as clear to you as i would wish. there are in fact three reasons; any one of which would justify us in exerting--would compel us to exert--the trivial effort involved in the furnishing of lenses to your galactic patrol. first, there is nothing either intrinsically right or intrinsically wrong about liberty or slavery, democracy or autocracy, freedom of action or complete regimentation. it seems to us, however, that the greatest measure of happiness and of well-being for the greatest number of entities, and therefore the optimum advancement toward whatever sublime goal it is toward which this cycle of existence is trending in the vast and unknowable scheme of things, is to be obtained by securing for each and every individual the greatest amount of mental and physical freedom compatible with the public welfare. we of arisia are only a small part of this cycle; and, as goes the whole, so goes in greater or lesser degree each of the parts. is it impossible for you, a fellow citizen of this cycle-universe, to believe that such fulfillment alone would be ample compensation for a much greater effort?" "i never thought of it in that light...." it was hard for samms to grasp the concept; he never did understand it thoroughly. "i begin to see, i think ... at least, i believe you." "second, we have a more specific obligation in that the life of many, many worlds has sprung from arisian seed. thus, _in loco parentis_, we would be derelict indeed if we refused to act. and third, you yourself spend highly valuable time and much effort in playing chess. why do you do it? what do you get out of it?" "why, i ... uh ... mental exercise, i suppose ... i like it!" "just so. and i am sure that one of your very early philosophers came to the conclusion that a fully competent mind, from a study of one fact or artifact belonging to any given universe, could construct or visualize that universe, from the instant of its creation to its ultimate end?" "yes. at least, i have heard the proposition stated, but i have never believed it possible." "it is not possible simply because no fully competent mind ever has existed or ever will exist. a mind can become fully competent only by the acquisition of infinite knowledge, which would require infinite time as well as infinite capacity. our equivalent of your chess, however, is what we call the 'visualization of the cosmic all'. in my visualization a descendant of yours named clarrissa macdougall will, in a store called brenleer's upon the planet ... but no, let us consider a thing nearer at hand and concerning you personally, so that its accuracy will be subject to check. where you will be and exactly what you will be doing, at some definite time in the future. five years, let us say?" "go ahead. if you can do that you're _good_." "five tellurian calendar years then, from the instant of your passing through the screen of 'the hill' on this present journey, you will be ... allow me, please, a moment of thought ... you will be in a barber shop not yet built; the address of which is to be fifteen hundred fifteen twelfth avenue, spokane, washington, north america, tellus. the barber's name will be antonio carbonero and he will be left-handed. he will be engaged in cutting your hair. or rather, the actual cutting will have been done and he will be shaving, with a razor trade-marked 'jensen-king-byrd', the short hairs in front of your left ear. a comparatively small, quadrupedal, grayish-striped entity, of the race called 'cat'--a young cat, this one will be, and called thomas, although actually of the female sex--will jump into your lap, addressing you pleasantly in a language with which you yourself are only partially familiar. you call it mewing and purring, i believe?" "yes," the flabbergasted samms managed to say. "cats do purr--especially kittens." "ah--very good. never having met a cat personally, i am gratified at your corroboration of my visualization. this female youth erroneously called thomas, somewhat careless in computing the elements of her trajectory, will jostle slightly the barber's elbow with her tail; thus causing him to make a slight incision, approximately three millimeters long, parallel to and just above your left cheek-bone. at the precise moment in question, the barber will be applying a styptic pencil to this insignificant wound. this forecast is, i trust, sufficiently detailed so that you will have no difficulty in checking its accuracy or its lack thereof?" "detailed! _accuracy!_" samms could scarcely think. "but listen--not that i want to cross you up deliberately, but i'll tell you now that a man doesn't like to get sliced by a barber, even such a little nick as that. i'll remember that address--and the cat--and i'll never go into the place!" "every event does affect the succession of events," mentor acknowledged, equably enough. "except for this interview, you would have been in new orleans at that time, instead of in spokane. i have considered every pertinent factor. you will be a busy man. hence, while you will think of this matter frequently and seriously during the near future, you will have forgotten it in less than five years. you will remember it only at the touch of the astringent, whereupon you will give voice to certain self-derogatory and profane remarks." "i ought to," samms grinned; a not-too-pleasant grin. he had been appalled by the quality of mind able to do what mentor had just done; he was now more than appalled by the arisian's calm certainty that what he had foretold in such detail would in every detail come to pass. "if, after all this spokane--let a tiger-striped kitten jump into my lap--let a left-handed tony carbonero nick me--uh-uh, mentor, uh-uh! _if_ i do, i'll deserve to be called everything i can think of!" "these that i have mentioned, the gross occurrences, are problems only for inexperienced thinkers." mentor paid no attention to samms' determination never to enter that shop. "the real difficulties lie in the fine detail, such as the length, mass, and exact place and position of landing, upon apron or floor, of each of your hairs as it is severed. many factors are involved. other clients passing by--opening and shutting doors--air currents--sunshine--wind--pressure, temperature, humidity. the exact fashion in which the barber will flick his shears, which in turn depends upon many other factors--what he will have been doing previously, what he will have eaten and drunk, whether or not his home life will have been happy ... you little realize, youth, what a priceless opportunity this will be for me to check the accuracy of my visualization. i shall spend many periods upon the problem. i cannot attain perfect accuracy, of course. ninety nine point nine nines percent, let us say ... or perhaps ten nines ... is all that i can reasonably expect...." "but, mentor!" samms protested. "i can't help you on a thing like that! how can i know or report the exact mass, length, and orientation of single hairs?" "you cannot; but, since you will be wearing your lens, i myself can and will compare minutely my visualization with the actuality. for know, youth, that wherever any lens is, there can any arisian be if he so desires. and now, knowing that fact, and from your own knowledge of the satisfactions to be obtained from chess and other such mental activities, and from the glimpses you have had into my own mind, do you retain any doubts that we arisians will be fully compensated for the trifling effort involved in furnishing whatever number of lenses may be required?" "i have no more doubts. but this lens ... i'm getting more afraid of it every minute. i see that it is a perfect identification; i can understand that it can be a perfect telepath. but is it something else, as well? if it has other powers ... what are they?" "i cannot tell you; or, rather, i will not. it is best for your own development that i do not, except in the most general terms. it has additional qualities, it is true; but, since no two entities ever have the same abilities, no two lenses will ever be of identical qualities. strictly speaking, a lens has no real power of its own; it merely concentrates, intensifies, and renders available whatever powers are already possessed by its wearer. you must develop your own powers and your own abilities; we of arisia, in furnishing the lens, will have done everything that we should do." "of course, sir; and much more than we have any right to expect. you have given me a lens for roderick kinnison; how about the others? who is to select them?" "you are, for a time." silencing the man's protests, mentor went on: "you will find that your judgment will be good. you will send to us only one entity who will not be given a lens, and it is necessary that that one entity should be sent here. you will begin a system of selection and training which will become more and more rigorous as time goes on. this will be necessary; not for the selection itself, which the lensmen themselves could do among babies in their cradles, but because of the benefits thus conferred upon the many who will not graduate, as well as upon the few who will. in the meantime you will select the candidates; and you will be shocked and dismayed when you discover how few you will be able to send. "you will go down in history as first lensman samms; the crusader, the man whose wide vision and tremendous grasp made it possible for the galactic patrol to become what it is to be. you will have highly capable help, of course. the kinnisons, with their irresistible driving force, their indomitable will to do, their transcendent urge; costigan, back of whose stout irish heart lie erin's best of brains and brawn; your cousins george and ray olmstead; your daughter virgilia...." "virgilia! where does _she_ fit into this picture? what do you know about her--and how?" "a mind would be incompetent indeed who could not visualize, from even the most fleeting contact with you, a fact which has been in existence for some twenty three of your years. her doctorate in psychology; her intensive studies under martian and venerian masters--even under one reformed adept of north polar jupiter--of the involuntary, uncontrollable, almost unknown and hence highly revealing muscles of the face, the hands, and other parts of the human body. you will remember that poker game for a long time." "i certainly will." samms grinned, a bit shamefacedly. "she gave us clear warning of what she was going to do, and then cleaned us out to the last millo." "naturally. she has, all unconsciously, been training herself for the work she is destined to do. but to resume; you will feel yourself incompetent, unworthy--that, too, is a part of a lensman's load. when you first scan the mind of roderick kinnison you will feel that he, not you, should be the prime mover in the galactic patrol. but know now that no mind, not even the most capable in the universe, can either visualize truly or truly evaluate itself. commissioner kinnison, upon scanning your mind as he will scan it, will know the truth and will be well content. but time presses; in one minute you leave." "thanks a lot ... thanks." samms got to his feet and paused, hesitantly. "i suppose that it will be all right ... that is, i can call on you again, if...?" "no," the arisian declared, coldly. "my visualization does not indicate that it will ever again be either necessary or desirable for you to visit or to communicate with me or with any other arisian." communication ceased as though a solid curtain had been drawn between the two. samms strode out and stepped into the waiting vehicle, which whisked him back to his lifeboat. he blasted off; arriving in the control room of the _chicago_ precisely at the end of the sixth hour after leaving it. "well, rod, i'm back ..." he began, and stopped; utterly unable to speak. for at the mention of the name samms' lens had put him fully en rapport with his friend's whole mind; and what he perceived struck him--literally and precisely--dumb. he had always liked and admired rod kinnison. he had always known that he was tremendously able and capable. he had known that he was big; clean; a square shooter; the world's best. hard; a driver who had little more mercy on his underlings in selected undertakings than he had on himself. but now, as he saw spread out for his inspection kinnison's ego in its entirety; as he compared in fleeting glances that terrific mind with those of the other officers--good men, too, all of them--assembled in the room; he knew that he had never even begun to realize what a giant roderick kinnison really was. "what's the matter, virge?" kinnison exclaimed, and hurried up, both hands outstretched. "you look like you're seeing ghosts! what did they do to you?" "nothing--much. but 'ghosts' doesn't half describe what i'm seeing right now. come into my office, will you, rod?" ignoring the curious stares of the junior officers, the commissioner and the councillor went into the latter's quarters, and in those quarters the two lensmen remained in close consultation during practically all of the return trip to earth. in fact, they were still conferring deeply, via lens, when the _chicago_ landed and they took a ground-car into the hill. "but who are you going to send first, virge?" kinnison demanded. "you must have decided on at least some of them, by this time." "i know of only five, or possibly six, who are ready," samms replied, glumly. "i would have sworn that i knew of a hundred, but they don't measure up. jack, mason northrop, and conway costigan, for the first load. lyman cleveland, fred rodebush, and perhaps bergenholm--i haven't been able to figure him out, but i'll know when i get him under my lens--next. that's all." "not quite. how about your identical-twin cousins, ray and george olmstead, who have been doing such a terrific job of counter-spying?" "perhaps ... quite possibly." "and if i'm good enough, clayton and schweikert certainly are, to name only two of the commodores. and knobos and dalnalten. and above all, how about jill?" "jill? why, i don't ... she measures up, of course, but ... but at that, there was nothing said against it, either ... i wonder...." "why not have the boys in--jill, too--and thrash it out?" the young people were called in; the story was told; the problem stated. the boys' reaction was instantaneous and unanimous. jack kinnison took the lead. "of course jill's going, if anybody does!" he burst out vehemently. "count _her_ out, with all the stuff she's got? _hardly_!" "why, jack! this, from _you_?" jill seemed highly surprised. "i have it on excellent authority that i'm a stinker; a half-witted one, at that. a jelly-brain, with come-hither eyes." "you are, and a lot of other things besides." jack kinnison did not back up a millimeter, even before their fathers. "but even at your sapadilliest your half wits are better than most other people's whole ones; and i never said or thought that your brain couldn't function, whenever it wanted to, back of those sad eyes. whatever it takes to be a lensman, sir," he turned to samms, "she's got just as much of as the rest of us. maybe more." "i take it, then, that there is no objection to her going?" samms asked. there was no objection. "what ship shall we take, and when?" "the _chicago_. now." kinnison directed. "she's hot and ready. we didn't strike any trouble going or coming, so she didn't need much servicing. flit!" they flitted, and the great battleship made the second cruise as uneventfully as she had made the first. the _chicago's_ officers and crew knew that the young people left the vessel separately; that they returned separately, each in his or her lifeboat. they met, however, not in the control room, but in jack kinnison's private quarters; the three young lensmen and the girl. the three were embarrassed; ill at ease. the lenses were--definitely--not working. no one of them would put his lens on jill, since she did not have one.... the girl broke the short silence. "wasn't she the most perfectly _beautiful_ thing you ever saw?" she breathed. "in spite of being over seven feet tall? she looked to be about twenty--except her eyes--but she must have been a hundred, to know so much--but what are you boys staring so about?" "_she!_" three voices blurted as one. "yes. she. why? i know we weren't together, but i got the impression, some way or other, that there was only the one. what did _you_ see?" all three men started to talk at once, a clamor of noise; then all stopped at once. "you first, spud. whom did you talk to, and what did he, she, or it say?" although conway costigan was a few years older than the other three, they all called him by nickname as a matter of course. "national police headquarters--chief of the detective bureau," costigan reported, crisply. "between forty three and forty five; six feet and half an inch; one seventy five. hard, fine, keen, a big time operator if there ever was one. looked a lot like your father, jill; the same dark auburn hair, just beginning to gray, and the same deep orange-yellow markings in his eyes. he gave me the works; then took this lens out of his safe, snapped it onto my wrist, and gave me two orders--get out and stay out." jack and mase stared at costigan, at jill, and at each other. then they whistled in unison. "i see this is not going to be a unanimous report, except possibly in one minor detail," jill remarked. "mase, you're next." "i landed on the campus of the university of arisia," northrop stated, flatly. "immense place--hundreds of thousands of students. they look me to the physics department--to the private laboratory of the department head himself. he had a panel with about a million meters and gauges on it; he scanned and measured every individual component element of my brain. then he made a pattern, on a milling router just about as complicated as his panel. from there on, of course, it was simple--just like a dentist making a set of china choppers or a metallurgist embedding a test-section. he snapped a couple of sentences of directions at me, and then said 'scram!' that's all." "sure that was all?" costigan asked. "didn't he add 'and _stay_ scrammed'?" "he didn't _say_ it, exactly, but the implication was clear enough." "the one point of similarity," jill commented. "now you, jack. you have been looking as though we were all candidates for canvas jackets that lace tightly up the back." "uh-uh. as though maybe _i_ am. i didn't see anything at all. didn't even land on the planet. just floated around in an orbit inside that screen. the thing i talked with was a pattern of pure force. this lens simply appeared on my wrist, bracelet and all, out of thin air. he told me plenty, though, in a very short time--his last word being for me not to come back or call back." "hm ... m ... m." this of jack's was a particularly indigestible bit, even for jill samms. "in plain words," costigan volunteered, "we all saw exactly what we expected to see." "uh-uh," jill denied. "i certainly did not expect to see a woman ... no; what each of us saw, i think, was what would do us the most good--give each of us the highest possible lift. i am wondering whether or not there was anything at all really there." "that might be it, at that." jack scowled in concentration. "but there must have been _something_ there--these lenses are real. but what makes me mad is that they wouldn't give you a lens. you're just as good a man as any one of us--if i didn't know it wouldn't do a damn bit of good i'd go back there right now and...." "don't pop off so, jack!" jill's eyes, however, were starry. "i know you mean it, and i could almost love you, at times--but i don't need a lens. as a matter of fact, i'll be much better off without one." "jet back, jill!" jack kinnison stared deeply into the girl's eyes--but still did not use his lens. "somebody must have done a terrific job of selling, to make you believe that ... or _are_ you sold, actually?" "actually. honestly. that arisian was a thousand times more of a woman than i ever will be, and she didn't wear a lens--never had worn one. women's minds and lenses don't fit. there's a sex-based incompatibility. lenses are as masculine as whiskers--and at that, only a very few men can ever wear them, either. very special men, like you three and dad and pops kinnison. men with tremendous force, drive, and scope. pure killers, all of you; each in his own way, of course. no more to be stopped than a glacier, and twice as hard and ten times as cold. a woman simply _can't_ have that kind of a mind! there is going to be a woman lensman some day--just one--but not for years and years; and i wouldn't be in her shoes for anything. in this job of mine, of...." "well, go on. what is this job you're so sure you are going to do?" "why, i don't know!" jill exclaimed, startled eyes wide. "i thought i knew all about it, but i don't! do you, about yours?" they did not, not one of them; and they were all as surprised at that fact as the girl had been. "well, to get back to this lady lensman who is going to appear some day, i gather that she is going to be some kind of a freak. she'll have to be, practically, because of the sex-based fundamental nature of the lens. mentor didn't say so, in so many words, but she made it perfectly clear that...." "mentor!" the three men exclaimed. each of them had dealt with mentor! "i am beginning to see," jill said, thoughtfully. "mentor. not a real name at all. to quote the unabridged verbatim--i had occasion to look the word up the other day and i am appalled now at the certainty that there was a connection--quote; mentor, a wise and faithful counselor; unquote. have any of you boys anything to say? i haven't; and i am beginning to be scared blue." silence fell; and the more they thought, those three young lensmen and the girl who was one of the two human women ever to encounter knowingly an arisian mind, the deeper that silence became. chapter 4 "so you didn't find anything on nevia." roderick kinnison got up, deposited the inch-long butt of his cigar in an ashtray, lit another, and prowled about the room; hands jammed deep into breeches pockets. "i'm surprised. nerado struck me as being a b.t.o.... i thought sure he'd qualify." "so did i." samms' tone was glum. "he's big time, and an operator; but not big enough, by far. i'm--we're both--finding out that lensman material is _damned_ scarce stuff. there's none on nevia, and no indication whatever that there ever will be any." "tough ... and you're right, of course, in your stand that we'll have to have lensmen from as many different solar systems as possible on the galactic council or the thing won't work at all. so damned much jealousy--which is one reason why we're here in new york instead of out at the hill, where we belong--we've found that out already, even in such a small and comparatively homogeneous group as our own system--the solarian council will not only have to be made up mostly of lensmen, but each and every inhabited planet of sol will have to be represented--even pluto, i suppose, in time. and by the way, your mr. saunders wasn't any too pleased when you took knobos of mars and dalnalten of venus away from him and made lensmen out of them--and put them miles over his head." "oh, i wouldn't say that ... exactly. i convinced him ... but at that, since saunders is not lensman grade himself, it was a trifle difficult for him to understand the situation completely." "you say it easy--'difficult' is not the word i would use. but back to the lensman hunt." kinnison scowled blackly. "i agree, as i said before, that we need non-human lensmen, the more the better, but i don't think much of your chance of finding any. what makes you think ... oh, i see ... but i don't know whether you're justified or not in assuming a high positive correlation between a certain kind of mental ability and technological advancement." "no such assumption is necessary. start anywhere you please, rod, and take it from there; including nevia." "i'll start with known facts, then. interstellar flight is new to us. we haven't spread far, or surveyed much territory. but in the eight solar systems with which we are most familiar there are seven planets--i'm not counting valeria--which are very much like earth in point of mass, size, climate, atmosphere, and gravity. five of the seven did not have any intelligent life and were colonized easily and quickly. the tellurian worlds of procyon and vega became friendly neighbors--thank god we learned something on nevia--because they were already inhabited by highly advanced races: procia by people as human as we are, vegia by people who would be so if it weren't for their tails. many other worlds of these systems are inhabited by more or less intelligent non-human races. just how intelligent they are we don't know, but the lensmen will soon find out. "my point is that no race we have found so far has had either atomic energy or any form of space-drive. in any contact with races having space-drives we have not been the discoverers, but the discovered. _our_ colonies are all within twenty six light-years of earth except aldebaran ii, which is fifty seven, but which drew a lot of people, in spite of the distance, because it was so nearly identical with earth. on the other hand, the nevians, from a distance of over a hundred light-years, found _us_ ... implying an older race and a higher development ... but you just told me that they would _never_ produce a lensman!" "that point stopped me, too, at first. follow through; i want to see if you arrive at the same conclusion i did." "well ... i ... i ..." kinnison thought intensely, then went on: "of course, the nevians were not colonizing; nor, strictly speaking, exploring. they were merely hunting for iron--a highly organized, intensively specialized operation to find a raw material they needed desperately." "precisely," samms agreed. "the rigellians, however, were _surveying_, and rigel is about four hundred and forty light-years from here. we didn't have a thing they needed or wanted. they nodded at us in passing and kept on going. i'm still on your track?" "dead center. and just where does that put the palainians?" "i see ... you may have something there, at that. palain is so far away that nobody knows even where it is--probably thousands of light-years. yet they have not only explored this system; they colonized pluto long before our white race colonized america. but damn it, virge, i don't like it--any part of it. rigel four you may be able to take, with your lens ... even one of their damned automobiles, if you stay solidly en rapport with the driver. but _palain_, virge! pluto is bad enough, but the home planet! you can't. nobody can. it simply can't be done!" "i know it won't be easy," samms admitted, bleakly, "but if it's got to be done, i'll do it. and i have a little information that i haven't had time to tell you yet. we discussed once before, you remember, what a job it was to get into any kind of communication with the palainians on pluto. you said then that nobody could understand them, and you were right--then. however, i re-ran those brain-wave tapes, wearing my lens, and could understand them--the thoughts, that is--as well as though they had been recorded in precisionist-grade english." "_what?_" kinnison exclaimed, then fell silent. samms remained silent. what they were thinking of arisia's lens cannot be expressed in words. "well, go on," kinnison finally said. "give me the rest of it--the stinger that you've been holding back." "the messages--_as messages_--were clear and plain. the backgrounds, however, the connotations and implications, were not. some of their codes and standards seem to be radically different from ours--so utterly and fantastically different that i simply cannot reconcile either their conduct or their ethics with their obviously high intelligence and their advanced state of development. however, they have at least some minds of tremendous power, and none of the peculiarities i deduced were of such a nature as to preclude lensmanship. therefore i am going to pluto; and from there--i hope--to palain seven. if there's a lensman there, i'll get him." "you will, at that," kinnison paid quiet tribute to what he, better than anyone else, knew that his friend had. "but enough of me--how are you doing?" "as well as can be expected at this stage of the game. the thing is developing along three main lines. first, the pirates. since that kind of thing is more or less my own line i'm handling it myself, unless and until you find someone better qualified. i've got jack and costigan working on it now. "second; drugs, vice, and so on. i hope you find somebody to take this line over, because, frankly, i'm in over my depth and want to get out. knobos and dalnalten are trying to find out if there's anything to the idea that there may be a planetary, or even inter-planetary, ring involved. since sid fletcher isn't a lensman i couldn't disconnect him openly from his job, but he knows a lot about the dope-vice situation and is working practically full time with the other two. "third; pure--or rather, decidedly impure--politics. the more i studied _that_ subject, the clearer it became that politics would be the worst and biggest battle of the three. there are too many angles i don't know a damned thing about, such as what to do about the succession of foaming, screaming fits your friend senator morgan will be throwing the minute he finds out what our galactic patrol is going to do. so i ducked the whole political line. "now you know as well as i do--better, probably--that morgan is only the pernicious activities committee of the north american senate. multiply him by the thousands of others, all over space, who will be on our necks before the patrol can get its space-legs, and you will see that all that stuff will have to be handled by a lensman who, as well as being a mighty smooth operator, will have to know _all_ the answers and will have to have plenty of guts. i've got the guts, but none of the other prime requisites. jill hasn't, although she's got everything else. fairchild, your relations ace, isn't a lensman and can never become one. so you can see quite plainly who has got to handle politics himself." "you may be right ... but this lensman business comes first...." samms pondered, then brightened. "perhaps--probably--i can find somebody on this trip--a palainian, say--who is better qualified than any of us." kinnison snorted. "if you can, i'll buy you a week in any venerian relaxerie you want to name." "better start saving up your credits, then, because from what i already know of the palainian mentality such a development is distinctly more than a possibility." samms paused, his eyes narrowing. "i don't know whether it would make morgan and his kind more rabid or less so to have a non-solarian entity possess authority in our affairs political--but at least it would be something new and different. but in spite of what you said about 'ducking' politics, what have you got northrop, jill and fairchild doing?" "well, we had a couple of discussions. i couldn't give either jill or dick orders, of course...." "wouldn't, you mean," samms corrected. "couldn't," kinnison insisted. "jill, besides being your daughter and lensman grade, had no official connection with either the triplanetary service or the solarian patrol. and the service, including fairchild, is still triplanetary; and it will have to stay triplanetary until you have found enough lensmen so that you can spring your twin surprises--galactic council and galactic patrol. however, northrop and fairchild are keeping their eyes and ears open and their mouths shut, and jill is finding out whatever she can about drugs and so on, as well as the various political angles. they'll report to you--facts, deductions, guesses, and recommendations--whenever you say the word." "nice work, rod. thanks. i think i'll call jill now, before i go--wonder where she is? ... but i wonder ... with the lens perhaps telephones are superfluous? i'll try it." "jill!" he thought intensely into his lens, forming as he did so a mental image of his gorgeous daughter as he knew her. but he found, greatly to his surprise, that neither elaboration nor emphasis was necessary. "ouch!" came the almost instantaneous answer, long before his thought was complete. "don't think so hard, dad, it hurts--i almost missed a step." virgilia was actually there with him; inside his own mind; in closer touch with him than she had ever before been. "back so soon? shall we report now, or aren't you ready to go to work yet?" "skipping for the moment your aspersions on my present activities--not quite." samms moderated the intensity of his thought to a conversational level. "just wanted to check with you. come in, rod." in flashing thoughts he brought her up to date. "jill, do you agree with what rod here has just told me?" "yes. fully. so do the boys." "that settles it, then--unless, of course, i can find a more capable substitute." "of course--but we will believe that when we see it." "where are you and what are you doing?" "washington, d.c. european embassy. dancing with herkimer third, senator morgan's number one secretary. i was going to make passes at him--in a perfectly lady-like way, of course--but it wasn't necessary. he thinks he can break down my resistance." "careful, jill! that kind of stuff...." "is very old stuff indeed, daddy dear. simple. and herkimer third isn't really a menace; he just thinks he is. take a look--you can, can't you, with your lens?" "perhaps ... oh, yes. i see him as well as you do." fully en rapport with the girl as he was, so that his mind received simultaneously with hers any stimulus which she was willing to share, it seemed as though a keen, handsome, deeply tanned face bent down from a distance of inches toward his own. "but i don't like it a bit--and him even less." "that's because you aren't a girl," jill giggled mentally. "this is fun; and it won't hurt him a bit, except maybe for a slightly bruised vanity, when i don't fall down flat at his feet. and i'm learning a lot that he hasn't any suspicion he's giving away." "knowing you, i believe that. but don't ... that is ... well, be _very_ careful not to get your fingers burned. the job isn't worth it--yet." "don't worry, dad." she laughed unaffectedly. "when it comes to playboys like this one, i've got millions and skillions and whillions of ohms of resistance. but here comes senator morgan himself, with a fat and repulsive venerian--he's calling my boy-friend away from me, with what he thinks is an imperceptible high-sign, into a huddle--and my olfactory nerves perceive a rich and fruity aroma, as of skunk--so ... i hate to seem to be giving a solarian councillor the heave-ho, but if i want to read what goes on--and i certainly do--i'll have to concentrate. as soon as you get back give us a call and we'll report. take it easy, dad!" "you're the one to be told that, not me. good hunting, jill!" samms, still seated calmly at his desk, reached out and pressed a button marked "garage". his office was on the seventieth floor; the garage occupied level after level of sub-basement. the screen brightened; a keen young face appeared. "good evening, jim. will you please send my car up to the wright skyway feeder?" "at once, sir. it will be there in seventy five seconds." samms cut off; and, after a brief exchange of thought with kinnison, went out into the hall and along it to the "down" shaft. there, going free, he stepped through a doorless, unguarded archway into over a thousand feet of air. although it was long after conventional office hours the shaft was still fairly busy, but that made no difference--inertialess collisions cannot even be felt. he bulleted downward to the sixth floor, where he brought himself to an instantaneous halt. leaving the shaft, he joined the now thinning crowd hurrying toward the exit. a girl with meticulously plucked eyebrows and an astounding hair-do, catching sight of his lens, took her hands out of her breeches pockets--skirts went out, as office dress, when up-and-down open-shaft velocities of a hundred or so miles per hour replaced elevators--nudged her companion, and whispered excitedly: "look there! quick! i never saw one close up before, did you? that's him--himself! first lensman samms!" at the portal, the lensman as a matter of habit held out his car-check, but such formalities were no longer necessary, or even possible. everybody knew, or wanted to be thought of as knowing, virgil samms. "stall four sixty five, first lensman, sir," the uniformed gateman told him, without even glancing at the extended disk. "thank you, tom." "this way, please, sir, first lensman," and a youth, teeth gleaming white in a startlingly black face, strode proudly to the indicated stall and opened the vehicle's door. "thank you, danny," samms said, as appreciatively as though he did not know exactly where his ground-car was. he got in. the door jammed itself gently shut. the runabout--a dillingham eleven-forty--shot smoothly forward upon its two fat, soft tires. half-way to the exit archway he was doing forty; he hit the steeply-banked curve leading into the lofty "street" at ninety. nor was there shock or strain. motorcycle-wise, but automatically, the "dilly" leaned against its gyroscopes at precisely the correct angle; the huge low-pressure tires clung to the resilient synthetic of the pavement as though integral with it. nor was there any question of conflicting traffic, for this thoroughfare, six full levels above varick street proper, was not, strictly speaking, a street at all. it had only one point of access, the one which samms had used; and only one exit--it was simply and only a feeder into wright skyway, a limited-access superhighway. samms saw, without noting particularly, the maze of traffic-ways of which this feeder was only one tiny part; a maze which extended from ground-level up to a point well above even the towering buildings of new york's metropolitan district. the way rose sharply; samms' right foot went down a little farther; the dillingham began to pick up speed. moving loud-speakers sang to him and yelled and blared at him, but he did not hear them. brilliant signs, flashing and flaring all the colors of the spectrum--sheer triumphs of the electrician's art--blazed in or flamed into arresting words and eye-catching pictures, but he did not see them. advertising--designed by experts to sell everything from aardvarks to martian zyzmol ("bottled ecstacy")--but the first lensman was a seasoned big-city dweller. his mind had long since become a perfect filter, admitting to his consciousness only things which he wanted to perceive: only so can big-city life be made endurable. approaching the skyway, he cut in his touring roadlights, slowed down a trifle, and insinuated his low-flyer into the stream of traffic. those lights threw fifteen hundred watts apiece, but there was no glare--polarized lenses and wind-shields saw to that. he wormed his way over to the left-hand, high-speed lane and opened up. at the edge of the skyscraper district, where wright skyway angles sharply downward to ground level, samms' attention was caught and held by something off to his right--a blue-white, whistling something that hurtled upward into the air. as it ascended it slowed down; its monotone shriek became lower and lower in pitch; its light went down through the spectrum toward the red. finally it exploded, with an earth-shaking crash; but the lightning-like flash of the detonation, instead of vanishing almost instantaneously, settled itself upon a low-hanging artificial cloud and became a picture and four words--two bearded faces and "smith bros. cough drops"! "well, i'll be damned!" samms spoke aloud, chagrined at having been compelled to listen to and to look at an advertisement. "i thought i had seen everything, but _that_ is really new!" twenty minutes--fifty miles--later, samms left the skyway at a point near what had once been south norwalk, connecticut; an area transformed now into the level square miles of new york spaceport. new york spaceport; then, and until the establishment of prime base, the biggest and busiest field in existence upon any planet of civilization. for new york city, long the financial and commercial capital of the earth, had maintained the same dominant position in the affairs of the solar system and was holding a substantial lead over her rivals, chicago, london, and stalingrad, in the race for inter-stellar supremacy. and virgil samms himself, because of the ever-increasing menace of piracy, had been largely responsible for the policy of basing the war-vessels of the triplanetary patrol upon each space-field in direct ratio to the size and importance of that field. hence he was no stranger in new york spaceport; in fact, master psychologist that he was, he had made it a point to know by first name practically everyone connected with it. no sooner had he turned his dillingham over to a smiling attendant, however, than he was accosted by a man whom he had never seen before. "mr. samms?" the stranger asked. "yes." samms did not energize his lens; he had not yet developed either the inclination or the technique to probe instantaneously every entity who approached him, upon any pretext whatever, in order to find out what that entity _really_ wanted. "i'm isaacson ..." the man paused, as though he had supplied a world of information. "yes?" samms was receptive, but not impressed. "interstellar spaceways, you know. we've been trying to see you for two weeks, but we couldn't get past your secretaries, so i decided to buttonhole you here, myself. but we're just as much alone here as we would be in either one of our offices--yes, more so. what i want to talk to you about is having our exclusive franchise extended to cover the outer planets and the colonies." "just a minute, mr. isaacson. surely you know that i no longer have even a portfolio in the council; that practically all of my attention is, and for some time to come will be, directed elsewhere?" "exactly--_officially_." isaacson's tone spoke volumes. "but you're still the boss; they'll do anything you tell them to. we couldn't try to do business with you before, of course, but in your present position there is nothing whatever to prevent you from getting into the biggest thing that will ever be. we are the biggest corporation in existence now, as you know, and we are still growing--fast. we don't do business in a small way, or with small men; so here's a check for a million credits, or i will deposit it to your account...." "i'm not interested." "as a binder," the other went on, as smoothly as though his sentence had not been interrupted, "with twenty-five million more to follow on the day that our franchise goes through." "i'm still not interested." "no ... o ... o ...?" isaacson studied the lensman narrowly: and samms, lens now wide awake, studied the entrepreneur. "well ... i ... while i admit that we want you pretty badly, you are smart enough to know that we'll get what we want anyway, with or without you. with you, though, it will be easier and quicker, so i am authorized to offer you, besides the twenty six million credits ..." he savored the words as he uttered them: "twenty two and one-half percent of spaceways. on today's market that is worth fifty million credits; ten years from now it will be worth fifty _billion_. that's my high bid; that's as high as we can possibly go." "i'm glad to hear that--i'm _still_ not interested," and samms strode away, calling his friend kinnison as he did so. "rod? virgil." he told the story. "whew!" kinnison whistled expressively. "they're not pikers, anyway, are they? what a _sweet_ set-up--and you could wrap it up and hand it to them like a pound of coffee...." "or you could, rod." "could be...." the big lensman ruminated. "but _what_ a hookup! perfectly legitimate, and with plenty of precedents--and arguments, of a sort--in its favor. the outer planets. then alpha centauri and sirius and procyon and so on. monopoly--all the traffic will bear...." "slavery, you mean!" samms stormed. "it would hold civilization back for a thousand years!" "sure, but what do _they_ care?" "that's it ... and he said--and actually believed--that they would get it without my help.... i can't help wondering about that." "simple enough, virge, when you think about it. he doesn't know yet what a lensman is. nobody does, you know, except lensmen. it will take some time for that knowledge to get around...." "and still longer for it to be _believed_." "right. but as to the chance of interstellar spaceways ever getting the monopoly they're working for, i didn't think i would have to remind you that it was not entirely by accident that over half of the members of the solarian council are lensmen, and that any galactic councillor will automatically _have_ to be a lensman. so go right ahead with what you started, my boy, and don't give isaacson and company another thought. we'll bend an optic or two in that direction while you are gone." "i was overlooking a few things, at that, i guess." samms sighed in relief as he entered the main office of the patrol. the line at the receptionist's desk was fairly short, but even so, samms was not allowed to wait. that highly decorative, but far-from-dumb blonde, breaking off in mid-sentence her business of the moment, turned on her charm as though it had been a battery of floodlights, pressed a stud on her desk, and spoke to the man before her and to the lensman: "excuse me a moment, please. first lensman samms, sir...?" "yes, miss regan?" her communicator--"squawk-box", in every day parlance--broke in. "first lensman samms is here, sir," the girl announced, and broke the circuit. "good evening, sylvia. lieutenant-commander wagner, please, or whoever else is handling clearances," samms answered what he thought was to have been her question. "oh, no, sir; you are cleared. commodore clayton has been waiting for you ... here he is, now." "hi, virgil!" commodore clayton, a big, solid man with a scarred face and a shock of iron-gray hair, whose collar bore the two silver stars which proclaimed him to be the commander-in-chief of a continental contingent of the patrol, shook hands vigorously. "i'll zip you out. miss regan, call a bug, please." "oh, that isn't necessary, alex!" samms protested. "i'll pick one up outside." "not in any patrol base in north america, my friend; nor, unless i am very badly mistaken, anywhere else. from now on, lensmen have absolute priority, and the quicker everybody realizes exactly what that means, the better." the "bug"--a vehicle something like a jeep, except more so--was waiting at the door. the two men jumped aboard. "the _chicago_--and blast!" clayton ordered, crisply. the driver obeyed--literally. gravel flew from beneath skidding tires as the highly maneuverable little ground-car took off. a screaming turn into the deservedly famous avenue of oaks. along the avenue. through the gate, the guards saluting smartly as the bug raced past them. past the barracks. past the airport hangars and strips. out into the space-field, the scarred and blackened area devoted solely to the widely-spaced docks of the tremendous vessels which plied the vacuous reaches of inter-planetary and inter-stellar space. spacedocks were, and are, huge and sprawling structures; built of concrete and steel and asbestos and ultra-stubborn refractory and insulation and vacuum-breaks; fully air-conditioned and having refrigeration equipment of thousands of tons per hour of ice; designed not only to expedite servicing, unloading, and loading, but also to protect materials and personnel from the raving, searing blasts of take-off and of landing. a space-dock is a squat and monstrous cylinder, into whose hollow top the lowermost one-third of a space-ship's bulk fits as snugly as does a baseball into the "pocket" of a veteran fielder's long-seasoned glove. and the tremendous distances between those docks minimize the apparent size, both of the structures themselves and of the vessels surmounting them. thus, from a distance, the _chicago_ looked little enough, and harmless enough; but as the bug flashed under the overhanging bulk and the driver braked savagely to a stop at one of the dock's entrances, samms could scarcely keep from flinching. that featureless, gray, smoothly curving wall of alloy steel loomed so incredibly high above them--extended so terrifyingly far outward beyond its visible means of support! it _must_ be on the very verge of crashing! samms stared deliberately at the mass of metal towering above him, then smiled--not without effort--at his companion. "you'd think, alex, that a man would get over being afraid that a ship was going to fall on him, but i haven't--yet." "no, and you probably never will. i never have, and i'm one of the old hands. some claim not to mind it--but not in front of a lie detector. that's why they had to make the passenger docks bigger than the liners--too many passengers fainted and had to be carried aboard on stretchers--or cancelled passage entirely. however, scaring hell out of them on the ground had one big advantage; they felt so safe inside that they didn't get the colly-wobbles so bad when they went free." "well, i've got over _that_, anyway. good-bye, alex; and thanks." samms entered the dock, shot smoothly upward, followed an escorting officer to the captain's own cabin, and settled himself into a cushioned chair facing an ultra-wave view-plate. a face appeared upon his communicator screen and spoke. "winfield to first lensman samms--you will be ready to blast off at twenty one hundred?" "samms to captain winfield," the lensman replied. "i will be ready." sirens yelled briefly; a noise which samms knew was purely a formality. clearance had been issued; station pixny was filling the air with warnings. personnel and material close enough to the _chicago's_ dock to be affected by the blast were under cover and safe. the blast went on; the plate showed, instead of a view of the space-field, a blaze of blue-white light. the war-ship was inertialess, it is true; but so terrific were the forces released that incandescent gases, furiously driven, washed the dock and everything for hundreds of yards around it. the plate cleared. through the lower, denser layers of atmosphere the _chicago_ bored in seconds; then, as the air grew thinner and thinner, she rushed upward faster and faster. the terrain below became concave ... then convex. being completely without inertia, the ship's velocity was at every instant that at which the friction of the medium through which she blasted her way equaled precisely the force of her driving thrust. wherefore, out in open space, the earth a fast-shrinking tiny ball and sol himself growing smaller, paler, and weaker at a startling rate, the _chicago's_ speed attained an almost constant value; a value starkly impossible for the human mind to grasp. chapter 5 for hours virgil samms sat motionless, staring almost unseeing into his plate. it was not that the view was not worth seeing--the wonder of space, the ever-changing, constantly-shifting panorama of incredibly brilliant although dimensionless points of light, against that wondrous background of mist-besprinkled black velvet, is a thing that never fails to awe even the most seasoned observer--but he had a tremendous load on his mind. he had to solve an apparently insoluble problem. how ... _how_ ... how could he do what he had to do? finally, knowing that the time of landing was approaching, he got up, unfolded his fans, and swam lightly through the air of the cabin to a hand-line, along which he drew himself into the control room. he could have made the trip in that room, of course, if he had so chosen; but, knowing that officers of space do not really like to have strangers in that sanctum, he did not intrude until it was necessary. captain winfield was already strapped down at his master conning plate. pilots, navigators, and computers worked busily at their respective tasks. "i was just going to call you, first lensman." winfield waved a hand in the general direction of a chair near his own. "take the lieutenant-captain's station, please." then, after a few minutes: "go inert, mr. white." "attention, all personnel," lieutenant-captain white spoke conversationally into a microphone. "prepare for inert maneuvering, class three. off." a bank of tiny red lights upon a panel turned green practically as one. white cut the bergenholm, whereupon virgil samms' mass changed instantly from a weight of zero to one of five hundred and twenty five pounds--ships of war then had no space to waste upon such non-essentials as artificial gravity. although he was braced for the change and cushioned against it, the lensman's breath _whooshed!_ out sharply; but, being intensely interested in what was going on, he swallowed convulsively a couple of times, gasped a few deep breaths, and fought his way back up to normalcy. the chief pilot was now at work, with all the virtuoso's skill of his rank and grade; one of the hall-marks of which is to make difficult tasks look easy. he played trills and runs and arpeggios--at times veritable glissades--upon keyboards and pedals, directing with micrometric precision the tremendous forces of the superdreadnaught to the task of matching the intrinsic velocity of new york spaceport at the time of his departure to the i. v. of the surface of the planet so far below. samms stared into his plate; first at the incredibly tiny apparent size of that incredibly hot sun, and then at the barren-looking world toward which they were dropping at such terrific speed. "it doesn't seem possible ..." he remarked, half to winfield, half to himself, "that a sun could be that big and that hot. rigel four is almost two hundred times as far away from it as earth is from sol--something like eighteen billion miles--it doesn't look much, if any, bigger than venus does from luna--yet this world is hotter than the sahara desert." "well, blue giants are both big and hot," the captain replied, matter-of-factly, "and their radiation, being mostly invisible, is deadly stuff. and rigel is about the biggest in this region. there are others a lot worse, though. doradus s, for instance, would make rigel, here, look like a tallow candle. i'm going out there, some of these days, just to take a look at it. but that's enough of astronomical chit-chat--we're down to twenty miles of altitude and we've got your city just about stopped." the _chicago_ slowed gently to a halt; perched motionless upon softly hissing jets. samms directed his visibeam downward and sent along it an exploring, questing thought. since he had never met a rigellian in person, he could not form the mental image or pattern necessary to become en rapport with any one individual of the race. he did know, however, the type of mind which must be possessed by the entity with whom he wished to talk, and he combed the rigellian city until he found one. the rapport was so incomplete and imperfect as to amount almost to no contact at all, but he could, perhaps, make himself understood. "if you will excuse this possibly unpleasant and certainly unwarranted intrusion," he thought, carefully and slowly, "i would like very much to discuss with you a matter which should become of paramount importance to all the intelligent peoples of all the planets in space." "i welcome you, tellurian." mind fused with mind at every one of uncountable millions of points and paths. this rigellian professor of sociology, standing at his desk, was physically a monster ... the oil-drum of a body, the four blocky legs, the multi-branchiate tentacular arms, that immobile dome of a head, the complete lack of eyes and of ears ... nevertheless samms' mind fused with the monstrosity's as smoothly, as effortlessly, and almost as completely as it had with his own daughter's! and _what_ a mind! the transcendent poise; the staggeringly tremendous range and scope--the untroubled and unshakeable calm; the sublime quietude; the vast and placid certainty; the ultimate stability, unknown and forever unknowable to any human or near-human race! "dismiss all thought of intrusion, first lensman samms ... i have heard of you human beings, of course, but have never considered seriously the possibility of meeting one of you mind to mind. indeed, it was reported that none of our minds could make any except the barest and most unsatisfactory contact with any of yours they chanced to encounter. it is, i now perceive, the lens which makes this full accord possible, and it is basically about the lens that you are here?" "it is," and samms went on to cover in flashing thoughts his conception of what the galactic patrol should be and should become. that was easy enough; but when he tried to describe in detail the qualifications necessary for lensmanship, he began to bog down. "force, drive, scope, of course ... range ... power ... but above all, an absolute integrity ... an ultimate incorruptibility...." he could recognize such a mind after meeting it and studying it, but as to finding it ... it might not be in any place of power or authority. his own, and rod kinnison's, happened to be; but costigan's was not ... and both knobos and dalnalten had made inconspicuousness a fine art.... "i see," the native stated, when it became clear that samms could say no more. "it is evident, of course, that i cannot qualify; nor do i know anyone personally who can. however...." "what?" samms demanded. "i was sure, from the feel of your mind, that you ... but with a mind of such depth and breadth, such tremendous scope and power, you must be incorruptible!" "i am," came the dry rejoinder. "we all are. no rigellian is, or ever will be or can be, what you think of as 'corrupt' or 'corruptible'. indeed, it is only by the narrowest, most intense concentration upon every line of your thought that i can translate your meaning into a concept possible for any of us even to understand." "then what ... oh, i see. i was starting at the wrong end. naturally enough, i suppose, i looked first for the qualities rarest in my own race." "of course. our minds have ample scope and range; and, perhaps, sufficient power. but those qualities which you refer to as 'force' and 'drive' are fully as rare among us as absolute mental integrity is among you. what you know as 'crime' is unknown. we have no police, no government, no laws, no organized armed forces of any kind. we take, practically always, the line of least resistance. we live and let live, as your thought runs. we work together for the common good." "well ... i don't know what i expected to find here, but certainly not this...." if samms had never before been completely thunderstruck, completely at a loss, he was then. "you don't think, then, that there is any chance?" "i have been thinking, and there may be a chance ... a slight one, but still a chance," the rigellian said, slowly. "for instance, that youth, so full of curiosity, who first visited your planet. thousands of us have wondered, to ourselves and to each other, about the peculiar qualities of mind which compelled him and others to waste so much time, effort, and wealth upon a project so completely useless as exploration. why, he had even to develop energies and engines theretofore unknown, and which can never be of any real use!" samms was shaken by the calm finality with which the rigellian dismissed all possibility of the usefulness of inter-stellar exploration, but stuck doggedly to his purpose. "however slight the chance, i must find and talk to this man. i suppose he is now out in deep space somewhere. have you any idea where?" "he is now in his home city, accumulating funds and manufacturing fuel with which to continue his pointless activities. that city is named ... that is, in your english you might call it ... suntown? sunberg? no, it must be more specific ... rigelsville? rigel city?" "rigelston, i would translate it?" samms hazarded. "exactly--rigelston." the professor marked its location upon a globular mental map far more accurate and far more detailed than the globe which captain winfield and his lieutenant were then studying. "thanks. now, can you and will you get in touch with this explorer and ask him to call a meeting of his full crew and any others who might be interested in the project i have outlined?" "i can. i will. he and his kind are not quite sane, of course, as you know; but i do not believe that even they are so insane as to be willing to subject themselves to the environment of your vessel." "they will not be asked to come here. the meeting will be held in rigelston. if necessary, i shall insist that it be held there." "you would? i perceive that you would. it is strange ... yes, fantastic ... you are quarrelsome, pugnacious, anti-social, vicious, small-bodied and small-brained; timid, nervous, and highly and senselessly excitable; unbalanced and unsane; as sheerly monstrous mentally as you are physically...." these outrageous thoughts were sent as casually and as impersonally as though the sender were discussing the weather. he paused, then went on: "and yet, to further such a completely visionary project, you are eager to subject yourself to conditions whose counterparts i could not force myself, under any circumstances whatever, to meet. it may be ... it must be true that there is an extension of the principle of working together for the common good which my mind, for lack of pertinent data, has not been able to grasp. i am now en rapport with dronvire the explorer." "ask him, please, not to identify himself to me. i do not want to go into that meeting with any preconceived ideas." "a balanced thought," the rigellian approved. "someone will be at the airport to point out to you the already desolated area in which the space-ship of the explorers makes its so-frightful landings; dronvire will ask someone to meet you at the airport and bring you to the place of meeting." the telepathic line snapped and samms turned a white and sweating face to the _chicago's_ captain. "god, what a strain! don't ever try telepathy unless you positively have to--especially not with such an outlandishly _different_ race as these rigellians are!" "don't worry; i won't." winfield's words were not at all sympathetic, but his tone was. "you looked as though somebody was beating your brains out with a spiked club. where next, first lensman?" samms marked the location of rigelston upon the vessel's chart, then donned ear-plugs and a special, radiation-proof suit of armor, equipped with refrigerators and with extra-thick blocks of lead glass to protect the eyes. the airport, an extremely busy one well outside the city proper, was located easily enough, as was the spot upon which the tellurian ship was to land. lightly, slowly, she settled downward, her jets raving out against a gravity fully twice that of her native earth. those blasts, however, added little or nothing to the destruction already accomplished by the craft then lying there--a torpedo-shaped cruiser having perhaps one-twentieth of the _chicago's_ mass and bulk. the superdreadnaught landed, sinking into the hard, dry ground to a depth of some ten or fifteen feet before she stopped. samms, en rapport with the entity who was to be his escort, made a flashing survey of the mind so intimately in contact with his own. no use. this one was not and never could become lensman material. he climbed heavily down the ladder. this double-normal gravity made the going a bit difficult, but he could stand that a lot better than some of the other things he was going to have to take. the rigellian equivalent of an automobile was there, waiting for him, its door invitingly open. samms had known--in general--what to expect. the two-wheeled chassis was more or less similar to that of his own dillingham. the body was a narrow torpedo of steel, bluntly pointed at both ends, and without windows. two features, however, were both unexpected and unpleasant--the hard, tough steel of which that body was forged was an inch and a half thick, instead of one-sixteenth; and even that extraordinarily armored body was dented and scarred and marred, especially about the fore and rear quarters, as deeply and as badly and as casually as are the fenders of an earthly jalopy! the lensman climbed, not easily or joyously, into that grimly forbidding black interior. black? it was so black that the port-hole-like doorway seemed to admit no light at all. it was blacker than a witch's cat in a coal cellar at midnight! samms flinched; then, stiffening, thought at the driver. "my contact with you seems to have slipped. i'm afraid that i will have to cling to you rather more tightly than may be either polite or comfortable. deprived of sight, and without your sense of perception, i am practically helpless." "come in, lensman, by all means. i offered to maintain full engagement, but it seemed to me that you declined it; quite possibly the misunderstanding was due to our unfamiliarity with each others' customary mode of thought. relax, please, and come in ... there! better?" "infinitely better. thanks." and it was. the darkness vanished; through the unexplainable perceptive sense of the rigellian he could "see" everything--he had a practically perfect three-dimensional view of the entire circumambient sphere. he could see both the inside and the outside of the ground car he was in and of the immense space-ship in which he had come to rigel iv. he could see the bearings and the wrist-pins of the internal-combustion engine of the car, the interior structure of the welds that held the steel plates together, the busy airport outside, and even deep into the ground. he could see and study in detail the deepest-buried, most heavily shielded parts of the atomic engines of the _chicago_. but he was wasting time. he could also plainly see a deeply-cushioned chair, designed to fit a human body, welded to a stanchion and equipped with half a dozen padded restraining straps. he sat down quickly; strapped himself in. "ready?" "ready." the door banged shut with a clangor which burst through space-suit and ear-plugs with all the violence of a nearby thunderclap. and that was merely the beginning. the engine started--an internal-combustion engine of well over a thousand horsepower, designed for maximum efficiency by engineers in whose lexicon there were no counterparts of any english words relating to noise, or even to sound. the car took off; with an acceleration which drove the tellurian backward, deep into the cushions. the scream of tortured tires and the crescendo bellowing of the engine combined to form an uproar which, amplified by and reverberating within the resonant shell of metal, threatened to addle the very brain inside the lensman's skull. "you suffer!" the driver exclaimed, in high concern. "they cautioned me to start and stop gently, to drive slowly and carefully, to bump softly. they told me you are frail and fragile, a fact which i perceived for myself and which has caused me to drive with the utmost possible care and restraint. is the fault mine? have i been too rough?" "not at all. it isn't that. it's the ungodly noise." then, realizing that the rigellian could have no conception of his meaning, he continued quickly: "the vibrations in the atmosphere, from sixteen cycles per second up to about nine or ten thousand." he explained what a second was. "my nervous system is very sensitive to those vibrations. but i expected them and shielded myself against them as adequately as i could. nothing can be done about them. go ahead." "atmospheric vibrations? _atmospheric_ vibrations? atmospheric _vibrations_?" the driver marveled, and concentrated upon this entirely new concept while he-1. swung around a steel-sheathed concrete pillar at a speed of at least sixty miles per hour, grazing it so closely that he removed one layer of protective coating from the metal. 2. braked so savagely to miss a wildly careening truck that the restraining straps almost cut samms' body, space-suit and all, into slices. 3. darted into a hole in the traffic so narrow that only tiny fractions of inches separated his hurtling juggernaut from an enormous steel column on one side and another speeding vehicle on the other. 4. executed a double-right-angle reverse curve, thus missing by hair's breadths two vehicles traveling in the opposite direction and one in his own. 5. as a grand climax to this spectacular exhibition of insane driving, he plunged at full speed into a traffic artery which seemed so full already that it could not hold even one more car. but it could--just barely could. however, instead of near misses or grazing hits, this time there were bumps, dents--little ones, nothing at all, really, only an inch or so deep--and an utterly hellish concatenation and concentration of noise. "i fail completely to understand what effect such vibrations could have," the rigellian announced finally, sublimely unconscious that anything at all out of the ordinary had occurred. for him, nothing had. "but surely they cannot be of any use?" "on this world, i am afraid not. no," samms admitted, wearily. "here, too, apparently, as everywhere, the big cities are choking themselves to death with their own traffic." "yes. we build and build, but never have roads enough." "what are those mounds along the streets?" for some time samms had been conscious of those long, low, apparently opaque structures; attracted to them because they were the only non-transparent objects within range of the rigellian's mind. "or is it something i should not mention?" "what? oh, those? by no means." one of the nearby mounds lost its opacity. it was filled with swirling, gyrating bands and streamers of energy so vivid and so solid as to resemble fabric; with wildly hurtling objects of indescribable shapes and contours; with brilliantly flashing symbols which samms found, greatly to his surprise, made sense--not through the rigellian's mind, but through his own lens: "eat teegmee's food!" "advertising!" samms' thought was a snort. "advertising. you do not perceive yours, either, as you drive?" this was the first bond to be established between two of the most highly advanced races of the first galaxy! the frightful drive continued; the noise grew worse and worse. imagine, if you can, a city of fifteen millions of people, throughout whose entire length, breadth, height, and depth no attempt whatever had ever been made to abate any noise, however violent or piercing! if your imagination has been sufficiently vivid and if you have worked understandingly enough, the product may approximate what first lensman samms was forced to listen to that day. through ever-thickening traffic, climbing to higher and ever higher roadways between towering windowless walls of steel, the massive rigellian automobile barged and banged its way. finally it stopped, a thousand feet or so above the ground, beside a building which was still under construction. the heavy door clanged open. they got out. and then--it chanced to be daylight at the time--samms saw a tangle of fighting, screaming _colors_ whose like no entity possessing the sense of sight had ever before imagined. reds, yellows, blues, greens, purples, and every variation and inter-mixture possible; laid on or splashed on or occurring naturally at perfect random, smote his eyes as violently as the all-pervading noise had been assailing his ears. he realized then that through his guide's sense of perception he had been "seeing" only in shades of gray, that to these people "visible" light differed only in wave-length from any other band of the complete electromagnetic spectrum of vibration. strained and tense, the lensman followed his escort along a narrow catwalk, through a wall upon which riveters and welders were busily at work, into a room practically without walls and ceiled only by story after story of huge i-beams. yet _this_ was the meeting-place; almost a hundred rigellians were assembled there! and as samms walked toward the group a craneman dropped a couple of tons of steel plate, from a height of eight or ten feet, upon the floor directly behind him. "i just about jumped right out of my armor," is the way samms himself described his reactions; and that description is perhaps as good as any. at any rate, he went briefly out of control, and the rigellian sent him a steadying, inquiring, wondering thought. he could no more understand the tellurian's sensitivity than samms could understand the fact that to these people, even the concept of physical intrusion was absolutely incomprehensible. these builders were not workmen, in the tellurian sense. they were rigellians, each working his few hours per week for the common good. they would be no more in contact with the meeting than would their fellows on the other side of the planet. samms closed his eyes to the riot of clashing colors, deafened himself by main strength to the appalling clangor of sound, forced himself to concentrate every fiber of his mind upon his errand. "please synchronize with my mind, as many of you as possible," he thought at the group as a whole, and went en rapport with mind after mind after mind. and mind after mind after mind lacked something. some were stronger than others, had more initiative and drive and urge, but none would quite do. until-"thank god!" in the wave of exultant relief, of fulfillment, samms no longer saw the colors or heard the din. "you, sir, are of lensman grade. i perceive that you are dronvire." "yes, virgil samms, i am dronvire; and at long last i know what it is that i have been seeking all my life. but how of these, my other friends? are not some of them...?" "i do not know, nor is it necessary that i find out. you will select ..." samms paused, amazed. the other rigellians were still in the room, but mentally, he and dronvire were completely alone. "they anticipated your thought, and, knowing that it was to be more or less personal, they left us until one of us invites them to return." "i like that, and appreciate it. you will go to arisia. you will receive your lens. you will return here. you will select and send to arisia as many or as few of your fellows as you choose. these things i require you, by the lens of arisia, to do. afterward--please note that this is in no sense obligatory--i would like very much to have you visit earth and accept appointment to the galactic council. will you?" "i will." dronvire needed no time to consider his decision. the meeting was dismissed. the same entity who had been samms' chauffeur on the in-bound trip drove him back to the _chicago_, driving as "slowly" and as "carefully" as before. nor, this time, did the punishment take such toll, even though samms knew that each terrific lunge and lurch was adding one more bruise to the already much-too-large collection discoloring almost every square foot of his tough hide. he had succeeded, and the thrill of success had its usual analgesic effect. the _chicago's_ captain met him in the air-lock and helped him remove his suit. "are you _sure_ you're all right, samms?" winfield was no longer the formal captain, but a friend. "even though you didn't call, we were beginning to wonder ... you look as though you'd been to a valerian clambake, and i sure as hell don't like the way you're favoring those ribs and that left leg. i'll tell the boys you got back in a-prime shape, but i'll have the doctors look you over, just to make sure." winfield made the announcement, and through his lens samms could plainly feel the wave of relief and pleasure that spread throughout the great ship with the news. it surprised him immensely. who was _he_, that all these boys should care so much whether he lived or died? "i'm perfectly all right," samms protested. "there's nothing at all the matter with me that twenty hours of sleep won't fix as good as new." "maybe; but you'll go to the sick-bay first, just the same," winfield insisted. "and i suppose you want me to blast back to tellus?" "right. and fast. the ambassadors' ball is next tuesday evening, you know, and that's one function i can't stay away from, even with a class a double prime excuse." chapter 6 the ambassadors' ball, one of the most ultra-ultra functions of the year, was well under way. it was not that everyone who was anyone was there; but everyone who was there was, in one way or another, very emphatically someone. thus, there were affairs at which there were more young and beautiful women, and more young and handsome men; but none exhibiting newer or more expensive gowns, more ribbons and decorations, more or costlier or more refined jewelry, or a larger acreage of powdered and perfumed epidermis. and even so, the younger set was well enough represented. since pioneering appeals more to youth than to age, the men representing the colonies were young; and their wives, together with the daughters and the second (or third or fourth, or occasionally the fifth) wives of the human personages practically balanced the account. nor was the throng entirely human. the time had not yet come, of course, when warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing monstrosities from hundreds of other solar systems would vie in numbers with the humanity present. there were, however, a few martians on the floor, wearing their light "robes du convention" and dancing with meticulously mathematical precision. a few venerians, who did not dance, sat in state or waddled importantly about. many worlds of the solarian system, and not a few other systems, were represented. one couple stood out, even against that opulent and magnificent background. eyes followed them wherever they went. the girl was tall, trim, supple; built like a symphony. her callistan vexto-silk gown, of the newest and most violent shade of "radio-active" green, was phosphorescently luminous; fluorescent; gleaming and glowing. its hem swept the floor, but above the waist it vanished mysteriously except for wisps which clung to strategic areas here and there with no support, apparently, except the personal magnetism of the wearer. she, almost alone of all the women there, wore no flowers. her only jewelry was a rosette of huge, perfectly-matched emeralds, perched precariously upon her bare left shoulder. her hair, unlike the other women's flawless coiffures, was a flamboyant, artistically-disarranged, red-bronze-auburn mop. her soft and dewy eyes--virgilia samms could control her eyes as perfectly as she could her highly educated hands--were at the moment gold-flecked, tawny wells of girlish innocence and trust. "but i _can't_ give you this next dance, too, herkimer--_honestly_ i can't!" she pleaded, snuggling just a trifle closer into the embrace of the young man who was just as much man, physically, as she was woman. "i'd just _love_ to, really, but i just simply _can't_, and you know why, too." "you've got some duty-dances, of course ..." "_some?_ i've got a list as long as from here to there! senator morgan first, of course, then mr. isaacson, then i sat one out with mr. ossmen--i can't _stand_ venerians, they're so slimy and fat and repulsive!--and that leathery horned toad from mars and that jovian hippopotamus ..." she went down the list, and as she named or characterized each entity another finger of her left hand pressed down upon the back of her partner's right, to emphasize the count of her social obligations. but those talented fingers were doing more--far, far more--than that. herkimer third, although no little of a don juan, was a highly polished, smoothly finished, thoroughly seasoned diplomat. as such, his eyes and his other features--particularly his eyes--had been schooled for years to reveal no trace of whatever might be going on inside his brain. if he had entertained any suspicion of the beautiful girl in his arms, if anyone had suggested that she was trying her best to pump him, he would have smiled the sort of smile which only the top-drawer diplomat can achieve. he was not suspicious of virgilia samms. however, simply because she was virgil samms' daughter, he took an extra bit of pain to betray no undue interest in any one of the names she recited. and besides, she was not looking at his eyes, nor even at his face. her glance, demurely downcast, was all too rarely raised above the level of his chin. there were some things, however, that herkimer herkimer third did not know. that virgilia samms was the most accomplished muscle-reader of her times. that she was so close to him, not because of his manly charm, but because only in that position could she do her prodigious best. that she could work with her eyes alone, but in emergencies, when fullest possible results were imperative, she had to use her exquisitely sensitive fingers and her exquisitely tactile skin. that she had studied intensively, and had tabulated the reactions of, each of the entities on her list. that she was now, with his help, fitting those reactions into a pattern. and finally, that that pattern was beginning to assume the grim shape of murder! and virgilia samms, working now for something far more urgent and vastly more important than a figmental galactic patrol, hoped desperately that this herkimer was not a muscle-reader too; for she knew that she was revealing her secrets even more completely than was he. in fact, if things got much worse, he could not help but feel the pounding of her heart ... but she could explain that easily enough, by a few appropriate wiggles ... no, he wasn't a reader, definitely not. he wasn't watching the right places; he was looking where that gown had been designed to make him look, and nowhere else ... and no tell-tale muscles lay beneath any part of either of his hands. as her eyes and her fingers and her lovely torso sent more and more information to her keen brain, jill grew more and more anxious. she was sure that murder was intended, but who was to be the victim? her father? probably. pops kinnison? possibly. somebody else? barely possibly. and when? and where? and how? she _didn't know_! and she would have to be _sure_ ... mentioning names hadn't been enough, but a personal appearance ... why _didn't_ dad show up--or did she wish he wouldn't come at all...? virgil samms entered the ball-room. "and dad told me, herkimer," she cooed sweetly, gazing up into his eyes for the first time in over a minute, "that i must dance with every one of them. so you see ... oh, there he is now, over there! i've been wondering where he's been keeping himself." she nodded toward the entrance and prattled on artlessly. "he's almost _never_ late, you know, and i've ..." he looked, and as his eyes met those of the first lensman, jill learned three of the facts she needed so badly to know. her father. here. soon. she never knew how she managed to keep herself under control; but, some way and just barely, she did. although nothing showed, she was seething inwardly: wrought up as she had never before been. what could she do? she _knew_, but she did not have a scrap or an iota of visible or tangible evidence; and if she made one single slip, however slight, the consequences could be immediate and disastrous. after this dance might be too late. she could make an excuse to leave the floor, but that would look very bad, later ... and none of them would lens her, she knew, while she was with herkimer--_damn_ such chivalry!... she _could_ take the chance of waving at her father, since she hadn't seen him for so long ... no, the smallest risk would be with mase. he looked at her every chance he got, and she'd _make_ him use his lens ... northrop looked at her; and over herkimer's shoulder, for one fleeting instant, she allowed her face to reveal the terrified appeal she so keenly felt. "want me, jill?" his lensed thought touched only the outer fringes of her mind. full rapport is more intimate than a kiss: no one except her father had ever really put a lens on virgilia samms. nevertheless: "_want_ you! i never wanted anybody so much in my life! come in, mase--quick--_please_!" diffidently enough, he came; but at the first inkling of the girl's news all thought of diffidence or of privacy vanished. "jack! spud! mr. kinnison! mr. samms!" he lensed sharp, imperative, almost frantic thoughts. "listen in!" "steady, mase, i'll take over," came roderick kinnison's deeper, quieter mental voice. "first, the matter of guns. anybody except me wearing a pistol? you are, spud?" "yes, sir." "you would be. but you and mase, jack?" "we've got our lewistons!" "you would have. blasters, my sometimes-not-quite-so-bright son, are fine weapons indeed for certain kinds of work. in emergencies, it is of course permissible to kill a few dozen innocent bystanders. in such a crowd as this, though, it is much better technique to kill only the one you are aiming at. so skip out to my car, you two, right now, and change--and make it _fast_." everyone knew that roderick kinnison's car was at all times an arsenal on wheels. "wish you were in uniform, too, virge, but it can't be helped now. work your way--_slowly_--around to the northwest corner. spud, do the same." "it's impossible--starkly unthinkable!" and "i'm not _sure_ of anything, really ..." samms and his daughter began simultaneously to protest. "virgil, you talk like a man with a paper nose. keep still until after you've used your brain. and i'm sure enough of what you know, jill, to take plenty of steps. you can relax now--take it easy. we're covering virgil and i called up support in force. you _can_ relax a little, i see. good! i'm not trying to hide from anybody that the next few minutes may be critical. are you pretty sure, jill, that herkimer is a key man?" "pretty sure, pops." _how_ much better she felt, now that the lensmen were on guard! "in this one case, at least." "good! then let him talk you into giving him every dance, right straight through until something breaks. watch him. he must know the signal and who is going to operate, and if you can give us a fraction of a second of warning it will help no end. can do?" "i'll say i can--and i would love to, the big, slimy, stinking skinker!" as transliterated into words, the girl's thought may seem a trifle confused, but kinnison knew exactly what she meant. "one more thing, jill; a detail. the boys are coming back in and are working their partners over this way. see if herkimer notices that they have changed their holsters." "no, he didn't notice," jill reported, after a moment. "but i don't notice any difference, either, and i'm looking for it." "nevertheless, it's there, and the difference between a mark seventeen and a mark five is something more than that between tweedledum and tweedledee," kinnison returned, dryly. "however, it may not be as obvious to non-military personnel as it is to us. that's far enough, boys, don't get too close. now, virge, keep solidly en rapport with jill on one side and with us on the other, so that she won't have to give herself and the show away by yelling and pointing, and ..." "but this is preposterous!" samms stormed. "preposterous, hell," roderick kinnison's thought was still coldly level; only the fact that he was beginning to use non-ballroom language revealed any sign of the strain he was under. "stop being so goddam heroic and start using your brain. you turned down fifty billion credits. why do you suppose they offered that much, when they can get anybody killed for a hundred? and what would they do about it?" "but they couldn't get away with it, rod, at an ambassadors' ball. they _couldn't_, possibly." "formerly, no. that was my first thought, too. but it was you who pointed out to me, not so long ago, that the techniques of crime have changed of late. in the new light, the swankier the brawl the greater the confusion and the better the chance of getting away clean. comb _that_ out of your whiskers, you red-headed mule!" "well ... there might be something in it, after all ..." samms' thought showed apprehension at last. "you know damn well there is. but you boys--jack and mase especially--loosen up. you can't do good shooting while you're strung up like a couple of cocoons. do something--talk to your partners or think at jill ..." "that won't be hard, sir." mason northrop grinned feebly. "and that reminds me of something, jill. mentor certainly bracketed the target when he--or she, or it, maybe--said that you would never need a lens." "huh?" jill demanded, inelegantly. "i don't see the connection, if any." "no? everybody else does, i'll bet. how about it?" the other lensmen, even samms, agreed enthusiastically. "well, do you think that any of those characters, particularly herkimer herkimer third, would let a harness bull in harness--even such a beautiful one as you--get close enough to him to do such a davey the dip act on his mind?" "oh ... i never thought of that, but it's right, and i'm glad ... but pops, you said something about 'support in force.' have you any idea how long it will be? i _hope_ i can hold out, with you all supporting me, but ..." "you can, jill. two or three minutes more, at most." "support? in force? what do you mean?" samms snapped. "just that. the whole damned army," kinnison replied. "i sent two-star commodore alexander clayton a thought that lifted him right out of his chair. everything he's got, at full emergency blast. armor--mark eighty fours--six by six extra heavies--a ninety sixty for an ambulance--full escort, upstairs and down--way-friskers--'copters--cruisers and big stuff--in short, the works. i would have run with you before this, if i dared; but the minute the relief party shows up, we do a flit." "if you _dared_?" jill asked, shaken by the thought. "exactly, my dear. i don't dare. if they start anything we'll do our damnedest, but i'm praying they won't." but kinnison's prayers--if he made any--were ignored. jill heard a sharp, but very usual and insignificant sound; someone had dropped a pencil. she felt an inconspicuous muscle twitch slightly. she saw the almost imperceptible tensing of a neck-muscle which would have turned herkimer's head in a certain direction if it had been allowed to act. her eyes flashed along that line, searched busily for milli-seconds. a man was reaching unobtrusively, as though for a handkerchief. but men at ambassadors' balls do not carry blue handkerchiefs; nor does any fabric, however dyed, resemble at all closely the blued steel of an automatic pistol. jill would have screamed, then, and pointed; but she had time to do neither. through her rapport with her father the lensmen saw everything that she saw, in the instant of her seeing it. hence five shots blasted out, practically as one, before the girl could scream, or point, or even move. she did scream, then; but since dozens of other women were screaming, too, it made no difference--then. conway costigan, trigger-nerved spacehound that he was and with years of gun-fighting and of hand-to-hand brawling in his log, shot first; even before the gunman did. it was costigan's blinding speed that saved virgil samms' life that day; for the would-be assassin was dying, with a heavy slug crashing through his brain, before he finished pulling the trigger. the dying hand twitched upward. the bullet intended for samms' heart went high; through the fleshy part of the shoulder. roderick kinnison, because of his age, and his son and northrop, because of their inexperience, were a few milli-seconds slow. they, however, were aiming for the body, not for the head; and any of those three resulting wounds would have been satisfactorily fatal. the man went down, and stayed down. samms staggered, but did not go down until the elder kinnison, as gently as was consistent with the maximum of speed, threw him down. "stand back! get back! give him air!" men began to shout, the while pressing closer themselves. "you men, stand back. some of you go get a stretcher. you women, come here." kinnison's heavy, parade-ground voice smashed down all lesser noises. "is there a doctor here?" there was; and, after being "frisked" for weapons, he went busily to work. "joy--betty--jill--clio," kinnison called his own wife and their daughter, virgilia samms, and mrs. costigan. "you four first. now you--and you--and you--and you...." he went on, pointing out large, heavy women wearing extremely extreme gowns, "stand here, right over him. cover him up, so that nobody else can get a shot at him. you other women, stand behind and between these--closer yet--fill those spaces up solid--there! jack, stand there. mase, there. costigan, the other end; i'll take this one. now, everybody, listen. i know damn well that none of you women are wearing guns above the waist, and you've all got long skirts--thank god for ballgowns! now, fellows, if any one of these women makes a move to lift her skirt, blow her brains out, right then, without waiting to ask questions." "sir, i protest! this is outrageous!" one of the dowagers exclaimed. "madam, i agree with you fully. it is." kinnison smiled as genuinely as he could under the circumstances. "it is, however, _necessary_. i will apologize to all you ladies, and to you, doctor--in writing if you like--after we have virgil samms aboard the _chicago_; but until then i would not trust my own grandmother." the doctor looked up. "the _chicago_? this wound does not appear to be a very serious one, but this man is going to a hospital at once. ah, the stretcher. so ... please ... easy ... there, that is excellent. call an ambulance, please, immediately." "i did. long ago. but no hospital, doctor. all those windows--open to the public--or the whole place bombed--by no means. i'm taking no chances whatever." "except with your own life!" jill put in sharply, looking up from her place at her father's side. assured that the first lensman was in no danger of dying, she had begun to take interest in other things. "you are important, too, you know, and you're standing right out there in the open. get another stretcher, lie down on it, and we'll guard you, too ... and don't be too stiff-necked to take your own advice!" she flared, as he hesitated. "i'm not, if it were necessary, but it isn't. if they had killed him, yes. i'd probably be next in line. but since he got only a scratch, there'd be no point at all in killing even a _good_ number two." "a _scratch_!" jill fairly seethed. "do you call that horrible wound a _scratch_?" "huh? why, certainly--that's all it is--thanks to you," he returned, in honest and complete surprise. "no bones shattered--no main arteries cut--missed the lung--he'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks." "and now," he went on aloud, "if you ladies will please pick up this stretcher we will move en masse, and _slowly_, toward the door." the women, no longer indignant but apparently enjoying the sensation of being the center of interest, complied with the request. "now, boys," kinnison lensed a thought. "did any of you--costigan?--see any signs of a concerted rush, such as there would have been to get the killer away if we hadn't interfered?" "no, sir," came costigan's brisk reply. "none within sight of me." "jack and mase--i don't suppose you looked?" they hadn't--had not thought of it in time. "you'll learn. it takes a few things like this to make it automatic. but i couldn't see any, either, so i'm fairly certain there wasn't any. smart operators--quick on the uptake." "i'd better get at this, sir, don't you think, and let operation boskone go for a while?" costigan asked. "i don't think so." kinnison frowned in thought. "this operation was _planned_, son, by people with brains. any clues you could find now would undoubtedly be plants. no, we'll let the regulars look; we'll stick to our own ..." sirens wailed and screamed outside. kinnison sent out an exploring thought. "alex?" "yes. where do you want this ninety-sixty with the doctors and nurses? it's too wide for the gates." "go through the wall. across the lawn. right up to the door, and never mind the frippery they've got all over the place--have your adjutant tell them to bill us for damage. samms is shot in the shoulder. not too serious, but i'm taking him to the hill, where i know he'll be safe. what have you got on top of the umbrella, the _boise_ or the _chicago_? i haven't had time to look up yet." "both." "good man." jack kinnison started at the monstrous tank, which was smashing statues, fountains, and ornamental trees flat into the earth as it moved ponderously across the grounds, and licked his lips. he looked at the companies of soldiers "frisking" the route, the grounds, and the crowd--higher up, at the hovering helicopters--still higher, at the eight light cruisers so evidently and so viciously ready to blast--higher still, at the long streamers of fire which, he now knew, marked the locations of the two most powerful engines of destruction ever built by man--and his face turned slowly white. "good lord, dad!" he swallowed twice. "i had no idea ... but they might, at that." "not 'might', son. they damn well would, if they could get here soon enough with heavy enough stuff." the elder kinnison's jaw-muscles did not loosen, his darting eyes did not relax their vigilance for a fraction of a second as he lensed the thought. "you boys can't be expected to know it all, but right now you're learning fast. get this--paste it in your iron hats. _virgil samms' life is the most important thing in this whole damned universe!_ if they had got him then it would not, strictly speaking, have been my fault, but if they get him now, it will be." the land cruiser crunched to a stop against the very entrance, and a white-clad man leaped out. "let me look at him, please..." "not yet!" kinnison denied, sharply. "not until he's got four inches of solid steel between him and whoever wants to finish the job they started. get your men around him, and get him aboard--fast!" samms, protected at every point at every instant, was lifted into the maw of the ninety-sixty; and as the massive door clanged shut kinnison heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. the cavalcade moved away. "coming with us, rod?" commodore clayton shouted. "yes, but got a couple minutes' work here yet. have a staff car wait for me, and i'll join you." he turned to the three young lensmen and the girl. "this fouls up our plans a little, but not too much--i hope. no change in mateese or boskone; you and costigan, jill, can go ahead as planned. northrop, you'll have to brief jill on zwilnik and find out what she knows. virgil was going to do it tonight, after the brawl here, but you know as much about it now as any of us. check with knobos, dalnalten, and fletcher--while virgil is laid up you and jack may have to work on both zabriska and zwilnik--he'll lens you. get the dope, then do as you think best. get going!" he strode away toward the waiting staff-car. "boskone? zwilnik?" jill demanded. "what gives? what are they, jack?" "we don't know yet--maybe we're going to name a couple of planets..." "piffle!" she scoffed. "can _you_ talk sense, mase? what's boskone?" "a simple, distinctive, pronounceable coined word; suggested, i believe, by dr. bergenholm ..." he began. "you know what i mean, you ..." she broke in, but was silenced by a sharply lensed thought from jack. his touch was very light, barely sufficient to make conversation possible; but even so, she flinched. "use your brain, jill; you aren't thinking a lick--not that you can be blamed for it. stop talking; there may be lip-readers or high-powered listeners around. this feels funny, doesn't it?" he twitched mentally and went on: "you already know what operation mateese is, since it's your own dish--politics. operation zwilnik is drugs, vice, and so on. operation boskone is pirates; spud is running that. operation zabriska is mase and me checking some peculiar disturbances in the sub-ether. come in, mase, and do your stuff--i'll see you later, aboard. clear ether, jill!" young kinnison vanished from the fringes of her mind and northrop appeared. and what a difference! his mind touched hers as gingerly as jack's had done; as skittishly, as instantaneously ready to bolt away from anything in the least degree private. however, jack's mind had rubbed hers the wrong way, right from the start--and mase's didn't! "now, about this operation zwilnik," jill began. "something else first. i couldn't help noticing, back there, that you and jack ... well, not out of phase, exactly, or really out of sync, but sort of ... well, as though ..." "'hunting'?" she suggested. "not exactly ... 'forcing' might be better--like holding a tight beam together when it wants to fall apart. so you noticed it yourself?" "of course, but i thought jack and i were the only ones who did. like scratching a blackboard with your finger-nails--you _can_ do it, but you're awfully glad to stop ... and i _like_ jack, too, darn it--at a distance." "and you and i fit like precisely tuned circuits. jack really meant it, then, when he said that you ... that is, he ... i didn't quite believe it until now, but if ... you know, of course, what you've already done to me." jill's block went on, full strength. she arched her eyebrows and spoke aloud--"why, i haven't the _faintest_ idea!" "of course not. that's why you're using voice. i've found out, too, that i can't lie with my mind. i feel like a heel and a louse, with so much job ahead, but you've simply got to tell me something. then--whatever you say--i'll hit the job with everything i've got. do i get heaved out between planets without a space-suit, or not?" "i don't think so." jill blushed vividly, but her voice was steady. "you would rate a space-suit, and enough oxygen to reach another plan--another goal. and now we'd better get to work, don't you think?" "yes. thanks, jill, a million. i know as well as you do that i was talking out of turn, and how much--but i had to know." he breathed deep. "and that's all i ask--for now. cut your screens." she lowered her mental barriers, finding it surprisingly easy to do so in this case; let them down almost as far as she was in the habit of doing with her father. he explained in flashing thoughts everything he knew of the four operations, concluding: "i'm not assigned to zabriska permanently; i'll probably work with you on mateese after your father gets back into circulation. i'm to act more as a liaison man--neither knobos nor dalnalten knows you well enough to lens you. right?" "yes, i've met mr. knobos only once, and have never even seen dr. dalnalten." "ready to visit them, via lens?" "yes. go ahead." the two lensmen came in. they came into his mind, not hers. nevertheless their thoughts, superimposed upon northrop's, came to the girl as clearly as though all four were speaking to each other face to face. "what a _weird_ sensation!" jill exclaimed. "why, i never _imagined_ anything like it!" "we are sorry to trouble you, miss samms...." jill was surprised anew. the silent voice deep within her mind was of characteristically martian timber, but instead of the harshly guttural consonants and the hissing sibilants of any martian's best efforts at english, pronunciation and enunciation were flawless. "oh, i didn't mean that. it's no trouble at all, really, i just haven't got used to this telepathy yet." "none of us has, to any noticeable degree. but the reason for this call is to ask you if you have anything new, however slight, to add to our very small knowledge of zwilnik?" "very little, i'm afraid; and that little is mostly guesses, deductions, and jumpings at conclusions. father told you about the way i work, i suppose?" "yes. exact data is not to be expected. hints, suggestions, possible leads, will be of inestimable value." "well, i met a very short, very fat venerian, named ossmen, at a party at the european embassy. do either of you know him?" "i know of him," dalnalten replied. "a highly reputable merchant, with such large interests on tellus that he has to spend most of his time here. he is not in any one of our books ... although there is nothing at all surprising in that fact. go on, please, miss samms." "he didn't come to the party with senator morgan; but he came to some kind of an agreement with him that night, and i am pretty sure that it was about thionite. that's the only new item i have." "_thionite!_" the three lensmen were equally surprised. "yes. thionite. definitely." "how _sure_ are you of this, miss samms?" knobos asked, in deadly earnest. "i am not _sure_ that this particular agreement was about thionite, no; but the probability is roughly nine-tenths. i _am_ sure, however, that both senator morgan and ossmen know a lot about thionite that they want to hide. both gave very high positive reactions--well beyond the six-sigma point of virtual certainty." there was a pause, broken by the martian, but not by a thought directed at any one of the three. "sid!" he called, and even jill could feel the lensed thought speed. "yes, knobos? fletcher." "that haul-in you made, out in the asteroids. heroin, hadive, and ladolian, wasn't it? no thionite involved anywhere?" "no thionite. however, you must remember that part of the gang got away, so all i can say positively is that we didn't see, or hear about, any thionite. there was some gossip, of course: but you know there always is." "of course. thanks, sid." jill could feel the brilliant martian's mental gears whirl and click. then he went into such a flashing exchange of thought with the venerian that the girl lost track in seconds. "one more question, miss samms?" dalnalten asked. "have you detected any indications that there may be some connection between either ossmen or morgan and any officer or executive of interstellar spaceways?" "_spaceways!_ isaacson?" jill caught her breath. "why ... nobody even thought of such a thing--at least, nobody ever mentioned it to me--i never thought of making any such tests." "the possibility occurred to me only a moment ago, at your mention of thionite. the connection, if any exists, will be exceedingly difficult to trace. but since most, if not all, of the parties involved will probably be included in your operation mateese, and since a finding, either positive or negative, would be tremendously significant, we feel emboldened to ask you to keep this point in mind." "why, of course i will. i'll be very glad to." "we thank you for your courtesy and your help. one or both of us will get in touch with you from time to time, now that we know the pattern of your personality. may immortal grolossen speed the healing of your father's wound." chapter 7 late that night--or, rather, very early the following morning--senator morgan and his number one secretary were closeted in the former's doubly spy-ray-proofed office. morgan's round, heavy, florid face had perhaps lost a little of its usual color; the fingers of his left hand drummed soundlessly upon the glass top of his desk. his shrewd gray eyes, however, were as keen and as calculating as ever. "this thing smells, herkimer ... it _reeks_ ... but i can't figure any of the angles. that operation was _planned_. sure fire, it _couldn't_ miss. right up to the last split second it worked perfectly. then--blooie! a flat bust. the patrol landed and everything was under control. there _must_ have been a leak somewhere--but where in hell could it have been?" "there couldn't have been a leak, chief; it doesn't make sense." the secretary uncrossed his long legs, recrossed them in the other direction, threw away a half-smoked cigarette, lit another. "if there'd been any kind of a leak they would have done a lot more than just kill the low man on the ladder. you know as well as i do that rocky kinnison is the hardest-boiled character this side of hell. if he had known anything, he would have killed everybody in sight, including you and me. besides, if there had been a leak, he would not have let samms get within ten thousand miles of the place--that's one sure thing. another is he wouldn't have waited until after it was all over to get his army there. no, chief, there couldn't have been a leak. whatever samms or kinnison found out--probably samms, he's a hell of a lot smarter than kinnison is, you know--he learned right there and then. he must have seen brainerd start to pull his gun." "i thought of that. i'd buy it, except for one fact. apparently you didn't time the interval between the shots and the arrival of the tanks." "sorry, chief." herkimer's face was a study in chagrin. "i made a bad slip there." "i'll say you did. one minute and fifty eight seconds." "_what!_" morgan remained silent. "the patrol is fast, of course ... and always ready ... and they would yank the stuff in on tractor beams, not under their own power ... but even so ... five minutes, is my guess, chief. four and a half, absolute minimum." "check. and where do you go from there?" "i see your point. i don't. that blows everything wide open. one set of facts says there was a leak, which occurred between two and a half and three minutes before the signal was given. i ask you, chief, does that make sense?" "no. that's what is bothering me. as you say, the facts seem to be contradictory. somebody must have learned something before anything happened; but if they did, why didn't they do more? and murgatroyd. if they didn't know about him, why the ships--especially the big battlewagons? if they did think he might be out there somewhere, why didn't they go and find out?" "now i'll ask one. why didn't our mr. murgatroyd do something? or wasn't the pirate fleet supposed to be in on this? probably not, though." "my guess would be the same as yours. can't see any reason for having a fleet cover a one-man operation, especially as well-planned a one as this was. but that's none of our business. these lensmen are. i was watching them every second. neither samms nor kinnison did anything whatever during that two minutes." "young kinnison and northrop each left the hall about that time." "i know it. so they did. either one of them _could_ have called the patrol--but what has that to do with the price of beef c. i. f. valeria?" herkimer refrained tactfully from answering the savage question. morgan drummed and thought for minutes, then went on slowly: "there are two, and only two, possibilities; neither of which seem even remotely possible. it was--_must_ have been--either the lens or the girl." "the girl? act your age, senator. i knew where _she_ was, and what she was doing, every second." "that was evident." morgan stopped drumming and smiled cynically. "i'm getting a hell of a kick out of seeing you taking it, for a change, instead of dishing it out." "yes?" herkimer's handsome face hardened. "that game isn't over, my friend." "that's what _you_ think," the senator jibed. "can't believe that any woman _can_ be herkimer-proof, eh? you've been working on her for six weeks now, instead of the usual six hours, and you haven't got anywhere yet." "i will, senator." herkimer's nostrils flared viciously. "i'll get her, one way or another, if it's the last thing i ever do." "i'll give you eight to five you don't; and a six-month time limit." "i'll take five thousand of that. but what makes you think that she's anything to be afraid of? she's a trained psychologist, yes; but so am i; and i'm older and more experienced than she is. that leaves that yoga stuff--her learning how to sit cross-legged, how to contemplate her navel, and how to try to get in tune with the infinite. how do you figure _that_ puts her in my class?" "i told you, i don't. nothing makes sense. but she is virgil samms' daughter." "what of it? you didn't gag on george olmstead--you picked him yourself for one of the toughest jobs we've got. by blood he's just about as close to virgil samms as virgilia is. they might as well have been hatched out of the same egg." "physically, yes. mentally and psychologically, no. olmstead is a realist, a materialist. he wants his reward in this world, not the next, and is out to get it. furthermore, the job will probably kill him, and even if it doesn't, he will never be in a position of trust or where he can learn much of anything. on the other hand, virgil samms is--but i don't need to tell you what _he_ is like. but you don't seem to realize that she's just like him--she isn't playing around with you because of your overpowering charm...." "listen, chief. she didn't know anything and she didn't do anything. i was dancing with her all the time, as close as that," he clasped his hands tightly together, "so i know what i'm talking about. and if you think she could _ever_ learn anything from me, skip it. you know that nobody on earth, or anywhere else, can read my face; and besides, she was playing coy right then--wasn't even looking at me. so count her out." "we'll have to, i guess." morgan resumed his quiet drumming. "if there were any possibility that she pumped you i'd send you to the mines, but there's no sign ... that leaves the lens. it has seemed, right along, more logical than the girl--but a lot more fantastic. been able to find out anything more about it?" "no. just what they've been advertising. combination radio-phone, automatic language-converter, telepath, and so on. badge of the top skimmings of the top-bracket cops. but i began to think, out there on the floor, that they aren't advertising everything they know." "so did i. you tell me." "take the time zero minus three minutes. besides the five lensmen--and jill samms--the place was full of top brass; scrambled eggs all over the floor. commodores and lieutenant-commodores from all continental governments of the earth, the other planets, and the colonies, all wearing full-dress side-arms. nobody knew anything then; we agree on that. but within the next few seconds, somebody found out something and called for help. one of the lensmen could possibly have done that without showing signs. but--at zero time all four lensmen had their guns out--and _not_ lewistons, please note--and were shooting; whereas none of the other armed officers knew that anything was going on until after it was all over. that puts the finger on the lens." "that's the way i figured it. but the difficulties remain unchanged. _how?_ mind-reading?" "space-drift!" herkimer snorted. "my mind can't be read." "nor mine." "and besides, if they could read minds, they wouldn't have waited until the last possible split second to do it, unless ... say, wait a minute!... did brainerd act or look nervous, toward the last? i wasn't to look at him, you know." "not nervous, exactly; but he did get a little tense." "there you are, then. hired murderers aren't smart. a lensman saw him tighten up and got suspicious. turned in the alarm on general principles. warned the others to keep on their toes. but even so, it doesn't look like mind-reading--they'd have killed him sooner. they were watchful, and mighty quick on the draw." "that could be it. that's about as thin and as specious an explanation as i ever saw cooked up, but it _does_ cover the facts ... and the two of us will be able to make it stick ... but take notice, pretty boy, that certain parties are not going to like this at all. in fact, they are going to be very highly put out." "that's a nice hunk of understatement, boss. but notice one beautiful thing about this story?" herkimer grinned maliciously. "it lets us pass the buck to big jim towne. we can be--and will be--sore as hell because he picks such weak-sister characters to do his killings!" * * * * * in the heavily armored improvised ambulance, virgil samms sat up and directed a thought at his friend kinnison, finding his mind a turmoil of confusion. "what's the matter, rod?" "plenty!" the big lensman snapped back. "they were--maybe still are--too damn far ahead of us. something has been going on that we haven't even suspected. i stood by, as innocent as a three-year-old girl baby, and let you walk right into that one--and i emphatically do not enjoy getting caught with my pants down that way. it makes me jumpy. this may be all, but it may not be--not by eleven thousand light-years--and i'm trying to dope out what is going to happen next." "and what have you deduced?" "nothing. i'm stuck. so i'm tossing it into your lap. besides, that's what you are getting paid for, thinking. so go ahead and think. what would you be doing, if you were on the other side?" "i see. you think, then, that it might not be good technique to take the time to go back to the spaceport?" "you get the idea. but--can you stand transfer?" "certainly. they got my shoulder dressed and taped, and my arm in a sling. shock practically all gone. some pain, but not much. i can walk without falling down." "fair enough. clayton!" he lensed a vigorous thought. "have any of the observers spotted anything, high up or far off?" "no, sir." "good. kinnison to commodore clayton, orders. have a 'copter come down and pick up samms and myself on tractors. instruct the _boise_ and the cruisers to maintain utmost vigilance. instruct the _chicago_ to pick us up. detach the _chicago_ and the _boise_ from your task force. assign them to me. off." "clayton to commissioner kinnison. orders received and are being carried out. off." the transfers were made without incident. the two super-dreadnaughts leaped into the high stratosphere and tore westward. half-way to the hill, kinnison called dr. frederick rodebush. "fred? kinnison. have cleve and bergenholm link up with us. now--how are the geigers on the outside of the hill behaving?" "normal, all of them," the physicist-lensman reported after a moment. "why?" kinnison detailed the happenings of the recent past. "so tell the boys to unlimber all the stuff the hill has got." "my god!" cleveland exclaimed. "why, that's putting us back to the days of the interplanetary wars!" "with one notable exception," kinnison pointed out. "the attack, if any, will be strictly modern. i hope we'll be able to handle it. one good thing, the old mountain's got a lot of sheer mass. how much radioactivity will it stand?" "allotropic iron, u-235, or plutonium?" rodebush seized his slide-rule. "what difference does it make?" "from a practical standpoint ... perhaps none. but with a task force defending, not many bombs could get through, so i'd say ..." "i wasn't thinking so much of bombs." "what, then?" "isotopes. a good, thick blanket of dust. slow-speed, fine stuff that neither our ships nor the hill's screens could handle. we've got to decide, first, whether virgil will be safer there in the hill or out in space in the _chicago_; and second, for how long." "i see ... i'd say here, _under_ the hill. months, perhaps years, before anything could work down this far. and we can _always_ get out. no matter how hot the surface gets, we've got enough screen, heavy water, cadmium, lead, mercury, and everything else necessary to get him out through the locks." "that's what i was hoping you'd say. and now, about the defense ... i wonder ... i don't want everybody to think i've gone completely hysterical, but i'll be damned if i want to get caught again with...." his thought faded out. "may i offer a suggestion, sir?" bergenholm's thought broke the prolonged silence. "i'd be very glad to have it--your suggestions so far haven't been idle vaporings. another hunch?" "no, sir, a logical procedure. it has been some months since the last emergency call-out drill was held. if you issue such another call now, and nothing happens, it can be simply another surprise drill; with credit, promotion, and monetary awards for the best performances; further practice and instruction for the less proficient units." "splendid, dr. bergenholm!" samms' brilliant and agile mind snatched up the thought and carried it along. "and what a chance, rod, for something vastly larger and more important than a continental, or even a tellurian, drill--make it the first maneuver of the galactic patrol!" "i'd like to, virge, but we can't. my boys are ready, but you aren't. no top appointments and no authority." "that can be arranged in a very few minutes. we have been waiting for the psychological moment. this, especially if trouble should develop, is the time. you yourself expect an attack, do you not?" "yes. i would not start anything unless and until i was ready to finish it, and i see no reason for assuming that whoever it was that tried to kill you is not at least as good a planner as i am." "and the rest of you...? dr. bergenholm?" "my reasoning, while it does not exactly parallel that of commissioner kinnison, leads to the same conclusion; that an attack in great force is to be expected." "not _exactly_ parallel?" kinnison demanded. "in what respects?" "you do not seem to have considered the possibility, commissioner, that the proposed assassination of first lensman samms could very well have been only the first step in a comprehensive operation." "i didn't ... and it _could_ have been. so go ahead, virge, with...." the thought was never finished, for samms had already gone ahead. simultaneously, it seemed, the minds of eight other lensmen joined the group of tellurians. samms, intensely serious, spoke aloud to his friend: "the galactic council is now assembled. do you, roderick k. kinnison, promise to uphold, in as much as you conscientiously can and with all that in you lies, the authority of this council throughout all space?" "i promise." "by virtue of the authority vested in me its president by the galactic council, i appoint you port admiral of the galactic patrol. my fellow councillors are now inducting the armed forces of their various solar systems into the galactic patrol ... it will not take long ... there, you may make your appointments and issue orders for the mobilization." the two super-dreadnaughts were now approaching the hill. the _boise_ stayed "up on top"; the _chicago_ went down. kinnison, however, paid very little attention to the landing or to samms' disembarkation, and none whatever to the _chicago's_ reascent into the high heavens. he knew that everything was under control; and, now alone in his cabin, he was busy. "all personnel of all armed forces just inducted into the galactic patrol, attention!" he spoke into an ultra-wave microphone, the familiar parade-ground rasp very evident in his deep and resonant voice. "kinnison of tellus, port admiral, speaking. each of you has taken oath to the galactic patrol?" they had. "at ease. the organization chart already in your hands is made effective as of now. enter in your logs the date and time. promotions: commodore clayton of north america, tellus...." in his office at new york spaceport clayton came to attention and saluted crisply; his eyes shining, his deeply-scarred face alight. "... to be admiral of the first galactic region. commodore schweikert of europe, tellus ..." in berlin a narrow-waisted, almost foppish-seeming man, with roached blond hair and blue eyes, bowed stiffly from the waist and saluted punctiliously. "... to be lieutenant-admiral of the first galactic region." and so on, down the list. a marshal and a lieutenant-marshal of the solarian system; a general and a lieutenant-general of the planet sol three. promotions, agreed upon long since, to fill the high offices thus vacated. then the list of commodores upon other planets--guindlos of redland, mars; sesseffsen of talleron, venus; raymond of the jovian sub-system; newman of alphacent; walters of sirius; van-meeter of valeria; adams of procyon; roberts of altair; barrtell of fomalhout; armand of vega; and coigne of aldebaran--each of whom was actually the commander-in-chief of the armed forces of a world. each of these was made general of his planet. "except for lieutenant-commodores and up, who will tune their minds to me--dismissed!" kinnison stopped talking and went onto his lens. "that was for the record. i don't need to tell you, fellows, how glad i am to be able to do this. you're tops, all of you--i don't know of anybody i'd rather have at my back when the ether gets rough ..." "right back at you, chief!" "same to you rod!" "rocky rod, port admiral!" "now we're blasting!" came a melange of thoughts. those splendid men, with whom he had shared so much of danger and of stress, were all as jubilant as schoolboys. "but the thing that makes this possible may also make it necessary for us to go to work; to earn your extra stars and my wheel." kinnison smothered the welter of thoughts and outlined the situation, concluding: "so you see it may turn out to be only a drill--but on the other hand, since the outfit is big enough to have built a war-fleet alone, if it wanted one, and since it may have had a lot of first-class help that none of us knows anything about, we may be in for the damndest battle that any of us ever saw. so come prepared for _anything_. i am now going back onto voice, for the record. "kinnison to the commanding officers of all fleets, sub-fleets, and task-forces of the galactic patrol. information. subject, tactical problem; defense of the hill against a postulated black fleet of unknown size, strength, and composition; of unknown nationality or origin; coming from an unknown direction in space at an unknown time. "kinnison to admiral clayton. orders. take over. i am relinquishing command of the _boise_ and the _chicago_." "clayton to port admiral kinnison. orders received. taking over. i am at the _chicago's_ main starboard lock. i have instructed ensign masterson, the commanding officer of this gig, to wait; that he is to take you down to the hill." "what? of all the damned...." this was a thought, and unrecorded. "sorry, rod--i'm sorry as hell, and i'd like no end to have you along." this, too, was a thought. "but that's the way it is. ordinary admirals ride the ether with their fleets. port admirals stay aground. i report to you, and you run things--in broad--by remote control." "i see." kinnison then lensed a fuming thought at samms. "alex _couldn't_ do this to me--and wouldn't--and knows damn well that i'd burn him to a crisp if he had the guts to try it. so it's _your_ doing--what in hell's the big idea?" "who's being heroic now, rod?" samms asked, quietly. "use _your_ brain. and then come down here, where you belong." and kinnison, after a long moment of rebellious thought and with as much grace as he could muster, came down. down not only to the patrol's familiar offices, but down into the deepest crypts beneath them. he was glum enough, and bitter, at first: but he found much to do. grand fleet headquarters--_his_ headquarters--was being organized, and the best efforts of the best minds and of the best technologists of three worlds were being devoted to the task of strengthening the already extremely strong defenses of the hill. and in a very short time the plates of gfhq showed that admiral clayton and lieutenant-admiral schweikert were doing a very nice job. all of the really heavy stuff was of earth, the mother planet, and was already in place; as were the less numerous and much lighter contingents of mars, of venus, and of jove. and the fleets of the outlying solar systems--cutters, scouts, and a few light cruisers--were neither maintaining fleet formation nor laying course for sol. instead, each individual vessel was blasting at maximum for the position in space in which it would form one unit of a formation englobing at a distance of light-years the entire solarian system, and each of those hurtling hundreds of ships was literally combing all circumambient space with its furiously-driven detector beams. "nice." kinnison turned to samms, now beside him at the master plate. "couldn't have done any better myself." "after you get it made, what are you going to do with it in case nothing happens?" samms was still somewhat skeptical. "how long can you make a drill last?" "until all the ensigns have long gray whiskers if i have to, but don't worry--if we have time to get the preliminary globe made i'll be the surprisedest man in the system." and kinnison was not surprised; before full englobement was accomplished, a loud-speaker gave tongue. "flagship _chicago_ to grand fleet headquarters!" it blatted, sharply. "the black fleet has been detected. ra twelve hours, declination plus twenty degrees, distance about thirty light-years...." kinnison started to say something; then, by main force, shut himself up. he wanted intensely to take over, to tell the boys out there exactly what to do, but he couldn't. he was now a big shot--damn the luck! he could be and must be responsible for broad policy and for general strategy, but, once those vitally important decisions had been made, the actual work would have to be done by others. he didn't like it--but there it was. those flashing thoughts took only an instant of time. "... which is such extreme range that no estimate of strength or composition can be made at present. we will keep you informed." "acknowledge," he ordered randolph; who, wearing now the five silver bars of major, was his chief communications officer. "no instructions." he turned to his plate. clayton hadn't had to be told to pull in his light stuff; it was all pelting hell-for-leather for sol and tellus. three general plans of battle had been mapped out by staff. each had its advantages--and its disadvantages. operation acorn--long distance--would be fought at, say, twelve light-years. it would keep everything, particularly the big stuff, away from the hill, and would make automatics useless ... _unless_ some got past, or _unless_ the automatics were coming in on a sneak course, or _unless_ several other things--in any one of which cases _what_ a god-awful shellacking the hill would take! he grinned wryly at samms, who had been following his thought, and quoted: "a vast hemisphere of lambent violet flame, through which neither material substance nor destructive ray can pass." "well, that dedicatory statement, while perhaps a bit florid, was strictly true at the time--before the days of allotropic iron and of polycyclic drills. now i'll quote one: 'nothing is permanent except change'." "uh-huh," and kinnison returned to his thinking. operation adack. middle distance. uh-uh. he didn't like it any better now than he had before, even though some of the big brains of staff thought it the ideal solution. a compromise. all of the disadvantages of both of the others, and none of the advantages of either. it _still_ stunk, and unless the black fleet had an utterly fantastic composition operation adack was out. and virgil samms, quietly smoking a cigarette, smiled inwardly. rod the rock could scarcely be expected to be in favor of any sort of compromise. that left operation affick. close up. it had three tremendous advantages. first, the hill's own offensive weapons--as long as they lasted. second, the new rodebush-bergenholm fields. third, no sneak attack could be made without detection and interception. it had one tremendous disadvantage; some stuff, and probably a lot of it, would get through. automatics, robots, guided missiles equipped with super-speed drives, with polycyclic drills, and with atomic war-heads strong enough to shake the whole world. but with those new fields, shaking the world wouldn't be enough; in order to get deep enough to reach virgil samms they would damn near have to destroy the world. could _anybody_ build a bomb that powerful? he didn't think so. earth technology was supreme throughout all known space; of earth technologists the north americans were, and always had been, tops. grant that the black fleet was, basically, north american. grant further that they had a man as good as adlington--or that they could spy-ray adlington's brain and laboratories and shops--a tall order. adlington himself was several months away from a world-wrecker, unless he could put one a hundred miles down before detonation, which simply was not feasible. he turned to samms. "it'll be affick, virge, unless they've got a composition that is radically different from anything i ever saw put into space." "so? i can't say that i am very much surprised." the calm statement and the equally calm reply were beautifully characteristic of the two men. kinnison had not asked, nor had samms offered, advice. kinnison, after weighing the facts, made his decision. samms, calmly certain that the decision was the best that could be made upon the data available, accepted it without question or criticism. "we've still got a minute or two," kinnison remarked. "don't quite know what to make of their line of approach. coma berenices. i don't know of anything at all out that way, do you? they could have detoured, though." "no, i don't." samms frowned in thought. "probably a detour." "check." kinnison turned to randolph. "tell them to report whatever they know; we can't wait any ..." as he was speaking the report came in. the black fleet was of more or less normal make-up; considerably larger than the north american contingent, but decidedly inferior to the patrol's present grand fleet. either three or four capital ships ... "and we've got six!" kinnison said, exultantly. "our own two, asia's _himalaya_, africa's _johannesburg_, south america's _bolivar_, and europe's _europa_." ... battle cruisers and heavy cruisers, about in the usual proportions; but an unusually high ratio of scouts and light cruisers. there were either two or three large ships which could not be classified definitely at that distance; long-range observers were going out to study them. "tell clayton," kinnison instructed randolph, "that it is to be operation affick, and for him to fly at it." "report continued," the speaker came to life again. "there are three capital ships, apparently of approximately the _chicago_ class, but tear-drop-shaped instead of spherical ..." "ouch!" kinnison flashed a thought at samms. "i don't like that. they can both fight and run." "... the battle cruisers are also tear-drops. the small vessels are torpedo-shaped. there are three of the large ships, which we are still not able to classify definitely. they are spherical in shape, and very large, but do not seem to be either armed or screened, and are apparently carriers--possibly of automatics. we are now making contact--off!" instead of looking at the plates before them, the two lensmen went en rapport with clayton, so that they could see everything he saw. the stupendous cone of battle had long since been formed; the word to fire was given in a measured two-second call. every firing officer in every patrol ship touched his stud in the same split second. and from the gargantuan mouth of the cone there spewed a miles-thick column of energy so raw, so stark, so incomprehensibly violent that it must have been seen to be even dimly appreciated. it simply cannot be described. its prototype, triplanetary's cylinder of annihilation, had been a highly effective weapon indeed. the offensive beams of the fish-shaped nevian cruisers of the void were even more powerful. the cleveland-rodebush projectors, developed aboard the original _boise_ on the long nevian way, were stronger still. the composite beam projected by this fleet of the galactic patrol, however, was the sublimation and quintessence of each of these, redesigned and redesigned by scientists and engineers of ever-increasing knowledge, rebuilt and rebuilt by technologists of ever-increasing skill. capital ships and a few of the heaviest cruisers could mount screen generators able to carry that frightful load; but every smaller ship caught in that semi-solid rod of indescribably incandescent fury simply flared into nothingness. but in the instant before the firing order was given--as though precisely timed, which in all probability was the case--the ever-watchful observers picked up two items of fact which made the new admiral of the first galactic region cut his almost irresistible weapon and break up his cone of battle after only a few seconds of action. one: those three enigmatic cargo scows had fallen apart _before_ the beam reached them, and hundreds--yes, thousands--of small objects had hurtled radially outward, out well beyond the field of action of the patrol's beam, at a speed many times that of light. two: kinnison's forebodings had been prophetic. a swarm of blacks, all small--must have been hidden right on earth somewhere!--were already darting at the hill from the south. "cease firing!" clayton rapped into his microphone. the dreadful beam expired. "break cone formation! independent action--light cruisers and scouts, _get those bombs_! heavy cruisers and battle cruisers, engage similar units of the blacks, two to one if possible. _chicago_ and _boise_, attack black number one. _bolivar_ and _himalaya_, number two. _europa_ and _johannesburg_, number three!" space was full of darting, flashing, madly warring ships. the three black super-dreadnaughts leaped forward as one. their massed batteries of beams, precisely synchronized and aimed, lashed out as one at the nearest patrol super heavy, the _boise_. under the vicious power of that beautifully-timed thrust that warship's first, second, and third screens, her very wall-shield, flared through the spectrum and into the black. her chief pilot, however, was fast--_very_ fast--and he had a fraction of a second in which to work. thus, practically in the instant of her wall-shield's failure, she went free; and while she was holed badly and put out of action, she was not blown out of space. in fact, it was learned later that she lost only forty men. the blacks were not as fortunate. the _chicago_, now without a partner, joined beams with the _bolivar_ and the _himalaya_ against number two; then, a short half-second later, with her other two sister-ships against number three. and in that very short space of time two black super-dreadnaughts ceased utterly to be. but also, in that scant second of time, black number one had all but disappeared! her canny commander, with no stomach at all for odds of five to one against, had ordered flight at max; she was already one-sixtieth of a light-year--about one hundred thousand million miles--away from the earth and was devoting her every energy to the accumulation of still more distance. "_bolivar!_ _himalaya!_" clayton barked savagely. "get him!" he wanted intensely to join the chase, but he couldn't. he had to stay here. and he didn't have time even to swear. instead, without a break, the words tripping over each other against his teeth: "_chicago!_ _johannesburg!_ _europa!_ act at will against heaviest craft left. blast 'em down!" he gritted his teeth. the scouts and light cruisers were doing their damndest, but they were out-numbered three to one--christ, what a lot of stuff was getting through! the blacks wouldn't last long, between the hill and the heavies ... but maybe long enough, at that--the patrol globe was leaking like a sieve! he voiced a couple of bursts of deep-space profanity and, although he was almost afraid to look, sneaked a quick peek to see how much was left of the hill. he looked--and stopped swearing in the middle of a four-letter anglo-saxon word. what he saw simply did not make sense. those black bombs should have peeled the armor off of that mountain like the skin off of a nectarine and scattered it from the pacific to the mississippi. by now there should be a hole a mile deep where the hill had been. but there wasn't. the hill was still there! it might have shrunk a little--clayton couldn't see very well because of the worse-than-incandescent radiance of the practically continuous, sense-battering, world-shaking atomic detonations--_but the hill was still there_! and as he stared, chilled and shaken, at that indescribably terrific spectacle, a black cruiser, holed and helpless, fell toward that armored mountain with an acceleration starkly impossible to credit. and when it struck it did not penetrate, and splash, and crater, as it should have done. instead, it simply spread out, _in a thin layer_, over an acre or so of the fortress' steep and apparently still armored surface! "you saw that, alex? good. otherwise you could scarcely believe it," came kinnison's silent voice. "tell all our ships to stay away. there's a force of over a hundred thousand g's acting in a direction normal to every point of our surface. the boys are giving it all the decrement they can--somewhere between distance cube and fourth power--but even so it's pretty fierce stuff. how about the _bolivar_ and the _himalaya_? not having much luck catching mr. black, are they?" "why, i don't know. i'll check ... no, sir, they aren't. they report that they are losing ground and will soon lose trace." "i was afraid so, from that shape. rodebush was about the only one who saw it coming ... well, we'll have to redesign and rebuild ..." * * * * * port admiral kinnison, shortly after directing the foregoing thought, leaned back in his chair and smiled. the battle was practically over. the hill had come through. the rodebush-bergenholm fields had held her together through the most god-awful session of saturation atomic bombing that any world had ever seen or that the mind of man had ever conceived. and the counter-forces had kept the interior rock from flowing like water. so far, so good. her original armor was gone. converted into ... what? for hundreds of feet inward from the surface she was hotter than the reacting slugs of the hanfords. delousing her would be a project, not an operation; millions of cubic yards of material would have to be hauled off into space with tractors and allowed to simmer for a few hundred years; but what of that? bergenholm had said that the fields would tend to prevent the radioactives from spreading, as they otherwise would--and _virgil samms was still safe_! "virge, my boy, come along." he took the first lensman by his good arm and lifted him out of his chair. "old doctor kinnison's peerless prescription for you and me is a big, thick, juicy, porterhouse steak." chapter 8 that murderous attack upon virgil samms, and its countering by those new super-lawmen, the lensmen, and by an entire task force of the north american armed forces, was news of civilization-wide importance. as such, it filled every channel of universal telenews for an hour. then, in stunning and crescendo succession, came the staccato reports of the creation of the galactic patrol, the mobilization--allegedly for maneuvers--of galactic patrol's grand fleet, and the ultimately desperate and all-too-nearly successful attack upon the hill. "just a second, folks; we'll have it very shortly. you'll see something that nobody ever saw before and that nobody will ever see again. we're getting in as close as the law will let us." the eyes of telenews' ace reporter and the telephoto lens of his cameraman stared down from a scooter at the furiously smoking, sputteringly incandescent surface of triplanetary's ancient citadel; while upon dozens of worlds thousands of millions of people packed themselves tighter and tighter around tens of millions of visiplates and loud-speakers in order to see and to hear the tremendous news. "there it is, folks, look at it--the only really impregnable fortress ever built by man! a good many of our experts had it written off as obsolete, long ago, but it seems these lensmen had something up their sleeves besides their arms, heh-heh! and speaking of lensmen, they haven't been throwing their weight around, so most of us haven't noticed them very much, but this reporter wants to go on record right now as saying there must be a lot more to the lens than any of us has thought, because otherwise nobody would have gone to all that trouble and expense, to say nothing of the tremendous loss of life, just to kill the chief lensman, which seems to have been what they were after. "we told you a few minutes ago, you know, that every continent of civilization sent official messages denying most emphatically any connection with this outrage. it's still a mystery, folks; in fact, it is getting more and more mysterious all the time. _not one single man of the black fleet was taken alive!_ not even in the ships that were only holed--they blew themselves up! and there were no uniforms or books or anything of the kind to be found in any of the wrecks--no identification whatever! "and now for the scoop of all time! universal telenews has obtained permission to interview the two top lensmen, both of whom you all know--virgil samms and 'rod the rock' kinnison--personally for this beam. we are now going down, by remote control, of course, right into the galactic patrol office, right in the hill itself. here we are. now if you will step just a little closer to the mike, please, mr. samms, or should i say...?" "you should say 'first lensman samms'," kinnison said bruskly. "oh, yes, first lensman samms. thank you, mr. kinnison. now, first lensman samms, our clients all want to know all about the lens. we all know what it _does_, but what, really, _is_ it? who invented it? how does it work?" kinnison started to say something, but samms silenced him with a thought. "i will answer those questions by asking you one." samms smiled disarmingly. "do you remember what happened because the pirates learned to duplicate the golden meteor of the triplanetary service?" "oh, i see." the telenews ace, although brash and not at all thin-skinned, was quick on the uptake. "hush-hush? t. s.?" "top secret. very much so," samms confirmed, "and we are going to keep some things about the lens secret as long as we possibly can." "fair enough. sorry folks, but you will agree that they're right on that. well, then, mr. samms, who do you think it was that tried to kill you, and where do you think the black fleet came from?" "i have no idea," samms said, slowly and thoughtfully. "no. no idea whatever." "what? are you _sure_ of that? aren't you holding back maybe just a little bit of a suspicion, for diplomatic reasons?" "i am holding nothing back; and through my lens i can make you certain of the fact. lensed thoughts come from the mind itself, direct, not through such voluntary muscles as the tongue. the mind does not lie--even such lies as you call 'diplomacy'." the lensman demonstrated and the reporter went on: "he is _sure_, folks, which fact knocked me speechless for a second or two--which is quite a feat in itself. now, mr. samms, one last question. what is all this lens stuff really about? what are all you lensmen--the galactic council and so on--really up to? what do you expect to get out of it? and why would anybody want to make such an all-out effort to get rid of you? and give it to me on the lens, please, if you can do it and talk at the same time--that was a wonderful sensation, folks, of getting the dope straight and _knowing_ that it was straight." "i can and will answer both by voice and by lens. our basic purpose is ..." and he quoted verbatim the resounding sentences which mentor had impressed so ineradicably upon his mind. "you know how little happiness, how little real well-being, there is upon any world today. we propose to increase both. what we expect to get out of it is happiness and well-being for ourselves, the satisfaction felt by any good workman doing the job for which he is best fitted and in which he takes pride. as to why anyone should want to kill me, the logical explanation would seem to be that some group or organization or race, opposed to that for which we lensmen stand, decided to do away with us and started with me." "thank you, mr. samms. i am sure that we all enjoyed this interview very much. now, folks, you all know 'rocky rod', 'rod the rock', kinnison ... just a little closer, please ... thank you. i don't suppose you have any suspicions, either, any more than...." "i certainly have!" kinnison barked, so savagely that five hundred million people jumped as one. "how do you want it; voice, or lens, or both?" then on the lens: "think it over, son, because _i suspect everybody_!" "bub-both, please, mr. kinnison." even universal's star reporter was shaken by the quiet but deadly fury of the big lensman's thought, but he rallied so quickly that his hesitation was barely noticeable. "your lensed thought to me was that you suspect _everybody_, mr. kinnison?" "just that. everybody. i suspect every continental government of every world we know, including that of north america of tellus. i suspect political parties and organized minorities. i suspect pressure groups. i suspect capital and i suspect labor. i suspect an organization of criminals. i suspect nations and races and worlds that no one of us has as yet heard of--not even you, the top-drawer newshawk of the universe." "but you have nothing concrete to go on, i take it?" "if i did have, do you think i'd be standing here talking to you?" * * * * * first lensman samms sat in his private quarters and thought. lensman dronvire of rigel four stood behind him and helped him think. port admiral kinnison, with all his force and drive, began a comprehensive program of investigation, consolidation, expansion, redesigning, and rebuilding. virgilia samms went to a party practically every night. she danced, she flirted, she talked. _how_ she talked! meaningless small talk for the most part--but interspersed with artless questions and comments which, while they perhaps did not put her partner of the moment completely at ease, nevertheless did not quite excite suspicion. conway costigan, lens under sleeve, undisguised but inconspicuous, rode the ether-lanes; observing minutely and reporting fully. jack kinnison piloted and navigated and computed for his friend and boat-mate: mason northrop; who, completely surrounded by breadboard hookups of new and ever-more-fantastic complexity, listened and looked; listened and tuned; listened and rebuilt; listened and--finally--took bearings and bearings and bearings with his ultra-sensitive loops. dalnalten and knobos, with dozens of able helpers, combed the records of three worlds in a search which produced as a by-product a monumental "who's who" of crime. skilled technicians fed millions of cards, stack by stack, into the most versatile and most accomplished machines known to the statisticians of the age. and dr. nels bergenholm, abandoning temporarily his regular line of work, devoted his peculiar talents to a highly abstruse research in the closely allied field of organic chemistry. the walls of virgil samms' quarters became covered with charts, diagrams, and figures. tabulations and condensations piled up on his desk and overflowed into baskets upon the floor. until: "lensman olmstead, of alphacent, sir," his secretary announced. "good! send him in, please." the stranger entered. the two men, after staring intently at each other for half a minute, smiled and shook hands vigorously. except for the fact that the newcomer's hair was brown, they were practically identical! "i'm certainly glad to see you, george. bergenholm passed you, of course?" "yes. he says that he can match your hair to mine, even the individual white ones. and he has made me a wig-maker's dream of a wig." "married?" samms' mind leaped ahead to possible complications. "widower, same as you. and...." "just a minute--going over this once will be enough." he lensed call after call. lensmen in various parts of space became en rapport with him and thus with each other. "lensmen--especially you, rod--george olmstead is here, and his brother ray is available. i am going to work." "i _still_ don't like it!" kinnison protested. "it's too dangerous. i told the universe i was going to keep you covered, and i _meant_ it!" "that's what makes it perfectly safe. that is, if bergenholm is _sure_ that the duplication is close enough ..." "i am sure." bergenholm's deeply resonant pseudo-voice left no doubt at all in any one of the linked minds. "the substitution will not be detected." "... and that nobody knows, george, or even suspects, that you got your lens." "i am sure of that." olmstead laughed quietly. "also, nobody except us and your secretary knows that i am here. for a good many years i have made a specialty of that sort of thing. photos, fingerprints, and so on have all been taken care of." "good. i simply can not work efficiently here," samms expressed what all knew to be the simple truth. "dronvire is a much better analyst-synthesist than i am; as soon as any significant correlation is possible he will know it. we have learned that the towne-morgan crowd, mackenzie power, ossmen industries, and interstellar spaceways are all tied in together, and that thionite is involved, but we have not been able to get any further. there is a slight correlation--barely significant--between deaths from thionite and the arrival in the solarian system of certain spaceways liners. the fact that certain officials of the earth-screen service have been and are spending considerably more than they earn sets up a slight but definite probability that they are allowing space-ships or boats from space-ships to land illegally. these smugglers carry contraband, which may or may not be thionite. in short, we lack fundamental data in every department, and it is high time for me to begin doing my share in getting it." "i don't check you, virge." none of the kinnisons ever did give up without a struggle. "olmstead is a mighty smooth worker, and you are our prime coordinator. why not let him keep up the counter-espionage--do the job you were figuring on doing yourself--and you stay here and boss it?" "i have thought of that, a great deal, and have...." "because olmstead can not do it," a hitherto silent mind cut in, decisively. "i, rularion of north polar jupiter, say so. there are psychological factors involved. the ability to separate and to evaluate the constituent elements of a complex situation; the ability to make correct decisions without hesitation; as well as many others not as susceptible to concise statement, but which collectively could be called power of mind. how say you, bergenholm of tellus? for i have perceived in you a mind approximating in some respects the philosophical and psychological depth of my own." this outrageously egotistical declaration was, to the jovian, a simple statement of an equally simple truth, and bergenholm accepted it as such. "i agree. olmstead probably could not succeed." "well, then, can samms?" kinnison demanded. "who knows?" came bergenholm's mental shrug, and simultaneously: "nobody knows whether i can or not, but i am going to try," and samms ended--almost--the argument by asking bergenholm and a couple of other lensmen to come into his office and by taking off his lens. "and that's another thing i don't like." kinnison offered one last objection. "without your lens, _anything_ can happen to you." "oh, i won't have to be without it very long. and besides, virgilia isn't the only one in the samms family who can work better--sometimes--without a lens." the lensmen came in and, in a surprisingly short time, went out. a few minutes later, two lensmen strolled out of samms' inner office into the outer one. "good-bye, george," the red-headed man said aloud, "and good luck." "same to you, chief," and the brown-haired one strode out. norma the secretary was a smart girl, and observant. in her position, she had to be. her eyes followed the man out, then scanned the lensman from toe to crown. "i've never seen anything like it, mr. samms," she remarked then. "except for the difference in coloring, and a sort of ... well, stoopiness ... he could be your identical twin. you two must have had a common ancestor--or several--not too far back, didn't you?" "we certainly did. quadruple second cousins, you might call it. we have known of each other for years, but this is the first time we have met." "quadruple second cousins? what does that mean? how come?" "well, say that once upon a time there were two men named albert and chester...." "what? not two irishmen named pat and mike? you're slipping, boss." the girl smiled roguishly. during rush hours she was always the fast, cool, efficient secretary, but in moments of ease such persiflage as this was the usual thing in the first lensman's private office. "not at all up to your usual form." "merely because i am speaking now as a genealogist, not as a raconteur. but to continue, we will say that chester and albert had four children apiece, two boys and two girls, two pairs of identical twins, each. and when they grew up--half way up, that is...." "don't tell me that we are going to suppose that all those identical twins married each other?" "exactly. why not?" "well, it would be stretching the laws of probability all out of shape. but go ahead--i can see what's coming, i think." "each of those couples had one, and only one, child. we will call those children jim samms and sally olmstead; john olmstead and irene samms." the girl's levity disappeared. "james alexander samms and sarah olmstead samms. your parents. i didn't see what was coming, after all. this george olmstead; then, is your...." "whatever it is, yes. i can't name it, either--maybe you had better call genealogy some day and find out. but it's no wonder we look alike. and there are three of us, not two--george has an identical twin brother." the red-haired lensman stepped back into the inner office, shut the door, and lensed a thought at virgil samms. "it worked, virgil! i talked to her for five solid minutes, practically leaning on her desk, and she didn't tumble! and if this wig of bergenholm's fooled _her_ so completely, the job he did on you would fool _anybody_!" "fine! i've done a little testing myself, on the keenest men i know, without a trace of recognition so far." his last lingering doubt resolved, samms boarded the ponderous, radiation-proof, neutron-proof shuttle-scow which was the only possible means of entering or leaving the hill. a fast cruiser whisked him to nampa, where olmstead's "accidentally" damaged transcontinental transport was being repaired, and from which city olmstead had been gone so briefly that no one had missed him. he occupied olmstead's space; he surrendered the remainder of olmstead's ticket. he reached new york. he took a 'copter to senator morgan's office. he was escorted into the private office of herkimer herkimer third. "olmstead. of alphacent." "yes?" herkimer's hand moved, ever so little, upon his desk's top. "here." the lensman dropped an envelope upon the desk in such fashion that it came to rest within an inch of the hand. "prints. here." samms made prints. "wash your hands, over there." herkimer pressed a button. "check all these prints, against each other and the files. check the two halves of the torn sheet, fiber to fiber." he turned to the lensless lensman, now standing quietly before his desk. "routine; a formality, in your case, but necessary." "of course." then for long seconds the two hard men stared into the hard depths of each other's eyes. "you may do, olmstead. we have had very good reports of you. but you have never been in thionite?" "no. i have never even seen any." "what do you want to get into it for?" "your scouts sounded me out; what did they tell you? the usual thing--promotion from the ranks into the brass--to get to where i can do myself and the organization some good." "yourself first, the organization second?" "what else? why should i be different from the rest of you?" this time the locked eyes held longer; one pair smoldering, the other gold-flecked, tawny ice. "why, indeed?" herkimer smiled thinly. "we do not advertise it, however." "outside, i wouldn't, either; but here i'm laying my cards flat on the table." "i see. you _will_ do, olmstead, if you live. there's a test, you know." "they told me there would be." "well, aren't you curious to know what it is?" "not particularly. _you_ passed it, didn't you?" "what do you mean by _that_ crack?" herkimer leaped to his feet; his eyes, smoldering before, now ablaze. "exactly what i said, no more and no less. you may read into it anything you please." samms' voice was as cold as were his eyes. "you picked me out because of what i am. did you think that moving upstairs would make a boot-licker out of me?" "not at all." herkimer sat down and took from a drawer two small, transparent, vaguely capsule-like tubes, each containing a few particles of purple dust. "you know what this is?" "i can guess." "each of these is a good, heavy jolt; about all that a strong man with a strong heart can stand. sit down. here is one dose. pull the cover, stick the capsule up one nostril, squeeze the ejector, and sniff. if you can leave this other dose sitting here on the desk you will live, and thus pass the test. if you can't, you die." samms sat, and pulled, and squeezed, and sniffed. his forearms hit the desk with a thud. his hands clenched themselves into fists, the tight-stretched tendons standing boldly out. his face turned white. his eyes jammed themselves shut; his jaw-muscles sprang into bands and lumps as they clamped his teeth hard together. every voluntary muscle in his body went into a rigor as extreme as that of death itself. his heart pounded; his breathing became stertorous. this was the dreadful "muscle-lock" so uniquely characteristic of thionite; the frenzied immobility of the ultimately passionate satisfaction of every desire. the galactic patrol became for him an actuality; a force for good pervading all the worlds of all the galaxies of all the universes of all existing space-time continual. he knew what the lens was, and why. he understood time and space. he knew the absolute beginning and the ultimate end. he also saw things and did things over which it is best to draw a kindly veil, for _every_ desire--mental or physical, open or sternly suppressed, noble or base--that virgil samms had ever had was being _completely satisfied_. every desire. as samms sat there, straining motionlessly upon the verge of death through sheer ecstasy, a door opened and senator morgan entered the room. herkimer started, almost imperceptibly, as he turned--had there been, or not, an instantaneously-suppressed flash of guilt in those now completely clear and frank brown eyes? "hi, chief; come in and sit down. glad to see you--this is not exactly my idea of fun." "no? when did you stop being a sadist?" the senator sat down beside his minion's desk, the fingertips of his left hand began soundlessly to drum. "you wouldn't have, by any chance, been considering the idea of...?" he paused significantly. "what an idea." herkimer's act--if it was an act--was flawless. "he's too good a man to waste." "i know it, but you didn't act as though you did. i've never seen you come out such a poor second in an interview ... and it wasn't because you didn't know to start with just what kind of a tiger he was--that's why he was selected for this job. and it would have been so easy to give him just a wee bit more." "that's preposterous, chief, and you know it." "do i? however, it couldn't have been jealousy, because he isn't being considered for your job. he won't be over you, and there's plenty of room for everybody. what was the matter? your bloodthirstiness wouldn't have taken you _that_ far, under these circumstances. come clean, herkimer." "okay--i hate the whole damned family!" herkimer burst out, viciously. "i see. that adds up." morgan's face cleared, his fingers became motionless. "you can't make the samms wench and aren't in position to skin her alive, so you get allergic to all her relatives. that adds up, but let me tell you something." his quiet, level voice carried more of menace than most men's loudest threats. "keep your love life out of business and keep that sadistic streak under control. don't let anything like this happen again." "i won't, chief. i got off the beam--but he made me so _damn_ mad!" "certainly. that's exactly what he was trying to do. elementary. if he could make you look small it would make him look big, and he just about did. but watch now, he's coming to." samms' muscles relaxed. he opened his eyes groggily; then, as a wave of humiliated realization swept over his consciousness, he closed them again and shuddered. he had always thought himself pretty much of a man; how could he _possibly_ have descended to such nauseous depths of depravity, of turpitude, of sheer moral degradation? and yet every cell of his being was shrieking its demand for more; his mind and his substance alike were permeated by an over-mastering craving to experience again the ultimate thrills which they had so tremendously, so outrageously enjoyed. there was another good jolt lying right there on the desk in front of him, even though thionite-sniffers always saw to it that no more of the drug could be obtained without considerable physical exertion; which exertion would bring them to their senses. if he took that jolt it would kill him. what of it? what was death? what good was life, except to enjoy such thrills as he had just had and was about to have again? and besides, thionite couldn't kill _him_. he was a super-man; he had just proved it! he straightened up and reached for the capsule; and that effort, small as it was, was enough to bring first lensman virgil samms back under control. the craving, however, did not decrease. rather, it increased. months were to pass before he could think of thionite, or even of the color purple, without a spasmodic catching of the breath and a tightening of every muscle. years were to pass before he could forget, even partially, the theretofore unsuspected dwellers in the dark recesses of his own mind. nevertheless, from the store of whatever it was that made him what he was, virgil samms drew strength. thumb and forefinger touched the capsule, but instead of picking it up, he pushed it across the desk toward herkimer. "put it away, bub. one whiff of that stuff will last me for life." he stared unfathomably at the secretary, then turned to morgan and nodded. "after all, he did not _say_ that he ever passed this or any other test. he just didn't contradict me when i said it." with a visible effort herkimer remained silent, but morgan did not. "you talk too much, olmstead. can you stand up yet?" gripping the desk with both hands, samms heaved himself to his feet. the room was spinning and gyrating; every individual thing in it was moving in a different and impossible orbit; his already splintered skull threatened more and more violently to emulate a fragmentation bomb; black and white spots and vari-colored flashes filled his cone of vision. he wrenched one hand free, then the other--and collapsed back into the chair. "not yet--quite," he admitted, through stiff lips. although he was careful not to show it, morgan was amazed--not that the man had collapsed, but that he had been able so soon to lift himself even an inch. "tiger" was not the word; this olmstead must be seven-eighths dinosaur. "it takes a few minutes; longer for some, not so long for others," morgan said, blandly. "but what makes you think herkimer here never took one of the same?" "huh?" again two pairs of eyes locked and held; and this time the duel was longer and more pregnant. "what do _you_ think? how do you suppose i lived to get as old as i am now? by being dumb?" morgan unwrapped a venerian cigar, settled it comfortably between his teeth, lit it, and drew three slow puffs before replying. "ah, a student. an analytical mind," he said, evenly, and--apparently--irrelevantly. "let's skip herkimer for the moment. try your hand on me." "why not? from what we hear out in the field, you have always been in the upper brackets, so you probably never had to prove that you could take it or let it alone. my guess would be, though, that you could." "the good old oil, eh?" morgan allowed his face and voice to register a modicum, precisely metered, of contempt. "how to get along in the world; lesson one: butter up the boss." "nice try, senator, but i'll have to score you a clean miss." samms, now back almost to normal, grinned companionably. "we both know that if i were still in the kindergarten i wouldn't be here now." "i'll let that one pass--this time." under that look and tone morgan's underlings were wont to cringe, but this olmstead was not the cringing type. "don't do it again. it might not be safe." "oh, it would be safe enough--for today, at least. there are two factors which you are very carefully ignoring. first, i haven't accepted the job yet." "are you innocent enough to think you'll get out of this building alive if i don't accept you?" "if you want to call it innocence, yes. oh, i know you've got gunnies all over the place, but they don't mean a thing." "no?" morgan's voice was silkily venomous. "no." olmstead was completely unimpressed. "put yourself in my place. you know i've been around a long time; and not just around my mother. i was weaned quite a number of years ago." "i see. you don't scare worth a damn. a point. and you are testing me, just as i am testing you. another point. i'm beginning to like you, george. i think i know what your second point is, but let's have it, just for the record." "i'm sure you do. any man, to be my boss, has got to be at least as good a man as i am. otherwise i take his job away from him." "fair enough. by god, i _do_ like you, olmstead!" morgan, his big face wreathed in smiles, got up, strode over, and shook hands vigorously; and samms, scan as he would, could not even hazard a guess as to how much--if any--of this enthusiasm was real. "do you want the job? and when can you go to work?" "yes, sir. two hours ago, sir." "that's fine!" morgan boomed. although he did not comment upon it, he noticed and understood the change in the form of address. "without knowing what the job is or how much it pays?" "neither is important, sir, at the moment." samms, who had got up easily enough to shake hands, now shook his head experimentally. nothing rattled. good--he was in pretty good shape already. "as to the job, i can either do it or find out why it can't be done. as to pay, i've heard you called a lot of things, but 'piker' was never one of them." "very well. i predict that you will go far." morgan again shook the lensman's hand; and again samms could not evaluate the senator's sincerity. "tuesday afternoon. new york spaceport. space-ship _virgin queen_. report to captain willoughby in the dock office at fourteen hundred hours. stop at the cashier's office on your way out. good-bye." chapter 9 piracy was rife. there was no suspicion, however, nor would there be for many years, that there was anything of very large purpose about the business. murgatroyd was simply a captain kidd of space; and even if he were actually connected with galactic spaceways, that fact would not be surprising. such relationships had always existed; the most ferocious and dreaded pirates of the ancient world worked in full partnership with the first families of that world. virgil samms was thinking of pirates and of piracy when he left senator morgan's office. he was still thinking of them while he was reporting to roderick kinnison. hence: "but that's enough about this stuff and me, rod. bring me up to date on operation boskone." "branching out no end. your guess was right that spaceways' losses to pirates are probably phony. but it wasn't the _known_ attacks--that is, those cases in which the ship was found, later, with some or most of the personnel alive--that gave us the real information. they were all pretty much alike. but when we studied the total disappearances we really hit the jack-pot." "that doesn't sound just right, but i'm listening." "you'd better, since it goes farther than even you suspected. it was no trouble at all to get the passenger lists and the names of the crews of the independent ships that were lost without a trace. their relatives and friends--we concentrated mostly on wives--could be located, except for the usual few who moved around so much that they got lost. spacemen average young, you know, and their wives are still younger. well, these young women got jobs, most of them remarried, and so on. in short, normal." "and in the case of spaceways, not normal?" "decidedly not. in the first place, you'd be amazed at how little publication was ever done of passenger lists, and apparently crew lists were not published at all. no use going into detail as to how we got the stuff, but we got it. however, nine tenths of the wives had disappeared, and none had remarried. the only ones we could find were those who did not care, even when their husbands were alive, whether they ever saw them again or not. but the big break was--you remember the disappearance of that girls'-school cruise ship?" "of course. it made a lot of noise." "an interesting point in connection with that cruise is that two days before the ship blasted off the school was robbed. the vault was opened with thermite and the whole administration building burned to the ground. all the school's records were destroyed. thus, the list of missing had to be made up from statements made by friends, relatives, and what not." "i remember something of the kind. my impression was, though, that the space-ship company furnished.... oh!" the tone of samms' thought alerted sharply. "that was spaceways, under cover?" "definitely. our best guess is that there were quite a few shiploads of women disappeared about that time, instead of one. austine's college had more students that year than ever before or since. it was the extras, not the regulars, who went on that cruise; the ones who figured it would be more convenient to disappear in space than to become ordinary missing persons." "but rod! that would mean ... but where?" "it means just that. and finding out 'where' will run into a project. there are over two thousand million suns in this galaxy, and the best estimate is that there are more than that many planets habitable by beings more or less human in type. you know how much of the galaxy has been explored and how fast the work of exploring the rest of it is going. your guess is just as good as mine as to where those spacemen and engineers and their wives and girl-friends are now. i am sure, though, of four things; none of which we can ever begin to prove. one; they didn't die in space. two; they landed on a comfortable and very well equipped tellurian planet. three; they built a fleet there. four; that fleet attacked the hill." "murgatroyd, do you suppose?" although surprised by kinnison's tremendous report, samms was not dismayed. "no idea. no data--yet." "and they'll keep on building," samms said. "they had a fleet much larger than the one they expected to meet. now they'll build one larger than all our combined forces. and since the politicians will always know what we are doing ... or it might be ... i wonder...?" "you can stop wondering." kinnison grinned savagely. "what do you mean?" "just what you were going to think about. you know the edge of the galaxy closest to tellus, where that big rift cuts in?" "yes." "across that rift, where it won't be surveyed for a thousand years, there's a planet that could be earth's twin sister. no atomic energy, no space-drive, but heavily industrialized and anxious to welcome us. project bennett. very, _very_ hush-hush. nobody except lensmen know anything about it. two friends of dronvire's--smart, smooth operators--are in charge. it's going to be the navy yard of the galactic patrol." "but rod ..." samms began to protest, his mind leaping ahead to the numberless problems, the tremendous difficulties, inherent in the program which his friend had outlined so briefly. "forget it, virge!" kinnison cut in. "it won't be easy, of course, but we can do anything they can do, and do it better. you can go calmly ahead with your own chores, knowing that when--and notice that i say 'when', not 'if'--we need it we'll have a fleet up our sleeves that will make the official one look like a task force. but i see you're at the rendezvous, and there's jill. tell her 'hi' for me. and as the vegians say--'tail high, brother!'" samms was in the hotel's ornate lobby; a couple of uniformed "boys" and jill samms were approaching. the girl reached him first. "you had no trouble in recognizing me, then, my dear?" "none at all, uncle george." she kissed him perfunctorily, the bell hops faded away. "so nice to see you--i've heard _so_ much about you. the marine room, you said?" "yes. i reserved a table." and in that famous restaurant, in the unequalled privacy of the city's noisiest and most crowded night spot, they drank sparingly; ate not-so-sparingly; and talked not sparingly at all. "it's perfectly safe here, you think?" jill asked first. "perfectly. a super-sensitive microphone couldn't hear anything, and it's so dark that a lip-reader, even if he could read us, would need a pair of twelve-inch night-glasses." "goody! they did a marvelous job, dad. if it weren't for your ... well, your personality, i wouldn't recognize you even now." "you think i'm safe, then?" "absolutely." "then we'll get down to business. you, knobos, and dalnalten all have keen and powerful minds. you can't all be wrong. spaceways, then, is tied in with both the towne-morgan gang and with thionite. the logical extension of that--dal certainly thought of it, even though he didn't mention it--would be ..." samms paused. "check. that the notorious murgatroyd, instead of being just another pirate chief, is really working for spaceways and belongs to the towne-morgan-isaacson gang. but dad--what an idea! can things be _that_ rotten, really?" "they may be worse than that. now the next thing. who, in your opinion, is the real boss?" "well, it certainly is not herkimer herkimer third." jill ticked him off on a pink forefinger. she had been asked for an opinion; she set out to give it without apology or hesitation. "he could--just about--direct the affairs of a hot-dog stand. nor is it clander. he isn't even a little fish; he's scarcely a minnow. equally certainly it is neither the venerian nor the martian. they may run planetary affairs, but nothing bigger. i haven't met murgatroyd, of course, but i have had several evaluations, and he does not rate up with towne. and big jim--and this surprised me as much as it will you--is almost certainly not the prime mover." she looked at him questioningly. "that would have surprised me tremendously yesterday; but after today--i'll tell you about that presently--it doesn't." "i'm glad of that. i expected an argument, and i have been inclined to question the validity of my own results, since they do not agree with common knowledge--or, rather, what is supposed to be knowledge. that leaves isaacson and senator morgan." jill frowned in perplexity; seemed, for the first time, unsure. "isaacson is of course a big man. able. well-informed. extremely capable. a top-notch executive. not only _is_, would _have_ to be, to run spaceways. on the other hand, i have always thought that morgan was nothing but a windbag...." jill stopped talking; left the thought hanging in air. "so did i--until today," samms agreed grimly. "i thought that he was simply an unusually corrupt, greedy, rabble-rousing politician. our estimates of him may have to be changed very radically." samms' mind raced. from two entirely different angles of approach, jill and he had arrived at the same conclusion. but, if morgan were really the big shot, would he have deigned to interview personally such small fry as olmstead? or was olmstead's job of more importance than he, samms, had supposed? "i've got a dozen more things to check with you," he went on, almost without a pause, "but since this leadership matter is the only one in which my experience would affect your judgment, i had better tell you about what happened today...." * * * * * tuesday came, and hour fourteen hundred; and samms strode into an office. there was a big, clean desk; a wiry, intense, gray-haired man. "captain willoughby?" "yes." "george olmstead reporting." "fourth officer." the captain punched a button; the heavy, sound-proof door closed itself and locked. "_fourth_ officer? new rank, eh. what does the ticket cover?" "new, and special. here's the articles; read it and sign it." he did not add "or else", it was not necessary. it was clearly evident that captain willoughby, never garrulous, intended to be particularly reticent with his new subordinate. samms read. "... fourth officer ... shall ... no duties or responsibilities in the operation or maintenance of said space-ship ... cargo ..." then came a clause which fairly leaped from the paper and smote his eyes: "when in command of a detail outside the hull of said space-ship he shall enforce, by the infliction of death or such other penalty as he deems fit...." the lensman was rocked to the heels, but did not show it. instead, he took the captain's pen--his own, as far as willoughby was concerned, could have been filled with vanishing ink--and wrote george olmstead's name in george olmstead's bold, flowing script. willoughby then took him aboard the good ship _virgin queen_ and led him to his cabin. "here you are, mr. olmstead. beyond getting acquainted with the super-cargo and the rest of your men, you will have no duties for a few days. you have full run of the ship, with one exception. stay out of the control room until i call you. is that clear?" "yes, sir." willoughby turned away and samms, after tossing his space-bag into the rack, took inventory. the room was of course very small; but, considering the importance of mass, it was almost extravagantly supplied. there were shelves, or rather, tight racks, of books; there were sun-lamps and card-shelves and exercisers and games; there was a receiver capable of bringing in programs from almost anywhere in space. the room had only one lack; it did not have an ultra-wave visiplate. nor was this lack surprising. "they" would scarcely let george olmstead know where "they" were taking him. samms was surprised, however, when he met the men who were to be directly under his command; for instead of one, or at most two, they numbered exactly forty. and they were all, he thought at first glance, the dregs and sweepings of the lowest dives in space. before long, however, he learned that they were not all space-rats and denizens of skid rows. six of them--the strongest physically and the hardest mentally of the lot--were fugitives from lethal chambers; murderers and worse. he looked at the biggest, toughest one of the six--a rock-drill-eyed, red-haired giant--and asked: "what did they tell you, tworn, that your job was going to be?" "they didn't say. just that it was dangerous, but if i done exactly what my boss would tell me to do, and nothing else, i might not even get hurt. an' i was due to take the deep breath the next week, see? that's just how it was, boss." "i see," and one by one virgil samms, master psychologist, studied and analyzed his motley crew until he was called into the control room. the navigating tank was covered; no charts were to be seen. the one "live" visiplate showed a planet and a fiercely blue-white sun. "my orders are to tell you, at this point, all i know about what you've got to do and about that planet down there. trenco, they call it." to virgil samms, the first adherent of civilization ever to hear it, that name meant nothing whatever. "you are to take about five of your men, go down there, and gather all the green leaves you can. not green in color; sort of purplish. what they call broadleaf is the best; leaves about two feet long and a foot wide. but don't be too choosy. if there isn't any broadleaf handy, grab anything you can get hold of." "what is the opposition?" samms asked, quietly. "and what have they got that makes them so tough?" "nothing. no inhabitants, even. just the planet itself. next to arisia, it's the god damndest planet in space. i've never been any closer to it than this, and i never will, so i don't know anything about it except what i hear; but there's something about it that kills men or drives them crazy. we spend seven or eight boats every trip, and thirty-five or forty men, and the biggest load that anybody ever took away from here was just under two hundred pounds of leaf. a good many times we don't get any." "they go crazy, eh?" in spite of his control, samms paled. but it couldn't be like arisia. "what are the symptoms? what do they say?" "various. main thing seems to be that they lose their sight. don't go blind, exactly, but can't see where anything is; or, if they do see it, it isn't there. and it rains over forty feet deep every night, and yet it all dries up by morning. the worst electrical storms in the universe, and wind-velocities--i can show you charts on that--of over eight hundred miles an hour." "whew! how about time? with your permission, i would like to do some surveying before i try to land." "a smart idea. a couple of the other boys had the same, but it didn't help--they didn't come back. i'll give you two tellurian days--no, three--before i give you up and start sending out the other boats. pick out your five men and see what you can do." as the boat dropped away, willoughby's voice came briskly from a speaker. "i know that you five men have got ideas. forget 'em. fourth officer olmstead has the authority and the orders to put a half-ounce slug through the guts of any or all of you that don't jump, and jump fast, to do what he tells you. and if that boat makes any funny moves i blast it out of the ether. good harvesting!" for forty-eight tellurian hours, taking time out only to sleep, samms scanned and surveyed the planet trenco; and the more he studied it, the more outrageously abnormal it became. trenco was, and is, a peculiar planet indeed. its atmosphere is not air as we know air; its hydrosphere does not resemble water. half of that atmosphere and most of that hydrosphere are one chemical, a substance of very low heat of vaporization and having a boiling point of about seventy-five degrees fahrenheit. trenco's days are intensely hot; its nights are bitterly cold. at night, therefore, it rains: and by comparison a tellurian downpour of one inch per hour is scarcely a drizzle. upon trenco it really _rains_--forty seven feet and five inches of precipitation, every night of every trenconian year. and this tremendous condensation of course causes wind. willoughby's graphs were accurate. except at trenco's very poles there is not a spot in which or a time at which an earthly gale would not constitute a dead calm; and along the equator, at every sunrise and every sunset, the wind blows from the day side into the night side at a velocity which no tellurian hurricane or cyclone, however violent, has even distantly approached. also, therefore, there is lightning. not in the mild and occasional flashes which we of gentle terra know, but in a continuous, blinding glare which outshines a normal sun; in battering, shattering, multi-billion-volt discharges which not only make darkness unknown there, but also distort beyond recognition and beyond function the warp and the woof of space itself. sight is almost completely useless in that fantastically altered medium. so is the ultra-beam. landing on the daylight side, except possibly at exact noon, would be impossible because of the wind, nor could the ship stay landed for more than a couple of minutes. landing on the night side would be practically as bad, because of the terrific charge the boat would pick up--unless the boat carried something that could be rebuilt into a leaker. did it? it did. time after time, from pole to pole and from midnight around the clock, samms stabbed visibeam and spy-ray down toward trenco's falsely-visible surface, with consistently and meaninglessly impossible results. the planet tipped, lurched, spun, and danced. it broke up into chunks, each of which began insanely to follow mathematically impossible paths. finally, in desperation, he rammed a beam down and held it down. again he saw the planet break up before his eyes, but this time he held on. he _knew_ that he was well out of the stratosphere, a good two hundred miles up. nevertheless, he _saw_ a tremendous mass of jagged rock falling straight down, with terrific velocity, upon his tiny lifeboat! unfortunately the crew, to whom he had not been paying overmuch attention of late, saw it, too; and one of them, with a bestial yell, leaped toward samms and the controls. samms, reaching for pistol and blackjack, whirled around just in time to see the big red-head lay the would-be attacker out cold with a vicious hand's-edge chop at the base of the skull. "thanks, tworn. why?" "because i want to get out of this alive, and he'd've had us all in hell in fifteen minutes. you know a hell of a lot more than we do, so i'm playin' it your way. see?" "i see. can you use a sap?" "an artist," the big man admitted, modestly. "just tell me how long you want a guy to be out and i won't miss it a minute, either way. but you'd better blow that crumb's brains out, right now. he ain't no damn good." "not until after i see whether he can work or not. you're a procian, aren't you?" "yeah. midlands--north central." "what did you do?" "nothing much, at first. just killed a guy that needed killing; but the goddam louse had a lot of money, so they give me twenty five years. i didn't like it very well, and acted rough, so they give me solitary--boot, bandage, and so on. so i tried a break--killed six or eight, maybe a dozen, guards--but didn't quite make it. so they slated me for the big whiff. that's all, boss." "i'm promoting you, now, to squad leader. here's the sap." he handed tworn his blackjack. "watch 'em--i'll be too busy to. this landing is going to be tough." "gotcha, boss." tworn was calibrating his weapon by slugging himself experimentally on the leg. "go ahead. as far as these crumbs are concerned, you've got this air-tank all to yourself." samms had finally decided what he was going to do. he located the terminator on the morning side, poised his little ship somewhat nearer to dawn than to midnight, and "cut the rope". he took one quick reading on the sun, cut off his plates, and let her drop, watching only his pressure gages and gyros. one hundred millimeters of mercury. three hundred. five hundred. he slowed her down. he was going to hit a thin liquid, but if he hit it too hard he would smash the boat, and he had no idea what the atmospheric pressure at trenco's surface would be. six hundred. even this late at night, it might be greater than earth's ... and it might be a lot less. seven hundred. slower and slower he crept downward, his tension mounting infinitely faster than did the needle of the gage. this was an instrument landing with a vengeance! eight hundred. how was the crew taking it? how many of them had tworn had to disable? he glanced quickly around. none! now that they could not see the hallucinatory images upon the plates, they were not suffering at all--he himself was the only one aboard who was feeling the strain! nine hundred ... nine hundred forty. the boat "hit the drink" with a crashing, splashing impact. its pace was slow enough, however, and the liquid was deep enough, so that no damage was done. samms applied a little driving power and swung his craft's sharp nose into the line toward the sun. the little ship plowed slowly forward, as nearly just awash as samms could keep her; grounded as gently as a river steam-boat upon a mud-flat. the starkly incredible downpour slackened; the lensman knew that the second critical moment was at hand. "strap down, men, until we see what this wind is going to do to us." the atmosphere, moving at a velocity well above that of sound, was in effect not a gas, but a solid. even a spaceboat's hard skin of alloy plate, with all its bracing, could not take what was coming next. inert, she would be split open, smashed, flattened out, and twisted into pretzels. samms' finger stabbed down; the berg went into action; the lifeboat went free just as that raging blast of quasi-solid vapor wrenched her into the air. the second descent was much faster and much easier than the first. nor, this time, did samms remain surfaced or drive toward shore. knowing now that this ocean was not deep enough to harm his vessel, he let her sink to the bottom. more, he turned her on her side and drove her at a flat angle into the bottom; so deep that the rim of her starboard lock was flush with the ocean's floor. again they waited; and this time the wind did not blow the lifeboat away. upon purely theoretical grounds samms had reasoned that the weird distortion of vision must be a function of distance, and his observations so far had been in accord with that hypothesis. now, slowly and cautiously, he sent out a visibeam. ten feet ... twenty ... forty ... all clear. at fifty the seeing was definitely bad; at sixty it became impossible. he shortened back to forty and began to study the vegetation, growing with such fantastic speed that the leaves, pressed flat to the ground by the gale and anchored there by heavy rootlets, were already inches long. there was also what seemed to be animal life, of sorts, but samms was not, at the moment, interested in trenconian zoology. "are them the plants we're going to get, boss?" tworn asked, staring into the plate over samms' shoulder. "shall we go out now an' start pickin' 'em?" "not yet. even if we could open the port the blast would wreck us. also, it would shear your head off, flush with the coaming, as fast as you stuck it out. this wind should ease off after a while; we'll go out a little before noon. in the meantime we'll get ready. have the boys break out a couple of spare number twelve struts, some clamps and chain, four snatch blocks, and a hundred feet of heavy space-line.... "good," he went on, when the order had been obeyed. "rig the line from the winch through snatch blocks here, and here, and here, so i can haul you back against the wind. while you are doing that i'll rig a remote control on the winch." shortly before trenco's fierce, blue-white sun reached meridian, the six men donned space-suits and samms cautiously opened the air-lock ports. they worked. the wind was now scarcely more than an earthly hurricane; the wildly whipping broadleaf plants, struggling upward, were almost half-way to the vertical. the leaves were apparently almost fully grown. four men clamped their suits to the line. the line was paid out. each man selected two leaves; the largest, fattest, purplest ones he could reach. samms hauled them back and received the loot; tworn stowed the leaves away. again--again--again. with noon there came a few minutes of "calm". a strong man could stand against the now highly variable wind; could move around without being blown beyond the horizon; and during those few minutes all six men gathered leaves. that time, however, was very short. the wind steadied into the reverse direction with ever-increasing fury; winch and space-line again came into play. and in a scant half hour, when the line began to hum an almost musical note under its load, samms decided to call it quits. "that'll be all for today, boys," he announced. "about twice more and this line will part. you've done too good a job to lose you. secure ship." "shall i blow the air, sir?" tworn asked. "i don't think so." samms thought for a moment. "no. i'm afraid to take the chance. this stuff, whatever it is, is probably as poisonous as cyanide. we'll keep our suits on and exhaust into space." time passed. "night" came; the rain and the flood. the bottom softened. samms blasted the lifeboat out of the mud and away from the planet. he opened the bleeder valves, then both air-lock ports; the contaminated air was replaced by the ultra-hard vacuum of the inter-planetary void. he signaled the _virgin queen_; the lifeboat was taken aboard. "quick trip, olmstead," willoughby congratulated him. "i'm surprised that you got back at all, to say nothing of with so much stuff and not losing a man. give me the weight, mister, fast!" "three hundred and forty eight pounds, sir," the super-cargo reported. "my god! and all pure broadleaf! _nobody_ ever did _that_ before! how did you do it, olmstead?" "i don't know whether that would be any of your business or not." samms' mien was not insulting; merely thoughtful. "not that i give a damn, but my way might not help anybody else much, and i think i had better report to the main office first, and let them do the telling. fair enough?" "fair enough," the skipper conceded, ungrudgingly. "what a load! and no losses!" "one boatload of air, is all; but air is expensive out here." samms made a point, deliberately. "air!" willoughby snorted. "i'll swap you a hundred flasks of air, any time, for any one of those leaves!" which was what samms wanted to know. captain willoughby was smart. he knew that the way to succeed was to use and then to trample upon his inferiors; to toady to such superiors as were too strong to be pulled down and thus supplanted. he knew this olmstead had what it took to be a big shot. therefore: "they told me to keep you in the dark until we got to trenco," he more than half apologized to his fourth officer shortly after the _virgin queen_ blasted away from the trenconian system. "but they didn't say anything about afterwards--maybe they figured you wouldn't be aboard any more, as usual--but anyway, you can stay right here in the control room if you want to." "thanks, skipper, but mightn't it be just as well," he jerked his head inconspicuously toward the other officers, "to play the string out, this trip? i don't care where we're going, and we don't want anybody to get any funny ideas." "that'd be a lot better, of course--as long as you know that your cards are all aces, as far as i'm concerned." "thanks, willoughby. i'll remember that." samms had not been entirely frank with the private captain. from the time required to make the trip, he knew to within a few parsecs trenco's distance from sol. he did not know the direction, since the distance was so great that he had not been able to recognize any star or constellation. he did know, however, the course upon which the vessel then was, and he would know courses and distances from then on. he was well content. a couple of uneventful days passed. samms was again called into the control room, to see that the ship was approaching a three-sun solar system. "this where we're going to land?" he asked, indifferently. "we ain't going to land," willoughby told him. "you are going to take the broadleaf down in your boat, close enough so that you can parachute it down to where it has to go. way 'nuff, pilot, go inert and match intrinsics. now, olmstead, watch. you've seen systems like this before?" "no, but i know about them. those two suns over there are a hell of a lot bigger and further away than they look, and this one here, much smaller, is in the trojan position. have those big suns got any planets?" "five or six apiece, they say; all hotter and dryer than the brazen hinges of hell. this sun here has seven, but number two--'cavenda', they call it--is the only tellurian planet in the system. the first thing we look for is a big, diamond-shaped continent ... there's only one of that shape ... there it is, over there. notice that one end is bigger than the other--that end is north. strike a line to split the continent in two and measure from the north end one-third of the length of the line. that's the point we're diving at now ... see that crater?" "yes." the _virgin queen_, although still hundreds of miles up, was slowing rapidly. "it must be a big one." "it's a good fifty miles across. go down until you're dead sure that the box will land somewhere inside the rim of that crater. then dump it. the parachute and the sender are automatic. understand?" "yes, sir; i understand," and samms took off. he was vastly more interested in the stars, however, than in delivering the broadleaf. the constellation directly beyond sol from wherever he was might be recognizable. its shape would be smaller and more or less distorted; its smaller stars, brilliant to earthly eyes only because of their nearness, would be dimmer, perhaps invisible; the picture would be further confused by intervening, nearby, brilliant strangers; but such giants as canopus and rigel and betelgeuse and deneb would certainly be highly visible if he could only recognize them. from trenco his search had failed; but he was still trying. _there_ was something vaguely familiar! sweating with the mental effort, he blocked out the too-near, too-bright stars and studied intensively those that were left. a blue-white and a red were most prominent. rigel and betelgeuse? could that constellation be orion? the belt was very faint, but it was there. then sirius ought to be about there, and pollux about there; and, at this distance, about equally bright. they were. aldebaran would be orange, and about one magnitude brighter than pollux; and capella would be yellow, and half a magnitude brighter still. there they were! not too close to where they should be, but close enough--it was orion! and this thionite way-station, then, was somewhere near right ascension seventeen hours and declination plus ten degrees! he returned to the _virgin queen_. she blasted off. samms asked very few questions and willoughby volunteered very little information; nevertheless the first lensman learned more than anyone of his fellow pirates would have believed possible. aloof, taciturn, disinterested to a degree, he seemed to spend practically all of his time in his cabin when he was not actually at work; but he kept his eyes and his ears wide open. and virgil samms, as has been intimated, had a brain. the _virgin queen_ made a quick flit from cavenda to vegia, arriving exactly on time; a proud, clean space-ship as high above suspicion as calpurnia herself. samms unloaded her cargo; replaced it with one for earth. she was serviced. she made a fast, eventless run to tellus. she docked at new york spaceport. virgil samms walked unconcernedly into an ordinary-looking rest-room; george olmstead, fully informed, walked unconcernedly out. as soon as he could, samms lensed northrop and jack kinnison. "we lined up a thousand and one signals, sir," northrop reported for the pair, "but only one of them carried a message, and it didn't make sense." "why not?" samms asked, sharply. "with a lens, _any_ kind of a message, however garbled, coded, or interrupted, makes sense." "oh, we understood what it said," jack came in, "but it didn't say enough. just 'ready--ready--ready'; over and over." "what!" samms exclaimed, and the boys could feel his mind work. "did that signal, by any chance, originate anywhere near seventeen hours and plus ten degrees?" "very near. why? how did you know?" "then it does make sense!" samms exclaimed, and called a general conference of lensmen. "keep working along these same lines," samms directed, finally. "keep ray olmstead in the hill in my place. i am going to pluto, and--i hope--to palain seven." roderick kinnison of course protested; but, equally of course, his protests were over-ruled. chapter 10 pluto is, on the average, about forty times as far away from the sun as is mother earth. each square yard of earth's surface receives about sixteen hundred times as much heat as does each of pluto's. the sun as seen from pluto is a dim, wan speck. even at perihelion, an event which occurs only once in two hundred forty eight tellurian years, and at noon and on the equator, pluto is so bitterly cold that climatic conditions upon its surface simply cannot be described by or to warm-blooded, oxygen-breathing man. as good an indication as any can be given, perhaps, by mentioning the fact that it had taken the patrol's best engineers over six months to perfect the armor which virgil samms then wore. for no ordinary space-suit would do. space itself is not cold; the only loss of heat is by radiation into or through an almost perfect vacuum. in contact with pluto's rocky, metallic soil, however, there would be conduction; and the magnitude of the inevitable heat-loss made the tellurian scientists gasp. "watch your feet, virge!" had been roderick kinnison's insistent last thought. "remember those psychologists--if they stayed in contact with that ground for five minutes they froze their feet to the ankles. not that the boys aren't good, but slipsticks sometimes slip in more ways than one. if your feet ever start to get cold, drop whatever you're doing and drive back here at max!" virgil samms landed. his feet stayed warm. finally, assured that the heaters of his suit could carry the load indefinitely, he made his way on foot into the settlement near which he had come to ground. and there he saw his first palainian. or, strictly speaking, he saw part of his first palainian; for no three-dimensional creature has ever seen or ever will see in entirety any member of any of the frigid-blooded, poison-breathing races. since life as we know it--organic, three-dimensional life--is based upon liquid water and gaseous oxygen, such life did not and could not develop upon planets whose temperatures are only a few degrees above absolute zero. many, perhaps most, of these ultra-frigid planets have an atmosphere of sorts; some have no atmosphere at all. nevertheless, with or without atmosphere and completely without oxygen and water, life--highly intelligent life--did develop upon millions and millions of such worlds. that life is not, however, strictly three-dimensional. of necessity, even in the lowest forms, it possesses an extension into the hyper-dimension; and it is this metabolic extension alone which makes it possible for life to exist under such extreme conditions. the extension makes it impossible for any human being to see anything of a palainian except the fluid, amorphous, ever-changing thing which is his three-dimensional aspect of the moment; makes any attempt at description or portraiture completely futile. virgil samms stared at the palainian; tried to see what it looked like. he could not tell whether it had eyes or antennae; legs, arms, or tentacles, teeth or beaks, talons or claws or feet; skin, scales, or feathers. it did not even remotely resemble anything that the lensman had ever seen, sensed, or imagined. he gave up; sent out an exploring thought. "i am virgil samms, a tellurian," he sent out slowly, carefully, after he made contact with the outer fringes of the creature's mind. "is it possible for you, sir or madam, to give me a moment of your time?" "eminently possible, lensman samms, since my time is of completely negligible value." the monster's mind flashed into accord with samms' with a speed and precision that made him gasp. that is, a part of it became en rapport with a part of his: years were to pass before even the first lensman would know much more about the palainian than he learned in that first contact; no human beings except the children of the lens ever were to understand even dimly the labyrinthine intricacies, the paradoxical complexities, of the palainian mind. "'madam' might be approximately correct," the native's thought went smoothly on. "my name, in your symbology, is twelfth pilinipsi; by education, training, and occupation i am a chief dexitroboper. i perceive that you are indeed a native of that hellish planet three, upon which it was assumed for so long that no life could possibly exist. but communication with your race has been almost impossible heretofore ... ah, the lens. a remarkable device, truly. i would slay you and take it, except for the obvious fact that only you can possess it." "what!" dismay and consternation flooded samms' mind. "you already know the lens?" "no. yours is the first that any of us has perceived. the mechanics, the mathematics, and the basic philosophy of the thing, however, are quite clear." "what!" samms exclaimed again. "you can, then, produce lenses yourselves?" "by no means, any more than you tellurians can. there are magnitudes, variables, determinants, and forces involved which no palainian will ever be able to develop, to generate, or to control." "i see." the lensman pulled himself together. for a first lensman, he was making a wretched showing indeed.... "far from it, sir," the monstrosity assured him. "considering the strangeness of the environment into which you have voluntarily flung yourself so senselessly, your mind is well integrated and strong. otherwise it would have shattered. if our positions were reversed, the mere thought of the raging heat of your earth would--come no closer, please!" the thing vanished; reappeared many yards away. her thoughts were a shudder of loathing, of terror, of sheer detestation. "but to get on. i have been attempting to analyze and to understand your purpose, without success. that failure is not too surprising, of course, since my mind is weak and my total power is small. explain your mission, please, as simply as you can." weak? small? in view of the power the monstrosity had just shown, samms probed for irony, for sarcasm or pretense. there was no trace of anything of the kind. he tried, then, for fifteen solid minutes, to explain the galactic patrol, but at the end the palainian's only reaction was one of blank non-comprehension. "i fail completely to perceive the use of, or the need for, such an organization," she stated flatly. "this altruism--what good is it? it is unthinkable that any other race would take any risks or exert any effort for us, any more than we would for them. ignore and be ignored, as you must already know, is the prime tenet." "but there is a little commerce between our worlds; your people did not ignore our psychologists; and you are not ignoring me," samms pointed out. "oh, none of us is perfect," pilinipsi replied, with a mental shrug and what seemed to be an airy wave of a multi-tentacled member. "that ideal, like any other, can only be approached asymptotically, never reached; and i, being somewhat foolish and silly, as well as weak and vacillant, am much less perfect than most." flabbergasted, samms tried a new tack. "i might be able to make my position clearer if i knew you better. i know your name, and that you are a woman of palain seven"--it is a measure of virgil samms' real size that he actually thought "woman", and not merely "female"--"but all i can understand of your occupation is the name you have given it. what does a chief dexitroboper do?" "she--or he--or, perhaps, it ... is a supervisor of the work of dexitroboping." the thought, while perfectly clear, was completely meaningless to samms, and the palainian knew it. she tried again. "dexitroboping has to do with ... nourishment? no--with nutrients." "ah. farming--agriculture," samms thought; but this time it was the palainian who could not grasp the concept. "hunting? fishing?" no better. "show me, then, please." she tried; but demonstration, too, was useless; for to samms the palainian's movements were pointless indeed. the peculiarly flowing subtly changing thing darted back and forth, rose and fell, appeared and disappeared; undergoing the while cyclic changes in shape and form and size, in aspect and texture. it was now spiny, now tentacular, now scaly, now covered with peculiarly repellent feather-like fronds, each oozing a crimson slime. but it apparently did not _do_ anything whatever. the net result of all its activity was, apparently, zero. "there, it is done." pilinipsi's thought again came clear. "you observed and understood? you did not. that is strange--baffling. since the lens did improve communication and understanding tremendously, i hoped that it might extend to the physical as well. but there must be some basic, fundamental difference, the nature of which is at present obscure. i wonder ... if i had a lens, too--but no...." "but yes!" samms broke in, eagerly. "why don't you go to arisia and be tested for one? you have a magnificent, a really _tremendous_ mind. it is of lensman grade in every respect except one--you simply don't _want_ to use it!" "me? go to arisia?" the thought would have been, in a tellurian, a laugh of scorn. "how utterly silly--how abysmally stupid! there would be personal discomfort, quite possibly personal danger, and two lenses would be little or no better than one in resolving differences between our two continua, which are probably in fact incommensurable." "well, then," samms thought, almost viciously, "can you introduce me to someone who is stupider, sillier, and more foolish than you are?" "not here on pluto, no." the palainian took no offense. "that was why it was i who interviewed the earlier tellurian visitors and why i am now conversing with you. the others avoided you." "i see." samms' thought was grim. "how about the home planet, then?" "ah. undoubtedly. in fact, there is a group, a club, of such persons. none of them is, of course, as insane--as aberrant--as you are, but they are all much more so than i am." "who of this club would be most interested in becoming a lensman?" "tallick was the least stable member of the new-thought club when i left seven; kragzex a close second. there may of course have been changes since then. but i cannot believe that even tallick--even tallick at his outrageous worst--would be crazy enough to join your patrol." "nevertheless, i must see him myself. can you and will you give me a chart of a routing from here to palain seven?" "i can and i will. nothing you have thought will be of any use to me; that will be the easiest and quickest way of getting rid of you." the palainian spread a completely detailed chart in samms' mind, snapped the telepathic line, and went unconcernedly about her incomprehensible business. samms, mind reeling, made his way back to his boat and took off. and as the light-years and the parsecs screamed past, he sank deeper and deeper into a welter of unproductive speculation. what were--really--those palainians? how could they--really--exist as they seemed to exist? and why had some of that dexitroboper's--whatever _that_ meant!--thoughts come in so beautifully sharp and clear and plain while others...? he knew that his lens would receive and would convert into his own symbology any thought or message, however coded or garbled or however sent or transmitted. the lens was not at fault; his symbology was. there were concepts--things--actualities--occurrences--so foreign to tellurian experience that no referents existed. hence the human mind lacked the channels, the mechanisms, to grasp them. he and roderick kinnison had glibly discussed the possibility of encountering forms of intelligent life so alien that humanity would have no point whatever of contact with them. after what samms had just gone through, that was more of a possibility than either he or his friend had believed; and he hoped grimly, as he considered how seriously this partial contact with the palainian had upset him, that the possibility would never become a fact. he found the palainian system easily enough, and palain seven. that planet, of course, was almost as dark upon its sunward side as upon the other, and its inhabitants had no use for light. pilinipsi's instructions, however, had been minute and exact; hence samms had very little trouble in locating the principal city--or, rather, the principal village, since there were no real cities. he found the planet's one spaceport. what a thing to call a _port_! he checked back; recalled exactly this part of his interview with pluto's chief dexitroboper. "the place upon which space-ships land," had been her thought, when she showed him exactly where it was in relationship to the town. just that, and nothing else. it had been his mind, not hers, that had supplied the docks and cradles, the service cars, the officers, and all the other things taken for granted in space-fields everywhere as samms knew them. either the palainian had not perceived the trappings with which samms had invested her visualization, or she had not cared enough about his misapprehension to go to the trouble of correcting it; he did not know which. the whole area was as bare as his hand. except for the pitted, scarred, slagged-down spots which showed so clearly what driving blasts would do to such inconceivably cold rock and metal, palainport was in no way distinguishable from any other unimproved portion of the planet's utterly bleak surface. there were no signals; he had been told of no landing conventions. apparently it was everyone for himself. wherefore samms' tremendous landing lights blazed out, and with their aid he came safely to ground. he put on his armour and strode to the air-lock; then changed his mind and went to the cargo-port instead. he had intended to walk, but in view of the rugged and deserted field and the completely unknown terrain between the field and the town, he decided to ride the "creep" instead. this vehicle, while slow, could go--literally--anywhere. it had a cigar-shaped body of magnalloy; it had big, soft, tough tires; it had cleated tracks; it had airand water-propellers; it had folding wings; it had driving, braking, and steering jets. it could traverse the deserts of mars, the oceans and swamps of venus, the crevassed glaciers of earth, the jagged, frigid surface of an iron asteroid, and the cratered, fluffy topography of the moon; if not with equal speed, at least with equal safety. samms released the thing and drove it into the cargo lock, noting mentally that he would have to exhaust the air of that lock into space before he again broke the inner seal. the ramp slid back into the ship; the cargo port closed. here he was! should he use his headlights, or not? he did not know the palainians' reaction to or attitude toward light. it had not occurred to him while at pluto to ask, and it might be important. the landing lights of his vessel might already have done his cause irreparable harm. he could drive by starlight if he had to ... but he needed light and he had not seen a single living or moving thing. there was no evidence that there was a palainian within miles. while he had known, with his brain, that palain would be dark, he had expected to find buildings and traffic--ground-cars, planes, and at least a few space-ships--and not this vast nothingness. if nothing else, there _must_ be a road from palain's principal city to its only spaceport; but samms had not seen it from his vessel and he could not see it now. at least, he could not recognize it. wherefore he clutched in the tractor drive and took off in a straight line toward town. the going was more than rough--it was really rugged--but the creep was built to stand up under punishment and its pilot's chair was sprung and cushioned to exactly the same degree. hence, while the course itself was infinitely worse than the smoothly paved approaches to rigelston, samms found this trip much less bruising than the other had been. approaching the village, he dimmed his roadlights and slowed down. at its edge he cut them entirely and inched his way forward by starlight alone. what a town! virgil samms had seen the inhabited places of almost every planet of civilization. he had seen cities laid out in circles, sectors, ellipses, triangles, squares, parallelopipeds--practically every plan known to geometry. he had seen structures of all shapes and sizes--narrow skyscrapers, vast-spreading one-stories, polyhedra, domes, spheres, semi-cylinders, and erect and inverted full and truncated cones and pyramids. whatever the plan or the shapes of the component units, however, those inhabited places had, without exception, been understandable. but this! samms, his eyes now completely dark-accustomed, could see fairly well, but the more he saw the less he grasped. there was no plan, no coherence or unity whatever. it was as though a cosmic hand had flung a few hundreds of buildings, of incredibly and senselessly varied shapes and sizes and architectures, upon an otherwise empty plain, and as though each structure had been allowed ever since to remain in whatever location and attitude it had chanced to fall. here and there were jumbled piles of three or more utterly incongruous structures. there were a few whose arrangement was almost orderly. here and there were large, irregularly-shaped areas of bare, untouched ground. there were no streets--at least, nothing that the man could recognize as such. samms headed the creep for one of those open areas, then stopped--declutched the tracks, set the brakes, and killed the engines. "go slow, fellow," he advised himself then. "until you find out what a dexitroboper actually does while working at his trade, don't take chances of interfering or of doing damage!" no lensman knew--then--that frigid-blooded poison-breathers were not strictly three-dimensional; but samms did know that he had actually seen things which he could not understand. he and kinnison had discussed such occurrences calmly enough; but the actuality was enough to shake even the mind of civilization's first lensman. he did not need to be any closer, anyway. he had learned the palainians' patterns well enough to lens them from a vastly greater distance than his present one; this personal visit to palainopolis had been a gesture of friendliness, not a necessity. "tallick? kragzex?" he sent out the questing, querying thought. "lensman virgil samms of sol three calling tallick and kragzex of palain seven." "kragzex acknowledging, virgil samms," a thought snapped back, as diamond-clear, as precise, as pilinipsi's had been. "is tallick here, or anywhere on the planet?" "he is here, but he is emmfozing at the moment. he will join us presently." damnation! there it was again! first "dexitroboping", and now this! "one moment, please," samms requested. "i fail to grasp the meaning of your thought." "so i perceive. the fault is of course mine, in not being able to attune my mind fully to yours. do not take this, please, as any aspersion upon the character or strength of your own mind." "of course not. i am the first tellurian you have met?" "yes." "i have exchanged thoughts with one other palainian, and the same difficulty existed. i can neither understand nor explain it; but it is as though there are differences between us so fundamental that in some matters mutual comprehension is in fact impossible." "a masterly summation and undoubtedly a true one. this emmfozing, then--if i read correctly, your race has only two sexes?" "you read correctly." "i cannot understand. there is no close analogy. however, emmfozing has to do with reproduction." "i see," and samms saw, not only a frankness brand-new to his experience, but also a new view of both the powers and the limitations of his lens. it was, by its very nature, of precisionist grade. it received thoughts and translated them precisely into english. there was some leeway, but not much. if any thought was such that there was no extremely close counterpart or referent in english, the lens would not translate it at all, but would simply give it a hitherto meaningless symbol--a symbol which would from that time on be associated, by all lenses everywhere, with that one concept and no other. samms realized then that he might, some day, learn what a dexitroboper actually did and what the act of emmfozing actually was; but that he very probably would not. tallick joined them then, and samms again described glowingly, as he had done so many times before, the galactic patrol of his imaginings and plannings. kragzex refused to have anything to do with such a thing, almost as abruptly as pilinipsi had done, but tallick lingered--and wavered. "it is widely known that i am not entirely sane," he admitted, "which may explain the fact that i would very much like to have a lens. but i gather, from what you have said, that i would probably not be given a lens to use purely for my own selfish purposes?" "that is my understanding," samms agreed. "i was afraid so." tallick's mien was ... "woebegone" is the only word for it. "i have work to do. projects, you know, of difficulty, of extreme complexity and scope, sometimes even approaching danger. a lens would be of tremendous use." "how?" samms asked. "if your work is of enough importance to enough people, mentor would certainly give you a lens." "this would benefit me; only me. we of palain, as you probably already know, are selfish, mean-spirited, small-souled, cowardly, furtive, and sly. of what you call 'bravery' we have no trace. we attain our ends by stealth, by indirection, by trickery and deceit." ruthlessly the lens was giving virgil samms the uncompromisingly exact english equivalent of the palainian's every thought. "we operate, when we must operate at all openly, with the absolutely irreducible minimum of personal risk. these attitudes and attributes will, i have no doubt, preclude all possibility of lensmanship for me and for every member of my race." "not necessarily." _not necessarily!_ although virgil samms did not know it, this was one of the really critical moments in the coming into being of the galactic patrol. by a conscious, a tremendous effort, the first lensman was lifting himself above the narrow, intolerant prejudices of human experience and was consciously attempting to see the whole through mentor's arisian mind instead of through his tellurian own. that virgil samms was the first human being to be born with the ability to accomplish that feat even partially was one of the reasons why he was the first wearer of the lens. "not necessarily," first lensman virgil samms said and meant. he was inexpressibly shocked--revolted in every human fiber--by what this unhuman monster had so frankly and callously thought. there were, however, many things which no human being ever could understand, and there was not the shadow of a doubt that this tallick had a really tremendous mind. "you have said that your mind is feeble. if so, there is no simple expression of the weakness of mine. i can perceive only one, the strictly human, facet of the truth. in a broader view it is distinctly possible that your motivation is at least as 'noble' as mine. and to complete my argument, you work with other palainians, do you not, to reach a common goal?" "at times, yes." "then you can conceive of the desirability of working with non-palainian entities toward an end which would benefit both races?" "postulating such an end, yes; but i am unable to visualize any such. have you any specific project in mind?" "not at the moment." samms ducked. he had already fired every shot in his locker. "i am quite certain, however, that if you go to arisia you will be informed of several such projects." there was a period of silence. then: "i believe that i _will_ go to arisia, at that!" tallick exclaimed, brightly. "i will make a deal with your friend mentor. i will give him a share--say fifty percent, or forty--of the time and effort i save on my own projects!" "just so you _go_, tallick." samms concealed right manfully his real opinion of the palainian's scheme. "when can you go? right now?" "by no means. i must first finish this project. a year, perhaps--or more; or possibly less. who knows?" tallick cut communications and samms frowned. he did not know the exact length of seven's year, but he knew that it was long--_very_ long. chapter 11 a small, black scout-ship, commanded jointly by master pilot john k. kinnison and master electronicist mason m. northrop, was blasting along a course very close indeed to ra17: d+10. in equipment and personnel, however, she was not an ordinary scout. her control room was so full of electronics racks and computing machines that there was scarcely footway in any direction; her graduated circles and vernier scales were of a size and a fineness usually seen only in the great vessels of the galactic survey. and her crew, instead of the usual twenty-odd men, numbered only seven--one cook, three engineers, and three watch officers. for some time the young third officer, then at the board, had been studying something on his plate; comparing it minutely with the chart clipped into the rack in front of him. now he turned, with a highly exaggerated deference, to the two lensmen. "sirs, which of your magnificences is officially the commander of this here bucket of odds and ends at the present instant?" "him." jack used his cigarette as a pointer. "the guy with the misplaced plucked eyebrow on his upper lip. i don't come on duty until sixteen hundred hours--one precious tellurian minute yet in which to dream of the beauties of earth so distant in space and in both past and future time." "huh? beauties? plural? next time i see a party whose pictures are cluttering up this whole ship i'll tell her about your polygamous ideas. i'll ignore that crack about my mustache, though, since you can't raise one of your own. i'm ignoring you, too--like this, see?" ostentatiously turning his back upon the lounging kinnison, northrop stepped carefully over three or four breadboard hookups and stared into the plate over the watch officer's shoulder. he then studied the chart. "_was ist los_, stu? i don't see a thing." "more jack's line than yours, mase. this system we're headed for is a triple, and the chart says it's a double. natural enough, of course. this whole region is unexplored, so the charts are astronomicals, not surveys. but that makes us prime discoverers, and our commanding officer--and the book says 'officer', not 'officers'--has got to...." "that's me, now," jack announced, striding grandly toward the plate. "amscray, oobsbay. _i_ will name the baby. _i_ will report. _i_ will go down in history...." "bounce back, small fry. you weren't at the time of discovery." northrop placed a huge hand flat against jack's face and pushed gently. "you'll go down, sure enough--not in history, but from a knock on the knob--if you try to steal any thunder away from _me_. and besides, you'd name it '_dimples_'--what a _revolting_ thought!" "and what would you name it? '_virgilia_', i suppose?" "far from it, my boy." he had intended doing just that, but now he did not quite dare. "after our project, of course. the planet we're heading for will be zabriska; the suns will be a-, b-, and c-zabriskae, in order of size; and the watch officer then on duty, lieutenant l. stuart rawlings, will engross these and all other pertinent data in the log. can you classify 'em from here, jack?" "i can make some guesses--close enough, probably, for discovery work." then, after a few minutes: "two giants, a blue-white and a bluish yellow; and a yellow dwarf." "dwarf in the trojan?" "that would be my guess, since that is the only place it could stay very long, but you can't tell much from one look. i can tell you one thing, though--unless your zabriska is in a system straight beyond this one, it's got to be a planet of the big fellow himself; and brother, that sun is _hot_!" "it's got to be here, jack. i haven't made _that_ big an error in reading a beam since i was a sophomore." "i'll buy that ... well, we're close enough, i guess." jack killed the driving blasts, but not the bergenholm; the inertialess vessel stopped instantaneously in open space. "now we've got to find out which one of those twelve or fifteen planets was on our line when that last message was sent.... there, we're stable enough, i hope. open your cameras, mase. pull the first plate in fifteen minutes. that ought to give me enough track so i can start the job, since we're at a wide angle to their ecliptic." the work went on for an hour or so. then: "something coming from the direction of tellus," the watch officer reported. "big and fast. shall i hail her?" "might as well," but the stranger hailed first. "space-ship _chicago_, na2aa, calling. are you in trouble? identify yourself, please." "space-ship na774j acknowledging. no trouble...." "northrop! jack!" came virgil samms' highly concerned thought. the superdreadnaught flashed alongside, a bare few hundred miles away, and stopped. "why did you stop _here_?" "this is where our signal came from, sir." "oh." a hundred thoughts raced through samms' mind, too fast and too fragmentary to be intelligible. "i see you're computing. would it throw you off too much to go inert and match intrinsics, so that i can join you?" "no sir; i've got everything i need for a while." samms came aboard; three lensmen studied the chart. "cavenda is there," samms pointed out. "trenco is there, off to one side. i felt sure that your signal originated on cavenda; but zabriska, here, while on almost the same line, is less than half as far from tellus." he did not ask whether the two young lensmen were sure of their findings. he knew. "this arouses my curiosity no end--does it merely complicate the thionite problem, or does it set up an entirely new problem? go ahead, boys, with whatever you were going to do next." jack had already determined that the planet they wanted was the second out; a-zabriskae two. he drove the scout as close to the planet as he could without losing complete coverage; stationed it on the line toward sol. "now we wait a bit," he answered. "according to recent periodicity, not less than four hours and not more than ten. with the next signal we'll nail that transmitter down to within a few feet. got your spotting screens full out, mase?" "_recent_ periodicity?" samms snapped. "it has improved, then, lately?" "very much, sir." "that helps immensely. with george olmstead harvesting broadleaf, it would. it is still one problem. while we wait, shall we study the planet a little?" they explored; finding that a-zabriskae two was a disappointing planet indeed. it was small, waterless, airless, utterly featureless, utterly barren. there were no elevations, no depressions, no visible markings whatever--not even a meteor crater. every square yard of its surface was apparently exactly like every other. "no rotation," jack reported, looking up from the bolometer. "that sand-pile is not inhabited and never will be. i'm beginning to wonder." "so am i, now," northrop admitted. "i still say that those signals came from this line and distance, but it looks as though they must have been sent from a ship. if so, now that we're here--particularly the _chicago_--there will be no more signals." "not necessarily." again samms' mind transcended his tellurian experience and knowledge. he did not suspect the truth, but he was not jumping at conclusions. "there may be highly intelligent life, even upon such a planet as this." they waited, and in a few hours a communications beam snapped into life. "ready--ready--ready...." it said briskly, for not quite one minute, but that was time enough. northrop yelped a string of numbers; jack blasted the little vessel forward and downward; the three watch officers, keen-eyed at their plates, stabbed their visibeams, ultra-beams, and spy-rays along the indicated line. "and bore straight through the planet if you have to--they may be on the other side!" jack cautioned, sharply. "they aren't--it's here, on this side!" rawlings saw it first. "nothing much to it, though ... it looks like a relay station." "a _relay_! i'll be a...." jack started to express an unexpurgated opinion, but shut himself up. young cubs did not swear in front of the first lensman. "let's land, sir, and look the place over, anyway." "by all means." they landed, and cautiously disembarked. the horizon, while actually quite a little closer than that of earth, seemed much more distant because there was nothing whatever--no tree, no shrub, no rock or pebble, not even the slightest ripple--to break the geometrical perfection of that surface of smooth, hard, blindingly reflective, fiendishly hot white sand. samms was highly dubious at first--a ground-temperature of four hundred seventy-five degrees was not to be taken lightly; he did not at all like the looks of that ultra-fervent blue-white sun; and in his wildest imaginings he had never pictured such a desert. their space-suits, however, were very well insulated, particularly as to the feet, and highly polished; and in lieu of atmosphere there was an almost perfect vacuum. they could stand it for a while. the box which housed the relay station was made of non-ferrous metal and was roughly cubical in shape, perhaps five feet on a side. it was so buried that its upper edge was flush with the surface; its top, which was practically indistinguishable from the surrounding sand, was not bolted or welded, but was simply laid on, loose. previous spy-ray inspection having proved that the thing was not booby-trapped, jack lifted the cover by one edge and all three lensmen studied the mechanisms at close range; learning nothing new. there was an extremely sensitive non-directional receiver, a highly directional sender, a beautifully precise uranium-clock director, and an "eternal" powerpack. there was nothing else. "what next, sir?" northrop asked. "there'll be an incoming signal, probably, in a couple of days. shall we stick around and see whether it comes in from cavenda or not?" "you and jack had better wait, yes." samms thought for minutes. "i do not believe, now, that the signal will come from cavenda, or that it will ever come twice from the same direction, but we will have to make sure. but i can't see any _reason_ for it!" "i think i can, sir." this was northrop's specialty. "no space-ship could possibly hit tellus from here except by accident with a single-ended beam, and they can't use a double-ender because it would have to be on all the time and would be as easy to trace as the mississippi river. but this planet did all its settling ages ago--which is undoubtedly why they picked it out--and that director in there is a marchanti--the second marchanti i have ever seen." "whatever _that_ is," jack put in, and even samms thought a question. "the most precise thing ever built," the specialist explained. "accuracy limited only by that of determination of relative motions. give me an accurate enough equation to feed into it, like that tape is doing, and two sighting shots, and i'll guarantee to pour an eighteen-inch beam into any two foot cup on earth. my guess is that it's aimed at some particular bucket-antenna on one of the solar planets. i could spoil its aim easily enough, but i don't suppose that is what you're after." "decidedly not. we want to trace them, without exciting any more suspicion than is absolutely necessary. how often, would you say, do they have to come here to service this station--change tapes, and whatever else might be necessary?" "change tapes, is all. not very often, by the size of those reels. if they know the relative motions exactly enough, they could compute as far ahead as they care to. i've been timing that reel--it's got pretty close to three months left on it." "and more than that much has been used. it's no wonder we didn't see anything." samms straightened up and stared out across the frightful waste. "look there--i thought i saw something move--it _is_ moving!" "there's something moving closer than that, and it's really funny." jack laughed deeply. "it's like the paddle-wheels, shaft and all, of an old-fashioned river steam-boat, rolling along as unconcernedly as you please. he won't miss me by over four feet, but he isn't swerving a hair. i think i'll block him off, just to see what he does." "be careful, jack!" samms cautioned, sharply. "don't touch it--it may be charged, or worse." jack took the metal cover, which he was still holding, and by working it back and forth edgewise in the sand, made of it a vertical barrier squarely across the thing's path. the traveler paid no attention, did not alter its steady pace of a couple of miles per hour. it measured about twelve inches long over all; its paddle-wheel-like extremities were perhaps two inches wide and three inches in diameter. "do you think it's actually _alive_, sir? in a place like this?" "i'm sure of it. watch carefully." it struck the barrier and stopped. that is, its forward motion stopped, but its rolling did not. its rate of revolution did not change; it either did not know or did not care that its drivers were slipping on the smooth, hard sand; that it could not climb the vertical metal plate; that it was not getting anywhere. "what a brain!" northrop chortled, squatting down closer. "why doesn't it back up or turn around? it may be alive, but it certainly isn't very bright." the creature, now in the shadow of the 'troncist's helmet, slowed down abruptly--went limp--collapsed. "get out of his light!" jack snapped, and pushed his friend violently away; and as the vicious sunlight struck it, the native revived and began to revolve as vigorously as before. "i've got a hunch. sounds screwy--never heard of such a thing--but it acts like an energy-converter. eats energy, raw and straight. no storage capacity--on this world he wouldn't need it--a few more seconds in the shade would probably have killed him, but there's no shade here. therefore, he can't be dangerous." he reached out and touched the middle of the revolving shaft. nothing happened. he turned it at right angles to the plate. the thing rolled away in a straight line, perfectly contented with the new direction. he recaptured it and stuck a test-prod lightly into the sand, just ahead of its shaft and just inside one paddle wheel. around and around that slim wire the creature went: unable, it seemed, to escape from even such a simple trap; perfectly willing, it seemed, to spend all the rest of its life traversing that tiny circle. "'what a brain!' is right, mase," jack exclaimed. "_what_ a brain!" "this is wonderful, boys, really wonderful; something completely new to our science." samms' thought was deep with feeling. "i am going to see if i can reach its mind or consciousness. would you like to come along?" "_would_ we!" samms tuned low and probed; lower and lower; deeper and deeper; and jack and mase stayed with him. the thing was certainly alive; it throbbed and vibrated with vitality: equally certainly, it was not very intelligent. but it had a definite consciousness of its own existence; and therefore, however tiny and primitive, a mind. although its rudimentary ego could neither receive nor transmit thought, it knew that it was a fontema, that it must roll and roll and roll, endlessly, that by virtue of determined rolling its species would continue and would increase. "well, that's one for the book!" jack exclaimed, but samms was entranced. "i would like to find one or two more of them, to find out ... i think i'll _take_ the time. can you see any more of them, either of you?" "no, but we can find some--stu!" northrop called. "yes?" "look around, will you? find us a couple more of these fontema things and flick them over here with a tractor." "coming up!" and in a few seconds they were there. "are you photographing this, lance?" samms called the chief communications officer of the _chicago_. "we certainly are, sir--all of it. what are they, anyway? animal, vegetable, or mineral?" "i don't know. probably no one of the three, strictly speaking. i'd like to take a couple back to tellus, but i'm afraid that they'd die, even under an atomic lamp. we'll report to the society." jack liberated his captive and aimed it to pass within a few feet of one of the newcomers, but the two fontemas did not ignore each other. both swerved, so that they came together wheel to wheel. the shafts bent toward each other, each into a right angle. the angles touched and fused. the point of fusion swelled rapidly into a double fist-sized lump. the half-shafts doubled in length. the lump split into four; became four perfect paddle-wheels. four full-grown fontemas rolled away from the spot upon which two had met; their courses forming two mutually perpendicular straight lines. "beautiful!" samms exclaimed. "and notice, boys, the method of avoiding inbreeding. upon a perfectly smooth planet such as this, no two of those four can ever meet, and the chance is almost vanishingly small that any of their first-generation offspring will ever meet. but i'm afraid i've been wasting time. take me back out to the _chicago_, please, and i'll be on my way." "you don't seem at all optimistic, sir," jack ventured, as the na774j approached the _chicago_. "unfortunately, i am not. the signal will almost certainly come in from an unpredictable direction, from a ship so far away that even a super-fast cruiser could not get close enough to her to detect--just a minute. rod!" he lensed the elder kinnison so sharply that both young lensmen jumped. "what is it, virge?" samms explained rapidly, concluding: "so i would like to have you throw a globe of scouts around this whole zabriskan system. one detet[a] out and one detet apart, so as to be able to slap a tracer onto any ship laying a beam to this planet, from any direction whatever. it would not take too many scouts, would it?" [footnote a: detet--the distance at which one space-ship can detect another. ees.] "no; but it wouldn't be worth while." "why not?" "because it wouldn't prove a thing except what we already know--that spaceways is involved in the thionite racket. the ship would be clean. merely another relay." "oh. you're probably right." if virgil samms was in the least put out at this cavalier dismissal of his idea, he made no sign. he thought intensely for a couple of minutes. "you _are_ right. i will have to work from the cavenda end. how are you coming with operation bennett?" "nice!" kinnison enthused. "when you get a couple of days, come over and see it grow. this is a fine world, virge--it'll be ready!" "i'll do that." samms broke the connection and called dronvire. "the only change here is for the worse," the rigellian reported, tersely. "the slight positive correlation between deaths from thionite and the arrival of spaceways vessels has disappeared." there was no need to elaborate on that bare statement. both lensmen knew what it meant. the enemy, either in anticipation of statistical analysis or for economic reasons, was rationing his small supply of the drug. and dalnalten was very much unlike his usual equable self. he was glum and unhappy; so much so that it took much urging to make him report at all. "we have, as you know, put our best operatives to work on the inter-planetary lines," he said finally, half sullenly. "we have secured quite a little data. the accumulating facts, however, point more and more definitely toward an utterly preposterous conclusion. can you think of any valid reason why the exports and imports of thionite between tellus and mars, mars and venus, and venus and tellus, should all be exactly equal to each other?" "_what!_" "precisely. that is why knobos and i are not yet ready to present even a preliminary report." then jill. "i can't prove it, any more than i could before, but i'm pretty sure that morgan is the boss. i have drawn every picture i can think of with isaacson in the driver's seat, but none of them fit?" she paused, questioningly. "i am already reconciled to adopting that view; at least as a working hypothesis. go ahead." "the fact seems to be that morgan has always had all the left-wingers of the nationalists under his thumb. now he and his man friday, representative flierce, are wooing all the radicals and so-called liberals on our side of both senate and house--a new technique for him--and they're offering plenty of the right kind of bait. he has the commentators guessing, but there's no doubt whatever in my mind that he is aiming at next election day and our galactic council." "and you and dronvire are sitting idly by, doing nothing, of course?" "of course!" jill giggled, but sobered quickly. "he's a smooth, _smooth_ worker, dad. we are organizing, of course, and putting out propaganda of our own, but there's so pitifully little that we can actually _do_--look and listen to this for a minute, and you'll see what i mean." in her distant room jill manipulated a reel and flipped a switch. a plate came to life, showing morgan's big, sweating, passionately earnest face. "... and who _are_ these lensmen, anyway?" morgan's voice bellowed, passionate conviction in every syllable. "they are the hired minions of the classes, stabbers in the back, crooks and scoundrels, tools of ruthless wealth! they are hirelings of the inter-planetary bankers, those unspeakable excrescences on the body politic who are still grinding down into the dirt, under an iron heel, the face of the common man! in the guise of democracy they are trying to set up the worst, the most outrageous tyranny that this universe has ever...." jill snapped the switch viciously. "and a lot of people _swallow_ that ... that _bilge_!" she almost snarled. "if they had the brains of a ... of even that zabriskan fontema mase told me about, they wouldn't, but they _do_!" "i know they do. we have known all along that he is a masterly actor; we now know that he is more than that." "yes, and we're finding out that no appeal to reason, no psychological counter-measures, will work. dronvire and i agree that you'll _have_ to arrange matters so that you can do solid months of stumping yourself. personally." "it may come to that, but there's a lot of other things to do first." samms broke the connection and thought. he did not consciously try to exclude the two youths, but his mind was working so fast and in such a disjointed fashion that they could catch only a few fragments. the incomprehensible vastness of space--tracing--detection--cavenda's one tiny, fast moving moon--back, and solidly, to detection. "mase," samms thought then, carefully. "as a specialist in such things, why is it that the detectors of the smallest scout--lifeboat, even--have practically the same range as those of the largest liners and battleships?" "noise level and hash, sir, from the atomics." "but can't they be screened out?" "not entirely, sir, without blocking reception completely." "i see. suppose, then, that all atomics aboard were to be shut down; that for the necessary heat and light we use electricity, from storage or primary batteries or from a generator driven by an internal-combustion motor or a heat-engine. could the range of detection then be increased?" "tremendously, sir. my guess is that the limiting factor would then be the cosmics." "i hope you're right. while you are waiting for the next signal to come in, you might work out a preliminary design for such a detector. if, as i anticipate, this zabriska proves to be a dead end, operation zabriska ends here--becomes a part of zwilnik--and you two will follow me at max to tellus. you, jack, are very badly needed on operation boskone. you and i, mase, will make appropriate alterations aboard a j-class vessel of the patrol." chapter 12 approaching cavenda in his dead-black, converted scout-ship, virgil samms cut his drive, killed his atomics, and turned on his super-powered detectors. for five full detets in every direction--throughout a spherical volume over ten detets in diameter--space was void of ships. some activity was apparent upon the planet dead ahead, but the first lensman did not worry about that. the drug-runners would of course have atomics in their plants, even if there were no space-ships actually on the planet--which there probably were. what he did worry about was detection. there would be plenty of detectors, probably automatic; not only ordinary sub-ethereals, but electros and radars as well. he flashed up to within one and a quarter detets, stopped, and checked again. space was still empty. then, after making a series of observations, he went inert and established an intrinsic velocity which, he hoped, would be close enough. he again shut off his atomics and started the sixteen-cylinder diesel engine which would do its best to replace them. that best was none too good, but it would do. besides driving the bergenholm it could furnish enough kilodynes of thrust to produce a velocity many times greater than any attainable by inert matter. it used a lot of oxygen per minute, but it would not run for very many minutes. with her atomics out of action his ship would not register upon the plates of the long-range detectors universally used. since she was nevertheless traveling faster than light, neither electromagnetic detector-webs nor radar could "see" her. good enough. samms was not the system's best computer, nor did he have the system's finest instruments. his positional error could be corrected easily enough; but as he drove nearer and nearer to cavenda, keeping, toward the last, in line with its one small moon, he wondered more and more as to how much of an allowance he should make for error in his intrinsic, which he had set up practically by guess. and there was another variable, the cut-off. he slowed down to just over one light; but even at that comparatively slow speed an error of one millisecond at cut-off meant a displacement of two hundred miles! he switched the spotter into the berg's cut-off circuit, set it for three hundred miles, and waited tensely at his controls. the relays clicked, the driving force expired, the vessel went inert. samms' eyes, flashing from instrument to instrument, told him that matters could have been worse. his intrinsic was neither straight up, as he had hoped, nor straight down, as he had feared, but almost exactly half-way between the two--straight out. he discovered that fact just in time; in another second or two he would have been out beyond the moon's protecting bulk and thus detectable from cavenda. he went free, flashed back to the opposite boundary of his area of safety, went inert, and put the full power of the bellowing diesel to the task of bucking down his erroneous intrinsic, losing altitude continuously. again and again he repeated the maneuver; and thus, grimly and stubbornly, he fought his ship to ground. he was very glad to see that the surface of the satellite was rougher, rockier, ruggeder, and more cratered even than that of earth's luna. upon such a terrain as this, it would be next to impossible to spot even a moving vessel--if it moved carefully. by a series of short and careful inertialess hops--correcting his intrinsic velocity after each one by an inert collision with the ground--he maneuvered his vessel into such a position that cavenda's enormous globe hung directly overhead. breathing a profoundly deep breath of relief he killed the big engine, cut in his fully-charged accumulators, and turned on detector and spy-ray. he would see what he could see. his detectors showed that there was only one point of activity on the whole planet. he located it precisely; then, after cutting his spy-ray to minimum power, he approached it gingerly, yard by yard. stopped! as he had more than half expected, there was a spy-ray block. a big one, almost two miles in diameter. it would be almost directly beneath him--or rather, almost straight overhead--in about three hours. samms had brought along a telescope, considerably more powerful than the telescopic visiplate of his scout. since the surface gravity of this moon was low--scarcely one-fifth that of earth--he had no difficulty in lugging the parts out of the ship or in setting the thing up. but even the telescope did not do much good. the moon was close to cavenda, as astronomical distances go--but really worth-while astronomical optical instruments simply are not portable. thus the lensman saw something that, by sufficient stretch of the imagination, could have been a factory; and, eyes straining at the tantalizing limit of visibility, he even made himself believe that he saw a toothpick-shaped object and a darkly circular blob, either of which could have been the space-ship of the outlaws. he was sure, however, of two facts. there were no real cities upon cavenda. there were no modern spaceports, or even air-fields. he dismounted the 'scope, stored it, set his detectors, and waited. he had to sleep at times, of course; but any ordinary detector rig can be set to sound off at any change in its status--and samms' was no ordinary rig. wherefore, when the drug-mongers' vessel took off, samms left cavenda as unobtrusively as he had approached it, and swung into that vessel's line. samms' strategy had been worked out long since. on his diesel, at a distance of just over one detet, he would follow the outlaw as fast as he could; long enough to establish his line. he would then switch to atomic drive and close up to between one and two detets; then again go onto diesel for a check. he would keep this up for as long as might prove necessary. as far as any of the lensmen knew, spaceways always used regular liners or freighters in this business, and this scout was much faster than any such vessel. and even if--highly improbable thought!--the enemy ship was faster than his own, it would still be within range of _those_ detectors when it got to wherever it was that it was going. but how wrong samms was! at his first check, instead of being not over two detets away the quarry was three and a half; at the second the distance was four and a quarter; at the third, almost exactly five. scowling, samms watched the erstwhile brilliant point of light fade into darkness. that circular blob that he had almost seen, then, had been the space-ship, but it had not been a sphere, as he had supposed. instead, it had been a tear-drop; sticking, sharp tail down, in the ground. ultra-fast. this was the result. but ideas had blown up under him before, they probably would again. he resumed atomic drive and made arrangements with the port admiral to rendezvous with him and the _chicago_ at the earliest possible time. "what is there along that line?" he demanded of the superdreadnaught's chief pilot, even before junction had been made. "nothing, sir, that we know of," that worthy reported, after studying his charts. he boarded the gigantic ship of war, and with kinnison pored over those same charts. "your best bet is eridan, i think," kinnison concluded finally. "not too near your line, but they could very easily figure that a one-day dogleg would be a good investment. and spaceways owns it, you know, from core to planetary limits--the richest uranium mines in existence. made to order. nobody would suspect a uranium ship. how about throwing a globe around eridan?" samms thought for minutes. "no ... not yet, at least. we don't know enough yet." "i know it--that's why it looks to me like a good time and place to learn something," kinnison argued. "we know--almost know, at least--that a super-fast ship, carrying thionite, has just landed there. this is the hottest lead we've had. i say englobe the planet, declare martial law, and not let anything in or out until we find it. somebody there must know something, a lot more than we do. i say hunt him out and make him talk." "you're just popping off, rod. you know as well as i do that nabbing a few of the small fry isn't enough. we can't move openly until we can strike high." "i suppose not," kinnison grumbled. "but we know so _damned_ little, virge!" "little enough," samms agreed. "of the three main divisions, only the political aspect is at all clear. in the drug division, we know where thionite comes from and where it is processed, and eridan may be--probably is--another link. on the other end, we know a lot of peddlers and a few middlemen--nobody higher. we have no actual knowledge whatever as to who the higher-ups are or how they work; and it's the bosses we want. concerning the pirates, we know even less. 'murgatroyd' may be no more a man's name than 'zwilnik' is...." "before you get too far away from the subject, what are you going to do about eridan?" "nothing, for the moment, would be best, i believe. however, knobos and dalnalten should switch their attention from spaceways' passenger liners to the uranium ships from eridan to all three of the inner planets. check?" "check. particularly since it explains so beautifully the merry-go-round they have been on so long--chasing the same packages of dope backwards and forwards so many times that the corners of the boxes got worn round. we've got to get the top men, and they're smart. which reminds me--morgan as big boss does not square up with the morgan that you and fairchild smacked down so easily when he tried to investigate the hill. a loud-mouthed, chiseling politician might have a lock-box full of documentary evidence about party bosses and power deals and chorus girls and martian tekkyl coats, but the man we're after very definitely would not." "you're telling me?" this point was such a sore one that samms relapsed into idiom. "the boys should have cracked that box a week ago, but they struck a knot. i'll see if they know anything yet. tune in, rod. ray!" he lensed a thought at his cousin. "yes, virge?" "have you got a spy-ray into that lock-box yet?" "glad you called. yes, last night. empty. empty as a sub-deb's skull--except for an atomic-powered gimmick that it took bergenholm's whole laboratory almost a week to neutralize." "i see. thanks. off." samms turned to kinnison. "well?" "nice. a mighty smart operator." kinnison gave credit ungrudgingly. "now i'll buy your picture--what a man! but now--and i've got my ears pinned back--what was it you started to say about pirates?" "just that we have very little to go on, except for the kind of stuff they seem to like best, and the fact that even armed escorts have not been able to protect certain types of shipments of late. the escorts, too, have disappeared. but with these facts as bases, it seems to me that we could arrange something, perhaps like this...." * * * * * a fast, sleek freighter and a heavy battle-cruiser bored steadily through the inter-stellar void. the merchantman carried a fabulously valuable cargo: not bullion or jewels or plate of price, but things literally above price--machine tools of highest precision, delicate optical and electrical instruments, fine watches and chronometers. she also carried first lensman virgil samms. and aboard the war-ship there was roderick kinnison; for the first time in history a mere battle-cruiser bore a port admiral's flag. as far as the detectors of those two ships could reach, space was empty of man-made craft; but the two lensmen knew that they were not alone. one and one-half detets away, loafing along at the freighter's speed and paralleling her course, in a hemispherical formation open to the front, there flew six tremendous tear-drops; super-dreadnaughts of whose existence no tellurian or colonial government had even an inkling. they were the fastest and deadliest craft yet built by man--the first fruits of operation bennett. and they, too, carried lensmen--costigan, jack kinnison, northrop, dronvire of rigel four, rodebush, and cleveland. nor was there need of detectors: the eight lensmen were in as close communication as though they had been standing in the same room. "on your toes, men," came samms' quiet thought. "we are about to pass within a few light-minutes of an uninhabited solar system. no tellurian-type planets at all. this may be it. tune to kinnison on one side and to your captains on the other. take over, rod." at one instant the ether, for one full detet in every direction, was empty. in the next, three intensely brilliant spots of detection flashed into being, in line with the dead planet so invitingly close at hand. this development came as a surprise, since only two raiders had been expected: a battleship to take care of the escort, a cruiser to take the merchantman. the fact that the pirates had become cautious or suspicious and had sent three super-dreadnaughts on the mission, however, did not operate to change the patrol's strategy; for samms had concluded, and dronvire and bergenholm and rularion of jupiter had agreed, that the real commander of the expedition would be aboard the vessel that attacked the freighter. in the next instant, then--each lensman saw what roderick kinnison saw, in the very instant of his seeing it--six more points of hard, white light sprang into being upon the plates of guileful freighter and decoying cruiser. "jack and mase, take the leader!" kinnison snapped out the thought. "dronvire and costigan, right wing--he's the one that's going after the freighter. fred and lyman, left wing. hipe!" the pirate ships flashed up, filling ether and sub-ether alike with a solid mush of interference through which no call for help could be driven; two super-dreadnaughts against the cruiser, one against the freighter. the former, of course, had been expected to offer more than a token resistance. battle cruisers of the patrol were powerful vessels, both on offense and defense, and it was a known and recognized fact that the men of the patrol were _men_. the pirate commander who attacked the freighter, however, was a surprised pirate indeed. his first beam, directed well forward, well ahead of the precious cargo, should have wrought the same havoc against screens and wall-shields and structure as a white-hot poker would against a pat of luke-warm butter. practically the whole nose-section, including the control room, should have whiffed outward into space in gobbets and streamers of molten and gaseous metal. but nothing of the sort happened--this merchantman was _no_ push-over! no ordinary screens protected that particular freighter and the person of first lensman samms--roderick kinnison had very thoroughly seen to that. in sheer mass her screen generators out-weighed her entire cargo, heavy as that cargo was, by more than two to one. thus the pirate's beams stormed and struck and clawed and clung--uselessly. they did not penetrate. and as the surprised attacker shoved his power up and up, to his absolute ceiling of effort, the only result was to increase the already tremendous pyrotechnic display of energies cascading in all directions from the fiercely radiant defenses of the tellurian freighter. and in a few seconds the commanding officers of the other two attacking battleships were also surprised. the battle-cruiser's screens did not go down, even under the combined top effort of two super-dreadnaughts! and she did not have a beam hot enough to light a match--she must be _all screen_! but before the startled outlaws could do anything about the realization that they, instead of being the trappers, were in cold fact the trapped, all three of them were surprised again--the last surprise that any of them was ever to receive. six mighty tear-drops--vastly bigger, faster, more powerful than their own--were rushing upon them, blanketing all channels of communication as efficiently and as enthusiastically as they themselves had been doing an instant before. being out simply and ruthlessly to kill, and not to capture, four of the newcomers from bennett polished off the cruiser's two attackers in very short order. they simply flashed in, went inert at the four corners of an imaginary tetrahedron, and threw everything they had--and they had plenty. possibly--just barely possibly--there may have been, somewhere, a space-battle shorter than that one; but there certainly was never one more violent. then the four set out after their two sister-ships and the one remaining pirate, who was frantically devoting his every effort to the avoidance of engagement. but with six ships, each one of which was of vastly greater individual power than his own, at the six corners of an octahedron of which he was the geometrical center, his ability to cut tractor beams and to "squirt out" from between two opposed pressors did him no good whatever. he was englobed; or, rather, to apply the correct terminology to an operation involving so few units, he was "boxed". to blow the one remaining raider out of the ether would have been easy enough, but that was exactly what the patrolmen did not want to do. they wanted information. wherefore each of the patrol ships directed a dozen or so beams upon the scintillating protective screens of the enemy; enough so that every square yard of defensive web was under direct attack. as rapidly as it could be done without losing equilibrium or synchronization, the power of each beam was stepped up until the wildly violet incandescence of the pirate screen showed that it was hovering on the very edge of failure. then, in the instant, needle-beamers went furiously to work. the screen was already loaded to its limit; no transfer of defensive energy was possible. thus, tremendously overloaded locally, locally it flared through the ultra-violet into the black and went down; and the fiercely penetrant daggers of pure force stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. the engine room went first, even though the needlers had to gnaw a hundred-foot hole straight through the pirate craft in order to find the vital installations. then, enough damage done so that spy-rays could get in, the rest of the work was done with precision and dispatch. in a matter of seconds the pirate hulk lay helpless, and the patrolmen peeled her like an orange--or, rather, more like an amateur cook very wastefully peeling a potato. resistless knives of energy sheared off tail-section and nose-section, top and bottom, port and starboard sides; then slabbed off the corners of what was left, until the control room was almost bared to space. then, as soon as the intrinsic velocities could possibly be matched, board and storm! with dronvire of rigel four in the lead, closely followed by costigan, northrop, kinnison the younger, and a platoon of armed and armored space marines! samms and the two scientists did not belong in such a melee as that which was to come, and knew it. kinnison the elder did not belong, either, but did not know it. in fact, he cursed fluently and bitterly at having to stay out--nevertheless, out he stayed. dronvire, on the other hand, did not like to fight. the very thought of actual, bodily, hand-to-hand combat revolted every fiber of his being. in view of what the spy-ray men were reporting, however, and of what all the lensmen knew of pirate psychology, dronvire had to get into that control room first, and he had to get there _fast_. and if he _had_ to fight, he could; and, physically, he was wonderfully well equipped for just such activity. to his immense physical strength, the natural concomitant of a force of gravity more than twice earth's, the armor which so encumbered the tellurian battlers was a scarcely noticeable impediment. his sense of perception, which could not be barred by any material substance, kept him fully informed of every development in his neighborhood. his literally incredible speed enabled him not merely to parry a blow aimed at him, but to bash out the brains of the would-be attacker before that blow could be more than started. and whereas a human being can swing only one space-axe or fire only two ray-guns at a time, the rigellian plunged through space toward what was left of the pirate vessel, swinging not one or two space-axes, but four; each held in a lithe and supple, but immensely strong, tentacular "hand". why axes? why not lewistons, or rifles, or pistols? because the space armor of that day could withstand almost indefinitely the output of two or three hand-held projectors; because the resistance of its defensive fields varied directly as the cube of the velocity of any material projectile encountering them. thus, and strangely enough, the advance of science had forced the re-adoption of that long-extinct weapon. most of the pirates had died, of course, during the dismemberment of their ship. many more had been picked off by the needle-beam gunners. in the control room, however, there was a platoon of elite guards, clustered so closely about the commander and his officers that needles could not be used; a group that would have to be wiped out by hand. if the attack had come by way of the only doorway, so that the pirates could have concentrated their weapons upon one or two patrolmen, the commander might have had time enough to do what he was under compulsion to do. but while the patrolmen were still in space a plane of force sheared off the entire side of the room, a tractor beam jerked the detached wall away, and the attackers floated in en masse. weightless combat is not at all like any form of gymnastics known to us ground-grippers. it is much more difficult to master, and in times of stress the muscles revert involuntarily and embarrassingly to their wonted gravity-field techniques. thus the endeavors of most of the battlers upon both sides, while earnest enough and deadly enough of intent, were almost comically unproductive of result. in a matter of seconds frantically-struggling figures were floating from wall to ceiling to wall to floor; striking wildly, darting backward from the violence of their own fierce swings. the tellurian lensmen, however, had had more practice and remembered their lessons better. jack kinnison, soaring into the room, grabbed the first solid thing he could reach; a post. pulling himself down to the floor, he braced both feet, sighted past the nearest foeman, swung his axe, and gave a tremendous shove. such was his timing that in the instant of maximum effort the beak of his atrociously effective weapon encountered the pirate's helmet--and that was that. he wrenched his axe free and shoved the corpse away in such a direction that the reaction would send him against a wall at the floor line, in position to repeat the maneuver. since mason northrop was heavier and stronger than his friend, his technique was markedly different. he dove for the chart-table, which of course was welded to the floor. he hooked one steel-shod foot around one of the table's legs and braced the other against its top. weightless but inert, it made no difference whether his position was vertical or horizontal or anywhere between; from this point of vantage, with his length of body and arm and axe, he could cover a lot of room. he reached out, hooked bill of axe into belt or line-snap or angle of armor, and pulled; and as the helplessly raging pirate floated past him, he swung and struck. and that, too, was that. dronvire of rigel four did not rush to the attack. he had never been and was not now either excited or angry. indeed, it was only empirically that he knew what anger and excitement were. he had never been in any kind of a fight. therefore he paused for a couple of seconds to analyze the situation and to determine his own most efficient method of operation. he would not have to be in physical contact with the pirate captain to go to work on his mind, but he would have to be closer than this and he would have to be free from physical attack while he concentrated. he perceived what kinnison and costigan and northrop were doing, and knew why each was working in a different fashion. he applied that knowledge to his own mass, to his own musculature, to the length and strength of his arms--each one of which was twice as long and ten times as strong as the trunk of an elephant. he computed forces and leverages, actions and reactions, points of application, stresses and strains. he threw away two of his axes. the two empty arms reached out, each curling around the neck of a pirate. two axes flashed, grazing each pinioning arm so nearly that it seemed incredible that the sharp edges did not shear away the rigellian's own armor. two heads floated away from two bodies and dronvire reached for two more. and two--and two--and two. calm and dispassionate, but not wasting a motion or a millisecond, dronvire accomplished more, in less time, than all the tellurians in the room. "costigan, northrop, kinnison--attend!" he launched a thought. "i have no time to kill more of them. the commander is dying of a self-inflicted wound and i have important work to do. see to it, please, that these remaining creatures do not attack me while i am doing it." dronvire tuned his mind to that of the pirate and probed. although dying, the pirate captain offered fierce resistance, but the rigellian was not alone. attuned to his mind, working smoothly with it, giving it strengths and qualities which no rigellian ever had had or ever would have, were the two strongest minds of earth: that of rod the rock kinnison, with the driving force, the indomitable will, the transcendent urge of all human heredity; and that of virgil samms, with all that had made him first lensman. "tell!" that terrific triple mind demanded, with a force which simply could not be denied. "where are you from? resistance is useless; yours or that of those whom you serve. your bases and powers are smaller and weaker than ours, since spaceways is only a corporation and we are the galactic patrol. tell! who are your bosses? tell--tell!" under that irresistible urge there appeared, foggily and without any hint of knowledge of name or of spatial co-ordinates, an embattled planet, very similar in a smaller way to the patrol's own bennett, and-even more foggily, but still not so blurred but that their features were unmistakeably recognizable, the images of two men. that of murgatroyd, the pirate chief, completely strange to both kinnison and samms; and-back of murgatroyd and above him, that of-big jim towne! chapter 13 "first, about murgatroyd." in his office in the hill roderick kinnison spoke aloud to the first lensman. "what do you think should be done about him?" "murgatroyd. hm ... m ... m." samms inhaled a mouthful of smoke and exhaled it slowly; watched it dissipate in the air. "ah, yes, murgatroyd." he repeated the performance. "my thought, at the moment, is to let him alone." "check," kinnison said. if samms was surprised at his friend's concurrence he did not show it. "why? let's see if we check on that." "because he does not seem to be of fundamental importance. even if we could find him ... and by the way, what do you think the chance is of our spies finding him?" "just about the same chance that theirs have of finding out about the samms-olmstead switch or our planet bennett. vanishingly small. zero." "right. and even if we could find him--even find their secret base, which is certainly as well hidden as ours is--it would do us no present good, because we could take no positive action. we have, i think, learned the prime fact; that towne is actually murgatroyd's superior." "that's the way i see it. we can almost draw an organization chart now." "i wouldn't say 'almost'." samms smiled half-ruefully. "there are gaping holes, and isaacson is as yet a highly unknown quantity. i've tried to draw one a dozen times, but we haven't got enough information. an incorrect chart, you know, would be worse than none at all. as soon as i can draw a correct one, i'll show it to you. but in the meantime, the position of our friend james f. towne is now clear. he is actually a big shot in both piracy and politics. that fact surprised me, even though it did clarify the picture tremendously." "me, too. one good thing, we won't have to hunt for him. you've been working on him right along, though, haven't you?" "yes, but this new relationship throws light on a good many details which have been obscure. it also tends to strengthen our working hypothesis as to isaacson--which we can't prove yet, of course--that he is the actual working head of the drug syndicate. vice-president in charge of drugs, so to speak." "huh? that's a new one on me. i don't see it." "there is very little doubt that at the top there is morgan. he is, and has been for some time, the real boss of north america. under him, probably taking orders direct, is president witherspoon." "undoubtedly. the nationalist party is strictly _a la_ machine, and witherspoon is one of the world's slimiest skinkers. morgan is chief engineer of the machine. take it from there." "we know that boss jim is also in the top echelon--quite possibly the commander-in-chief--of the enemy's armed forces. by analogy, and since isaacson is apparently on the same level as towne, immediately below morgan...." "wouldn't there be three? witherspoon?" "i doubt it. my present idea is that witherspoon is at least one level lower. comparatively small fry." "could be--i'll buy it. a nice picture, virge; and beautifully symmetrical. his mightiness morgan. secretary of war towne and secretary of drugs isaacson; and each of them putting a heavy shoulder behind the political bandwagon. _very_ nice. that makes operation mateese tougher than ever--a triple-distilled toughie. glad i told you it wasn't my dish--saves me the trouble of backing out now." "yes, i have noticed how prone you are to duck tough jobs." samms smiled quietly. "however, unless i am even more mistaken than usual, you will be in it up to your not-so-small ears, my friend, before it is over." "huh? how?" kinnison demanded. "that will, i hope, become clear very shortly." samms stubbed out the butt of his cigarette and lit another. "the basic problem can be stated very simply. how are we going to persuade the sovereign countries of earth--particularly the north american continent--to grant the galactic patrol the tremendous power and authority it will have to have?" "nice phrasing, virge, and studied. not off the cuff. but aren't you over-drawing a bit? little if any conflict. the patrol would be pretty largely inter-systemic in scope ... with of course the necessary inter-planetary and inter-continental ... and ... um ... m...." "exactly." "but it's logical enough, virge, even at that, and has plenty of precedents, clear back to ancient history. 'way back, before space-travel, when they first started to use atomic energy, and the only drugs they had to worry about were cocaine, morphine, heroin, and other purely tellurian products. i was reading about it just the other day." kinnison swung around, fingered a book out of a matched set, and riffled its leaves. "russia was the world's problem child then--put up what they called an iron curtain--wouldn't play with the neighbors' children, but picked up her marbles and went home. but yet--here it is. original source unknown--some indications point to a report of somebody named hoover, sometime in the nineteen forties or fifties, gregorian calendar. listen: "'this protocol'--he's talking about the agreement on world-wide narcotics control--'was signed by fifty-two nations, including the u.s.s.r.'--that was russia--'and its satellite states. it was the only international agreement to which the communist countries'--you know more about what communism was, i suppose, than i do." "just that it was another form of dictatorship that didn't work out." "'... to which the communist countries ever gave more than lip service. this adherence is all the more surprising, in view of the political situation then obtaining, in that all signatory nations obligated themselves to surrender national sovereignty in five highly significant respects, as follows: "'first, to permit narcotics agents of all other signatory nations free, secret, and unregistered entry into, unrestricted travel throughout, and exit from, all their lands and waters, wherever situate: "'second, upon request, to allow known criminals and known contraband to enter and to leave their territories without interference: "'third, to cooperate fully, and as a secondary and not as a prime mover, in any narcotics patrol program set up by any other signatory nation: "'fourth, upon request, to maintain complete secrecy concerning any narcotics operation: and "'fifth, to keep the central narcotics authority fully and continuously informed upon all matters hereinbefore specified.' "and apparently, virge, it worked. if they could do that, 'way back then, we certainly should be able to make the patrol work now." "you talk as though the situations were comparable. they aren't. instead of giving up an insignificant fraction of their national sovereignty, all nations will have to give up practically all of it. they will have to change their thinking from a national to a galactic viewpoint; will have to become units in a galactic civilization, just as counties used to be units of states, and states are units of the continents. the galactic patrol will not be able to stop at being the supreme and only authority in inter-systemic affairs. it is bound to become intra-systemic, intra-planetary, and intra-continental. eventually, it must and it shall be the _sole_ authority, except for such purely local organizations as city police." "_what_ a program!" kinnison thought silently for minutes. "but i'm still betting that you can bring it off." "we'll keep on driving until we do. what gives us our chance is that the all-lensman solarian council is already in existence and is functioning smoothly; and that the government of north america has no jurisdiction beyond the boundaries of its continent. thus, and even though morgan has extra-legal powers both as boss of north america and as the head of an organization which is in fact inter-systemic in scope, he can do nothing whatever about the fact that the solarian council has been enlarged into the galactic council. as a matter of fact, he was and is very much in favor of that particular move--just as much so as we are." "you're going too fast for me. how do you figure that?" "unlike our idea of the patrol as a coordinator of free and independent races, morgan sees it as the perfect instrument of a galactic dictatorship, thus: north america is the most powerful continent of earth. the other continents will follow her lead--or else. tellus can very easily dominate the other solarian planets, and the solar system can maintain dominance over all other systems as they are discovered and colonized. therefore, whoever controls the north american continent controls all space." "i see. could be, at that. throw the lensmen out, put his own stooges in. wonder how he'll go about it? a _tour de force_? no. the next election, would be my guess. if so, that will be the most important election in history." "if they decide to wait for the election, yes. i'm not as sure as you seem to be that they will not act sooner." "they can't," kinnison declared. "name me one thing they think they can do, and i'll shoot it fuller of holes than a target." "they can, and i am very much afraid that they will," samms replied, soberly. "at any time he cares to do so, morgan--through the north american government, of course--can abrogate the treaty and name his own council." "without my boys--the backbone and the guts of north america, as well as of the patrol? don't be stupid, virge. they're _loyal_." "admitted--but at the same time they are being paid in north american currency. of course, we will soon have our own galactic credit system worked out, but...." "what the hell difference would _that_ make?" kinnison wanted savagely to know. "you think they'd last until the next pay-day if they start playing that kind of ball? what in hell do you think _i'd_ be doing? and clayton and schweikert and the rest of the gang? sitting on our fat rumps and crying into our beers?" "you would do nothing. i could not permit any illegal...." "permit!" kinnison blazed, leaping to his feet. "permit--hell! are you loose-screwed enough to actually think i would ask or need your permission? listen, samms!" the port admiral's voice took on a quality like nothing his friend had ever before heard. "the first thing i would do would be to take off your lens, wrap you up--especially your mouth--in seventeen yards of three-inch adhesive tape, and heave you into the brig. the second would be to call out everything we've got, including every half-built ship on bennett able to fly, and declare martial law. the third would be a series of summary executions, starting with morgan and working down. and if he's got any fraction of the brain i credit him with, morgan knows damned well _exactly_ what would happen." "oh." samms, while very much taken aback, was thrilled to the center of his being. "i had not considered anything so drastic, but you probably would...." "not 'probably'," kinnison corrected him grimly. "'certainly'." "... and morgan does know ... except about bennett, of course ... and he would not, for obvious reasons, bring in his secret armed forces. you're right, rod, it will be the election." "definitely; and it's plain enough what their basic strategy will be." kinnison, completely mollified, sat down and lit another cigar. "his nationalist party is now in power, but it was our cosmocrats of the previous administration who so basely slipped one over on the dear pee-pul--who betrayed the entire north american continent into the claws of rapacious wealth, no less--by ratifying that unlawful, unhallowed, unconstitutional, and so on, treaty. scoundrels! bribe-takers! betrayers of a sacred trust! _how_ rabble-rouser morgan will thump the tub on that theme--he'll make the welkin ring as it never rang before." kinnison mimicked savagely the demagogue's round and purple tones as he went on: "'since they had no mandate from the pee-pul to trade their birthright for a mess of pottage that nefarious and underhanded treaty is, _a prima vista_ and _ipso facto_ and _a priori_, completely and necessarily and positively null and void. people of earth, arouse! arise! rise in your might and throw off this stultifying and degrading, this paralyzing yoke of the monied powers--throw out this dictatorial, autocratic, wealth-directed, illegal, monstrous council of so-called lensmen! rise in your might at the polls! elect a council of your own choosing--not of lensmen, but of ordinary folks like you and me. throw _off_ this hellish yoke, i say!'--and here he begins to positively froth at the mouth--'so that government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the earth!' "he has used that exact peroration, ancient as it is, so many times that practically everybody thinks he originated it; and it's always good for so many decibels of applause that he'll keep on using it forever." "your analysis is vivid, cogent, and factual, rod--but the situation is not at all funny." "did i act as though i thought it was? if so, i'm a damned poor actor. i'd like to kick the bloodsucking leech all the way from here to the great nebula in andromeda, and if i ever get the chance i'm going to!" "an interesting, but somewhat irrelevant idea." samms smiled at his friend's passionate outburst. "but go on. i agree with you in principle so far, and your viewpoint is--to say the least--refreshing." "well, morgan will have so hypnotized most of the dear pee-pul that they will think it their own idea when he re-nominates this spineless nincompoop witherspoon for another term as president of north america, with a solid machine-made slate of hatchet-men behind him. they win the election. then the government of the north american continent--not the morgan-towne-isaacson machine, but all nice and legal and by mandate and in strict accordance with the party platform--abrogates the treaty and names its own council. and right then, my friend, the boys and i will do our stuff." "except that, in such a case, you wouldn't. think it over, rod." "why not?" kinnison demanded, in a voice which, however, did not carry much conviction. "because we would be in the wrong; and we are even less able to go against united public opinion than is the morgan crowd." "we'd do _something_--i've got it!" kinnison banged the desk with his fist. "that would be a strictly unilateral action. north america would be standing alone." "of course." "so we'll pull all the cosmocrats and all of our friends out of north america--move them to bennett or somewhere--and make morgan and company a present of it. we won't declare martial law or kill anybody, unless they decide to call in their reserves. we'll merely isolate the whole damned continent--throw a screen around it and over it that a microbe won't be able to get through--one that would make that iron curtain i read about look like a bride's veil--and we'll _keep_ them isolated until they beg to join up on our terms. strictly legal, and the perfect solution. how about me giving the boys a briefing on it, right now?" "not yet." samms' mien, however, lightened markedly. "i never thought of that way out.... it _could_ be done, and it would probably work, but i would not recommend it except as an ultimately last resort. it has at least two tremendous drawbacks." "i know it, but...." "it would wreck north america as no nation has ever been wrecked; quite possibly beyond recovery. furthermore, how many people, including yourself and your children, would like to renounce their north american citizenship and remove themselves, permanently and irrevocably, from north american soil?" "um ... m ... m. put that away, it doesn't sound so good, does it? but what the hell else can we do?" "just what we have been planning on doing. we must win the election." "huh?" kinnison's mouth almost fell open. "you say it easy. how? with whom? by what stretch of the imagination do you figure that you can find anybody with a loose enough mouth to out-lie and out-promise morgan? and can you duplicate his machine?" "we can not only duplicate his machine; we can better it. the truth, presented to the people in language they can understand and appreciate, by a man whom they like, admire, and respect, will be more attractive than morgan's promises. the same truth will dispose of morgan's lies." "well, go on. you've answered my questions, after a fashion, except the stinger. does the council think it's got a man with enough dynage to lift the load?" "unanimously. they also agreed unanimously that we have only one. haven't you any idea who he is?" "not a glimmering of one." kinnison frowned in thought, then his face cleared into a broad grin and he yelled: "_what_ a damn fool i am--_you_, of course!" "wrong. i was not even seriously considered. it was the concensus that i could not possibly win. my work has been such as to keep me out of the public eye. if the man in the street thinks of me at all, he thinks that i hold myself apart and above him--the ivory tower concept." "could be, at that; but you've got my curiosity aroused. how can a man of that caliber have been kicking around so long without me knowing anything about him?" "you do. that's what i've been working around to all afternoon. you." "huh?" kinnison gasped as though he had received a blow in the solar plexus. "me? me? hell's--brazen--hinges!" "exactly. you." silencing kinnison's inarticulate protests, samms went on: "first, you'll have no difficulty in talking to an audience as you've just talked to me." "of course not--but did i use any language that would burn out the transmitters? i don't remember whether i did or not." "i don't, either. you probably did, but that would be nothing new. telenews has never yet cut you off the ether because of it. the point is this: while you do not realize it, you are a better tub-thumper and welkin-ringer than morgan is, when something--such as just now--really gets you going. and as for a machine, what finer one is possible than the patrol? everybody in it or connected with it will support you to the hilt--you know that." "why, i ... i suppose so ... probably they would, yes." "do you know why?" "can't say that i do, unless it's because i treat them fair, so they do the same to me." "exactly. i don't say that everybody likes you, but i don't know of anybody who doesn't respect you. and, most important, everybody--all over space--knows 'rod the rock' kinnison, and why he is called that." "but that very 'man on horseback' thing may backfire on you, virge." "perhaps--slightly--but we're not afraid of that. and finally, you said you'd like to kick morgan from here to andromeda. how would you like to kick him from panama city to the north pole?" "i said it, and i wasn't just warming up my jets, either. i'd like it." the big lensman's nostrils flared, his lips thinned. "by god, virge, i will!" "thanks, rod." with no display whatever of the emotion he felt, samms skipped deliberately to the matter next in hand. "now, about eridan. let's see if they know anything yet." the report of knobos and dalnalten was terse and exact. they had found--and that finding, so baldly put, could have filled and should fill a book--that spaceways' uranium vessels were, beyond any reasonable doubt, hauling thionite from eridan to the planets of sol. spy-rays being useless, they had considered the advisability of investigating eridan in person, but had decided against such action. eridan was closely held by uranium, incorporated. its population was one hundred percent tellurian human. neither dalnalten nor knobos could disguise himself well enough to work there. either would be caught promptly, and as promptly shot. "thanks, fellows," samms said, when it became evident that the brief report was done. then, to kinnison, "that puts it up to conway costigan. and jack? or mase? or both?" "both," kinnison decided, "and anybody else they can use." "i'll get them at it." samms sent out thoughts. "and now, i wonder what that daughter of mine is doing? i'm a little worried about her, rod. she's too cocky for her own good--or strength. some of these days she's going to bite off more than she can chew, if she hasn't already. the more we learn about morgan, the less i like the idea of her working on herkimer herkimer third. i've told her so, a dozen times, and why, but of course it didn't do any good." "it wouldn't. the only way to develop teeth is to bite with 'em. you had to. so did i. our kids have got to, too. we lived through it. so will they. as for herky the third...." he thought for moments, then went on: "check. but she's done a job so far that nobody else could do. in spite of that fact, if it wasn't for our lenses i'd say to pull her, if you have to heave the insubordinate young jade into the brig. but with the lenses, and the way you watch her ... to say nothing of mase northrop, and he's a lot of man ... i can't see her getting in either very bad or very deep. can you?" "no, i can't." samms admitted, but the thoughtful frown did not leave his face. he lensed her: finding, as he had supposed, that she was at a party; dancing, as he had feared, with senator morgan's number one secretary. "hi, dad!" she greeted him gaily, with no slightest change in the expression of the face turned so engagingly to her partner's. "i have the honor of reporting that all instruments are still dead-centering the green." "and have you, by any chance, been paying any attention to what i have been telling you?" "oh, lots," she assured him. "i've collected reams of data. he could be almost as much of a menace as he thinks he is, in some cases, but i haven't begun to slip yet. as i have told you all along, this is just a game, and we're both playing it strictly according to the rules." "that's good. keep it that way, my dear." samms signed off and his daughter returned her full attention--never noticeably absent--to the handsome secretary. the evening wore on. miss samms danced every dance; occasionally with one or another of the notables present, but usually with herkimer herkimer third. "a drink?" he asked. "a small, cold one?" "not so small, and _very_ cold," she agreed, enthusiastically. glass in hand, herkimer indicated a nearby doorway. "i just heard that our host has acquired a very old and very fine bronze--a neptune. we should run an eye over it, don't you think?" "by all means," she agreed again. but as they passed through the shadowed portal the man's head jerked to the right. "_there's_ something you really ought to see, jill!" he exclaimed. "look!" she looked. a young woman of her own height and build and with her own flamboyant hair, identical as to hair-do and as to every fine detail of dress and of ornamentation, glass in hand, was strolling back into the ball-room! jill started to protest, but could not. in the brief moment of inaction the beam of a snub-nosed p-gun had played along her spine from hips to neck. she did not fall--he had given her a very mild jolt--but, rage as she would, she could neither struggle nor scream. and, after the fact, she knew. but he _couldn't_--couldn't _possibly_! nevian paralysis-guns were as outlawed as was vee two gas itself! nevertheless, he had. and on the instant a woman, dressed in crisp and spotless white and carrying a hooded cloak, appeared--and herkimer now wore a beard and heavy, horn rimmed spectacles. thus, very shortly, virgilia samms found herself, completely helpless and completely unrecognizable, walking awkwardly out of the house between a businesslike doctor and a solicitous nurse. "will you need me any more, doctor murray?" the woman carefully and expertly loaded the patient into the rear seat of a car. "thank you, no, miss childs." with a sick, cold certainty jill knew that this conversation was for the benefit of the doorman and the hackers, and that it would stand up under any examination. "mrs. harman's condition is ... er ... well, nothing at all serious." the car moved out into the street and jill, really frightened for the first time in her triumphant life, fought down an almost overwhelming wave of panic. the hood had slipped down over her eyes, blinding her. she could not move a single voluntary muscle. nevertheless, she knew that the car traveled a few blocks--six, she thought--west on bolton street before turning left. why didn't somebody lens her? her father wouldn't, she knew, until tomorrow. neither of the kinnisons would, nor spud--they never did except on direct invitation. but mase would, before he went to bed--or would he? it was past his bed-time now, and she had been pretty caustic, only last night, because she was doing a particularly delicate bit of reading. but he would ... he _must_! "mase! _mase!_ mase!" and, eventually, mase did. deep under the hill, roderick kinnison swore fulminantly at the sheer physical impossibility of getting out of that furiously radiating mountain in a hurry. at new york spaceport, however, mason northrop and jack kinnison not only could hurry, but did. "where are you, jill?" northrop demanded presently. "what kind of a car are you in?" "quite near stanhope circle." in communication with her friends at last, jill regained a measure of her usual poise. "within eight or ten blocks, i'm sure. i'm in a black wilford sedan, last year's model. i didn't get a chance to see its license plates." "that helps a lot!" jack grunted, savagely. "a ten-block radius covers a hell of a lot of territory, and half the cars in town are black wilford sedans." "shut up, jack! go ahead, jill--tell us all you can, and keep on sending us anything that will help at all." "i kept the right and left turns and distances straight for quite a while--about twenty blocks--that's how i know it was stanhope circle. i don't know how many times he went around the circle, though, or which way he went when he left it. after leaving the circle, the traffic was very light, and here there doesn't seem to be any traffic at all. that brings us up to date. you'll know as well as i do what happens next." with jill, the lensmen knew that herkimer drove his car up to the curb and stopped--parked without backing up. he got out and hauled the girl's limp body out of the car, displacing the hood enough to free one eye. good! only one other car was visible; a bright yellow convertible parked across the street, about half a block ahead. there was a sign--"no parking on this side 7 to 10." the building toward which he was carrying her was more than three stories high, and had a number--one, four--if he would _only_ swing her a little bit more, so that she could see the rest of it--one four-seven-nine! "rushton boulevard, you think, mase?" "could be. fourteen seventy nine would be on the downtown-traffic side. blast!" into the building, where two masked men locked and barred the door behind them. "and keep it locked!" herkimer ordered. "you know what to do until i come back down." into an elevator, and up. through massive double doors into a room, whose most conspicuous item of furniture was a heavy steel chair, bolted to the floor. two masked men got up and placed themselves behind that chair. jill's strength was coming back fast; but not fast enough. the cloak was removed. her ankles were tied firmly, one to each front leg of the chair. herkimer threw four turns of rope around her torso and the chair's back, took up every inch of slack, and tied a workmanlike knot. then, still without a word, he stood back and lighted a cigarette. the last trace of paralysis disappeared, but the girl's mad struggles, futile as they were, were not allowed to continue. "put a double hammerlock on her," herkimer directed, "but be damned sure not to break anything at this stage of the game. that comes later." jill, more furiously angry than frightened until now, locked her teeth to keep from screaming as the pressure went on. she could not bend forward to relieve the pain; she could not move; she could only grit her teeth and glare. she was beginning to realize, however, what was actually in store; that herkimer herkimer third was in fact a monster whose like she had never known. he stepped quietly forward, gathered up a handful of fabric, and heaved. the strapless and backless garment, in no way designed to withstand such stresses, parted; squarely across at the upper strand of rope. he puffed his cigarette to a vivid coal--took it in his fingers--there was an audible hiss and a tiny stink of burning flesh as the glowing ember was extinguished in the clear, clean skin below the girl's left armpit. jill flinched then, and shrieked desperately, but her tormentor was viciously unmoved. "that was just to settle any doubt as to whether or not i mean business. i'm all done fooling around with you. i want to know two things. first, everything you know about the lens; where it comes from, what it really is, and what it does besides what your press-agents advertise. second, what really happened at the ambassadors' ball. start talking. the faster you talk, the less you'll get hurt." "you can't get away with this, herkimer." jill tried desperately to pull her shattered nerves together. "i'll be missed--traced...." she paused, gasping. if she told him that the lensmen were in full and continuous communication with her--and if he believed it--he would kill her right then. she switched instantly to another track. "that double isn't good enough to fool anybody who really knows me." "she doesn't have to be." the man grinned venomously. "nobody who knows you will get close enough to her to tell the difference. this wasn't done on the spur of the moment, jill; it was planned--minutely. you haven't got the chance of the proverbial celluloid dog in hell." "jill!" jack kinnison's thought stabbed in. "it isn't rushton--fourteen seventy-nine is a two-story. what other streets could it be?" "i don't know...." she was not in very good shape to think. "damnation! got to get hold of somebody who knows the streets. spud, grab a hacker at the circle and i'll lens parker...." jack's thought snapped off as he tuned to a local lensman. jill's heart sank. she was starkly certain now that the lensmen could not find her in time. "tighten up a little, eddie. you, too, bob." "stop it! oh, god, stop it!" the unbearable agony relaxed a little. she watched in horrified fascination a second glowing coal approach her bare right side. "even if i do talk you'll kill me anyway. you couldn't let me go now." "kill you, my pet? not if you behave yourself. we've got a lot of planets the patrol never heard of, and you could keep a man interested for quite a while, if you really tried. and if you beg hard enough maybe i'll let you try. however, i'd get just as much fun out of killing you as out of the other, so it's up to you. not sudden death, of course. little things, at first, like we've been doing. a few more touches of warmth here and there--so.... "scream as much as you please. i enjoy it, and this room is sound-proof. once more, boys, about half an inch higher this time ... up ... steady ... down. we'll have half an hour or so of this stuff"--herkimer knew that to the quivering, sensitive, highly imaginative girl his words would be practically as punishing as the atrocious actualities themselves--"then i'll do things to your finger-nails and toe-nails, beginning with burning slivers of double-base flare powder and working up. then your eyes--or no, i'll save them until last, so you can watch a couple of venerian slasher-worms work on you, one on each leg, and a martian digger on your bare belly." gripping her hair firmly in his left hand, he forced her head back and down; down almost to her hard-held hands. his right hand, concealing something which he had not mentioned and which was probably starkly unmentionable, approached her taut-stretched throat. "talk or not, just as you please." the voice was utterly callous, as chill as the death she now knew he was so willing to deal. "but listen. if you elect to talk, tell the truth. you won't lie twice. i'll count to ten. one." jill uttered a gurgling, strangling noise and he lifted her head a trifle. "can you talk now?" "yes." "two." helpless, immobile, scared now to a depth of terror she had never imagined it possible to feel, jill fought her wrenched and shaken mind back from insanity's very edge; managed with a pale tongue to lick bloodless lips. pops kinnison always said a man could die only once, but he didn't know ... in battle, yes, perhaps ... but she had already died a dozen times--but she'd keep on dying forever before she'd say a word. but-"tell him, jill!" northrop's thought beat at her mind. he, her lover, was unashamedly frantic; as much with sheer rage as with sympathy for her physical and mental anguish. "for the nineteenth time i say _tell him_! we've just located you--hancock avenue--we'll be there in two minutes!" "yes, jill, quit being a damned stubborn jackass and _tell him_!" jack kinnison's thought bit deep; but this time, strangely enough, the girl felt no repugnance at his touch. there was nothing whatever of the lover; nor of the brother, except of the fraternity of arms. she belonged. she would come out of this brawl right side up or none of them would. "tell the goddam rat the truth!" jack's thought drove on. "it won't make any difference--he won't live long enough to pass it on!" "but i can't--i won't!" jill stormed. "why, pops kinnison would...." "not this time i wouldn't, jill!" samms' thought tried to come in, too, but the port admiral's vehemence was overwhelming. "no harm--he's doing this strictly on his own--if morgan had had any idea he'd've killed him first. start talking or i'll spank you to a rosy blister!" they were to laugh, later, at the incongruity of that threat, but it did produce results. "nine." herkimer grinned wolfishly, in sadistic anticipation. "stop it--i'll tell!" she screamed. "stop it--take that thing away--i can't _stand_ it--i'll tell!" she burst into racking, tearing sobs. "steady." herkimer put something in his pocket, then slapped her so viciously that fingers-long marks sprang into red relief upon the chalk-white background of her cheek. "don't crack up; i haven't started to work on you yet. what about that lens?" she gulped twice before she could speak. "it comes from--ulp!--arisia. i haven't got one myself, so i don't know very much--ulp!--about it at first hand, but from what the boys tell me it must be...." * * * * * outside the building three black forms arrowed downward. northrop and young kinnison stopped at the sixth level; costigan went on down to take care of the guards. "bullets, not beams," the irishman reminded his younger fellows. "we'll have to clean up the mess without leaving a trace, so don't do any more damage to the property than you absolutely have to." neither made any reply; they were both too busy. the two thugs standing behind the steel chair, being armed openly, went first; then jack put a bullet through herkimer's head. but northrop was not content with that. he slid the pin to "full automatic" and ten more heavy slugs tore into the falling body before it struck the floor. three quick slashes and the girl was free. "jill!" "mase!" locked in each other's arms, straining together, no bystander would have believed that this was their first kiss. it was plainly--yes, quite spectacularly--evident, however, that it would not be their last. jack, blushing furiously, picked up the cloak and flung it at the oblivious couple. "p-s-s-t! _p-s-s-t! jill!_ wrap 'em up!" he whispered, urgently. "all the top brass in space is coming at full emergency blast--there'll be scrambled eggs all over the place any second now--_mase!_ _damn_ your thick, hard skull, snap out of it! he's always frothing at the mouth about her running around half naked and if he sees her like this--especially with _you_--he'll simply have a litter of lizards! you'll get a million black spots and seven hundred years in the clink! that's better--'bye now--i'll see you up at new york spaceport." jack kinnison dashed to the nearest window, threw it open, and dived headlong out of the building. chapter 14 the employment office of any concern with personnel running into the hundreds of thousands is a busy place indeed, even when its plants are all on tellus and its working conditions are as nearly ideal as such things can be made. when that firm's business is colonial, however, and its working conditions are only a couple of degrees removed from slavery, procurement of personnel is a first-magnitude problem; the personnel department, like alice in wonderland, must run as fast as it can go in order to stay where it is. thus the "help wanted" advertisements of uranium, incorporated covered the planet earth with blandishment and guile; and thus for twelve hours of every day and for seven days of every week the employment offices of uranium, inc. were filled with men--mostly the scum of earth. there were, of course, exceptions; one of which strode through the motley group of waiting men and thrust a card through the "information" wicket. he was a chunky-looking individual, appearing shorter than his actual five feet nine because of a hundred and ninety pounds of weight--even though every pound was placed exactly where it would do the most good. he looked--well, slouchy--and his mien was sullen. "birkenfeld--by appointment," he growled through the wicket, in a voice which could have been pleasantly deep. the coolly efficient blonde manipulated plugs. "mr. george w. jones, sir, by appointment.... thank you, sir," and mr. jones was escorted into mr. birkenfeld's private office. "have a chair, please, mr. ... er ... jones." "so you know?" "yes. it is seldom that a man of your education, training, and demonstrated ability applies to us for employment of his own initiative, and a very thorough investigation is indicated." "what am i here for, then?" the visitor demanded, truculently. "you could have turned me down by mail. everybody else has, since i got out." "you are here because we who operate on the frontiers cannot afford to pass judgment upon a man because of his past, unless that past precludes the probability of a useful future. yours does not; and in some cases, such as yours, we are very deeply interested in the future." the official's eyes drilled deep. conway costigan had never been in the limelight. on the contrary, he had made inconspicuousness a passion and an art. even in such scenes of violence as that which had occurred at the ambassadors' ball he managed to remain unnoticed. his lens had never been visible. no one except lensmen--and clio and jill--knew that he had one; and lensmen--and clio and jill--did not talk. although he was calmly certain that this birkenfeld was not an ordinary interviewer, he was equally certain that the investigators of uranium, inc. had found out exactly and only what the patrol had wanted them to find. "so?" jones' bearing altered subtly, and not because of the penetrant eyes. "that's all i want--a chance. i'll start at the bottom, as far down as you say." "we advertise, and truthfully, that opportunity on eridan is unlimited." birkenfeld chose his words with care. "in your case, opportunity will be either absolutely unlimited or zero, depending entirely upon yourself." "i see." dumbness had not been included in the fictitious mr. jones' background. "you don't need to draw a blue-print." "you'll do, i think." the interviewer nodded in approval. "nevertheless, i must make our position entirely clear. if the slip was--shall we say accidental?--you will go far with us. if you try to play false, you will not last long and you will not be missed." "fair enough." "your willingness to start at the bottom is commendable, and it is a fact that those who come up through the ranks make the best executives; in our line at least. just how far down are you willing to start?" "how low do you go?" "a mucker, i think would be low enough; and, from your build, and obvious physical strength, the logical job." "mucker?" "one who skoufers ore in the mine. nor can we make any exception in your case as to the routines of induction and transportation." "of course not." "take this slip to mr. calkins, in room 6217. he will run you through the mill." and that night, in an obscure boarding-house, mr. george washington jones, after a meticulous service special survey in every direction, reached a large and somewhat grimy hand into a screened receptacle in his battered suitcase and touched a lens. "clio?" the lovely mother of their wonderful children appeared in his mind. "made it, sweetheart, no suspicion at all. no more lensing for a while--not too long, i hope--so ... so-long, clio." "take it easy, spud darling, and _be careful_." her tone was light, but she could not conceal a stark background of fear. "oh, i _wish_ i could go, too!" "i wish you could, tootie." the linked minds flashed back to what the two had done together in the red opacity of nevian murk; on nevia's mighty, watery globe--but that kind of thinking would not do. "but the boys will keep in touch with me and keep you posted. and besides, you know how hard it is to get a baby-sitter!" * * * * * it is strange that the fundamental operations of working metalliferous veins have changed so little throughout the ages. or is it? ores came into being with the crusts of the planets; they change appreciably only with the passage of geologic time. ancient mines, of course, could not go down very deep or follow a seam very far; there was too much water and too little air. the steam engine helped, in degree if not in kind, by removing water and supplying air. tools improved--from the simple metal bar through pick and shovel and candle, through drill and hammer and low explosive and acetylene, through sullivan slugger and high explosive and electrics, through skoufer and rotary and burley and sourceless glow, to the complex gadgetry of today--but what, fundamentally, is the difference? men still crawl, snake-like, to where the metal is. men still, by dint of sheer brawn, jackass the precious stuff out to where our vaunted automatics can get hold of it. and men still die, in horribly unknown fashions and in callously recorded numbers, in the mines which supply the stuff upon which our vaunted culture rests. but to resume the thread of narrative, george washington jones went to eridan as a common laborer; a mucker. he floated down beside the skip--a "skip" is a mine elevator--some four thousand eight hundred feet. he rode an ore-car a horizontal distance of approximately eight miles to the brilliantly-illuminated cavern which was the station of the twelfth and lowest level. he was assigned to the bunk in which he would sleep for the next fifteen nights: "fifteen down and three up," ran the standard underground contract. he walked four hundred yards, yelled "nothing down!" and inched his way up a rise--in many places scarcely wider than his shoulders--to the stope some three hundred feet above. he reported to the miner who was to be his immediate boss and bent his back to the skoufer--which, while not resembling a shovel at all closely, still meant hard physical labor. he already knew ore--the glossy, sub-metallic, pitchy black luster of uraninite or pitchblende; the yellows of autunite and carnotite; the variant and confusing greens of tobernite. no values went from jones' skoufer into the heavily-timbered, steel-braced waste-pockets of the stope; very little base rock went down the rise. he became accustomed to the work; got used to breathing the peculiarly lifeless, dry, oily compressed air. and when, after a few days, his stentorian "nothing down!" called forth a "nothing but a little fine stuff!" and a handful of grit and pebbles, he knew that he had been accepted into the undefined, unwritten, and unofficial, yet nevertheless intensely actual, fellowship of hard-rock men. he belonged. he knew that he must abandon his policy of invisibility; and, after several days of thought, he decided how he would do it. hence, upon the first day of his "up" period, he joined his fellows in their descent upon one of the rawest, noisiest dives of danapolis. the men were met, of course, by a bevy of giggling, shrieking, garishly painted and strongly perfumed girls--and at this point young jones' behavior became exceedingly unorthodox. "buy me a drink, mister? and a dance, huh?" "on your way, sister." he brushed the importunate wench aside. "i get enough exercise underground, an' you ain't got a thing i want." apparently unaware that the girl was exchanging meaningful glances with a couple of husky characters labelled "bouncer" in billposter type, the atypical mucker strode up to the long and ornate bar. "gimme a bottle of pineapple pop," he ordered bruskly, "an' a package of tellurian cigarettes--sunshines." "p-p-pine...?" the surprised bartender did not finish the word. the bouncers were fast, but costigan was faster. a hard knee took one in the solar plexus; a hard elbow took the other so savagely under the chin as to all but break his neck. a bartender started to swing a bung-starter, and found himself flying through the air toward a table. men, table, and drinks crashed to the floor. "i pick my own company an' i drink what i damn please," jones announced, grittily. "them lunkers ain't hurt none, to speak of ..." his hard eyes swept the room malevolently, "but i ain't in no gentle mood an' the next jaspers that tackle me will wind up in the repair shop, or maybe in the morgue. see?" this of course was much too much; a dozen embattled roughnecks leaped to mop up on the misguided wight who had so impugned the manhood of all eridan. then, while six or seven bartenders blew frantic blasts upon police whistles, there was a flurry of action too fast to be resolved into consecutive events by the eye. conway costigan, one of the fastest men with hands and feet the patrol has ever known, was trying to keep himself alive; and he succeeded. "what the hell goes on here?" a chorus of raucously authoritative voices yelled, and sixteen policemen--john law did not travel singly in that district, but in platoons--swinging clubs and saps, finally hauled george washington jones out from the bottom of the pile. he had sundry abrasions and not a few contusions, but no bones were broken and his skin was practically whole. and since his version of the affair was not only inadequate, but also differed in important particulars from those of several non-participating witnesses, he spent the rest of his holiday in jail; a development with which he was quite content. the work--and time--went on. he became in rapid succession a head mucker, a miner's pimp (which short and rugged anglo-saxon word means simply "helper" in underground parlance) a miner, a top-miner, and then--a long step up the ladder!--a shift-boss. and then disaster struck; suddenly, paralyzingly, as mine disasters do. loud-speakers blared briefly--"explosion! cave-in! flood! fire! gas! radiation! damp!"--and expired. short-circuits; there was no way of telling which, if any, of those dire warnings were true. the power failed, and the lights. the hiss of air from valves, a noise which by its constant and unvarying and universal presence soon becomes unheard, became noticeable because of its diminution in volume and tone. and then, seconds later, a jarring, shuddering rumble was felt and heard, accompanied by the snapping of shattered timbers and the sharper, utterly unforgettable shriek of rending and riven steel. and the men, as men do under such conditions, went wild; yelling, swearing, leaping toward where, in the rayless dark, each thought the rise to be. it took a couple of seconds for the shift-boss to break out and hook up his emergency battery-lamp; and three or four more seconds, and by dint of fists, feet, and a two-foot length of air-hose, to restore any degree of order. four men were dead; but that wasn't too bad--considering. "up there! under the hanging wall!" he ordered, sharply. "_that_ won't fall--unless the whole mountain slips. now, how many of you jaspers have got your emergency kits on you? twelve--out of twenty-six--what brains! put on your masks. you without 'em can stay up here--you'll be safe for a while--i hope." then, presently: "there, that's all for now. i guess." he flashed his light downward. the massive steel members no longer writhed; the crushed and tortured timbers were still. "that rise may be open, it goes through solid rock, not waste. i'll see. wright, you're all in one piece, aren't you?" "i guess so--yes." "take charge up here. i'll go down to the drift. if the rise is open i'll give you a flash. send the ones with masks down, one at a time. take a jolly-bar and bash the brains out of anybody who gets panicky again." jones was not as brave as he sounded: mine disasters carry a terror which is uniquely and peculiarly poignant. nevertheless he went down the rise, found it open, and signalled. then, after issuing brief orders, he led the way along the dark and silent drift toward the station; wondering profanely why the people on duty there had not done something with the wealth of emergency equipment always ready there. the party found some cave-ins, but nothing they could not dig through. the station was also silent and dark. jones, flashing his head-lamp upon the emergency panel, smashed the glass, wrenched the door open, and pushed buttons. lights flashed on. warning signals flared, bellowed and rang. the rotary air-pump began again its normal subdued, whickering whirr. but the water-pump! shuddering, clanking, groaning, it was threatening to go out any second--but there wasn't a thing in the world jones could do about it--yet. the station itself, so buttressed and pillared with alloy steel as to be little more compressible than an equal volume of solid rock, was unharmed; but in it nothing lived. four men and a woman--the nurse--were stiffly motionless at their posts; apparently the leads to the station had been blasted in such fashion that no warning whatever had been given. and smoke, billowing inward from the main tunnel, was growing thicker by the minute. jones punched another button; a foot-thick barrier of asbestos, tungsten, and vitrified refractory slid smoothly across the tunnel's opening. he considered briefly, pityingly, those who might be outside, but felt no urge to explore. if any lived, there were buttons on the other side of the fire-door. the eddying smoke disappeared, the flaring lights winked out, air-horns and bells relapsed into silence. the shift-boss, now apparently the superintendent of the whole twelfth level, removed his mask, found the station walkie-talkie, and snapped a switch. he spoke, listened, spoke again then called a list of names--none of which brought any response. "wright, and you five others," picking out miners who could be depended upon to keep their heads, "take these guns. shoot if you have to, but not unless you have to. have the muckers clear the drift, just enough to get through. you'll find a shift-boss, with a crew of nineteen, up in stope sixty. their rise is blocked. they've got light and power again now, and good air, and they're working on it, but opening the rise from the top is a damned slow job. wright, you throw a chippie into it from the bottom. you others, work back along the drift, clear to the last glory hole. be sure that all the rises are open--check all the stopes and glory holes--tell everybody you find alive to report to me here...." "aw, what good!" a man shrieked. "we're all goners anyway--i want _water_ an'...." "shut up, fool!" there was a sound as of fist meeting flesh, the shriek was stilled. "plenty of water--tanks full of the stuff." a grizzled miner turned to the self-appointed boss and twitched his head--toward the laboring pump. "too damn much water too soon, huh?" "i wouldn't wonder--but get busy!" as his now orderly and purposeful men disappeared, jones picked up his microphone and changed the setting of a dial. "on top, somebody," he said crisply. "on top...." "oh, there's somebody alive down in twelve, after all!" a girl's voice screamed in his ear. "mr. clancy! mr. edwards!" "to hell with clancy, and edwards, too," jones barked. "gimme the chief engineer and the head surveyor, and gimme 'em _fast_." "clancy speaking, station twelve." if works manager clancy had heard that pointed remark, and he must have, he ignored it. "stanley and emerson will be here in a moment. in the meantime, who's calling? i don't recognize your voice, and it's been so long...." "jones. shift-boss, stope fifty nine. i had a little trouble getting here to the station." "what? where's pennoyer? and riley? and...?" "dead. everybody. gas or damp. no warning." "not enough to turn on _anything_--not even the purifiers?" "nothing." "where were you?" "up in the stope." "good god!" that news, to clancy, was informative enough. "but to hell with all that. what happened, and where?" "a skip-load, and then a magazine, of high explosive, right at station seven--it's right at the main shaft, you know." jones did not know, since he had never been in that part of the mine, but he could see the picture. "main shaft filled up to above seven, and both emergency shafts blocked. number one at six, number two at seven--must have been a fault--but here's chief engineer stanley." the works manager, not too unwillingly, relinquished the microphone. a miner came running up and jones covered his mouth-piece. "how about the glory holes?" "plugged solid, all four of 'em--by the vibro, clear up to eleven." "thanks." then, as soon as stanley's voice came on: "what i want to know is, why is this damned water-pump overloading? what's the circuit?" "you must be ... yes, you are pumping against too much head. five levels above you are dead, you know, so...." "dead? can't you raise _anybody_?" "not yet. so you're pumping through dead boosters on eleven and ten and so on up, and when your overload-relief valve opens...." "_relief_ valve!" jones almost screamed, "can i dog the damn thing down?" "no, it's internal." "christ, what a design--i could eat a handful of iron filings and _puke_ a better emergency pump than that!" "when it opens," stanley went stolidly on, "the water will go through the by-pass back into the sump. so you'd better rod out one of the glory holes and...." "get conscious, fat-head!" jones blazed. "what would we use for time? get off the air--gimme emerson!" "emerson speaking." "got your maps?" "yes." "we got to run a sag up to eleven--fast--or drown. can you give me the shortest possible distance?" "can do." the head surveyor snapped orders. "we'll have it for you in a minute. thank god there was somebody down there with a brain." "it doesn't take super-human intelligence to push buttons." "you'd be surprised. your point on glory holes was very well taken--you won't have much time after the pump quits. when the water reaches the station...." "curtains. and it's all done now--running free and easy--recirculating. hurry that dope!" "here it is now. start at the highest point of stope fifty nine. repeat." "stope fifty-nine." jones waved a furious hand as he shouted the words; the tight-packed miners turned and ran. the shift-boss followed them, carrying the walkie-talkie, aiming an exasperated kick of pure frustration at the merrily-humming water pump as he passed it. "thirty two degrees from the vertical--anywhere between thirty and thirty five." "thirty to thirty five off vertical." "direction--got a compass?" "yes." "set the blue on zero. course two hundred seventy five degrees." "blue on zero. course two seven five." "dex sixty nine point two zero feet. that'll put you into eleven's class yard--so big you can't miss it." "distance sixty nine point two--_that_ all? fine! maybe we'll make it, after all. they're sinking a shaft, of course. from where?" "about four miles in on six. it'll take time." "if we can get up into eleven we'll have all the time on the clock--it'll take a week or more to flood twelve's stopes. but this sag is sure as hell going to be touch and go. and say, from the throw of the pump and the volume of the sump, will you give me the best estimate you can of how much time we've got? i want at least an hour, but i'm afraid i won't have it." "yes. i'll call you back." the shift-boss elbowed his way through the throng of men and, dragging the radio behind him, wriggled and floated up the rise. "wright!" he bellowed, the echoes resounding deafeningly all up and down the narrow tube. "you up there ahead of me?" "yeah!" that worthy bellowed back. "more men left than i thought--how many--half of 'em?" "just about." "good. sort out the ones you got up there by trades." then, when he had emerged into the now brilliantly illuminated stope, "where are the timber-pimps?" "over there." "rustle timbers. whatever you can find and wherever you find it, grab it and bring it up here. get some twelve-inch steel, too, six feet long. timbermen, grab that stuff off of the face and start your staging right here. you muckers, rig a couple of skoufers to throw muck to bury the base and checkerwork up to the hanging wall. doze a sluice-way down into that waste pocket there, so we won't clog ourselves up. work fast, fellows, but make it _solid_--you know the load it'll have to carry and what will happen if it gives." they knew. they knew what they had to do and did it; furiously, but with care and precision. "how wide a sag you figurin' on, supe?" the boss timberman asked. "eight foot checkerwork to the hangin', anyway, huh?" "yes. i'll let you know in a minute." the surveyor came in. "forty one minutes is my best guess." "from when?" "from the time the pump failed." "that was four minutes ago--nearer five. and five more before we can start cutting. forty one less ten is thirty one. thirty one into sixty nine point two goes...." "two point two three feet per minute, my slip-stick says." "thanks. wright, what would you say is the biggest sag we can cut in this kind of rock at two and a quarter feet a minute?" "um ... m ... m". the miner scratched his whiskery chin. "that's a tough one, boss. you'll hafta figure damn close to a hundred pounds of air to the foot on plain cuttin'--that's two hundred and a quarter. but without a burley to pimp for 'er, a rotary can't take that kind of air--she'll foul herself to a standstill before she cuts a foot. an' with a burley riggin' she's got to make damn near a double cut--seven foot inside figger--so any way you look at it you ain't goin' to cut no two foot to the minute." "i was hoping you wouldn't check my figures, but you do. so we'll cut five feet. saw your timbers accordingly. we'll hold that burley by hand." wright shook his head dubiously. "we don't want to die down here any more than you do, boss, so we'll do our damndest--but how in _hell_ do you figure you can hold her to her work?" "rig a yoke. cut a stretcher up for canvas and padding. it'll pound, but a man can stand almost anything, in short enough shifts, if he's got to or die." and for a time--two minutes, to be exact, during which the rotary chewed up and spat out a plug of rock over five feet deep--things went very well indeed. two men, instead of the usual three, could run the rotary; that is, they could tend the complicated pneumatic walking jacks which not only oscillated the cutting demon in a geometrical path, but also rammed it against the face with a steadily held and enormous pressure, even while climbing almost vertically upward under a burden of over twenty thousand pounds. an armored hand waved a signal--voice was utterly useless--up! a valve was flipped; a huge, flat, steel foot arose; a timber slid into place, creaking and groaning as that big flat foot smashed down. up--again! up--a third time! eighteen seconds--less than one-third of a minute--ten inches gained! and, while it was not easy, two men could hold the burley--in one-minute shifts. as has been intimated, this machine "pimped" for the rotary. it waited on it, ministering to its every need with a singleness of purpose impossible to any except robotic devotion. it picked the rotary's teeth, it freed its linkages, it deloused its ports, it cleared its spillways of compacted debris, it even--and this is a feat starkly unbelievable to anyone who does not know the hardness of neocarballoy and the tensile strength of ultra-special steels--it even changed, while in full operation, the rotary's diamond-tipped cutters. both burley and rotary were extremely efficient, but neither was either quiet or gentle. in their quietest moments they shrieked and groaned and yelled, producing a volume of sound in which nothing softer than a cannon-shot could have been heard. but when, in changing the rotary's cutting teeth, the burley's "fingers" were driven into and through the solid rock--a matter of merest routine to both machines--the resultant blasts of sound cannot even be imagined, to say nothing of being described. and always both machines spewed out torrents of rock, in sizes ranging from impalpable dust up to chunks as big as a fist. as the sag lengthened and the checkerwork grew higher, the work began to slow down. they began to lose the time they had gained. there were plenty of men, but in that narrow bore there simply was not room for enough men to work. even through that storm of dust and hurtling rock the timbermen could get their blocking up there, but they could not place it fast enough--there were too many other men in the way. one of them had to get out. since one man could not _possibly_ run the rotary, one man would have to hold the burley. they tried it, one after another. no soap. it hammered them flat. the rotary, fouled in every tooth and channel and vent under the terrific thrust of two hundred thirty pounds of air, merely gnawed and slid. the timbermen now had room--but nothing to do. and jones, who had been biting at his mustache and ignoring the frantic walkie-talkie for minutes, stared grimly at watch and tape. three minutes left, and over eight feet to go. "gimme that armor!" he rasped, and climbed the blocks. "open the air wide open--give 'er the whole two-fifty! get down, mac--i'll take it the rest of the way!" he put his shoulders to the improvised yoke, braced his feet, and heaved. the burley, screaming and yelling and clamoring, went joyously to work--both ways--god, what punishment! the rotary, free and clear, chewed rock more viciously than ever. an armored hand smote his leg. lift! he lifted that foot, set it down two inches higher. the other one. four inches. six. one foot. two. three. lord of the ancients! was this lifetime of agony only one minute? or wasn't he holding her--had the damn thing stopped cutting? no, it was still cutting--the rocks were banging against and bouncing off of his helmet as viciously and as numerously as ever; he could sense, rather than feel, the furious fashion in which the relays of timbermen were laboring to keep those high-stepping jacks in motion. no, it had been only one minute. twice that long yet to go. god! nothing _could_ be that brutal--a bull elephant couldn't take it--but by all the gods of space and all the devils in hell, he'd stay with it until that sag broke through. and grimly, doggedly, toward the end nine-tenths unconsciously, lensman conway costigan stayed with it. and in the stope so far below, a new and highly authoritative voice blared from the speaker. "jones! god damn it, jones, answer me! if jones isn't there, somebody else answer me--_anybody_!" "yes, sir?" wright was afraid to answer that peremptory call, but more afraid not to. "jones? this is clancy." "no, sir. not jones. wright, sir--top miner." "where's jones?" "up in the sag, sir. he's holding the burley--alone." "_alone!_ hell's purple fires! tell him to--how many men has he got on the rotary?" "two, sir. that's all they's room for." "tell him to quit it--put somebody else on it--i _won't_ have him killed, damn it!" "he's the only one strong enough to hold it, sir, but i'll send up word." word went up via sign language, and came back down. "beggin' your pardon, sir, but he says to tell you to go to hell, sir. he won't have no time for chit-chat, he says, until this goddam sag is through or the juice goes off, sir." a blast of profanity erupted from the speaker, of such violence that the thoroughly scared wright threw the walkie-talkie down the waste-chute, and in the same instant the rotary crashed through. dazed, groggy, barely conscious from his terrific effort, jones stared owlishly through the heavy, steel-braced lenses of his helmet while the timbermen set a few more courses of wood and the rotary walked itself and the clinging burley up and out of the hole. he climbed stiffly out, and as he stared at the pillar of light flaring upward from the sag, his gorge began to rise. "wha's the idea of that damn surveyor lying to us like that?" he babbled. "we had oodles an' oodles of time--didn't have to kill ourselves--damn water ain't got there _yet_--wha's the big...." he wobbled weakly, and took one short step, and the lights went out. the surveyor's estimate had been impossibly, accidentally close. they had had a little extra time; but it was measured very easily in seconds. and jones, logical to the end in a queerly addled way, stood in the almost palpable darkness, and wobbled, and thought. if a man couldn't see anything with his eyes wide open, he was either blind or unconscious. he wasn't blind, therefore he must be unconscious and not know it. he sighed, wearily and gratefully, and collapsed. battery lights were soon reconnected, and everybody knew that they had holed through. there was no more panic. and, even before the shift-boss had recovered full consciousness, he was walking down the drift toward station eleven. there is no need to enlarge upon the rest of that grim and grisly affair. level after level was activated; and, since working upward in mines is vastly faster than working downward, the two parties met on the eighth level. half of the men who would otherwise have died were saved, and--much more important from the viewpoint of uranium, inc.--the deeper and richer half of the biggest and richest uranium mine in existence, instead of being out of production for a year or more, would be back in full operation in a couple of weeks. and george washington jones, still a trifle shaky from his ordeal, was called into the front office. but before he arrived: "i'm going to make him assistant works manager," clancy announced. "i think not." "but listen, mr. isaacson--_please_! how do you expect me to build up a staff if you snatch every good man i find away from me?" "you didn't find him. birkenfeld did. he was here only on a test. he is going into department q." clancy, who had opened his mouth to continue his protests, shut it wordlessly. he knew that department q was-department q. chapter 15 costigan was not surprised to see the man he had known as birkenfeld in uranium's ornate conference room. he had not expected, however, to see isaacson. he knew, of course, that spaceways owned uranium, inc., and the planet eridan, lock, stock, and barrel; but it never entered his modest mind that his case would be of sufficient importance to warrant the personal attention of the big noise himself. hence the sight of that suave and unrevealing face gave the putative jones a more than temporary qualm. isaacson was top-bracket stuff, 'way out of his class. virgil samms ought to be taking this assignment, but since he wasn't-but instead of being an inquisition, the meeting was friendly and informal from the start. they complimented him upon the soundness of his judgment and the accuracy of his decisions. they thanked him, both with words and with a considerable sum of expendable credits. they encouraged him to talk about himself, but there was nothing whatever of the star-chamber or of cross-examination. the last question was representative of the whole conference. "one other thing, jones, has me slightly baffled," isaacson said, with a really winning smile. "since you do not drink, and since you were not in search of feminine ... er ... companionship, just why did you go down to roaring jack's dive?" "two reasons," jones said, with a somewhat shamefaced grin. "the minor one isn't easy to explain, but ... well, i hadn't been having an exactly easy time of it on earth ... you all know about that, i suppose?" they knew. "well, i was taking a very dim view of things in general, and a good fight would get it out of my system. it always does." "i see. and the major reason?" "i knew, of course, that i was on probation. i would have to get promoted, and fast, or stay sunk forever. to get promoted fast, a man can either be enough of a boot-licker to be pulled up from on high, or he can be shoved up by the men he is working with. the best way to get a crowd of hard-rock men to like you is to lick a few of 'em--off hours, of course, and according to hoyle--and the more of 'em you can lick at once, the better. i'm pretty good at rough-and-tumble brawling, so i gambled that the cops would step in before i got banged up too much. i won." "i see," isaacson said again, in an entirely different tone. he did see, now. "the first technique is so universally used that the possibility of the second did not occur to me. nice work--_very_ nice." he turned to the other members of the board. "this, i believe, concludes the business of the meeting?" for some reason or other isaacson nodded slightly as he asked the question; and one by one, as though in concurrence, the others nodded in reply. the meeting broke up. outside the door, however, the magnate did not go about his own business nor send jones about his. instead: "i would like to show you, if i may, the above-ground part of our works?" "my time is yours, sir. i am interested." it is unnecessary here to go into the details of a civilization's greatest uranium operation; the storage bins, the grinders, the wilfley tables and slime tanks, the flotation sluices, the roasters and reducers, the processes of solution and crystallization and recrystallization, of final oxidation and reduction. suffice it to say that isaacson showed jones the whole immensity of uranium works number one. the trip ended on the top floor of the towering administration building, in a heavily-screened room containing a desk, a couple of chairs, and a tremendously massive safe. "smoke up." isaacson indicated a package of jones' favorite brand of cigarettes and lighted a cigar. "you knew that you were under test. i wonder, though, if you knew how much of it was testing?" "all of it." jones grinned. "except for the big blow, of course." "of course." "there were too many possibilities, of too many different kinds, too pat. i might warn you, though--i could have got away clear with that half-million." "the possibility existed." surprisingly, isaacson did not tell him that the trap was more subtle than it had appeared to be. "it was, however, worth the risk. why didn't you?" "because i figure on making more than that, a little later, and i might live longer to spend it." "sound thinking, my boy--really sound. now--you noticed, of course, the vote at the end of the meeting?" jones had noticed it; and, although he did not say so, he had been wondering about it ever since. the older man strolled over to the safe and opened it, revealing a single, startlingly small package. "you passed, unanimously; you are now learning what you have to know. not that we trust you unreservedly. you will be watched for a long time, and before you can make one false step, you will die." "that would seem to be good business, sir." "glad you look at it that way--we thought you would. you saw the works. quite an operation, don't you think?" "immense, sir. the biggest thing i ever saw." "what would you say, then, to the idea of this office being our real headquarters, of that little package there being our real business?" he swung the safe door shut, spun the knob. "it would have been highly surprising a couple of hours ago." costigan could not afford to appear stupid, nor to possess too much knowledge. he had to steer an extremely difficult middle course. "after the climax of this build-up, though, it wouldn't seem at all impossible. or that there were wheels--plenty of 'em!--within wheels." "smart!" isaacson applauded. "and what would you think might be in that package? this room is ray-proof." "against anything the galactic patrol can swing?" "positively." "well, then, it _might_ be something beginning with the letter" he flicked two fingers, almost invisibly fast, into a t and went on without a break "m, as in morphine." "your caution and restraint are commendable. if i had any remaining doubt as to your ability, it is gone." he paused, frowning. as belief in ability increased, that in sincerity lessened. this doubt, this questioning, existed every time a new executive was initiated into the mysteries of department q. the board's judgment was good. they had slipped only twice, and those two errors had been corrected easily enough. the fellow had been warned once; that was enough. he took the plunge. "you will work with the assistant works manager here until you understand the duties of the position. you will be transferred to tellus as assistant works manager there. your principal duties will, however, be concerned with department q--which you will head up one day if you make good. and, just incidentally, when you go to tellus, a package like that one in the safe will go with you." "oh ... i see. i'll make good, sir." jones let isaacson see his jaw-muscles tighten in resolve. "it may take a little time for me to learn my way around, sir, but i'll learn it." "i'm sure you will. and now, to go into greater detail...." * * * * * virgil samms had to be sure of his facts. more than that, he had to be able to prove them; not merely to the satisfaction of a law-enforcement officer, but beyond any reasonable doubt of the hardest-headed member of a cynical and skeptical jury. wherefore jack kinnison and mase northrop took up the thionite trail at the exact point where, each trip, george olmstead had had to abandon it; in the atmosphere of cavenda. and fortunately, not too much preparation was required. cavenda was, as has been intimated, a primitive world. its native people, humanoid in type, had developed a culture approximating in some respects that of the north american indian at about the time of columbus, in others that of the ancient nomads of araby. thus a couple of wandering natives, unrecognizable under their dirty stormproof blankets and their scarcely thinner layers of grease and grime, watched impassively, incuriously, while a box floated pendant from its parachute from sky to ground. mounted upon their uncouth steeds, they followed that box when it was hauled to the white man's village. unlike many of the other natives, these two did not shuffle into that village, to lean silently against a rock or a wall awaiting their turns to exchange a few hours of simple labor for a container of a new and highly potent beverage. they did, however, keep themselves constantly and minutely informed as to everything these strange, devil-ridden white men did. one of these pseudo-natives wandered off into the wilderness two or three days before the huge thing-which-flies-without-wings left ground; the other immediately afterward. thus the departure of the space-ship from cavenda was recorded, as was its arrival at eridan. it had been extremely difficult for the patrol's engineers to devise ways and means of tracing that ship from departure to arrival without exciting suspicion, but it had not proved impossible. and jack kinnison, lounging idly and elegantly in the concourse of danopolis spaceport, seethed imperceptibly. having swallowed a tiny service special capsule that morning, he knew that he had been under continuous spy-ray inspection for over two hours. he had not given himself away--practically everybody screened their inside coat pockets and hip pockets, and the cat-whisker lead from lens to leg simply could not be seen--but for all the good they were doing him his ultra-instruments might just as well have been back on tellus. "mase!" he sent, with no change whatever in the vapid expression then on his face. "i'm still covered. are you?" "covered!" the answering thought was a snort. "they're covering me like water covers a submarine!" "keep tuned. i'll call spud. spud!" "come in, jack." conway costigan, alone now in the sanctum of department q, did not seem to be busy, but he was. "that red herring they told us to drag across the trail was too damned red. they must be touchier than fulminate to spy-work on their armed forces--neither mase nor i can do a lick of work. anybody else covered?" "no. all clear." "good. tell them the zwilnik blockers took us out." "i'll do that. distance only, or is somebody on your tail?" "somebody; and i mean _some body_. a slick chick with a classy chassis; a blonde, with great, big come-hither eyes. too good to be true; especially the falsies. wiring, my friend--and i haven't been able to get a close look, but i wouldn't wonder if her nostrils had a skillionth of a whillimeter too much expansion. i want a spy-ray op--is it safe to use fred?" kinnison referred to the grizzled engineer now puttering about in a certain space-ship; not the one in which he and northrop had come to eridan. "definitely not. i can do it myself and still stay very much in character.... no, i don't know her. not surprising, of course, since the policy here is never to let the right hand know what the left is doing. how about you, mase? have you got a little girl-friend, too?" "yea, verily, brother; but not little. more my size." northrop pointed out a tall, trim brunette, strolling along with the effortless, consciously unconscious poise of the professional model. "hm ... m ... m. i don't know her, either," costigan reported, "but both of them are wearing four-inch spy-ray blocks and are probably wired up like christmas trees. by inference, p-gun proof. i can't penetrate, of course, but maybe i can get a viewpoint.... you're right, jack. nostrils plugged. anti-thionite, anti-vee-two, anti-everything. in fact, anti-social. i'll spread their pictures around and see if anybody knows either of them." he did so, and over a hundred of the patrol's shrewdest operatives--upon this occasion north america had invaded eridan in force--studied and thought. no one knew the tall brunette, but-"i know the blonde." this was parker of washington, a service ace for twenty five years. "'hell-cat hazel' deforce, the hardest-boiled babe unhung. watch your step around her; she's just as handy with a knife and knock-out drops as she is with a gun." "thanks, parker. i've heard of her." costigan was thinking fast. "free-lance. no way of telling who she's working for at the moment." this was a statement, not a question. "only that it would have to be somebody with a lot of money. her price is high. that all?" "that's all, fellows." then, to jack and northrop: "my thought is that you two guys are completely out-classed--out-weighed, out-numbered, out-manned, and out-gunned. undressed, you're sitting ducks; and if you put out any screens it'll crystallize their suspicions and they'll grab you right then--or maybe even knock you off. you'd better get out of here at full blast; you can't do any more good here, the way things are." "sure we can!" kinnison protested. "you wanted a diversion, didn't you?" "yes, but you already...." "what we've done already isn't a patch to what we can do next. we can set up such a diversion that the boys can walk right on the thionite-carrier's heels without anybody paying any attention. by the way, you don't know yet who is going to carry it, do you?" "no. no penetration at all." "you soon will, bucko. watch our smoke!" "what do you think you're going to do?" costigan demanded, sharply. "this." jack explained. "and don't try to say no. we're on our own, you know." "we ... l ... l ... it sounds good, and if you can pull it off it will help no end. go ahead." the demurely luscious blonde stared disconsolately at the bulletin board, upon which another thirty minutes was being added to the time of arrival of a ship already three hours late. she picked up a book, glanced at its cover, put it down. her hand moved toward a magazine, drew back, dropped idly into her lap. she sighed, stifled a yawn prettily, leaned backward in her seat--in such a position, jack noticed, that he could not see into her nostrils--and closed her eyes. and jack kinnison, coming visibly to a decision, sat down beside her. "pardon me, miss, but i feel just like you look. can you tell me why convention decrees that two people, stuck in this concourse by arrivals that nobody knows when will arrive, have got to suffer alone when they could have so much more fun suffering together?" the girl's eyes opened slowly; she was neither startled, nor afraid, nor--it seemed--even interested. in fact, she gazed at him with so much disinterest and for so long a time that he began to wonder--was she going to play sweet and innocent to the end? "yes, conventions _are_ stupid, sometimes," she admitted finally, her lovely lips curving into the beginnings of a smile. her voice, low and sweet, matched perfectly the rest of her charming self. "after all, perfectly nice people do meet informally on shipboard; why not in concourses?" "why not, indeed? and i'm perfectly nice people, i assure you. willi borden is the name. my friends call me bill. and you?" "beatrice bailey; bee for short. tell me what you like, and we'll talk about it." "why talk, when we could be eating? i'm with a guy. he's out on the field somewhere--a big bruiser with a pencil-stripe black mustache. maybe you saw him talking to me a while back?" "i think so, now that you mention him. too big--_much_ too big." the girl spoke carelessly, but managed to make it very clear that jack kinnison was just exactly the right size. "why?" "i told him i'd have supper with him. shall we hunt him up and eat together?" "why not? is he alone?" "he was, when i saw him last." although jack knew exactly where northrop was, and who was with him, he had to play safe; he did not know how much this "bee bailey" really knew. "he knows a lot more people around here than i do, though, so maybe he isn't now. let me carry some of that plunder?" "you might carry those books--thanks. but the field is so _big_--how do you expect to find him? or do you know where he is?" "uh-uh!" he denied, vigorously. this was the critical moment. she certainly wasn't suspicious--yet--but she was showing signs of not wanting to go out there, and if she refused to go.... "to be honest, i don't care whether i find him or not--the idea of ditching him appeals to me more and more. so how about this? we'll dash out to the third dock--just so i won't have to actually lie about looking for him--and dash right back here. or wouldn't you rather have it a twosome?" "i refuse to answer, by advice of counsel." the girl laughed gaily, but her answer was plain enough. their rate of progress was by no means a dash, and kinnison did not look--with his eyes--for northrop. nevertheless, just south of the third dock, the two young couples met. "my cousin, grace james," northrop said, without a tremor or a quiver. "wild willi borden, grace--usually called baldy on account of his hair." the girls were introduced; each vouchsafing the other a completely meaningless smile and a colorlessly conventional word of greeting. were they, in fact as in seeming, total strangers? or were they in fact working together as closely as were the two young lensmen themselves? if that was acting, it was a beautiful job; neither man could detect the slightest flaw in the performance of either girl. "whither away, pilot?" jack allowed no lapse of time. "you know all the places around here. lead us to a good one." "this way, my old and fragrant fruit." northrop led off with a flourish, and again jack tensed. the walk led straight past the third-class, apparently deserted dock of which a certain ultra-fast vessel was the only occupant. if nothing happened for fifteen more seconds.... nothing did. the laughing, chattering four came abreast of the portal. the door swung open and the lensmen went into action. they did not like to strong-arm women, but speed was their first consideration, with safety a close second; and it is impossible for a man to make speed while carrying a conscious, lithe, strong, heavily-armed woman in such a position that she cannot use fists, feet, teeth, gun or knife. an unconscious woman, on the other hand, can be carried easily and safely enough. therefore jack spun his partner around, forced both of her hands into one of his. the free hand flashed upward toward the neck; a hard finger pressed unerringly against a nerve; the girl went limp. the two victims were hustled aboard and the space-ship, surrounded now by full-coverage screen, took off. kinnison paid no attention to ship or course; orders had been given long since and would be carried out. instead, he lowered his burden to the floor, spread her out flat, and sought out and removed item after item of wiring, apparatus, and offensive and defensive armament. he did not undress her--quite--but he made completely certain that the only weapons left to the young lady were those with which nature had endowed her. and, northrop having taken care of his alleged cousin with equal thoroughness, the small-arms were sent out and both doors of the room were securely locked. "now, hell-cat hazel deforce," kinnison said, conversationally, "you can snap out of it any time--you've been back to normal for at least two minutes. you've found out that your famous sex-appeal won't work. there's nothing loose you can grab, and you're too smart an operator to tackle me bare-handed. who's the captain of your team--you or the clothes-horse?" "clothes-horse!" the statuesque brunette exclaimed, but her protests were drowned out. the blonde could--and did--talk louder, faster, and rougher. "do you think you can get away with _this_?" she demanded. "why, you ..." and the unexpurgated, trenchant, brilliantly detailed characterization could have seared its way through four-ply asbestos. "and just what do you think you're going to do with me?" "as to the first, i think so," kinnison replied, ignoring the deep-space verbiage. "as to the second--as of now i don't know. what would you do if our situations were reversed?" "i'd blast you to a cinder--or else take a knife and...." "hazel!" the brunette cautioned sharply. "careful! you'll touch them off and they'll...." "shut up, jane! they won't hurt us any more than they have already; it's psychologically impossible. isn't that true, copper?" hazel lighted a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and blew a cloud of smoke at kinnison's face. "pretty much so, i guess," the lensman admitted, frankly enough, "but we can put you away for the rest of your lives." "space-happy? or do you think i am?" she sneered. "what would you use for a case? we're as safe as if we were in god's pocket. and besides, our positions _will_ be reversed pretty quick. you may not know it, but the fastest ships in space are chasing us, right now." "for once you're wrong. we've got plenty of legs ourselves and we're blasting for rendezvous with a task-force. but enough of this chatter. i want to know what job you're on and why you picked on us. give." "oh, does 'oo?" hazel cooed, venomously. "come and sit on mama's lap, itty bitty soldier boy, and she'll tell you everything you want to know." both lensmen probed, then, with everything they had, but learned nothing of value. the women did not know what the patrolmen were trying to do, but they were so intensely hostile that their mental blocks, unconscious although they were, were as effective as full-driven thought screens against the most insidious approaches the men could make. "anything in their hand-bags, mase?" jack asked, finally. "i'll look.... nothing much--just this," and the very tonelessness of northrop's voice made jack look up quickly. "just a letter from the boy-friend." hazel shrugged her shoulders. "nothing hot--not even warm--go ahead and read it." "not interested in what it says, but it might be smart to develop it, envelope and all, for invisible ink and whatnot." he did so, deeming it a worth-while expenditure of time. he already knew what the hidden message was; but no one not of the patrol should know that no transmission of intelligence, however coded or garbled or disguised or by whatever means sent, could be concealed from any wearer of arisia's lens. "listen, hazel," kinnison said, holding up the now slightly stained paper. "'three six two'--that's you, i suppose, and you're the squad leader--'men mentioned previously being investigated stop assign three nine eight'--that must be you, jane--'and make acquaintance stop if no further instructions received by eighteen hundred hours liquidate immediately stop party one'." the blond operative lost for the first time her brazen control. "why ... that code is _unbreakable_!" she gasped. "wrong again, gentle alice. some of us are specialists." he directed a thought at northrop. "this changes things slightly, mase. i was going to turn them loose, but now i don't know. better we take it up with the boss, don't you think?" "pos-i-_tive_-ly!" samms was called, and considered the matter for approximately one minute. "your first idea was right, jack. let them go. the message may be helpful and informative, but the women would not. they know nothing. congratulations, boys, on the complete success of operation red herring." "ouch!" jack grimaced mentally to his partner after the first lensman had cut off. "they know enough to be in on bumping you and me off, but that ain't important, says he!" "and it ain't, bub," northrop grinned back. "moderately so, maybe, if they had got us, but not at all so now they can't. the lensmen have landed and the situation is well in hand. it is written. selah." "check. let's wrap it up." jack turned to the blonde. "come on, hazel. out. number four lifeboat. do you want to come peaceably or shall i work on your neck again?" "you could think of other places that would be more fun." she got up and stared directly into his eyes, her lip curling. "that is, if you were a _man_ instead of a sublimated boy scout." kinnison, without a word, wheeled and unlocked a door. hazel swaggered forward, but the taller girl hung back. "are you sure there's air--and they'll pick us up? maybe they're going to make us breathe space...." "huh? they haven't got the guts," hazel sneered. "come on, jane. number four, you said, darling?" she led the way. kinnison opened the portal. jane hurried aboard, but hazel paused and held out her arms. "aren't you even going to kiss mama goodbye, baby boy?" she taunted. "better not waste much more time. we blow this boat, sealed or open, in fifteen seconds." by what effort kinnison held his voice level and expressionless, he hoped the wench would never know. she looked at him, started to say something, looked again. she had gone just about as far as it was safe to go. she stepped into the boat and reached for the lever. and as the valve was swinging smoothly shut the men heard a tinkling laugh, reminiscent of icicles breaking against steel bells. "hell's--brazen--hinges!" kinnison wiped his forehead as the lifeboat shot away. hazel was something brand new to him; a phenomenon with which none of his education, training, or experience had equipped him to cope. "i've heard about the guy who got hold of a tiger by the tail, but...." his thought expired on a wondering, confused note. "yeah." northrop was in no better case. "we won--technically--i guess--or did we? that was a god-awful drubbing we took, mister." "well, we got away alive, anyway.... we'll tell parker his dope is correct to the proverbial twenty decimals. and now that we've escaped, let's call spud and see how things came out." and costigan-jones assured them that everything had come out very well indeed. the shipment of thionite had been followed without any difficulty at all, from the space-ship clear through to jones' own office, and it reposed now in department q's own safe, under jones' personal watch and ward. the pressure had lightened tremendously, just as kinnison and northrop had thought it would, when they set up their diversion. costigan listened impassively to the whole story. "now _should_ i have shot her, or not?" jack demanded. "not whether i _could_ have or not--i couldn't--but _should_ i have, spud?" "i don't know." costigan thought for minutes. "i don't think so. no--not in cold blood. i couldn't have, either, and wouldn't if i could. it wouldn't be worth it. somebody will shoot her some day, but not one of us--unless, of course, it's in a fight." "thanks, spud; that makes me feel better. off." costigan-jones' desk was already clear, since there was little or no paper-work connected with his position in department q. hence his preparations for departure were few and simple. he merely opened the safe, stuck the package into his pocket, closed and locked the safe, and took a company ground-car to the spaceport. nor was there any more formality about his leaving the planet. eridan had, of course, a customs frontier of sorts; but since uranium inc. owned eridan in fee simple, its customs paid no attention whatever to company ships or to low-number, gold-badge company men. nor did jones need ticket, passport, or visa. company men rode company ships to and from company plants, wherever situated, without let or hindrance. thus, wearing the aura of power of his new position--and gold badge number thirty eight--george w. jones was whisked out to the uranium ship and was shown to his cabin. nor was it surprising that the trip from eridan to earth was completely without incident. this was an ordinary freighter, hauling uranium on a routine flight. her cargo was valuable, of course--the sine qua non of inter-stellar trade--but in no sense precious. not pirate-bait, by any means. and only two men knew that this flight was in any whit different from the one which had preceded it or the one which would follow it. if this ship was escorted or guarded the fact was not apparent: and no patrol vessel came nearer to it than four detets--virgil samms and roderick kinnison saw to that. the voyage, however, was not tedious. jones was busy every minute. in fact, there were scarcely minutes enough in which to assimilate the material which isaacson had given him--the layouts, flow-sheets, and organization charts of works number eighteen, on tellus. and upon arrival at the private spaceport which was an integral part of works number eighteen, jones was not surprised (he knew more now than he had known a few weeks before; and infinitely more than the man on the street) to learn that the customs men of this particular north american port of entry were just as complaisant as were those of eridan. they did not bother even to count the boxes, to say nothing of inspecting them. they stamped the ship's papers without either reading or checking them. they made a perfunctory search, it is true, of crewmen and quarters, but a low number gold badge was still a magic talisman. unquestioned, sacrosanct, he and his baggage were escorted to the ground-car first in line. "administration building," jones-costigan told the hacker, and that was that. chapter 16 it has been said that the basic drive of the eddorians was a lust for power; a thought which should be elucidated and perhaps slightly modified. their warrings, their strifes, their internecine intrigues and connivings were inevitable because of the tremendousness and capability--and the limitations--of their minds. not enough _could_ occur upon any one planet to keep such minds as theirs even partially occupied; and, unlike the arisians, they could not satiate themselves in a static philosophical study of the infinite possibilities of the cosmic all. they had to be _doing_ something; or, better yet, making other and lesser beings do things to make the physical universe conform to their idea of what a universe should be. their first care was to set up the various echelons of control. the second echelon, immediately below the masters, was of course the most important, and after a survey of both galaxies they decided to give this high honor to the ploorans. ploor, as is now well known, was a planet of a sun so variable that all plooran life had to undergo radical cyclical changes in physical form in order to live through the tremendous climatic changes involved in its every year. physical form, however, meant nothing to the eddorians. since no other planet even remotely like theirs existed in this, our normal plenum, physiques like theirs would be impossible; and the plooran mentality left very little to be desired. in the third echelon there were many different races, among which the frigid-blooded, poison-breathing eich were perhaps the most efficient and most callous; and in the fourth there were millions upon millions of entities representing thousands upon thousands of widely-variant races. thus, at the pinpoint in history represented by the time of virgil samms and roderick kinnison, the eddorians were busy; and if such a word can be used, happy. gharlane of eddore, second in authority only to the all-highest, his ultimate supremacy himself, paid little attention to any one planet or to any one race. even such a mind as his, when directing the affairs of twenty million and then sixty million and then a hundred million worlds, can do so only in broad, and not in fine. and thus the reports which were now flooding in to gharlane in a constantly increasing stream concerned classes and groups of worlds, and solar systems, and galactic regions. a planet might perhaps be mentioned as representative of a class, but no individual entity lower than a plooran was named or discussed. gharlane analyzed those tremendous reports; collated, digested, compared, and reconciled them; determined trends and tendencies and most probable resultants. gharlane issued orders, the carrying out of which would make an entire galactic region fit more and ever more exactly into the great plan. but, as has been pointed out, there was one flaw inherent in the boskonian system. underlings, then as now, were prone to gloss over their own mistakes, to cover up their own incompetences. thus, since he had no reason to inquire specifically, gharlane did not know that anything whatever had gone amiss on sol three, the pestiferous planet which had formerly caused him more trouble than all the rest of his worlds combined. after the fact, it is easy to say that he should have continued his personal supervision of earth, but can that view be defended? egotistical, self-confident, arrogant, gharlane _knew_ that he had finally whipped tellus into line. it was the same now as any other planet of its class. and even had he thought it worth while to make such a glaring exception, would not the fused elders of arisia have intervened? be those things as they may, gharlane did not know that the new-born galactic patrol had been successful in defending triplanetary's hill against the black fleet. nor did the plooran assistant director in charge. nor did any member of that dreadful group of eich which was even then calling itself the council of boskone. the highest-ranking boskonian who knew of the fiasco, calmly confident of his own ability, had not considered this minor reverse of sufficient importance to report to his immediate superior. he had already taken steps to correct the condition. in fact, as matters now stood, the thing was more fortunate than otherwise, in that it would lull the patrol into believing themselves in a position of superiority--a belief which would, at election time, prove fatal. this being, human to the limit of classification except for a faint but unmistakable blue coloration, had been closeted with senator morgan for a matter of two hours. "in the matters covered, your reports have been complete and conclusive," the visitor said finally, "but you have not reported on the lens." "purposely. we are investigating it, but any report based upon our present knowledge would be partial and inconclusive." "i see. commendable enough, usually. news of this phenomenon has, however, gone farther and higher than you think and i have been ordered to take cognizance of it; to decide whether or not to handle it myself." "i am thoroughly capable of...." "i will decide that, not you." morgan subsided. "a partial report is therefore in order. go ahead." "according to the procedure submitted and approved, a lensman was taken alive. since the lens has telepathic properties, and hence is presumably operative at great distances, the operation was carried out in the shortest possible time. the lens, immediately upon removal from the patrolman's arm, ceased to radiate and the operative who held the thing died. it was then applied by force to four other men--workers, these, of no importance. all four died, thus obviating all possibility of coincidence. an attempt was made to analyze a fragment of the active material, without success. it seemed to be completely inert. neither was it affected by electrical discharges or by sub-atomic bombardment, nor by any temperatures available. meanwhile, the man was of course being questioned, under truth-drug and beams. his mind denied any knowledge of the nature of the lens; a thing which i am rather inclined to believe. his mind adhered to the belief that he obtained the lens upon the planet arisia. i am offering for your consideration my opinion that the high-ranking officers of the patrol are using hypnotism to conceal the real source of the lens." "your opinion is accepted for consideration." "the man died during examination. two minutes after his death his lens disappeared." "disappeared? what do you mean? flew away? vanished? was stolen? disintegrated? or what?" "no. more like evaporation or sublimation, except that there was no gradual diminution in volume, and there was no detectable residue, either solid, liquid, or gaseous. the platinum-alloy bracelet remained intact." "and then?" "the patrol attacked in force and our expedition was destroyed." "you are sure of these observational facts?" "i have the detailed records. would you like to see them?" "send them to my office. i hereby relieve you of all responsibility in the matter of the lens. in fact, even i may decide to refer it to a higher echelon. have you any other material, not necessarily facts, which may have bearing?" "none," morgan replied; and it was just as well for virgilia samms' continued well-being that the senator did not think it worth while to mention the traceless disappearance of his number one secretary and a few members of a certain unsavory gang. to his way of thinking, the lens was not involved, except perhaps very incidentally. herkimer, in spite of advice and orders, had probably got rough with the girl, and samms' mob had rubbed him out. served him right. "i have no criticism of any phase of your work. you are doing a particularly nice job on thionite. you are of course observing all specified precautions as to key personnel?" "certainly. thorough testing and unremitting watchfulness. our mr. isaacson is about to promote a man who has proved very capable. would you like to observe the proceedings?" "no. i have no time for minor matters. your results have been satisfactory. keep them that way. good-bye." the visitor strode out. morgan reached for a switch, then drew his hand back. no. he would like to sit in on the forthcoming interview, but he did not have the time. he had tested olmstead repeatedly and personally; he knew what the man was. it was isaacson's department; let isaacson handle it. he himself must work full time at the job which only he could handle; the nationalists must and would win this forthcoming election. and in the office of the president of interstellar spaceways, isaacson got up and shook hands with george olmstead. "i called you in for two reasons. first, in reply to your message that you were ready for a bigger job. what makes you think that any such are available?" "do i need to answer that?" "perhaps not ... no." the magnate smiled quietly. morgan was right; this man could not be accused of being dumb. "there is such a job, you are ready for it, and you have your successor trained in the work of harvesting. second, why did you cut down, instead of increasing as ordered, the weight of broadleaf per trip? this, olmstead, is really serious." "i explained why. it would have been more serious the other way. didn't you believe i knew what i was talking about?" "your reasoning may have been distorted in transmittal. i want it straight from you." "very well. it isn't smart to be greedy. there's a point at which something that has been merely a nuisance becomes a thing that _has_ to be wiped out. since i didn't want to be in that ferry when the patrol blows it out of the ether, i cut down the take, and i advise you to keep it down. what you're getting now is a lot more than you ever got before, and a _hell_ of a lot more than none at all. think it over." "i see. upon what basis did you arrive at the figure you established?" "pure guesswork, nothing else. i guessed that about three hundred percent of the previous average per month ought to satisfy anybody who wasn't too greedy to have good sense, and that more than that would ring a loud, clear bell right where we don't want any noise made. so i cut it down to three, and advised ferdy either to keep it at three or quit while he was still all in one piece." "you exceeded your authority ... and were insubordinate ... but it wouldn't surprise me if you were right. you are certainly right in principle, and the poundage can be determined by statistical and psychological analysis. but in the meantime, there is tremendous pressure for increased production." "i know it. pressure be damned. my dear cousin virgil is, as you already know, a crackpot. he is visionary, idealistic, full of sweet and beautiful concepts of what the universe would be like if there weren't so many people like you and me in it; but don't ever make the mistake of writing him off as anybody's fool. and you know, probably better than i do, what rod kinnison is like. if i were you i'd tell whoever is doing the screaming to shut their damn mouths before they get their teeth kicked down their throats." "i'm very much inclined to take your advice. and now as to this proposed promotion. you are of course familiar in a general way with our operation at northport?" "i could scarcely help knowing _something_ about the biggest uranium works on earth. however, i am not well enough qualified in detail to make a good technical executive." "nor is it necessary. our thought is to make you a key man in a new and increasingly important branch of the business, known as department q. it is concerned neither with production nor with uranium." "q as in 'quiet', eh? i'm listening with both ears. what duties would be connected with this ... er ... position? what would i really do?" two pairs of hard eyes locked and held, staring yieldlessly into each other's depths. "you would not be unduly surprised to learn that substances other than uranium occasionally reach northport?" "not _too_ surprised, no," olmstead replied dryly. "what would i do with it?" "we need not go into that here or now. i offer you the position." "i accept it." "very well. i will take you to northport, and we will continue our talk en route." and in a spy-ray-proof, sound-proof compartment of a spaceways-owned stratoliner they did so. "just for my information, mr. isaacson, how many predecessors have i had on this particular job, and what happened to them? the patrol get them?" "two. no; we have not been able to find any evidence that the samms crowd has any suspicion of us. both were too small for the job; neither could handle personnel. one got funny ideas, the other couldn't stand the strain. if you don't get funny ideas, and don't crack up, you will make out in a big--and i mean _really_ big--way." "if i do either i'll be more than somewhat surprised." olmstead's features set themselves into a mirthless, uncompromising, somehow bitter grin. "so will i." isaacson agreed. he knew what this man was, and just how case-hardened he was. he knew that he had fought morgan himself to a scoreless tie after twisting herkimer--and he was no soft touch--into a pretzel in nothing flat. at the thought of the secretary, so recently and so mysteriously vanished, the magnate's mind left for a moment the matter in hand. what was at the bottom of that affair--the lens or the woman? or both? if he were in morgan's shoes ... but he wasn't. he had enough grief of his own, without worrying about any of morgan's stinkeroos. he studied olmstead's inscrutable, subtly sneering smile and knew that he had made a wise decision. "i gather that i am going to be one of the main links in the primary chain of deliveries. what's the technique, and how do i cover up?" "technique first. you go fishing. you are an expert at that, i believe?" "you might say so. i won't have to do any faking there." "some week-end soon, and _every_ week-end later on, we hope, you will indulge in your favorite sport at some lake or other. you will take the customary solid and liquid refreshments along in a lunch-box. when you have finished eating you will toss the lunch-box overboard." "that all?" "that's all." "the lunch-box, then, will be slightly special?" "more or less, although it will look ordinary enough. now as to the cover-up. how would 'director of research' sound?" "i don't know. depends on what the researchers are doing. before i became an engineer i was a pure scientist of sorts; but that was quite a while ago and i was never a specialist." "that is one reason why i think you will do. we have plenty of specialists--too many, i often think. they dash off in all directions, without rhyme or reason. what we want is a man with enough scientific training to know in general what is going on, but what he will need mostly is hard common sense, and enough ability--mental force, you might call it--to hold the specialists down to earth and make them pull together. if you can do it--and if i didn't think you could i wouldn't be talking to you--the whole force will know that you are earning your pay; just as we could not hide the fact that your two predecessors weren't." "put that way it sounds good. i wouldn't wonder if i could handle it." the conversation went on, but the rest of it is of little importance here. the plane landed. isaacson introduced the new director of research to works manager rand, who in turn introduced him to a few of his scientists and to the svelte and spectacular red-head who was to be his private secretary. it was clear from the first that the research department was not going to be an easy one to manage. the top men were defiant, the middle ranks were sullen, the smaller fry were apprehensive as well as sullen. the secretary flaunted chips on both shapely shoulders. men and women alike expected the application of the old wheeze "a new broom sweeps clean" for the third time in scarcely twice that many months, and they were defying him to do his worst. wherefore they were very much surprised when the new boss did nothing whatever for two solid weeks except read reports and get acquainted with his department. "how d'ya like your new boss, may?" another secretary asked, during a break. "oh, not too bad ... i guess." may's tone was full of reservations. "he's quiet--sort of reserved--no passes or anything like that--it'd be funny if i finally got a boss that had something on the ball, wouldn't it? but you know what, molly?" the red-head giggled suddenly. "i had a camera-fiend first, you know, with a million credits' worth of stereo-cams and such stuff, and then a golf-nut. i wonder what this dr. olmstead does with his spare cash?" "you'll find out, dearie, no doubt." molly's tone gave the words a meaning slightly different from the semantic one of their arrangement. "i intend to, molly--i _fully_ intend to." may's meaning, too, was not expressed exactly by the sequence of words used. "it must be tough, a boss's life. having to sit at a desk or be in conference six or seven hours a day--when he isn't playing around somewhere--for a measly thousand credits or so a month. how do they get that way?" "you said it, may. you _really_ said it. but we'll get ours, huh?" time went on. george olmstead studied reports, and more reports. he read one, and re-read it, frowning. he compared it minutely with another; then sent red-headed may to hunt up one which had been turned in a couple of weeks before. he took them home that evening, and in the morning he punched three buttons. three stiffly polite young men obeyed his summons. "good morning, doctor olmstead." "morning, boys. i'm not up on the fundamental theory of any one of these three reports, but if you combine this, and this, and this," indicating heavily-penciled sections of the three documents, "would you, or would you not, be able to work out a process that would do away with about three-quarters of the final purification and separation processes?" they did not know. it had not been the business of any one of them, or of all them collectively, to find out. "i'm making it your business as of now. drop whatever you're doing, put your heads together, and find out. theory first, then a small-scale laboratory experiment. then come back here on the double." "yes, sir," and in a few days they were back. "does it work?" "in theory it should, sir, and on a laboratory scale it does." the three young men were, if possible, even stiffer than before. it was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that a director of research would seize credit for work which he was not capable of doing. "good. miss reed, get me rand ... rand? olmstead. three of my boys have just hatched out something that may be worth quite a few million credits a year to us.... me? hell, no! talk to them. i can't understand any one of the three parts of it, to say nothing of inventing it. i want you to give 'em a class aaa priority on the pilot plant, as of right now. if they can develop it, and i'm betting they can, i'm going to put their pictures in the northport news and give 'em a couple of thousand credits apiece and a couple of weeks vacation to spend it in.... yeah, i'll send 'em in." he turned to the flabbergasted three. "take your dope in to rand--now. show him what you've got; then tear into that pilot plant." and, a little later, molly and may again met in the powder room. "so your new boss is a _fisherman_!" molly snickered. "and they say he paid over _two hundred credits_ for a _reel_! you were right, may; a boss's life must be mighty hard to take. and he sits around more and does less, they say, than any other exec in the plant." "_who_ says so, the dirty, sneaking liars?" the red-head blazed, completely unaware that she had reversed her former position. "and even if it _was_ so, which it isn't, he can do more work sitting perfectly still than any other boss in the whole works can do tearing around at forty parsecs a minute, so there!" george olmstead was earning his salary. his position was fully consolidated when, a few days later, a tremor of excitement ran through the research department. "heads up, everybody! mr. isaacson--himself--is coming--_here_! what for, i wonder? y'don't s'pose he's going to take the old man away from us already, do you?" he came. he went through, for the first time, the entire department. he observed minutely, and he understood what he saw. olmstead led the big boss into his private office and flipped the switch which supposedly rendered that sanctum proof against any and all forms of spying, eavesdropping, intrusion, and communication. it did not, however, close the deeper, subtler channels which the lensmen used. "good work, george. so _damned_ good that i'm going to have to take you out of department q entirely and make you works manager of our new plant on vegia. have you got a man you can break in to take your place here?" "including department q? no." although olmstead did not show it, he was disappointed at hearing the word "vegia". he had been aiming much higher than that--at the secret planet of the boskonian armed forces, no less--but there might still be enough time to win a transfer there. "excluding. i've got another good man here now for that. jones. not heavy enough, though, for vegia." "in that case, yes. dr. whitworth, one of the boys who worked out the new process. it'll take a little time, though. three weeks minimum." "three weeks it is. today's friday. you've got things in shape, haven't you, so that you can take the week-end off?" "i was figuring on it. i'm not going where i thought i was, though, i imagine." "probably not. lake chesuncook, on route 273. rough country, and the hotel is something less than fourth rate, but the fishing can't be beat." "i'm glad of that. when i fish, i like to catch something." "it would smell if you didn't. they stock lunch-boxes in the cafeteria, you know. have your girl get you one, full of sandwiches and stuff. start early this afternoon, as soon as you can after i leave. be sure and see jones, with your lunch-box, before you leave. good-bye." "miss reed, please send whitworth in. then skip down to the cafeteria and get me a lunch-box. sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. provender suitable for a wet and hungry fisherman." "yes, _sir_!" there were no chips now; the red-head's boss was the top ace of the whole plant. "hi, ned. take the throne." olmstead waved his hand at the now vacant chair behind the big desk. "hold it down 'til i get back. monday, maybe." "going fishing, huh?" gone was all trace of stiffness, of reserve, of unfriendliness. "you big, lucky stiff!" "well, my brilliant young squirt, maybe you'll get old and fat enough to go fishing yourself some day. who knows? 'bye." lunch-box in hand and encumbered with tackle, olmstead walked blithely along the corridor to the office of assistant works manager jones. while he had not known just what to expect, he was not surprised to see a lunch-box exactly like his own upon the side-table. he placed his box beside it. "hi, olmstead." by no slightest flicker of expression did either lensman step out of character. "shoving off early?" "yeah. dropped by to let the head office know i won't be in 'til monday." "o.k. so'm i, but more speed for me. chemquassabamticook lake." "do you pronounce that or sneeze it? but have fun, my boy. i'm combining business with pleasure, though--breaking in whitworth on my job. that fairplay thing is going to break in about an hour, and it'll scare the pants off of him. but it'll keep until monday, anyway, and if he handles it right he's just about in." jones grinned. "a bit brutal, perhaps, but a sure way to find out. 'bye." "so long." olmstead strolled out, nonchalantly picking up the wrong lunch box on the way, and left the building. he ordered his dillingham, and tossed the lunch-box aboard as carelessly as though it did not contain an unknown number of millions of credits' worth of clear-quill, uncut thionite. "i hope you have a nice week-end, sir," the yard-man said, as he helped stow baggage and tackle. "thanks, otto. i'll bring you a couple of fish monday, if i catch that many," and it should be said in passing that he brought them. lensmen keep their promises, under whatever circumstances or however lightly given. it being mid-afternoon of friday, the traffic was already heavy. northport was not a metropolis, of course; but on the other hand it did not have metropolitan multi-tiered, one-way, non-intersecting streets. but olmstead was in no hurry. he inched his spectacular mount--it was a violently iridescent chrome green in color, with highly polished chromium gingerbread wherever there was any excuse for gingerbread to be--across the city and into the north-bound side of the superhighway. even then, he did not hurry. he wanted to hit the inspection station at the edge of the preserve at dusk. ninety miles an hour would do it. he worked his way into the ninety-mile lane and became motionless relative to the other vehicles on the strip. it was a peculiar sensation; it seemed as though the cars themselves were stationary, with the pavement flowing backward beneath them. there was no passing, no weaving, no cutting in and out. only occasionally would the formation be broken as a car would shift almost imperceptibly to one side or the other; speeding up or slowing down to match the assigned speed of the neighboring way. the afternoon was bright and clear, neither too hot nor too cold. olmstead enjoyed his drive thoroughly, and arrived at the turn-off right on schedule. leaving the wide, smooth way, he slowed down abruptly; even a dillingham super-sporter could not make speed on the narrow, rough, and hilly road to chesuncook lake. at dusk he reached the post. instead of stopping on the pavement he pulled off the road, got out, stretched hugely, and took a few drum-major's steps to take the kinks out of his legs. "a lot of road, eh?" the smartly-uniformed trooper remarked. "no guns?" "no guns." olmstead opened up for inspection. "from northport. funny, isn't it, how hard it is to stop, even when you aren't in any particular hurry? guess i'll eat now--join me in a sandwich and some hot coffee or a cold lemon sour or cherry soda?" "i've got my own supper, thanks; i was just going to eat. but did you say a _cold_ lemon sour?" "uh-huh. ice-cold. zero degrees centigrade." "i _will_ join you, in that case. thanks." olmstead opened a frost-lined compartment; took out two half-liter bottles; placed them and his open lunch-box invitingly on the low stone wall. "hm ... m ... m. quite a zipper you got there, mister." the trooper gazed admiringly at the luxurious, two-wheeled monster; listened appreciatively to its almost inaudible hum. "i've heard about those new supers, but that is the first one i ever saw. nice. all the comforts of home, eh?" "just about. sure you won't help me clean up on those sandwiches, before they get stale?" seated on the wall, the two men ate and talked. if that trooper had known what was in the box beside his leg he probably would have fallen over backward; but how was he even to suspect? there was nothing crass or rough or coarse about any of the work of any of boskone's high-level operators. olmstead drove on to the lake and took up his reservation at the ramshackle hotel. he slept, and bright and early the next morning he was up and fishing--and this part of the performance he really enjoyed. he knew his stuff and the fish were there; big, wary, and game. he loved it. at noon he ate, and quite openly and brazenly consigned the "empty" box to the watery deep. even if he had not had so many fish to carry, he was not the type to lug a cheap lunch-box back to town. he fished joyously all afternoon, without getting quite the limit, and as the sun grazed the horizon he started his putt-putt and skimmed back to the dock. the thing hadn't sent out any radiation yet, northrop informed him tensely, but it certainly would, and when it did they'd be ready. there were lensmen and patrolmen all over the place, thicker than hair on a dog. and george olmstead, sighing wearily and yet blissfully anticipatory of one more day of enthralling sport, gathered up his equipment and his fish and strolled toward the hotel. chapter 17 forty thousand miles from earth's center the _chicago_ loafed along a circular arc, inert, at a mere ten thousand miles an hour; a speed which, and not by accident, kept her practically stationary above a certain point on the planet's surface. nor was it by chance that both virgil samms and roderick kinnison were aboard. and a dozen or so other craft, cruisers and such, whose officers were out to put space-time in their logs, were flitting aimlessly about; but never very far away from the flagship. and farther out--well out--a cordon of diesel-powered detector ships swept space to the full limit of their prodigious reach. the navigating officers of those vessels knew to a nicety the place and course of every ship lawfully in the ether, and the appearance of even one unscheduled trace would set in motion a long succession of carefully-planned events. and far below, grazing atmosphere, never very far from the direct line between the _chicago_ and earth's core, floated a palatial pleasure yacht. and this craft carried not one lensman, or two, but eight; two of whom kept their eyes fixed upon their observation plates. they were watching a lunch-box resting upon the bottom of a lake. "hasn't it radiated _yet_?" roderick kinnison demanded. "or been approached, or moved?" "not yet," lyman cleveland replied, crisply. "neither northrop's rig nor mine has shown any sign of activity." he did not amplify the statement, nor was there need. mason northrop was a master electronicist; cleveland was perhaps the world's greatest living expert. neither of them had detected radiation. ergo, none existed. equally certainly the box had not moved, or been moved, or approached. "no change, rod," doctor frederick rodebush lensed the assured thought. "six of us have been watching the plates in five-minute shifts." a few minutes later, however: "here is a thought which may be of interest," dalnalten the venerian announced, spraying himself with a couple pints of water. "it is natural enough, of course, for any venerian to be in or on any water he can reach--i would enjoy very much being on or in that lake myself--but it may not be entirely by coincidence that one particular venerian, ossmen, is visiting this particular lake at this particular time." "what!" nine lensmen yelled the thought practically as one. "precisely. ossmen." it was a measure of the venerian lensman's concern that he used only two words instead of twenty or thirty. "in the red boat with the yellow sail." "do you see any detector rigs?" samms asked. "he wouldn't need any," dalnalten put in. "he will be able to see it. or, if a little colane had been rubbed on it which no tellurian could have noticed, any venerian could smell it from one end of that lake to the other." "true. i didn't think of that. it may not have a transmitter after all." "maybe not, but keep on listening, anyway," the port admiral ordered. "bend a plate on ossmen, and a couple more on the rest of the boats. but ossmen is clean, you say, jack? not even a spy-ray block?" "he couldn't have a block, dad. it'd give too much away, here on our home grounds. like on eridan, where their ops could wear anything they could lift, but we had to go naked." he flinched mentally as he recalled his encounter with hazel the hell-cat, and northrop flinched with him. "that's right, rod," olmstead in his boat below agreed, and conway costigan, in his room in northport, concurred. the top-drawer operatives of the enemy depended for safety upon perfection of technique, not upon crude and dangerous mechanical devices. "well, since you're all so sure of it, i'll buy it," and the waiting went on. under the slight urge of the light and vagrant breeze, the red boat moved slowly across the water. a somnolent, lackadaisical youth, who very evidently cared nothing about where the boat went, sat in its stern, with his left arm draped loosely across the tiller. nor was ossmen any more concerned. his only care, apparently, was to avoid interference with the fishermen; his under-water jaunts were long, even for a venerian, and he entered and left the water as smoothly as only a venerian--or a seal--could. "however, he could have, and probably has got, a capsule spy-ray detector," jack offered, presently. "or, since a venerian can swallow anything one inch smaller than a kitchen stove, he could have a whole analyzing station stashed away in his stomach. nobody's put a beam on him yet, have you?" nobody had. "it might be smart not to. watch him with 'scopes ... and when he gets up close to the box, better pull your beams off of it. dalnalten, i don't suppose it would be quite bright for you to go swimming down there too, would it?" "very definitely not, which is why i am up here and dry. none of them would go near it." they waited, and finally ossmen's purposeless wanderings brought him over the spot on the lake's bottom which was the target of so many tellurian eyes. he gazed at the discarded lunch-box as incuriously as he had looked at so many other sunken objects, and swam over it as casually--and only the ultra-cameras caught what he actually did. he swam serenely on. "the box is still there," the spy-ray men reported, "but the package is gone." "good!" kinnison exclaimed, "can you 'scopists see it on him?" "ten to one they can't," jack said. "he swallowed it. i expected him to swallow it box and all." "we can't see it, sir. he must have swallowed it." "make sure." "yes, sir.... he's back on the boat now and we've shot him from all angles. he's clean--nothing outside." "perfect! that means he isn't figuring on slipping it to somebody else in a crowd. this will be an ordinary job of shadowing from here on in, so i'll put in the umbrella." the detector ships were recalled. the _chicago_ and the various other ships of war returned to their various bases. the pleasure craft floated away. but on the other hand there were bursts of activity throughout the forest for a mile or so back from the shores of the lake. camps were struck. hiking parties decided that they had hiked enough and began to retrace their steps. lithe young men, who had been doing this and that, stopped doing it and headed for the nearest trails. for kinnison _pere_ had erred slightly in saying that the rest of the enterprise was to be an ordinary job of shadowing. no ordinary job would do. with the game this nearly in the bag it must be made absolutely certain that no suspicion was aroused, and yet samms had to have _facts_. sharp, hard, clear facts; facts so self-evidently facts that no intelligence above idiot grade could possibly mistake them for anything but facts. wherefore ossmen the venerian was not alone thenceforth. from lake to hotel, from hotel to car, along the road, into and in and out of train and plane, clear to an ordinary-enough-looking building in an ordinary business section of new york, he was _never_ alone. where the traveling population was light, the patrol operatives were few and did not crowd the venerian too nearly; where dense, as in a metropolitan station, they ringed him three deep. he reached his destination, which was of course spy-ray proofed, late sunday night. he went in, remained briefly, came out. "shall we spy-ray him, virge? follow him? or what?" "no spy-rays. follow him. cover him like a blanket. at the usual time give him the usual spy-ray going-over, but not until then. this time, make it _thorough_. make certain that he hasn't got it on him, in him, or in or around his house." "there'll be nothing doing here tonight, will there?" "no, it would be too noticeable. so you, fred, and lyman, take the first trick; the rest of us will get some sleep." when the building opened monday morning the lensmen were back, with dozens of others, including knobos of mars. there were also present or nearby literally hundreds of the shrewdest, most capable detectives of earth. "so _this_ is their headquarters--one of them at least," the martian thought, studying the trickle of people entering and leaving the building. "it is as we thought, dal, why we could never find it, why we could never trace any wholesaler backward. none of us has ever seen any of these persons before. complete change of personnel per operation; probably inter-planetary. long periods of quiescence. check?" "check: but we have them now." "just like that, huh?" jack kinnison jibed; and from his viewpoint his idea was the more valid, for the wholesalers were very clever operators indeed. from the more professional viewpoint of knobos and dalnalten, however, who had fought a steadily losing battle so long, the task was not too difficult. their forces were beautifully organized and synchronized; they were present in such overwhelming numbers that "tails" could be changed every fifteen seconds; long before anybody, however suspicious, could begin to suspect any one shadow. nor was it necessary for the tails to signal each other, however inconspicuously, or to indicate any suspect at change-over time. lensed thoughts directed every move, without confusion or error. and there were tiny cameras with tremendous, protuberant lenses, the "long eyes" capable of taking wire-sharp close ups from five hundred feet; and other devices and apparatus and equipment too numerous to mention here. thus the wholesalers were traced and their transactions with the retail peddlers were recorded. and from that point on, even jack kinnison had to admit that the sailing was clear. these small fry were not smart, and their customers were even less so. none had screens or detectors or other apparatus; their every transaction could be and was recorded from a distance of many miles by the ultra-instruments of the patrol. and not only the transactions. clearly, unmistakeably, the purchaser was followed from buying to sniffing; nor was the time intervening ever long. thionite, then as now, was bought at retail only to use, and the whole ghastly thing went down on tape and film. the gasping, hysterical appeal; the exchange of currency for drug; the headlong rush to a place of solitude; the rigid muscle-lock and the horribly ecstatic transports; the shaken, soul-searing recovery or the entranced death. it all went on record. it was sickening to have to record such things. more than one observer did sicken in fact, and had to be relieved. but virgil samms had to have concrete, positive, irrefutable evidence. he got it. any possible jury, upon seeing that evidence, would know it to be the truth; no possible jury, after seeing that evidence, could bring in any verdict other than "guilty". oddly enough, jack kinnison was the only casualty of that long and hectic day. a man--later proved to be a middle-sized potentate of the underworld--who was not even under suspicion at the time, for some reason or other got the idea that jack was after him. the lensman had, perhaps, allowed some part of his long eye to show; a fast and efficient long-range telephoto lens is a devilishly awkward thing to conceal. at any rate the racketeer sent out a call for help, just in case his bodyguards would not be enough, and in the meantime his personal attendants rallied enthusiastically around. they had two objects in view; one, to pass a knife expeditiously and quietly through young kinnison's throat from ear to ear; and: two, to tear the long eye apart and subject a few square inches of super-sensitive emulsion to the bright light of day. and if the big shot had known that the photographer was not alone, that the big, hulking bruiser a few feet away was also a bull, they might have succeeded. two of the four hoods reached jack just fractionally ahead of the other two; one to seize the camera, the other to swing the knife. but jack kinnison was fast; fast of brain and nerve and muscle. he saw them coming. in three flashing motions he bent the barrel of the telephoto into a neat arc around the side of the first man's head, ducked frantically under the fiercely-driven knife, and drove the toe of his boot into the spot upon which prize-fighters like to have their rabbit-punches land. both of those attackers lost interest promptly. one of them lost interest permanently; for a telephoto lens in barrel is heavy, very rigid, and very, _very_ hard. while battling jack was still off balance, the other two guards arrived--but so did mason northrop. mase was not quite as fast as jack was; but, as has been pointed out, he was bigger and much stronger. when he hit a man, with either hand, that man dropped. it was the same as being on the receiving end of the blow of a twenty-pound hammer falling through a distance of ninety seven and one-half feet. the lensmen had of course also yelled for help, and it took only a split second for a patrol speedster to travel from any given point to any other in the same county. it took no time at all for that speedster to fill a couple of square blocks with patterns of force through which neither bullets nor beams could be driven. therefore the battle ended as suddenly as it began; before more thugs, with their automatics and portables, could reach the scene. kinnison _fils_ cursed and damned fulminantly the edict which had forbidden arms that day, and swore that he would never get out of bed again without strapping on at least two blasters; but he had to admit finally that he had nothing to squawk about. kinnison _pere_ explained quite patiently--for him--that all he had got out of the little fracas was a split lip, that young northrop's hair wasn't even mussed, and that if everybody had been packing guns some scatter-brained young damn fool like him would have started blasting and blown everything higher than up--would have spoiled samms' whole operation maybe beyond repair. now would he please quit bellyaching and get to hell out? he got. * * * * * "that buttons thionite up, don't you think?" rod kinnison asked. "and the lawyers will have plenty of time to get the case licked into shape and lined up for trial." "yes and no." samms frowned in thought. "the _evidence_ is complete, from original producer to ultimate consumer; but our best guess is that it will take years to get the really important offenders behind bars." "why? i thought you were giving them altogether too much time when you scheduled the blow-off for three weeks ahead of election." "because the drug racket is only a small part of it. we're going to break the whole thing at once, you know, and mateese covers a lot more ground--murder, kidnapping, bribery, corruption, misfeasance--practically everything you can think of." "i know. what of it?" "jurisdiction, among other things. with the president, over half of the congress, much of the judiciary, and practically all of the political bosses and police chiefs of the continent under indictment at once, the legal problem becomes incredibly difficult. the patrol's department of law has been working on it twenty four hours a day, and the only thing they seem sure of is a long succession of bitterly-contested points of law. there are no precedents whatever." "precedents be damned! they're guilty and everybody knows it. we'll change the laws so that...." "we will _not_!" samms interrupted, sharply. "we want and we will have government by law, not by men. we have had too much of that already. speed is not of the essence; justice very definitely is." "'crusader' samms, now and forever! but i'll buy it, virge--now let's get back down to earth. operation zwilnik is all set. mateese is going good. zabriska tied into zwilnik. that leaves operation boskone, which is, i suppose, still getting nowhere fast." the first lensman did not reply. it was, and both men knew it. the shrewdest, most capable and experienced operatives of the patrol had hit that wall with everything they had, and had simply bounced. low-level trials had found no point of contact, no angle of approach. middle level, ditto. george olmstead, working at the highest possible level, was morally certain that he had found a point of contact, but had not been able to do anything with it. "how about calling a council conference on it?" kinnison asked finally. "or bergenholm at least? maybe he can get one of his hunches on it." "i have discussed it with them all, just as i have with you. no one had anything constructive to offer, except to go ahead with bennett as you are doing. the concensus is that the boskonians know just as much about our military affairs as we know about theirs--no more." "it _would_ be too much to expect them to be dumb enough to figure us as dumb enough to depend only on our visible grand fleet, after the warning they gave us at the hill," kinnison admitted. "yes. what worries me most is that they had a running start." "not enough to count," the port admiral declared. "we can out-produce 'em and out-fight 'em." "don't be over-optimistic. you can't deny them the possession of brains, ability, man-power and resources at least equal to ours." "i don't have to." kinnison remained obstinately cheerful. "morale, my boy, is what counts. man-power and tonnage and fire-power are important, of course, but morale has won every war in history. and our morale right now is higher than a cat's back--higher than any time since john paul jones--and getting higher by the day." "yes?" the question was monosyllabic but potent. "yes. i mean just that--_yes_. from what we know of their system they _can't_ have the morale we've got. anything they can do we can do more of and better. what you've got, virge, is a bad case of ingrowing nerves. you've never been to bennett, in spite of the number of times i've asked you to. i say take time right now and come along--it'll be good for what ails you. it will also be a very fine thing for bennett and for the patrol--you'll find yourself no stranger there." "you may have something there ... i'll do it." port admiral and first lensman went to bennett, not in the _chicago_ or other superdreadnaught, but in a two-man speedster. this was necessary because space-travel, as far as that planet was concerned, was a strictly one-way affair except for lensmen. only lensmen could leave bennett, under any circumstances or for any reason whatever. there was no out-going mail, express, or freight. even the war-vessels of the fleet, while on practice maneuvers outside the bottle-tight envelopes surrounding the system, were so screened that no unauthorized communication could possibly be made. "in other words," kinnison finished explaining, "we slapped on everything anybody could think of, including bergenholm and rularion; and believe me, brother, that was a lot of stuff." "but wouldn't the very fact of such rigid restrictions operate against morale? it is a truism of psychology that imprisonment, like everything else, is purely relative." "yeah, that's what i told rularion, except i used simpler and rougher language. you know how sarcastic and superior he is, even when he's wrong?" "_how_ i know!" "well, when he's right he's too damned insufferable for words. you'd've thought he was talking to the prize boob of a class of half-wits. as long as nobody on the planet knew that there was any such thing as space-travel, or suspected that they were not the only form of intelligent life in the universe, it was all right. no such concept as being planet-bound could exist. they had all the room there was. but after they met us, and digested all the implications, they would develop the colly-wobbles no end. this, of course, is an extreme simplification of the way the old coot poured it into me; but he came through with the solution, so i took it like a little man." "what was the solution?" "it's a shame you were too busy to come in on it. you'll see when we land." but virgil samms was quick on the uptake. even before they landed, he understood. when the speedster slowed down for atmosphere he saw blazoned upon the clouds a welter of one many-times repeated signal; as they came to ground he saw that the same set of symbols was repeated, not only upon every available cloud, but also upon airships, captive balloons, streamers, roofs and sides of buildings--even, in multi-colored rocks and flower-beds, upon the ground itself. "twenty haress," samms translated, and frowned in thought. "a date of the bennettan year. would it by any chance happen to coincide with our tellurian november fourteenth of this present year?" "bright boy!" kinnison applauded. "i thought you'd get it, but not so fast. yes--election day." "i see. they know what is going on, then?" "everything that counts. they know what we stand to win--and lose. they've named it liberation day, and everything on the planet is building up to it in a grand crescendo. i was a little afraid of it at first, but if the screens are really tight it won't make any difference how many people know it, and if they aren't the beans would all be spilled anyway. and it really works--i get a bigger thrill every time i come here." "i can see where it might work." bennett was a fully tellurian world in mass, in atmosphere and in climate; her native peoples were human to the limit of classification, both physically and mentally. and first lensman samms, as he toured it with his friend, found a world aflame with a zeal and an ardor unknown to blase earth since the days of the crusades. the patrol's cleverest and shrewdest psychologists, by merely sticking to the truth, had done a marvelous job. bennett knew that it was the arsenal and the navy yard of civilization, and it was proud of it. its factories were humming as they had never hummed before; every industry, every business, every farm was operating at one hundred percent of capacity. bennett was dotted and spattered with spaceports already built, and hundreds more were being rushed to completion. the already staggering number of ships of war operating out of those ports was being augmented every hour by more and ever more ultra-modern, ultra-fast, ultra-powerful shapes. it was an honor to help build those ships; it was a still greater one to help man them. competitive examinations were being held constantly, nor were all or even most of the applicants native bennettans. samms did not have to ask where these young people were coming from. he knew. from all the planets of civilization, attracted by carefully-worded advertisements of good jobs at high pay on new and highly secret projects on newly discovered planets. there were hundreds of such ads. most were probably the patrol's, and led here; many were of spaceways, uranium incorporated, and other mercantile firms. the possibility that some of them might lead to what was now being called boskonia had been tested thoroughly, but with uniformly negative results. lensmen had applied by scores for those non-patrol jobs and had found them bona-fide. the conclusion was unavoidable--boskone was doing its recruiting on planets unknown to any wearer of arisia's lens. on the other hand, more than a trickle of boskonians were applying for patrol jobs, but samms was almost certain that none had been accepted. the final screening was done by lensmen, and in such matters lensmen did not make many or serious mistakes. bennett had been informed of the first lensman's arrival, and kinnison had been guilty of a gross understatement indeed in telling samms that he would not be regarded as a stranger. wherever samms went he was met by wildly enthusiastic crowds. he had to make speeches, each of which was climaxed by a tremendous roar of "to liberation day!" "no lensman material here, you say, rod?" samms asked, after the first city-shaking demonstration was over. one of his prime concerns, throughout his life, was this. "with all this enthusiasm? sure?" "we haven't found any good enough to refer to you yet. however, in a few years, when the younger generation gets a little older, there certainly will be." "check." the tour of inspection and acquaintance was finished, the two lensmen started back to earth. "well, my skeptical and pessimistic friend, was i lying, or not?" kinnison asked, as soon as the speedster's ports were sealed. "can they match that or not?" "you weren't--and i don't believe they can. i have never seen anything like it. autocracies have parades and cheers and demonstrations, of course, but they have always been forced--artificial. those were spontaneous." "not only that, but the enthusiasm will carry through. we'll be piping hot and ready to go. but about this stumping--you said i'd better start as soon as we get back?" "within a few days, i'd say." "i wouldn't wonder, so let's use this time in working out a plan of campaign. my idea is to start out like this...." chapter 18 conway costigan, leaving behind him scores of clues, all highly misleading, severed his connection with uranium, inc. as soon as he dared after operation zwilnik had been brought to a successful close. the technical operation, that is; the legal battles in which it figured so largely were to run on for enough years to make the word "zwilnik" a common noun and adjective in the language. he came to tellus as unobtrusively as was his wont, and took an inconspicuous but very active part in operation mateese, now in full swing. "now is the time for all good men and true to come to the aid of the party, eh?" clio costigan giggled. "you can play that straight across the keyboard of your electric, pet, and not with just two fingers, either. did you hear what the boss told 'em today?" "yes." the girl's levity disappeared. "they're so _dirty_, spud--i'm really afraid." "so am i. but we're not too lily-fingered ourselves if we have to be, and we're covering 'em like a blanket--kinnison and samms both." "good." "and in that connection, i'll have to be out half the night again tonight. all right?" "of course. it's so nice having you home at all, darling, instead of a million light-years away, that i'm practically delirious with delight." it was sometimes hard to tell what impish mrs. costigan meant by what she said. costigan looked at her, decided she was taking him for a ride, and smacked her a couple of times where it would do the most good. he then kissed her thoroughly and left. he had very little time, these days, either to himself or for his lovely and adored wife. for roderick kinnison's campaign, which had started out rough and not too clean, became rougher and rougher, and no cleaner, as it went along. morgan and his crew were swinging from the heels, with everything and anything they could dig up or invent, however little of truth or even of plausibility it might contain, and rod the rock had never held even in principle with the gentle precept of turning the other cheek. he was rather an old testamentarian, and he was no neophyte at dirty fighting. as a young operative, skilled in the punishing, maiming techniques of hand-to-hand rough-and-tumble combat, he had brawled successfully in most of the dives of most of the solarian planets and of most of their moons. with this background, and being a quick study, and under the masterly coaching of virgil samms, nels bergenholm, and rularion of north polar jupiter, it did not take him long to learn the various gambits and ripostes of this non-physical, but nevertheless no-holds-barred, political mayhem. and the "boys and girls" of the patrol worked like badgers, digging up an item here and a fact there and a bit of information somewhere else, all for the day of reckoning which was to come. they used ultra-wave scanners, spy-rays, long eyes, stool-pigeons--everything they could think of to use--and they could not _always_ be blocked out or evaded. "we've _got_ it, boss--now let's _use_ it!" "no. save it! nail it down, solid! get the facts--names, dates, places, and amounts. prove it first--then save it!" _prove it! save it!_ the joint injunction was used so often that it came to be a slogan and was accepted as such. unlike most slogans, however, it was carefully and diligently put to use. the operatives proved it and saved it, over and over, over and over again; by dint of what unsparing effort and selfless devotion only they themselves ever fully knew. kinnison stumped the continent. he visited every state, all of the big cities, most of the towns, and many villages and hamlets; and always, wherever he went, a part of the show was to demonstrate to his audiences how the lens worked. "look at me. you know that no two individuals are or ever can be alike. robert johnson is not like fred smith; joe jones is entirely different from john brown. look at me again. concentrate upon whatever it is in your mind that makes me roderick kinnison, the individual. that will enable each of you to get into as close touch with me as though our two minds were one. i am not talking now; you are reading my mind. since you are reading my very mind, you know exactly what i am _really_ thinking, for better or for worse. it is impossible for my mind to lie to yours, since i can change neither the basic pattern of my personality nor my basic way of thought; nor would i if i could. being in my mind, you know that already; you know what my basic quality is. my friends call it strength and courage; pirate chief morgan and his cut-throat crew call it many other things. be that as it may, you now know whether or not you want me for your president. i can do nothing whatever to sway your opinion, for what your minds have perceived you know to be the truth. that is the way the lens works. it bares the depths of my mind to yours, and in return enables me to understand your thoughts. "but it is in no sense hypnotism, as morgan is so foolishly trying to make you believe. morgan knows as well as the rest of us do that even the most accomplished hypnotist, with all his apparatus, can not affect a strong and definitely opposed will. he is therefore saying that each and every one of you now receiving this thought is such a spineless weakling that--but you may draw your own conclusions. "in closing, remember--nail this fact down so solidly that you will never forget it--a sound and healthy mind can not lie. the mouth can, and does. so does the typewriter. but the mind--never! i can hide my thoughts from you, even while we are en rapport, like this ... but i can not lie to you. that is why, some day, all of your highest executives will have to be lensmen, and not politicians, diplomats, crooks and boodlers. i thank you." as that long, bitter, incredibly vicious campaign neared its vitriolic end tension mounted higher and ever higher: and in a room in the samms home three young lensmen and a red-haired girl were not at ease. all four were lean and drawn. jack kinnison was talking. "... not the party, so much, but dad. he started out with bare fists, and now he's wading into 'em with spiked brass knuckles." "you can play _that_ across the board," costigan agreed. "he's really giving 'em hell," northrop said, admiringly. "did you boys listen in on his casper speech last night?" they hadn't; they had been too busy. "i could give it to you on your lenses, but i couldn't reproduce the tone--the exquisite way he lifted large pieces of hide and rubbed salt into the raw places. when he gets excited you know he can't help but use voice, too, so i got some of it on a record. he starts out on voice, nice and easy, as usual; then goes onto his lens without talking; then starts yelling as well as thinking. listen:" "you ought to have a lensman president. you may not believe that any lensman is, and as a matter of fact _must_ be incorruptible. that is my belief, as you can feel for yourselves, but i cannot _prove_ it to you. only time can do that. it is a self-evident fact, however, which you can feel for yourselves, that a lensman president could not lie to you except by word of mouth or in writing. you could demand from him at any time a lensed statement upon any subject. upon some matters of state he could and should refuse to answer; but not upon any question involving moral turpitude. if he answered, you would know the truth. if he refused to answer, you would know why and could initiate impeachment proceedings then and there. "in the past there have been presidents who used that high office for low purposes; whose very memory reeks of malfeasance and corruption. one was impeached, others should have been. witherspoon never should have been elected. witherspoon should have been impeached the day after he was inaugurated. witherspoon should be impeached now. we know, and at the grand rally at new york spaceport three weeks from tonight we are going to prove, that witherspoon is simply a minor cog-wheel in the morgan-towne-isaacson machine, 'playing footsie' at command with whatever group happens to be the highest bidder at the moment, irrespective of north america's or the system's good. witherspoon is a gangster, a cheat, and a god damn liar, but he is of very little actual importance; merely a boodling nincompoop. morgan is the real boss and the real menace, the operating engineer of the lowest-down, lousiest, filthiest, rottenest, most corrupt machine of murderers, extortionists, bribe-takers, panderers, perjurers, and other pimples on the body politic that has ever disgraced any so-called civilized government. good night." "wow!" jack kinnison yelped. "that's high, even for him!" "just a minute, jack," jill cautioned. "the other side, too. listen to this choice bit from senator morgan." "it is not exactly hypnotism, but something infinitely worse; something that steals away your very minds; that makes anyone listening believe that white is yellow, red, purple, or pea-green. until our scientists have checked this menace, until we have every wearer of that cursed lens behind steel bars, i advise you in all earnestness not to listen to them at all. if you do listen your minds will surely be insidiously decomposed and broken; you will surely end your days gibbering in a padded cell. "and murders? _murders!_ the feeble remnants of the gangs which our government has all but wiped out may perhaps commit a murder or so per year; the perpetrators of which are caught, tried, and punished. but how many of your sons and daughters has roderick kinnison murdered, either personally or through his uniformed slaves? think! read the record! then make him explain, if he can; but do not listen to his lying, mind-destroying lens. "democracy? bah! what does 'rod the rock' kinnison--the hardest, most vicious tyrant, the most relentless and pitiless martinet ever known to any armed force in the long history of our world--know of democracy? nothing! he understands only force. all who oppose him in anything, however small, or who seek to reason with him, die without record or trace; and if he is not arrested, tried, and executed, all such will continue, tracelessly and without any pretense of trial, to die. "but at bottom, even though he is not intelligent enough to realize it, he is merely one more in the long parade of tools of ruthless and predatory wealth, the monied powers. _they_, my friends, never sleep; they have only one god, one tenet, one creed--the almighty credit. _that_ is what they are after, and note how craftily, how stealthily, they have done and are doing their grabbing. where is your representation upon that so-called galactic council? how did this criminal, this vicious, this outrageously unconstitutional, this irresponsible, uncontrollable, and dictatorial monstrosity come into being? how and when did you give this bloated colossus the right to establish its own currency--to have the immeasurable effrontery to debar the solidest currency in the universe, the credit of north america, from inter-planetary and inter-stellar commerce? their aim is clear; they intend to tax you into slavery and death. do not forget for one instant, my friends, that the power to tax is the power to destroy. the power to tax is the power to destroy. our forefathers fought and bled and died to establish the principle that taxation without rep...." "and so on, for one solid hour!" jill snarled, as she snapped the switch viciously. "how do you like _them_ potatoes?" "hell's--blazing--pinnacles!" this from jack, silent for seconds, and: "rugged stuff ... very, _very_ rugged," from northrop. "no wonder you look sort of pooped, spud. being chief bodyguard must have developed recently into quite a chore." "you ain't just snapping your choppers, bub," was costigan's grimly flippant reply. "i've yelled for help--in force." "so have i, and i'm going to yell again, right now," jack declared. "i don't know whether dad is going to kill morgan or not--and don't give a damn--but if morgan isn't going all out to kill dad it's because they've forgotten how to make bombs." he lensed a call to bergenholm. "yes, jack?... i will refer you to rularion, who has had this matter under consideration." "yes, john kinnison, i have considered the matter and have taken action," the jovian's calmly assured thought rolled into the minds of all, even lensless jill's. "the point, youth, was well taken. it was your thought that some thousands--perhaps five--of spy-ray operators and other operatives will be required to insure that the grand rally will not be marred by episodes of violence." "it was," jack said, flatly. "it still is." "not having considered all possible contingencies nor the extent of the field of necessary action, you err. the number will approach nineteen thousand very nearly. admiral clayton has been so advised and his staff is now at work upon a plan of action in accordance with my recommendation. your suggestions, conway costigan, in the matter of immediate protection of roderick kinnison's person, are now in effect, and you are hereby relieved of that responsibility. i assume that you four wish to continue at work?" the jovian's assumption was sound. "i suggest, then, that you confer with admiral clayton and fit yourselves into his program of security. i intend to make the same suggestion to all lensmen and other qualified persons not engaged in work of more pressing importance." rularion cut off and jack scowled blackly. "the grand rally is going to be held three weeks before election day. i _still_ don't like it. i'd save it until the night before election--knock their teeth out with it at the last possible minute." "you're wrong, jack; the chief is right," costigan argued. "two ways. one, we can't play that kind of ball. two, this gives them just enough rope to hang themselves." "well ... maybe." kinnison-like, jack was far from being convinced. "but that's the way it's going to be, so let's call clayton." "first," costigan broke in. "jill, will you please explain why they have to waste as big a man as kinnison on such a piffling job as president? i was out in the sticks, you know--it doesn't make sense." "because he's the only man alive who can lick morgan's machine at the polls," jill stated a simple fact. "the patrol can get along without him for one term, after that it won't make any difference." "but morgan works from the side-lines. why couldn't he?" "the psychology is entirely different. morgan _is_ a boss. pops kinnison isn't. he's a leader. see?" "oh ... i guess so.... yes. go ahead." * * * * * outwardly, new york spaceport did not change appreciably. at any given moment of day or night there were so many hundreds of persons strolling aimlessly or walking purposefully about that an extra hundred or so made no perceptible difference. and the spaceport was only the end-point. the patrol's activities began hundreds or thousands or millions or billions of miles away from earth's metropolis. a web was set up through which not even a grain-of-sand meteorite could pass undetected. every space-ship bound for earth carried at least one passenger who would not otherwise have been aboard; passengers who, if not wearing lenses, carried service special equipment amply sufficient for the work in hand. geigers and other vastly more complicated mechanisms flew toward earth from every direction in space; streamed toward new york in earth's every channel of traffic. every train and plane, every bus and boat and car, every conveyance of every kind and every pedestrian approaching new york city was searched; with a search as thorough as it was unobtrusive. and every thing and every entity approaching new york spaceport was combed, literally by the cubic millimeter. no arrests were made. no package was confiscated, or even disturbed, throughout the ranks of public check boxes, in private offices, or in elaborate or casual hiding-places. as far as the enemy knew, the patrol had no suspicion whatever that anything out of the ordinary was going on. that is, until the last possible minute. then a tall, lean, space-tanned veteran spoke softly aloud, as though to himself: "spy-ray blocks--interference--umbrella--on. report." that voice, low and soft as it was, was picked up by every service special receiver within a radius of a thousand miles, and by every lensman listening, wherever he might be. so were, in a matter of seconds, the replies. "spy-ray blocks on, sir." "interference on, sir." "umbrella on, sir." no spy-ray could be driven into any part of the tremendous port. no beam, communicator or detonating, could operate anywhere near it. the enemy would now know that something had gone wrong, but he would not be able to do anything about it. "reports received," the tanned man said, still quietly. "operation zunk will proceed as scheduled." and four hundred seventy one highly skilled men, carrying duplicate keys and/or whatever other specialized apparatus and equipment would be necessary, quietly took possession of four hundred seventy one objects, of almost that many shapes and sizes. and, out in the gathering crowd, a few disturbances occurred and a few ambulances dashed busily here and there. some women had fainted, no doubt, ran the report. they always did. and conway costigan, who had been watching, without seeming even to look at him, a porter loading a truck with opulent-looking hand-luggage from a locker, followed man and truck out into the concourse. closing up, he asked: "where are you taking that baggage, charley?" "up ramp one, boss," came the unflurried reply. "flight ninety will be late taking off, on accounta this jamboree, and they want it right up there handy." "take it down to the...." over the years a good many men had tried to catch conway costigan off guard or napping, to beat him to the punch or to the draw--with a startlingly uniform lack of success. the lensman's fist traveled a bare seven inches: the supposed porter gasped once and traveled--or rather, staggered backward--approximately seven feet before he collapsed and sprawled unconscious upon the pavement. "decontamination," costigan remarked, apparently to empty air, as he picked the fellow up and draped him limply over the truckful of suitcases. "deke. front and center. area forty-six. class eff-ex--hotter than the middle tailrace of hell." "you called deke?" a man came running up. "eff-ex six--nineteen. this it?" "check. it's yours, porter and all. take it away." costigan strolled on until he met jack kinnison, who had a rapidly-developing mouse under his left eye. "how did _that_ happen, jack?" he demanded sharply. "something slip?" "not exactly." kinnison grinned ruefully. "i have the _damndest_ luck! a woman--an old lady at that--thought i was staging a hold-up and swung on me with her hand-bag--southpaw and from the rear. and if you laugh, you untuneful harp, i'll hang one right on the end of your chin, so help me!" "far be it from such," costigan assured him, and did not--quite--laugh. "wonder how we came out? they should have reported before this--p-s-s-t! here it comes!" decontamination was complete; operation zunk had been a one-hundred-percent success; there had been no casualties. "except for one black eye," costigan could not help adding; but his lens and his service specials were off. jack would have brained him if any of them had been on. linking arms, the two young lensmen strode away toward ramp four, which was to be their station. this was the largest crowd earth had ever known. everybody, particularly the nationalists, had wondered why this climactic political rally had been set for three full weeks ahead of the election, but their curiosity had not been satisfied. furthermore, this meeting had been advertised as no previous one had ever been; neither pains nor cash had been spared in giving it the greatest build-up ever known. not only had every channel of communication been loaded for weeks, but also samms' workers had been very busily engaged in starting rumors; which grew, as rumors do, into things which their own fathers and mothers could not recognize. and the baffled nationalists, trying to play the whole thing down, made matters worse. interest spread from north america to the other continents, to the other planets, and to the other solar systems. thus, to say that everybody was interested in, and was listening to, the cosmocrats' grand rally would not be too serious an exaggeration. roderick kinnison stepped up to the battery of microphones; certain screens were cut. "fellow entities of civilization and others: while it may seem strange to broadcast a political rally to other continents and to beam it to other worlds, it was necessary in this case. the message to be given, while it will go into the political affairs of the north american continent of tellus, will deal primarily with a far larger thing; a matter which will be of paramount importance to all intelligent beings of every inhabited world. you know how to attune your minds to mine. do it now." he staggered mentally under the shock of encountering practically simultaneously so many minds, but rallied strongly and went on, via lens: "my first message is not to you, my fellow cosmocrats, nor to you, my fellow dwellers on earth, nor even to you, my fellow adherents to civilization; but to the enemy. i do not mean my political opponents, the nationalists, who are almost all loyal fellow north americans. i mean the entities who are using the leaders of that nationalist party as pawns in a vastly larger game. "i know, enemy, that you are listening. i know that you had goon squads in this audience, to kill me and my superior officer. know now that they are impotent. i know that you had atomic bombs, with which to obliterate this assemblage and this entire area. they have been disassembled and stored. i know that you had large supplies of radio-active dusts. they now lie in the patrol vaults near weehauken. all the devices which you intended to employ are known, and all save one have been either nullified or confiscated. "that one exception is your war-fleet, a force sufficient in your opinion to wipe out all the armed forces of the galactic patrol. you intended to use it in case we cosmocrats win this forthcoming election; you may decide to use it now. do so if you like; you can do nothing to interrupt or to affect this meeting. this is all i have to say to you, enemy of civilization. "now to you, my legitimate audience. i am not here to deliver the address promised you, but merely to introduce the real speaker--first lensman virgil samms...." a mental gasp, millions strong, made itself tellingly felt. "... yes--first lensman samms, of whom you all know. he has not been attending political meetings because we, his advisers, would not let him. why? here are the facts. through archibald isaacson, of interstellar spaceways, he was offered a bribe which would in a few years have amounted to some fifty billion credits; more wealth than any individual entity has ever possessed. then there was an attempt at murder, which we were able--just barely--to block. knowing there was no other place on earth where he would be safe, we took him to the hill. you know what happened; you know what condition the hill is in now. this warfare was ascribed to pirates. "the whole stupendous operation, however, was made in a vain attempt to kill one man--virgil samms. the enemy knew, and we learned, that samms is the greatest man who has ever lived. his name will last as long as civilization endures, for it is he, and _only_ he, who can make it possible for civilization _to_ endure. "why was i not killed? why was i allowed to keep on making campaign speeches? because i do not count. i am of no more importance to the cause of civilization than is my opponent witherspoon to that of the enemy. "i am a wheel-horse, a plugger. you all know me--'rocky rod' kinnison, the hard-boiled egg. i've got guts enough to stand up and fight for what i _know_ is right. i've got the guts and the inclination to stand up and slug it out, toe to toe, with man, beast, or devil. i would make and will make a good president; i've got the guts and inclination to keep on slugging after you elect me; before god i promise to smash down every machine-made crook who tries to hold any part of our government down in the reeking muck in which it now is. "i am a plugger and a slugger, with no spark of the terrific flame of inspirational genius which makes virgil samms what he so uniquely is. my _kind_ may be important, but i individually am not. there are _so_ many of us! if they had killed me another slugger would have taken my place and the effect upon the job would have been nil. "virgil samms, however, _can not be replaced_ and the enemy knows it. he is unique in all history. no one else can do his job. if he is killed before the principles for which he is working are firmly established civilization will collapse back into barbarism. it will not recover until another such mind comes into existence, the probability of which occurrence i will let you compute for yourselves. "for those reasons virgil samms is not here in person. nor is he in the hill, since the enemy may now possess weapons powerful enough to destroy not only that hitherto impregnable fortress, but also the whole earth. and they would destroy earth, without a qualm, if in so doing they could kill the first lensman. "therefore samms is now out in deep space. our fleet is waiting to be attacked. if we win, the galactic patrol will go on. if we lose, we hope you shall have learned enough so that we will not have died uselessly." "die? why should _you_ die? _you_ are safe on earth!" "ah, one of the goons sent that thought. if our fleet is defeated no lensman, anywhere, will live a week. the enemy will see to that. "that is all from me. stay tuned. come in, first lensman virgil samms ... take over, sir." it was psychologically impossible for virgil samms to use such language as kinnison had just employed. nor was it either necessary or desirable that he should; the ground had been prepared. therefore--coldly, impersonally, logically, tellingly--he told the whole terrific story. he revealed the most important things dug up by the patrols' indefatigable investigators, reciting names, places, dates, transactions, and amounts. only in the last couple of minutes did he warm up at all. "nor is this in any sense a smear campaign or a bringing of baseless charges to becloud the issue or to vilify without cause and upon the very eve of election a political opponent. these are facts. formal charges are now being preferred; every person mentioned, and many others, will be put under arrest as soon as possible. if any one of them were in any degree innocent our case against him could be made to fall in less than the three weeks intervening before election day. that is why this meeting is being held at this time. "not one of them is innocent. being guilty, and knowing that we can and will prove guilt, they will adopt a policy of delay and recrimination. since our courts are, for the most part, just, the accused will be able to delay the trials and the actual presentation of evidence until after election day. forewarned, however, you will know exactly why the trials will have been delayed, and in spite of the fog of misrepresentation you will know where the truth lies. you will know how to cast your votes. you will vote for roderick kinnison and for those who support him. "there is no need for me to enlarge upon the character of port admiral kinnison. you know him as well as i do. honest, incorruptible, fearless, you know that he will make the best president we have ever had. if you do not already know it, ask any one of the hundreds of thousands of strong, able, clear-thinking young men and women who have served under him in our armed forces. "i thank you, everyone who has listened, for your interest." chapter 19 as long as they were commodores, clayton of north america and schweikert of europe had stayed fairly close to the home planet except for infrequent vacation trips. with the formation of the galactic patrol, however, and their becoming admiral and lieutenant-admiral of the first galactic region, and their acquisition of lenses, the radius of their sphere of action was tremendously increased. one or the other of them was always to be found in grand fleet headquarters at new york spaceport, but only very seldom were both of them there at once. and if the absentee were not to be found on earth, what of it? the first galactic region included all of the solar systems and all of the planets adherent to civilization, and the absentee could, as a matter of business and duty, be practically anywhere. usually, however, he was not upon any of the generally-known planets, but upon bennett--getting acquainted with the officers, supervising the drilling of grand fleet in new maneuvers, teaching classes in advanced strategy, and holding skull-practice generally. it was hard work, and not too inspiring, but in the end it paid off big. they knew their men; their men knew them. they could work together with a snap, a smoothness, a precision otherwise impossible; for imported top brass, unknown to and unacquainted with the body of command, can not have and does not expect the deep regard and the earned respect so necessary to high morale. clayton and schweikert had both. they started early enough, worked hard enough, and had enough stuff, to earn both. thus it came about that when, upon a scheduled day, the two admirals came to bennett together, they were greeted as enthusiastically as though they had been bennettans born and bred; and their welcome became a planet-wide celebration when clayton issued the orders which all bennett had been waiting so long and so impatiently to hear. bennettans were at last to leave bennett! group after group, sub-fleet after sub-fleet, the component units of the galactic patrol's grand fleet took off. they assembled in space; they maneuvered enough to shake themselves down into some semblance of unity; they practiced the new maneuvers; they blasted off in formation for sol. and as the tremendous armada neared the solar system it met--or, rather, was joined by--the patrol ships about which morgan and his minions already knew; each of which fitted itself into its long-assigned place. every planet of civilization had sent its every vessel capable of putting out a screen or of throwing a beam, but so immense was the number of warships in grand fleet that this increment, great as it intrinsically was, made no perceptible difference in its size. on rally day grand fleet lay poised near earth. as soon as he had introduced samms to the intensely interested listeners at the rally, roderick kinnison disappeared. actually, he drove a bug to a distant corner of the spaceport and left the earth in a light cruiser, but to all intents and purposes, so engrossed was everyone in what samms was saying, kinnison simply vanished. samms was already in the _boise_; the port admiral went out to his old flagship, the _chicago_. nor, in case any observer of the enemy should be trying to keep track of him, could his course be traced. cleveland and northrop and rularion and all they needed of the vast resources of the patrol saw to that. neither samms nor kinnison had any business being with grand fleet in person, of course, and both knew it; but everyone knew why they were there and were glad that the two top lensmen had decided to live or die with their fleet. if grand fleet won, they would probably live; if grand fleet lost they would certainly die--if not in the pyrotechnic dissolution of their ships, then in a matter of days upon the ground. with the fleet their presence would contribute markedly to morale. it was a chance very much worth taking. nor were clayton and schweikert together, or even near each other. samms, kinnison, and the two admirals were as far away from each other as they could get and still remain in grand fleet's fighting cylinder. cylinder? yes. the patrol's board of strategy, assuming that the enemy would attack in conventional cone formation and knowing that one cone could defeat another only after a long and costly engagement, had long since spent months and months at war-games in their tactical tanks, in search of a better formation. they had found it. theoretically, a cylinder of proper composition could defeat, with negligible loss and in a very short time, the best cones they were able to devise. the drawback was that the ships composing a theoretically efficient cylinder would have to be highly specialized and vastly greater in number than any one power had ever been able to put into the ether. however, with all the resources of bennett devoted to construction, this difficulty would not be insuperable. this, of course, brought up the question of what would happen if cylinder met cylinder--if the black strategists should also have arrived at the same solution--and this question remained unanswered. or, rather, there were too many answers, no two of which agreed; like those to the classical one of what would happen if an irresistible force should strike an immovable object. there would be a lot of intensely interesting by-products! even rularion of jove did not come up with a definite solution. nor did bergenholm; who, although a comparatively obscure young lensman-scientist and not a member of the galactic council, was frequently called into consultation because of his unique ability to arrive at correct conclusions via some obscurely short-circuiting process of thought. "well," port admiral kinnison had concluded, finally, "_if_ they've got one, too, we'll just have to shorten ours up, widen it out, and pray." "clayton to port admiral kinnison," came a communication through channels. "have you any additional orders or instructions?" "kinnison to admiral clayton. none," the port admiral replied, as formally, then went on via lens: "no comment or criticism to make, alex. you fellows have done a job so far and you'll keep on doing one. how much detection have you got out?" "twelve detets--three globes of diesels. if we sit here and do nothing the boys will get edgy and go stale, so if you and virge agree we'll give 'em some practice. lord knows they need it, and it'll keep 'em on their toes. but about the blacks--they may be figuring on delaying any action until we've had time to crack from boredom. what's your idea on that?" "i've been worried about the same thing. practice will help, but whether enough or not i don't know. what do you think, virge? will they hold it up deliberately or strike fast?" "fast," the first lensman replied, promptly and definitely. "as soon as they possibly can, for several reasons. they don't know our real strength, any more than we know theirs. they undoubtedly believe, however, the same as we do, that they are more efficient than we are and have the larger force. by their own need of practice they will know ours. they do not attach nearly as much importance to morale as we do; by the very nature of their regime they can't. also, our open challenge will tend very definitely to force their hands, since face-saving is even more important to them than it is to us. they will strike as soon as they can and as hard as they can." grand fleet maneuvers were begun, but in a day or so the alarms came blasting in. the enemy had been detected; coming in, as the previous black fleet had come, from the direction of coma berenices. calculating machines clicked and whirred; orders were flashed, and a brief string of numbers; ships by the hundreds and the thousands flashed into their assigned positions. or, more precisely, _almost_ into them. most of the navigators and pilots had not had enough practice yet to hit their assigned positions exactly on the first try, since a radical change in axial direction was involved, but they did pretty well; a few minutes of juggling and jockeying were enough. clayton and schweikert used a little caustic language--via lens and to their fellow lensmen only, of course--but samms and kinnison were well enough pleased. the time of formation had been very satisfactorily short and the cone was smooth, symmetrical, and of beautifully uniform density. the preliminary formation was a cone, not a cylinder. it was not a conventional cone of battle in that it was not of standard composition, was too big, and had altogether too many ships for its size. it was, however, of the conventional shape, and it was believed that by the time the enemy could perceive any significant differences it would be too late for him to do anything about it. the cylinder would be forming about that time, anyway, and it was almost believed--at least it was strongly hoped--that the enemy would not have the time or the knowledge or the equipment to do anything about that, either. kinnison grinned to himself as his mind, en rapport with clayton's, watched the enemy's cone of battle enlarge upon the admiral's conning plate. it was big, and powerful; the galactic patrol's publicly-known forces would have stood exactly the chance of the proverbial snowball in the nether regions. it was not, however, the port admiral thought, big enough to form an efficient cylinder, or to handle the patrol's real force in any fashion--and unless they shifted within the next second or two it would be too late for the enemy to do anything at all. as though by magic about ninety-five percent of the patrol's tremendous cone changed into a tightly-packed double cylinder. this maneuver was much simpler than the previous one, and had been practiced to perfection. the mouth of the cone closed in and lengthened; the closed end opened out and shortened. tractors and pressors leaped from ship to ship, binding the whole myriad of hitherto discrete units into a single structure as solid, even comparatively as to size, as a cantilever bridge. and instead of remaining quiescent, waiting to be attacked, the cylinder flashed forward, inertialess, at maximum blast. throughout the years the violence, intensity, and sheer brute power of offensive weapons had increased steadily. defensive armament had kept step. one fundamental fact, however, had not changed throughout the ages and has not changed yet. three or more units of given power have always been able to conquer one unit of the same power, if engagement could be forced and no assistance could be given; and two units could practically always do so. fundamentally, therefore, strategy always has been and still is the development of new artifices and techniques by virtue of which two or more of our units may attack one of theirs; the while affording the minimum of opportunity for them to retaliate in kind. the patrol's grand fleet flashed forward, almost exactly along the axis of the black cone; right where the enemy wanted it--or so he thought. straight into the yawning mouth, erupting now a blast of flame beside which the wildest imaginings of inferno must pale into insignificance; straight along that raging axis toward the apex, at the terrific speed of the two directly opposed velocities of flight. but, to the complete consternation of the black high command, nothing much happened. for, as has been pointed out, that cylinder was not of even approximately normal composition. in fact, there was not a normal war-vessel in it. the outer skin and both ends of the cylinder were purely defensive. those vessels, packed so closely that their repellor fields actually touched, were all screen; none of them had a beam hot enough to light a match. conversely, the inner layer, or "liner", was composed of vessels that were practically all offense. they had to be protected at every point--but how they could ladle it out! the leading and trailing edges of the formation--the ends of the gigantic pipe, so to speak--would of course bear the brunt of the black attack, and it was this factor that had given the patrol's strategists the most serious concern. wherefore the first ten and the last six double rings of ships were special indeed. they were _all_ screen--nothing else. they were drones, operated by remote control, carrying no living thing. if the patrol losses could be held to eight double rings of ships at the first pass and four at the second--theoretical computations indicated losses of six and two--samms and his fellows would be well content. all of the patrol ships had, of course, the standard equipment of so-called "violet", "green", and "red" fields, as well as duodecaplylatomate and ordinary atomic bombs, dirigible torpedoes and transporters, slicers, polycyclic drills, and so on; but in this battle the principal reliance was to be placed upon the sheer, brutal, overwhelming power of what had been called the "macro beam"--now simply the "beam". furthermore, in the incredibly incandescent frenzy of the chosen field of action--the cylinder was to attack the cone at its very strongest part--no conceivable material projectile could have lasted a single microsecond after leaving the screens of force of its parent vessel. it could have flown fast enough; ultra-beam trackers could have steered it rapidly enough and accurately enough; but before it could have traveled a foot, even at ultra-light speed, it would have ceased utterly to be. it would have been resolved into its sub-atomic constituent particles and waves. nothing material could exist, except instantaneously, in the field of force filling the axis of the black's cone of battle; a field beside which the exact center of a multi-billion-volt flash of lightning would constitute a dead area. that field, however, encountered no material object. the patrol's "screeners", packed so closely as to have a four hundred percent overlap, had been designed to withstand precisely that inconceivable environment. practically all of them withstood it. and in a fraction of a second the hollow forward end of the cylinder engulfed, pipe-wise, the entire apex of the enemy's war-cone, and the hitherto idle "sluggers" of the cylinder's liner went to work. each of those vessels had one heavy pressor beam, each having the same push as every other, directed inward, toward the cylinder's axis, and backward at an angle of fifteen degrees from the perpendicular line between ship and axis. therefore, wherever any black ship entered the patrol's cylinder or however, it was driven to and held at the axis and forced backward along that axis. none of them, however, got very far. they were perforce in single file; one ship opposing at least one solid ring of giant sluggers who did not have to concern themselves with defense, but could pour every iota of their tremendous resources into offensive beams. thus the odds were not merely two or three to one; but never less than eighty, and very frequently over two hundred to one. under the impact of those unimaginable torrents of force the screens of the engulfed vessels flashed once, practically instantaneously through the spectrum, and went down. whether they had two or three or four courses made no difference--in fact, even the ultra-speed analyzers of the observers could not tell. then, a couple of microseconds later, the wall-shields--the strongest fabrics of force developed by man up to that time--also failed. then those ravenous fields of force struck bare, unprotected metal, and every molecule, inorganic and organic, of ships and contents alike, disappeared in a bursting flare of energy so raw and so violent as to stagger even those who had brought it into existence. it was certainly vastly more than a mere volatilization; it was deduced later that the detonating unstable isotopes of the black's own bombs, in the frightful temperatures already existing in the patrol's quasi-solid beams, had initiated a chain reaction which had resulted in the fissioning of a considerable proportion of the atomic nuclei of usually completely stable elements! the cylinder stopped; the lensmen took stock. the depth of erosion of the leading edge had averaged almost exactly six double rings of drones. in places the sixth ring was still intact; in others, which had encountered unusually concentrated beaming, the seventh was gone. also, a fraction of one percent of the manned war-vessels had disappeared. brief though the time of engagement had been, the enemy had been able to concentrate enough beams to burn a few holes through the walls of the attacking cylinder. it had not been hoped that more than a few hundreds of black vessels could be blown out of the ether at this first pass. general staff had been sure, however, that the heaviest and most dangerous ships, including those carrying the enemy's high command, would be among them. the mid-section of the apex of the conventional cone of battle had always been the safest place to be; therefore that was where the black admirals had been and therefore they no longer lived. in a few seconds it became clear that if any black high command existed, it was not in shape to function efficiently. some of the enemy ships were still blasting, with little or no concerted effort, at the regulation cone which the cylinder had left behind; a few were attempting to get into some kind of a formation, possibly to attack the patrol's cylinder. indecision was visible and rampant. to turn that tremendous cylindrical engine of destruction around would have been a task of hours, but it was not necessary. instead, each vessel cut its tractors and pressors, spun end for end, reconnected, and retraced almost exactly its previous course; cutting out and blasting into nothingness another "plug" of black warships. another reversal, another dash; and this time, so disorganized were the foes and so feeble the beaming, not a single patrol vessel was lost. the black fleet, so proud and so conquering of mien a few minutes before, had fallen completely apart. "that's enough, rod, don't you think?" samms thought then. "please order clayton to cease action, so that we can hold a parley with their senior officers." "parley, hell!" kinnison's answering thought was a snarl. "we've got 'em going--mop 'em up before they can pull themselves together! parley be damned!" "beyond a certain point military action becomes indefensible butchery, of which our galactic patrol will never be guilty. that point has now been reached. if you do not agree with me, i'll be glad to call a council meeting to decide which of us is right." "that isn't necessary. you're right--that's one reason i'm not first lensman." the port admiral, fury and fire ebbing from his mind, issued orders; the patrol forces hung motionless in space. "as president of the galactic council, virge, take over." spy-rays probed and searched; a communicator beam was sent. virgil samms spoke aloud, in the lingua franca of deep space. "connect me, please, with the senior officer of your fleet." there appeared upon samms' plate a strong, not unhandsome face; deep-stamped with the bitter hopelessness of a strong man facing certain death. "you've got us. come on and finish us." "some such indoctrination was to be expected, but i anticipate no trouble in convincing you that you have been grossly misinformed in everything you have been told concerning us; our aims, our ethics, our morals, and our standards of conduct. there are, i assume, other surviving officers of your rank, although of lesser seniority?" "there are ten other vice-admirals, but i am in command. they will obey my orders or die." "nevertheless, they shall be heard. please go inert, match our intrinsic velocity, and come aboard, all eleven of you. we wish to explore with all of you the possibilities of a lasting peace between our worlds." "peace? bah! why lie?" the black commander's expression did not change. "i know what you are and what you do to conquered races. we prefer a clean, quick death in your beams to the kind you deal out in your torture rooms and experimental laboratories. come ahead--i intend to attack you as soon as i can make a formation." "i repeat, you have been grossly, terribly, _shockingly_ misinformed." samms' voice was quiet and steady; his eyes held those of the other. "we are civilized men, not barbarians or savages. does not the fact that we ceased hostilities so soon mean anything to you?" for the first time the stranger's face changed subtly, and samms pressed the slight advantage. "i see it does. now if you will converse with me mind to mind...." the first lensman felt for the man's ego and began to tune to it, but this was too much. "i will not!" the black put up a solid block. "i will have nothing to do with your cursed lens. i know what it is and will have none of it!" "oh, what's the use, virge!" kinnison snapped. "let's get on with it!" "a great deal of use, rod," samms replied, quietly. "this is a turning-point. i _must_ be right--i _can't_ be that far wrong," and he again turned his attention to the enemy commander. "very well, sir, we will continue to use spoken language. i repeat, please come aboard with your ten fellow vice-admirals. you will not be asked to surrender. you will retain your side-arms--as long as you make no attempt to use them. whether or not we come to any agreement, you will be allowed to return unharmed to your vessels before the battle is resumed." "what? side-arms? returned? you swear it?" "as president of the galactic council, in the presence of the highest officers of the galactic patrol as witnesses, i swear it." "we will come aboard." "very well. i will have ten other lensmen and officers here with me." the _boise_, of course, inerted first; followed by the _chicago_ and nine of the tremendous tear-drops from bennett. port admiral kinnison and nine other lensmen joined samms in the _boise's_ con room; the tight formation of eleven patrol ships blasted in unison in the space-courtesy of meeting the equally tight formation of black warships half-way in the matter of intrinsic velocity. soon the two little sub-fleets were motionless in respect to each other. eleven black gigs were launched. eleven black vice-admirals came aboard, to the accompaniment of the full military honors customarily granted to visiting admirals of friendly powers. each was armed with what seemed to be an exact duplicate of the patrol's own current blaster; lewiston, mark seventeen. in the lead strode the tall, heavy, gray-haired man with whom samms had been dealing; still defiant, still sullen, still concealing sternly his sheer desperation. his block was still on, full strength. the man next in line was much younger than the leader, much less wrought up, much more intent. samms felt for this man's ego, tuned to it, and got the shock of his life. this black vice-admiral's mind was not at all what he had expected to encounter--it was, in every respect, of lensman grade! "oh ... how? you are not speaking, and ... i see ... the lens ... the lens!" the stranger's mind was for seconds an utterly indescribable turmoil in which relief, gladness, and high anticipation struggled for supremacy. in the next few seconds, even before the visitors had reached their places at the conference table, virgil samms and corander of petrine exchanged thoughts which would require many thousands of words to express; only a few of which are necessary here. "the lens ... i have dreamed of such a thing, without hope of realization or possibility. _how_ we have been misled! they are, then, actually available upon your world, samms of tellus?" "not exactly, and not at all generally," and samms explained as he had explained so many times before. "you will wear one sooner than you think. but as to ending this warfare. you survivors are practically all natives of your own world. petrine?" "not 'practically', we are petrinos all. the 'teachers' were all in the center. many remain upon petrine and its neighboring worlds, but none remain alive here." "ohlanser, then, who assumed command, is also a petrino? so hard-headed, i had assumed otherwise. he will be a stumbling-block. is he actually in supreme command?" "only by and with our consent, under such astounding circumstances as these. he is a reactionary, of the old, die-hard, war-dog school. he would ordinarily be in supreme command and would be supported by the teachers if any were here; but i will challenge his authority and theirs; standing upon my right to command my own fleet as i see fit. so will, i think, several others. so go ahead with your meeting." "be seated, gentlemen." all saluted punctiliously and sat down. "now, vice-admiral ohlanser...." "how do you, a stranger, know my name?" "i know many things. we have a suggestion to offer which, if you petrinos will follow it, will end this warfare. first, please believe that we have no designs upon your planet, nor any quarrel with any of its people who are not hopelessly contaminated by the ideas and the culture of the entities who are back of this whole movement; quite possibly those whom you refer to as the 'teachers'. you did not know whom you were to fight, or why." this was a statement, with no hint of question about it. "i see now that we did not know all the truth," ohlanser admitted, stiffly. "we were informed, and given proof sufficient to make us believe, that you were monsters from outer space--rapacious, insatiable, senselessly and callously destructive to all other forms of intelligent life." "we suspected something of the kind. do you others agree? vice-admiral corander?" "yes. we were shown detailed and documented proofs; stereos of battles, in which no quarter was given. we saw system after system conquered, world after world laid waste. we were made to believe that our only hope of continued existence was to meet you and destroy you in space; for if you were allowed to reach petrine every man, woman, and child on the planet would either be killed outright or tortured to death. i see now that those proofs were entirely false; completely vicious." "they were. those who spread that lying propaganda and all who support their organization must be and shall be weeded out. petrine must be and shall be given her rightful place in the galactic fellowship of free, independent, and cooperative worlds. so must any and all planets whose peoples wish to adhere to civilization instead of to tyranny and despotism. to further these ends, we lensmen suggest that you re-form your fleet and proceed to arisia...." "arisia!" ohlanser did not like the idea. "arisia," samms insisted. "upon leaving arisia, knowing vastly more than you do now, you will return to your home planet, where you will take whatever steps you will then know to be necessary." "we were told that your lenses are hypnotic devices," ohlanser sneered, "designed to steal away and destroy the minds of any who listen to you. i believe _that_, fully. i will not go to arisia, nor will any part of petrine's grand fleet. i will not attack my home planet. i will not do battle against my own people. this is final." "i am not saying or implying that you should. but you continue to close your mind to reason. how about you, vice-admiral corander? and you others?" in the momentary silence samms put himself en rapport with the other officers, and was overjoyed at what he learned. "i do not agree with vice-admiral ohlanser," corander said, flatly. "he commands, not grand fleet, but his sub-fleet merely, as do we all. i will lead my sub-fleet to arisia." "traitor!" ohlanser shouted. he leaped to his feet and drew his blaster, but a tractor beam snatched it from his grasp before he could fire. "you were allowed to wear side-arms, not to use them," samms said, quietly. "how many of you others agree with corander; how many with ohlanser?" all nine voted with the younger man. "very well. ohlanser, you may either accept corander's leadership or leave this meeting now and take your sub-fleet directly back to petrine. decide now which you prefer to do." "you mean you aren't going to kill me, even now? or even degrade me, or put me under arrest?" "i mean exactly that. what is your decision?" "in that case ... i was--must have been--wrong. i will follow corander." "a wise choice. corander, you already know what to expect; except that four or five other petrinos now in this room will help you, not only in deciding what must be done upon petrine, but also in the doing of it. this meeting will adjourn." "but ... no reprisals?" corander, in spite of his newly acquired knowledge, was dubious, almost dumbfounded. "no invasion or occupation? no indemnities to your patrol, or reparations? no punishment of us, our men, or our families?" "none." "that does not square up even with ordinary military usage." "i know it. it does conform, however, to the policy of the galactic patrol which is to spread throughout our island universe." "you are not even sending your fleet, or heavy units of it, with us, to see to it that we follow your instructions?" "it is not necessary. if you need any form of help you will inform us of your requirements via lens, as i am conversing with you now, and whatever you want will be supplied. however, i do not expect any such call. you and your fellows are capable of handling the situation. you will soon know the truth, and know that you know it; and when your house-cleaning is done we will consider your application for representation upon the galactic council. good-bye." thus the lensmen--particularly first lensman virgil samms--brought another sector of the galaxy under the aegis of civilization. chapter 20 after the rally there were a few days during which neither samms nor kinnison was on earth. that the cosmocrats' presidential candidate and the first lensman were both with the fleet was not a secret; in fact, it was advertised. everyone was told why they were out there, and almost everyone approved. nor was their absence felt. developments, fast and terrific, were slammed home. cosmocratic spellbinders in every state of north america waved the flag, pointed with pride, and viewed with alarm, in the very best tradition of north american politics. but above all, there appeared upon every news-stand and in every book-shop of the continent, at opening time of the day following rally day, a book of over eighteen hundred pages of fine print; a book the publication of which had given samms himself no little concern. "but i'm afraid of it!" he had protested. "_we_ know it's true; but there's material on almost every page for the biggest libel and slander suits in history!" "i know it," the bald and paunchy lensman-attorney had replied. "fully. i hope they _do_ take action against us, but i'm absolutely certain they won't." "you hope they do?" "yes. if they take the initiative they can't prevent us from presenting our evidence in full; and there is no court in existence, however corrupt, before which we could not win. what they want and must have is delay; avoidance of any issue until after the election." "i see." samms was convinced. the location of the patrol's grand fleet had been concealed from all inhabitants of the solarian system, friends and foes alike; but the climactic battle--liberating as it did energies sufficient to distort the very warp and woof of the fabric of space itself--could not be hidden or denied, or even belittled. it was not, however, advertised or blazoned abroad. then as now the newshawks wanted to know, instantly and via long-range communicators, vastly more than those responsible for security cared to tell; then as now the latter said as little as it was humanly possible to say. everyone knew that the patrol had won a magnificent victory; but nobody knew who or what the enemy had been. since the rank and file knew it, everyone knew that only a fraction of the black fleet had actually been destroyed; but nobody knew where the remaining vessels went or what they did. everyone knew that about ninety five percent of the patrol's astonishingly huge grand fleet had come from, and was on its way back to, the planet bennett, and knew--since bennettans would in a few weeks be scampering gaily all over space--in general _what_ bennett was; but nobody knew _why_ it was. thus, when the north american contingent landed at new york spaceport, everyone whom the newsmen could reach was literally mobbed. however, in accordance with the aphorism ascribed to the wise old owl, those who knew the least said the most. but the telenews ace who had once interviewed both kinnison and samms wasted no time upon small fry. he insisted on seeing the two top lensmen, and kept on insisting until he did see them. "nothing to say," kinnison said curtly, leaving no doubt whatever that he meant it. "all talking--if any--will be done by first lensman samms." "now, all you millions of telenews listeners, i am interviewing first lensman samms himself. a little closer to the mike, please, first lensman. now, sir, what everybody wants to know is--who are the blacks?" "i don't know." "you don't know? on the lens, sir?" "on the lens. i still don't know." "i see. but you have suspicions or ideas? you can guess?" "i can guess; but that's all it would be--a guess." "and my guess, folks, is that his guess would be a very highly informed guess. will you tell the public, first lensman samms, what your guess is?" "i will." if this reply astonished the newshawk, it staggered kinnison and the others who knew samms best. it was, however, a coldly calculated political move. "while it will probably be several weeks before we can furnish detailed and unassailable proof, it is my considered opinion that the black fleet was built and controlled by the morgan-towne-isaacson machine. that they, all unknown to any of us, enticed, corrupted, and seduced a world, or several worlds, to their program of domination and enslavement. that they intended by armed force to take over the continent of north america and through it the whole earth and all the other planets adherent to civilization. that they intended to hunt down and kill every lensman, and to subvert the galactic council to their own ends. this is what you wanted?" "that's fine, sir--_just_ what we wanted. but just one more thing, sir." the newsman had obtained infinitely more than he had expected to get; yet, good newsmanlike, he wanted more. "just a word, if you will, mr. samms, as to these trials and the white book?" "i can add very little, i'm afraid, to what i have already said and what is in the book; and that little can be classed as 'i told you so'. we are trying, and will continue to try, to force those criminals to trial; to break up, to prohibit, an unending series of hair-splitting delays. we want, and are determined to get, legal action; to make each of those we have accused defend himself in court and under oath. morgan and his crew, however, are working desperately to avoid any action at all, because they know that we can and will prove every allegation we have made." the telenews ace signed off, samms and kinnison went to their respective offices, and cosmocratic orators throughout the nation held a field-day. they glowed and scintillated with triumph. they yelled themselves hoarse, leather-lunged tub-thumpers though they were, in pointing out the unsullied purity, the spotless perfection of their own party and its every candidate for office; in shuddering revulsion at the never-to-be-sufficiently-condemned, proved and demonstrated villainy and blackguardy of the opposition. and the nationalists, although they had been dealt a terrific and entirely unexpected blow, worked near-miracles of politics with what they had. morgan and his minions ranted and raved. they were being jobbed. they were being crucified by the monied powers. all those allegations and charges were sheerest fabrications--false, utterly vicious, containing nothing whatever of truth. they, not the patrol, were trying to force a show-down; to vindicate themselves and to confute those unspeakably unscrupulous lensmen before election day. and they were succeeding! why, otherwise, had not a single one of the thousands of accused even been arrested? ask that lying first lensman, virgil samms! ask that rock-hearted, iron-headed, conscienceless murderer, roderick kinnison! but do not, at peril of your sanity, submit your minds to their lenses! and why, the reader asks, were not at least some of those named persons arrested before election day? and your historian must answer frankly that he does not know. he is not a lawyer. it would be of interest--to some few of us--to follow in detail at least one of those days of legal battling in one of the high courts of the land; to quote verbatim at least a few of the many thousands of pages of transcript: but to most of us the technicalities involved would be boring in the extreme. but couldn't the voters tell easily enough which side was on the offensive and which on the defensive? which pressed for action and which insisted on postponement and delay? they could have, easily enough, if they had cared enough about the basic issues involved to make the necessary mental effort, but almost everyone was too busy doing something else. and it was so much easier to take somebody else's word for it. and finally, _thinking_ is an exercise to which all too few brains are accustomed. but morgan neither ranted nor raved nor blustered when he sat in conference with his faintly-blue superior, who had come storming in as soon as he had learned of the crushing defeat of the black fleet. the kalonian was very highly concerned; so much so that the undertone of his peculiar complexion was turning slowly to a delicate shade of green. "how did _that_ happen? how _could_ it happen? why was i not informed of the patrol's real power--how could you be guilty of such stupidity? now i'll have to report to scrwan of the eich. he's pure, undiluted poison--and if word of this catastrophe ever gets up to ploor...!!!" "come down out of the stratosphere, fernald," morgan countered, bitingly. "don't try to make _me_ the goat--i won't sit still for it. it happened because they could build a bigger fleet than we could. you were in on that--all of it. you knew what we were doing, and approved it--all of it. you were as badly fooled as i was. you were not informed because i could find out nothing--i could learn no more of their bennett than they could of our petrine. as to reporting, you will of course do as you please; but i would advise you not to cry too much before you're really hurt. this battle isn't over yet, my friend." the kalonian had been a badly shaken entity; it was a measure of his state of mind that he did not liquidate the temerarious tellurian then and there. but since morgan was as undisturbed as ever, and as sure of himself, he began to regain his wonted aplomb. his color became again its normal pale blue. "i will forgive your insubordination this time, since there were no witnesses, but use no more such language to me," he said, stiffly. "i fail to perceive any basis for your optimism. the only chance now remaining is for you to win the election, and how can you do that? you are--must be--losing ground steadily and rapidly." "not as much as you might think." morgan pulled down a large, carefully-drawn chart. "this line represents the hide-bound nationalists, whom nothing we can do will alienate from the party; this one the equally hide-bound cosmocrats. the balance of power lies, as always, with the independents--these here. and many of them are not as independent as is supposed. we can buy or bring pressure to bear on half of them--that cuts them down to this size here. so, no matter what the patrol does, it can affect only this relatively small block here, and it is this block we are fighting for. we are losing a little ground, and steadily, yes; since we can't conceal from anybody with half a brain the fact that we're doing our best to keep the cases from ever coming to trial. but here's the actual observed line of sentiment, as determined from psychological indices up to yesterday; here is the extrapolation of that line to election day. it forecasts us to get just under forty nine percent of the total vote." "and is there anything cheerful about that?" fernald asked frostily. "i'll say there is!" morgan's big face assumed a sneering smile, an expression never seen by any voter. "this chart deals only with living, legally registered, bona-fide voters. now if we can come that close to winning an absolutely honest election, how do you figure we can possibly lose the kind this one is going to be? we're in power, you know. we've got this machine and we know how to use it." "oh, yes, i remember--vaguely. you told me about north american politics once, a few years ago. dead men, ringers, repeaters, ballot-box stuffing, and so on, you said?" "'and so on' is right, chief!" morgan assured him, heartily. "everything goes, this time. it'll be one of the biggest landslides in north american history." "i will, then, defer any action until after the election." "that will be the smart thing to do, chief; then you won't have to take any, or make any report at all," and upon this highly satisfactory note the conference closed. and morgan was actually as confident as he had appeared. his charts were actual and factual. he knew the power of money and the effectiveness of pressure; he knew the capabilities of the various units of his machine. he did not, however, know two things: jill samms' insidious, deeply-hidden voters' protective league and the bright flame of loyalty pervading the galactic patrol. thus, between times of bellowing and screaming his carefully-prepared, rabble-rousing speeches, he watched calmly and contentedly the devious workings of his smooth and efficient organization. until the day before election, that is. then hordes of young men and young women went suddenly and briefly to work; at least four in every precinct of the entire nation. they visited, it seemed, every residence and every dwelling unit, everywhere. they asked questions, and took notes, and vanished; and the machine's operatives, after the alarm was given, could not find man or girl or notebook. and the galactic patrol, which had never before paid any attention to elections, had given leave and ample time to its every north american citizen. vessels of the north american contingent were grounded and practically emptied of personnel; bases and stations were depopulated; and even from every distant world every patrolman registered in any north american precinct came to spend the day at home. morgan began then to worry, but there was nothing he could do about the situation--or was there? if the civilian boys and girls were checking the registration books--and they were--it was as legally-appointed checkers. if the uniformed boys and girls were all coming home to vote--and they were--that, too, was their inalienable right. but boys and girls were notoriously prone to accident and to debauchery ... but again morgan was surprised; and, this time, taken heavily aback. the web which had protected grand rally so efficiently, but greatly enlarged now, was functioning again; and morgan and his minions spent a sleepless and thoroughly uncomfortable night. election day dawned clear, bright, and cool; auguring a record turn-out. voting was early and extraordinarily heavy; the polls were crowded. there was, however, very little disorder. surprisingly little, in view of the fact that the cosmocratic watchers, instead of being the venal wights of custom, were cold-eyed, unreachable men and women who seemed to know by sight every voter in the precinct. at least they spotted on sight and challenged without hesitation every ringer, every dead one, every repeater, and every imposter who claimed the right to vote. and those challenges, being borne out in every case by the carefully-checked registration lists, were in every case upheld. not all of the policemen on duty, especially in the big cities, were above suspicion, of course. but whenever any one of those officers began to show a willingness to play ball with the machine a calm, quiet-eyed patrolman would remark, casually: "better see that this election stays straight, bud, and strictly according to the lists and signatures--or you're apt to find yourself listed in the big book along with the rest of the rats." it was not that the machine liked the way things were going, or that it did not have goon squads on the job. it was that there were, everywhere and always, more patrolmen than there were goons. and those patrolmen, however young in years some of them might have appeared to be, were space-bronzed veterans, space-hardened fighting men, armed with the last word in blasters--lewiston, mark seventeen. to the boy's friends and neighbors, of course, his lewiston was practically invisible. it was merely an article of clothing, the same as his pants. it carried no more of significance, of threat or of menace, than did the pistol and the club of the friendly irish cop on the beat. but the goon did not see the patrolman as a friend. he saw the keen, clear, sharply discerning eyes; the long, strong fingers; the smoothly flowing muscles, so eloquent of speed and of power. he saw the lewiston for what it was; the deadliest, most destructive hand-weapon known to man. above all he saw the difference in numbers: six or seven or eight patrolmen to four or five or six of his own kind. if more hoods arrived, so did more spacemen; if some departed, so did a corresponding number of the wearers of the space-black and silver. "ain't you getting tired of sticking around here, george?" one mobster asked confidentially of one patrolman. "i am. what say we and some of you fellows round up some girls and go have us a party?" "uh-uh," george denied. his voice was gay and careless, but his eyes were icy cold. "my uncle's cousin's stepson is running for second assistant dog-catcher, and i can't leave until i find out whether he wins or not." thus nothing happened; thus the invisible but nevertheless terrific tension did not erupt into open battle; and thus, for the first time in north america's long history, a presidential election was ninety nine and ninety nine one-hundredths percent pure! evening came. the polls closed. the cosmocrats' headquarters for the day, the grand ballroom of the hotel van der voort, became the goal of every patrolman who thought he stood any chance at all of getting in. kinnison had been there all day, of course. so had joy, his wife, who for lack of space has been sadly neglected in these annals. betty, their daughter, had come in early, accompanied by a husky and personable young lieutenant, who has no other place in this story. jack kinnison arrived, with dimples maynard--dazzlingly blonde, wearing a screamingly red wisp of silk. she, too, has been shamefully slighted here, although she was never slighted anywhere else. "the first time i ever saw her," jack was wont to say, "i went right into a flat spin, running around in circles and biting myself in the small of the back, and couldn't pull out of it for four hours!" that miss maynard should be a very special item is not at all surprising, in view of the fact that she was to become the wife of one of the kinnisons and the mother of another. the first lensman, who had been in and out, came in to stay. so did jill and her inseparable, mason northrop. and so did others, singly or by twos or threes. lensmen and their wives. conway and clio costigan, dr. and mrs. rodebush, and cleveland, admiral and mrs. clayton, ditto schweikert, and dr. nels bergenholm. and others. nor were they all north americans, or even human. rularion was there; and so was blocky, stocky dronvire of rigel four. no outsider could tell, ever, what any lensman was thinking, to say nothing of such a monstrous lensman as dronvire--but that hotel was being covered as no political headquarters had ever been covered before. the returns came in, see-sawing maddeningly back and forth. faster and faster. the maritime provinces split fifty-fifty. maine, new hampshire, and vermont, cosmocrat. new york, upstate, cosmocrat. new york city, on the basis of incomplete but highly significant returns, was piling up a huge nationalist majority. pennsylvania--labor--nationalist. ohio--farmers--cosmocrat. twelve southern states went six and six. chicago, as usual, solidly for the machine; likewise quebec and ottawa and montreal and toronto and detroit and kansas city and st. louis and new orleans and denver. then northern and western and far southern states came in and evened the score. saskatchewan, alberta, britcol, and alaska, all went cosmocrat. so did washington, idaho, montana, oregon, nevada, utah, arizona, newmex, and most of the states of mexico. at three o'clock in the morning the cosmocrats had a slight but definite lead and were, finally, holding it. at four o'clock the lead was larger, but california was still an unknown quantity--california could wreck everything. _how_ would california go? especially, how would california's two metropolitan districts--the two most independent and free-thinking and least predictable big cities of the nation--how _would_ they go? at five o'clock california seemed safe. except for los angeles and san francisco, the cosmocrats had swept the state, and in those two great cities they held a commanding lead. it was still mathematically possible, however, for the nationalists to win. "it's in the bag! let's start the celebration!" someone shouted, and others took up the cry. "stop it! no!" kinnison's parade-ground voice cut through the noise. "no celebration is in order or will be held until the result becomes certain or witherspoon concedes!" the two events came practically together: witherspoon conceded a couple of minutes before it became mathematically impossible for him to win. then came the celebration, which went on and on interminably. at the first opportunity, however, kinnison took samms by the arm, led him without a word into a small office, and shut the door. samms, also saying nothing, sat down in the swivel chair, put both feet up on the desk, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. "well, virge--satisfied?" kinnison broke the silence at last. his lens was off. "we're on our way." "yes, rod. fully. at last." no more than his friend did he dare to use his lens; to plumb the depths he knew so well were there. "now it will roll--under its own power--no one man now is or ever will be indispensable to the galactic patrol--_nothing_ can stop it now!" epilogue the murder of senator morgan, in his own private office, was never solved. if it had occurred before the election, suspicion would certainly have fallen upon roderick kinnison, but as it was it did not. by no stretch of the imagination could anyone conceive of "rod the rock" kicking a man after he had knocked him down. not that morgan did not have powerful and vindictive enemies in the underworld: he had so many that it proved impossible to fasten the crime to any one of them. officially, kinnison was on a five-year leave of absence from the galactic patrol, the office of port admiral had been detached entirely from the fleet and assigned to the office of the president of north america. actually, however, in every respect that counted, roderick kinnison was still port admiral, and would remain so until he died or until the council retired him by force. officially, kinnison was taking a short, well-earned vacation from the job in which he had been so outstandingly successful. actually, he was doing a quick flit to petrine, to get personally acquainted with the new lensmen and to see what kind of a job they were doing. besides, virgil samms was already there. he arrived. he got acquainted. he saw. he approved. "how about coming back to tellus with me, virge?" he asked, when the visiting was done. "i've got to make a speech, and it'd be nice to have you hold my head." "i'd be glad to," and the _chicago_ took off. half of north america was dark when they neared tellus; all of it, apparently, was obscured by clouds. only the navigating officers of the vessel knew where they were, nor did either of the two lensmen care. they were having too much fun arguing about the talents and abilities of their respective grandsons. the _chicago_ landed. a bug was waiting. the two lensmen, without an order being given, were whisked away. samms had not asked where the speech was to be given, and kinnison simply did not realize that he had not told him all about it. thus samms had no idea that he was just leaving spokane spaceport, washington. after a few miles of fast, open-country driving the bug reached the city. it slowed down, swung into brightly-lighted maple street, and passed a sign reading "cannon hill" something-or-other--neither of which names meant anything to either lensman. kinnison looked at his friend's red-thatched head and glanced at his watch. "looking at you reminds me--i need a haircut," he remarked. "should have got one aboard, but didn't think of it joy told me if i come home without it she'll braid it in pigtails and tie it up with pink ribbons, and you're shaggier than i am. you've got to get one or else buy yourself a violin. what say we do it now?" "have we got time enough?" "plenty." then, to the driver: "stop at the first barber shop you see, please." "yes, sir. there's a good one a few blocks further along." the bug sped down maple street, turned sharply into plainly-marked twelfth avenue. neither lensman saw the sign. "here you are, sir." "thanks." there were two barbers and two chairs, both empty. the lensmen, noticing that the place was neatly kept and meticulously clean, sat down and resumed their discussion of two extremely unusual infants. the barbers went busily to work. "just as well, though--better, really--that the kids didn't marry each other, at that," kinnison concluded finally. "the way it is, we've each got a grandson--it'd be tough to have to share one with _you_." samms made no reply to this sally, for something was happening. the fact that this fair-skinned, yellow-haired blue-eyed barber was left-handed had not rung any bells--there were lots of left-handed barbers. he had neither seen nor heard the cat--a less-than-half-grown, gray, tiger-striped kitten--which, after standing up on its hind legs to sniff ecstatically at his nylon-clad ankles, had uttered a couple of almost inaudible "meows" and had begun to purr happily. crouching, tensing its strong little legs, it leaped almost vertically upward. its tail struck the barber's elbow. hastily brushing the kitten aside, and beginning profuse apologies both for his awkwardness and for the presence of the cat--he had never done such a thing before and he would drown him forthwith--the barber applied a styptic pencil and recollection hit samms a pile-driver blow. "well, i'm a...!" he voiced three highly un-samms-like, highly specific expletives which, as mentor had foretold so long before, were both self-derogatory and profane. then, as full realization dawned, he bit a word squarely in two. "excuse me, please, mr. carbonero, for this outrageous display. it was not the scratch, nor was any of it your fault. nothing you could have done would have...." "you know my name?" the astonished barber interrupted. "yes. you were ... ah ... recommended to me by a ... a friend...." whatever samms could say would make things worse. the truth, wild as it was, would have to be told, at least in part. "you do not look like an italian, but perhaps you have enough of that racial heritage to believe in prophecy?" "of course, sir. there have always been prophets--_true_ prophets." "good. this event was foretold in detail; in such complete detail that i was deeply, terribly shocked. even to the kitten. you call it thomas." "yes, sir. thomas aquinas." "it is actually a female. in here, thomasina!" the kitten had been climbing enthusiastically up his leg; now, as he held a pocket invitingly open, she sprang into it, settled down, and began to purr blissfully. while the barbers and kinnison stared pop-eyed samms went on: "she is determined to adopt me, and it would be a shame not to requite such affection. would you part with her--for, say, ten credits?" "_ten credits!_ i'll be glad to give her to you for nothing!" "ten it is, then. one more thing. rod, you always carry a pocket rule. measure this scratch, will you? you'll find it's mighty close to three millimeters long." "not 'close', virge--it's _exactly_ three millimeters, as near as this vernier can scale it." "and just above and parallel to the cheek-bone." "check. just above and as parallel as though it had been ruled there by a draftsman." "well, that's that. let's get finished with the haircuts, before you're late for your speech," and the barbers, with thoughts which will be left to the imagination, resumed their interrupted tasks. "spill it, virge!" kinnison lensed the pent-up thought. if carbonero, who did not know samms at all, had been amazed at what had been happening, kinnison, who had known him so long and so well, had been literally and completely dumbfounded. "what in hell's behind this? what's the story? give!" samms told him, and a mental silence fell; a silence too deep for intelligible thought. each was beginning to realize that he never would and never could know what mentor of arisia really was. * * * * * the secret planet no human had ever landed on the hidden planet of arisia. a mysterious space barrier turned back both men and ships. then the word came to earth; "go to arisia!" samms of the galactic patrol went--and came back with the lens, the strange device that gave its wearer powers no man had ever possessed before. samms knew the price of that power would be high. but even he had no idea of the ultimate cost, and the weird destiny waiting for the first lensman a pyramid book 60¢ cover: jack gaughan printed in u.s.a. * * * * * novels of science-fiction by "doc" smith _the skylark series_ the skylark of space skylark three skylark of valeron skylark duquesne _the lensman series_ triplanetary first lensman galactic patrol gray lensman second stage lensman children of the lens * * * * * produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) the great war in england in 1897 _first edition_ _july 1894._ _second edition_ _july 1894._ _edition de luxe_ _july 1894._ _third edition_ _august 1894._ _fourth edition_ _august 1894._ _fifth edition_ _september 1894._ _sixth edition_ _october 1894._ _seventh edition_ _november 1894._ _eighth edition_ _december 1894._ [illustration: bombardment of london: "in ludgate hill the scene was awful."] the great war in england in 1897 by william le queux, f.r.g.s. author of "guilty bonds" "strange tales of a nihilist" "condemned to silence" "the stolen soul" etc. _illustrated by captain cyril field, r.m.l.i. and t. s. c. crowther_ eleventh edition london tower publishing company limited 95, minories, e.c. 1895 [_all rights reserved_] to my friend alfred charles harmsworth a generous editor and patriotic englishman i inscribe this forecast of the coming war preface to ninth edition in writing this book it was my endeavour to bring vividly before the public the national dangers by which we are surrounded, and the absolute necessity which lies upon england to maintain her defences in an adequate state of efficiency. that my effort has been successful, is proved alike by the fact that eight editions of the work have already been exhausted, and by the commendatory and highly gratifying terms in which it has been criticised by prominent statesmen and leading naval and military experts, including the commander-in-chief of the british army. some professional critics have, it is true, questioned certain prophetic details concerning naval warfare, but i think the best possible answer to them is furnished by the results of recent battles in chinese waters, which, it is admitted, present to us very serious object-lessons. a few passages i have revised in order to bring the events more thoroughly up to date, and in sending my forecast forth again it is accompanied by a devout hope that ere it be too late our present insecurity will be remedied, that a national disaster may thus be prevented, and that england may ever retain her supremacy upon the sea. william le queux. london, _march_ 1895. criticism by lord roberts united service club, pall mall, w. dear sir,--i have read with considerable interest your vivid account of the dangers to which the loss of our naval supremacy may be expected to expose us, and the means by which you think we should be able to extricate ourselves from those dangers. i hardly like to criticise a work which, to be effective, must to a great extent be imaginative, but on one or two points i would venture to offer a few remarks:-_first_, you refer to the assistance the home army might receive from india and the colonies. i feel confident that in such an emergency as you portray, the colonies and dependencies of the empire would be most anxious to assist the mother country; but unless our sea power were assured, it appears to me that they would be unable to do so. until our command of the sea had been regained, we should be powerless to move a soldier either from or to the united kingdom. _secondly_, you very properly lay stress on the part which might be taken by the volunteers in the defence of the united kingdom. no one can appreciate more fully than i do the gallant and patriotic spirit which animates the volunteer force, and i most thoroughly agree with you as to the value it might be under such serious circumstances as you depict. in fact, the _raison d'être_ of the force is to be able to defend the country in the event of an invasion. but to enable our volunteers to do all that is expected of them, they must be made thoroughly efficient. much has been done of late years to this end, but much more is required before our citizen soldiers can be depended upon to hold their own against foreign troops whose training is continually being carried on, and whose organisation is believed to be nearly perfect. it is very penny-wise and pound-foolish of us not to do all in our power to render the volunteers the serviceable body they might be. _thirdly_, you take but little account of the militia, which the duke of wellington considered to be our mainstay in the event of a threatened invasion. the militia would seem to be rather out of fashion at present, but still it is a very useful force, which only needs encouragement and development to convert it into a reliable fighting body, capable of reinforcing and co-operating with our small regular army. you will gather from what i have said that, under the conditions specified by you, i should be inclined to regard your forecast of the result of the supposed conflict as being unduly favourable. i can only add that i trust such conditions may never arise, and that your estimate of the means immediately available for repelling foreign attack may be more correct than my own.--believe me, yours very truly, roberts. preface to first edition. general lord roberts, v.c., on reading this forecast of the coming war, wrote as follows:- grove park, kingsbury, middlesex, march 26, 1894. dear sir,--i entirely concur with you in thinking it most desirable to bring home to the british public in every possible way the dangers to which the nation is exposed, unless it maintains a navy and army sufficiently strong and well organised to meet the defensive requirements of the empire.--believe me, yours faithfully, [illustration: signature of roberts] field-marshal viscount wolseley, k.p., in his _life of marlborough_, speaks plainly when he says- the last battle fought in england was fought to secure james his crown. if through the folly and parsimony of our people we should ever see another, it will be fought in defence of london. the struggle will be, not for a dynasty, but for our own very existence as an independent nation. are we prepared to meet it? the politician says yes; the soldier and the sailor say no. such outspoken expressions of opinion from two of our chief military authorities should cause the british public to pause and reflect. on all hands it is admitted by both naval and military experts, that, notwithstanding the increase of our navy by the spencer programme, our country is inadequately defended and totally unprepared for war. the extraordinary preparations now going forward in france and russia are being made in view of an attack upon england, and it is ominous that the downfall of our empire is a perpetual subject of discussion in the paris press. although a briton, i have lived long enough in france to know that the french, while hating the germans, despise the english, and are looking forward to a day not far hence when their battleships will bombard our south coast towns, and their legions advance over the surrey hills to london. when the great war does come, it will come swiftly, and without warning. we are accustomed to scoff at the idea of an invasion of britain. we feel secure in our sea-girt island home; we have confidence in our brave sailor defenders, in our gallant army, and our enthusiastic volunteers, and we entertain a supreme contempt for "mere foreigners." it is this national egotism, this insular conviction that foreign engines of war are inferior to our own, that may cause our ruin. everything we possess, everything we hold dear, our position among nations, our very life, depends for its safety, firstly, upon the undoubted predominance of our navy over any likely or possible combination of the navies of continental powers; and, secondly, upon an army properly equipped and ready to take the field on receipt of the momentous word "mobilise"! is our navy, even strengthened by the recent programme, in a sufficiently efficient state to retain the supremacy of the seas? let us face the situation boldly, and allow a well-known and distinguished officer to reply to that question. admiral of the fleet sir thomas symonds, g.c.b., writing to me, says- our weak navy, with its inefficient _personnel_, has now to perform an enormously increased duty, such as defending increased commerce, food, and coals. our guns are the worst in the world in forty-seven vessels, mounting 350 muzzleloaders, where the french and all foreign navies use _only breechloaders_. dimensions, expense, and very many other reasons are given for this ruinous custom, but all other navies mount breechloaders on vessels of the same dimensions as our own. as to expenses, such economy (so-called) means the most execrable parsimony--to ruthlessly murder men and disgrace our flag and navy. our forty-seven feeble vessels, weak in armament, and all composing them, reduce our navy to comparative insignificance, and are a preparation for disgrace and ruin when at war. yet we are content to sit idly by, confident in a strength which two foreign powers are slowly but surely undermining! russia and france, both barely able to sustain their gigantic armies, are to-day straining every nerve to enlarge their naval forces, preparatory to a swift descent upon our shores. this alarming fact we wilfully disregard, affecting to find humour in the franco-muscovite preparations. thus, unless we maintain a navy of sufficient strength to prevent invasion, war, with its attendant horrors, is inevitable, and the scene of battle will be england's smiling fields. turning to our army, what do we find? even the civilian writer who studies it is amazed at the muddle of insufficiency in which it is steeped. our home defence scheme is a very elaborate paper problem, but as our forces have never been mobilised, its many glaring defects must, alas! remain unremedied until our highways echo to the tramp of an enemy. upon this point a volume might be written, but a few plain facts must suffice. military experts will, i think, agree when i assert that the 2nd corps, as planned by this grotesque scheme, does not and cannot exist; and while the 3rd corps may possibly stand as regards infantry, because its infantry are all militia, yet it will have neither regular cavalry nor guns. every one of the staffs is a myth, and the equipment and commissariat arrangements are a complete guarantee of collapse at the outset of mobilisation. what, for instance, can be said of a system in which one unit of the 3rd cavalry brigade "mobilises," and obtains its "personal" and part of its "regimental" equipment at plymouth; the other part of its regimental paraphernalia, including munitions, at aldershot; and its horses--at dublin? practically, half our cavalry at home are to-day, however, incapable of mobilisation, for, according to the latest return available, i find that over six thousand cavalry men have no horses! again, the volunteers, upon whom we must depend for the defence of london, have no transport, and the ammunition columns for the 3rd army corps and the regular cavalry do not exist. such staggering deficits as these are in themselves sufficient to show how critical would be our position if england were invaded, and in order to give an adequate idea of what we may expect during that reign of terror, i have penned the narrative which follows. some, no doubt, believe that our enemies will treat us with more mercy than i have shown, but i firmly anticipate that in the desperate struggle for the supremacy of the world, towns will be bombarded and international law set at naught where our invaders see a chance of success. consequently, the ruin must be widespread, and the loss of life enormous. in the various strategical and tactical problems involved, i have received assistance from a number of well-known naval and military officers on the active list, whose names i am, however, not at liberty to divulge. suffice it to say that, in addition to personally going over the whole of the ground where battles are fought, i have also obtained information from certain official documents not made public, and have endeavoured to bring this forecast up to date by introducing the latest inventions in guns, and showing the relative strength of navies as they will appear in 1897. in this latter i have been compelled to bestow names upon many ships now building. to lieut. j. g. stevens, 17th middlesex rifle volunteers, who supplied me with many details regarding the volunteers; to mr. alfred c. harmsworth, f.r.g.s., whose suggestion prompted me to write this narrative; and to mr. harold harmsworth, who on several occasions assisted me, i hereby acknowledge my thanks. while many readers will no doubt regard this book chiefly as an exciting piece of fiction, i trust that no small proportion will perceive the important lesson underlying it, for the french are laughing at us, the russians presume to imitate us, and the day of reckoning is hourly advancing. william le queux. prince of wales's club, coventry street, w. contents _book i_ the invasion chap. page i. the shadow of moloch 13 ii. a tottering empire 19 iii. arming for the struggle 23 iv. the spy 28 v. bombardment of newhaven 35 vi. landing of the french in sussex 40 vii. bomb outrages in london 44 viii. fateful days for the old flag 49 ix. count von beilstein at home 56 x. a death draught 61 xi. the massacre at eastbourne 65 xii. in the eagle's talons 70 xiii. fierce fighting in the channel 75 xiv. battle off beachy head 85 _book ii_ the struggle xv. the doom of hull 99 xvi. terror on the tyne 110 xvii. help from our colonies 125 xviii. russian advance in the midlands 137 xix. fall of birmingham 150 xx. our revenge in the mediterranean 162 xxi. a naval fight and its consequences 174 xxii. panic in lancashire 186 xxiii. the eve of battle 193 xxiv. manchester attacked by russians 200 xxv. gallant deeds by cyclists 208 xxvi. great battle on the mersey 213 xxvii. the fate of the vanquished 218 _book iii_ the victory xxviii. a shabby wayfarer 229 xxix. landing of the enemy at leith 235 xxx. attack on edinburgh 243 xxxi. "the demon of war" 248 xxxii. frightful slaughter outside glasgow 256 xxxiii. march of the french on london 268 xxxiv. looting in the suburbs 279 xxxv. london bombarded 284 xxxvi. babylon burning 291 xxxvii. fighting on the surrey hills 299 xxxviii. naval battle off dungeness 304 xxxix. the day of reckoning 312 xl. "for england!" 324 xli. dawn 328 _book i_ _the invasion_ the great war in england in 1897. chapter i. the shadow of moloch. war! _war in england!_ growled by thoughtful, stern-visaged men, gasped with bated breath by pale-faced, terrified women, the startling news passed quickly round the avenue theatre from gallery to boxes. the crisis was swift, complete, crushing. actors and audience were appalled. though it was a gay comic opera that was being performed for the first time, entertainers and entertained lost all interest in each other. they were amazed, dismayed, awestricken. amusement was nauseating; war, with all its attendant horrors, was actually upon them! the popular tenor, one of the idols of the hour, blundered over his lines and sang terribly out of tune, but the hypercritical first-night audience passed the defect unnoticed. they only thought of what might happen; of the dark cavernous future that lay before. war had been declared against britain--britain, the empire that had so long rested in placid sea-girt security, confident of immunity from attack, was to be invaded! the assertion seemed preposterous. some, after reading eagerly the newspapers still damp from the press, smiled incredulously, half inclined to regard the startling intelligence as a mere fabrication by alarmists, or a perfected phase of the periodical war-scare which sensational journalists annually launch upon the world during what is technically known as the "gooseberry" season. other readers, however, recollecting the grave political crises on the continent, set their teeth firmly, silent and dumfounded. upon many merchants and city men the news fell like a thunderbolt, for financial ruin stared them in the face. evidently a desperate attempt would be made by the enemy to land on english soil. already the startled playgoers could hear in their excited imagination the clash of arms mingling with the triumphant yell of the victor, and the stifled, despairing cry of the hapless victim. but who, they wondered, would be the victim? would britannia ever fall to the dust with broken trident and shattered shield? would her neck ever lie under the heel of the foreign invader? no, never--while britons could fight. the theatre, in its garish blaze of electricity, and crowded with well-dressed men and women, presented a brilliant appearance, which had suddenly become strangely incongruous with the feelings of the audience. in the boxes, where youth and beauty smiled, the bouquets which had been provided by the management gave to the theatre a bright, artistic touch of colour. yet the pungent odour they diffused had become sickening. intermingled with other flowers there were many tuberoses. they are funereal blossoms, ineffably emblematic of the grave. there is death in their breath. when the astounding news fell upon the house the performance was drawing to a close. a moment before, every one had been silent and motionless, listening with rapt attention to the tenor's plaintive love song, and admiring the grace of the fair heroine, but as the terrible truth dawned upon them they rose, amid a scene of the wildest excitement. the few papers that had been purchased at fabulous prices at the doors were eagerly scanned, many of the sheets being torn into shreds in the mad struggle to catch a glimpse of the alarming telegrams they contained. for a few moments the agitation nearly approached a panic, while above the hum and din the hoarse, strident voices of running newsmen could be heard outside, yelling, "war declared against england! expected landing of the enemy! extrur-speshal!" there was a hidden terror in the word "war" that at first held the amazed playgoers breathless and thoughtful. never before had its significance appeared so grim, so fatal, so fraught with appalling consequences. war had been actually declared! there was no averting it! it was a stern reality. no adroit diplomatic negotiations could stem the advancing hordes of foreign invaders; ministers and ambassadors were as useless pawns, for two great nations had had the audacity to combine in the projected attack upon great britain. it seemed incredible, impossible. true, a great war had long been predicted, forecasts had been given of coming conflicts, and european nations had for years been gradually strengthening their armies and perfecting their engines of war, in the expectation of being plunged into hostilities. modern improvements in arms and ammunition had so altered the conditions of war, that there had long been a feeling of insecurity even among those powers who, a few years before, had felt themselves strong enough to resist any attack, however violent. war-scares had been plentiful, crises in france, germany, and russia of frequent occurrence; still, no one dreamed that moloch was in their midst--that the great war, so long foreshadowed, had in reality commenced. yet on this hot, oppressive saturday night in august the extra-special editions of the papers contained news that startled the world. it ran as follows:- invasion of england. war declared by france and russia. hostile fleets advancing. extraordinary manifesto by the tsar. [reuter's telegrams.] st. petersburg, _august 14th_, 4 p.m. the most intense excitement has been caused here by a totally unexpected and amazing announcement made this afternoon by the minister of foreign affairs to the french ambassador. it appears that the minister has addressed to the french representative a short note in which the following extraordinary passage occurs:- "the earnest negotiations between the imperial government and great britain for a durable pacification of bosnia not having led to the desired accord, his majesty the tsar, my august master, sees himself compelled, to his regret, to have recourse to force of arms. be therefore so kind as to inform your government that from to-day russia considers herself in a state of war with great britain, and requests that france will immediately comply with the obligations of the alliance signed by president carnot on february 23rd, 1892." a circular note has also been addressed by the russian foreign office to its ambassadors at the principal courts of europe, stating that, for reasons assigned, the tsar has resolved to commence hostilities against great britain, and has given his armies and navy orders to commence the invasion. this declaration has, no doubt, been contemplated by the russian government for several days. during the past week the french ambassador has twice had private audience of the tsar, and soon after 11 a.m. to-day he had a long interview at the ministry of foreign affairs. it is understood that the minister of war was also present. no official notification of the declaration of war has been given to the british ambassador. this has created considerable surprise. 5.30 p.m. large posters, headed "a manifesto of his majesty the emperor of russia," and addressed to his subjects, are being posted up in the nevski prospekt. in this document the tsar says- "our faithful and beloved subjects know the strong interest which we have constantly felt in the destinies of our empire. our desire for the pacification of our western frontier has been shared by the whole russian nation, which now shows itself ready to bear fresh sacrifices to alleviate the position of those oppressed by british rule. the blood and property of our faithful subjects have always been dear to us, and our whole reign attests our constant solicitude to preserve to russia the benefits of peace. this solicitude never failed to actuate my father during events which occurred recently in bulgaria, austro-hungary, and bosnia. our object, before all, was to effect an amelioration in the position of our people on the frontier by means of pacific negotiations, and in concert with the great european powers, our allies and friends. having, however, exhausted our pacific efforts, we are compelled by the haughty obstinacy of great britain to proceed to more decisive acts. a feeling of equity and of our own dignity enjoins it. by her recent acts great britain places us under the necessity of having recourse to arms. profoundly convinced of the justice of our cause, we make known to our faithful subjects that we declare war against great britain. in now invoking a blessing upon our valiant armies, we give the order for an invasion of england." this manifesto has excited the greatest enthusiasm. the news has spread rapidly, and dense crowds have assembled in the nevski, the izak platz, and on the english quay, where the posters are being exhibited. the british ambassador has not yet received any communication from the imperial government. fontainebleau, _aug. 14th_, 4.30 p.m. president felix faure has received a telegram from the french representative at st. petersburg, stating that russia has declared war against great britain. the president left immediately for paris by special train. paris, _aug. 14th_, 4.50 p.m. an astounding piece of intelligence has this afternoon been received at the ministry of foreign affairs. it is no less than a declaration of war by russia against britain. the telegram containing the announcement was received at the ministry from the french ambassador at st. petersburg soon after three o'clock. the president was at once informed, and the cabinet immediately summoned. a meeting is now being held for the purpose of deciding upon the course to be pursued with regard to the obligations of france contracted by the treaty of alliance made after the cronstadt incident in 1891. the news of impending hostilities has just been published in a special edition of the _soir_, and has created the wildest excitement on the boulevards. little doubt is entertained that france will join the invading forces, and the result of the deliberations of the cabinet is anxiously awaited. president felix faure has returned from fountainebleau. [by telephone through dalziel's agency.] 6 p.m. the meeting of the cabinet has just concluded. it has been resolved that france shall unreservedly render assistance to russia. there is great activity at the war office, and troops are already being ordered on active service. the excitement in the streets is increasing. [reuter's telegrams.] berlin, _aug. 14th_, 5.30 p.m. telegrams received here from st. petersburg report that russia has unexpectedly declared war against great britain, and called upon france to aid her in a combined attack. the report is scarcely credited here, and further details are being eagerly awaited. the emperor, who was to have left for bremen this afternoon, has abandoned his journey, and is now in consultation with the chancellor. christiansand, _aug. 14th_, 7.30 p.m. the french channel squadron, which has been manoeuvring for the past fortnight off the western coast of norway, anchored outside the fjord here last night. this morning, according to rumour, the russian squadron arrived suddenly, and lay about thirty miles off land. secret telegraphic orders were received at 6 p.m. by the admirals of both fleets almost simultaneously, and the whole of the vessels left in company half an hour later. they sailed in a southerly direction, but their destination is unknown. dieppe, _aug. 14th_, 8 p.m. ten transport vessels are embarking troops for england. four regiments of cavalry, including the 4th chasseurs and 16th guards, are--[1] footnote: [1] the conclusion of this message has not reached us, all the wires connecting this country with france having been cut. chapter ii. a tottering empire. the excitement in the theatre had increased, and the curtain had been rung down. death shadows, grimly apparent, had fallen upon the house, and the scene was an extraordinary and unprecedented one. no such wild restlessness and impetuous agitation had ever before been witnessed within those walls. some enthusiast of the pit, springing to his feet, and drawing a large red handkerchief from his pocket, waved it, shouting-"three cheers for good old england!" to which, after a moment's silence, the audience responded lustily. then, almost before the last sound had died away, another patriot of the people mounted upon his seat, crying-"no one need fear. the british lion will quickly hold the french eagle and the russian bear within his jaws. let the enemy come; we will mow them down like hay." this raised a combined laugh and cheer, though it sounded forced and hollow. immediately, however, some buoyant spirits in the gallery commenced singing "rule, britannia," the chorus of which was taken up vigorously, the orchestra assisting by playing the last verse. outside, the scene in the streets was one of momentarily increasing excitement. the news had spread with marvellous rapidity, and the whole city was agog. an elbowing, waving, stormy crowd surged down the strand to trafalgar square, where an impromptu demonstration was being held, the government being denounced by its opponents, and spoken of with confidence by its supporters. the radical, the socialist, the anarchist, each aired his views, and through the throng a hoarse threatening murmur condensed into three words, "down with russia! down with france!" the cry, echoed by a thousand throats, mingled weirdly with the shouts of the newsmen and the snatches of patriotic songs. london was anxious, fevered, and turbulent, that hot, moonless august night. at that hour all the shops were closed, and the streets only lighted by the lamps. from the unlighted windows the indistinct shapes of heads looking out on the scene could be distinguished. on the pavements of piccadilly and knightsbridge knots of people stood arguing and wrangling over the probable turn of events. from uncouth whitechapel to artistic kensington, from sylvan highgate to the villadom of dulwich, the amazing intelligence had been conveyed by the presses of fleet street, which were still belching forth tons of damp news-sheets. at first there was confidence among the people; nevertheless little by little this confidence diminished, and curiosity gave place to surprise. but what could it be? all was shrouded in the darkest gloom. in the atmosphere was a strange and terrible oppression that seemed to weigh down men and crush them. london was, it appeared, walled in by the unknown and the unexpected. but, after all, england was strong; it was the mighty british empire; it was the world. what was there to fear? nothing. so the people continued to shout, "down with france! down with the autocrat! down with the tsar!" a young man, who had been sitting alone in the stalls, had risen, electrified at the alarming news, and rushing out, hailed a passing cab, and drove rapidly away up northumberland avenue. this conduct was remarkable, for geoffrey engleheart was scarcely the man to flinch when danger threatened. he was a tall, athletic young fellow of twenty-six, with wavy brown hair, a dark, smartly-trimmed moustache, and handsome, well-cut features. he was happy and easy-going, always overflowing with genuine _bonhomie_. as the younger son of a very distinguished officer, he contrived to employ himself for a couple of hours a day at the foreign office, where, although a clerk, he held a very responsible position. belonging to a rather good set, he was a member of several fashionable clubs, and lived in cosy, well-furnished chambers in st. james's street. driving first to the house of his _fiancée_, violet vayne, at rutland gate, he informed her family of the startling intelligence; then, re-entering the conveyance, he subsequently alighted before the door of his chambers. as he paid the cabman, an ill-clad man pushed a newspaper into his face, crying, "'ere y'are, sir. extrur-special edition o' the _people_. latest details. serious scandal at the forrin' office." geoffrey started. he staggered, his heart gave a bound, and his face blanched. thrusting half a crown into the man's dirty palm, he grasped the paper, and rushing upstairs to his sitting-room, cast himself into a chair. in breathless eagerness he glanced at the front page of the journal, and read the following:- scandal at the foreign office. a state secret divulged. an extraordinary rumour is going the round of the service clubs to-night. it is alleged that the present declaration of war would have been impossible but for the treachery of some person through whose hands the transcript of a secret treaty between england and germany passed to-day. a prominent cabinet minister, on being questioned by our reporter on the subject, admitted that he had heard the rumour, but declined to make any definite statement whether or not it was true. there must be a good deal behind the rumour of treachery, inasmuch as none of the prominent men who have already been interviewed gave a denial to the statement. geoffrey sat pale and motionless, with eyes fixed upon the printed words. he read and re-read them until the lines danced before his gaze, and he crushed the paper in his hands, and cast it from him. the little french clock on the mantelshelf chimed the hour of one upon its silvery bell; the lamp spluttered and burned dim. still he did not move; he was dumfounded, rooted to the spot. blacker and blacker grew the crowd outside. the density of the cloud that hung over all portended some direful tragedy. the impending disaster made itself felt. an alarming sense of calmness filled the streets. a silence had suddenly fallen, and was becoming complete and threatening. what was it that was about to issue from these black storm-clouds? who could tell? chapter iii. arming for the struggle. london was amazed. the provinces were awestricken, paralysed by the startling suddenness with which the appalling news of the invasion had been flashed to them. bewildered, the people could not believe it. only slowly did the vivid and terrible truth dawn individually upon the millions north and south, and then, during the day of rest, they crowded to the newspaper and telegraph offices, loudly clamouring for further details of the overwhelming catastrophe that threatened. they sought for information from london; they expected london, the mighty, all-powerful capital, to act. through the blazing sunday the dust rose from the impatient, perspiring crowds in towns and cities, and the cool night brought no rest from a turmoil now incessant. never before were such scenes of intense enthusiasm witnessed in england, wales, and scotland, for this was the first occasion on which the public felt the presence of invaders at their very doors. a mighty force was on its way to ruin their homes, to sweep from them their hard-earned savings, to crush, to conquer--to kill them! fierce antagonism rose spontaneously in every briton's heart, and during that never-to-be-forgotten day, at every barracks throughout the country, recruiting-sergeants were besieged by all sorts and conditions of men eager to accept the queen's shilling, and strike for their country's honour. heedless of danger, of hardship, of the fickle fortune of the fight, the determination to assist in the struggle rose instantly within them. at york, chester, edinburgh, and portsmouth, volunteers came forward by hundreds. all were enthusiastic, undrilled, but ready to use their guns--genuinely heroic patriots of our land, such as are included in no other nation than the british. pluck, zeal for the public safety, and an intense partisanship towards their fellows induced thousands to join the colours--many, alas! to sink later beneath a foeman's bullet, unknown, unhonoured heroes! already the cabinet had held a hurried meeting, at which it had been decided to call out the whole of the reserves. of this the war office and admiralty had been notified, and the queen had given her sanction to the necessary proclamations, with the result that telegraphic orders had been issued to general officers commanding and to officers commanding reservists to mobilise instantly. the posters containing the proclamation, which are always kept in readiness in the hands of officers commanding regimental districts, were issued immediately, and exhibited on all public places throughout the kingdom. on the doors of town halls, churches, chapels, police stations, military barracks, and in the windows of post offices, these notices were posted within a few hours. crowds everywhere collected to read them, and the greatest enthusiasm was displayed. militia, yeomanry, volunteers, all were called out, and men on reading the mobilisation order lost no time in obtaining their accoutrements and joining their depôts. the national danger was imminent, and towards their "places of concentration" all categories of her majesty's forces were already moving. in every regimental district the greatest activity was displayed. no country maintains in peace the full complement, or anything approaching the full complement of transport which its armies require; hence vehicles and horses to complete the army service corps companies, and for the supplemental service, were being immediately requisitioned from far and near. one of the many anomalies discovered during this critical period was, that while transport could thus be rapidly requisitioned, yet the impressment of civilians as drivers and caretakers of the animals was not permitted by the law; therefore on all hands the organisation of this requisitioned transport was fraught with the utmost difficulty, the majority of owners and employees refusing to come forward voluntarily. registered horses were quickly collected, but they were far from sufficient for the requirements, and the want of animals caused loud outcries from every regimental district. the general scheme was the constitution of a field army of four cavalry brigades and three army corps, with behind them a semi-mobile force made up of thirty-three volunteer infantry brigades and eighty-four volunteer batteries of position. the garrisons having been provided for, the four cavalry brigades and the 1st and 2nd army corps were to be composed entirely of regulars, the 3rd army corps being made up of regulars, militia, and volunteers. organised in brigades, the yeomanry were attached to the various infantry brigades or divisions of the field army, and the regular medical staff corps being much too weak, was strengthened from companies of the volunteer medical staff corps. in brief, the scheme was the formation of a composite field army, backed by a second line of partially trained auxiliaries. such a general scheme to set in battle order our land forces for home defence was, no doubt, well devised. nevertheless, from the first moment the most glaring defects in the working out of details were everywhere manifested. stores were badly disposed, there was a sad want of clothing, camp equipment, and arms, and the arrangements for the joining of reservists were throughout defective. again, the whole reserve had been left totally untrained from the day the men left the colours; and having in view the fact that all leading authorities in europe had, times without number, told us that the efficiency of an army depended on drill, discipline, and shooting, what could be expected from a system which relied in great part for the safety of the country on a reserve, the members of which were undisciplined, undrilled, and unpractised in shooting for periods ranging from nine years in the guards to five years in the case of the line? on the day of mobilisation not a single regiment in the united kingdom was ready to move forward to the front as it stood on parade! not an officer, not a man, was prepared. england had calmly slept for years, while military reforms had been effected in every other european country. now she had been suddenly and rudely awakened! everywhere it was commented upon that no practical peace trial of the mobilisation scheme had ever been made. little wonder was there, then, that incomplete details hampered rapid movements, or that the carrying out of the definite and distinct programme was prevented by gaps occurring which could not be discovered until the working of the system had been tested by actual experiment. it was this past apathy of the authorities, amounting to little less than criminal negligence, that formed the text of the vehement outpourings of anarchists, socialists, and "no war" partisans. a practical test of the efficiency of the scheme to concentrate our forces should have taken place even at the risk of public expenditure, instead of making the experiment when the enemy were actually at our doors. another anomaly which, in the opinion of the public, ought long ago to have been removed, was the fact that the billeting of troops on the march on the inhabitants of the united kingdom, other than owners of hotels, inns, livery stables, and public-houses, is illegal, while troops when not on the march cannot be billeted at all! at many points of concentration this absurd and antiquated regulation, laid down by the army act in 1881, was severely felt. public buildings, churches, and schools had to be hired for the accommodation of the troops, and those others who could not find private persons hospitable enough to take them in were compelled to bivouac where they could. of tents they had scarcely any, and many regiments were thus kept homeless and badly fed several days before moving forward! was there any wonder, then, that some men should lose heart? did not such defects portend--nay, invite disaster? strange though it may seem, geoffrey engleheart was one of but two persons in england who had on that saturday anticipated this sudden declaration of war. through the hot night, without heed of the wild turbulence outside, regardless of the songs of patriots, of gleeful shouts of anarchists, that, mingling into a dull roar, penetrated the heavy curtains before the window of his room, he sat with brows knit and gaze transfixed. words now and then escaped his compressed lips. they were low and ominous; utterances of blank despair. chapter iv. the spy. count von beilstein was a polished cosmopolitan. he was in many ways a very remarkable man. in london society he was as popular as he had previously been in paris and in berlin. well-preserved and military-looking, he retained the vigour, high spirits, and spruce step of youth, spent his money freely, and led the almost idyllic life of a careless bachelor in the albany. since his partnership with sir joseph vayne, the well-known shipowner, father of geoffrey's _fiancée_, he had taken up a prominent position in commercial circles, was a member of the london chamber of commerce, took an active part in the various deliberations of that body, and in the city was considered a man of considerable importance. how we of the world, however shrewd, are deceived by outward appearances! of the millions in london there were but two men who knew the truth; who were aware of the actual position held by this german landed proprietor. indeed, the count's friends little dreamed that under the outward cloak of careless ease induced by wealth there was a mind endowed with a cunning that was extraordinary, and an ingenuity that was marvellous. truth to tell, karl von beilstein, who posed as the owner of the great beilstein estates, extending along the beautiful valley of the moselle, between alf and cochem, was not an aristocrat at all, and possessed no estate more tangible than the proverbial château in spain. [illustration: "count von beilstein was a spy!"] count von beilstein was a _spy_! his life had been a strangely varied one; few men perhaps had seen more of the world. his biography was recorded in certain police registers. born in the jews' quarter at frankfort, he had, at an early age, turned adventurer, and for some years was well known at monte carlo as a successful gamester. but the fickle goddess at last forsook him, and under another name he started a bogus loan office in brussels. this, however, did not last long, for the police one night made a raid on the place, only to discover that monsieur had flown. an extensive robbery of diamonds in amsterdam, a theft of bonds while in transit between hanover and berlin, and the forgery of a large quantity of russian rouble notes, were events which followed in quick succession, and in each of them the police detected the adroit hand of the man who now called himself the count von beilstein. at last, by sheer ill-luck, he fell into the grip of the law. he was in st. petersburg, where he had opened an office in the bolshaia, and started as a diamond dealer. after a few genuine transactions he obtained possession of gems worth nearly £20,000, and decamped. but the russian police were quickly at his heels, and he was arrested in riga, being subsequently tried and condemned by the assize court at st. petersburg to twelve years' exile in siberia. in chains, with a convoy of convicts he crossed the urals, and tramped for weeks on the snow-covered siberian post road. his name still appears on the register at the forwarding prison of tomsk, with a note stating that he was sent on to the silver mines of nertchinsk, the most dreaded in asiatic russia. yet, strangely enough, within twelve months of his sentence he appeared at royat-les-bains, in auvergne, posing as a count, and living expensively at one of the best hotels. there was a reason for all this. the russian government, when he was sentenced, were well aware of his perfect training as a cosmopolitan adventurer, of his acquaintance with persons of rank, and of his cool unscrupulousness. hence it was that one night while on the march along the great post road to that bourne whence few convicts return, it was hinted to him by the captain of cossacks, that he might obtain his liberty, and a good income in addition, if he consented to become a secret agent of the tsar. the authorities desired him to perform a special duty; would he consent? he could exchange a life of heavy toil in the nertchinsk mines for one of comparative idleness and ease. the offer was tempting, and he accepted. that same night it was announced to his fellow-convicts that the tsar had pardoned him; his leg-fetters were thereupon struck off, and he started upon his return to st. petersburg to receive instructions as to the delicate mission he was to perform. it was then, for the first time, that he became the count von beilstein, and his subsequent actions all betrayed the most remarkable daring, forethought, and tact. with one object in view he exercised an amount of patience that was almost incredible. one or two minor missions were entrusted to him by his official taskmasters on the banks of the neva, and in each he acquitted himself satisfactorily. apparently he was a thoroughly patriotic subject of the kaiser, with tastes strongly anti-muscovite, and after his partnership with sir joseph vayne he resided in london, and mixed a good deal with military men, because he had, he said, held a commission in a hussar regiment in the fatherland, and took the liveliest interest in all military matters. little did those officers dream that the information he gained about improvements in england's defences was forwarded in regular and carefully-written reports to the russian war office, or that the tsar's messenger who carried weekly despatches between the russian ambassador in london and his government frequently took with him a packet containing plans and tracings which bore marginal notes in the angular handwriting of the popular count von beilstein! early in the morning of this memorable day when the startling news of the declaration of war had reached england, a telegram had been handed to the tsar's secret agent while he was still in bed. he read it through; then stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. the message, in code, from berlin, stated that a draft of a most important treaty between germany and england had been despatched from the german foreign office, and would arrive in london that day. the message concluded with the words, "it is imperative that we should have a copy of this document, or at least a summary of its contents, immediately." although sent from berlin, the count was well aware that it was an order from the foreign minister in st. petersburg, the message being transmitted to berlin first, and then retransmitted to london, in order to avoid any suspicion that might arise in the case of messages exchanged direct with the russian capital. having read the telegram through several times, he whistled to himself, rose quickly, dressed, and breakfasted. while having his meal, he gave some instructions to grevel, his valet, and sent him out upon an errand, at the same time expressing his intention of waiting in until his return. "remember," the count said, as his man was going out, "be careful to arouse no suspicion. simply make your inquiries in the proper quarter, and come back immediately." at half-past twelve o'clock, as geoffrey engleheart was busy writing alone in his room at the foreign office, he was interrupted by the opening of the door. "hulloa, dear boy! i've found my way up here by myself. busy, as usual, i see!" cried a cheery voice as the door slowly opened, and geoffrey looking up saw it was his friend the count, well groomed and fashionably attired in glossy silk hat, perfect-fitting frock coat, and varnished boots. he called very frequently upon engleheart, and had long ago placed himself on excellent terms with the messengers and doorkeepers, who looked upon him as a most generous visitor. "oh, how are you?" engleheart exclaimed, rising and shaking his hand. "you must really forgive me, count, but i quite forgot my appointment with you to-day." "oh, don't let me disturb you, pray. i'll have a glance at the paper till you've finished," and casting himself into a chair near the window he took up the _times_ and was soon absorbed in it. a quarter of an hour went by in silence, while engleheart wrote on, calmly unconscious that there was a small rent in the newspaper the count was reading, and that through it he could plainly see each word of the treaty as it was transcribed from the secret code and written down in plain english. "will you excuse me for ten minutes?" geoffrey exclaimed presently. "the cabinet council is sitting, and i have to run over to see lord stanbury for a moment. after i return i must make another copy of this paper, and then i shall be free." the count, casting the newspaper wearily aside, glanced at his watch. "it's half-past one," he said. "you'll be another half-hour, if not more. after all, i really think, old fellow, i'll go on down to hurlingham. i arranged to meet the vaynes at two o'clock." "all right. i'll run down in a cab as soon as i can get away," answered engleheart. "good. come on as soon as you can. violet will be expecting you, you know." "of course i shall," replied his unsuspicious friend, and they shook hands, after which the count put on his hat and sauntered jauntily out. in parliament street he jumped into his phaeton, but instead of driving to hurlingham gave his man orders to proceed with all speed to the general post office, st. martin's-le-grand. within half an hour from the time he had shaken the hand of his unsuspecting friend, a message in code--to all intents and purposes a commercial despatch--was on its way to "herr brandt, 116 friedrich strasse, berlin." that message contained an exact transcript of the secret treaty! [illustration: the russian spy's telegram.] almost immediately after the count had left, geoffrey made a discovery. from the floor he picked up a small gold pencil-case which he knew belonged to von beilstein. engleheart was sorely puzzled to know why the count should require a pencil if not to write, and it momentarily flashed across his mind that he might have copied portions of the treaty. but the next minute he dismissed the suspicion as ungrounded and preposterous, and placing the pencil in his pocket went in search of lord stanbury. it was only the statement he read in the _people_ later, alleging treachery at the foreign office, that recalled the incident to his mind. then the horrible truth dawned upon him. he saw how probable it was that he had been tricked. he knew that the mine was already laid; that the only thing that had prevented an explosion that would shake the whole world had been the absence of definite knowledge as to the exact terms of the alliance between england, germany, italy, and austria. chapter v. bombardment of newhaven. at sea the night was dark and moonless. a thick mist hung near the land. the coastguard and artillery on our southern and eastern shores spent a terribly anxious time, peering from their points of vantage out into the cavernous darkness where no light glimmered. the harbour defence flotilla was in readiness, and under the black cliffs sentinels kept watch with every nerve strained to its highest tension, for the safety of england now depended upon their alertness. the great waves crashed and roared, and the mist, obscuring the light of vessels passing up and down the channel, seemed to grow more dense as the hours wore on. in the midst of the feverish excitement that had spread everywhere throughout the length and breadth of the land, the troops were, a couple of hours after the receipt of the alarming news in london, already being mobilised and on their way south and east by special trains. men, arms, ammunition, and stores were hurried forward to repel attack, and in the war office and admiralty, where the staffs had been suddenly called together, the greatest activity prevailed. messages had been flashed along the wires in every direction giving orders to mobilise and concentrate at certain points, and these instructions were being obeyed with that promptness for which british soldiers and sailors are proverbial. yet the high officials at the war office looked grave, and although affecting unconcern, now and then whispered ominously together. they knew that the situation was critical. an immediate and adequate naval defence was just possible, but the channel squadron was manoeuvring off the irish coast, and both the coastguard squadron and the steam reserve at the home ports were very weak. it was to our land army that we had to trust, and they were divided in opinion as to the possibility to mobilise a sufficient force in time to bar the advance. military experts did not overlook the fact that to dunkirk, calais, boulogne, dieppe, fécamp, havre, honfleur, and cherbourg ran excellent lines of railway, with ample rolling-stock, all government property, and at the beck and call of the french war minister. in the various ports there was adequate wharf accommodation and plenty of steam tonnage. from the brief official despatches received from paris before the cutting of the wires, it was apparent that the french war office had laid its plans with much forethought and cunning, and had provided against any _contretemps_. an army of carpenters and engineers had been put to work in the ports to alter the fittings of such of the merchant steamers as were destined to convey horses, and these fittings, prepared beforehand, were already in position. four army corps had for several weeks been manoeuvring in normandy, so that the reservists had become accustomed to their work, and in excellent condition for war; therefore these facts, coupled with the strong support certain to be rendered by the warships of the tsar, led experts to regard the outlook as exceedingly gloomy. for years military and naval men had discussed the possibilities of invasion, haggled over controversial points, but had never arrived at any definite opinion as to the possibility of an enemy's success. now, however, the defences of the country were to be tested. our great empire was at stake. the power of steam to cause rapid transit by land and sea, the uncertainty of the place of disembarkment, and the great weight of modern naval artillery, combined to render the defences of england on the coast itself most uncertain and hazardous, and to cause grave doubts to arise in the minds of those who at that critical moment were directing the forward movement of the forces. the british public, whose national patriotism found vent in expressions of confidence in the regular army and volunteers, were ignorant of the facts. they knew that two great powers had combined to crush our island stronghold, and were eager that hostilities should commence in order that the enemy should be taught a severe lesson for their presumption. they, however, knew nothing of the plain truth, that although the 1st army corps at aldershot would be ready to move at a few hours' notice, yet it was hopeless to try and prevent the disembarkation of the french army corps along a long line of unprotected coast by the action of a land force only one-third of their strength. so, by the water's edge, the lonely posts were kept through the night by patient, keen-sighted sentinels, ready at any moment to raise the alarm. but the dense mist that overhung everything was tantalising, hiding friend and foe alike, and no sound could be heard above the heavy roar of the waters as they rolled in over the rocks. london, infuriated, enthusiastic, turbulent, knew no sleep that night. the excitement was at fever-heat. at last, soon after daybreak, there came the first news of the enemy. a number of warships had suddenly appeared through the fog off the sussex coast, and had lost no time in asserting their presence and demanding a large sum from the mayor of newhaven. the french first-class battery cruiser _tage_, the _dévastation_, the _pothuau_, the _aréthuse_ and others, finding that their demand was unheeded, at once commenced shelling the town. although our coastguard squadron and first-class steam reserve had mobilised, yet they had received orders and sailed away no one knew whither. the forts replied vigorously, but the fire of the enemy in half an hour had wrought terrible havoc both in the town and in the forts, where several of the guns had been rendered useless and a number of men had been killed. hostilities had commenced. never during the century had such scenes been witnessed in the streets of london as on that memorable sunday morning. the metropolis was thrilled. dawn was spreading, saffron tints were in the sky heralding the sun's coming. yet regent street, piccadilly, and the strand, usually entirely deserted at that hour on a sabbath morning, were crowded as if it were midday. everywhere there was excitement. crowds waited in front of the newspaper offices in fleet street, boys with strident voices sold the latest editions of the papers, men continued their snatches of patriotic ballads, while women were blanched and scared, and children clung to their mothers' skirts timidly, vaguely fearing an unknown terror. the shadow of coming events was black and dim, like a funeral pall. the fate of our empire hung upon a thread. twenty-four hours ago england was smiling, content in the confidence of its perfect safety and immunity from invasion; yet all the horrors of war had, with a startling, appalling suddenness, fallen and bewildered it. the booming of french cannon at newhaven formed the last salute of many a brave briton who fell shattered and lifeless. as the sun rose crimson from the grey misty sea, the work of destruction increased in vigour. from the turrets of the floating monsters smoke and flame poured forth in continuous volume, while shot and shell were hurled into the town of newhaven, which, it was apparent, was the centre of the enemy's attack, and where, owing to the deepening of the harbour, troops could effect a landing under cover of the fire from the ironclads. frightful havoc was wrought by the shells among the houses of the little town, and one falling on board the brighton railway company's mail steamer _paris_, lying alongside the station quay, set her on fire. in half an hour railway station and quays were blazing furiously, while the flames leaped up about the ship, wrapping themselves about the two white funnels and darting from every porthole. the custom house opposite quickly ignited, and the inflammable nature of its contents caused the fire to assume enormous proportions. meanwhile the bombardment was kept up, the forts on shore still replying with regularity, steadiness, and precision, and the armoured coast train of the 1st sussex artillery volunteers, under captain brigden, rendering excellent service. in one of the forts a man was standing in front of a small camera-obscura, on the glass of which were a number of mysterious marks. this glass reflected the water and the ships; and as he stood by calmly with his hand upon a keyboard, he watched the reflections of the hostile vessels moving backwards and forwards over the glass. suddenly he saw a french gunboat, after a series of smartly-executed manoeuvres, steaming straight over one of the marks, and, quick as lightning, his finger pressed one of the electric keys. a terrific explosion followed, and a column of green water shot up at the same instant. the gunboat _lavel_ had been suddenly blown almost out of the water by a submarine mine! broken portions of her black hull turned over and sank, and mangled remains of what a second before had been a crew of enthusiastic frenchmen floated for a few moments on the surface, then disappeared. not a soul on board escaped. along the telegraph line from the signal-station on beachy head news of the blowing up of the enemy's gunboat was flashed to london, and when, an hour later, it appeared in the newspapers, the people went half mad with excitement. alas, how they miscalculated the relative strength of the opposing forces! they were unaware that our channel fleet, our coastguard squadron, and our reserve were steaming away, leaving our southern shores _practically unprotected_! chapter vi. landing of the french in sussex. the briton is, alas! too prone to underrate his adversary. it is this national egotism, this fatal over-confidence, that has led to most of the reverses we have sustained in recent wars. the popular belief that one briton is as good as half a dozen foreigners, is a fallacy which ought to be at once expunged from the minds of every one. the improved and altered conditions under which international hostilities are carried on nowadays scarcely even admit of a hand-to-hand encounter, and the engines of destruction designed by other european powers being quite as perfect as our own, tact and cunning have now taken the place of pluck and perseverance. the strong arm avails but little in modern warfare; strategy is everything. into brighton, an hour after dawn, the enemy's vessels were pouring volley after volley of deadly missiles. a party had landed from the french flagship, and, summoning the mayor, had demanded a million pounds. this not being forthcoming, they had commenced shelling the town. the fire was, for the most part, directed against the long line of shops and private residences in king's road and at hove, and in half an hour over a hundred houses had been demolished. the palatial hôtel métropole stood a great gaunt ruin. shells had carried large portions of the noble building away, and a part of the ruin had caught fire and was burning unchecked, threatening to consume the whole. church steeples had been knocked over like ninepins, and explosive missiles dropped in the centre of the town every moment, sweeping the streets with deadly effect. the enemy met with little or no opposition. our first line of defence, our navy, was missing! the admiralty were unaware of the whereabouts of three whole fleets that had mobilised, and the ships remaining in the channel, exclusive of the harbour defence flotilla, were practically useless. at eastbourne, likewise, where a similar demand had been made, shot fell thick as hail, and shells played fearful havoc with the handsome boarding-houses and hotels that line the sea front. from the redoubt, the wish tower, and a battery on the higher ground towards beachy head, as well as a number of other hastily constructed earthworks, a reply was made to the enemy's fire, and the guns in the antiquated martello towers, placed at intervals along the beach, now and then sent a shot towards the vessels. but such an attempt to keep the great ironclads at bay was absurdly futile. one after another shells from the monster guns of the russian ship _pjotr velikij_, and the armoured cruisers _gerzog edinburskij_, _krejser_, and _najezdnik_, crashed into these out-of-date coast defences, and effectually silenced them. in eastbourne itself the damage wrought was enormous. every moment shells fell and exploded in terminus and seaside roads, while the aristocratic suburb of upperton, built on the hill behind the town, was exposed to and bore the full brunt of the fray. the fine modern queen anne and elizabethan residences were soon mere heaps of burning débris. every moment houses fell, burying their occupants, and those people who rushed out into the roads for safety were, for the most part, either overwhelmed by débris, or had their limbs shattered by flying pieces of shell. the situation was awful. the incessant thunder of cannon, the screaming of shells whizzing through the air, to burst a moment later and send a dozen or more persons to an untimely grave, the crash of falling walls, the clouds of smoke and dust, and the blazing of ignited wreckage, combined to produce a scene more terrible than any witnessed in england during the present century. and all this was the outcome of one man's indiscretion and the cunning duplicity of two others! at high noon newhaven fell into the hands of the enemy. the attack had been so entirely unexpected that the troops mobilised and sent there had arrived too late. the town was being sacked, and the harbour was in the possession of the french, who were landing their forces in great numbers. from dieppe and havre transports were arriving, and discharging their freights of fighting men and guns under cover of the fire from the french warships lying close in land. notwithstanding all the steps taken during the last twenty years to improve the condition of our forces on land and sea, this outbreak of hostilities found us far from being in a state of preparedness for war. england, strangely enough, has never yet fully realised that the conditions of war have entirely changed. in days gone by, when troops and convoys could move but slowly, the difficulty of providing for armies engaged in operations necessarily limited their strength. it is now quite different. improved communications have given to military operations astonishing rapidity, and the facilities with which large masses of troops, guns, and stores can now be transported to great distances has had the effect of proportionately increasing numbers. as a result of this, with the exception of our own island, europe was armed to the teeth. yet a mobilisation arrangement that was faulty and not clearly understood by officers or men, was the cause of the enemy being allowed to land. it is remarkable that the military authorities had not acted upon the one principle admitted on every side, namely, that the only effective defence consists of attack. the attack, to succeed, should have been sudden and opportune, and the army should have been so organised that on the occurrence of war a force of adequate strength would have been at once available. in a word, we missed our chance to secure this inestimable advantage afforded by the power of striking the first blow. there was an old and true saying, that "england's best bulwarks were her wooden walls." they are no longer wooden, but it still remains an admitted fact that england's strongest bulwarks should be her navy, and that any other nation may be possessed of an equally good one; also that our best bulwark should be equal to, or approach, the fighting power of the bulwarks owned by any two possible hostile nations. to be strong is to stave off war; to be weak is to invite attack. it was our policy of _laissez faire_, a weak navy and an army bound up with red tape, that caused this disastrous invasion of england. had our fleet been sufficient for its work, invasion would have remained a threat, and nothing more. our navy was not only our first, but our last line of defence from an imperial point of view; for, as a writer in the _army and navy gazette_ pointed out in 1893, it was equally manifest and unquestionable that without land forces to act as the spearhead to the navy's over-sea shaft, the offensive tactics so essential to a thorough statesmanlike defensive policy could not be carried out. again, the mobility and efficiency of our regular army should have been such that the victory of our fleet could be speedily and vigorously followed by decisive blows on the enemy's territory. already the news of the landing of the enemy had--besides causing a thrill such as had never before been known in our "tight little island"--produced its effect upon the price of food in london as elsewhere. in england we had only five days' bread-stuffs, and as the majority of our supplies came from russia the price of bread trebled within twelve hours, and the ordinary necessaries of life were proportionately dearer. but the dice had been thrown, and the sixes lay with moloch. chapter vii. bomb outrages in london. on that never-to-be-forgotten sunday, scenes were witnessed in the metropolis which were of the most disgraceful character. the teeming city, from dawn till midnight, was in a feverish turmoil, the throngs in its streets discussing the probable turn of affairs, singing patriotic songs, and giving vent to utterances of heroic intentions interspersed with much horse play. in trafalgar square, the hub of london, a mass meeting of anarchists and socialists was held, at which the government and military authorities were loudly denounced for what was termed their criminal apathy to the interests and welfare of the nation. the government, it was contended, had betrayed the country by allowing the secret of the german alliance to fall into the hands of its enemies, and the ministers, adjudged unworthy the confidence of the nation, were by the resolutions adopted called upon to resign immediately. the crisis was an excuse for anarchism to vent its grievances against law and order, and, unshackled, it had spread with rapidity through the length and breadth of the land. in "the square" the scarlet flag and the cap of liberty were everywhere in evidence, and, notwithstanding the presence of the police, the leaders of anarchy openly advocated outrage, incendiarism, and murder. at length the police resolved to interfere, and this was the signal for a terrible uprising. the huge mob, which in the mellow sunset filled the great square and blocked all its approaches, became a seething, surging mass of struggling humanity. the attack by the police, who were ordered to disperse them, only incensed them further against the authorities, whom they blamed for the catastrophe that had befallen our country. angry and desperate they fought with the police, using both revolvers and knives. the scene was terrible. the scum of the metropolis had congregated to wage war against their own compatriots whom they classed among enemies, and for an hour in the precincts of the square the struggle was for life. dozens of constables were shot dead, hundreds of anarchists and socialists received wounds from batons, many succumbing to their injuries, or being trampled to death by the dense mob. it was a repetition of that historic day known as "bloody sunday," only the fight was more desperate and the consequences far worse, and such as would disgrace any civilised city. before sundown the police had been vanquished; and as no soldiers could be spared, anarchism ran riot in the strand, pall mall, st. martin's lane, northumberland avenue, and parliament street. pale, determined men, with faces covered with blood, and others with their clothes in shreds, shouted hoarse cries of victory, as, headed by a torn red flag, they rushed into pall mall and commenced breaking down the shutters of shops and looting them. men were knocked down and murdered, and the rioters, freed from all restraint, commenced sacking all establishments where it was expected spoil could be obtained. at one bank in pall mall they succeeded, after some difficulty, in breaking open the strong room with explosives, and some forty or fifty of the rebels with eager greediness shared the gold and notes they stole. at the strand corner of the square a squad of police was being formed, in order to co-operate with some reinforcements which were arriving, when suddenly there was a terrific explosion. a bomb filled with picric acid had been thrown by an anarchist, and when the smoke cleared, the shattered remains of thirty-four constables lay strewn upon the roadway! this was but the first of a series of dastardly outrages. the advice of the anarchist leaders in their inflammatory speeches had been acted upon, and in half an hour a number of bomb explosions had occurred in the vicinity, each doing enormous damage, and killing numbers of innocent persons. after the petard had been thrown in trafalgar square a loud explosion was almost immediately afterwards heard in parliament street, and it was soon known that a too successful attempt had been made to blow up the premier's official residence in downing street. the programme of the outrages had apparently been organised, for almost before the truth was known another even more disastrous explosion occurred in the vestibule of the war office in pall mall, which wrecked the lower part of the building, and blew to atoms the sentry on duty, and killed a number of clerks who were busy at their important duties in the apartments on the ground floor. through pall mall and along whitehall the mob ran, crying "down with the government! kill the traitors! kill them!" about three thousand of the more lawless, having looted a number of shops, rushed to the houses of parliament, arriving there just in time to witness the frightful havoc caused by the explosion of two terribly powerful bombs that had been placed in st. stephen's hall and in westminster abbey. a section of the exultant rioters had gained access to the national gallery, where they carried on ruthless destruction among the priceless paintings there. dozens of beautiful works were slashed with knives, others were torn down, and many, cut from their frames, were flung to the howling crowd outside. suddenly some one screamed, "what do we want with art? burn down the useless palace! burn it! burn it!" this cry was taken up by thousands of throats, and on every hand the rebels inside the building were urged to set fire to it. intoxicated with success, maddened by anger at the action of the police, and confident that they had gained a signal victory over the law, they piled together a number of historic paintings in one of the rooms, and then ignited them. the flames leaped to the ceiling, spread to the woodwork, and thence, with appalling rapidity, to the other apartments. the windows cracked, and clouds of smoke and tongues of fire belched forth from them. it had now grown dusk. the furious, demoniacal rabble surging in the square set up loud, prolonged cheering when they saw the long dark building burning. in delight they paused in their work of destruction, watching the flames growing brighter as they burst through the roof, licking the central dome; and while the timber crackled and the fire roared, casting a lurid glare upon the tall buildings round and lighting up the imposing façade of the grand hotel, they cheered vociferously and sang the "marseillaise" until the smoke half choked them and their throats grew hoarse. these denizens of the slums, these criminal crusaders against the law, were not yet satiated by their wild reckless orgies. unchecked, they had run riot up and down the strand, and there was scarcely a man among them who had not in his pocket some of the spoils from jewellers' or from banks. in the glare of the flames the white bloodstained faces wore a determined expression as they stood collecting their energies for some other atrocious outrage against their so-called enemies, the rich. at the first menace of excesses, dwellers in the locality had left their houses and fled headlong for safety to other parts of the city. the majority escaped, but many fell into the hands of the rioters, and were treated with scant humanity. men and women were struck down and robbed, even strangled or shot if they resisted. the scene was frightful--a terrible realisation of anarchist prophecies that had rendered the authorities absolutely helpless. on the one hand, an enemy had landed on our shores with every chance of a successful march to london, while on the other the revolutionary spirit had broken out unmistakably among the criminal class, and lawlessness and murder were everywhere rife. the homes of the people were threatened by double disaster--by the attack of both enemy and "friend." the terrible bomb outrages and their appalling results had completely disorganised the police, and although reinforcements had been telegraphed for from every division in london, the number of men mustered at scotland yard was not yet sufficient to deal effectually with the irate and rapidly increasing mob. as evening wore on the scenes in the streets around the square were terrible. pall mall was congested by the angry mob who were wrecking the clubs, when suddenly the exultant cries were succeeded by terrified shrieks mingled with fierce oaths. each man fought with his neighbour, and many men and women, crushed against iron railings, stood half suffocated and helpless. the national gallery was burning fiercely, flames from the great burning pile shot high in the air, illuminating everything with their flood of crimson light, and the wind, blowing down the crowded thoroughfare, carried smoke, sparks, and heat with it. distant shrieks were heard in the direction of the square, and suddenly the crowd surged wildly forward. gaol-birds from the purlieus of drury lane robbed those who had valuables or money upon them, and committed brutal assaults upon the unprotected. a moment later, however, there was a flash, and the deafening sound of firearms at close quarters was followed by the horrified shrieks of the yelling mob. again and again the sound was repeated. around them bullets whistled, and men and women fell forward dead and wounded with terrible curses upon their lips. the 10th hussars had just arrived from hounslow, and having received hurried orders to clear away the rioters, were shooting them down like dogs, without mercy. on every hand cries of agony and despair rose above the tumult. then a silence followed, for the street was thickly strewn with corpses. chapter viii. fateful days for the old flag. a cloudy moonless night, with a gusty wind which now and then swept the tops of the forest trees, causing the leaves to surge like a summer sea. withered branches creaked and groaned, and a dog howled dismally down in flimwell village, half a mile away. leaning with his back against the gnarled trunk of a giant oak on the edge of the forest, his ears alert for the slightest sound, his hand upon his loaded magazine rifle, geoffrey engleheart stood on outpost duty. dressed in a rough shooting suit, with a deerstalker hat and an improvised kit strapped upon his back, he was half hidden by the tall bracken. standing motionless in the deep shadow, with his eyes fixed upon the wide stretch of sloping meadows, he waited, ready, at the slightest appearance of the enemy's scouts, to raise the alarm and call to arms those who were sleeping in the forest after their day's march. the city civilian volunteer battalion which he had joined was on its way to take part in the conflict, which every one knew would be desperate. under the command of major mansford, an experienced elderly officer who had long since retired from the lancashire regiment, but who had at once volunteered to lead the battalion of young patriots, they had left london by train for maidstone, whence they marched by way of linton, marden, and goudhurst to frith wood, where they had bivouacked for the night on the sussex border. it was known that russian scouts had succeeded in getting as far as wadhurst, and it was expected that one of the french reconnoitring parties must, in their circuitous survey, pass the border of the wood on their way back to their own lines. up to the present they had been practically unmolested. the british army was now mobilised, and kent, sussex, and hampshire were overrun with soldiers. every household gave men accommodation voluntarily, every hostelry, from the aristocratic hotels of the watering-places to the unassuming red lions of the villages, was full of britain's brave defenders. the echoes of old-world village streets of thatched houses with quaint gables were awakened night and day by the rumbling of heavy artillery, the shouts of the drivers as they urged along their teams, and the rattle of ammunition carts and of ambulance waggons, while on every high road leading south battalions were on the march, and eager to come within fighting range of the audacious foreigners. at first the peaceful people of the villages gazed, wondered, and admired, thinking some manoeuvres were about to take place--for military manoeuvres always improve village trade. but they were very quickly disillusioned. when they knew the truth--that the enemy was actually at their doors, that the grey-coated masses of the russian legions were lying like packs of wolves in the undulating country between heathfield, etchingham, and the sea--they were panic-stricken and appalled. they watched the stream of redcoats passing their doors, cheering them, while those who were their guests were treated to the best fare their hosts could provide. tommy atkins was now the idol of the hour. apparently the enemy, having established themselves, were by no means anxious to advance with undue haste. having landed, they were, it was ascertained, awaiting the arrival of further reinforcements and armaments from both powers; but nothing definite was known of this, except some meagre details that had filtered through the american cables, all direct telegraphic communication with the continent having now been cut off. alas! moloch had grinned. he had sharpened his sickle for the terrible carnage that was to spread through albion's peaceful land. terrible was the panic that the invasion had produced in the north. food had risen to exorbitant prices. in the great manufacturing centres the toiling millions were already feeling the pinch of starvation, for with bread at ninepence a small loaf, meat at a prohibitive figure, and the factories stopped, they were compelled to remain with empty stomachs and idle hands. birmingham, manchester, liverpool, newcastle, and the larger towns presented a gloomy, sorry aspect. business was suspended, the majority of the shops were closed, the banks barred and bolted, and the only establishments where any trade flourished were the taverns and music halls. these were crowded. drink flowed, gold jingled, and the laughter at wild jest or the thunder of applause which greeted dancing girls and comic vocalists was still as hearty as of old. everywhere there was a sordid craving for amusement which was a reflex of the war fever. the people made merry, for ere long they might be cut down by a foeman's steel. restless impatience thrilled the community from castle to cottage, intensified by the vain clamourings of anarchist mobs in the greater towns. as in london, these shock-headed agitators held high revel, protesting against everything and everybody--now railing, now threatening, but always mustering converts to their harebrained doctrines. in manchester they were particularly strong. a number of serious riots had occurred in deansgate and in market street. the mob wrecked the queen's hotel, smashed numbers of windows in lewis's great emporium, looted the _guardian_ office, and set fire to the town hall. a portion of the latter only was burned, the fire brigade managing to subdue the flames before any very serious damage was occasioned. although the police made hundreds of arrests, and the stipendiary sat from early morning until late at night, anarchist demonstrations were held every evening in the city and suburbs, always resulting in pillage, incendiarism, and not unfrequently in murder. in grey, money-making stockport, in grimy salford, in smoky pendleton, and even in aristocratic eccles, these demonstrations were held, and the self-styled "soldiers of the social revolution" marched over the granite roads, headed by a dirty scarlet flag, hounding down the government, and crying shame upon them for the apathy with which they had regarded the presence of the bearded caucasian tcherkesses of the white tsar. the kingdom was in wild turmoil, for horror heaped upon horror. outrages that commenced in london were repeated with appalling frequency in the great towns in the provinces. an attempt had been made to assassinate the premier while speaking in the town hall, birmingham, the bomb which was thrown having killed two hard-working reporters who were writing near; but the prime minister, who seemed to lead a charmed existence, escaped without a scratch. in liverpool, where feeling against the war office ran high, there were several explosions, two of which occurred in bold street, and were attended by loss of life, while a number of incendiary fires occurred at the docks. at bradford the town hall was blown up, and the troops were compelled to fire on a huge mob of rioters, who, having assembled at manningham, were advancing to loot the town. the cavalry barracks at york was the scene of a terrific explosion, which killed three sentries and maimed twenty other soldiers; while at warwick assizes, during the hearing of a murder trial, some unknown scoundrel threw a petard at the judge, killing him instantly on the bench. these, however, were but few instances of the wild lawlessness and terrible anarchy that prevailed in britain, for only the most flagrant cases of outrage were reported in the newspapers, their columns being filled with the latest intelligence from the seat of war. it must be said that over the border the people were more law-abiding. the scotch, too canny to listen to the fiery declamations of hoarse and shabby agitators, preferred to trust to british pluck and the strong arm of their brawny highlanders. in caledonia the seeds of anarchy fell on stony ground. in northern and midland towns, however, the excitement increased hourly. it extended everywhere. from ventnor to the pentlands, from holyhead to the humber, from scilly to the nore, every man and every woman existed in fearfulness of the crash that was impending. it was now known throughout the breadth of our land that the government policy was faulty, that war office and admiralty organisation was a rotten make-believe, and, worst of all, that what critics had long ago said as to the inadequacy of our naval defence, even with the ships built under the programme of 1894, had now, alas! proved to be true. the suspense was awful. those who were now living in the peaceful atmospheres of their homes, surrounded by neighbours and friends in the centre of a great town, and feeling a sense of security, might within a few days be shot down by french rifles, or mowed down brutally by gleaming cossack _shushkas_. the advance of the enemy was expected daily, hourly; and the people in the north waited, staggered, breathless, and terrified. men eagerly scanned the newspapers; women pressed their children to their breasts. in the mining districts the shock had not inspired the same amount of fear as at the ports and in the manufacturing centres. possibly it was because work was still proceeding in the pits, and constant work prevents men from becoming restless, or troubling themselves about a nation's woes. toilers who worked below knew that foreign invaders had landed, and that the militia and volunteers had been called out, but they vaguely believed that, the seat of war being away down south--a very long distance in the imagination of most of them--everything would be over before they could be called upon to take part in the struggle. in any case coal and iron must be got, they argued, and while they had work they had little time for uneasiness. nevertheless, great numbers of stalwart young miners enrolled themselves in the local volunteer corps, and burned to avenge the affront to their country and their sovereign. those were indeed fateful, ever-to-be-remembered days. amid this weary, anxious watching, this constant dread of what might next occur, an item of news was circulated which caused the greatest rejoicing everywhere. intelligence reached new york, by cable from france, that germany had combined with england against the franco-russian alliance, that her vast army had been mobilised, and that already the brave, well-drilled legions of the emperor william had crossed the vosges, and passed the frontier into france. a sharp battle had been fought near givet, and that, as well as several other french frontier towns which fell in 1870, were again in the hands of the germans. how different were german methods to those of the british! with a perfect scheme of attack, every detail of which had been long thought out, and which worked without a hitch, the kaiser's forces were awaiting the word of command to march onward--to paris. for years--ever since they taught france that severe lesson in the last disastrous war--it had been the ambition of every german cavalryman to clink his spurs on the asphalte of the boulevards. now they were actually on their way towards their goal! the papers were full of these latest unexpected developments, the details of which, necessarily meagre owing to the lack of direct communication, were eagerly discussed. it was believed that germany would, in addition to defending her polish frontier and attacking france, also send a naval squadron from kiel to england. the tsar's spy had been foiled, and russia and france now knew they had made a false move! russia's rapid and decisive movement was intended to prevent the signing of the secret alliance, and to bar england and germany from joining hands. but happily the sly machinations of the count von beilstein, the released convict and adventurer, had in a measure failed, for germany had considered it diplomatic to throw in her fortune with great britain in this desperate encounter. a feeling of thankfulness spread through the land. nevertheless, it was plain that if germany intended to wield the double-handled sword of conquest in france, she would have few troops to spare to send to england. but those dark days, full of agonising suspense, dragged on slowly. the french well knew the imminent danger that threatened their own country, yet they could not possibly withdraw. mad enthusiasts always! it must be war to the death, they decided. the conflict could not be averted. so britons unsheathed their steel, and held themselves in readiness for a fierce and desperate fray. the invasion had indeed been planned by our enemies with marvellous forethought and cunning. there was treachery in the intelligence department of the british admiralty, foul treachery which placed our country at the mercy of the invader, and sacrificed thousands of lives. on the morning following the sudden declaration of war, the officer in charge of the telegraph bureau at whitehall, whose duty it had been to send the telegrams ordering the naval mobilisation, was found lying dead beside the telegraph instrument--stabbed to the heart! inquiries were made, and it was found that one of the clerks, a young frenchman who had been taken on temporarily at a low salary, was missing. it was further discovered that the murder had been committed hours before, immediately the mobilisation orders had been sent; further, that fictitious telegrams had been despatched cancelling them, and ordering the channel fleet away to the mediterranean, the coastguard squadron to land's end, and the first-class reserve ships to proceed to the north of scotland in search of the enemy! thus, owing to these orders sent by the murderer, england was left unprotected. immediately the truth was known efforts were made to cancel the forged orders. but, alas! it was too late. our fleets had already sailed! chapter ix. count von beilstein at home. karl von beilstein sat in his own comfortable saddlebag-chair, in his chambers in the albany, lazily twisting a cigarette. on a table at his elbow was spread sheet 319 of the ordnance survey map of england, which embraced that part of sussex where the enemy were encamped. with red and blue pencils he had been making mystic marks upon it, and had at last laid it aside with a smile of satisfaction. "she thought she had me in her power," he muttered ominously to himself. "the wolf! if she knew everything, she could make me crave again at her feet for mercy. happily she is in ignorance; therefore that trip to a more salubrious climate that i anticipated is for the present postponed. i have silenced her, and am still master of the situation--still the agent of the tsar!" uttering a low laugh, he gave his cigarette a final twist, and then regarded it critically. the door opened to admit his valet, grevel. "a message from the embassy. the man is waiting," he said. his master opened the note which was handed to him, read it with contracted brows, and said-"tell him that the matter shall be arranged as quickly as possible." "nothing else?" "nothing. i am leaving london, and shall not be back for a week--perhaps longer." with a slight yawn he rose and passed into his dressing-room, while his servant went to deliver his message to the man in waiting. the note had produced a marked effect upon the spy. it was an order from his taskmasters in st. petersburg. he knew it must be obeyed. every moment was of vital consequence in carrying out the very delicate mission intrusted to him, a mission which it would require all his tact and cunning to execute. in a quarter of an hour he emerged into his sitting-room again, so completely disguised that even his most intimate acquaintances would have failed to recognise him. attired in rusty black, with clean shaven face and walking with a scholarly stoop, he had transformed himself from the foppish man-about-town to a needy country parson, whose cheap boots were down at heel, and in the lappel of whose coat was displayed a piece of worn and faded blue. "listen, pierre," he said to his man, who entered at his summons. "while i am away keep your eyes and ears open. if there is a shadow of suspicion in any quarter, burn all my papers, send me warning through the embassy, and clear out yourself without delay. should matters assume a really dangerous aspect, you must get down to the russian lines, where they will pass you through, and put you on board one of our ships." "has the ministry at petersburg promised us protection at last?" "yes; we have nothing to fear. when the game is up among these lambs, we shall calmly go over to the other side and witness the fun." "in what direction are you now going?" "i don't know," replied the spy, as he unlocked a drawer in a small cabinet in a niche by the fireplace and took from it a long circassian knife. drawing the bright blade from its leathern sheath, he felt its keen double edge with his fingers. it was like a razor. "a desperate errand--eh?" queried the valet, with a grin, noticing how carefully the count placed the murderous weapon in his inner pocket. "yes," he answered. "desperate. a word sometimes means death." and the simple rural vicar strode out and down the stairs, leaving the crafty pierre in wonderment. "bah!" the latter exclaimed in disgust, when the receding footsteps had died away. "so you vainly imagine, my dear karl, that you have your heel upon my neck, do you? it is good for me that you don't give me credit for being a little more wideawake, otherwise you would see that you are raking the chestnuts from the fire for me. _bien!_ i am silent, docile, obedient; i merely wait for you to burn your fingers, then the whole of the money will be mine to enjoy, while you will be in the only land where the tsar does not require secret agents. vain, avaricious fool! _you'll be in your grave!_" von beilstein meanwhile sped along down the haymarket and pall mall to whitehall. the clock on the stone tower of the horse guards showed it was one o'clock, and, with apparently aimless purpose, he lounged about on the broad pavement outside old scotland yard, immediately opposite the dark façade of the admiralty. his hawk's eye carefully scrutinised every single person of the busy throng entering or leaving the building. there was great activity at the naval headquarters, and the courtyard was crowded with persons hurrying in and out. presently, after a short but vigilant watch, he turned quickly so as to be unobserved, and moved slowly away. the cause of this sudden manoeuvre was the appearance of a well-dressed, dark-bearded man of about forty, having the appearance of a naval officer in mufti, who emerged hastily from the building with a handbag in his hand, and crossed the courtyard to the kerb, where he stood looking up and down the thoroughfare. "my man!" exclaimed von beilstein, under his breath. "he wants a cab. i wonder where he's going?" five minutes later the naval officer was in a hansom, driving towards westminster bridge, while, at a little distance behind, the tsar's agent was following in another conveyance. once on the trail, the count never left his quarry. crossing the bridge, they drove on rapidly through the crowded, turbulent streets of south london to the elephant and castle, and thence down the old kent road to the new cross station of the south-eastern railway. as a protest against the action of the government, and in order to prevent the enemy from establishing direct communication with london in case of british reverses, the lines from the metropolis to the south had been wrecked by the anarchists. on the chatham and dover railway, penge tunnel had been blown up, on the brighton line two bridges near croydon had been similarly treated, and on the south-eastern four bridges in rotherhithe and bermondsey had been broken up and rendered impassable by dynamite, while at haysden, outside tunbridge, the rails had also been torn up for a considerable distance. therefore traffic to the south from london termini had been suspended, and the few persons travelling were compelled to take train at the stations in the remoter southern suburbs. as the unsuspecting officer stepped into the booking-office, his attention was not attracted by the quiet and seedy clergyman who lounged near enough to overhear him purchase a first-class ticket for deal. when he had descended to the platform the spy obtained a third-class ticket to the same destination, and leisurely followed him. travelling by the same train, they were compelled to alight at haysden and walk over the wrecked permanent way into tunbridge, from which place they journeyed to deal, arriving there about six o'clock. throughout, it was apparent to the crafty watcher that the man he was following was doing his utmost to escape observation, and this surmise was strengthened by his actions on arriving at the quaint old town, now half ruined; for, instead of going to a first-class hotel, he walked on until he came to middle street,--a narrow little thoroughfare, redolent of fish, running parallel with the sea,--and took up quarters at the mariners' rest inn. it was a low, old-fashioned little place, with sanded floors, a smoke-blackened taproom, a rickety time-mellowed bar, with a comfortable little parlour beyond. in this latter room, used in common by the guests, on the following day the visitor from london first met the shabby parson from canterbury. the man from the admiralty seemed in no mood for conversation; nevertheless, after a preliminary chat upon the prospect of the invasion, they exchanged cards, and the vicar gradually became confidential. with a pious air he related how he had been to canterbury to conduct a revival mission which had turned out marvellously successful, crowds having to be turned away at every service, and how he was now enjoying a week's vacation before returning to his poor but extensive parish in hertfordshire. "i came to this inn, because i am bound to practise a most rigid economy," he added. "i am charmed with it. one sees so much character here in these rough toilers of the sea." "yes," replied his friend, whose card bore the words "commander yerbery, r.n." "being a sailor myself, i prefer this homely little inn, with its fisher folk as customers, to a more pretentious and less comfortable establishment." "are you remaining here long?" asked his clerical friend. "i--i really don't know," answered the officer hesitatingly. "possibly a day or so." the spy did not pursue the subject further, but conducted himself with an amiability which caused his fellow-traveller to regard him as "a real good fellow for a parson." together they smoked the long clays of the hostelry, they sat in the taproom of an evening and conversed with the fishermen who congregated there, and frequently strolled along by the shore to walmer, or through the fields to cottingham court farm, or sholden. constantly, however, commander yerbery kept his eyes seaward. was he apprehensive lest russian ironclads should return, and again bombard the little town; or was he expecting some mysterious signal from some ship in the downs? chapter x. a death draught. on several occasions the spy had, with artful ingenuity, endeavoured to discover the object of commander yerbery's sojourn, but upon that point he preserved a silence that was impenetrable. in their wanderings about the town they saw on every side the havoc caused by the bombardment which had taken place three days previously. whole rows of houses facing the sea had been carried away by the enemy's shells, and the once handsome church spire was now a mere heap of smouldering débris. the barracks, which had been one of the objects of attack, had suffered most severely. mélinite had been projected into them, exploding with devastating effect, and demolishing the buildings, which fell like packs of cards. afterwards, the enemy had sailed away, apparently thinking the strategical position of the place worthless. and all this had been brought about by this despicable villain--the man who had now wrapped himself in the cloak of sanctity, and who, beaming with well-feigned good fellowship, walked arm-in-arm with the man upon whom he was keeping the most vigilant observation! by night sleep scarcely came to his eyes, but in his little room, with its clean old-fashioned dimity blinds and hangings, he lay awake,--scheming, planning, plotting, preparing for the master-stroke. one morning, after they had been there three days, he stood alone in his bedroom with the door closed. from his inner pocket he drew forth the keen circassian blade that reposed there, and gazed thoughtfully upon it. "no," he muttered, suddenly rousing himself, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. "he is strong. he might shout, and then i should be caught like a rat in a trap." replacing the knife in his pocket, he took from his vest a tiny phial he always carried; then, after noiselessly locking the door, he took from the same pocket a small cube of lump sugar. standing by the window he uncorked the little bottle, and with steady hand allowed one single drop of the colourless liquid to escape and fall upon the sugar, which quickly absorbed it, leaving a small darkened stain. this sugar he placed in a locked drawer to dry, and, putting away the phial, descended to join his companion. that night they were sitting together in the private parlour behind the bar, smoking and chatting. it was an old-fashioned, smoke-begrimed room, with low oak ceiling and high wainscot,--a room in which many a seafarer had found rest and comfort after the toils and perils of the deep, a room in which many a stirring tale of the sea has been related, and in which one of our best-known nautical writers has gathered materials for his stirring ocean romances. although next the bar, there is no entrance on that side, neither is there any glass, therefore the apartment is entirely secluded from the public portion of the inn. at midnight the hearty boniface and his wife and servant had retired, and the place was silent, but the officer and his fellow-guest still sat with their pipes. the parson, as became one who exhibited the blue pledge of temperance in his coat, sipped his coffee, while the other had whisky, lemon, and a small jug of hot water beside him. the spy had been using the sugar, and the basin was close to his hand. his companion presently made a movement to reach it, when the pleasant-spoken vicar took up the tongs quickly, saying-"allow me to assist you. one lump?" "yes, thanks," replied the other, holding his glass for the small cube to be thrown in. then he added the lemon, whisky, and hot water. beilstein, betraying no excitement, continued the conversation, calmly refilled his pipe, and watched his companion sip the deadly potion. karl von beilstein had reduced poisoning to a fine art. not a muscle of his face contracted, though his keen eyes never left the other's countenance. they talked on, the commander apparently unaffected by the draught; his friend smilingly complacent and confident. suddenly, without warning, the officer's face grew ashen pale and serious. a violent tremor shook his stalwart frame. "i--i feel very strange," he cried, with difficulty. "a most curious sensation has come over me--a sensation as if--as if--ah! heavens! help, help!--i--i can't breathe!" the mild-mannered parson jumped to his feet, and stood before his friend, watching the hideous contortions of his face. "assistance!" his victim gasped, sinking inertly back in the high-backed windsor arm-chair. "fetch me a doctor--quick." but the man addressed took no heed of the appeal. he stood calmly by, contemplating with satisfaction his villainous work. "can't you see--i'm ill?" the dying man cried in a feeble, piteous voice. "my throat and head are burning. give me water--_water_!" still the spy remained motionless. "you--you refuse to assist me--you scoundrel! ah!" he cried hoarsely, in dismay. "ah! i see it all now! _god! you've poisoned me!_" with a frantic effort he half-raised himself in his chair, but fell back in a heap; his arms hanging helplessly at his side. his breath came and went in short hard gasps; the death-rattle was already in his throat, and with one long deep-drawn sigh the last breath left the body, and the light gradually died out of the agonised face. quick as thought the count unbuttoned the dead man's coat, and searching his pockets took out a large white official envelope bearing in the corner the blue stamp of the admiralty. it was addressed to "sir michael culme-seymour, admiral commanding the channel squadron," and was marked "private." "good!" ejaculated the spy, as he tore open the envelope. "i was not mistaken, after all! he was waiting until the flagship came into the downs to deliver it." the envelope contained a letter accompanied by a chart of the south coast, upon which were certain marks at intervals in red with minute directions, as well as a copy of the code of secret signals in which some slight alterations had lately been made. "what fortune!" cried the count gleefully, after reading the note. "their plans and the secret of their signals, too, are now ours! the embassy were correct in their surmise. with these the french and russian ships will be able to act swiftly, and sweep the british from the sea. now for london as quickly as possible, for the information will be absolutely invaluable." without a final glance at the corpse, huddled up in its chair, he put on his hat, and stealing noiselessly from the house, set out in the moonlight to walk swiftly by way of great mongeham and waldershare to shepherd's well station, whence he could get by train to london. the immense importance of these secret documents he had not overrated. their possession would enable the russian ships to decipher many of the hitherto mysterious british signals. the spy had accomplished his mission! chapter xi. the massacre at eastbourne. hourly the most alarming reports were being received at the war office, and at newspaper offices throughout the country, of the rapidly-increasing forces of the invaders, who were still landing in enormous numbers. vague rumours were also afloat of desperate encounters at sea between our coastguard squadron that had returned and the french and russian ironclads. nothing definite, however, was known. news travelled slowly, and was always unreliable. mobilisation was being hurried forward with all possible speed. nevertheless, so sudden had been the descent of the enemy, that eastbourne, newhaven, and seaford had already fallen into their hands. into the half-wrecked town of eastbourne regiment after regiment of russian infantry had been poured by the transports _samojed_ and _artelscik_, while two regiments of dragoons, one of cossacks, and many machine-gun sections had also been landed, in addition to a quantity of french infantry from the other vessels. the streets of the usually clean, well-ordered town were strewn with the débris of fallen houses and shops that had been wrecked by russian shells. the queen's hotel at splash point, with its tiers of verandahs and central spire, stood out a great gaunt blackened ruin. along terminus road the grey-coated hordes of the great white tsar looted the shops, and showed no quarter to those who fell into their hands. the grand hotel, the burlington, the cavendish, and others, were quickly transformed into barracks, as well as the half-ruined town hall, and the floral hall at devonshire park. robbery, outrage, and murder ran riot in the town, which only a few days before had been a fashionable health resort, crowded by aristocratic idlers. hundreds of unoffending persons had been killed by the merciless fire from the enemy's battleships, and hundreds more were being shot down in the streets for attempting a feeble resistance. the inhabitants, surrounded on all sides by the enemy, were powerless. the huge guns of the _pamyat azova_, the _imperator nicolai i._, the _pjotr velikij_, the _krejser_, the _najezdnik_, and others, had belched forth their death-dealing missiles with an effect that was appalling. the thunder of cannon had ceased, but was now succeeded by the sharp cracking of russian rifles, as those who, desperately guarding their homes and their loved ones, and making a stand against the invaders, were shot down like dogs. a crowd of townspeople collected in the open space outside the railway station, prepared to bar the advance of the russians towards the old town and upperton. alas! it was a forlorn hope for an unarmed mob to attempt any such resistance. a russian officer suddenly shouted a word of command that brought a company of infantry to the halt, facing the crowd. another word and a hundred rifles were discharged. again and again they flashed, and the volley was repeated until the streets were covered with dead and dying, and the few who were not struck turned and fled, leaving the invaders to advance unopposed. horrible were the deeds committed that night. english homes were desecrated, ruined, and burned. babes were murdered before the eyes of their parents, many being impaled by gleaming russian bayonets; fathers were shot down in the presence of their wives and children, and sons were treated in a similar manner. [illustration: landing of russians, and massacre in terminus road, eastbourne.] the massacre was frightful. ruin and desolation were on every hand. the soldiers of the tsar, savage and inhuman, showed no mercy to the weak and unprotected. they jeered and laughed at piteous appeal, and with fiendish brutality enjoyed the destruction which everywhere they wrought. many a cold-blooded murder was committed, many a brave englishman fell beneath the heavy whirling sabres of circassian cossacks, the bayonets of french infantry, or the deadly hail of machine guns. battalion after battalion of the enemy, fierce and ruthless, clambered on over the débris in terminus road, enthusiastic at finding their feet upon english soil. the flames of the burning buildings in various parts of the town illuminated the place with a bright red glare that fell upon dark bearded faces, in every line of which was marked determination and fierce hostility. landing near langney point, many of the battalions entered the town from the east, destroying all the property they came across on their line of advance, and, turning into terminus road, then continued through upperton and out upon the road leading to willingdon. the french forces, who came ashore close to holywell, on the other side of the town, advanced direct over warren hill, and struck due north towards sheep lands. at about a mile from the point where the road from eastdean crosses that to jevington, the force encamped in a most advantageous position upon willingdon hill, while the russians who advanced direct over st. anthony's hill, and those who marched through eastbourne, united at a point on the lewes road near park farm, and after occupying willingdon village, took up a position on the high ground that lies between it and jevington. from a strategic point of view the positions of both forces were carefully chosen. the commanding officers were evidently well acquainted with the district, for while the french commanded eastbourne and a wide stretch of the downs, the russians also had before them an extensive tract of country extending in the north to polegate, in the west to the fore down and lillington, and in the east beyond willingdon over pevensey levels to the sea. during the night powerful search-lights from the french and russian ships swept the coast continually, illuminating the surrounding hills and lending additional light to the ruined and burning town. before the sun rose, however, the majority of the invading vessels had rounded beachy head, and had steamed away at full speed down channel. [illustration: map showing the points where the invaders landed.] daylight revealed the grim realities of war. it showed eastbourne with its handsome buildings scorched and ruined, its streets blocked by fallen walls, and trees which had once formed shady boulevards torn up and broken, its shops looted, its tall church steeples blown away, its railway station wrecked, and its people massacred. alas! their life-blood was wet upon the pavements. the french and russian legions, ever increasing, covered the hills. the heavy guns of the french artillery and the lighter but more deadly machine guns of the russians had already been placed in position, and were awaiting the order to move north and commence the assault on london. it was too late! nothing could now be done to improve the rotten state of our defences. the invasion had begun, and britain, handicapped alike on land and on sea, must arm and fight to the death. by tuesday night, three days after the declaration of war, two french and half a russian army corps, amounting to 90,000 officers and men, with 10,000 horses and 1500 guns and waggons, had landed, in addition to which reinforcements constantly arrived from the french channel and russian baltic ports, until the number of the enemy on english soil was estimated at over 300,000. the overwhelming descent on our shores had been secretly planned by the enemy with great forethought, every detail having been most carefully arranged. the steam tonnage in the french harbours was ample and to spare, for many of the vessels, being british, had been at once seized on the outbreak of hostilities. the sudden interruption of the mail and telegraphic services between the two countries left us in total ignorance of the true state of affairs. nevertheless, for weeks an army of carpenters and engineers had been at work preparing the necessary fittings, which were afterwards placed in position on board the ships destined to convey horses and men to england. in order to deceive the other powers, a large number of military transport vessels had been fitted out at brest for a bogus expedition to dahomey. these ships actually put to sea on the day previous to the declaration of war, and on saturday night, at the hour when the news reached britain, they had already embarked guns, horses, and waggons at the channel ports. immediately after the tsar's manifesto had been issued the russian volunteer fleet was mobilised, and transports which had long been held in readiness in the baltic harbours embarked men and guns, and, one after another, steamed away for england without the slightest confusion or any undue haste. chapter xii. in the eagle's talons. many british military and naval writers had ridiculed the idea of a surprise invasion without any attempt on the part of the enemy to gain more than a partial and temporary control of the channel. although an attack on territory without having previously command of the sea had generally been foredoomed to failure, it had been long ago suggested by certain military officers in the course of lectures at the united service institution, that under certain conditions such invasion was possible, and that france might ere long be ruled by some ambitious soldier who might be tempted to try a sudden dash on _le perfide albion_. they pointed out that at worst it would entail on france the loss of three or four army corps, a loss no greater than she would suffer in one short land campaign. but alas! at that time very little notice was taken of such criticisms and illustrations, for britons had always been prone to cast doubts upon the power of other nations to convey troops by sea, to embark them, or to land them. thus the many suggestions directed towards increasing the mobility and efficiency of the army were, like other warnings, cast aside, the prevailing opinion in the country being that sudden invasion was an absolute impossibility. predictions of prophets that had so long been scorned, derided, and disregarded by an apathetic british public were rapidly being fulfilled. coming events had cast dark shadows that had been unheeded, and now the unexpected bursting of the war cloud produced panic through our land. general sir archibald alison struck an alarming note of warning when he wrote in _blackwood_ in december 1893: "no one can look carefully into the present state of europe without feeling convinced that it cannot continue long in its present condition. every country is maintaining an armed force out of all proportion to its resources and population, and the consequent strain upon its monetary system and its industrial population is ever increasing, and must sooner or later become unbearable." it had never been sufficiently impressed upon the british public, that when mobilised for war, and with all the reserves called out, russia had at her command 2,722,000 officers and men, while france could put 2,715,000 into the field, making a total force of the franco-russian armies of 5,437,000 men, with 9920 field guns and 1,480,000 horses. this well-equipped force was almost equal to the combined armies of the triple alliance, germany possessing 2,441,000, austria 1,590,000, and italy 1,909,000, a total of 5,940,000 officers and men, with 8184 field guns and 813,996 horses. beside these enormous totals, how ridiculously small appeared the british army, with its regular forces at home and abroad amounting to only 211,600 of all ranks, 225,400 volunteers, and 74,000 reserves, or 511,000 fighting men! of these, only 63,000 regulars remained in england and wales, therefore our reserves and volunteers were the chief defenders of our homes. what a mere handful they appeared side by side with these huge european armies! was it not surprising that in such circumstances the constant warnings regarding the weakness of our navy--the force upon which the very life of our empire depended--should have been unheeded by the too confident public? when we were told plainly by a well-known authority that the number of our war vessels was miserably inadequate, that we were 10,000 men and 1000 officers short, and, among other things, that a french cruiser had, for all practical purposes, three times the fighting efficiency of an english cruiser, no one troubled. nor was any one aroused from his foolishly apathetic confidence in british supremacy at sea. true, our navy was strengthened to a certain extent in 1894, but hard facts, solemn warnings, gloomy forebodings, all were, alas! cast aside among the "scares" which crop up periodically in the press during a parliamentary recess, and which, on the hearing of a murder trial, or a society scandal, at once fizzle out and are dismissed for ever. on this rude awakening to the seriousness of the situation, service men now remembered distinctly the prophetic words of the few students of probable invasion. once they had regarded them as based on wild improbabilities, but now they admitted that the facts were as represented, and that critics had foreseen catastrophe. already active steps had been taken towards the defence of london. notwithstanding the serious defects in the mobilisation scheme, the 1st army corps, formed at aldershot under sir evelyn wood, and three cavalry brigades, were now in the field, while the other army corps were being rapidly conveyed southwards. independently of the field army, the volunteers had mobilised, and were occupying the lines north and south of the metropolis. this force of volunteer infantry consisted of 108,300 officers and men, of whom 73,000, with 212 guns, were placed on the line south of the thames. it stretched along the hills from guildford in surrey to halstead in kent, with intermediate concentration points at box hill and caterham. at the latter place an efficient garrison had been established, consisting of 4603 of all ranks of the north london brigade, 4521 of the west london, 5965 of the south london, 5439 of the surrey, and 6132 of the lancashire and cheshire. this force was backed by eleven 16-pounder batteries of the 1st norfolk from yarmouth, the 1st sussex from brighton, the 1st newcastle and the 2nd durham from seaham, and ten 40-pounder batteries of the 3rd and 6th lancashire from liverpool, the 9th lancashire from bolton, the 1st cheshire from chester, the 1st cinque ports from dover, and the 2nd cinque ports from st. leonards. at halstead, on the left flank, there were massed about 20,470 volunteer infantry, these being made up of the south wales brigade 4182, welsh border 5192, the north midland 5225, and the south midland 5970. the eleven 16-pounder batteries came from the woolwich arsenal, monmouth, shropshire, and stafford corps, and five 40-pounder batteries from the preston corps. to guildford 4471 infantry in the home counties brigade and 4097 in the western counties were assigned, while the guns consisted of four 40-pounder batteries from the york and leeds corps, the 16-pounder batteries of the fife, highland, and midlothian corps being unable, as yet, to get south on account of the congested state of all the northern railways. for this same reason, too, the force at box hill, the remaining post in the south line of defence, was a very weak one. to this the volunteers assigned were mostly scottish. of the glasgow brigade 8000 of all ranks arrived, with 4000 from the south of scotland brigade; but the highland brigade of 4400 men, all enthusiastically patriotic, and the 16-pounder batteries from ayr and lanark, were compelled, to their chagrin, to wait at their headquarters for several days before the railways--every resource of which was strained to their utmost limits--could move them forward to the seat of war. the five heavy batteries of the aberdeen and north york corps succeeded in getting down to their place of concentration early, as likewise did the 16-pounder battery from galloway. volunteers also undertook the defences north of the metropolis, and a strong line, consisting of a number of provincial brigades, stretched from tilbury to brentwood and epping. the british volunteer holds no romantic notions of "death or glory," but is none the less prepared to do his duty, and is always ready "to do anything, and to go anywhere." every officer and every man of this great force which had mounted guard north and south of the thames was resolved to act his part bravely, and, if necessary, lay down his life for his country's honour. at their posts on the surrey hills, ready at any moment to go into action, and firmly determined that no invader should enter the vast capital of the world, they impatiently awaited the development of the situation, eager to face and annihilate their foreign foe. britannia had always been justly proud of her volunteer forces, although their actual strength in time of invasion had never before been demonstrated. now, however, the test which had been applied showed that, with an exception of rarest occurrence, every man had responded to this hasty call to arms, and that on active service they were as fearless and courageous as any body of regulars ever put in the field. every man was alive to britain's danger; every man knew well how terrible would be the combat--the struggle that must result in either victory or death. the double-headed eagle had set his talons in british soil! chapter xiii. fierce fighting in the channel. in the channel disastrous events of a most exciting character were now rapidly occurring. outside seaford bay, pevensey bay, and off brighton and the mares at cuckmere haven, the enemy's transports, having landed troops and stores, rode at anchor, forming a line of retreat in case of reverses, while many fast french cruisers steamed up and down, keeping a sharp lookout for any british merchant or mail steamers which, ignorant of the hostilities, entered the channel. the officers and crews of these steamers were in most cases so utterly surprised that they fell an easy prey to the marauding vessels, many being captured and taken to french ports without a shot being fired. other vessels, on endeavouring to escape, were either overhauled or sunk by the heavy fire of pursuing cruisers. one instance was that of the fast mail steamer _carpathian_, belonging to the union steamship company, which, entering the channel on a voyage from cape town to southampton, was attacked off the eddystone by the russian armoured cruiser _gerzog edinburskij_. the panic on board was indescribable, over a hundred steerage passengers being killed or mutilated by the shells from the bow guns of the cruiser, and the captain himself being blown to atoms by an explosion which occurred when a shot struck and carried away the forward funnel. after an exciting chase, the _carpathian_ was sunk near start point, and of the five hundred passengers and crew scarcely a single person survived. this terrible work of destruction accomplished, the russian cruiser turned westward again to await further prey. as she steamed away, however, another ship rounded the start following at full speed in her wake. this vessel, which was flying the british flag, was the barbette-ship _centurion_. already her captain had witnessed the attack and sinking of the _carpathian_, but from a distance too great to enable him to assist the defenceless liner, and he was now on his way to attack the tsar's cruiser. almost immediately she was noticed by the enemy. half an hour later she drew within range, and soon the two ships were engaged in a most desperate encounter. the gunners on the _centurion_, seeing the russian cross flying defiantly, and knowing the frightful havoc already wrought on land by the enemy, worked with that pluck and indomitable energy characteristic of the britisher. shot after shot was exchanged, but hissed and splashed without effect until the ships drew nearer, and then nearly every shell struck home. the rush of flame from the quick-firing guns of the _centurion_ was continuous, and the firing was much more accurate than that of her opponent, nevertheless the latter was manipulated with remarkable skill. the roar of the guns was deafening. clouds of smoke rose so thickly that the vessels could scarcely distinguish each other. but the firing was almost continuous, until suddenly a shell struck the _centurion_ abaft the funnel, and for a moment stilled her guns. this, however, was not for long, for in a few moments she recovered from the shock, and her guns were again sending forth shells with regularity and precision. again a shell struck the _centurion_, this time carrying away one of her funnels and killing a large number of men. the british captain, still as cool as if standing on the hearthrug of the smoking-room of the united service club, took his vessel closer, continuing the fire, heedless of the fact that the russian shells striking his ship were playing such fearful havoc with it. every preparation had been made for a desperate fight to the death, when suddenly a shot struck the vessel, causing her to reel and shiver. so well had the russians directed their fire that the british vessel could not reply. one of her 29-tonners had been blown completely off its carriage, and lay shattered with men dead all around, while two of her quick-firing broadside guns had been rendered useless, and she had sustained other injuries of a very serious character, besides losing nearly half her men. she was silent, riding to the swell, when wild exultant shouts in russian went up from the enemy's ship, mingling with the heavy fire they still kept up. at that moment, however, even while the victorious shouts resounded, the captain of the _centurion_, still cool and collected, swung round his vessel, and turning, touched one of the electric knobs at his hand. as he did so a long silvery object shot noiselessly from the side of the ship, and plunged with a splash into the rising waves. seconds seemed hours. for a whole three minutes the captain waited; then, disappointed, he turned away with an expression of impatience. the torpedo had missed its mark, and every moment lost might determine their fate. with guns still silent he again adroitly manoeuvred his ship. once again he touched the electric knob, and again a torpedo, released from its tube, sped rapidly through the water. suddenly a dull and muffled explosion from the russian cruiser sounded. above the dense smoke a flame shot high, with great columns of spray, as the guns suddenly ceased their thunder. there was a dead stillness, broken only by the wash of the sea. then the smoke clearing showed the débris of the _gerzog edinburskij_ fast sinking beneath the restless waters. some splinters precipitated into the air had fallen with loud splashes in every direction, and amid the victorious shouts of the british bluejackets the disabled ship, with its fluttering russian cross, slowly disappeared for ever, carrying down every soul on board. the torpedo, striking her amidships, had blown an enormous hole right through her double bottom, and torn her transverse bulkheads away so much that her watertight doors were useless for keeping her afloat, even for a few minutes. partially crippled as she was, the _centurion_ steamed slowly westward, until at noon on the following day she fell in with a division of the coastguard squadron, which, acting under the fictitious telegraphic orders of the french spy, had been to land's end, but which, now the enemy had landed, had received genuine orders from the admiralty. compared with the number and strength of the french and russian vessels mustered in the channel, this force was so small as to appear ludicrous. to send this weak defending division against the mighty power of the invaders was sheer madness, and everybody on board knew it. the vessels were weaker in every detail than those of the enemy. at full speed the british vessels steamed on throughout that day, until at 8 p.m., when about twenty miles south of selsey bill, they were joined by forces from the solent. these consisted of the turret-ship _monarch_, the turret-ram _rupert_, the barbette-ship _rodney_, the belted cruiser _aurora_, and the coast defence armour-clads _cyclops_ and _gorgon_, together with a number of torpedo boats. the night was calm, but moonless, and without delay the vessels all continued the voyage up channel silently, with lights extinguished. two hours later the officers noticed that away on the horizon a light suddenly flashed twice and then disappeared. one of the enemy's ships had signalled the approach of the defenders! this caused the british admiral to alter his course slightly, and the vessels steamed along in the direction the light had shown. in turrets and in broadside batteries there was a deep hush of expectation. officers and men standing at their quarters scarcely spoke. all felt the fight must be most desperate. presently, in the far distance a small patch of light in the sky showed the direction of brighton, and almost immediately the admiral signalled to the cruisers _aurora_, _galatea_, and _narcissus_, and the new battleship _hannibal_, built under the 1894 programme, to detach themselves with six torpedo boats, and take an easterly course, in order to carry out instructions which he gave. these tactics caused considerable comment. the orders were to make straight for eastbourne, and to suddenly attack and destroy any of the hostile transports that were lying there, the object being twofold--firstly, to cut off the enemy's line of retreat, and secondly, to prevent the vessels from being used for the purpose of landing further reinforcements. soon after 2 a.m. this gallant little division had, by careful manoeuvring, and assisted by a slight mist which now hung over the sea, rounded beachy head without being discovered, and had got outside pevensey bay about eight miles from land. here a number of russian transports and service steamers were lying, among them being the _samojed_ and _olaf_, _krasnaya gorka_ and _vladimir_, with two smaller ones--the _dnepr_ and the _artelscik_. silently, and without showing any lights, a british torpedo boat sped quickly along to where the dark outline of a ship loomed through the mist, and, having ascertained that it was the _olaf_, drew up quickly. a few minutes elapsed, all being quiet. then suddenly a bright flash was followed by a fearful explosion, and the bottom of the tsar's vessel being completely ripped up by the torpedo, she commenced to settle down immediately, before any of those on board could save themselves. the enemy had scarcely recovered from their surprise and confusion when three other loud explosions occurred, and in each case transport vessels were blown up. british torpedo boats, darting hither and thither between the russian ships, were dealing terrible blows from which no vessel could recover. so active were they, indeed, that within the space of fifteen minutes six transports had been blown up, as well as the first-class torpedo boat _abo_. the loss of life was terrible. simultaneously with the first explosion, the guns of the _aurora_, _galatea_, and _narcissus_ thundered out a terrible salute. the bright search-lights of the russian cruisers and of the battleship _navarin_ immediately swept the sea, and through the mist discerned the british ships. the lights served only to show the latter the exact position of the enemy, and again our guns belched forth shot and shell with disastrous effect. quickly, however, the russian vessels replied. flame flashed continuously from the turret of the _navarin_ and the port guns of the _opricnik_ and the _najezdnik_, while the search-lights were at the same time shut off. at first the fire was very ineffectual, but gradually as the vessels crept closer to each other the encounter became more and more desperate. the russian torpedo boats _vzryv_, _vindava_, and _kotlinj_ were immediately active, and the _narcissus_ had a very narrow escape, a whitehead torpedo passing right under her bows, while one british torpedo boat, which at the same moment was endeavouring to launch its deadly projectile at the _navarin_, was sent to the bottom by a single shot from the _najezdnik_. the combat was desperate and terrible. that the british had been already successful in surprising and sinking a torpedo boat and six of the hostile transports was true; nevertheless the number of russian ships lying there was much greater than the british admiral had anticipated, and, to say the least, the four vessels now found themselves in a most critical position. the _navarin_ alone was one of the most powerful of the tsar's battleships, and, in addition to the seven cruisers and nine torpedo boats, comprised an overwhelming force. yet the english warships held their own, pouring forth an incessant fire. each gun's crew knew they were face to face with death, but, inspired by the coolness of their officers, they worked on calmly and indefatigably. many of their shots went home with frightful effect. one shell which burst over the magazine of the _lieut. iljin_ ripped up her deck and caused severe loss of life, while in the course of half an hour one of the heavy turret guns of the _navarin_ had been disabled, and two more russian torpedo boats sunk. our torpedo boat destroyers operating on the channel seaboard were performing excellent work, the _havock_, _shark_, _hornet_, _dart_, _bruiser_, _hasty_, _teaser_, _janus_, _surly_, and _porcupine_ all being manoeuvred with splendid success. several, however, were lost while sweeping out the enemy's torpedo boat shelters, including the _ardent_, _charger_, _boxer_, and _rocket_. [illustration: sinking of h.m.s. "aurora" by a torpedo: "the cruiser rose as if she had ridden over a volcano."] but the british vessels were now suffering terribly, hemmed in as they were by the enemy, with shells falling upon them every moment, and their decks swept by the withering fire of machine guns. suddenly, after a shell had burst in the stern of the _aurora_, she ceased firing and swung round, almost colliding with the _narcissus_. her steam steering-gear had, alas! been broken by the shot, and for a few moments her officers lost control over her. a russian torpedo boat in shelter behind the _navarin_, now seeing its chance, darted out and launched its projectile. the officers of the _aurora_, aware of their danger, seemed utterly powerless to avert it. it was a terrible moment. a few seconds later the torpedo struck, the cruiser rose as if she had ridden over a volcano, and then, as she gradually settled down, the dark sea rolled over as gallant a crew as ever sailed beneath the white ensign. immediately afterwards the _navarin_ exchanged rapid signals with a number of ships which were approaching with all speed from the direction of hastings, and the captains of the three remaining british vessels saw that they had fallen into a trap. the _narcissus_ had been drawn between two fires. both her funnels had been shot away, two of her broadside guns were useless, and she had sustained damage to her engines; nevertheless, her captain, with the dogged perseverance of a british sailor, continued the desperate combat. with the first flush of dawn the fog had lifted, but there was scarcely sufficient wind to spread out the british ensign, which still waved with lazy defiance. on one side of her was the ponderous _navarin_, from the turret of which shells were projected with monotonous regularity, while on the other the british cruiser was attacked vigorously by the _najezdnik_. the _narcissus_, however, quickly showed the russians what she could do against such overwhelming odds, for presently she sent a shot from one of her 20-ton guns right under the turret of the _navarin_, causing a most disastrous explosion on board that vessel, while, at the same time, her 6-inch breechloaders pounded away at her second antagonist, and sank a torpedo boat manoeuvring near. both the _galatea_ and the _hannibal_ were in an equally serious predicament. the enemy's torpedo boats swarmed around them, while the cruisers _opricnik_, _admiral korniloff_, _rynda_, and several other vessels, kept up a hot, incessant fire, which was returned energetically by the british vessels. the sight was magnificent, appalling! in the spreading dawn, the great ships manoeuvring smartly, each strove to obtain points of vantage, and vied with each other in their awful work of destruction. the activity of the british torpedo boats, darting here and there, showed that those who manned them were utterly reckless of their lives. as they sped about, it was indeed marvellous how they escaped destruction, for the russians had more than double the number of boats, and their speed was quite equal to our own. nevertheless the british boats followed up their successes by other brilliant deeds of daring, for one of them, with a sudden dash, took the _rynda_ off her guard, and sent a torpedo at her with awful result, while a few moments later two terrific explosions sounded almost simultaneously above the thunder of the guns, and it was then seen that the unprotected cruiser _asia_, and the last remaining transport the _krasnaya gorka_, were both sinking. it was a ghastly spectacle. hoarse despairing shrieks went up from hundreds of russian sailors who fought and struggled for life in the dark rolling waters, and three british torpedo boats humanely rescued a great number of them. many, however, sank immediately with their vessels, while some strong swimmers struck out for the distant shore. yet, without exception, all these succumbed to exhaustion ere they could reach the land, and the long waves closed over them as they threw up their arms and sank into the deep. during the first few minutes following this sudden disaster to the enemy the firing ceased, and the _navarin_ ran up signals. this action attracted the attention of the officers of the british vessels to the approaching ships, and to their amazement and dismay they discovered that they were a squadron of the enemy who had returned unexpectedly from the direction of dover. the british ships, in their half-crippled condition, could not possibly withstand such an onslaught as they knew was about to be made upon them, for the enemy's reinforcements consisted of the steel barbette-ships _gangut_, _alexander ii._, and _nicolai i._, of the baltic fleet, the great turret-ship _petr veliky_, the _rurik_, a very powerful central-battery belted cruiser of over ten thousand tons, two new cruisers of the same type that had been recently completed, the _enara_ and _ischma_, with three other cruisers and a large flotilla of torpedo boats. accompanying them were the french 10,000-ton armoured barbette-ship _magenta_, the central-battery ship _richelieu_, the armoured turret-ship _tonnerre_, and the _hoche_, one of the finest vessels of our gallic neighbour's navy, as well as the torpedo cruisers _hirondelle_ and _fleurus_, and a number of swift torpedo boats and "catchers." the captains of the british vessels saw that in the face of such a force defeat was a foregone conclusion; therefore they could do nothing but retreat hastily towards newhaven, in the hope of finding the division of the british coastguard squadron which had gone there for the same purpose as they had rounded beachy head, namely, to destroy the enemy's transports. without delay the three vessels swung round with all speed and were quickly headed down channel, while the remaining attendant torpedo boats, noticing this sudden retreat, also darted away. this manoeuvre did not, of course, proceed unchecked, the enemy being determined they should not escape. signals were immediately made by the _alexander ii._, the flagship, and the _petr veliky_ and _enara_, being within range, blazed forth a storm of shell upon the fugitives. the shots, however, fell wide, and ricochetted over the water, sending up huge columns of spray; whereupon the _narcissus_ and _galatea_ replied steadily with their 6-inch guns, while the heavy guns of the _hannibal_ were also quickly brought into play. in a few minutes the _magenta_ and _tonnerre_ with the _alger_, _cécille_, and _sfax_, started in pursuit, and an intensely exciting chase commenced. the engines of the british vessels were run at the highest possible pressure, but the french ships proved several knots swifter. as they steamed at full speed around beachy head towards seaford bay the enemy gradually overhauled them. the brisk fire which was being kept up soon began to tell, for all three retreating ships had lost many men, and the scenes of bloodshed on board were frightful. eagerly the officers swept the horizon with their glasses to discover signs of friendly aid, but none hove in sight. all three ships were weak, their guns disabled, with whole guns' crews lying dead around, and many of the officers had fallen. in strength, in speed, in armaments--in fact, in everything--they were inferior to their opponents, and they saw it was a question of sheer force, not one of courage. they would either be compelled to surrender to the tricolor, or deliberately seek the grave. with such a force bearing down upon them, escape seemed absolutely impossible. chapter xiv. battle off beachy head. the sun at last broke forth brilliantly, betokoning another blazing day. having regard to the fact that both the channel fleet and the reserve had been sent on futile errands by our enemy's secret agent, and the superior forces against which the british had all along had to fight, they had most assuredly shown what tact and courage could effect. opposite the belle tout lighthouse a disaster occurred to the _narcissus_. during the fight one of her engines had been injured, and this being now strained to its utmost limit had suddenly broken down altogether, with the result that the vessel gradually slackened speed, and the _sfax_ and _alger_ bore down quickly upon her, pouring into her a heavy fire from their 5-tonners. the reply was a weak one from her quick-firing guns, her heavy arms having nearly all been disabled. onward steamed the _galatea_ and _hannibal_, keeping up a running fire with the four vessels pursuing them, while the two cruisers engaging the _narcissus_ continued their strenuous endeavours to silence her guns. the british sailors, however, still undaunted, quickly showed their opponents that all the arms workable would be brought into play by directing a most vigorous fire upon their pursuers, blowing away one of the funnels of the _alger_, and disabling one of her large bow guns. just then, however, while the _narcissus_ was discharging a broadside, a torpedo boat crept under her stern and sent forth its submerged projectile. for a moment there was a hush of expectation, then a dull explosion sounded as the cruiser, apparently rent in twain, plunged stern foremost into the sea, and with her ensign still flying gradually disappeared without a soul on board being able to save himself. meanwhile the _galatea_ and _hannibal_, with their torpedo boats, were sustaining serious injuries from the heavy bow fire, and there seemed every possibility that they too would share the same terrible fate as the _narcissus_, when suddenly one of the officers of the _galatea_ discovered three vessels approaching. the "demand" was immediately hoisted, and responded to by both vessels running up private signals. with an expression of satisfaction he directed the attention of the captain to the fact, for the flags of the first-named vessel showed her to be the british turret-ship _monarch_, and those of the second the great barbette-ship _rodney_, while a moment later it was discerned that the third vessel was the _gorgon_. even as they looked, other masts appeared upon the horizon, and then they knew relief was at hand. both vessels ran up signals, while the men, encouraged by the knowledge that some powerful british ironclads were bearing down to their aid in indented line ahead, worked with increased vigour to keep the enemy at bay. it was a fierce, sanguinary fight. fire vomited from all the vessels' battered works, and the scuppers ran with blood. the french vessels, having apparently also noticed the relief approaching, did not seem inclined to fight, but were nevertheless compelled, and not for a single instant did the firing from the attacked vessels cease. their guns showed constant bursts of flame. soon, however, the _rodney_ drew within range. a puff of white smoke from her barbette, and the _cécille_ received a taste of her quick-firing guns, the shots from which struck her amidships, killing a large number of her men, and tearing up her deck. this was followed by deafening discharges from the four 25-ton guns of the _monarch_, while the _gorgon_ and a number of other vessels as they approached all took part in the conflict, the engagement quickly becoming general. with great precision the british directed their fire, and the french vessels soon prepared to beat a retreat, when, without warning, a frightful explosion occurred on board the _hirondelle_, and wreckage mingled with human limbs shot into the air amid a great sheet of flame. the magazine had exploded! the scene on board the doomed vessel, even as witnessed from the british ships, was awful. terrified men left their guns, and, rushing hither and thither, sought means of escape. but the boats had already been smashed by shots from the british cruisers, and all knew that death was inevitable. the burning ship slowly foundered beneath them, and as they rushed about in despair they fell back into the roaring flames. a british torpedo boat rescued about a dozen; but presently, with a heavy list, the warship suddenly swung round, and, bow first, disappeared into the green sunlit sea, leaving only a few poor wretches, who, after struggling vainly on the surface for a few moments, also went down to the unknown. the carnage was frightful. hundreds of men were being launched into eternity, while upon the horizon both east and west dozens of ships of both invaders and defenders were rapidly approaching, and all would, ere long, try conclusions. before half an hour had passed, a fierce battle, as sanguinary as any in the world's history, had commenced. the cruisers, acting as satellites to the battleships forming the two opposing fighting lines, had quickly commenced a series of fierce skirmishes and duels, all the most destructive engines of modern warfare being brought into play. the division of our channel fleet that had at last returned consisted of the powerful battleship _royal sovereign_, flying the admiral's flag; the barbette-ships _anson_, _howe_, _camperdown_, and _benbow_; the turret-ships _thunderer_ and _conqueror_; the cruisers _mersey_, _terpsichore_, _melampus_, _tribune_, _latona_, _immortalité_, and _barham_; with the torpedo gunboats _spanker_ and _speedwell_, and nineteen torpedo boats. the forces of the invaders were more than double that of the british, for, in addition to the vessels already enumerated, the reinforcements consisted of the french battleships _amiral baudin_, _formidable_, _amiral duperré_, _brennus_, _tréhouart_, _jemappes_, _terrible_, _requin_, _indomptable_, _caïman_, _courbet_, _dévastation_, _redoubtable_, and _furieux_, together with nine cruisers, and thirty-eight _torpilleurs de haute mer_. from the very commencement the fighting was at close quarters, and the storm of shot and shell caused death on every hand. with such an overwhelming force at his disposal, admiral maigret, the french commander, had been enabled to take up a position which boded ill for the defenders, nevertheless the british admiral on board the _royal sovereign_ was determined to exert every effort to repulse the enemy. in the thick of the fight the great flagship steamed along, her compartments closed, her stokeholds screwed down, her four 67-ton guns hurling great shots from her barbettes, and her smaller arms pouring out a continuous deadly fire upon the french ship _indomptable_ on the one side, and the great russian armoured cruiser _nicolai i._ on the other. upon the latter the british vessel's shells played with a terribly devastating effect, bringing down the large forward mast and the machine guns in her fighting tops, and then, while the crew worked to get the wreckage clear, the maxim, nordenfelt, and hotchkiss guns of the _royal sovereign_ suddenly rattled out, sweeping with their metal hail her opponent's deck, and mowing down those who were cutting adrift the fallen rigging. a moment later a shell struck one of the pair of guns in the _nicolai's_ turret, rendering it useless, and then the captain of the _royal sovereign_, who had been standing in the conning-tower calmly awaiting his chance, touched three electric knobs in rapid succession. the engines throbbed, the great ship moved along at increasing speed through dense clouds of stifling smoke, and as she did so the captain shouted an order which had the effect of suddenly turning the vessel, and while her great barbette guns roared, the ram of the british vessel crashed into the broadside of the tsar's ship with a terrific impact which caused her to shiver from stem to stern. [illustration: _nicolai i._ _royal sovereign._ battle off beachy head: h.m.s. "royal sovereign" ramming the "nicolai i."] then, as the big guns in her rear barbette thundered out upon the _indomptable_, whose engines had broken down, she drew gradually back from the terrible breach her ram had made under the water-line of her opponent, and the latter at once commenced to sink. the force of the impact had been so great that the russian's hull was absolutely broken in two, and as the iron stretched and rent like paper, she heaved slowly over, "turning turtle," and carrying down with her over three hundred officers and men. the british captain now turned his attention to the french ship, which had been joined in the attack by the _brennus_, the fire from whose 58-ton guns at close quarters played great havoc with the british flagship's superstructure. a second later, however, the captain of the _royal sovereign_ caught the _indomptable_ in an unguarded moment, and, springing towards one of the electric knobs before him, pressed it. this had the effect of ejecting a torpedo from one of the bow tubes, and so well directed was it that a few seconds later there was a deafening report, as part of the stern portion of the french ship was blown away, raising great columns of spray. the situation was awful, and the loss of life everywhere enormous. dense, blinding smoke, and the choking fumes of mélinite, obscured the sun, and in the darkness thus caused the flames from the guns shed a lurid light upon decks strewn with dead and dying. the cruisers and scouts by which our battleships were surrounded cut off many of the french torpedo boats, but a large number got right in among the fleet, and some terrible disasters were thus caused. once inside the circle of british cruisers, all fire directed at the boats was as dangerous to our own ships as to the enemy's boats. the superiority of the french torpedo boats was, alas! keenly felt by the british, for in the course of the first hour five of our cruisers--the _terpsichore_, _galatea_, _melampus_, _tribune_, _mersey_, the turret-ship _conqueror_, and the battleships _hannibal_ and _rodney_, had been blown up. as compared with these losses, those of the enemy were at this stage by no means small. the french had lost two cruisers and four torpedo boats, and the russians one battleship, three cruisers, and six torpedo boats. the british, with all these fearful odds against them, still continued a galling fire. the _camperdown_, _anson_, and _benbow_, steaming together in line, belched a storm of shell from their barbettes, which caused wholesale destruction among the crowd of ships engaging them. yet the withering fire of the enemy was telling terribly upon the comparatively small force of the defenders. upon all three battleships the casualties were frightful, and on board each one or more of the heavy guns had been disabled. suddenly a shot, penetrating a weak point in the armour of the _anson_, entered her engine-room, disabling a portion of her machinery, while a moment later a shell from the _amiral duperré_ fell close to her broadside torpedo discharge, and a fragment of the shell coming into contact with the striker of a torpedo, just as it was about to leave its tube, caused a terrific and disastrous explosion between the decks. the effect was horrifying. the torpedo contained over 70 lb. of gun-cotton, therefore the devastating nature of the explosion may be readily imagined. over a hundred men were blown to atoms, and the whole six of the broadside guns were more or less disabled. a second later, however, a shell from the _benbow_ struck the _amiral duperré_, carrying away the greater portion of her conning-tower, and killing her captain instantly, while almost at the same moment a torpedo from one of the british boats struck her bows with a frightful detonation, blowing an enormous hole in them. the catastrophe was complete. the crew of the doomed ship, panic-stricken, left their guns and commenced to launch the only two boats that remained uninjured; but ere this could be accomplished, the _tréhouart_, which suddenly went astern, apparently to avoid a torpedo, crashed into her, with the result that she heeled right over and quickly disappeared. the _camperdown_, fighting fiercely with the _requin_, the _terrible_, and the _courbet_, was suffering terrible damage from bow to stern; nevertheless her guns kept up an incessant torrent of shot, until suddenly, just after one of her shells had struck right under the turret of the _terrible_, there was a deafening report, the air was filled with dense smoke, and the french ship, with her engines disabled, commenced to fill and sink. a portion of the shell had penetrated to her magazine, and she had blown up, nearly half her crew being killed by the terrific force of the explosion. many of the remaining men, however, scrambled on board the _caïman_, which by some means had come into slight collision with her; but scarcely had the last terrified man left the sinking vessel, when the _camperdown's_ powerful ram entered the _caïman's_ bows, breaking her hull, and she also foundered, carrying down with her not only her own crew, but also the survivors of the _terrible_. this success was witnessed with satisfaction by the british admiral, who nevertheless saw how seriously weakened was his force, and how critical was the position of his few remaining ships. yet he remained quite cool, for the heavy guns of the steel monster in whose conning-tower he stood continued thundering forth their projectiles, and the white ensign still loomed defiantly through the dense black smoke, fluttering in the freshening breeze that was now springing up. although a number of the enemy's vessels had been sunk, he knew the issue must be fatal to his force, for they were now surrounded by a number of ships so vastly superior to them in armament and speed, that to die fighting was their only course. though the cockpits were full, true british indomitable courage was showing itself everywhere on board our ships. officers by words of encouragement incited their men to splendid heroic deeds, and guns' crews, with dark determined faces, seeing only death ahead, resolved to fight and struggle to the last for the honour of the union jack, which should never be surmounted by the tricolor. a moment later, the captain, standing with the admiral, who had just entered the conning-tower of the _royal sovereign_, suddenly uttered a cry of dismay, and with transfixed, horrified gaze pointed with his finger to the sea. breathlessly the admiral looked in the direction indicated. though one of the bravest men in the navy, and on his breast he wore the victoria cross, his eyes fell upon a sight that appalled him. it was a critical moment. a small french vessel, the unarmoured cruiser _faucon_, had crept up unnoticed. the attention of the british officers had been, until that moment, concentrated upon the three powerful battleships, the _requin_, the _dévastation_, and the _jemappes_, which kept up their hot fire upon the flagship, causing terrible destruction. now, however, the british admiral saw himself surrounded by the enemy, and the sight which caused his heart to beat quickly was a distinct line of bubbles upon the water, advancing with terrific speed, showing that a torpedo had been ejected from the _faucon_ directly at his ship! in the conning-tower all knew their danger, but not a man spoke. both the admiral and the captain at the same instant saw the death-dealing projectile advancing, and both retained their coolness and presence of mind. the captain, shouting an order, sprang back and touched one of the electric signals, which was instantly responded to. it was the work of a second. the great engines roared and throbbed, and the huge vessel, propelled backwards by its 13,000 horse-power, swung steadily round just as the torpedo glanced off her bow obliquely. the crew of the _royal sovereign_ had never been nearer death than at that instant. had the ironclad not halted in her course, the striker of the torpedo would have come square upon her bows, and one of the finest vessels of the british navy would have probably gone to the bottom. the _faucon_ was not given an opportunity to make a second attempt. the captain of the _anson_ had witnessed how narrowly the british flagship had escaped, and immediately turned his great guns upon the little vessel, with the result that her quick-firing guns were quickly rendered useless, her hull was torn up like paper, and she slowly sank without offering resistance. shots came from the frowning barbettes of the _camperdown_, _benbow_, and the turrets of the _monarch_ rapidly, the damage and loss of life suffered by the enemy now being enormous. the three french battleships engaging the _royal sovereign_ at close quarters received terrible punishment. one of the 75-ton guns of the _requin_ had been rendered useless, her deck had been torn up, and her bulwarks had been carried away, together with her funnel and forward mast. the rear barbette gun of the _jemappes_ had been thrown off its mounting, and a shell striking the port side battery, had burst against the forward bulkhead, and wrought horrible destruction among the guns' crews. the three powerful french vessels pouring their fire upon the british flagship, and finding themselves being raked by the heavy fire of their adversary, signalled the _tonnerre_ and _furieux_ to assist them. both vessels drew nearer, and soon afterwards commenced pounding at the _royal sovereign_. the _anson_, however, noticed the dangerous position of the british flagship, and, having manoeuvred adroitly, succeeded in getting under way, and with her great forward guns thundering, she crashed her ram into the _furieux_, and sank her, while almost at the same moment a torpedo, discharged from one of the british boats, struck the _tonnerre_ right amidships, dealing her a blow from which she could never recover. five minutes later, the _gangut_, fighting desperately at close quarters with the _camperdown_, had part of her armoured casemate blown away, and the british battleship followed up this success by directing a torpedo at her in such a manner that, although she drew back quickly to avoid it, she nevertheless received it right under her stern. some ammunition on board that vessel also exploded, and the effect was frightful, for fragments of wood, iron, and human bodies were precipitated in all directions. the loss of life, although heavy on the british side, was nevertheless far greater on board the enemy's ships. the continuity and precision of the british fire wrought awful destruction. between the decks of many of the french and russian ships the carnage was frightful. among wrecked guns and mountings lay headless and armless bodies; human limbs shattered by shells were strewn in all directions upon decks slippery with blood. the shrieks of the dying were drowned by the roar and crash of the guns, the deafening explosion of shells, and the rending of iron and steel as the projectiles pierced armourplates, destroying everything with which they came in contact. the noon had passed, and as the day wore on other catastrophes occurred involving further loss of life. one of these was the accidental ramming of the _sfax_ by the french battleship _redoubtable_, which managed, however, to save the greater portion of the crew, although her engines broke down. during the afternoon the fire from the british ships seemed to increase rather than diminish, notwithstanding each vessel flying the white ensign fought more than one of the enemy's ships, and in doing so constantly received shots that spread death and destruction between the decks. still, amid the blinding smoke, the din of battle, and the constant roaring of the guns, british bluejackets with smoke-begrimed faces worked enthusiastically for the defence of old england. many heroic deeds were performed that memorable afternoon, and many a gallant hero was sent to an untimely grave. on board the _royal sovereign_ the destruction was frightful. by four o'clock many of the guns had been disabled, half the crew had perished, and the decks ran with the life-blood of britain's gallant defenders. the captain had been struck upon the forehead by a flying fragment of shell, causing a fearful wound; yet, with his head enveloped in a hastily improvised bandage, he stuck to his post. he was engaging the _redoubtable_ and getting the worst of it, when suddenly, having manoeuvred once or twice, he turned to his lieutenant, saying, "lay guns, ahead full speed, and prepare to ram." the officer addressed transmitted the order, and a few moments later, as her guns thundered forth, the bows of the _royal sovereign_ entered the broadside of the french ship with a loud crash, ripping her almost in half. backing again quickly as the _redoubtable_ sank, she suddenly received a shock which made her reel and shiver. a shell from the russian flagship had struck under her stern barbette, but, failing to penetrate the armour, glanced off into the sea. fiercer and more fierce became the fight. a well-directed shot from one of the 67-ton guns on the _anson's_ rear barbette struck the conning-tower of the _magenta_, blowing it away, killing the captain and those who were directing the vessel. the sun was sinking, but the battle still raged with unabated fury. each side struggled desperately for the mastery. the british, fighting nobly against what had all along been overwhelming odds, had succeeded in sinking some of the enemy's finest ships, and inflicting terrible loss upon the crews of the others; yet the british admiral, on viewing the situation, was compelled to admit that he was outnumbered, and that a continuance of the struggle would inevitably result in the loss of other of his ships. there still remained three of the enemy's vessels to each one of the british. his ships were all more or less crippled, therefore a successful stand against the still overwhelming force would be sheer madness. he was not the sort of man to show the white feather; nevertheless a retreat upon portsmouth had now become a matter of policy, and the _royal sovereign_ a few minutes later ran up signals intimating to the other vessels her intention. as the british squadron moved away down channel the hoarse exultant shouts of the enemy filled the air. but the fighting became even more desperate, and for over an hour there was a most exciting chase. the running fire did little harm to the retreating ships, but their stern guns played terrible havoc with the french and russian torpedo boats, which were picked off one after another with remarkable rapidity. off littlehampton one of the russian ships ran up signals, and immediately the enemy's ships slackened. apparently they had no desire to follow further west, for after a few parting shots they turned and stood away up channel again, while the surviving ships of the british squadron steamed onward in the blood-red track of the dying day. at their head was the _royal sovereign_, battered, and bearing marks of the deadly strife; but bright against the clear, calm evening sky, the british flag, half of which had been shot away, still fluttered out in the cool breeze of sunset. the british lion had shown his teeth. alas, that our navy should have been so weak! several of the ships had had their engines severely damaged or broken, but our margin of additional strength was so small that we had no vessels wherewith to replace those compelled to return to port. the struggle in this, the first naval battle in the defence of our empire, had been desperate, and the loss of life appalling. the first act of the most sanguinary drama of modern nations had closed. what would be its _dénouement_? _book ii_ _the struggle_ chapter xv. the doom of hull. in hull forty-eight long weary hours of anxious suspense and breathless excitement had passed. the night was dark, the sky overcast, and there was in the air that oppressive sultry stillness precursory of a storm. church clocks had chimed ten, yet most of the shops were still open, and the well-lighted streets of the drab old yorkshire town were filled by a pale-faced, terror-stricken crowd surging down the thoroughfares towards the victoria pier. a panic had suddenly been created an hour before by the issue of an extra-special edition of the hull evening paper, the _daily news_, containing a brief telegram in large type, as follows:- the coastguard at donna nook report that a strong force of russian war vessels, including the turret-ship _sevastopol_ and the barbette-ships _sinope_ and _cizoi veliky_, have just hove in sight and are making for the humber. lloyd's signal station on spurn point has also intimated that hostile ships coming from the south are lying-to just beyond the lightship. the papers sold more quickly than they could be printed, a shilling each being given for copies by the excited townspeople, who now, for the first time, suddenly realised that the enemy was upon them. men and boys with bundles of limp papers, damp from the press, rushed along whitefriargate, away in every direction into the suburbs, shouting the appalling intelligence in hoarse, strident tones that awoke the echoes of the quieter thoroughfares. now, even as purchasers of papers read the few lines of print under the dim uncertain light of street lamps, the dull booming of distant guns fell upon their ears, and the populace, wildly excited, made their way with one accord towards the victoria pier, to glean the latest news, and ascertain the true significance of the repeated firing. was hull in danger? would the enemy advance up the river and bombard the town? these all-important questions were on every one's tongue, and as the thousands of all classes rushed hither and thither, wild rumours of the enemy's intentions spread and increased the horror. within an hour of the publication of the first intimation of the presence of the invaders the excitement had become intense, and the narrow streets and narrower bridges had become congested by a terror-stricken multitude. time after time the thunder of heavy guns shook the town, causing windows to clatter, and the people standing on the pier and along the riverside strained their eyes into the cavernous darkness towards the sea. but they could discern nothing. across at new holland, two miles away, lamps twinkled, but the many lights--red, white, and green--that stud the broad river for the guidance of the mariner had, since the declaration of war, been extinguished. the familiar distant lights that had never failed to shine seaward at salt end and thorngumbald no longer shed their radiance, and from the revolving lights at spurn no stream of brilliancy now flashed away upon the rolling waters of the north sea. the buoys had been cut adrift, the bull lightship taken from her moorings, and the entrance to grimsby harbour was unillumined. not a star appeared in the sky, for all was dark, black, and threatening. through the hot, heavy atmosphere the roar of cannon came from the direction of spurn point, and as the sounds of the shots fell upon the ears of the anxious watchers, they stood aghast, wondering what would be their destiny. the suspense was awful. men, women, and children, with scared faces, stood in groups in the market-place, in queen street, and in high street, discussing the situation. this question, however, was already engaging the attention of the municipal and military authorities, for on hearing the alarming news the mayor, with shrewd promptitude, walked quickly to the town hall, and held a hurried informal consultation with mr. charles wilson, mr. arthur wilson, mr. richardson, major wellsted, alderman woodhouse, and a number of aldermen and councillors. all knew the town was in peril. the enemy could have but one object in entering the humber. yet it was agreed that no steps could be taken at such brief notice to defend the place. the guardship _edinburgh_ had been withdrawn to form part of the squadron upon which they would be compelled to rely, with the batteries at paull and the submarine mines. it was evident by the firing that an attack upon the british squadron had commenced. the shadow of impending disaster had fallen. working men, hurrying towards the pier, stopped their leader, mr. millington, and tried to learn what was being done, while many of the leading townsfolk were thronged around for information, and were centres of excited groups in whitefriargate. the boatmen, sharply questioned on every hand, were as ignorant of the state of affairs as those seeking information, so nothing could be done except to wait. women and children of the middle and upper classes, regardless of their destination, were being hurried away by anxious fathers. every train leaving hull was filled to overflowing by those fleeing from the advance of the russians, and on the roads inland to beverley, selby, and market weighton crowds of every class hurried away to seek some place of safety. suddenly, just before eleven o'clock, the thousands anxiously peering over the wide, dark waters saw away on the bank, three miles distant, two beams of white light, which slowly swept both reaches of the river. they were the search-lights of the battery at paull. scarcely had the bright streaks shone out and disappeared when they were followed by a terrific cannonade from the forts, and then, for the first time, those standing on the victoria pier could discern the enemy's ships. how many there were it was impossible at that moment to tell, but instantly their guns flashed and thundered at the forts in reply. far away seaward could also be heard low booming. the enemy's vessels were creeping carefully up the humber, being compelled to take constant soundings on account of the removal of the buoys, and evidently guided by foreign pilots who had for years been permitted to take vessels up and down the river. moments dragged on like hours, each bringing the town of hull nearer its fate. the people knew it, but were powerless. they stood awaiting the unknown. the russian force, besides the three vessels already mentioned, included the armoured cruiser _dimitri donskoi_, the central-battery ship _kniaz pojarski_, the cruiser _pamyat merkuriya_, two of the new armoured cruisers, _mezen_ and _syzran_, of the _rurik_ type, the corvette _razboynik_, the torpedo gunboats _griden_ and _gaidamak_, and the armoured gunboat _gremyastchy_, with several torpedo boats. the manner in which they had manoeuvred to pass spurn point and ascend the river was remarkable, and astounded the officers in the forts at paull. they, however, were not aware that each captain of those vessels possessed a copy of the british secret code and other important information compiled from the documents filched from the body of the admiralty messenger by the count von beilstein at the mariners' rest at deal! the possession of this secret knowledge, which was, of course, unknown to our admiralty, enabled the captains of the russian vessels to evade sunken hulks and other obstructions, and take some of their ships slowly up the river, bearing well on the lincolnshire coast, so as to keep, until the last moment, out of the range of the search-lights at paull. then, on the first attack from the batteries, they suddenly replied with such a hail of shell, that from the first moment it was clear that the strength of the fort with its obsolete guns was totally inadequate. the roar of the cannonade was incessant. amid the deafening explosions the townspeople of hull rushed up and down the streets screaming and terrified. suddenly a great shell fell with a dull thud in citadel street, close to a crowd of excited women, and exploding a second later, blew a number of them to atoms, and wrecked the fronts of several houses. this served to increase the panic. the people were on the verge of madness with fright and despair. thousands seized their money and jewellery and fled away upon the roads leading to the country. others hid away their valuables, and preferred to remain; the crisis had come, and as britons they determined to face it. while the russian ships, lying broadside-on in positions carefully selected to avoid the electro-contact mines, poured their terrible fire upon the land battery at paull, their torpedo boats darted hither and thither with extraordinary rapidity. several were sunk by shots from the battery, but four piquet boats in the darkness at last managed to creep up, and after searching, seized the cable connecting the mines with the submarine mining station at paull. this was discovered just at the critical moment by means of one of the british search-lights, and upon the hostile boats a frightful cascade of projectiles was poured by the quick-firing guns of the battery. but it was, alas, too late! the cable had been cut. to the whole of the wires a small electric battery had in a moment been attached, and as the guns of the fort crashed out there were a series of dull explosions under the bed of the river across the channel from foul holme sand to killingholme haven, and from paull coastguard station to the skitter. the dark water rose here and there. the whole of the mines had been simultaneously fired! cheers rang out from the russian vessels, sounding above the heavy cannonade. the destruction of this most important portion of the defences of the humber had been accomplished by the boats just at the very instant when they were shattered by british shells, and ere the waters grew calm again the last vestige of the boats had disappeared. the officers at paull worked on with undaunted courage, striving by every means in their power to combat with the superior forces. in a measure, too, they were successful, for such havoc did the shells play with the gunboat _gremyastchy_ that she slowly foundered, and her crew were compelled to abandon her. a portion of the men were rescued by the _syzran_, but two boatloads were precipitated into the water, and nearly all were drowned. two of the big guns of the _dimitri donskoi_ were disabled, and the loss of life on several of the ships was considerable. nevertheless the firing was still incessant. time after time the 9-ton guns of the _kniaz pojarski_ and the four 13½-tonners of the _mezen_ threw their terrible missiles upon the defences at paull with frightful effect, until at length, after a most desperate, stubborn resistance on the part of the british commander of the battery, and after half the defending force had been killed, the guns suddenly ceased. both land and sea defences had been broken down! the russians were now free to advance upon hull! not a moment was lost. ten minutes after the guns of paull had been silenced, the enemy's ships, moving very cautiously forward, opened a withering fire upon the town. the horrors of that bombardment were frightful. at the moment of the first shots, fired almost simultaneously from the two big guns of the _syzran_, the panic became indescribable. both shells burst with loud detonations and frightfully devastating effect. the first, striking one of the domes of the dock office, carried it bodily away, at the same time killing several persons; while the other, crashing upon the exchange, unroofed it, and blew away the colossal statue of britannia which surmounted the parapet on the corner. surely this was an omen of impending disaster! ere the horrified inhabitants could again draw breath, the air was rent by a terrific crash, as simultaneously flame rushed from the guns of the _kniaz pojarski_, the _pamyat merkuriya_, and the _mezen_, and great shells were hurled into the town in every direction. the place trembled and shook as if struck by an earthquake, and everywhere walls fell and buildings collapsed. [illustration: map of hull and the humber.] long bright beams of the search-lights swept the town and neighbouring country, lighting up the turbulent streets like day, and as the crowds rushed headlong from the river, shot and shell struck in their midst, killing hundreds of starving toilers and unoffending men, women, and children. lying off salt end, the _cizoi veliky_, which had now come up the river in company with two torpedo boats, poured from her barbette a heavy fire upon the alexandra dock and earle's shipbuilding yard, while the other vessels, approaching nearer, wrought terrible destruction with every shot in various other parts of the town. in the course of a quarter of an hour many streets were impassable, owing to the fallen buildings, and in dozens of places the explosion of the mélinite shells had set on fire the ruined houses. missiles hurled from such close quarters by such heavy guns wrought the most fearful havoc. naturally, the russian gunners, discovering the most prominent buildings with their search-lights, aimed at them and destroyed many of the public edifices. among the first prominent structures to topple and fall was the wilberforce monument, and then, in rapid succession, shots carried away another dome of the dock office, and the great square towers of st. john's and holy trinity churches. the gaudily gilded equestrian statue of king william iii. was flung from its pedestal and smashed by a heavy shot, which entered a shop opposite, completely wrecking it; and two shells, striking the handsome offices of the hull banking company at the corner of silver street, reduced the building to a heap of ruins. deadly shells fell in quick succession in paragon street, and at the north-eastern railway station, where the lines and platforms were torn up, and the station hotel, being set on fire, was soon burning fiercely, for the flames spread unchecked here, as in every other quarter. church spires fell crashing into neighbouring houses, whole rows of shops were demolished in whitefriargate, high street, and saville street, and roads were everywhere torn up by the enemy's exploding missiles. not for a moment was there a pause in this awful work of destruction; not for a moment was the frightful massacre of the inhabitants suspended. the enemy's sole object was apparently to weaken the northern defences of london by drawing back the volunteer battalions to the north. there was no reason to bombard after the fort had been silenced, yet they had decided to destroy the town and cause the most widespread desolation possible. flame flashed from the muzzles of those great desolating guns so quickly as to appear like one brilliant, incessant light. shells from the _cizoi veliky_ fell into the warehouses around the alexandra dock, and these, with the fine new grain warehouses on each side of the river hull, were blazing furiously with a terrible roar. high into the air great tongues of flame leaped, their volume increased by the crowd of ships in the dock also igniting in rapid succession, shedding a lurid glare over the terrible scene, and lighting up the red, angry sky. the long range of warehouses, filled with inflammable goods, at the edge of the albert and william wright docks, were on fire, while the warehouses of the railway dock, together with a large number of messrs. thomas wilson's fine steamers, were also in flames. such a hold had the flames obtained that no power could arrest them, and as the glare increased it was seen by those flying for their lives that the whole of the port was now involved. the great petroleum stores of the anglo-american company, struck by a shell, exploded a few moments later with a most terrific and frightful detonation which shook the town. for a moment it seemed as if both town and river were enveloped in one great sheet of flame, then, as blazing oil ran down the gutters on every side, fierce fires showed, and whole streets were alight from end to end. hundreds of persons perished in the flames, hundreds were shot down by the fragments of flying missiles, and hundreds more were buried under falling ruins. everywhere the roar of flames mingled with the shrieks of the dying. shells striking the royal infirmary burst in the wards, killing many patients in their beds, and setting fire to the building, while others, crashing through the roof of the theatre royal, carried away one of the walls and caused the place to ignite. one shot from the 13-ton gun of the _syzran_ tore its way into the nave of holy trinity church, and, exploding, blew out the three beautiful windows and wrecked the interior, while another from the same gun demolished one of the corner buildings of the new market hall. the handsome tower of the town hall, struck by a shell just under the dial, came down with a frightful crash, completely blocking lowgate with its débris, and almost at the same instant a shot came through the dome of the council chamber, totally destroying the apartment. the mariners' hospital and trinity house suffered terribly, many of the inmates of the former being blown to pieces. one shot completely demolished the savings bank at the corner of george street, and a shell exploding under the portico of the great thornton street chapel blew out the whole of its dark façade. another, striking the extensive premises of a firm of lead merchants at the corner of brook and paragon streets, swept away the range of buildings like grass before the scythe. in the queen's, humber, victoria, and prince's docks the congested crowd of idle merchant ships were enveloped in flames that wrapped themselves about the rigging, and, crackling, leaped skyward. the orphanage at spring bank, the artillery barracks, and wilberforce house were all burning; in fact, in the course of the two hours during which the bombardment lasted hardly a building of note escaped. the houses of the wealthy residents far away up spring bank, anlaby and beverley roads, and around pearson's park, had been shattered and demolished; the shops in saville street had without exception been destroyed, and both the cannon street and pier stations had been completely wrecked and unroofed. soon after two o'clock in the morning, when the russian war vessels ceased their thunder, the whole town was as one huge furnace, the intense heat and suffocating smoke from which caused the russian admiral to move his vessels towards the sea as quickly as the necessary soundings allowed. the glare lit the sky for many miles around. the immense area of great burning buildings presented a magnificent, appalling spectacle. it was a terrible national disaster--a frightful holocaust, in which thousands of lives, with property worth millions, had been wantonly destroyed by a ruthless enemy which britain's defective and obsolete defences were too weak to keep at bay--a devastating catastrophe, swift, complete, awful. chapter xvi. terror on the tyne. england was thrilled, dismayed, petrified. the wholesale massacre at eastbourne and the terrible details of the bombardment of hull had spread increased horror everywhere throughout the land. terror reigned on the tyneside. hospitals, asylums, and public institutions, crowded with affrighted inmates, had no food to distribute. in newcastle, in shields, in jarrow, and in gateshead the poor were idle and hungry, while the wealthy were feverishly apprehensive. a sabbath quiet had fallen on the great silent highway of the tyne. in those blazing days and breathless nights there was an unbroken stillness that portended dire disaster. in the enormous crowded districts on each side of the river the gaunt spectre starvation stalked through the cheerless homes of once industrious toilers, and the inmates pined and died. so terrible was the distress already, that domestic pets were being killed and eaten, dogs and cats being no uncommon dish, the very offal thrown aside being greedily devoured by those slowly succumbing to a horrible death. awful scenes of suffering and blank despair were being witnessed on every side. three days after the enemy had ascended the humber and dealt such a decisive blow at hull, the port of south shields was suddenly alarmed by information telegraphed from the coastguard on harton down hill, about a mile south of the town, to the effect that they had sighted a number of french and russian ships. panic at once ensued. the broad market-place was filled by a terror-stricken crowd of townspeople, while the seafaring population surged down king street and ocean road, across the park to the long south pier at the entrance to the tyne, eager to reassure themselves that the enemy had no designs upon their town. in the dull red afterglow that lit up the broad bay of golden sand between trow point and the pier, a huge vessel suddenly loomed dark upon the sky line, and, as she approached, those watching anxiously through glasses made her out as the great steel turret-ship _lazare carnot_, flying the french tricolor. immediately following her came a number of cruisers, gunboats, and torpedo boats. they included the _dimitri donskoi_, the _kniaz pojarski_, the _pamyat merkuriya_, the _mezen_, the _syzran_, the _griden_, and the _gaidamak_, all of which had taken part in the attack on hull, while they had now been joined by the french battleships _masséna_ and _neptune_, the small cruisers _cosamo_, _desaix_, _d'estaing_, _coetlogon_, and _lalande_, the torpedo gunboats _iberville_, _lance_, _léger_, and _fléche_, and the gun-vessels _etoile_, _fulton_, _gabes_, _sagittaire_, and _vipère_, with a large number of torpedo boats and "catchers," in addition to those which were at hull. as the vessels steamed onward at full speed, the people rushed from the pier back again into the town in wild disorder, while the coastguard at spanish battery on the north shore of the estuary, having now discovered the presence of the menacing ships, at once telegraphed the intelligence up to newcastle, where the most profound sensation was immediately caused. the news spread everywhere, and the people on the tyneside knew that the hand of the oppressor was upon them. suddenly, without warning, smoke tumbled over the bows of the _lazare carnot_. there was a low boom, and one of the ponderous guns in her turret sent forth an enormous shell, which struck the battery at trow point, blowing away a portion of a wall. a moment later the battery replied with their 9-tonners, sending forth shot after shot, most of which, however, ricochetted away over the glassy sea. it was the signal for a fight which quickly became desperate. in a few moments half a dozen of the ships lay broadside on, and the great guns of the _masséna_ and _neptune_, with those of four other vessels, opened a terrible fire upon the fort, casting their shells upon the british gunners with frightful effect. in the battery the armstrong disappearing guns were worked to their utmost capacity, and the shots of the defenders played havoc with the smaller craft, three torpedo boats and a "catcher" being sunk in as many minutes. meanwhile the _active_, _bonaventure_, _cambrian_, _canada_, and _archer_ of the reserve squadron, now on its way from the north of scotland in consequence of orders from the admiralty having reached it, rounded sharpness point, and steamed full upon the enemy's ships. the conflict was fierce, but quickly ended. heavy fire was kept up from the fort at tynemouth, from spanish battery, from trow battery, and from several new batteries with disappearing guns between the groyne and the quarry at trow, that had been constructed and manned since the mobilisation by volunteers, consisting of the 1st newcastle volunteer engineers, the 3rd durham volunteer artillery, and the 4th durham light infantry from newcastle. nevertheless the assistance received by the british ships from the land was of but little avail, for a russian torpedo boat sent forth its messenger of death at the third-class cruiser _canada_, blowing her up, while the engines of both the _active_ and _bonaventure_ were so seriously damaged as to be practically useless. rapid signalling by the semaphore at spanish battery had placed the defenders on the alert, and although the british were suffering so heavily on account of their minority, still the enemy were everywhere feeling the effect of the hot and unexpected reception. before half an hour had passed two russian gunboats had been torpedoed, and the french cruiser _d'estaing_, having caught fire, was burning furiously, many of her crew perishing at their guns. [illustration: map of the tyne district.] the _lazare carnot_ and the _masséna_, heedless of the fire from the shore, steamed at half speed across the estuary until they were opposite the tynemouth battery, when they suddenly opened fire, being quickly joined by six french and russian cruisers. in the meantime the contact mines were being blown up by piquet boats, who, although suffering heavily from the fire from the shore, nevertheless continued their task. it was then seen how utterly inadequate were the defences of the tyne, and what negligence had been displayed on the part of the war office in not providing at tynemouth adequate means of warding off or successfully coping with an attack. from behind the tall grey lighthouse a few guns were thundering, but in face of the overwhelming force at sea it was but a sorry attempt. one shot from the battery severely damaged the superstructure of the _lazare carnot_, another cut through the funnel of the _neptune_, carrying it away, and a third entering the magazine of one of the small cruisers caused it to explode with serious loss of life. yet the devastating effect of the enemy's shells on the obsolete defences of tynemouth was appalling. enclosed in the fortifications were the crumbling ruins of the ancient priory, with its restored chapel, a graveyard, and an old castle that had been converted into artillery barracks. as flame and smoke rushed continuously from the barbettes, turrets, and broadsides of the hostile ships, the shots brought down the bare, dark old walls of the priory, and, crashing into the castle, played havoc with the building. the lantern of the lighthouse, too, was carried away, probably by a shot flying accidentally wide, and every moment death and desolation was being spread throughout the fort. such a magnificent natural position, commanding as it did the whole estuary of the tyne, should have been rendered impregnable, yet, as it remained in 1894, so it stood on this fatal day, a typical example of war office apathy and shortsightedness. its guns were a mere make-believe, that gave the place an appearance of strength that it did not possess. in the north battery, on the left side, commanding a broad sweep of sea beyond sharpness, only one gun, a 64-pounder, was mounted, the remaining five rotting platforms being unoccupied! at the extreme point, to command the mouth of the river, a single 5-tonner was placed well forward with great ostentation, its weight, calibre, and other details having been painted up in conspicuous white letters, for the delectation of an admiring public admitted to view the priory. the south battery, a trifle stronger, was, nevertheless, a sheer burlesque, its weakness being a disgrace to the british nation. in fact, in the whole of the battery the upper defences had long been known to experts to be obsolete, and the lower ones totally inadequate for the resistance they should have been able to offer. was it any wonder, then, that the shells of the enemy should cause such frightful destruction? among the british artillerymen there was no lack of courage, for they exerted every muscle in their gallant efforts to repulse the foe. yet, handicapped as they were by lack of efficient arms and properly constructed fortifications, their heroic struggles were futile, and they sacrificed their lives to no purpose. the deadly hail from the floating monsters swept away the whole of the ancient priory walls, demolishing the old red brick barracks, blowing up the castle gateway, wrecking the guardroom, and igniting the priory chapel. the loss of life was terrible, the whole of the men manning the 5-ton gun pointing seaward having been killed by a single shell that burst among them, while everywhere else men of the royal artillery, and those of the tynemouth volunteer artillery, who were assisting, were killed or maimed by the incessant rain of projectiles. night clouds gathered black and threatening, and it appeared as if the enemy were carrying all before them. the french battleship _neptune_, seeing the guns of all three batteries had been considerably weakened, was steaming slowly into the mouth of the tyne, followed by the russian cruiser _syzran_, when suddenly two terrific explosions occurred, shaking both north and south shields to their very foundations. high into the air the water rose, and it was then seen that two submarine mines had been exploded simultaneously by electric current from the tynemouth battery, and that both vessels had been completely blown up. such was the force of the explosion, that the hull of the _neptune_, a great armour-clad of over ten thousand tons, had been ripped up like paper, and of her crew scarcely a man escaped, while the cruiser had been completely broken in half, and many of her crew blown to atoms. scarcely had this success of the defenders been realised when it was followed by another, for a second later a british torpedo boat succeeded in blowing up with all hands the french torpedo gunboat _lance_. these reverses, however, caused but little dismay among the invaders, for ere long the british cruisers had been driven off, the guns at trow had been silenced, while those at spanish battery and tynemouth could only keep up a desultory fire. then, in the falling gloom, ship after ship, guided by foreign pilots, and carefully evading a number of hulks that had been placed near the estuary, entered the tyne, pouring forth their heavy monotonous fire into north shields and south shields. skilfully as the despairing defenders managed their submarine mines, they only succeeded in destroying three more of the enemy's ships, the french torpedo gunboats _iberville_ and _cassini_ and the cruiser _desaix_, the crews perishing. not for a moment was there a cessation of the cannonade as the smaller ships of the enemy advanced up the river, and the damage wrought by their shells was enormous. tynemouth had already suffered heavily, many of the streets being in flames. the tower of st. saviour's church had fallen, the conspicuous spire of the congregational chapel had been shot away, the piers office had been reduced to ruins, and the long building of the royal hotel completely wrecked. the houses facing percy park had in many cases been shattered, a shell exploding under the archway of the bath hotel had demolished it, and the handsome clock tower at the end of the road had been hurled down and scattered. slackening opposite the scarp, the gunboats and cruisers belched forth shot and shell upon north shields, aiming first at the more conspicuous objects, such as the sailors' home, the custom house, the tall tower of christ church, and the harbour master's office, either totally destroying them or injuring them irreparably, while the houses on union quay and those in dockway square and in adjoining streets, from the gasometers down to the town hall, were also swept by shells. resistance was made from fort clifford on the one side of the town, from a position occupied by a battery of the durham volunteer artillery, who had mounted guns on the hill behind smith's yard, and also by the submarine mines of the tyne division volunteer miners; but it was most ineffectual, and, when night fell, hundreds of terror-stricken persons had been killed, and the town was on fire in dozens of places, the flames illuminating the sky with their lurid brilliancy. in south shields tragic scenes were being enacted. shells flying about the town from the river on the one side and the sea on the other exploded in the streets, blowing unfortunate men, women, and children into atoms, wrecking public buildings, and setting fire to the cherished homes of the toilers. the congested blocks of buildings around panash point were one huge furnace; the custom house, the river police station, and the plate glass works were wrecked, while a shell exploding in one of the petroleum tanks on the commissioners' wharf caused it to burst with fearful effect. the queer old turret of st. hilda's fell with a crash, the church of st. stephen was practically demolished, and the school in the vicinity unroofed. the dome of the marine school was carried bodily away; nothing remained standing of the wouldhave memorial clock but a few feet of the square lower structure, and the ingham infirmary being set on fire, several of the patients lost their lives. amid this frightful panic, lieut.-col. gowans and major carr of the 3rd durham artillery, the mayor, mr. readhead, alderman rennoldson, councillors lisle, marshall, and stainton, the town clerk, mr. hayton, and the rev. h. e. savage, were all conspicuous for the coolness they displayed. courage, however, was unavailing, for south shields was at the mercy of the invaders, and all defence was feeble and futile. hundreds of the townspeople were killed by flying fragments of shells, hundreds more were buried in the débris of tottering buildings, while those who survived fled horror-stricken with their valuables away into the country, beyond the range of the enemy's fire. the horrors of hull were being repeated. the streets ran with the life-blood of unoffending british citizens. as evening wore on, the invaders came slowly up the tyne, heedless of the strenuous opposition with which they were met by volunteer artillery, who, having established batteries on various positions between shields and newcastle, poured a hot fire upon them. advancing, their terrible guns spread death and destruction on either bank. the crowds of idle shipping in the great tyne dock at south shields, and those in the albert edward and northumberland docks on the north bank, together with the staiths, warehouses, and offices, were blazing furiously, while the tyne commissioners' great workshops, edwards' shipbuilding yard, and many other factories and shipbuilding yards, were either set on fire or seriously damaged. many of the affrighted inhabitants of north shields sought refuge in the railway tunnel, and so escaped, but hundreds lost their lives in the neighbourhood of wallsend and percy main. shells fell in swinburne's brass foundry at carville, destroying the buildings, together with the carville hotel and the railway viaduct between that place and howdon. the wallsend railway station and the theatre of varieties were blown to atoms, and the houses both at high and low walker suffered severely, while opposite at jarrow enormous damage was everywhere caused. at the latter place the 1st durham volunteer engineers rendered excellent defensive service under lieut.-col. price and major forneaux, and the mayor was most energetic in his efforts to insure the safety of the people. a submarine mine had been laid opposite hebburn, and, being successfully exploded, blew to atoms the french gunboat _gabes_, and at the same time seriously injured the propeller of the cruiser _cosamo_. this vessel subsequently broke down, and a second mine fired from the shore destroyed her also. nevertheless the invaders steadily advanced up the broad river, blowing up obstacles, dealing decisive blows, and destroying human life and valuable property with every shot from their merciless weapons. the panic that night in newcastle was terrible. the streets were in a turmoil of excitement, for the reports from tynemouth had produced the most intense alarm and dismay. on receipt of the first intelligence the free library committee of the city council happened to be sitting, and the chairman, alderman h. w. newton, the popular representative of all saints' north, formally announced it to his colleagues, among whom was the mayor. the committee broke up in confusion, and an excited consultation followed, in which councillors durnford, fitzgerald, and flowers, with alderman sutton, took part. capt. nicholls, the chief constable, major a. m. potter of the 1st northumberland artillery, lieut.-col. angus of the 1st newcastle volunteer artillery, lieut.-col. palmer and major emley of the volunteer engineers, mr. hill motum, and mr. joseph cowen also entered the room and engaged in the discussion. at such a hasty informal meeting, nothing, however, could be done. the mayor and councillors were assured by the volunteer officers that everything possible under the circumstances had been arranged for the defence of the tyne. property worth millions was at stake, and now that the news had spread from mouth to mouth the streets around the town hall were filled with crowds of excited, breathless citizens, anxious to know what steps were being taken to insure their protection. so loudly did they demand information, that the mayor was compelled to appear for a moment and address a few words to them, assuring them that arrangements had been made which he hoped would be found adequate to repel the foe. this appeased them in a measure, and the crowd dispersed; but in the other thoroughfares the excitement was intensified, and famished thousands rushed aimlessly about, many going out upon the high level and low level bridges and straining their eyes down the river in endeavour to catch a glimpse of the enemy. heavy and continuous firing could be heard as the dark evening dragged on, and presently, just before nine o'clock, the anxious ones upon the bridges saw the flash of guns as the invading vessels rounded the sharp bend of the river at the ferry beyond rotterdam wharf. the sight caused the people to rush panic-stricken up into the higher parts of newcastle or across the bridges into gateshead, and from both towns a rapid exodus was taking place, thousands fleeing into the country. from gun-vessels, torpedo gunboats, and cruisers, shot and shell poured in continuous streams into the wharves, shipping, and congested masses of houses on either bank. the houses along city road, st. lawrence road, quality row, and byker bank, on the outskirts of newcastle, suffered severely, while shots damaged the great ouseburn viaduct, wrecked st. dominic's roman catholic chapel, and blew away the roof of the new board school, a prominent feature of the landscape. several shells fell and exploded in jesmond vale. one burst and set fire to the sandyford brewery, and one or two falling in portland road caused widespread destruction and terrible loss of life. the london and hamburg wharves, with the shipping lying near, were soon blazing furiously, and all along quay side, right up to the guildhall, shops and offices were every moment being destroyed and swept away. new greenwich and south shore on the gateshead side were vigorously attacked, and many shots fired over the salt marshes fell in the narrow thoroughfares that lie between sunderland road and brunswick street. upon the enemy's ships the volunteer batteries on the commanding positions on either side of the high banks poured a galling fire, one battery at the foot of the swing bridge on the gateshead side effecting terrible execution. their guns had been well laid, and the salvoes of shell played about the french gun-vessels and torpedo boats, causing frightful destruction among the crews. both newcastle and gateshead, lying so much higher than the river, were in a certain measure protected, and the high banks afforded a wide command over the waterway. at various points, including the entrances to the high level bridge, at the side, the close, new chatham, and the rabbit banks, the volunteers had opened fire, and were keeping up a terrible cannonade. the dark river reflected the red light which flashed forth every moment from gun muzzles, while search-lights from both ships and shore were constantly streaming forth, and the thunder of war shook the tall factory chimneys to their very foundations. heedless of the strenuous opposition, the invading ships kept up a vigorous fire, which, aimed high, fell in the centre of newcastle with most appalling effect. in the midst of the crowds in newgate and pilgrim streets shells exploded, blowing dozens of british citizens to atoms and tearing out the fronts of shops. one projectile, aimed at the strangely shaped tower of st. nicholas' cathedral, struck it, and swept away the thin upper portion, and another, crashing into the sloping roof of the grim, time-mellowed relic black gate, shattered it, and tore away part of the walls. the old castle and the railway bridge were also blown up in the earlier stages of the bombardment, and the square tower of st. john's fell with a sudden crash right across the street, completely blocking it. from end to end grainger street was swept by french mélinite shells, which, bursting in rapid succession, filled the air with tiny flying fragments, each as fatal as a bullet fired from a rifle. the french shell is much more formidable than ours, for, while the latter breaks into large pieces, the former is broken up into tiny and exceedingly destructive fragments. in the midst of this terrible panic a shot cut its way through the earl grey monument, causing it to fall, many persons being crushed to death beneath the stones, while both the central exchange and the theatre royal were now alight, shedding a brilliant glare skyward. at this time, too, the whole of quay side was a mass of roaring, crackling flames, the thin spire of st. mary's roman catholic cathedral had been shot away, bainbridge's great emporium was blazing furiously, and the art club premises had taken fire. one shot had fallen at the back of the town hall, and torn an enormous hole in the wall, while another, entering the first floor of the county hotel, had burst with awful force, and carried away the greater part of its gloomy façade. in the central station opposite, dozens of shells had exploded, and it was now on fire, hopelessly involved together with the adjoining station hotel. the grey front of the imposing _chronicle_ building had been wrecked by a shell that had descended upon the roof, and a row of dark old-fashioned houses in eldon square had been demolished. the same fate had been shared by the co-operative wholesale society's warehouse, the fish market, the _journal_ office, and both the crown and métropole hotels at the bottom of clayton street. yet the firing continued; the terrified citizens were granted no quarter. the royal arcade was blown to atoms, the new red brick buildings of the prudential assurance company were set on fire, and were blazing with increasing fury. the building of the north british and mercantile assurance company, the savings bank at the corner of newgate street, and the empire theatre were wrecked. along new bridge street dozens of houses were blown to pieces, several fine residences in ellison place were utterly demolished and blocked the roadway with their débris, and the whole city, from the river up to brandling village, was swept time after time by salvoes of devastating shots. rows of houses fell, and in hundreds the terrified people were massacred. away over the nun's moor shells were hurled and burst, and others were precipitated into the great armstrong works at elswick. suddenly, in the midst of the incessant thunder, a series of terrific explosions occurred, and the great high level bridge collapsed, and fell with an awful crash into the tyne. the enemy had placed dynamite under the huge brick supports, and blown them up simultaneously. a few moments later the swing bridge was treated in similar manner; but the enemy, under the galling fire from the volunteer batteries, were now losing frightfully. many of the new guns at the elswick works were brought into action, and several ironclads in the course of construction afforded cover to those desperately defending their homes. but this blow of the invaders had been struck at a most inopportune moment, and was evidently the result of an order that had been imperfectly understood. it caused them to suffer a greater disaster than they had anticipated. six torpedo boats and two gun-vessels had passed under the bridge, and, lying off the haughs, were firing into the elswick works at the moment when the bridges were demolished, and the débris, falling across the stream, cut off all means of escape. [illustration: newcastle bombarded: blowing up of the high level bridge.] the defenders, noticing this, worked on, pounding away at the hostile craft with merciless monotony, until one after another the french and russians were blown to atoms, and their vessels sank beneath them into the dark, swirling waters. while this was proceeding, two mines, one opposite hill gate, at gateshead, and the other near the rotterdam wharf, on the newcastle side, were fired by the volunteer engineers, who thus succeeded in blowing up two more french gunboats, while the battery at the foot of the swing bridge sank two more torpedo boats, and that in front of the chemical works at gateshead sent a shell into the "vitals" of one of the most powerful torpedo gunboats, with the result that she blew up. everywhere the enemy were being cut to pieces. seeing the trap into which their vessels had fallen above the ruined bridges, and feeling that they had caused sufficient damage, they turned, and with their guns still belching forth flame, steamed at half speed back again towards the sea. but they were not allowed to escape so easily, for the mines recently laid by the volunteers were now brought into vigorous play, and in the long reach of the river between high walker and wallsend no fewer than six more of the enemy's gun and torpedo boats had their bottoms blown out, and their crews torn limb from limb. flashed throughout the land, the news of the enemy's repulse, though gained at such enormous loss, excited a feeling of profound satisfaction. the injury inflicted on the invaders had been terrible, and from that attack upon the tyne they had been hurled reeling back the poorer by the loss of a whole fleet of torpedo and gun boats, one of the most effective arms of their squadrons, while the sea had closed over one of france's proudest battleships, the _neptune_, and no fewer than four of her cruisers. the surviving vessels, which retreated round the black middens and gained the open sea, all more or less had their engines crippled, and not half the men that had manned them escaped alive. they had wrought incalculable damage, it is true, for part of newcastle was burning, and the loss of life had been terrible; yet they were driven back by the volunteers' desperately vigorous fire, and the lives of many thousands in newcastle and gateshead had thus been saved at the eleventh hour by british patriots. alas, it was a black day in england's history! was this to be a turning-point in the wave of disaster which had swept so suddenly upon our land? chapter xvii. help from our colonies. days passed--dark, dismal, dispiriting. grim-visaged war had crushed all joy and gaiety from british hearts, and fierce patriotism and determination to fight on until the bitter end mingled everywhere with hunger, sadness, and despair. british homes had been desecrated, british lives had been sacrificed, and through the land the invaders rushed ravaging with fire and sword. whole towns had been overwhelmed and shattered, great tracts of rich land in sussex and hampshire had been laid waste, and the people, powerless against the enormous forces sweeping down upon them, had been mercilessly mowed down and butchered by cossacks, whose brutality was fiendish. everywhere there were reports of horrible atrocities, of heartless murders, and wholesale slaughter of the helpless and unoffending. the situation, both in great britain and on the continent, was most critical. the sudden declaration of hostilities by france and russia had resulted in a great war in which nearly all european nations were involved. germany had sent her enormous land forces over her frontiers east and west, successfully driving back the french along the vosges, and occupying dijon, chalons-sur-saône, and lyons. valmy, nancy, and metz had again been the scenes of sanguinary encounters, and chaumont and troyes had both fallen into the hands of the kaiser's legions. in poland, however, neither germans nor austrians had met with such success. a fierce battle had been fought at thorn between the tsar's forces and the germans, and the former, after a desperate stand, were defeated, and the uhlans, dragoons, and infantry of the fatherland had swept onward up the valley of the vistula to warsaw. here the resistance offered by general bodisco was very formidable, but the city was besieged, while fierce fighting was taking place all across the level country that lay between the polish capital and the prussian frontier. austrians and hungarians fought fiercely, the tyrolese jägers displaying conspicuous bravery at brody, cracow, jaroslav, and along the banks of the san, and they had succeeded up to the present in preventing the cossacks and russian infantry from reaching the carpathians, although an austrian army corps advancing into russia along the styr had been severely cut up and forced to retreat back to lemberg. italy had burst her bonds. her bersaglieri, cuirassiers, piedmontese cavalry, and carabiniers had marched along the corniche road into provence, and, having occupied nice, cannes, and draguigan, were on their way to attack marseilles, while the alpine infantry, taking the road over mont cenis, had, after very severe fighting in the beautiful valley between susa and bardonnechia, at last occupied modane and chambéry, and now intended joining hands with the germans at lyons. france was now receiving greater punishment than she had anticipated, and even those members of the cabinet and deputies who were responsible for the sudden invasion of england were compelled to admit that they had made a false move. the frontiers were being ravaged, and although the territorial regiments remaining were considered sufficient to repel attack, yet the army of the saône had already been cut to pieces. in these circumstances, france, knowing the great peril she ran in prolonging the invasion of britain, was desperately anxious to make the british sue for peace, so that she could turn her attention to events at home, and therefore, although in a measure contravening international law, she had instructed her admirals to bombard british seaports and partially-defended towns. although the guns of the hostile fleet had wrought such appalling havoc on the humber, on the tyne, and along the coast of kent and sussex, nevertheless the enemy had only secured a qualified success. the cause of all the disasters that had befallen us, of the many catastrophes on land and sea, was due to the wretchedly inadequate state of our navy, although the seven new battleships and six cruisers commenced in 1894 were now complete and afloat. had we possessed an efficient navy the enemy could never have approached our shores. we had not a sufficient number of ships to replace casualties. years behind in nearly every essential point, britain had failed to give her cruisers either speed or guns equal in strength to those of other nations. our guns were the worst in the world, no fewer than 47 vessels still mounting 350 old muzzleloaders, weapons discarded by every other european navy. for years it had been a race between the hare and the tortoise. we had remained in dreamy unconsciousness of danger, while other nations had quickly taken advantage of all the newly-discovered modes of destruction that make modern warfare so terrible. notwithstanding the odds against us in nearly every particular, the british losses had been nothing as compared with those of the enemy. this spoke much for british pluck and pertinacity. with a force against them of treble their strength, british bluejackets had succeeded in sinking a number of the finest and most powerful ships of france and russia. france had lost the _amiral duperré_, a magnificent steel vessel of eleven thousand tons; the _neptune_ and _redoutable_, a trifle smaller; the _tonnerre_, the _terrible_, the _furieux_, the _indomptable_, the _caïman_, all armoured ships, had been lost; while the cruisers _d'estaing_, _sfax_, _desaix_, _cosamo_, _faucon_, the despatch-vessel _hirondelle_, the gunboats _iberville_, _gabes_, and _lance_, and eleven others, together with sixteen torpedo boats and numbers of transports, had been either blown up, burned, or otherwise destroyed. the losses the russians had sustained, in addition to the many transports and general service steamers, included the great steel cruiser _nicolai i._, the vessels _gerzog edinburgskij_, _syzran_, _rynda_, _asia_, _gangut_, _kranaya gorka_, _olaf_, and the torpedo boat _abo_, with eight others. the destruction of this enormous force had, of course, not been effected without an infliction of loss upon the defenders, yet the british casualties bore no comparison to those of the enemy. true, the armoured turret-ship _conqueror_ had, alas! been sacrificed; the fine barbette-ships _centurion_ and _rodney_ had gone to the bottom; the splendid first-class cruiser _aurora_ and the cruiser _narcissus_ had been blown up; while the cruisers _terpsichore_, _melampus_, _tribune_, _galatea_, and _canada_, with a number of torpedo boats and "catchers," had also been destroyed, yet not before every crew had performed heroic deeds worthy of record in the world's history, and every vessel had shown the french and russians what genuine british courage could effect. still the invaders were striking swift, terrible blows. on the humber and the tyne the loss of life had been appalling. the bombardment of brighton, the sack of eastbourne, and the occupation of the downs by the land forces, had been effected only by wholesale rapine and awful bloodshed, and britain waited breathlessly, wondering in what direction the next catastrophe would occur. such newspapers as in these dark days continued to appear reported how great mass meetings were being held all over the united states, denouncing the action of the franco-russian forces. in new york, chicago, washington, philadelphia, boston, san francisco, and other cities, resolutions were passed at enormous demonstrations by the enthusiastic public, demanding that the united states government should give an immediate ultimatum to france that unless she withdrew her troops from british soil, war would be declared against her. special sittings of congress were being held daily at washington for the purpose of discussing the advisability of such a step; influential deputations waited upon the president, and all the prominent statesmen were interviewed by the various enterprising new york journals, the result showing a great preponderance of feeling that such a measure should be at once taken. in british colonies throughout the world the greatest indignation and most intense excitement prevailed. already bodies of volunteers were on their way from australia and cape town, many of the latter, under major scott, having already been in england and shot as competitors at bisley. from india a number of native regiments had embarked for southampton, but the northern frontier stations had been strengthened in anticipation of a movement south by russia, and the french indian possessions, pondichéry and karikal, were occupied by british troops. an expedition from burmah had crossed the shan states into tonquin, and with the assistance of the british squadron on the china station had, after hard fighting, occupied a portion of the country, while part of the force had gone farther south and commenced operations in french cochin-china by a vigorous attack on saigon. armed british forces had also landed in guadaloupe and martinique, two of the most fertile of the west indian islands, and st. bartholomew had also been occupied by west indian regiments. on the outbreak of hostilities intense patriotism spread through canada, and from the shores of lake superior away to far vancouver a movement was at once made to assist the mother country. in quebec, montreal, ottawa, toronto, and kingston mass meetings were held, urging the dominion government to allow a force of volunteers to go to england without delay; and this universal demand was the more gratifying when it was remembered that more than a quarter of the population were themselves french. nevertheless the knowledge that britain was in danger was sufficient to arouse patriotism everywhere, and within a few days 20,000 volunteers were enrolled, and these, before a fortnight had passed, were on their way to liverpool. great was the enthusiasm when, a few days later, to the strains of "rule, britannia," the first detachment landed in the mersey, and as they marched through the crowded streets, the people, delighted at this practical demonstration of sympathy, wrung the hands of the patriots of the west. vessel after vessel, escorted by british cruisers, arrived at the landing-stage, and discharged their regiments of men to whom the knowledge of britain's danger had been sufficient incentive to induce them to act their part as britons. then, when the last vessel had arrived, they were formed into a brigade, and set out to march south in the direction of birmingham. meanwhile a great loan was being floated in australia and the united states. the former colony had but recently passed through a serious financial crisis, but in america a sum of no less than £200,000,000 was taken up, although the issue only continued a few days. in wall street the excitement was intense, and the struggle to invest was desperate. no such scenes had ever been witnessed within the memory of the oldest member of the stock exchange, for financiers were determined to assist the greatest power on earth; indeed, apart from the sound security offered, they felt it their duty to do so. melbourne, sydney, brisbane, and calcutta all contributed in more or less degree, and the loan immediately proved the most successful ever floated. to britain on every side a helping hand was outstretched, and, irrespective of politics and party bickerings, assistance was rendered in order that she might crush her enemies. britannia gathered her strength, and armed herself for the fierce combat which she knew must decide the destiny of her glorious empire. london, starving, terror-stricken, and haunted continually by apprehensions of an unknown doom, was in a state of restlessness both night and day. food supplies had failed, the cheapest bread was sold at 3s. 8d. a small loaf, and neither fish nor meat could be purchased. in the city the panic was frightful. business was paralysed, hundreds were being ruined daily, and after the first sensation and headlong rush on the stock exchange, transactions remained at a standstill. then suddenly, when the seriousness of the situation was fully understood, there was a run on the banks. crowds, eager and clamouring, surrounded the bank of england, and establishments in lombard street and elsewhere, with cheques in their hands, demanding their deposits in gold. although weak and half-starved, they desired their money in order to flee and take with them all they possessed before the enemy swept down upon london. day and night in all the city banks the cashiers were kept paying out thousands upon thousands in hard shining gold. the clink of coin, the jingle of scales, and the eager shouts of those feverishly anxious for their turn, and fearing the resources would not hold out, formed a loud incessant din. as the days passed, and the run on the banks continued, one after another of the establishments, both in the city and the west end, unable to withstand the heavy withdrawals, were compelled to close their doors. many were banks of such high reputation that the very fact of being a depositor was a hall-mark of a man's prosperity, while others were minor establishments, whose business was mainly with small accounts and middle-class customers. one by one they failed to fulfil their obligations, and closed; and the unfortunate ones, including many women who had not been able to struggle successfully to get inside, turned away absolutely ruined! in the west end the starving poor had formed processions, and marched through mayfair and belgravia demanding bread, while anarchists held council in front of the blackened ruins of the national gallery, and the unemployed continued their declamatory oratory on tower hill. the starving thousands from the east end ran riot in the aristocratic thoroughfares of kensington, and, heedless of the police,--who were, in fact, powerless before such superior numbers,--residences of the rich were entered and searched for food, and various acts of violence ensued. the cellars of clubs, hotels, and private houses were broken open and sacked, granaries were emptied, wholesale grocery warehouses were looted, and flour mills searched from roof to basement. if they could not obtain food, they said, they would drink. a desperate starving crowd then forced an entry to the wine vaults at the docks, and swallowed priceless vintages from pewter pots. hogsheads of port and sherry were carried up into the streets, and amid scenes of wild disorder were tapped and drunk by the excited and already half-intoxicated multitude. for days london remained at the mercy of a drunken, frenzied rabble. murder and incendiarism were committed in every quarter, and many serious and desperate conflicts occurred between the rioters and the law-abiding patriotic citizens. enthusiasm was displayed by even the latter, when an infuriated mob one night surrounded albert gate house, the french embassy, and, breaking open the door, entered it, and flung the handsome furniture from the windows. those below made a huge pile in the street, and when the whole of the movable effects had been got out, the crowd set fire to them, and also to the great mansion, at the same time cheering lustily, and singing "rule, britannia," as they watched the flames leap up and consume both house and furniture. the servants of the embassy had fortunately escaped, otherwise they would no doubt have fared badly at the hands of the lawless assembly. when the fire had burned itself out, however, a suggestion was spread, and the mob with one accord rushed to the russian embassy in chesham place. this house was also entered, and the furniture flung pell-mell from the windows, that too large to pass through being broken up in the rooms, and the fragments thrown to the shouting crowd below. chairs, tables, ornaments, mirrors, bedding, kitchen utensils, and crockery were thrown out, carpets were taken up, and curtains and cornices torn down by ruthless denizens of whitechapel and shoreditch, who, maddened by drink, were determined to destroy everything belonging to the countries which had brought disaster upon them. presently, when nearly all the furniture had been removed, some man, wild-haired and excited, emerged into the street, with a great flag he had discovered in one of the attics. with a shout of delight he unfurled it. it was a large yellow one, upon which was depicted a huge black double eagle; the flag that had been hoisted at the embassy on various state occasions. its appearance was greeted by a fearful howl of rage, and the infuriated people, falling upon the man who waved it, tore it into shreds, which they afterwards cast into the bonfire they had made for the ambassador's furniture. from the archives the secret papers and reports of spies were taken, and, being torn into fragments, were scattered from an upper window to the winds, until at last, men, snatching up flaring brands from the huge bonfire, rushed into the dismantled mansion, and, having poured petroleum in many of the apartments, ignited them. flames quickly spread through the house, belching forth from the windows, and, ascending, had soon burst through the roof, illuminating the neighbourhood with a bright, fitful glare. the mob, as the flames leaped up and crackled, screamed with fiendish delight. from thousands of hoarse throats there went up loud cries of "down with the tsar! down with russia!" and as the great bonfire died down, and the roof of the embassy collapsed with a crash, causing the flames to shoot higher and roar more vigorously, they sang with one accord, led by a man who had mounted some railings, the stirring british song, "the union jack of old england." although the colonies had shown how zealously they were prepared to guard the interests of the mother country, their public spirit was eclipsed by the spontaneous outburst of patriotism which occurred in ireland. mass meetings were being held in belfast, dublin, cork, waterford, limerick, londonderry, sligo, armagh, dundalk, newry, and dozens of other places, at which men of all grades of society unanimously decided by resolution to raise volunteer regiments to take arms against the foe. the knowledge of britain's danger had aroused the patriotic feelings of the people, and they were determined to give their sovereign a proof of their allegiance, cost what it might. the movement was a general one. nationalists and unionists vied in their eagerness to demonstrate their love for the empire, and that part of it which was now in danger. already the irish reserve forces had been mobilised and sent to their allotted stations. the 3rd irish rifles from newtownards, the 5th battalion from downpatrick, and the 6th from dundalk, were at belfast under arms; the donegal artillery from letterkenny had already gone to harwich to assist in the defence of the east coast; and both the londonderry and sligo artillery had gone to portsmouth; while the 3rd irish fusiliers from armagh were at plymouth, and the 4th battalion from cavan had left to assist in the defence of the severn. whatever differences of political opinion had previously existed between them on the question of home rule, were forgotten by the people in the face of the great danger which threatened the empire to which they belonged. the national peril welded the people together, and shoulder to shoulder they marched to lay down their lives, if necessary, in the work of driving back the invader. within six days of this spontaneous outburst of patriotism, 25,000 irishmen of all creeds and political opinions were on their way to assist their english comrades. as might have been expected, the greater number of these volunteers came from the north of ireland, but every district sent its sons, eager to take part in the great struggle. at the great meetings held at dublin, belfast, cork, limerick, wexford, waterford, strabane, newtown-stewart, downpatrick, ballymena, and dozens of other places all over the country, from the giant's causeway to cape clear, and from dublin to galway bay, the most intense enthusiasm was shown, and men signed their names to the roll in hundreds, many subscribing large sums to defray the cost of equipment and other expenses. each passenger or mail boat from larne to stranraer, from dublin to holyhead, every steamer from belfast to whitehaven and liverpool, brought over well-armed contingents of stalwart men, who, after receiving hearty receptions of the most enthusiastic and flattering description, were moved south to stamford in lincolnshire as quickly as the disorganised railway service would allow. the object of the military authorities in concentrating them at this point was to strengthen the great force of defenders now marching south. detraining at stamford, the commanding officer had orders to march to oundle, by way of king's cliffe and fotheringhay, and there remain until joined by a brigade of infantry with the canadians coming from leicestershire. the great body of men at length mustered, answered the roll, and marched through the quiet old-world streets of stamford, and out upon the broad highway to king's cliffe on the first stage of their journey. it was early morning. in the sunlight the dew still glistened like diamonds on the wayside, as regiment after regiment, with firm, steady step, and shouldering their rifles, bravely passed away through the fields of ripe uncut corn, eager to unite with a force of regulars, and strike their first blow for their country's liberty. sturdy fishermen from the rough shores of donegal marched side by side with townsmen and artisans from dublin, belfast, and limerick; sons of wealthy manufacturers in antrim and down bore arms with stalwart peasantry from kerry and tipperary; while men whose poor but cherished cabins overlooked carlingford lough, united with fearless patriots from carlow, wexford, and waterford. since they landed on english soil, they had met with a boundless welcome. in the rural districts the distress was not yet so great as in the larger towns; consequently at king's cliffe, when the first detachment halted for rest in the long straggling street of the typical english village, the bells of the quaint old church were rung, and villagers gave their defenders bread, cheese, and draughts of ale. while the men were standing at ease and eating heartily, two officers entered bailey's, the village grocery store, which served as post office, and received a cipher telegraphic despatch. they emerged into the roadway immediately, and their faces showed that some unforeseen event had occurred. a third officer was summoned, and a hurried and secret consultation took place as they stood together opposite the cross keys inn. "but can we do it?" queried the youngest of the trio, aloud, pulling on his gloves, and settling the hang of his sword. the grave elder man, commander of the brigade, glanced quickly at his watch, with knit brows. "do it?" he replied, with a marked irish accent. "we must. it'll be a dash for life; but the boys are fresh, and as duty calls, we must push onward, even though we may be marching to our doom. go," he said to the youngest of his two companions, "tell them we are moving, and that our advance guard will reach them at the earliest possible moment." the young lieutenant hurried over to the little shop, and as he did so the colonel gave an order, and a bugle awoke the echoes of the village. quick words of command sounded down the quaint, ancient street, followed by the sharp click of arms. again officers' voices sounded loud and brief, and at the word "march!" the great body of stern loyalists moved onward over the bridge, and up the school hill on to the long winding road which led away through apesthorpe and historic fotheringhay to oundle. the message from the front had been immediately responded to, for a few minutes later the excited villagers stood watching the rearguard disappearing in the cloud of dust raised by the heavy tread of the thousand feet upon the white highway. [illustration: irish volunteers halting in king's cliffe.] chapter xviii. russian advance in the midlands. through the land the grey-coated hordes of the white tsar spread like locusts--their track marked by death and desolation. both french and russian troops had taken up carefully selected positions on the downs, and, backed by the enormous reinforcements now landed, were slowly advancing. every detail of the surprise invasion had apparently been carefully considered, for immediately after the fierce battle off beachy head a number of french and russian cruisers were despatched to the channel ports in order to threaten them, so as to prevent many of the troops in hampshire, dorset, and devon from moving to their place of assembly. consequently large bodies of british troops were compelled to remain inactive, awaiting probable local attacks. meanwhile the invaders lost no time in extending their flanks preparatory to a general advance, and very quickly they were in possession of all the high ground from polegate to steyning down, while cossack patrols were out on the roads towards cuckfield and west grinstead, and demonstrations were made in the direction of horsham, where a strong force of british troops had hastily collected. as the long hot days passed, the volunteers forming the line of defence south of london had not been idle. a brigade of infantry had been pushed forward to balcombe, and with this the british were now watching the high ground that stretched across to horsham. the advance of the enemy had not, of course, been accomplished without terrible bloodshed. a division of the regulars from parkhurst, portsmouth, and winchester, which had been hurried down to arundel to occupy a strong defensive position near that town, had come into contact with the enemy, and some desperate fighting ensued. outposts had been thrown across the river arun, and about midnight a patrol of the 2nd cavalry brigade from petersfield, supported by infantry, had been suddenly attacked close to ashington village. under a vigorous fire they were unfortunately compelled to fall back fighting, and were almost annihilated, for it was only then ascertained that the enemy were moving in great force, evidently with the intention of obtaining possession of the heights as far as cocking, west dean, and chichester, and so threaten portsmouth from the land. the survivors of this cavalry patrol succeeded in recrossing the arun, but their losses were exceedingly heavy. at daybreak the enemy were visible from arundel, and shot and shell were poured into them from the batteries established along the hills to houghton. so heavy was the british fire that the russians were compelled to seek cover, and their advance in this direction was, for this time, checked. the defenders, although occupying an excellent position, were, however, not sufficiently strong to successfully cope with the onward rush of invaders, and could do little else beyond watching them. on the other hand, the russians, displaying great tactical skill, and led by men who had thoroughly studied the geography of the south of england, had gained a distinct advantage, for they had secured their left flank from attack, so that they could now advance northward to horsham and balcombe practically unmolested. the first general movement commenced at noon, when an advance was made by two enormous columns of the enemy, one of which proceeded by way of henfield and partridge green and the other by cooksbridge and keynes, the third column remaining in sussex to protect the base of operations. meanwhile, horsham had been occupied by a portion of the 2nd division of the 1st army corps with a 12-pounder, a 9-pounder field battery, and a field company of the royal engineers, and had been placed in a state of hasty defence. walls had been loopholed, fences had been cut down, and various preparations made for holding the town. our forces were, nevertheless, sadly lacking in numbers. a cavalry patrol of one of our flying columns was captured by cossacks at cowfold, and the neglect on the part of the commander of this column to send out his advance guard sufficiently far, resulted in it being hurled back upon the main body in great disorder. then, seeing the success everywhere attending their operations, the invaders turned their attention to the british line of communication between horsham and arundel, and succeeded in breaking it at billinghurst and at petworth. fierce fighting spread all over sussex, and everywhere many lives were being sacrificed for britain. the defenders, alas! with their weak and totally inadequate forces, could make but a sorry stand against the overwhelming masses of french and russians, yet they acted with conspicuous bravery to sustain the honour of their native land. villages and towns were devastated, rural homes were sacked and burned, and everywhere quiet, unoffending, but starving britons were being put to the sword. over sussex the reign of terror was awful. the pastures were stained by britons' life-blood, and in all directions our forces, though displaying their characteristic courage, were being routed. at horsham they were utterly defeated after a fierce and bloody encounter, in which the enemy also lost very heavily; yet the cause of the british reverse was due solely to a defective administration. hurriedly massed in the town from aldershot by way of guildford, they had, owing to the short-sighted policy of the war office, arrived without a sufficient supply of either transport or ammunition. night was falling as they detrained, and in the hopeless confusion battalion commanders could not find their brigade headquarters, and brigadiers could not find their staff. this extraordinary muddle resulted in the fresh troops, instead of being sent forward to reinforce the outposts, being kept in town, while the jaded, ill-fed men, who had already been on the alert many hours, were utterly unable to resist the organised attack which was made before daybreak. though they made a gallant stand and fought on with desperate determination, yet at last the whole of them were driven back in confusion, and with appalling loss, upon their supports, and the latter, who held out bravely, were at last also compelled to fall back upon their reserves. the latter, which included half a battery of artillery stationed at wood's farm and toll bar, held the enemy in temporary check; but when the heavy french artillery was at length brought up, the invaders were enabled to cut the railway, destroy the half battery at wood's farm, turn the british right flank, and compel them to retreat hastily from horsham and fly to defensive positions at guildford and dorking. by this adroit manoeuvre the enemy succeeded in taking over two hundred prisoners, capturing the guns of the 12-pounder field battery,--which had not been brought into play for the simple reason that only ammunition for 9-pounders had been collected in the town,--and seizing a large quantity of stores and ammunition of various kinds. this success gave the enemy the key to the situation. as on sea, so on land, our blundering defensive policy had resulted in awful disaster. sufficient attention had never been paid to detail, and the firm-rooted idea that britain could never be invaded had caused careless indifference to minor matters of vital importance to the stability of our empire. the contrast between the combined tactics of the enemy and those of our forces was especially noticeable when the cavalry patrol of the british flying column was captured on the cowfield road and the column defeated. the commander of the column, a well-known officer, unfortunately, like many others, had had very little experience of combined tactics, and looked upon cavalry not merely as "the eyes and ears of an army," but as the army itself. it was this defect that was disastrous. for many years past it had never appeared quite clear whether british cavalry were intended to act _en masse_ in warfare, or simply as scouts or mounted infantry, therefore their training had been uncertain. the home establishment of our cavalry was supposed to be about 12,000 men, but owing to a parsimonious administration only about half that number had horses, and in some corps less than a half. another glaring defect was the division of many regiments into detachments stationed in various towns, the inevitable result of this being that many such detachments were without regimental practice for months, and there were many who had not manoeuvred with a force of all arms _for years_! army organisation proved a miserable failure. the supply of ammunition was totally inadequate, and a disgrace to a nation which held its head above all others. it was true that depôts had been established at various centres, yet with strange oversight no provision had been made for the work of ammunition trains. originally it had been intended that men for this most important duty should be found by the reserves, and that the horses should be those privately registered; nevertheless it was found necessary at the very last moment to weaken our artillery by detailing experienced men for duty with the ammunition column. many of the horses which were registered for service were found to be totally unfit, and very few of the remainder had been previously trained. in the case of those which were required for the cavalry regiments--nearly six thousand--the best men in the regiments had to be told off at the very beginning of the invasion to hurriedly train and prepare these animals for service, when they should have been available to proceed to any part of the kingdom at twenty-four hours' notice. by such defects mobilisation was foredoomed to failure. the scheme, instead of being so arranged as to be carried out without confusion, resulted in muddle and farcical humiliation. again, the infantry, owing to the recent departure of the indian drafts, had been considerably weakened, many battalions being found on mobilisation very disorganised and inefficient. as an instance, out of one battalion at aldershot, which was on paper 1000 strong, 200 had been sent away to india, while of the remainder more than half had only seen twelve months' service, and a large percentage were either under eighteen years of age or were "special enlistments," namely, below the minimum standard of height. such a battalion compared very unfavourably with the majority of volunteer regiments,--those of the stafford brigade, for instance,--the average service of the men in those regiments being over five years, and the average age twenty-seven years. british officers had long ago foreseen all these defects, and many others, yet they had preserved an enforced silence. they themselves were very inefficiently trained in manoeuvring, for, with one or two exceptions, there were no stations in the kingdom where forces were sufficiently numerous to give the majority of the superior officers practice in handling combined bodies of troops. thus in practical experience in the field they were far behind both french and russians, and it was this very serious deficiency that now became everywhere apparent. british troops, fighting valiantly, struggled to protect their native land, which they determined should never fall under the thrall of the invader. but alas! their resistance, though stubborn and formidable, was nevertheless futile. time after time the lines of defence were broken. the russian eagle spread his black wings to the sun, and with joyous shouts the dense grey white masses of the enemy marched on over the dusty sussex roads northward towards the thames. after the battle of horsham, the gigantic right column of the invaders, consisting mostly of french troops, followed up the defenders to guildford and dorking, preparatory to an attack upon london; while the left column, numbering 150,000 french and russians of all arms, pushed on through alfold to haslemere, then through farnham and odiham to swallowfield, all of which towns they sacked and burned, the terrified inhabitants being treated with scant mercy. as the majority of the defenders were massed in kent, south surrey, and sussex, the enemy advanced practically unmolested, and at sunrise one morning a terrible panic was created in reading by the sudden descent upon the town of a great advance guard of 10,000 russians. the people were appalled. they could offer no resistance against the cavalry, who, tearing along the straight high road from swallowfield, swept down upon them. along this road the whole gigantic force was moving, and the cossack skirmishers, spurring on across the town, passed away through the railway works, and halted at the bridge that spans the thames at caversham. they occupied it at once, in order to prevent it being blown up before the main body arrived, and a brisk fight ensued with the small body of defenders that had still remained at the brigade depôt on the purley road. meanwhile, as the french and russian advance guard came along, they devastated the land with fire and sword. the farms along the road were searched, and afterwards set on fire, while not a house at three mile cross escaped. entering the town from whitley hill, the great mass of troops, working in extended order, came slowly on, and, followed by 140,000 of the main body and 1000 guns, carried everything before them. no power could stem the advancing tide of the muscovite legions, and as they poured into the town in dense compact bodies, hundreds of townspeople were shot down ruthlessly, merely because they attempted to defend their homes. from the avenue works away to the cemetery, and from the railway station to leighton park, the streets swarmed with soldiers of the tsar, who entered almost every house in search of plunder, and fired out of sheer delight in bloodshed upon hundreds who were flying for their lives. men, women, even children, were slaughtered. the massacre was frightful. neither life nor property was respected; in every thoroughfare brutal outrages and murders were committed, and english homes were rendered desolate. almost the first buildings attacked were the great factories of messrs. huntley & palmer, whose 3000 hands were now, alas! idle owing to the famine. the stores were searched for biscuits, and afterwards the whole factory was promptly set on fire. the great western, queen's, and george hotels were searched from garret to cellar, and the wines and beer found in the latter were drunk in the streets. with the scant provisions found, several of the regiments made merry during the morning, while others pursued their devastating work. the banks were looted, st. mary's, greyfriars', and st. lawrence's churches were burned, and sutton & sons' buildings and the railway works shared the same fate, while out in the direction of prospect hill park all the houses were sacked, and those occupants who remained to guard their household treasures were put to the sword. everywhere the invaders displayed the most fiendish brutality, and the small force of british troops who had engaged the russian advance guard were, after a most fiercely contested struggle, completely annihilated, not, however, before they had successfully placed charges of gun-cotton under the bridge and blown it up, together with a number of cossacks who had taken possession of it. this, however, only checked the enemy's progress temporarily, for the right flank crossed at sonning, and as the main body had with them several pontoon sections, by noon the pontoons were in position, and the long line of cavalry, infantry, artillery, and engineers, leaving behind reading, now in flames, crossed the thames and wound away along the road to banbury, which quaint old town, immortalised in nursery rhyme, they sacked and burned, destroying the historic cross, and regaling themselves upon the ale found in the cellars of the inns, the red and white lions. this done, they again continued their march, practically unmolested; while oxford was also entered and sacked. true, scouts reported strong forces of the defenders advancing across from market harborough, kettering, and oundle, and once or twice british outposts had sharp encounters with the russians along the hills between ladbrooke and daventry, resulting in serious losses on both sides; nevertheless the gigantic force of russians still proceeded, sweeping away every obstacle from their path. on leaving banbury, the enemy, marching in column of route, took the road through stratford-on-avon to wootton wawen, where a halt for twenty-four hours was made in order to mature plans for an organised attack on birmingham. wootton hall, after being looted, was made the headquarters, and from thence was issued an order on the following day which caused warwick and leamington to be swept and burned by the invaders, who afterwards broke into two divisions. one body, consisting of 50,000 men, including an advance guard of 5000, took the right-hand road from wootton to birmingham, through sparkbrook; while the remaining 100,000 bore away to the left through ullenhall and holt end to the extremity of the hagley hills, intending to occupy them. they had already been informed that strong defences had been established at king's norton, in the immediate vicinity, and knew that severe fighting must inevitably ensue; therefore they lost no time in establishing themselves along the high ground between redditch and barnt green, in a position commanding the two main roads south from dudley and birmingham. that a most desperate stand would be made for the defence of the metropolis of the midlands the russian commander was well aware. after the long march his troops were jaded, so, bivouacing in hewell park, he awaited for nearly two days the reports of his spies. these were not so reassuring as he had anticipated, for it appeared that the high ground south of the city, notably at king's norton, northfield, harborne, edgbaston, and along the hagley road, was occupied by strong bodies of troops and a large number of guns, and that every preparation had been made for a stubborn resistance. it also appeared that at the entrance to the city at sparkbrook, which road had been taken by the right column, very little resistance was likely to be offered. that the positions occupied by the defenders had been very carefully chosen as the most advantageous the russian commander was bound to admit, and although he possessed such a large body of men it would require considerable tactical skill to dislodge the defenders in order to prevent them covering with their guns the country over which the russian division, taking the right-hand roads, must travel. [illustration: the battlefield of birmingham.] during that day an encounter of a most fierce description occurred between hostile reconnoitring parties on the road between bromsgrove lickey and northfield. the road gradually ascended with a walled-in plantation on either side, and the enemy were proceeding at a comfortable pace when suddenly a number of rifles rattled out simultaneously, and then it was discovered that the wall had been loopholed, and that the british were pouring upon them a deadly hail from which there was no shelter. the walls bristled with rifles, and from them came a storm of bullets that killed and wounded dozens of the invaders. the latter, however, showed considerable daring, for while the magazine rifles poured forth their deadly shower, they rallied and charged up the hill in the face of the fearful odds against them. for ten minutes or perhaps a quarter of an hour the fighting was a desperate hand-to-hand one, the enemy entering the plantation with a dash that surprised the defenders. gradually, although outnumbered by the russians, the british at length, by dint of the most strenuous effort and hard fighting, succeeded in inflicting frightful loss upon the invaders, and the latter, after a most desperate stand, eventually retreated in confusion down into the valley, leaving nearly two-thirds of the party dead or dying. the british, whose losses were very small, had shown the invaders that they meant to defend birmingham, and that every inch of ground they gained would have to be won by sheer fighting. an hour later another fierce encounter occurred in the same neighbourhood, and of the 4000 russians who had advanced along that road not 900 returned to the main body, such havoc the british maxims caused; while at the same time a further disaster occurred to the enemy in another direction, for away at tanworth their outposts had been completely annihilated, those who were not killed being taken prisoners by the 3rd south staffordshire volunteers, who, under colonel e. nayler, acted with conspicuous bravery. in every direction the enemy's outposts and advance guards were being harassed, cut up, and hurled back in disorder with heavy loss, therefore the russian commander decided that a sudden and rapid movement forward in order to effect a junction with his right column was the only means by which the position could be carried. in the meantime events were occurring rapidly all over the country south of the city. the commander of the russian left column, deciding to commence the attack forthwith, moved on his forces just before midnight in order to commence the onslaught before daybreak, knowing the british forces always relieve their outposts at that time. again, it was necessary to advance under cover of darkness in order to prevent the defenders' artillery, which now commanded the road between alcester and moseley, firing upon them. having received a message from the right column stating that their advance guard had pushed on to olton end with outposts at sheldon and yardley, and announcing their intention of advancing through sparkbrook upon the city before dawn, the commanding officer, leaving some artillery at barnt green, and sending on cavalry to stourbridge and cradley to turn the english flank at halesowen, manoeuvred rapidly, bringing the main body of cavalry and infantry back to alvechurch, thence across to weatheroak, and then striking due north, again marched by the three roads leading to king's norton. the high ground here he knew was strongly defended, and it was about a quarter to two o'clock when the british, by means of their search-lights, discovered the great dark masses advancing upon them. quickly their guns opened fire, and the sullen booming of cannon was answered by the russian battery near barnt green. over birmingham the noise was heard, and had volumes of terrible significance for the turbulent crowds who filled the broad thoroughfares. the search-lights used by both invaders and defenders turned night into day, and the battle proceeded. the enemy had carefully prepared their plans, for almost at the same moment that they assaulted the position at king's norton, a battery of russian artillery opened a terrible fire from the hill at tanner's green, while the attacking column extended their right across to colebrook hall, with intent to push across to moseley station, and thus gain the top of the ridge of the ground in the rear of the british positions, and so hem in the british force and allow the right column to advance through small heath and sparkbrook unchecked. these simultaneous attacks met in the valley separating the parallel ridges held by the russians and british, and the fighting became at once fierce and stubborn. a furious infantry fire raged for over an hour in the valley between the excellent position held by the defenders at king's norton and the lower wooded ridge occupied by the russians, who had succeeded in capturing half a british battery who held it. owing to the bareness of the slope, the russians went down into battle without cover, cut up terribly by the british infantry fire, and by the shell fire from the king's norton batteries. from the british trenches between broad meadow and moundsley hall a galling fire was poured, and russian infantry fell in hundreds over the undulating fields between the high road to alcester and the blithe river. from a ridge on the stratford road, near monkspath street, heavy russian artillery opened fire just before dawn, and played terrible havoc with the british guns, which on the sky-line opposite afforded a mark. as time crept on there was no cessation in the thunder on either side, while away along the valleys a most bloody encounter was in progress. the whole stretch of country was one huge battlefield. british and russians fell in hundreds, nay, in thousands. the losses on every side were appalling; the fortune of war trembled in the balance. chapter xix. fall of birmingham. the battle outside birmingham was long, fierce, and furious. no more desperately contested engagement had ever occurred in the history of the british empire. from the very first moment of the fight it was apparent that the struggle would be a fearful one, both sides possessing advantages; the british by reason of the magnificent defensive positions they occupied, and the russians by reason of their overwhelming numbers. against a defending force of 50,000 of all arms, 150,000 invaders--the majority of whom were russians--were now fighting, and the combat was necessarily long and deadly. british volunteers were conspicuous everywhere by their bravery; the canadians rendered most valuable assistance, firing from time to time with excellent precision, and holding their position with splendid courage; while the irish brigade, who had moved rapidly from king's cliffe by train and road, and had arrived in time, now held their own in a position close to kingsheath house. many of the principal buildings in birmingham had during the past day or two been converted into hospitals, amongst others the post office, where the trained nurses received very valuable assistance from the female clerks. a train full of british wounded was captured early in the evening at barnt green. it contained regular troops and civilians from the stratford force which had fallen back to alcester, and the train had been sent on from there in the hope that it would get through before the enemy were able to cut the line. this, however, was not accomplished, for the russians inhumanely turned out the wounded and filled the train with their own troops and ammunition. then, under the guidance of a birmingham railway man of french nationality who had been acting as spy, the train proceeded to new street station. it was impossible for the officials at the station to cope with the enemy, for they had only expected their own wounded, or they would, of course, have wrecked the train by altering the points before it arrived in the station. the russians therefore detrained, and, led by their spy, made a dash along the subway leading to the lifts ascending to the post office. these were secured, and the office was soon captured by the russians, who not only thereby obtained a footing in the very centre of the town from which there was not much chance of dislodging them before birmingham fell, but they had also obtained possession of the most important telegraph centre for the north and midland districts of england. before the first flush of dawn the whole of the country from kings norton right across to solihull was one huge battlefield, and when the sun rose, bright and glorious, its rays were obscured by the clouds of smoke which hung like a funeral pall over hill and dale. for a long period the principal russian battery on the stratford road was short of ammunition, and, seeing this, the strong british battery at northfield moved quickly up into a commanding position at drake's cross, not, however, before it had been considerably weakened by the russian fire from bromsgrove lickey. during this time, however, detachments of canadian marksmen had been detailed with no other purpose than to sweep the russian road at the exposed points of its course, and to fire at everything and everybody exposed on the ridge. this was most effective, and for quite half an hour prevented any supply of ammunition reaching the enemy, thus giving the british battery an opportunity to establish itself. at length, however, both batteries of defenders opened fire simultaneously upon the russian guns, and so thickly fell the shots, that although ammunition had by this time been brought up, the enemy's power in that quarter was completely broken. from that time the fierce struggle was confined to cavalry and infantry. troops of cossacks, sweeping up the banks of the arrow, encountered british hussars and cut into them with frightful effect. the defenders, fighting hard as the day wore on, hindered the enemy from gaining any material advantage, though the latter forced the outer line of the british shelter trenches on the slopes below the position of king's norton. the canadians had laid mines in front of their trenches, which were exploded just as the head of the russian assaulting parties were massed above them, and large numbers of the tsar's infantry were blown into atoms. bullets were singing along the valleys like swarms of angry wasps, and the russian losses in every direction were enormous. hour after hour the fighting continued. the british held good positions, with an inner line of defence across from selly oak, harborne, and edgbaston, to the high crest on the hagley road, close to the fountain, while the russians swarmed over the country in overwhelming numbers. the frightful losses the latter were sustaining by reason of the defenders' artillery fire did not, however, disconcert them. but for the huge right column of invaders advancing on birmingham by way of acock's green, it seemed an even match, yet as afternoon passed the firing in the valley swelled in volume, and the mad clamour of battle still surged up into the blue cloudless heavens. the enemy could see on the sky-line the british reinforcements as they came up from halesowen by the road close to their battery on the bare spot near the edge of their right flank, and it was decided at four o'clock to deliver a counter flank attack on the left edge of the british position, simultaneously with a renewed strenuous assault by the tirailleurs from below. soon this desperate manoeuvre was commenced, and although the marching ground was good, the british guns swept them with their terrible fire, and hundreds of the tsar's soldiers dyed the meadows with their blood. it was a fierce, mad dash. the british attacked vigorously on every side, fought bravely, straining every nerve to repulse their foe. the battle had been the most fiercely contested of any during the struggle, and in this desperate assault on king's norton the russians had suffered appalling losses. the valleys and slopes were strewn with dead and dying, and a bullet had struck the british commander, mortally wounding him. as he was borne away to the ambulance waggon, the last words on that noble soldier's lips were a fervent wish for good fortune to the arms of the queen he had served so well. but the british were, alas! outnumbered, and at last retreating in disorder, were followed over the hills to halesowen and utterly routed, while the main body of the enemy marching up the bristol and pershore roads, extended their left across to harborne and edgbaston. meanwhile, however, the guns placed on the edge of the city along the hagley road near the fountain, and in beech lane close to the talbot inn, as well as the volunteer batteries near st. augustine's church and westfield road, opened fire upon the advancing legions. the two lower roads taken by the enemy were well commanded by the british guns, and the volunteers, with the canadians and irish, again rendered most valuable assistance, everywhere displaying cool and conspicuous courage. the walls of the new villas along the hagley road, portland road, and beech lane had been placed in a state of hasty defence, and rifles bristled everywhere, but as the sun sank behind the long range of purple hills the fight was in the balance. the british, as they stood, could almost keep back the foe, but, alas! not quite. there was soon a concentric rush for the hill, and as the cannons thundered and rifles rattled, hundreds of the grey-coats fell back and rolled down the steep slope dead and dying, but the others pushed on in face of the frowning defences, used their bayonets with desperate energy, and a few minutes later loud shouts in russian told that the ridge had been cleared and the position won. the battle had been long and terrible; the carnage awful! the british, making a last desperate stand, fought a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, but ere long half their number lay helpless in the newly-made suburban roads, and the remainder were compelled to leave their guns in possession of the enemy and fly north to sandwell to save themselves. then, as they fled, the russians turned the british guns near st. augustine's upon them, causing havoc in their rear. the shattered left column of the enemy, having at length broken down the british defences, raised loud victorious yells, and, after reorganising, marched down the hagley road upon the city, fighting from house to house the whole way. the gardens in front of these houses, however, aided the defenders greatly in checking the advance. the sacrifice of human life during those hours from daybreak to sundown had been frightful. the whole country, from great packington to halesowen, was strewn with blood-smeared corpses. having regard to the fact that the defending force consisted of only 50,000 men against 100,000 russians, the losses inflicted upon the latter spoke volumes for british pluck and military skill. upon the field 10,000 russians lay dead, 30,000 were wounded, and 2000 were prisoners, while the defenders' total loss in killed and wounded only amounted to 20,000. indeed, had it not been for the reinforcements, numbering 50,000, from the right column, which were by this time coming up with all speed from acock's green, the russians, in their terribly jaded and demoralised state, could not have marched upon the city. as it was, however, the occupation commenced as night drew on; the fighting that followed being principally done by the reinforcements. leaving no fewer than 42,000 men dead, wounded, and captured, the invaders pushed on into birmingham. though the citizens' losses had already been terrific, nevertheless they found that they were still determined to hold out. in all the principal roads leading into the city barricades had been formed, and behind them were bands of desperate men, well equipped, and prepared to fight on to the bitter end. the first of these in the hagley road had been constructed at the junction of monument road, and as the skirmishers and advance guard approached, offered a most desperate resistance. in addition to a vigorous rifle fire that poured from the improvised defences, three maxims were brought into play from the roofs of large houses, and these, commanding the whole road as far as its junction with beech lane, literally mowed down the enemy as they approached. time after time the russians rushed upon the defenders' position, only to be hurled back again by the leaden hail, which fell so thickly that it was impossible for any body of troops to withstand it. by this the invaders' advance was temporarily checked, but it was not long before they established a battery at the corner of norfolk road, and poured shell upon the barricade with frightful effect. quickly the guns were silenced, and the russians at last breaking down the barrier, engaged in a conflict at close quarters with the defenders. the road along to five ways was desperately contested. the slaughter on both sides was awful, for a detachment of russians coming up the harborne road had been utterly annihilated and swept away by the rifle fire of defenders concealed behind loopholed walls. at five ways the entrance to each of the five broad converging thoroughfares had been strongly barricaded, and as the enemy pressed forward the british machine guns established there caused terrible havoc. behind those barricades men of birmingham of every class, armed with all sorts of guns, hastily obtained from kynoch's and other factories, struggled for the defence of their homes and loved ones, working with a dash and energy that greatly disconcerted the enemy, who had imagined that, in view of their victory in the battle, little resistance would be offered. in the darkness that had now fallen the scenes in the streets were frightful. the only light was the flash from gun-muzzles and the glare of flames consuming private houses and public buildings. the civilian defenders, reinforced by regular soldiers, militia, and volunteers, had made such excellent preparations for defence, and offered such strenuous opposition, that almost every foot the russians gained in the direction of the centre of the city was fought for hand to hand. both right and left russian columns were now advancing up the coventry, stratford, moseley, pershore, and bristol roads, and in each of those thoroughfares the barricades were strongly constructed, and, being armed with maxims, wrought frightful execution. gradually, however, one after another of these defences fell by reason of the organised attacks by such superior numbers, and the russians marched on, killing with bayonet and sword. in the city, as the night passed, the fighting in the streets everywhere was of the fiercest and most sanguinary description. in corporation street a huge barricade with machine guns had been constructed opposite the victoria law courts, and, assisted by 200 volunteers, who, inside the latter building, fired from the windows, the enemy were held in check for several hours. time after time shells fell from the russian guns in the midst of the defenders, and, bursting, decimated them in a horrible manner; yet through the long close night there was never a lack of brave men to step into the breach and take up the arms of their dead comrades. indeed, it was only when the enemy succeeded in setting fire to the courts, and compelling the defenders to cease their vigorous rifle fire from the windows, that the position was won; and not until hundreds of russians lay dead or dying in the street. in new street the irish volunteers distinguished themselves conspicuously. after the retreat they had been withdrawn with the canadians into the city, and, waiting in the side thoroughfares at the opposite end of new street, held themselves in readiness. suddenly, as the enemy rushed along in their direction, an order was given, and they formed up, and stretching across the street, met them with volley after volley of steady firing; then, rushing onward with fixed bayonets, charged almost before the russians were aware of their presence. without a thought of his own personal safety, every irishman cast himself into the thick of the fray, and, backed by a strong body of canadians and fusiliers, they succeeded in cutting their way completely into the invaders, and driving them back into corporation street, where they were forced right under the fire of four maxims that had just at that moment been brought into position outside the exchange. suddenly these guns rattled out simultaneously, and the russians, unable to advance, and standing at the head of the long broad thoroughfare, were swept down with awful swiftness and with scarcely any resistance. so sudden had been their fate, that of a force over two thousand strong, not more than a dozen escaped, although the defenders were taken in rear by the force of 500 russians who had occupied the post office on the previous night. from corporation street a brilliant, ruddy glow suffused the sky, as both the law courts and the grand theatre were in flames, while st. mary's church and the market hall had also been fired by incendiaries. in the panic and confusion, conflagrations were breaking out everywhere, flames bursting forth from several fine shops in new street which had already been sacked and wrecked. maddened by their success, by the thirst for the blood of their enemies, and the rash deeds of incendiaries, the muscovite legions spread over the whole city, and outrage and murder were common everywhere. away up great hampton street and hockley hill the jewellery factories were looted, and hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of gems and gold were carried off, while the mint was entered, afterwards being burned because only copper coins were found there, and the pictures in the art gallery were wantonly slashed by sabres and bayonets. the scenes on that memorable night were awful. birmingham, one of the most wealthy cities in the kingdom, fell at last, after a most stubborn resistance, for just before day broke the overwhelming forces of russia occupying the streets commenced to drive out the defenders, and shoot down those who turned to resist. from bordesley to handsworth, and from smethwick to aston, the city was in the hands of the enemy. the banks in new street were broken open, and the gold stuffed into the pockets of the uncouth dwellers on the don and the volga, chamberlain's memorial was wrecked, and queen's college occupied by infantry. cossack officers established themselves in the grand and queen's hotels, and their men were billeted at the midland, union, conservative, and other clubs, and at many minor hotels and buildings. before the dawn had spread, whole rows of shops were burning, their brilliant glare illuminating the streets that ran with blood. it was a fearful scene of death and desolation. the majority of the citizens had fled, leaving everything in the hands of the enemy, who still continued their work of pillage. in the streets the bodies of 10,000 russians and 3000 british lay unheeded, while no fewer than 9000 of the enemy's infantry had been wounded. the headquarters of the russian army had at last been established in a british city, for over the great council house there now lazily flapped in the fresh morning breeze the great yellow-and-black flag of the tsar alexander. and the russian general, finding he had lost the enormous force of 61,000 men, spent the grey hours of dawn in nervous anxiousness, pacing the room in which he had installed himself, contemplating the frightful disaster, and undecided how next to act. an incident illustrative of the fierceness of the fight outside the city was published in the _times_ several days later. it was an extract from a private letter written by lieut. j. g. morris of the 3rd battalion of the york and lancaster regiment, and was as follows:-"the sun that day was blazing and merciless. throughout the morning our battalion had lost heavily in the valley, when suddenly at about twelve o'clock the enemy apparently received reinforcements, and we were then driven back upon weatheroak by sheer force of numbers, and afterwards again fell further back towards our position on the high ground in hagley road. [illustration: birmingham occupied by the russians.] "in this hasty retreat i found myself with a sergeant and eighteen men pursued by a large skirmishing party of russians. all we could do was to fly before them. this we did, until at length, turning into beech lane, we found ourselves before a small, low-built ancient hostelry, the king's head inn, with a dilapidated and somewhat crude counterfeit presentment of king george ii. outside. the place was unoccupied, and i decided immediately to enter it. i could count on every one of my men; therefore very soon we were inside, and had barricaded the little place. scarcely had we accomplished this when the first shots rang out, and in a few moments the space outside where the cross-roads meet literally swarmed with russians, who quickly extended, and, seeking cover at the junction of each of the five roads, commenced a terrific fusillade. the windows from which we fired were smashed, the woodwork splintered everywhere, and so thickly came the bullets that my men had to exercise the utmost caution in concealing themselves while firing. "in a quarter of an hour one man had been struck and lay dead by my side, while at the same time the terrible truth suddenly dawned upon me that our ammunition could not last out. regulating the firing, i rushed to one of the back windows that commanded the valley down to harborne, and saw advancing along the road in our direction, and raising a cloud of dust, about a thousand russian cavalry and infantry. "back again to the front room i dashed, just in time to witness the enemy make a wild rush towards us. our slackened fire had deceived them, and as the storming party dashed forward, they were met by vigorous volleys from our magazine rifles, which knocked over dozens, and compelled the remainder to again retire. "again the enemy made a desperate onslaught, and again we succeeded in hurling them back, and stretching dead a dozen or more. meanwhile the great force of russians was moving slowly up the hill, and i knew that to hold the place much longer would be impossible. from the rear of the building a vigorous attack had now commenced, and moving more men round to the rear, so that our fire would command the sloping approach to the house, i gave an order to fire steadily. a moment later my sergeant and two other men had been severely wounded, and although the former had had his arm broken, and was near fainting from loss of blood, nevertheless he kept up, resting his rifle-barrel upon the shattered window-ledge, and pouring out the deadly contents of his magazine. "a few minutes afterwards a bullet shattered my left hand, and the man who crouched next to me under the window was a second later shot through the heart, and fell back dead among the disordered furniture. "still not a man hesitated, not a word of despair was uttered. we all knew that death stared us in the face, and that to face it bravely was a briton's duty. only once i shouted above the din: 'do your best, boys! remember we we are all britons, and those vermin outside have wrecked our homes and killed those we love. let's have our revenge, even if we die for it!' "'we'll stick to 'em till the very last, sir, never fear,' cheerily replied one young fellow as he reloaded his gun; but alas! ere he could raise it to fire, a bullet struck him in the throat. he staggered back, and a few moments later was a corpse. "undaunted, however, my men determined to sell their lives as dearly as possible, and continued their fire, time after time repelling the attack, and sweeping away the grey-coats as they emerged from behind the low walls. "three more men had fallen in as many seconds, and another, staggering back against the wall, held his hand to his breast, where he had received a terrible and mortal wound. our situation at that moment was most critical. only two rounds remained to each of my nine brave fellows, yet not a man wavered. "looking, i saw in the fading twilight the dark masses of the enemy moving up the steep road, and at that moment a round was fired with effect upon those who had surrounded us. one more round only remained. then we meant to die fighting. blinding smoke suddenly filled the half-wrecked room, and we knew that the enemy had succeeded in setting fire to the taproom underneath! "i stepped forward, and shouted for the last time the order to my brave comrades to fire. nine rifles rang out simultaneously; but i had, i suppose, showed myself imprudently, for at the same second i felt a sharp twinge in the shoulder, and knew that i had been struck. the rest was all a blank. "when i regained my senses i found myself lying in sandwell hall, with doctors bandaging my wounds, and then i learned that we had been rescued just in time, and that my nine comrades had all escaped the fate they had faced with dogged disregard for their own safety, and such noble devotion to their queen." it was a black day for britain. during the long hours of that fierce, mad struggle many victoria crosses were earned, but the majority of those who performed deeds worthy of such decoration, alas! fell to the earth, dead. chapter xx. our revenge in the mediterranean. many important events had occurred in the mediterranean since the outbreak of hostilities. at the moment of the sudden declaration of war, the ships forming the british mediterranean squadron were at larnaka, cyprus, and on receipt of the alarming intelligence, the admiral sailed immediately for malta. on arrival there, he heard that a strong force of french vessels had been despatched to gibraltar for the purpose of preventing any british ships from getting out of the mediterranean in order to strengthen the channel squadron. nevertheless he waited for some days at malta, in hourly expectation of instructions, which came at length about two o'clock one morning, and an hour later the squadron sailed westward for an unknown destination. our fleet in those waters was notoriously inadequate in comparison with those of france and russia. it consisted of three of the battleships constructed under the 1894 programme, the _jupiter_, _cæsar_, and _victorious_, with the cruisers _diana_ and _dido_; the ironclads _collingwood_, _dreadnought_, _hood_, _inflexible_, _nile_, _ramillies_, _repulse_, _sans pareil_, _trafalgar_, _magnificent_, _empress of india_, and _revenge_; the cruisers _arethusa_, _edgar_, _fearless_, _hawke_, _scout_, _orlando_, _undaunted_; the torpedo ram _polyphemus_; the torpedo gun-vessel _sandfly_; the sloops _dolphin_, _gannet_, _melita_, and _bramble_; and the despatch vessel _surprise_, with twenty-two torpedo boats and six destroyers. the information received by our fleet at malta was to the effect that the french force at gibraltar was so strong that a successful attack was out of the question; while the russian mediterranean and black sea fleets, the strength of which was considerable, were also known to be approaching for the purpose of co-operating with the french. notwithstanding the addition of three new battleships and two new cruisers to our force in the mediterranean, the utter inadequacy of our navy was still very apparent. for years the british public had demanded that a dozen more new battleships should be constructed in case of casualties, but these demands were unheeded, and during the three years that had passed we had lost our naval supremacy, for france and russia combined were now considerably stronger. france alone had 150 fighting pennants available along her southern shores, against our 59; and the tsar's ships were all strong, well-equipped, and armed with guns of the latest type. as was feared from the outset, the russian black sea fleet had struck for the suez canal, england's highway to the east. egypt, the bosphorus, gibraltar, and tripoli in the grasp of the enemy, meant supremacy in the east, and a situation that would not be tolerated by either italy or austria. therefore the british admiral, recognising the seriousness of the situation, and having received instructions to return home and assist in the defence of britain, mustered his forces and cleared for action. the events that occurred immediately afterwards are best related in the graphic and interesting narrative which was subsequently written to a friend by captain neville reed of the great steel battleship _ramillies_, and afterwards published, together with the accompanying sketch, in the _illustrated london news_, as follows:-"after leaving malta, we rounded the adventure bank off the sicilian coast, and headed due north past elba and on to the gulf of genoa. from spezia we received despatches, and after anchoring for twelve hours,--during which time we were busy completing our preparations,--sailed at midnight westward. off st. tropez, near the hyères islands, in obedience to signals from the flagship, the _empress of india_, the ironclads _jupiter_, _sans pareil_, _repulse_, with the cruisers _edgar_, _dido_, _diana_, _orlando_, _undaunted_, and _scout_, the sloop _gannet_, and five torpedo boats, detached themselves from the squadron, and after exchanging further signals, bore away due south. giving the shore a wide offing, we steamed along throughout the afternoon. the mediterranean had not yet been the scene of any bloody or fatal conflict, but as we cut our way through the calm sunlit waters with a brilliant cerulean sky above, the contrast between our bright and lovely surroundings and the terrible realities of the situation during those breathless hours of suspense still dwells distinctly in my memory. "it was our duty to fight the enemy, to beat him, and to pass through the straits of gibraltar and help our comrades at home. every man, although totally unaware of his present destination, felt that at last the moment had come when the supreme ambition of his life was to be realised, and he was to strike a blow for his country's honour. "apparently our admiral was in no hurry. he no doubt was awaiting events, for at sunset we lay-to about thirty miles south of la ciotat, and spent the calm bright night restlessly anxious and keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy. there was a hush of expectation over the ship, and scarcely a sound broke the quiet save the lapping of the water against the smooth sides of the ironclad, and no sign of force except the swish of the waves falling on either side of the formidable and deadly ram. "just after seven bells in the morning watch, however, we resumed our voyage, and turning, went north again. then, for the first time, we knew the admiral's intentions. an ultimatum had already been given. _we were to bombard marseilles!_ "three hours later we came within view of the city. seen from the sea it has a certain amount of picturesqueness. in the foreground there is the harbour, with a barren group of islands at its entrance, and behind masses of yellow houses covering an extensive valley, and white villas dotted over a semicircle of green hills stretching in the rear. prominent in the landscape is the church of nôtre dame de la garde, perched on the eminence on the right; while on the left there stands on an island the château d'if, rendered immortal by the adventures of monte cristo; and behind, on the broad quai de la joliette, rises the fine cathedral, built in alternate courses of black and white stone. it is a handsome and wealthy city, with its fine shady boulevard, the cannebière running through its centre from the arc de triomphe right down to the old port whence the mail steamers depart. this city, teeming with life, it was our duty to lay in ruins! "knowing how strongly fortified it was, that upon each of those hills were great batteries ready at a given signal to pour out their deadly hail, and that under the blue waters were mines which might be exploded from the shore at any moment, we made preparations for counter-mining, and then cautiously approached within range. suddenly, however, having got into position and laid our guns, we received the anxiously expected order, and a few moments later opened a terrific and almost simultaneous fire. "through my glass i could clearly distinguish the terrible confusion being caused in the streets as our shells fell and burst on the quai de la joliette, in the cannebière, and the boulevard de l'empéreur. "the first taste of our guns had produced a terrible panic, for a shell from the _dreadnought_, lying next to us, had struck the tower of the cathedral and brought down a great quantity of masonry, while another shell from one of our 67-ton guns, bursting in the palais de justice with terrible effect, had ignited it. "it was our first shot, and the gun had been well sighted; but ere we fired again such a storm of shell burst upon us that i confess for a moment i stood in my conning-tower motionless in surprise. on all sides the french had apparently established batteries. from the great fort st. jean at the entrance to the port, and from the batterie du phare on the opposite side, flame and smoke belched from heavy guns continuously. from a small battery in the château d'if, from another on the rocky promontory on the right known as the edoume, from a number of smaller ones established on the hills of l'oriol and the citadel, as well as from the great fortress of nôtre dame de la garde on the highest hill, a little to the right of the city, there came an incessant thunder, and dozens of shots ricochetted over the placid water towards us. "in a few moments, however, my 67-tonners were again adding to the deafening roar, my ten 6-inch quick-firing guns were sending out their messengers of death, and my smaller arms, consisting of 3 and 16-pounders, were acting their part in the sudden outburst. we had attacked the town without intention of investment, but simply to destroy it, and as the minutes slipped by, and i peered through my glass, i could see how devastating were our enormous modern shells. "all our guns were now trained upon the forts, and the bombardment was most vigorous. the six coast-defence ships, which endeavoured to drive us off, we quickly put out of action, capturing one, torpedoing two, and disabling the three others; while up to the present, although a number of shots from the land batteries had struck us, we sustained no serious damage. "we were avenging hull and newcastle. into the panic-stricken town we were pouring an unceasing storm of shell, which swept away whole streets of handsome buildings, and killed hundreds of those flying for safety into the country. watching, i saw one shot from one of my bow barbette guns crash into the roof of the fine new hôtel du louvre, in the cannebière. the french tricolor on the flagstaff toppled over into the street, and a second later the clouds of smoke and the débris which shot up showed plainly the awful results of the bursting shell. "time after time my 67-tonners crashed and roared, time after time i pressed my fingers upon the little knobs in the conning-tower, and huge projectiles were discharged right into the forts. in conjunction with the never-ceasing fire of companion ships, we rained iron in a continuous stream that wrought havoc in the defences and destroyed all the buildings that offered targets. in an hour the arsenal behind the palais de justice was laid in ruins, the fine hôtel de ville was a mere heap of smouldering débris, the bourse, and the great library in the boulevard du musée were half wrecked by shells, and the custom house, the gendarmerie, and the prefecture were burning furiously. the château du phare on the headland at the entrance to the fort was suffering frightfully, and the shells that had struck the citadel and the fort of nôtre dame had been terribly effective. every part of the city from the promenade du prado to the botanical gardens was being swept continuously by our fire, and from the black smoke curling upward in the sunlight we knew that many broad handsome streets were in flames. excited over their work of revenge, my guns' crews worked on with a contemptuous disregard for the withering fire being poured upon us from the land. they meant, they said, to teach the frenchmen a lesson, and they certainly did. around us shots from the batteries fell thickly, sending up huge columns of water. suddenly a shell struck the _ramillies_ forward in front of the barbette, and burst like the rending of a thundercloud. the deck was torn up, a dozen men were maimed or killed, poor fellows! but the solid face of the barbette held its own, and the muzzles of our two great guns remained untouched. "several shots from the nôtre dame fort and the endoume battery then struck us in quick succession. one was particularly disastrous, for, crashing into the battery on the port side, it burst, disabling one of the 6-inch guns, and killing the whole gun's crew in an instant. the effect was frightful, for the whole space around was wrecked, and not a man escaped. "such are the fortunes of war! a few moments later we turned our heavy guns upon the endoume battery, perched up upon the rocky headland, and together with the _empress of india_ and the _victorious_ thundered forth our great projectiles upon it in a manner which must have been terribly disconcerting. the battery replied vigorously at first, but the _nile_, noticing the direction in which we had turned our attention, trained her guns upon the same fort, and let loose a perfect hail of devastating shell. without ceasing for a second, we played upon it, and could distinguish even with the naked eye how completely we were destroying it, until half an hour later we found that the frenchmen had ceased to reply. we had silenced their guns, and, in fact, totally wrecked the fort. "several of our vessels were, however, severely feeling the fire from the nôtre dame fortress and that of st. jean. nearly one hundred men on board the _trafalgar_ had been killed; while two shots, entering one of the broadside batteries of the flagship, had caused frightful havoc, and had blown to atoms over forty men and three officers. a torpedo boat that had approached the french coast-defence ship just before she was captured had been sunk by a shot, but the crew were fortunately all rescued, after much difficulty, by the sloop _dolphin_, which had severely suffered herself from the vigorous fire from the batterie du phare. the funnel of the _nile_ had been carried away by a shot from the citadel, while among the more conspicuous british losses was a serious catastrophe which had occurred on board the _hood_ by the premature explosion of a torpedo, by which a sub-lieutenant and thirty-three men were launched into eternity, and sixteen men very severely wounded. the engines of the _arethusa_ were also broken. "the smoke rising from the bombarded city increased every moment in density, and even in the daylight we could distinguish the flames. the centre of marseilles was burning furiously, and the fire was now spreading unchecked. one of our objects had been to destroy the immense quantity of war stores, and in this we were entirely successful. we had turned our united efforts upon the fort st. jean down at the harbour entrance and that of nôtre dame high on the hill. pounding away at these, time slipped by until the sun sank in a blaze of crimson and gold. both forts made a gallant defence, but each of our shots went home, and through my glasses i watched the awful result. suddenly a terrific report caused the whole city to tremble. one of our shots had apparently entered the powder magazine in the fort st. jean, and it had blown up, producing an appalling catastrophe from which the fortress could never recover. [illustration: bombardment of marseilles by the british: "one of our shells had entered the powder magazine of fort st. jean."] "by this time the whole of the shipping in the docks was burning furiously, and the congested part of the city lying between the port and the lyons railway station was like a huge furnace. the sight was one of terrible grandeur. "presently, just as the sun sank behind the grey night clouds, we ceased fire, and then gazed with calm satisfaction upon the result of our bombardment. we had treated a french city in the same manner as the french and russians had treated our own homes, and we could look upon this scene of destruction and death without a pang of remorse. but that was not all. when our guns were silent we could distinctly hear vigorous rifle firing at the back of the city. then we knew the truth. "while we had been attacking marseilles from the sea, the italians, who a week before had crossed the frontier, and with the germans occupied lyons, had co-operated with us on land, and the terror-stricken marseillais, hemmed in by fire and bullets on either side, had been swept away in thousands. "the scenes in the streets were, we afterwards learnt, awful; and although the garrison offered a desperate resistance to the italians along the valley near the château des fleurs, most of them were killed, and nearly three thousand of their number taken prisoners. but the italians were unable to enter marseilles themselves, as, long before they had succeeded in breaking up the land defences, we had set the place on fire, and now, as night fell, the great city was one mass of flames, the lurid light from which illuminated sky and sea with a bright red glare." * * * * * the blazing african sun was fading, flooding the calm sapphire mediterranean with its blood-red afterglow. the air was oppressive, the wind blew hot from the desert, and shoals of tiny green birds were chattering before roosting in the oasis of tall date palms that cast long shadows over the sun-baked stones of the place du gouvernement at algiers. everything was of a dazzling whiteness, relieved only by the blue sky and sea. the broad, handsome square was almost deserted, the jalousies of the european houses were still closed, and although a few people were sipping absinthe at the cafés, the siesta was not yet over. at one corner of the square the mosque of djama-el-djedid, with its dome and minarets, stood out intensely white against the bright, cloudless sky, its spotless cleanliness causing the white-washed houses of europeans to appear yellow and dingy; and as the _mueddin_ stood on one of the minarets with arms uplifted, calling the faithful to prayer, idle moors and arabs, who had been lying asleep in the shadow during the afternoon, rose quickly, rearranged their burnouses, and entered the mosque in order to render thanks to allah. darkness crept on after a brief twilight. moorish women, wrapped in their white _haicks_, wearing their ugly baggy trousers, and veiled to the eyes, waddled along slowly and noiselessly among the palms, and gradually a gay cosmopolitan crowd assembled in the place to enjoy the _bel fresco_ after the terrible heat of the day, and to listen to the fine band of the 1st zouaves, which had already taken up its stand in the centre of the square, and was now playing one of strauss's dreamy waltzes. the night was bright and starlit, one of those calm, mystic evenings peculiar to north africa. all was peaceful, but no moon had yet risen. the city wore its gay air of carelessness. white-robed moors and red-fezzed arabs, negroes from the soudan, and biskris in their blue burnouses, lounged, chattered, and promenaded, while the cafés and bazaars around were full of life, and the warm, balmy air was laden with the scent of flowers. suddenly, without warning, the whole place was illuminated by a brilliant light from the sea. slowly it swept the town, and a few seconds later other bright beams shot forth, lighting up the quays, the terraces of white, flat-roofed houses, and the moorish city on the hill. then, before the promenaders could realise the cause, a loud booming was heard at sea, and almost at the same moment a shell fell, and, exploding in the midst of them, blew a dozen moors and arabs into atoms. in a few seconds the cannonade increased, and the battery in the centre of the harbour replied. then firing seemed to proceed from all quarters, and a storm of shell suddenly crashed upon the town with the most appalling effect. british war-vessels had crept up within range, and were pouring the vials of britain's wrath upon the ancient city of the deys! the detachment of vessels which, led by the new battleship _jupiter_, went south from st. tropez, had received instructions to destroy algiers and return with all speed to cagliari, in sardinia, to await further instructions. the bombardment of the two cities simultaneously was in order to draw off the french squadron from the position it had taken up near gibraltar, so that the british could fight and then run past them into the atlantic. how far the manoeuvre succeeded is shown in the few interesting details of the bombardment given in the course of an interview which a reporter of the _daily telegraph_ had with lieut. george ingleton, of the first-class cruiser _edgar_. the officer said:-"we arrived off algiers two hours after sundown, and after an inspection with search-lights, began to let fly with our big guns. in a few minutes the al-djefna battery in the centre of the harbour replied, and a moment later a very rigorous fire was poured forth from fort neuf on the right and forts bab-azzoun and conde on the left. all four were very strong, and in conjunction with coast-defence vessels offered a most vigorous resistance. so suddenly did we fire upon the town, that a frightful panic must have been caused. before we had fired half a dozen times, a shot from one of our 22-tonners crashed into the dome of the mosque and totally demolished it, while another particularly well-aimed shell struck the mairie, a big handsome building on the boulevard de la république, facing the sea, tearing out a portion of the front. then, turning our guns upon the long row of shops, banks, and hotels which formed the boulevard, we pounded away most effectively, while several of our other vessels attended to the forts. "during the first half-hour the four warships of the enemy gave us considerable trouble, but very soon our torpedoes had sunk two of them, and the other two were quickly captured. "meanwhile, under the hot fire from the forts, the bombardment grew exciting. shells were ricochetting on the water all round us, but our search-lights being now shut off, we offered a very indistinct target to the enemy. on nearly all our ships, however, there were some slight casualties. a shell severely damaged the superstructure of the _jupiter_, while others rendered useless several of her machine guns. a shell penetrated the _gannet_, unfortunately killing fourteen bluejackets; and had it not been that the deck of the _edgar_ was protected throughout, the consequences to us would also have been very serious. nevertheless, our two 22-ton guns rendered valuable service, and contributed in no small measure to the demolition of the town. "from the outset we could see that algiers was totally unprepared for attack, and, continuing our fire calmly and regularly, we watched the flames bursting forth in every part of the town and leaping skyward. on shore the guns kept up their roaring thunder, although by aid of glasses we could detect how effectual were our shells in wrecking the fortifications and laying in ruins the european quarter. every moment we were dealing terrible blows which shook the city to its foundations. the formidable city walls availed them nothing, for we could drop our shells anywhere we pleased, either on the hill at mustapha or upon the pretty moorish villas that lined the shore at st. eugène. "blazing away at long range upon the town, we spread destruction everywhere. houses toppled like packs of cards, mosques were blown into the air, and public buildings swept away like grains of sand before the sirocco. under such a fire thousands of natives and europeans must have perished, for we were determined to carry out our intentions, and teach the invaders a lesson they were not likely to easily forget. time after time our heavy guns crashed, while our 6-inch quick-firers kept up their roar, and our machine guns rattled continuously. as the hours went by, and we continued our work of merciless destruction, we were hit once or twice, but beyond the loss of two men and some unimportant damage we escaped further punishment. "the roar of our guns was deafening, and the smoke hung over the calm sea like a storm-cloud. still we kept on in the face of the galling fire from the shore, and before midnight had the satisfaction of witnessing a magnificent spectacle, for the isolated conflagrations gradually united and the whole town was in flames. "we had accomplished our work, so with cheers for old england we gave a parting shot, and turning were soon steaming away towards the sicilian coast, leaving algiers a mass of roaring flame. "the journey was uneventful until just before noon on the following day. i was at that time on duty, and suddenly, to my surprise, detected a number of ships. by the aid of our glasses, the captain and i found to our dismay that a number of the most powerful vessels of the russian fleet were bearing down upon us! all our other vessels had made the same discovery, and i must confess that the meeting was somewhat disconcerting. the strength of the russian ironclads was such as to cause our hearts to beat more quickly. to engage that great force meant certain defeat, while it was necessary that our admiral off marseilles should know of the whereabouts of this hostile squadron, therefore we resolved to get away. but although we altered our course and put on all speed, we were, alas! unsuccessful. at last we determined at all hazards to stick to our guns so long as we were afloat, and as the first of the tsar's ironclads drew within range, one of our 22-tonners thundered. the white smoke, driven forward, tumbled over our bows. we had spoken the first word of battle!" chapter xxi. a naval fight and its consequences. "the great naval force of the tsar, with which we were now face to face," continued lieutenant ingleton in his narrative, "consisted of the new battleship _petropavlovsk_ of 10,960 tons, with a speed of 17 knots; the great turret-ship _dvenadsat apostoloff_ of 8076 tons; the two new barbette-ships _kama_ and _vologda_ of the _cizoi veliky_ type; the _tchesmé_ of 10,181 tons, the _gheorghy pobyednosets_ of 10,280 tons, and the powerful _tria sviatitelia_ of 12,480 tons; the two enormous new cruisers _tiumen_ and _minsk_, both of 17,000 tons, and running at 20 knots; the _vladimir monomach_ of 5754 tons; the armoured gunboat _otvazny_, and the new rams _admiral seniavine_ and _admiral uschakoff_, with thirty torpedo boats, including the _kodor_, _reni_, _anakria_, and _adler_, the latter being able to run at 27·4 knots. "against such a gigantic force as this our small force of vessels and torpedo boats presented but a sorry appearance. nevertheless we had fired the first shot, and were now determined to die rather than haul down our colours. as our guns thundered, those of the _jupiter_, _repulse_, _sans pareil_, _undaunted_, _orlando_, _diana_, _scout_, and _gannet_ joined in noisy chorus. the 12-inch guns in the turrets of the _petropavlovsk_ and the four big guns in the barbettes of the _tria sviatitelia_ crashed out together, and almost immediately afterwards we found ourselves being swept from stem to stern by the enemy's shells. the russian battleships were all well armoured, and had a much heavier shell fire than the vessels of either france or britain. we were both in columns of divisions in line ahead, but from the first moment of the engagement our position was critical. "a terrific and deadly storm burst upon us from the enemy's tops, while his heavy guns kept up an incessant thunder. with such an enormous force against us, it was apparent to every man on board that disaster was imminent. it had, alas! never been graven sufficiently deep upon the public mind how absurdly weak we were in the mediterranean. here, as in all other squadrons, every grade of officer from commander downwards was deficient in numbers, and the ships in commission had for years been so much below their complement that the work had only been carried on with great difficulty. other ships at home had been obliged to wait until a sufficient number of merchant seamen and half-trained engine-room staff could be scraped together to provide the semblance of a crew. in fact, successive british governments of both parties had subordinated national necessities to a desire to evade a material increase in taxation, and now at last our mediterranean squadron were compelled to face the inevitable. "the insidious cunning and patient methods to which the russians resort in order to attain their aims and break their boundaries had once more been illustrated. they had, by dint of extraordinary chicanery, secured absolute possession of the small turkish peninsula known as mount athos. situated near the entrance of the gulf of salonica, it was a paramount strategical position, and its possessor was now enabled to keep watch upon macedonia, and in the meantime be very near the dardanelles, and also asia minor. the possession was accomplished in a curiously secret manner, showing to what extent russian foresight and artifice is carried. for years past the _société slav de bienfaisance_ had been sending, through a bank in salonica, large sums of money to further the aim. to the casual observer there was nothing extraordinary about this, for the russians had established on the lofty heights several monasteries, converting the place into a clerical settlement. this fact was pointed out by the _pall mall gazette_ as far back as 1893, but the british public at that time failed to detect any russian intrigue. "gradually, however, muscovite roubles purchased the surrounding property, and greek convents were reduced to poverty while russian institutions flourished and increased. but, strangely enough, the inmates of these monasteries were suddenly discovered to be mock clerics, and then it was disclosed that under the cover of monastic garments and robes were to be found the tsar's soldiers, performing a three years' special and specific military service! "yet, owing to the sultan's weakness, to the almighty backsheesh, and to the shortsightedness of turkish statesmen, the russians were not dislodged, but the position was actually ceded to them, with the result that they had now firmly established themselves where they were enabled to counteract british action and influence. a naval station had been established for their mediterranean squadron at poros, off the eastern coast of the peloponnesus, some fifteen miles due south of the island of ægina. here there were three miles of deep water safe from sea attack, with an arsenal and dockyard, on the very weakest point along the line of our highway between england and india! such was the manner in which our power in the mediterranean had been undermined! "there was, however, no time for reflection amid the deafening roar. this black sea fleet that had burst its bonds and passed through the dardanelles intended to sweep us from the sea. yet, notwithstanding the terrible fire pouring upon us from these great and powerful ships, each fully equipped with the latest and most improved arms, fully manned by well-trained men, and fresh for the fray, we held our quarters, determined to show the forces of the tsar defiance. even though every man of us might be sent to an untimely grave, the russian flag should never surmount the white ensign of britain. we were determined, so we set our teeth, and showed a firm and vigorous front to the foe. "our two 22-tonners rendered admirable service, and the cannonade kept up from our 3 and 6-pounder quick-firing guns was playing havoc with the russian belted cruiser _vladimir monomach_ lying on our port quarter. the vessel was slightly larger than ourselves, carrying much heavier armaments, including four 13-ton guns, and twelve 4-tonners. she was indeed a very formidable opponent, nevertheless we did our best, and, blazing away at close quarters, soon succeeded in silencing the starboard 13-tonner nearest us. "just at this moment i found we were being attacked on the port bow by the enormous new turret-ship _petropavlovsk_ and the _dvenadsat apostoloff_. two of the heavy 12-inch guns of the former thundered almost simultaneously, and both shells striking us almost amidships, caused us such a shock that for a second i stood breathless. "in a few moments, however, it was reported that our 'vitals' had fortunately escaped, and we continued firing as if no catastrophe had occurred. as a matter of fact, the damage caused by those two shells was appalling. "the _jupiter_, steaming about two miles away on our starboard quarter, was apparently holding her own against the barbette-ships _tchesmé_ and _gheorghy pobyednosets_, the cruiser _tiumen_, one of the largest in the world, and the new ram _admiral seniavine_. the four attacking vessels, as seen through the dense smoke, were pouring into the british ship a deadly fire; yet, judging from the fallen tops and disabled engines of the _gheorghy pobyednosets_ and the wrecked superstructure of the _tchesmé_, the _jupiter's_ heavy armaments were executing good work, notwithstanding the strength of the _tchesmé's_ six 50-ton guns, admirably arranged in pairs in the centre of the vessel. "the _diana_ and _sans pareil_, lying near to one another, were desperately resisting the vigorous attack made by the _admiral uschakoff_, _minsk_, _otvazny_, _kama_, and _vologda_; and here again, amid smoke and flying débris, i could distinguish that the 67-tonners of the _repulse_, in co-operation with the lighter weapons of the _undaunted_, were giving the enemy a taste of what british courage could accomplish. "the sea around us simply swarmed with russian torpedo boats, and it required all our vigilance to evade their continued attacks. before an hour had passed we had succeeded in sinking two by shots from our 6-inch guns, and several more were sent to the bottom by well-aimed projectiles from the _dido_ and _jupiter_. "as for ourselves, projectiles were sweeping across our deck like hail, and under the incessant and fearful fire we were suffering frightfully. over sixty of our men and a sub-lieutenant had been killed, while forty-nine were severely wounded. once i had occasion to go below, and between decks the sight that met my gaze was awful. "around two of the quick-firing guns on our port quarter lay the guns' crews, mutilated by shells from the _vladimir monomach_. they had been killed almost instantly while standing bravely at their posts. the scene was appalling. the mangled masses of humanity amid which the surgeons were at work were awful to look upon, and i rushed up again with the terrible scene photographed indelibly upon my memory. "meanwhile the ship was in the greatest peril. the continual bursting of shells upon her shook and shattered her, and she trembled violently as, time after time, her own guns uttered their thundering reply to her enemies. heeling now this way, now that, as the helm was put hard over to avoid a blow, the situation on board was intensely exciting. "those were terrible moments. the captain suddenly noticed the movements of the _vladimir monomach_, and divined her intentions. she had ceased firing, and by a neatly executed manoeuvre was preparing to ram us. in a moment our helm was put over again, and the _edgar_ answered to it immediately. "'ready bow tube!' i heard the captain shout hoarsely. he waited a few moments, allowing the russian ironclad to partially perform her evolution, then just as she came almost into collision with us he shrieked 'fire bow tube!' at the same time bringing us over further to port. "the seconds seemed hours. suddenly there was a loud explosion, a great column of water rose under the russian's bow, and we knew the torpedo had struck. at that moment, too, even while the water was still in the air, one of our torpedo boats which had crept up under the _vladimir monomach's_ stern sent another torpedo at her, which also hit its mark and ripped her up. turning our guns upon the armoured cruiser, we poured volley after volley into her, but she did not reply, for her men were panic-stricken, and she was sinking fast. "the _petropavlovsk_, leaving us, endeavoured to rescue her crew, but ere a dozen men were saved, she settled down bow foremost, and disappeared into the deep, carrying down with her nearly five hundred officers and men. "the _dvenadsat apostoloff_ kept up her fire upon us, and a few moments later i witnessed another disaster, for a shot from one of her bow guns struck the torpedo boat that had just assisted us, and sank it. a few minutes later a loud explosion in the direction of the _sans pareil_ attracted my attention, and, turning, i saw amid the smoke-clouds débris precipitated high into the air. a shot from one of her 111-ton guns had penetrated to the magazine of the _admiral seniavine_, which had exploded, causing a frightful disaster on board that vessel, and just at the same moment a cheer from the crew of one of our 6-inch guns prompted me to look for the cause, which i found in the fact that they had shot the russian colours completely away from the _dvenadsat apostoloff_. "again another frightful explosion sounded loud above the incessant din, and to my satisfaction i saw a great column of water rise around the _admiral uschakoff_, which, fighting at close quarters with the _dido_, had apparently been torpedoed. not satisfied with this, the captain of the _dido_, keeping his machine guns going, turned his vessel and discharged a second whitehead, which also struck with such terrible effect that the russian ship began at once to sink, and in a few minutes the blue waves closed for ever over her tops, ere a score or so out of her crew of 300 could be rescued. "it was nearly three bells, and the sun was setting. a galling fire from the machine guns in the foretop of the _dvenadsat apostoloff_ suddenly swept our deck, killing a dozen poor fellows who were at work clearing away some débris, and at the same moment a shot from one of her 52-ton guns crashed into our port quarter, and must have caused terrible havoc among the guns' crews. a moment later we were dismayed by the report that our steering-gear had been broken. for a few seconds we were helplessly swinging round under the awful fire which was now pouring from the great guns of the russian ironclad, and our captain was making strenuous efforts to recover control of the ship, when i saw the torpedo boat _anakria_ shoot suddenly across our bows, then quickly slacken as she got to starboard of us. "a second later i realised her intention, and shouted frantically. a line of bubbles had appeared on the surface advancing swiftly towards us. she had ejected a torpedo straight at us, and i stood petrified, not daring to breathe. "a moment later there came a terrific explosion right underneath us, followed by a harsh tearing sound as iron plates were torn asunder like tinfoil, and the ship's side was ripped completely up. the _edgar_ heaved high and plunged heavily, a great column of water rose high above her masts, and the air seemed filled with flying fragments of iron and wood. the vessel rocked and swayed so that we could not keep our feet, and then gradually heeling over, causing her guns to shift, she went down before a soul on board could launch a boat. "at the moment of the explosion i felt a sharp twinge in the back, and found that i had been struck by a flying splinter of steel. the strain of those hours had been terrible, and of the events that followed i can only recollect two things. i remember finding myself struggling alone in the water with a shower of bullets from the _dvenadsat apostoloff's_ tops sending up little splashes about me. then i felt my strength failing, my limbs seemed paralysed, and i could no longer strike out to save myself. abandoning all hope, i was sinking, when suddenly a rope was flung to me. i remember how frantically i clutched it, and that a few moments later i was hauled aboard a torpedo boat; but for days afterwards i lay hovering 'twixt life and death, oblivious to all. i was one of the thirteen only who were saved out of a crew of 327 brave officers and men." such a ghastly disaster could only produce profound dismay among those who manned the remaining british vessels. straining every nerve to uphold the honour of britain, the guns' crews of the _jupiter_, _sans pareil_, _repulse_, and _undaunted_, with smoke-begrimed hands and faces, worked on with that indomitable energy begotten of despair. regardless of the awful rain of shot and shell, they reloaded and fired with calm, dogged self-possession, the officers on all four vessels inspiring their men by various deeds of valour, and preserving such discipline under fire as none but british sailors could. the british naval officer is full of undaunted defiance and contempt for his foes; but, above all, he is a strict disciplinarian, and to this our country in a great measure owes the supremacy our navy has hitherto enjoyed upon the seas. during the fight the vessels had been moving in a north-easterly direction, and although the russians were unaware of the fact, her majesty's ships had therefore continued in their course. hence, just as a cool breeze sprang up at sundown, soon after the _edgar_ had sunk, a line of low dark cliffs was sighted ahead. the officers of the _diana_, watching anxiously through their glasses, distinguished the distant crest of mount genargentu gradually appearing against the clear evening sky, and then they knew that they were off sardinia, outside the gulf of oristano. altering their course, they headed due north, still keeping up a running fire, but the russians prevented them making headway. all our vessels were suffering frightfully, when there was a sudden explosion, and, to the englishmen's dismay, it was seen that a torpedo had struck the _undaunted_ nearly amidships. still the doomed vessel managed to evade a second attack, and by a desperate manoeuvre the captain succeeded in turning and heading for land. the remaining ships, in their terribly crippled condition, would, the russians anticipated, soon fall an easy prey. nevertheless, with their crews decimated, their guns disabled, and their machinery damaged, the british vessels still continued firing, the men resolved to go down at their quarters. they knew that escape was hopeless, and every moment they saw their comrades being swept away by the great exploding projectiles of the tsar's heavy guns. but they were not dismayed. to do their utmost for the defence of britain, to keep afloat as long as possible, and to die like britons with faces towards the foe, was their duty. pale and desperate, they were fighting for their country and their queen, knowing that only a grave in the deep and the honour of those at home would be the reward of their bravery--that at any moment they might be launched into the unknown. suddenly there was a loud shouting on board the _jupiter_, and signals were, a moment later, run up to her half-wrecked top. the captain of the _dido_, noticing this, looked to ascertain the cause, and saw away on the horizon to the north, whence the dark night clouds were rising, a number of strange craft. snatching up his glass, he directed it on the strangers, and discovered that they were italian warships, and were exchanging rapid signals with the captain. they were promising assistance! cheers rang loudly through the british vessels, when, a few minutes later, the truth became known, and the guns' crews worked with redoubled energy, while the russians, noticing the approaching ships, were apparently undecided how to act. they were given but little time for reflection, however, for within half an hour the first of the great italian ironclads, the _lepanto_, opened fire upon the _petropavlovsk_, and was quickly followed by others, until the action became general all round. aid had arrived just in time, and the british vessels, with engines broken, stood away at some distance, leaving matters for the nonce to the powerful italian squadron. it was indeed a very formidable one, and its appearance caused the russian admiral such misgivings that he gave orders to retreat, a manoeuvre attempted unsuccessfully. the italian fleet, as it loomed up in the falling gloom, included no fewer than twenty-six warships and forty-three torpedo boats. the vessels consisted of the barbette-ship _lepanto_ of 15,000 tons; the _sardegna_, _sicilia_, and _re umberto_ of 13,000 tons; the _andrea doria_, _francesca morosini_, and _ruggiero di lauria_ of 11,000 tons; the turret-ships _dandolo_ and _duilio_ of the same size; the _ammeraglio di st. bon_ of 9800 tons; the armoured cruisers _ancona_, _castelfidardo_, and _maria pia_, and the _san martino_, each of about 4500 tons; the gun-vessels _andrea provana_, _cariddi_, _castore_, _curtatone_; the torpedo gunboats _aretusa_, _atlante_, _euridice_, _iride_, _montebello_, and _monzambano_; the despatch vessels _galileo_ and _vedetta_; and the first-class torpedo vessels _aquila_, _avvoltoio_, _falco_, _nibbio_, and _sparviero_, and thirty-eight others. with such a force descending upon the russian ships, which had already been very severely punished by the vigorous fire of the british, there was little wonder that the tsar's vessels should endeavour to escape. the italian fleet had already bombarded and destroyed ajaccio two days ago, and, steaming south from the corsican capital, had anchored for twenty-four hours off cape della caccia, near alghero, in the north of sardinia. then again taking a southerly course in the expectation of joining hands with the british mediterranean squadron, which was on its way from marseilles to cagliari, they had fallen in with the three crippled ships. without hesitation the powerful italian ironclads, several of which were among the finest in the world, opened a terrific fire upon the russian ships, and as darkness fell the sight was one of appalling grandeur. from all sides flame rushed from turrets and barbettes in vivid flashes, while the maxims in the tops poured out their deadly showers of bullets. the ponderous 105-ton guns of the _andrea doria_, _francesca morosini_, and _ruggiero di lauria_ crashed and roared time after time, their great shots causing frightful havoc among the russian ships, the four 100-tonners of the _lepanto_ and the 67-tonners of the _re umberto_, _sardegna_, and _sicilia_ simply knocking to pieces the _petropavlovsk_. the russian ships were receiving terrible blows on every hand. with their search-lights beaming forth in all directions, the ships were fighting fiercely, pounding away at each other with deafening din. it was not long, however, before this vigorous attack of the italians began to tell, for within an hour of the first shot from the _lepanto_ the fine russian battleship _gheorghy pobyednosets_ and the great new cruiser _minsk_ of 17,000 tons had been rammed and sunk, the former by the _duilio_, and the latter by the _re umberto_, while the _tchesmé_ and the gunboat _otvazny_ had been torpedoed, and scarcely a soul saved out of 1500 men who were on board. explosions were occurring in quick succession, and red glares flashed momentarily over the sea. hither and thither as the italian torpedo boats darted they ejected their missiles, and the rapid and terrible fire from the leviathans of italy, pouring into every one of the remaining ships of the tsar, killed hundreds who were striving to defend themselves. suddenly the _sicilia_, which had been fighting the russian flagship, the _tria sviatitelia_, at close quarters, and had blown away her conning-tower and greater portion of her superstructure, performed a neat evolution, and crashed her ram right into her opponent's broadside, breaking her almost in half. a few moments later there was a terrific explosion on board, and then the doomed vessel sank into the dark rolling sea, carrying with her the russian admiral and all hands. quickly this success was followed by others--the blowing up of the monster new cruiser _tiumen_, the sinking of the _adler_ and four other russian torpedo boats, occurring in rapid succession. seeing with what rapidity and irresistible force they were being swept from the sea, the remainder of the tsar's shattered fleet struck their flags and called for quarter, not, however, before the torpedo boat _kodor_ had been sunk. the russians thus captured were the battleships _petropavlovsk_ of 10,960 tons, the _dvenadsat apostoloff_ of 8076 tons, the two new barbette-ships, _kama_ and _vologda_, both of whose engines had broken down, and fifteen torpedo boats. [illustration: _ruggiero di lauria._ _re umberto._ _duilio._ _tchesmé._ _dvenadsat apostoloff._ _h.m.s. edgar._ help from italy: "with their search-lights beaming forth in all directions, the ships were fighting fiercely, pounding away at each other with deafening din."] at dawn most of the latter were manned by italians, while the captured ships, with the italian colours flying and bearing evidence of the terrible conflict, were on their way due north to genoa, accompanied by the battered british vessels. the strongest division of russia's fleet had been totally destroyed, and the tsar's power in the mediterranean was broken. chapter xxii. panic in lancashire. the russians were within gunshot of manchester! a profound sensation was caused in that city about eight o'clock on the evening of september 6th, by an announcement made by the _evening news_--which still appeared in fitful editions--that a cossack patrol had been seen on the road between macclesfield and alderley, and that it was evident, from the manner of the russian advance, that they meant to attack the city almost immediately. the utmost alarm was caused, and the streets were everywhere crowded by anxious, starving throngs, eager to ascertain fuller details, but unable to gather anything further beyond the wild conjectures of idle gossip. the great city which, on the outbreak of war, was one of the most prosperous in the world, was now but a sorry semblance of its former self. heated, excited, turbulent, its streets echoed with the heartrending wails of despairing crowds, its factories were idle, its shops closed, and its people were succumbing to the horrible, lingering death which is the result of starvation. wealth availed them naught. long ago the last loaf had been devoured, the last sack of flour had been divided, and the rich living in the suburbs now felt the pinch of hunger quite as acutely as factory operatives, who lounged, hands in pockets, about the streets. manchester, like most other towns in england, had come to the end of her supplies, and death and disease now decimated the more populous districts, while those who had left the city and tramped north had fared no better, and hundreds dropped and died by the roadside. the situation in lancashire was terrible. at liverpool a few vessels were arriving from america, under escort of british cruisers, bringing supplies, but these were mostly purchased at enormously high rates, and sent to london by way of manchester and sheffield, railway communication by that route being still open. this fact becoming known in manchester caused the greatest indignation, and the people, rendered desperate by hunger, succeeded on several occasions in stopping the trains, and appropriating the food they carried. the situation in manchester was one of constant excitement, and fear that the enemy should repeat the success they had achieved at birmingham. the hundreds of thousands of hungry ones who flocked manchester streets and the grimy thoroughfares of stockport, ashton, oldham, bolton, and other great towns in the vicinity, feared that they, like the people of birmingham, would be put to the sword by the ruthless invaders. the week that had elapsed had been an eventful one, fraught with many horrors. after the success of the russians at birmingham, the british troops, both regulars, volunteers, and improvised, fell back and formed up north of the city, being practically nothing more than a strong line of outposts without reserves, extending from dudley, through west bromwich and sutton park, to tamworth. this scheme, however, was ill-devised, for the defenders, in order to act successfully, should have fallen back much further, and concentrated their forces at one or two strategical points on the line to manchester, as it had been ascertained from spies that a swift and vigorous attack on that city was meditated. the day following the taking of birmingham was devoted by the enemy to the reorganisation of their forces, and the rearrangement of their transport and ammunition train. large quantities of waggons and war stores of all kinds had been found in the town and annexed by the victors, and at kynoch's factory at aston some hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition had been seized. these had been made for a foreign government, and fitted both rifles and machine guns of the russians. having thus reorganised, the russians, leaving 10,000 men in birmingham as a base, resumed their march north on the third day. the left flank, consisting of 2000 cavalry and 12,000 infantry, took the road through west bromwich to wednesbury and bilston, but quickly found themselves entrapped, for on account of the many canals their cavalry were unable to act, and their transport was cut off. the miners and factory men had armed themselves, and, acting in conjunction with the british troops from dudley and great barr, succeeded, after some hard fighting around tipton and coseley, in completely annihilating the enemy, taking 5000 prisoners and killing the remaining 9000. meanwhile the right flank had passed out of birmingham by way of castle bromwich, and had advanced without opposition through wishaw and tamworth to lichfield, driving the defenders before them. the russian main column, however, were not allowed to go north without a most desperate endeavour on the part of our men to hold them in check. indeed, if ever british courage showed itself it was during those dark days. advancing through aston and perry to sutton along the ancient highway, icknield street, the russians sent a large force through the woods to the high ground between wild green and maney. here the british had established strong batteries, but after some desperate fighting these were at length captured, the enemy losing heavily. at the same time, fierce fighting occurred in sutton park and across at aldridge, the defenders making the most strenuous efforts to break the force of the invaders. all was, alas! to no purpose. the british, outnumbered as before, were compelled to fall back fighting, with the result that the enemy's main column, pushing on, effected a junction with its right flank, which had bivouaced on wittington heath, near lichfield, and occupied the barracks there. on the day following the invaders broke into two columns and marched again north, practically in battle formation, the right column continuing along icknield street, through burton, derby, bakewell, and marple, driving back the defenders, while the left column took a route that lay through the hilly and wooded country near cannock chase. both columns, advancing in échelon of division, with cavalry on their flanks, were constantly harassed in the rear by the british, and in their advance lost numbers of waggons and a large quantity of ammunition; but they succeeded in travelling so quickly north that they were actually marching on manchester before the people in that city could realise it. signal acts of bravery were being everywhere reported, but what could individual heroism effect against the fearful odds we had to face? thousands of men in bolton, bury, oldham, wigan, rochdale, and other neighbouring towns had already armed themselves, and, on hearing that manchester was threatened, poured into the city to act their part bravely in its defence. it must be admitted that the british general commanding had, on gaining knowledge of the intentions of the russians, taken every precaution in his power to prevent an advance on manchester. our troops which had been defeated and driven back from birmingham, had at once retreated north to the peak district, and about one-quarter of the number had taken up excellent defensive positions there, while the remainder, with small reinforcements of regulars drawn from lancaster, warrington, bury, chester, wrexham, burnley, ashton-under-lyne, york, halifax, and as far distant as carlisle, had, in addition to those from manchester, been massed along the north bank of the mersey from stockport to flixton, with a line of communication stretching across to woodley junction, and thence over glossop dale to the peak. thus manchester was defended by a force of 38,000 cavalry, infantry, volunteers, and colonials, against the russian army, consisting of the remaining 65,000 of the force which attacked birmingham, and reinforcements of 10,000 infantry and 5000 cavalry that had been pushed rapidly forward from sussex over the ground that the main body had travelled. the total force of russians was therefore 80,000. from stockport, the north bank of the mersey to its confluence with the irwell past flixton was well guarded. earthworks had been raised, trenches dug, walls had been loopholed, and houses placed in a state of hasty defence. among the reinforcements now under arms were several portions of battalions of lancashire volunteer artillery who had not gone south to their allotted positions in the defence of london, and five companies of the 1st cheshire and carnarvonshire artillery under col. h. t. brown, v.d., together with the cheshire yeomanry under col. p. e. warburton. the manchester brigade was a strong one, consisting of six volunteer battalions of the manchester regiment, the 1st under the earl of crawford, v.d., the 2nd under col. bridgford, v.d., the 3rd under col. eaton, v.d., the 4th under col. lynde, v.d., the 5th under col. rocca, v.d., and the 6th under col. lees; the cheshire and lancashire brigades included three volunteer battalions of the lancashire fusiliers under colonels young, philippi, and haworth, and two battalions of the south lancashire regiment; while the northern counties brigade, composed of one volunteer battalion of the royal lancaster regiment under col. strongitharm, two battalions of the east lancashire regiment under col. a. i. robinson, v.d., and col. t. mitchell, v.d., and two of the loyal north lancashire under col. widdows and col. ormrod, also mustered their forces and performed excellent defensive work. it was here, too, that the volunteer cyclists were found of the utmost value in scouting and carrying despatches. the excitement in manchester on that memorable september night was intense. that a desperate and bloody fray was imminent, every one knew, and the people were trusting to the defensive line on the river bank to protect them from the foreign destroyer. would they be strong enough to effectively resist? would they be able to drive back the russians and defeat them? the people of lancashire who condemned our military administration did not do so without cause. it had been claimed by many that england could never be invaded; nevertheless our course should have been to prepare for possible events. our army, being small, should have been better equipped and armed, as well as trained to balance weakness in numbers. again, there had always existed a hideous hindrance to the efficiency of the auxiliaries--the arms. many of the martini-henrys carried by the volunteers bore date of a quarter of a century ago, and their barrels were so worn they could not be fired accurately; while others possessed the snider, which was practically a smoothbore from wear. what was the use of weapons surpassed in power by those of other nations? it was an unpalatable truth that had now at last dawned upon britain, that in arming her soldiers she was far behind the rest of the world. while manchester spent the sultry night in feverish excitement at the knowledge that the enemy had advanced almost to their doors, the british outposts were being harassed by the enemy, who, flushed with success, were advancing gradually onward towards the line of defence. the russian front had been suddenly widely extended, evidently aiming at a concentric attack on manchester, and an attempt to wholly envelop the defenders' position by cavalry operating on both flanks. some terribly desperate encounters took place during a frightful thunderstorm which lasted a portion of the night, and many a brave briton fell while performing valiant deeds for the honour of his country. the anxiety within the british lines that hot night was intense. reports coming in told of fierce fighting all along the line. soon after midnight a british patrol, supported by cavalry, that had been sent out from northenden to baguley, was suddenly attacked by a party of russians, who lay in ambush close to wythenshaw hall. a short but fierce fight ensued, but the british, knowing that part of the country well, succeeded in totally annihilating their antagonists. the firing, however, attracted attention in the russian lines, with the result that a second attack was quickly made upon them, compelling them to retire up the hill at lawton moor, where they dashed into a small wood, closely pressed by the enemy. the attack was desperate. there is something terrible in a fight in a wood at night. the combatants could see nothing save an occasional flash in the impenetrable darkness, and hoarse cries went up from the mysterious inferno. neither invader nor defender could distinguish each other, and in the half-hour that followed, many a russian shot his comrade in mistake for his foe. at last the defenders, finding that the slightest rustling of boughs brought down a volley from magazine rifles, stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, and waited anxiously, until at last the enemy, seeing that their efforts to drive them out were useless, withdrew, and went off towards baguley. in another direction, close to henbury, near macclesfield, a squadron of british cavalry surprised a small outpost camp of russians, and cut it up terribly, killing half the number; but pushing on to marthall, six miles across country, they came into collision with a body of russian dragoons, and after a very fierce encounter were compelled to fall back again after considerable loss. on the outskirts of northwich, and on the borders of delamere forest, skirmishes occurred, resulting in serious loss on both sides. a reconnoitring party of russians was totally swept away and every man killed, by a british party who were concealed in an old farm building close to alderley village; while another engaged in surveying the roads to altrincham had been forced to retreat, leaving half their number dead or wounded on the edge of tatton park. chapter xxiii. the eve of battle. some idea of the gallant conduct of our volunteers during the night may be gathered from the following extract from a letter by lieutenant john rowling of the 2nd volunteer battalion of the east lancashire regiment, to a friend a few days afterwards. he wrote-"you will no doubt have heard something about the warm work we had on the night before the battle of manchester. the city, as you know, was covered on the south by a long straggling line of outposts, extending practically from stockport to altrincham. late in the afternoon of september 6th we received an order to proceed to mere, about four miles from altrincham, having been detailed to form the section of the outposts from new tatton to goodier's green, and on arrival at mere half of our force of 600 was left in reserve there; the supports were moved about half a mile down watling street, and the remainder was divided into three piquets, no. 1 at bentley hurst farm, no. 2 at moss cottage, and no. 3 near mereplatt farm, with four double sentry posts out in front of each piquet. "i was in command of no. 2 picket, with anderson and wishton as subs, and as soon as i returned to the piquet, after posting the sentries, i sent the former with two sections to form a detached post at over tabley, and instructed him to send a reconnoitring patrol as far down watling street as he might consider consistent with safety. anderson posted his men, and returned to me about ten o'clock with a corporal and two men, bringing in a man who had been pointed out to him at over tabley as a suspicious character--in fact, he was said to be a spy. he had been staying at an inn there for two or three days, and had very little luggage. anderson had examined his portmanteau, but found nothing there; and as the man refused to give any account of himself, he made him a prisoner. fresh fires were continually breaking out, therefore i thought it best to waste no time questioning him, but took him into a room at moss cottage, where he was thoroughly searched. notes were found upon him from which it was evident that he had been obtaining information for the enemy for some time, and, better still, particulars of their proposed operations for the investment of manchester, showing that they were advancing in our direction along the old watling street. "i sent the prisoner under escort to the commander of the outposts, and at the same time sent word to nos. 1 and 3 piquets, after which anderson and i went down to over tabley, leaving wishton in charge of no. 2. the machine gun that had been allotted to my piquet i also ordered to over tabley, and on arrival there we threw up barricades, hastily constructed of barrels, doors, and logs, banked with earth, across the road between the vicarage and the church. a quantity of barbed wire was found in the village, and this came in very useful, for we stretched several lengths of it across the roads on the off-side of the barricade. "there were under thirty of us, but every man was determined to do his duty unflinchingly. by this time it was past eleven, and very dark, yet there was just light enough to train the gun on to the centre of the cross-roads by dairyhouse farm. very soon we could hear the enemy approaching, and as their spy had not met them outside, they evidently concluded that the village was unoccupied, and advanced in comparatively close order, cossacks leading, and the infantry so close that there was practically no division between their vanguard and mainguard. the first section of cossacks very soon found our first wire, and the whole of their horses came to grief. those in the rear, thinking probably that there was no other obstruction in the way, spurred their horses and galloped over their friends, only to meet with a similar fate further on. "the pioneers doubled up, and began to cut the wires, and fearing that the infantry in the rear would soon deploy, i gave the order for independent firing. the russians stood it for some minutes, and attempted to reply, but not a man of ours was visible, and they soon retreated to tabley hall, where i had no means of following them. "it must be remembered that we were all volunteers, the regulars being on the stockport flank of the outpost line. my men behaved splendidly, and the firing was excellent from first to last." about the same time as the unsuccessful attack was made on the outposts at mere, the british line was broken through at heald green and appletree. a cavalry patrol, supported by infantry, was feeling its way along the road to wilmslow, and had passed willow farm, at which point the road runs beside the railway embankment. the storm had burst, the thunder rolled incessantly, rain fell in torrents, and the lightning played about them, causing their arms to gleam in its vivid flashes. slowly, and without undue noise, the patrol was wending its way up the hill towards finney green, when suddenly there was a terrific rattle of musketry, and they discovered to their surprise that the enemy, who were occupying the embankment of the north-western railway on their left, were pouring upon them a fire sufficient to blanch the cheek of the bravest among them. along the embankment for a mile or more were stationed infantry with magazine rifles, and in addition they had brought two machine guns into play with appalling effect. so sudden did this galling fire open upon them, that men and horses fell without being able to fire a shot in return. british infantry, however, stood their ground, and as the lightning flashed, disclosing the position of the enemy, every russian who dared to stand up or show himself was promptly picked off. but against the awful rain of deadly bullets ejected from the machine guns, at the rate of 600 a minute, no force could make a successful defence. many british heroes fell pierced by a dozen bullets; still their comrades, seeking what shelter they could, continued the defensive. meanwhile over the dismal muddy road the survivors of the cavalry galloped back, and quickly reported to the commander of the piquet at appletree that the enemy were in strong force on the other side of the embankment between oaklands and wilmslow park, and as they had heard a train run into wilmslow station and stop, it was evident that the enemy had reopened the line from crewe, and intended concentrating part of their reinforcements to the general advance. the facts that the enemy had succeeded in cutting all the telegraph lines in the district, and had now obtained complete control over the railway, were most alarming, and the outlook of the defenders was rendered doubly serious by the large force they were compelled to keep east of stockport, and in the peak district, to prevent the invaders getting round to attack manchester from the north. on receipt of the news of the disaster to the patrol, the commander of the piquet at appletree immediately sent information to the commander of the piquet posted at the railway station at cheadle hulme; but by a strange oversight, due no doubt to the excitement of the moment, sent no report to the commander of the outposts. the infantry engaging the russians on the embankment, though exhibiting most gallant courage, were so exposed that it was little wonder they were soon completely annihilated, only half a dozen escaping. the enemy must have detrained a large number of troops at wilmslow, for the british cavalry scouts were quickly followed up by cossacks and the tsar's dragoons. quickly the sentries between heald green and appletree were driven back on their piquets, the latter extending in skirmishing order. such a manoeuvre, however, proved fatal in the darkness and on the heavy ploughed land over which they were fighting. alas! very few succeeded in reaching the supports, and when they did, they all fell back hurriedly on the reserves at pimgate. [illustration: the battlefield of manchester.] then the commander of the piquet at cheadle hulme station, finding that he must inevitably be attacked by road and rail, set the station on fire, and with the assistance of the railway officials blew up a large portion of the permanent way with dynamite, thus cutting off the enemy's means of communication. this accomplished, he fell back upon his supports at adswood, and they, at about 2 a.m., retreated with the reserves to the embankment of the north-western railway which carries the line from stockport to whaley bridge, and took up a strong position to assist in the defence of stockport. the latter town was defended on three sides by railway embankments, which were now occupied by strong bodies of regulars, with several maxims. one embankment ran from the west boundary of the town to middlewood junction, another from middlewood to marple, and a third from marple to mayercroft. throughout the night the defenders were in hourly expectation that an attack would be made upon their positions, with the object of investing stockport as a preliminary to the assault on the defensive lines north of the mersey; but the enemy apparently had other objects, and the disaster to the british cavalry patrol on the wilmslow road was, unfortunately, followed by a second and more serious one. the cossacks and dragoons that followed the british cavalry scouts overtook them just as they had joined their reserves, a short distance beyond pimgate, about half-past two. a fierce fight ensued, and the force of british cavalry and infantry was gradually drawn into a cunningly-devised trap, and then there suddenly appeared a great force of russians, who simply swept down upon them, slaughtering the whole of them with brutal ferocity, not, however, before they had fought desperately, and inflicted enormous loss upon the enemy. having totally annihilated that detachment of defenders, the russians marched into cheadle, and, after sacking the little town, burned it, together with the grange, the print works, the railway station, st. mary's church, and a number of large mills. the great army of the tsar had bivouaced, reserving its strength for a desperate dash upon manchester. but the british outposts stood wakeful and vigilant, ready at any moment to sound the alarm. to those entrenched beyond the winding mersey, soaked by the heavy rain, and spending the dark hours in anxiety, there came over the dismal country the sound of distant rifle-firing mingling with the roll of the thunder. ere long they knew that every man would be fighting for his life against the great hordes of invaders who would descend upon them swiftly and mercilessly. across the country from the peak away to chester, the briton bravely faced his foe, anxious and vigilant, awaiting breathlessly the progress of events. thus passed the stormy, oppressive night, till the grey dawn of a fateful day. chapter xxiv. manchester attacked by russians. with the first streak of daylight the anxious, excited crowds of men and women, surging up and down the principal streets of manchester, were alarmed by the sounds of heavy firing. a terrible panic instantly ensued. the battle had actually commenced! half-starved operatives, with pale, wan faces, stood in groups in deansgate, market street, piccadilly, and london road, while men, armed with any weapons they could obtain, rushed out along the main roads to the south of the city to assist in its defence. lancashire men exhibited commendable patriotism, even though they had not hesitated to criticise the administration of our war department; for now at the critical hour not a man flinched from his duty, both old and young taking up arms for their country's honour. during the eventful night at all approaches to the city from the south the roads had been thrown into a state of hasty defence. a formidable barricade had been constructed at a point in the stretford road close to the botanical gardens to prevent the enemy from advancing up the chester or stretford new roads; another was thrown up at the junction of chorlton road, withington road, upper chorlton road, and moss lane west; a third opposite rusholme hall prevented any march up the wilmslow road; while others of minor strength blocked the anson road close to the elms, the london road at longsight, the hyde road opposite belle vue prison, and at ivy place in the ashton old road. these had all been raised out of any materials that came to hand. barrels, brick rubbish, planks, doors, flooring of houses hastily torn up, and scaffold poles lashed together; in fact, the barriers were huge piles of miscellaneous and portable articles, even furniture from neighbouring houses being utilised, while lengths of iron railings and wire torn from fences played an important part in these hastily-built defences. behind them, armed with rifles, shot-guns, pistols, knives, and any other weapon that came handiest, the men of manchester waited, breathlessly impatient in the expectation of attack. as dawn spread bright and rosy, and the mist cleared from the low meadows beside the mersey, the distant firing was continuous, and the one or two shells that fell and burst in the centre of the city were precursory of an awful sanguinary struggle. scarcely a person in that densely populated area had slept that night, and the streets were everywhere full, the most exciting and heartrending scenes being witnessed. a great crowd that assembled in albert square was addressed by the mayor from the steps of the town hall, and urged to strain every muscle to drive back the invaders, in order that the disaster at birmingham should not be repeated. even as he spoke, in the interval of wild cheering and the energetic singing of the national anthem and "rule, britannia," the distant crackling of rifles and the low booming of field guns could be heard. it was the din of battle--the catastrophe caused by the cunning spy von beilstein, who was still living in luxury in london, and who still posed as the friend of geoffrey engleheart and violet vayne! geoffrey was still with the volunteers assisting in the defence of london, but the french spy who had sent the forged orders to our navy had apparently made good his escape. here, in manchester, the sound of the guns aroused that patriotic enthusiasm latent in the heart of every briton. true, they were weary, famished, ill from lack of food, yet they were fiercely determined that the invader should never tread their streets, nor should incendiaries burn or russian artillery destroy their handsome buildings--monuments of england's wealth and greatness. in st. peter's square, at a mass meeting attended by nearly twelve thousand people, a demonstration was made against the enemy, and it was resolved that every man should act his part in the struggle, and that no quarter should be shown the legions of the tsar; while at another impromptu meeting held in piccadilly, in the open space opposite the infirmary, the conduct of the russians before birmingham was denounced; and some speakers, using violent language, lashed their hearers into a frenzy of mad excitement, causing an eager rush to the barricades in readiness for the terrible fray. as the sun shone out pale and yellow in the stormy sky, the fighting spread quickly down the mersey banks from haughton away to flixton. it became fiercest around stockport, and over the level pastures the white smoke of rifles puffed from every bush, wall, and fence. the russians were the superior force, for, while all were trained soldiers, not more than a third of the defenders had taken the queen's shilling, and not more than half of them had ever had an hour's drill in their lives. they were simply volunteers who had found their own arms and banded for the defence of their homes. the soldiers of the tsar, trained under the most rigorous discipline, had considerably improved in tactics, in drill, and in munitions of war since the crimea,--a fact overlooked by the majority of britons,--and they had now taken possession of every strategical position where batteries might be established. after fierce fighting over lyme park across to norbury hall, in which the russians lost very heavily owing to the british gun fire from the railway embankment, a great charge was made by an enormous body of infantry, who succeeded, after several futile attempts, in carrying the position, and driving the british artillerymen back to the road which runs from stockport to marple. the embankment which thus fell into the hands of the muscovite infantry formed one of the strongest defences of stockport, therefore they at once moved the guns up towards davenport station, and commenced shelling the city with the defenders' own guns! the panic caused in stockport was awful, when without warning shells commenced to explode in the crowded barricaded streets, but the russians were not allowed to have things their own way for long. the british batteries on the opposite railway embankment between heaton norris and new mills formed up at the junction almost opposite davenport, and opened a terrific fire upon the captured guns. for half an hour this continued, and the russians, standing in an exposed position right on the sky-line, were being swept away by british shells, when suddenly the enemy were joined by reinforcements, whereupon a small force of british infantry, who had been brought quickly along, unperceived by the enemy from marple, suddenly swarmed up the embankment at norbury, and, charging along to the russian position, added a strong rifle fire to that of their artillery. the officer commanding the british batteries watched the infantry advance through his field glass, and in a few minutes suddenly ceased his fire, so as to allow the infantry to make the dash for which they were preparing. a heliograph signal was flashed from the batteries, and then, without hesitation, the order was given to charge. it was a terribly exciting moment. if they succeeded they would in all probability save stockport. if they were driven back the town was doomed. with admirable pluck the british rushed upon the guns, and for a few minutes there was a fierce struggle hand to hand. russians, although making a most desperate stand, were every moment being impaled on british bayonets, or, pierced by bullets, they rolled down the slopes into ditches covered in stagnant slime. hacked to pieces by the small but gallant force of britons, the enemy were forced at last to give in and retire, leaving more than half their number killed; but with admirable tact, the fugitives were forced down the bank nearest the british batteries. thus they fell into a trap, for as soon as they attempted to recover themselves, and make a dash to reorganise their line of communications, two british maxims uttered their sharp rattle, and the whole force were simply mowed down where they stood. the fight had been a most desperate one, but, thanks to the heroic charge of the british infantry, stockport was again safe, and the guns once more in the hands of her defenders. meanwhile, fighting of the fiercest possible description was taking place across the meadows lying between norbury and bramhall, and the russians, unable to withstand the withering british fire, were gradually forced back to cheadle hulme, where they were surprised by the defenders and utterly routed. so great was the slaughter, that it is estimated that in this engagement alone, after the recapture of the guns by the british, over 4000 russians were shot down and 3000 taken prisoners! the russians, finding how desperate was the resistance, and how heavily they were losing, quickly brought up strong reinforcements upon cheadle, and, after a fiercely-contested conflict, succeeded in driving back the small british force, they being compelled to retreat back over the mersey to parr's wood and didsbury, afterwards blowing up the bridges, and keeping up a hot fire from the bank, where a large body of volunteers were already entrenched. by this means, although they were unable to save cheadle from being burned, they succeeded, by reason of the excellence of their position and the admirable tactics they displayed, in mowing down another 2000 of the tsar's soldiers. in this instance the laurels remained with a portion of the manchester volunteer brigade, the effect of whose rifle fire was appalling. it was now about ten o'clock, and the sky had cleared for a brilliant day. at chapel-en-le-frith a large detachment of cossacks had been swept away by a body of british hussars who had suddenly descended upon whitehough, while almost at the same moment a british battery that had been hastily established on chinley churn succeeded in wiping out a body of infantry that was advancing with all speed in the neighbourhood of yeardsley hall. but one of the most sanguinary portions of the battle was the conflict which spread westward from cheadle across to altrincham, lymm, and warrington. already altrincham had fallen. the fine villas of wealthy manchester tradesmen and manufacturers, deserted by their owners, had been entered by the uncouth muscovites and sacked. every nook and corner had been searched for plate, jewellery, and money, paintings had been ruthlessly torn down, furniture broken and burned, and russian troopers had made merry in many a handsome drawing-room. old field hall and timperly hall had both been ransacked and set on fire with petroleum, while every house at dunham massey had been destroyed by incendiaries. elated over their successes, the russians were collecting their forces preparatory to a decisive rush over the mersey to stretford, intending to take that place, and advance by that route upon manchester. the defenders, who had been warned of this through spies, awaited their chance, and suddenly, when the russians least expected an attack, a body of british cavalry, backed by infantry, crossed the mersey, and sweeping down the level turnpike road to sale, came upon their opponents before they were aware of their presence. the effect of this was frightful. a small body of british hussars, with some lancashire yeomanry, made a splendid charge, exhibiting magnificent courage, and cut their way clean through the russian lines with irresistible force; while the infantry, advancing cautiously, and taking every advantage of the small cover afforded on that level country, poured forth a deadly rifle fire. indeed, so gallant was this charge, that the tsar's forces were almost annihilated. they endeavoured to make a stand near the cross-roads leading from carrington moss, but the rifle fire of the defenders was so heavy that they dropped by hundreds under the deadly rain of british bullets. the disaster to the russians being signalled back by them to their reserves at tatton park and around knutsford, had the effect of bringing up an enormous force of infantry. signallers were at work in all directions, and those who watched the progress of the action found the next two hours full of exciting moments. it was apparent at once that the russians had marked out stretford as the gate by which they intended to enter manchester, but they must have been misled by their spies as to the strength of the defenders in this direction. indeed, if they had surveyed the whole of the southern line defending the city, they could not have discovered a point more strongly fortified; therefore it was a somewhat curious fact that they should have concentrated their forces upon that part. possibly it was because they had formed an opinion by studying their ordnance maps--so generously provided for them by the british department of agriculture at a cost of one shilling each--that, if they succeeded in breaking the defence at stretford, they would also secure the road running in a circular direction up to barton, by which means they could enter manchester by way of eccles, pendleton, and salford at the same time as the march through trafford. such a design was, of course, cleverly planned. it must be admitted that, from a strategical point of view, the taking of stretford would mean the fall of manchester, a fact which the russian commanding officer had not overlooked. but the soldiers of the tsar had reckoned without their hosts. they only saw along the mersey a thin and apparently weak line of defence, a massing of defenders without undue ostentation and without any particular show of strength. a balloon sent up by the russians to reconnoitre from sale had been fired at and brought down by the defenders, but with this exception scarcely a shot had been fired north of the mersey. britons were watching and waiting. their foe, ridiculing the idea that a town like manchester, almost utterly devoid of positions whereon batteries might be established, could be successfully defended, therefore kept up a desultory fire upon the british detachment that had swept away their advance guard, in the meantime covering the massing of their enormous force. this latter consisted of cossacks, guards, infantry, artillery, and two companies of engineers, with pontoon sections, as well as a ballooning party and two field hospitals. the british detachment that had crossed the river were, however, unaware of the enemy's intention until too late. the manoeuvres of the russians were being watched by a british balloon sent up from old trafford, but the signals made by the aëronaut were unfortunately unobserved by the party, so desperately were they fighting; otherwise a disaster which befell them on the sudden rush of the enemy towards the river might possibly have been averted. however, no blame could be attached to the officer in charge of the detachment. the men acted their part bravely, and displayed that courage of which the briton speaks with justifiable pride, even though, alas! they fell, every one of them fighting till the last, their bodies being afterwards frightfully mangled by horses' hoofs, as hundreds of cossacks rode over them. not a man of that party escaped, but each one had once more shown the world what pluck and courage could accomplish, and had gone to his grave as a sacrifice for his country and his queen. chapter xxv. gallant deeds by cyclists. noon came and went. the fighting grew fiercer around manchester, and the excitement more intense within the barricaded, starving city. through the wildly agitated crowds of women of all classes, from manufacturers' wives to factory girls, who moved up and down deansgate, market street, and many other principal thoroughfares, feverishly anxious for the safety of their husbands and brothers manning the improvised defences, rumours of terrible disaster spread like wildfire, and caused loud wailing and lamentation. now rumour told of huge british successes away beyond the mersey, a report which elated the pale-faced hungry ones, but this being followed quickly by a further report that a force of the defenders had been cut up and utterly annihilated outside eccles, the cheering died away, and give place to deep, long-drawn sighs and murmurings of despair. upon the dusty, perspiring throngs the hot noonday sun beat down mercilessly, the low rumbling of artillery sounded gradually closer and more distinct, and the smoke of burning buildings in sale and altrincham slowly ascending hung in the clear sky a black ominous cloud. by about two o'clock the line of defence south of the mersey had been nearly all withdrawn, leaving, however, the defending line running south-east of stockport to buxton and the peak. although cheadle had fallen into the enemy's hands, an english battery, established near the railway at bamford, commanded the road from cheadle to stockport, and british infantry, supported by artillery, were strongly entrenched from bramhall moor through norbury, poynton, wardsend, booth green, and bollington, then turning east through macclesfield forest to buxton. this line was being hourly strengthened, and although not strong enough to take the offensive, it was too strong for the russians to attack. [illustration: gallant stand by cyclists in parr wood.] all the bridges over the mersey, from glazebrook to stockport, had been prepared for demolition, but it was not intended to carry this out except as a last resource. cavalry and cyclist scouts who were left on the south of the mersey had withdrawn across the bridges, after exchanging shots with the skirmishers of the advance guards of the enemy who quickly lined the banks. the bridges north of cheadle were then blown up, and the defenders were well posted in parr wood, near where it was believed the enemy would attempt to ford the river. the russians contented themselves with exchanging a few shots with the defenders until half an hour later, when some of their batteries had been established, and then the passage of the mersey at northenden was commenced, under cover of the guns of the russians near the convalescent hospital, north of cheadle. as soon as the russian scouts approached the river three british outposts could be seen in the wood. they were, however, driven in by some cossacks, who forded the river and attempted to enter the wood, but were all immediately killed by hidden skirmishers. the russian engineers were meanwhile busy building a pontoon bridge, which they soon completed, and they then crossed after a short opposition, rapidly deploying to right and left in order to surround didsbury. this, the first force to cross the mersey, consisted of two battalions of the kazan regiment and two battalions of the vladimir, with two 9-pounder and one 6-pounder field batteries and 100 cavalry. didsbury had been put in a state of hasty defence, and was held by two battalions of the defenders, who also established a volunteer battery at bank hall, and lined the railway embankment in force as far as chorlton-with-hardy. the enemy's battery at the convalescent home had rendered the wood almost untenable, but it was soon silenced by the well-directed fire of the british volunteer battery, and the wood was then re-entered by the defenders. by this time, however, a large number of the enemy had taken up positions in it, and the british were once more gradually driven back. one section, consisting of six cyclists, with a light machine gun mounted on a double cycle, was told off under sergeant irons of the royal lancaster, to defend a junction of two paths about half-way through the dense wood, and as the latter was still occupied by the defenders, the enemy could only make slow progress, and the cavalry could only move by the paths. irons, taking advantage of a bend in the path, dismounted his men, who, having drawn up their cycles under cover, were formed up each side of the road to support the gun. about thirty russian dragoons, with their infantry, who were working through the wood, were soon upon them, and, seeing such a small force barring the way, the cavalry charged. they, however, met with such a terribly hot reception that only two reached the guns, and these were immediately shot. the stand made by these seven men was a most noteworthy instance of the indomitable courage of the defenders. in those critical moments they remained calm and collected, obeying the orders of their sergeant as coolly as if they had been drilling in the barrack square. but their position was one of momentarily increasing peril, for bullets whistled about them, and the force against them was an overwhelming one. the russian horses and men who had fallen blocked the road, and irons therefore gave the order to fall in, as the sound of firing had now drawn many of the enemy's skirmishers towards the spot. irons then re-formed his squad, one of whom had been shot and another wounded, and, taking the wounded man with them, retired. just as they were moving off the corporal was wounded in the shoulder, and irons himself received a bullet in the left arm. about two hundred yards nearer didsbury there was a clearing, with farm buildings on both sides of the road, and these had been loopholed and occupied by a small force of volunteers. irons, sending the wounded man on to didsbury, remained here with his gun, and a few minutes later the position was vigorously attacked. the conflict which ensued was of the fiercest description. the mere handful of defenders fought with such desperate courage that the great body of russians which surrounded them were from the first moment gradually swept away by the steady and precise fire from the farm. around the buildings the enemy swarmed in overwhelming numbers, but every man who showed himself was promptly picked off by britons shooting almost as coolly as if they were competing for prizes at bisley. sergeant irons' small machine gun, with its single barrel, rattled out continuously, shedding its rain of lead in all directions, while from muzzles of martini rifles peeping over walls and from windows there came a continuous stream of bullets, which played frightful havoc with the foe. within the first ten minutes two men of the defending force had been shot dead and one wounded; still, their comrades never lost heart, for they were determined that their position should never fall into the enemy's hands. the russian officer who was directing the operations of the attacking party rose and shouted in russian to encourage his men, but in a moment an english bullet struck him, and, with a loud cry, he fell forward over the body of a dragoon, shot through the heart. the stand the cyclists and their companions made was unparalleled. they fought on heroically, knowing the importance of the position they held, and how, if it were taken, other and more serious british casualties must follow. firing steadily and with caution, they displayed such bravery that even the russians themselves were compelled to secretly admire them; and at last, after nearly half an hour's desperate fighting, the tsar's soldiers found themselves so terribly cut up that they were forced to retire, leaving more than half their number dead and many wounded. while this had been in progress, the british battery had totally destroyed the russian pontoon, and thus all means of retreat for this portion of the invading force were cut off. about ten thousand men had crossed the river at this point, and although they had deployed at first, they had all been gradually driven into the wood by the fire from the railway embankment. as soon as the pontoon was destroyed, the british commenced to advance through the wood, slowly driving back the russians, who then endeavoured to make for stretford along the north bank of the river; but on seeing their intention a brigade of defenders was immediately pushed along the railway, and two regiments of cavalry were hurried down the road to chorlton. these succeeded in heading the enemy, and, suddenly swooping down, they destroyed the rest of the cossacks who had escaped from the wood, as well as the remainder of the force who had attacked the farm. another british battery was then hurried forward, and after a stubborn fight the remainder of the invaders who had crossed surrendered. in this attack alone the russians lost in killed and wounded 200 cavalry and nearly 2000 infantry and artillery, while stretford and stockport still remained safe. but along the long line east and west the battle raged with increasing fierceness. the conflict was a terrible one on every hand. the town of lymm had been sacked, and was now burning, while hundreds of unoffending men, women, and children living in the quiet cheshire villages had been wantonly massacred by the muscovites. the latter were, however, now suffering well-merited punishment, for in this bloody battle they were falling dead in hundreds. the russian eagle was at last being forced to bite the dust! chapter xxvi. great battle on the mersey. the long blazing day was one of many battles and much toilsome combat. fighting spread over a front of nearly nine miles, and during the engagement one wing of the russians was swung across three miles. hour after hour the tremendous warfare raged between the armies of queen victoria and the tsar, and the bloodshed was everywhere terrible. small parties of the russian telegraph corps had ferried over the ship canal and the mersey near latchford, and wires were run out, and posts established connecting the headquarters at altrincham, on the south of the river, with the well-advanced guard stations on the liverpool road towards manchester at woolstone, hollinfare, and lower irlam. sending forth a huge division of infantry upon his left, and three brigades of cavalry in the centre, the russian general struck hard at the british line between stretford and chorlton-with-hardy. meanwhile, beyond ashton-on-mersey the battle was also growing in intensity, and rifle and cannon were noisily engaged. a strong force of russian infantry was at once pushed across to partington, where they succeeded in crossing the ship canal and the mersey, subsequently joining their advance guard at lower irlam. the british reserves at newton-in-makerfield, however, swept down upon them, and a terrible fight quickly ensued. the defenders advanced very steadily by section rushes, keeping under good firing discipline as they went, and the enemy were driven on towards flixton, where they were simply swept away by the 12-pounder batteries established there, while at the same time their wires crossing the mersey were cut, and communication with their headquarters thus interrupted. while this was in progress, another and more important attack was being made on stretford. the heavy artillery fire and the affairs of outposts in the earlier stages of the battle had been followed by a carefully-regulated long-range fire of infantry on both sides. the tactics the russians had displayed were as follows:--they had gradually developed their infantry in front of the stretford position, and brought their pontoons in readiness for a dash over the river. then, after some tentative movements, designed to feel the strength of our forces massed at this important point, they apparently determined to carry it at any cost. on their right flank the enemy were losing very heavily. a telegraphic message received at altrincham gave the headquarters alarming news of constant reverses. a strong force of infantry marching along the banks of the etherow from compstall, intending to get to hyde by way of mottram and godley junction, had been attacked by british infantry and a couple of 9-pounders, and totally annihilated; while at the same time, about a thousand men attacking a british battery on the hill at charlesworth had been cut up and forced to retreat, being followed by some lancers right down to ludworth houses, where they were nearly all killed or wounded. indeed, times without number during that memorable day the russians made fierce attacks upon our positions on the edge of the peak district, but on each occasion they were hurled back with fearful loss by the thin line of defenders holding the high ground. a battery we had established on the crown of the hill at werneth was charged again and again by cossacks and dragoons, but our men, displaying cool courage at the critical moments, fought desperately, and mowed down the foe in a manner that was remarkable. the russians, having decided to carry stretford, were making vigorous demonstrations towards the peak, and in the direction of flixton, in order to distract our attention. they occupied us at many points in the vast semicircle, and by thus engaging us all along the line, endeavoured apparently to prevent us from reinforcing the point at stretford which they intended gaining. both invaders and defenders gradually extended in order to meet outflanking movements, and this was the cause of another sudden british success. it was a foregone conclusion that such an extension would exceed the limits of defensive power on one side or the other, and then blows would be struck with the object of breaking the too extended line. what occurred is, perhaps, best related by one of the special correspondents of the _daily news_, who, in his account of the battle, published two days later, said-"about three o'clock i was at barton with the force of infantry who were holding the road to warrington, when we unexpectedly received telegraphic information from headquarters of a rapid extension of the enemy's left flank. a brigade which i accompanied was pushed on at once down to hollinfare, where we reinforced those who had been so successful in cutting up the enemy at lower irlam half an hour before. we then extended along the liverpool road, past warrington, as far as widnes. i remained with a small detachment at hollinfare awaiting developments, when suddenly we were informed that the enemy had thrown a pontoon bridge over the mersey at its confluence with the bollin, and that a great body of infantry, with machine guns, had left lymm, where they had been lying inactive, and were already crossing. there were not more than one hundred of us, mostly men of the loyal lancashire from preston and a few of the manchester regiment; but at the word of command we dashed down the road for nearly a mile, and then leaving it, doubled across the fields to rixton old hall, where we obtained cover. "the russians had chosen the most advantageous spot they could find to cross, for on the opposite bank there was a small thick wood, and in this they remained quite concealed until they suddenly dashed out and got across. numbers had already reached our side and were deploying, when our rifles spoke out sharply, and, judging from the manner in which the enemy were exposed, our fire was quite unexpected. about thirty of our men, kneeling behind a wall, kept up a vigorous fire, emptying their magazines with excellent effect upon the grey-coats swarming over the improvised bridge. "still it was impossible to keep them back, for the force effecting a passage was very much larger than we had anticipated. "a few minutes later, having ascertained the extent of the attack, our signallers opened communication with higher irlam, and the information was conveyed on to barton, whence the heliograph flashed the news down to stretford. "suddenly, however, in the midst of a shady clump of trees there was a loud rattle and continuous flashing. the enemy had brought a 10-barrelled nordenfelt into play, and it was raining bullets upon us at the rate of a thousand a minute! "the wall behind which i was crouching was struck by a perfect hail of lead, and there was a loud whistling about my ears that was particularly disconcerting. nevertheless our men had in their sudden dash for the defence secured an excellent position, and only three were killed and five wounded by this sudden outburst. "the struggle during the next few minutes was the most desperate i have ever witnessed. at the moment of peril our men displayed magnificent pluck. they seemed utterly unconcerned at their imminent danger, and lay or crouched, firing independently with calm precision. a dozen or so fell wounded, however, and a sergeant who knelt next to me, and who was shooting through a hole in the wall, was shot through the heart, and fell dead while in the act of making an observation to me. "the men who had attacked us were a fierce-looking set, mostly composed of tchuwakes and mordwa from the central district of the volga, and renowned as among the best infantry that the tsar can command. "rifles bristled from every bit of cover around us, and it was really marvellous that we scored such success. indeed, it was only by reason of the courageous conduct of every individual man that the successful stand was made against such overwhelming numbers. we knew that if the enemy forced the passage and annihilated us, they would then be enabled to outflank our force, and get round to eccles and pendlebury--a disaster which might result in the rapid investment of manchester. therefore we fought on, determined to do our very utmost to stem the advancing tide of destroyers. "time after time our rifles rattled, and time after time the deadly nordenfelt sent its hail of bullets around us. presently, however, we heard increased firing on our right, and then welcome signals reached us from martinscroft green. we greeted them with loud cheering, for a force of our infantry and cavalry had returned along the road from warrington, and, working in extended order, were bearing down upon the foe. "we ceased firing in that direction, and ere long we had the satisfaction of seeing the enemy's pontoon blown up, and then, with their retreat cut off, they became demoralised, and were driven into the open, where we picked them off so rapidly that scarcely one man of the 1500 who had set his foot upon the lancashire bank survived. "from first to last our men fought magnificently. the whole engagement was a brilliant and almost unequalled display of genuine british bravery, and all i can hope is that the defenders of london will act their part with equal courage when the decisive struggle comes." chapter xxvii. the fate of the vanquished. while this vigorous attack on the right flank was in progress, the enemy made a sudden dash upon stretford. the edge of the town itself--or rather suburb--lies but a short distance from the mersey, and the turnpike road runs straight away over the river through sale and altrincham to northwich. at the end of the town nearest the river a road leading down from barton joins the main road, and at the junction is a large red-brick modern hotel, the old cock, while adjoining is the manchester tramway company's stable and terminus. at a little distance behind lies a high embankment, which carries the railway from manchester to liverpool, while the mersey itself, though not wide, has steep banks with earthworks thrown up to prevent floods. hence the force holding this position found ready-made defences which were now of the utmost value. the defenders here included three batteries of royal artillery, one battalion of the manchester regiment, the 2nd volunteer battalion of the same regiment, and one of the lancashire fusiliers, a field company of engineers, half the 14th (king's) hussars with their machine gun section, and a company of signallers. trenches had been dug at various points, and earthworks thrown up all along the line from chorlton over to flixton. across the junction of the two roads opposite the old cock a great barricade had been constructed, and behind this was a powerful battery that commanded the level country away towards altrincham. the bridges carrying the road and railway over the river had both been demolished by engineers, and many other precautions had been taken to prevent the enemy forcing a passage across. at last, with a swiftness that was surprising, the expected assault was made. its strength was terrific, and the carnage on both sides appalling. the first dash across was effected by the russians from the rifle range near old hall, and this was rapidly followed by another from the bank opposite the battery at stretford, while further down a third attack was made near mersey house, close to ashton. of the three, the strongest, of course, was that upon stretford. the enemy had, by a good deal of neat manoeuvring, brought their main body within the triangle bounded on the one side by the road from cheadle to altrincham, on the second by the road from the latter place to the river, and the third by the river itself. pontoons were floated at many points, and while some cavalry forded the river, infantry and artillery rapidly crossed in the face of a terrific fire which was pouring upon them. smokeless powder being used, the positions of the invaders were not obscured, and it could be seen that the british were effecting terrible execution. hundreds of the foe who were in the act of crossing were picked off, and shells falling upon the pontoons destroyed them. the latter, however, were quickly replaced, and the force of the tsar, by reason of the overwhelming numbers that had hurled themselves upon stretford, succeeded, after a desperately-contested fight, in breaking the line of defence between chorlton-with-hardy and fallowfield, and advancing by short rushes upon manchester. but the british infantry in their trenches behaved splendidly, and made the roads from old hall at sale right along to partington quite untenable, so the continuous advance of the enemy cost them very dearly. russian shells bursting in stretford killed and injured large numbers of the defenders. two of them struck the old cock in rapid succession, almost completely demolishing it, but the débris was quickly manned, and rifles soon spoke from its ruined walls. again, a shell exploding in the large tram stables, set a hay store on fire, and this burned furiously, while away in the centre of the town the public library and a number of shops in the vicinity had also been ignited in a similar manner. at last the thousands of grey-coats swarming over the country fell in such enormous numbers upon the british rifle pits on the mersey bank, that the first line of defence was at length utterly broken down; but in doing this the enemy's front had become much exposed, whereupon the maxims on the railway embankment between the river and barton suddenly burst forth a perfect hail of bullets, and in a short time a whole division of russian infantry, cavalry, and artillery had been literally swept out of existence. the batteries down in the stretford road, combined with those on the embankment, had up to this moment played greater havoc with the foe than any other. the men of the manchester regiment, both regulars and volunteers, were displaying the greatest coolness; but unfortunately the lancashire fusiliers and the loyal north lancashire, who had manned the trenches, had been partially annihilated, the majority lying dead, their bodies scattered over the level fields and roads. yet, notwithstanding the strenuous opposition of the british batteries at this point, the russians were bringing up huge reinforcements from altrincham, cheadle, and northenden, and by establishing strong batteries commanding stretford, they at last, about five o'clock, succeeded in killing nearly half the gallant defenders, and driving back the survivors up the barton road. the tide of grey-coats rushing onward, captured the british guns, and although the batteries on the railway embankment still held out, and the enemy suffered heavily from their maxims, yet they pressed on into stretford town, and commenced to sack it. messrs. williams, deacon's bank, was entered, the safes blown open, and large sums in gold and notes abstracted, shops were entered and looted, and houses ransacked for jewellery. thus stretford fell. its streets ran with blood; and on, over the bodies of its brave defenders, the hordes of the great white tsar marched towards manchester. meanwhile the british batteries on the railway embankment had also fallen into the hands of the russians, who were now driving the survivors over towards barton. they did not, however, retreat without a most desperate resistance. a row of thatched and white-washed cottages at the bend of the road they held for a long time, emptying their magazine rifles with deadly effect upon their pursuers, but at last they were driven north, and half an hour later joined their comrades who had massed at barton, but who had been attacked in great force and fallen back in good order to pendleton. by this time the enemy, having pierced the line of outposts, had occupied barton and eccles. at the former place they had set on fire a number of factories, and out of mere desire to cause as much damage to property as possible, they had blown up both the bridge that carried the road over the ship canal, and also destroyed the magnificent swinging aqueduct which carried the bridgewater canal over the other. this great triumph of engineering--one of the most successful feats of the decade--was blown into the air by charges of gun-cotton, and now lay across the ship canal a heap of fallen masonry and twisted iron cantilevers, while the water from the bridgewater canal was pouring out in thousands of tons, threatening to flood the surrounding district, and the church opposite had been wrecked by the terrific force of the explosion. a frightful panic had been caused in manchester by these reverses. the scenes in the streets were indescribable. at the barricades, however, the enemy met with a desperate resistance. three great columns were marching on manchester at that moment. the first, having broken the line of defence near fallowfield, divided into two divisions; one, advancing up the wilmslow road, stormed the great barricade opposite rusholme hall, while the other appeared on the withington road, and commenced to engage the defences that had been thrown across moss lane and chorlton road. the second column advanced to where eccles old road joins broad street at pendleton; and the third, sweeping along up the stretford road, met with a terrific resistance at the botanic gardens at trafford, the walls of which, on either side of the road, were loopholed and manned by infantry and artillery; while opposite, the blind asylum was held by a regiment of infantry, and a strong barricade, with a battery of 12-pounders, had been established a little further towards the city, at the junction of the chester and stretford new roads. the enemy advanced here in enormous force; but, seeing the formidable defences, a number of cavalry and infantry turned off along the trafford road, blew up the bridge of the ship canal in order to prevent a pursuing force of british cavalry from following, and after setting fire to the great dock warehouses and crowd of idle ships, continued along to eccles new road, where, however, they were met by another force of our hussars, and totally routed and cut up. from this point the tide of battle turned. it was already half-past five, and the sun was sinking when the russian forces prepared for their final onslaught. cossacks and dragoons charged again and again, and infantry with bayonets fixed rushed onward to the barricades in huge grey legions, only to be met by a sweeping rain of british bullets, which filled the roads with great heaps of dead. in these defences, rendered doubly strong by the patriotic action of the stalwart civilians of manchester, the invaders could make no breach, and before every one of them they fell in thousands. the men in the entrenchments saw the foe were falling back, and found the attack growing weaker. then signals were made, and they raised a long hearty cheer when the truth was flashed to them. [illustration: russians attacking the barricade in stretford road, manchester.] the news was inspiriting, and they fought on with redoubled energy, for they knew that the great body of reserves from ashton-under-lyne, hyde, and compstall, as well as those who had been occupying the hills on the edge of the peak, had been pushed right past stretford to barton, and were now advancing like a huge fan, outflanking the russians and attacking them in their rear. the british tactics were excellent, for while the invaders were attacked by cavalry and infantry on the one side, the defenders manning the barricades made a sudden sortie, cutting their way into them with bayonet rushes which they could not withstand, and which had a terribly fatal effect. the tsar's forces, unable to advance or retreat, and being thus completely surrounded, still fought on, and as they refused to surrender, were literally massacred by thousands by british troops, while many guns and horses were captured, thousands of rounds of ammunition seized, and many men taken prisoners. the fight in that evening hour was the most fiercely contested of any during that day. the fate of manchester was in the hands of our gallant soldiers, who, although necessarily losing heavily before such an enormous army, behaved with a courage that was magnificent, and which was deserving the highest commendation that could be bestowed. as dusk gathered into darkness, the enemy were being forced back towards the mersey over the roads they had so recently travelled, but still fighting, selling their lives dearly. the highways and fields were strewn with their dead and dying, for while infantry fired into their front from the cover of houses and walls, our cavalry, with whirling sabres, fell upon them and hacked them to pieces. neither cossacks nor dragoons proved a match for our hussars, lancers, and yeomanry, and even in face of the machine guns which the russians brought into play in an endeavour to break the line and escape, our infantry dashed on with grand and magnificent charges, quickly seizing the nordenfelts, turning their own guns against them, and letting loose a fire that mowed down hundreds. across the neighbouring country our forces swept in good attack formation, and all along that great line, nearly six miles in length, the slaughter of russians was frightful. in the falling gloom fire flashed from the muzzles of rifles, cannon, and machine guns, and far above the terrible din sounded shrill cries of pain and hoarse shouts of despair as the great army that had devastated our beloved country with fire and sword was gradually annihilated. in those roads in the south of the city the scenes of bloodshed were awful, as a force of over 20,000 russians were slaughtered because they would not yield up their arms. outside stretford a last desperate stand was made, but ere long some british cavalry came thundering along, and cut them down in a frightful manner, while about the same time a russian flying column was annihilated over at davy-hulme; away at carrington a retreating brigade of infantry which had escaped over the river was suddenly pounced upon by the defenders and slaughtered; and at altrincham the enemy's headquarters were occupied, and the staff taken prisoners. ere the russian general could be forced to surrender, however, he placed a revolver to his head, and in full view of a number of his officers, blew his brains out. then, when the moon shone out from behind a dark bank of cloud just before midnight, she shed her pale light upon the wide battlefield on both sides of the mersey, whereon lay the bodies of no fewer than 30,000 russians and 12,000 british, while 40,000 russians and 16,000 british lay wounded, nearly 10,000 russians having been disarmed and marched into the centre of the city as prisoners. the victory had only been achieved at the eleventh hour by dint of great courage and forethought, and being so swift and effectual it was magnificent. manchester was safe, and the public rejoicings throughout that night were unbounded. the loss of life was too awful for reflection, for 12,000 of britain's heroes--men who had won the battle--were lying with their white lifeless faces upturned to the twinkling stars. _book iii_ _the victory_ chapter xxviii. a shabby wayfarer. in sussex the situation was now most critical. the struggle between the french invaders and the line of volunteers defending london was long and desperate, but our civilian soldiers were bearing their part bravely, showing how britons could fight, and day after day repelling the repeated assaults with a vigour that at once proved their efficiency. three days after the battle at manchester had been fought and won, a man with slouching gait and woeful countenance, attired in a cheap suit of shabby grey, stood on the steps of the granton hotel, at granton, and with his hands thrust into his pockets gazed thoughtfully out over the broad waters of the firth of forth, to where the fifeshire hills loomed dark upon the horizon. slowly his keen eyes wandered away eastward to the open sea, an extensive view of which he obtained from the flight of steps whereon he stood, and then with a sigh of disappointment he buttoned his coat, and, grasping his stick, descended, and walked at a leisurely pace along the road through newhaven to leith. "to-night. to-night at sundown!" he muttered to himself, as he bent his head to the wind. involuntarily he placed his hand to his hip to reassure himself that a letter he carried was still safe. "bah!" he continued, "i declare i feel quite timid to-night. everything is so quiet here; the houses look deserted, and everybody seems to have left the place. surely they can have no suspicion, and--and if they had? what does it matter?--eh, what?" quickening his pace, he passed down the long, quaint street of newhaven, lined on each side by ancient fishermen's cottages, and then, crossing the railway, passed under the wall of leith fort, whereon a couple of sentries were pacing. glancing up at the two artillerymen, with the half-dozen obsolete guns behind them, and their background of grass-grown mounds and buildings, the wayfarer smiled. he was thinking how different would be the scene at this spot ere long. leith fort was a sort of fortified back-garden. the railway ran close to the sea, parallel with which was the highway, and upon higher ground at the back was a block of buildings, before which a few black old cannon were placed in formidable array, and in such a position as to be fully exposed to any destructive projectiles fired from the sea. on went the down-at-heel wayfarer, his shifty eyes ever on the alert, viewing with suspicion the one or two persons he met. apparently he was expecting the arrival of some craft, for his gaze was constantly turned towards the wide expanse of grey water, eager to detect the smallest speck upon the horizon. any one who regarded him critically might have noticed something remarkable about his appearance, yet not even his most intimate friends would have recognised in this broken-down, half-starved clerk, who had arrived at granton that morning, after tramping over from glasgow, the popular man-about-town, the count von beilstein! "those fools will soon be swept away into eternity," he muttered to himself, as he glanced back in the direction of the fort. "they will have an opportunity of tasting russian lead, and of practising with their guns, which are only fit for a museum. they mount guard to defend an attack! bah! they seek their own destruction, for no force can withstand that which will presently appear to give them a sudden rousing. they will be elevated--blown into the air, together with their miserable guns, their barracks, and the whole of their antiquated paraphernalia. and to me the world owes this national catastrophe! i am the looker-on. these british have a proverb that the looker-on sees most of the game. _bien! that is full of truth._" and he chuckled to himself, pursuing his way at the same pace, now and then glancing back as if to assure himself that no one dogged his footsteps. darkness had crept on quickly as he passed along through the open country at fillyside and entered portobello, the little watering-place so popular with holiday makers from edinburgh during the summer. along the deserted promenade he strolled leisurely from end to end, and passing out of the town through joppa, came at length to that rugged shore between the salt pans and eastfield. the tide was out, so, leaving the road, he walked on in the darkness over the shingles until he came to a small cove, and a moment later two men confronted him. a few sentences in russian were rapidly exchanged between the spy and the men, and then the latter at once guided him to where a boat lay in readiness, but concealed. five minutes later the count was being rowed swiftly but silently away into the darkness by six stalwart men belonging to one of the tsar's battleships. the oars dipped regularly as the boat glided onwards, but no word was exchanged, until about twenty minutes later the men suddenly stopped pulling, a rope thrown by a mysterious but vigilant hand whistled over their heads and fell across them, and then they found themselves under the dark side of a huge ironclad. it was the new battleship, _admiral orlovski_, which had only just left the baltic for the first time. without delay the spy climbed on board, and was conducted at once by a young officer into the admiral's private cabin. a bearded, middle-aged man, in handsome naval uniform, who was poring over a chart, rose as he entered. the spy, bowing, said briefly in russian-"i desire to see prince feodor mazaroff, admiral of the fleet." "i am at your service, m'sieur," the other replied in french, motioning him to a chair. the count, seating himself, tossed his hat carelessly upon the table, explaining that he had been sent by the russian intelligence department as bearer of certain important documents which would materially assist him in his operations. "yes," observed the prince, "i received a telegram from the ministry at petersburg before i left christiansand, telling me to await you here, and that you would furnish various information." "that i am ready to do as far as lies in my power," replied the count, taking from his hip pocket a bulky packet, sealed with three great daubs of black wax. this he handed to the prince, saying, "it contains maps of the country between edinburgh and glasgow, specially prepared by our secret service, together with a marked chart of the firth of forth, and full detailed information regarding the troops remaining to defend this district." the admiral broke the seals, and glanced eagerly through the contents, with evident satisfaction. "now, what is the general condition of the south of scotland?" the prince asked, lounging back, twirling his moustache with a self-satisfied air. "totally unprepared. it is not believed that any attack will be made. the military left north of the cheviots after mobilisation were sent south to assist in the defence of manchester." "let us hope our expedition to-night will meet with success. we are now one mile east of craig waugh, and in an hour our big guns will arouse leith from its lethargy. you will be able to watch the fun from deck, and give us the benefit of your knowledge of the district. is the fort at leith likely to offer any formidable resistance?" continued the admiral. "i see the information here is somewhat vague upon that point." "the place is useless," replied the spy, as he stretched out his hand and took a pencil and paper from the prince's writing-table. "see! i will sketch it for you. in the character of a starving workman who desired to volunteer i called there, and succeeded in obtaining a good view of the interior. they have a few modern guns, but the remainder are old muzzleloaders, which against such guns as you have on board here will be worse than useless." and as he spoke he rapidly sketched a plan of the defences in a neat and accurate manner, acquired by long practice. "the most serious resistance will, however, be offered from inchkeith island, four miles off leith. there has lately been established there a new fort, containing guns of the latest type. a plan of the place, which i succeeded in obtaining a few days ago, is, you will find, pinned to the chart of the firth of forth." the admiral opened out the document indicated, and closely examined the little sketch plan appended. on the chart were a number of small squares marked in scarlet, surrounded by a blue circle to distinguish them more readily from the dots of red which pointed out the position of the lights. these squares, prepared with the utmost care by von beilstein, showed the position of certain submarine mines, a plan of which he had succeeded in obtaining by one of his marvellous master-strokes of finesse. "thanks to you, count, our preparations are now complete," observed the prince, offering the spy a cigarette from his silver case, and taking one himself. "our transports, with three army corps, numbering nearly 60,000 men and 200 guns, are at the present moment lying 12 miles north of the bass rock, awaiting orders to enter the firth, therefore i think when we land we shall"-a ray of brilliant white light streamed for a moment through the port of the cabin, and then disappeared. the prince, jumping to his feet, looked out into the darkness, and saw the long beam sweeping slowly round over the water, lighting up the ships of his squadron in rapid succession. "the search-lights of inchkeith!" he gasped, with an imprecation. "i had no idea we were within their range, but now they have discovered us there's no time to be lost. for the present i must leave you. you will, of course, remain on board, and land with us"; and a moment later he rushed on deck, and shouted an order which was promptly obeyed. suddenly there was a low booming, and in another second a column of dark water rose as the first shot ricochetted about five hundred yards from their bows. orders shouted in russian echoed through the ship, numbers of signals were exchanged rapidly with the other vessels, and the sea suddenly became alive with torpedo boats. time after time the british guns sounded like distant thunder, and shots fell in the vicinity of the russian ships. suddenly, as soon as the men were at their quarters, electric signals rang from the conning-tower of the _admiral orlovski_, and one of her 56-tonners crashed and roared from her turret, and a shot sped away towards where the light showed. the noise immediately became deafening as the guns from nine other ships thundered almost simultaneously, sending a perfect hail of shell upon the island fort. in the darkness the scene was one of most intense excitement. for the first time the spy found himself amidst the din of battle, and perhaps for the first time in his life his nerves were somewhat shaken as he stood in a convenient corner watching the working of one of the great guns in the turret, which regularly ran out and added its voice to the incessant thunder. chapter xxix. landing of the enemy at leith. all the vessels were now under steam and approaching inchkeith, when suddenly two shells struck the _admiral orlovski_ amidships, carrying away a portion of her superstructure. several of the other vessels were also hit almost at the same moment, and shortly afterwards a torpedo boat under the stern of the flagship was struck by a shell, and sank with all hands. time after time the russian vessels poured out their storm of shell upon the fort, now only about a mile and a half distant; but the british fire still continued as vigorous and more effective than at first. again the flagship was struck, this time on the port quarter, but the shot glanced off her armour into the sea; while a moment later another shell struck one of her fighting tops, and, bursting, wrecked two of the machine guns, and killed half a dozen unfortunate fellows who had manned them. the débris fell heavily upon the deck, and the disaster, being witnessed by the spy, caused him considerable anxiety for his own safety. even as he looked he suddenly noticed a brilliant flash from one of the cruisers lying a little distance away. there was a terrific report, and amid flame and smoke wreckage shot high into the air. an explosion had occurred in the magazine, and it was apparent the ship was doomed! other disasters to the russians followed in quick succession. a cruiser which was lying near the herwit light-buoy blazing away upon the fort, suddenly rolled heavily and gradually heeled over, the water around her being thrown into the air by an explosion beneath the surface. a contact mine had been fired, and the bottom of the ship had been practically blown out, for a few minutes later she went down with nearly every soul on board. at the moment this disaster occurred, the _admiral orlovski_, still discharging her heavy guns, was about half-way between the briggs and the pallas rock, when a search-light illuminated her from the land, and a heavy fire was suddenly opened upon her from leith fort. this was at once replied to, and while five of the vessels kept up their fire upon inchkeith, the three others turned their attention towards leith, and commenced to bombard it with common shell. how effectual were their efforts the spy could at once see, for in the course of a quarter of an hour, notwithstanding the defence offered by leith fort and several batteries on arthur's seat, at granton point, wardie bush, and at seaside meadows, near portobello, fires were breaking out in various quarters of the town, and factories and buildings were now burning with increasing fury. the great paraffin refinery had been set on fire, and the flames, leaping high into the air, shed a lurid glare far away over the sea. shells, striking the corn exchange, wrecked it, and one, flying away over the fort, burst in the leith distillery, with the result that the place was set on fire, and soon burned with almost equal fierceness with the paraffin works. the shipping in the edinburgh, albert, and victoria docks was ablaze, and the drill vessel h.m.s. _durham_ had been shattered and was burning. a great row of houses in lindsay road had fallen prey to the flames, while among the other large buildings on fire were the baltic hotel, the great goods station of the north british railway, and the national bank of scotland. in addition to being attacked from the forts on the island, and on land, the russians were now being vigorously fired upon by the british coastguard ship _impérieuse_, which, with the cruiser _active_, and the gunboat cruisers _cockchafer_, _firm_, and _watchful_, had now come within range. soon, however, the enemy were reinforced by several powerful vessels, and in the fierce battle that ensued the british ships were driven off. then by reason of the reinforcements which the russians brought up, and the great number of transports which were now arriving, the defence, desperate though it had been, alas! broke down, and before midnight the invader set his foot upon scottish soil. [illustration: positions for the defence of edinburgh.] ere the sun rose, a huge force of 60,000 men had commenced a march upon edinburgh and glasgow! events on shore during that never-to-be-forgotten night were well described by captain tiller of the royal artillery, stationed at leith fort, who, in a letter written to his young wife at carlisle, on the following day, gave the following narrative:-"disaster has fallen upon us. the russians have landed in scotland, and the remnant of our force which was at leith has fallen back inland. on friday, just after nightfall, we were first apprised of our danger by hearing heavy firing from the sea in the direction of inchkeith fort, and all civilians were sent on inland, while we prepared for the fight. "very soon a number of ships were visible, some of them being evidently transports, and as they were observed taking soundings, it was clear that an immediate landing was intended. fortunately it was a light night, and while two volunteer field batteries were sent out along the coast west to cramond and east to fisherrow, we completed our arrangements in the fort. with such antiquated weapons as were at our disposal defeat was a foregone conclusion, and we knew that to annoy the enemy and delay their landing would be the extent of our resistance. some of our guns were, of course, of comparatively recent date, and our supply of ammunition was fair, but the volunteer guns were antiquated 40-pounder muzzleloaders, which ought to have been withdrawn years ago, and the gunners had had very little field training. the arrangements for horsing the guns were also very inefficient, and they had no waggons or transport. most of our forces having been drawn south, the only infantry available was a battalion and a half--really a provisional battalion, for it was composed of portions of two volunteer rifle regiments, with a detachment of regulars. our regular artillery detachment was, unfortunately, very inadequate, for although the armament of the fort had been recently strengthened, the force had been weakened just before the outbreak of war by the despatch of an indian draft. "it was apparent that the enemy would not attempt to destroy our position, but land and carry it by assault; therefore, while the inchkeith guns kept them at bay, we undermined our fort, opened our magazines, and got ready for a little target practice. "the volunteer batteries sent eastward had been ordered to do what execution they could, and then, in the case of a reverse, to retire through portobello and duddingston to edinburgh, and those on the west were to go inland to ratho; while we were resolved to hold the fort as long as possible, and if at last we were compelled to retire we intended to blow up the place before leaving. "as soon as we found the russian flagship within range, we opened fire upon her, and this action caused a perfect storm of projectiles to be directed upon us. the town was soon in flames, the shipping in the harbour sank, and the martello tower was blown to pieces. our search-light was very soon brought into requisition, and by its aid some of the boats of the enemy's transports were sunk, while others came to grief on the black rocks. "by this time the enemy had turned their search-lights in every direction where they could see firing, and very soon our volunteer batteries were silenced, and then granton harbour fell into the hands of the enemy's landing parties. having first rendered their guns useless, the survivors fell back to corstorphine hill, outside edinburgh, and we soon afterwards received intelligence that the russians were landing at granton in thousands. meanwhile, although our garrison was so weak and inexperienced, we nevertheless kept up a vigorous fire. "we saw how inchkeith fort had been silenced, and how our volunteer batteries had been destroyed, and knew that sooner or later we must share the same fate, and abandon our position. as boatload after boatload of russians attempted to land, we either sank them by shots from our guns or swept them with a salvo of bullets from our maxims; yet as soon as we had hurled back one landing party others took its place. "many were the heroic deeds our gunners performed that night, as hand to hand they fought, and annihilated the russians who succeeded in landing; but in this frightful struggle we lost heavily, and at length, when all hope of an effective defence had been abandoned, we placed electric wires in the magazine, and the order was given to retire. this we did, leaving our search-light in position in order to deceive the enemy. "half our number had been killed, and we sped across to bonnington, running out a wire along the ground as we went. the russians, now landing rapidly in great force, swarmed into the fort and captured the guns and ammunition, while a party of infantry pursued us. but we kept them back for fully a quarter of an hour, until we knew that the fort would be well garrisoned by the invaders; then we sent a current through the wire. "the explosion that ensued was deafening, and its effect appalling. never have i witnessed a more awful sight. hundreds of tons of all sorts of explosives and ammunition were fired simultaneously by the electric spark, and the whole fort, with nearly six hundred of the enemy, who were busy establishing their headquarters, were in an instant blown into the air. for several moments the space around us where we stood seemed filled with flying débris, and the mangled remains of those who a second before had been elated beyond measure by their success. "those were terribly exciting moments, and for a few seconds there was a cessation of the firing. quickly, however, the bombardment was resumed, and although we totally annihilated the force pursuing us, we fell back to restalrig, and at length gained the battery that had been established on arthur's seat, and which was now keeping up a heavy fire upon the russian transports lying out in the narrow deep. subsequently we went on to dalkeith. our situation is most critical in every respect, but we are expecting reinforcements, and a terrible battle is imminent." * * * * * thus the russians landed three corps of 20,000 each where they were least expected, and at once prepared to invest edinburgh and glasgow. three of the boats which came ashore at leith that night, after the blowing up of the fort, brought several large mysterious-looking black boxes, which were handled with infinite care by the specially selected detachment of men who had been told off to take charge of them. upon the locks were the official seals of the russian war office; and even the men themselves, unaware of their contents, looked upon them with a certain amount of suspicion, handling them very gingerly, and placing them in waggons which they seized from a builder's yard on the outskirts of the town. the officers alone knew the character of these mysterious consignments, and as they superintended the landing, whispered together excitedly. the news of the invasion, already telegraphed throughout scotland from end to end, caused the utmost alarm; but had the people known what those black boxes, the secret of which was so carefully guarded, contained, they would have been dismayed and appalled. truth to tell, the russians were about to try a method of wholesale and awful destruction, which, although vaguely suggested in time of peace, had never yet been tested in the field. if successful, they knew it would cause death and desolation over an inconceivably wide area, and prove at once a most extraordinary and startling development of modern warfare. the faces of a whole army, however brave, would blanch before its terrific power, and war in every branch, on land and on sea, would become revolutionised. but the boxes remained locked and guarded. the secret was to be kept until the morrow, when the first trial was ordered to be made, and the officers in charge expressed an opinion between themselves that a blow would then be struck that would at once startle and terrify the whole world. chapter xxx. attack on edinburgh. in attacking edinburgh the besiegers at once discovered they had a much more difficult task than they had anticipated. the russian onslaught had been carefully planned. landing just before dawn, the 1st corps, consisting of about twenty thousand men, marched direct to glasgow by way of south queensferry and kirkliston, and through linlithgow, sacking and burning all three towns in the advance. the 3rd army corps succeeded, after some very sharp skirmishing, in occupying the pentland hills, in order to protect the flanks of the first force, while a strong detachment was left behind to guard the base at leith. the 2nd corps meanwhile marched direct upon edinburgh. the defenders, consisting of militia, infantry, artillery, the local volunteers left behind during the mobilisation, and a large number of civilians from the neighbouring towns, who had hastily armed on hearing the alarming news, were quickly massed in three divisions on the lammermuir hills, along the hills near peebles, and on tinto hill, near lanark. the russian army corps which marched from leith upon edinburgh about seven o'clock on the following morning met with a most desperate resistance. on arthur's seat a strong battery had been established by the city of edinburgh artillery, under col. j. f. mackay, and the 1st berwickshire, under col. a. johnston; and on the higher parts of the queen's drive, overlooking the crooked little village of duddingston, guns of the 1st forfarshire, under col. stewart-sandeman, v.d., flashed and shed forth torrents of bullets and shell, which played havoc with the enemy's infantry coming up the portobello and musselburgh roads. batteries on the braid and blackford hills commanded the southern portion of the city; while to the west, the battery on corstorphine hill prevented the enemy from pushing along up the high road from granton. between jock's lodge and duddingston mills the russians, finding cover, commenced a sharp attack about nine o'clock; but discovering, after an hour's hard fighting, that to attempt to carry the defenders' position was futile, they made a sudden retreat towards niddry house. the british commander, observing this, and suspecting their intention to make a circuit and enter the city by way of newington, immediately set his field telegraph to work, and sent news on to the infantry brigade at blackford. this consisted mainly of the queen's volunteer rifle brigade (royal scots), under col. t. w. jones, v.d.; the 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th volunteer battalions of the royal scots, under col. w. u. martin, v.d., col. w. i. macadam, col. sir g. d. clerk, col. p. dods, and col. g. f. melville respectively, with a company of engineers. the intelligence they received placed them on the alert, and ere long the enemy extended his flank in an endeavour to enter newington. the bridges already prepared for demolition by the defenders were now promptly blown up, and in the sharp fight that ensued the enemy were repulsed with heavy loss. meanwhile the formidable division of the 3rd russian army corps guarding the base at leith had attacked the corstorphine position, finding their headquarters untenable under its fire, and although losing several guns and a large number of men, they succeeded, after about an hour's hard fighting, in storming the hill and sweeping away the small but gallant band of defenders. the fight was long. it was a struggle to the death. over the whole historic battle-ground from the tweed to the forth, fighting spread, and everywhere the loss of life was terrible. the long autumn day passed slowly, yet hostilities continued as vigorous and sanguinary as they had begun. before the sun sank many a brave briton lay dead or dying, but many more muscovites had been sent to that bourne whence none return. as it was, the british line of communications was broken between temple and eddleston, the outposts at the latter place having been surprised and slaughtered. but although the enemy strove hard to break down the lines of defence and invest edinburgh, yet time after time they were hurled back with fearful loss. colinton and liberton were sacked and burned by the tsar's forces. on every hand the russians spread death and destruction; still the defenders held their own, and when the fighting ceased after nightfall edinburgh was still safe. strong barricades manned by civilians had been hastily thrown up near the station in leith walk, in london road opposite the abbey church, in inverleith row, in clerk street and montague street, while all the bridges over the water of leith had been blown up with gun-cotton; quick-firing guns had been posted on calton hill and at the castle, while in st. andrew's square a battery had been established by the 1st haddington volunteer artillery, under major j. j. kelly, who had arrived in haste from dunbar, and this excellent position commanded a wide stretch of country away towards granton. at dead of night, under the calm, bright stars, a strange scene might have been witnessed. in the deep shadow cast by the wall of an old and tumble-down barn near the cross-roads at niddry, about three miles from edinburgh, two russian infantry officers were in earnest conversation. they stood leaning upon a broken fence, talking in a half-whisper in french, so that the half-dozen privates might not understand what they said. the six men were busy unpacking several strange black cases, handling the contents with infinite care. apparently three of the boxes contained a quantity of fine silk, carefully folded, while another contained a number of square, dark-looking packages, which, when taken out, were packed in order upon a strong net which was first spread upon the grass. ropes were strewn over the ground in various directions, the silk was unfolded, and presently, when all the contents had been minutely inspected by the two officers with lanterns, a small tube was taken from a box that had remained undisturbed, and fastened into an object shaped like a bellows. then, when all preparations were satisfactorily completed, the six men threw themselves upon the grass to snatch an hour's repose, while the officers returned to their previous positions, leaning against the broken fence, and gravely discussing their proposals for the morrow's gigantic sensation. the elder of the two was explaining to his companion the nature of the _coup_ which they intended to deliver, and the mode in which it would be made. so engrossed were they in the contemplation of the appalling results that would accrue, they did not observe that they were standing beneath a small square hole in the wall of the barn; neither did they notice that from this aperture a dark head protruded for a second and then quick as lightning withdrew. it was only like a shadow, and disappeared instantly! ten minutes later a mysterious figure was creeping cautiously along under the hedge of the high road to newington in the direction of the british lines. crawling along the grass, and pausing now and then with his ear to the ground, listening, he advanced by short, silent stages, exercising the greatest caution, well aware that death would be his fate should he be discovered. in wading the braid burn he almost betrayed himself to a russian sentry; but at last, after travelling for over an hour, risking discovery at any moment, he at length passed the british outposts beyond liberton, and ascended the braid hills to the headquarters. the story he told the general commanding was at first looked upon as ludicrous. in the dim candlelight in the general's tent he certainly looked a disreputable derelict, his old and tattered clothes wet through, his hands cut by stones and bleeding, and his face half covered with mud. the three officers who were with the general laughed when he dashed in excitedly, and related the conversation he had overheard; yet when he subsequently went on to describe in detail what he had witnessed, and when they remembered that this tramp was an artilleryman who had long ago been conspicuous by his bravery at el teb, and an ingenious inventor, their expression of amusement gave way to one of alarm. the general, who had been writing, thoughtfully tapped the little camp table before him with his pen. "so they intend to destroy us and wreck the city by that means, now that their legitimate tactics have failed! i can scarcely credit that such is their intention; yet if they should be successful--if"-"but they will not be successful, sir. if you will send some one to assist me, and allow me to act as i think fit, i will frustrate their dastardly design, and the city shall be saved." "you are at liberty to act as you please. you know their plans, and i have perfect confidence in you, mackenzie," replied the officer. "do not, however, mention a word of the enemy's intention to any one. it would terrify the men; and although i do not doubt their bravery, yet the knowledge of such a horrible fate hanging over them must necessarily increase their anxiety, and thus prevent them from doing their best. we are weak, but remember we are all britons. now come," he added, "sit there, upon that box, and explain at once what is your scheme of defence against this extraordinary attack." and the fearless man to whom the general had entrusted the defence of edinburgh obeyed, and commenced to explain what means he intended to take--a desperate but well-devised plan, which drew forth words of the highest commendation from the commanding officer and those with him. they knew that the fate of edinburgh hung in the balance, and that if the city were taken it would be the first step towards their downfall. chapter xxxi. "the demon of war." two hours later, just before the break of day, british bugles sounded, and the camp on the braid hills was immediately astir. that the enemy were about to test the efficiency of a new gigantic engine of war was unknown except to the officers and the brave man who had risked his life in order to obtain the secret of the foeman's plans. to him the british general was trusting, and as with knit brows and anxious face the grey-haired officer stood at the door of his tent gazing across the burn to blackford hill, he was wondering whether he had yet obtained his coign of vantage. from the case slung round his shoulder he drew his field glasses and turned them upon a clump of trees near the top of the hill, straining his eyes to discover any movement. on the crest of the hill two volunteer artillery batteries were actively preparing for the coming fray, but as yet it was too dark to discern anything among the distant clump of trees; so, replacing his glasses, the commanding officer re-entered his tent and bent for a long time over the ordnance map under the glimmering, uncertain light of a guttering candle. meanwhile the russians were busily completing their arrangements for striking an appalling blow. concealed by a line of trees and a number of farm buildings, the little section of the enemy had worked indefatigably for the past two hours, and now in the grey dawn the contents of the mysterious boxes, a long dark monster, lay upon the grass, moving restlessly, trying to free itself from its trammels. it was a huge and curiously-shaped air-ship, and was to be used for dropping great charges of mélinite and steel bombs filled with picric acid into the handsome historic city of edinburgh! some of the shells were filled with sulphurous acid, carbon dioxide, and other deadly compounds, the intent being to cause suffocation over wide areas by the volatilisation of liquid gases! this controllable electric balloon, a perfection of m. gaston tissandier's invention a few years before, was, as it lay upon the grass, nearly inflated and ready to ascend, elongated in form, and filled with hydrogen. it was about 140 feet long, 63 feet in diameter through the middle, and the envelope was of fine cloth coated with an impermeable varnish. on either side were horizontal shafts of flexible walnut laths, fastened with silk belts along the centre, and over the balloon a netting of ribbons was placed, and to this the car was connected. on each of the four sides was a screw propeller 12 feet in diameter, driven by bichromate of potassium batteries and a dynamo-electric motor. the propellers were so arranged that the balloon could keep head to a hurricane, and when proceeding with the wind would deviate immediately from its course by the mere pulling of a lever by the aëronaut. carefully packed in the car were large numbers of the most powerful infernal machines, ingeniously designed to effect the most awful destruction if hurled into a thickly-populated centre. piled in the smallest possible compass were square steel boxes, some filled with mélinite, dynamite, and an explosive strongly resembling cordite, only possessing twice its strength, each with fulminating compounds, while others contained picric acid fitted with glass detonating tubes. indeed, this gigantic engine, which might totally wreck a city and kill every inhabitant in half an hour while at an altitude of 6½ miles, had rightly been named by the pole who had perfected tissandier's invention--"the demon of war." while the two officers of the russian balloon section, both experienced aëronauts, were finally examining minutely every rope, ascertaining that all was ready for the ascent, away on blackford hill one man, pale and determined, with coat and vest thrown aside, was preparing a counterblast to the forthcoming attack. under cover of the clump of trees, but with its muzzle pointing towards bridgend, a long, thin gun of an altogether strange type had been brought into position. it was about four times the size of a maxim, which it resembled somewhat in shape, only the barrel was much longer, the store of ammunition being contained in a large steel receptacle at the side, wherein also was some marvellously-contrived mechanism. the six gunners who were assisting mackenzie at length completed their work, and the gun having been carefully examined by the gallant man in charge and two of the officers who had been in the tent with the general during the midnight consultation, mackenzie, with a glance in the yet hazy distance where the enemy had bivouaced, pulled over a small lever, which immediately started a dynamo. "in three minutes we shall be ready for action," he said, glancing at his watch; and then, turning a small wheel which raised the muzzle of the gun so as to point it at a higher angle in the direction of the sky, he waited until the space of time he had mentioned had elapsed. the officers stood aside conversing in an undertone. this man mackenzie had invented this strange-looking weapon, and only one had been made. it had some months before been submitted to the war office, but they had declined to take it up, believing that a patent they already possessed was superior to it; yet mackenzie had nevertheless thrown his whole soul into his work, and meant now to show his superiors its penetrative powers, and put its capabilities to practical test. again he glanced at his watch, and quickly pulled back another lever, which caused the motor to revolve at twice the speed, and the gun to emit a low hissing sound, like escaping steam. then he stepped back to the officers, saying-"i am now prepared. it will go up as straight and quickly as a rocket, but we must catch it before it ascends two miles, for the clouds hang low, and we may lose it more quickly than we imagine." the gunners stood in readiness, and the two officers looked away over craigmillar towards the grey distant sea. dawn was spreading now, and the haze was gradually clearing. they all knew the attempt would be made ere long, before it grew much lighter, so they stood at their posts in readiness, mackenzie with his hand upon the lever which would regulate the discharge. they were moments of breathless expectancy. minute after minute went by, but not a word was spoken, for every eye was turned upon the crest of a certain ridge nearly three miles away, at a point where the country was well wooded. a quarter of an hour had thus elapsed, when mackenzie suddenly shouted, "look, lads! _there she goes!_ now, let's teach 'em what scots can do." as he spoke there rose from behind the ridge a great dark mass, looking almost spectral in the thin morning mist. for a moment it seemed to poise and swing as if uncertain in its flight, then quickly it shot straight up towards the sky. "ready?" shouted mackenzie, his momentary excitement having given place to great coolness. the men at their posts all answered in the affirmative. mackenzie bent and waited for a few seconds sighting the gun, while the motor hummed with terrific speed. then shouting "fire!" he drew back the lever. the gun discharged, but there was no report, only a sharp hiss as the compressed air released commenced to send charge after charge of dynamite automatically away into space in rapid succession! none dared to breathe. the excitement was intense. they watched the effect upon the russian balloon, but to their dismay saw it still rapidly ascending and unharmed! it had altered its course, and instead of drifting away seaward was now travelling towards duddingston, and making straight for edinburgh, passing above the russian camp. "missed! _missed!_" mackenzie shrieked, turning back the lever and arresting the discharge. "it's four miles off now, and we can carry seven and three-quarters to hit a fixed object. remember, lads, the fate of auld reekie is now in your hands! ready?" again he bent and sighted the gun, raising the muzzle higher than the balloon so as to catch it on the ascent. the motor hummed louder and louder, the escaping air hissed and turned into liquid by the enormous pressure, then with a glance at the gauge he yelled "fire!" and pulled back the lever. dynamite shells, ejected at the rate of 50 a minute, rushed from the muzzle, and sped away. but the demon of war, with its whirling propellers, continued on its swift, silent mission of destruction. "missed again!" cried one of the men, in despair. "see! it's gone! we've--good heavens!--_why, we've lost it--lost it!_" mackenzie, who had been glancing that moment at the gauges, gazed eagerly up, and staggered back as if he had received a blow. "it's disappeared!" he gasped. "_they've outwitted us, the brutes, and nothing now can save edinburgh from destruction!_" officers and men stood aghast, with blanched faces, scarce knowing how to act. the destructive forces in that controllable balloon were more than sufficient to lay the whole of edinburgh in ruins; and then, no doubt, the enemy would attempt by the same means to destroy the british batteries on the neighbouring hills. already, along the valleys fighting had begun, for rapid firing could be heard in the direction of gilmerton, and now and then the british guns on the braid hills behind spoke out sharply to the russians who had occupied loanhead, and the distant booming of cannon could be heard incessantly from corstorphine. suddenly a loud, exultant cry from mackenzie caused his companions to strain their eyes away to duddingston, and there they saw high in the air the monster aërial machine gradually looming through the mist, a vague and shadowy outline. it had passed through a bank of cloud, and was gradually reappearing. "quick! there's not a moment to lose!" shrieked mackenzie, springing to the lever with redoubled enthusiasm, an example followed by the others. the motor revolved so rapidly that it roared, the gauges ran high, the escaping air hissed so loudly that mackenzie was compelled to shout at the top of his voice "ready?" as for a third time he took careful aim at the misty object now six miles distant. the war demon was still over the russian camp, and in a few moments, travelling at that high rate of speed, it would pass over arthur's seat, and be enabled to drop its deadly compounds in princes street. but mackenzie set his teeth, and muttered something under his breath. "_now!_" he ejaculated, as he suddenly pulled the lever, and for the last time sent forth the automatic shower of destructive shells. a second later there was a bright flash from above as if the sun itself had burst, and then came a most terrific explosion, which caused the earth to tremble where they stood. the clouds were rent asunder by the frightful detonation, and down upon the russian camp the débris of their ingenious invention fell in a terrible death-dealing shower. the annihilation of the dastardly plot to wreck the city was complete. small dynamite shells from mackenzie's pneumatic gun had struck the car of the balloon, and by the firing of half a ton of explosives the enemy was in an instant hoist with his own petard. as the débris fell within the russian lines, some fifty or sixty picric-acid bombs--awful engines of destruction--which had not been exploded in mid-air, crashed into the muscovite ranks, and, bursting, killed and wounded hundreds of infantrymen and half a regiment of cossacks. one, bursting in the enemy's headquarters, seriously injured several members of the staff; while another, falling among the engineers' transport, exploded a great quantity of gun-cotton, which in its turn killed a number of men and horses. the disaster was awful in its suddenness, appalling in its completeness. the aëronauts, totally unprepared for such an attack, had been blown to atoms just when within an ace of success. fortune had favoured britain, and, thanks to mackenzie's vigilance and his pneumatic dynamite gun, which the government had rejected as a worthless weapon, the grey old city of edinburgh was still safe. but both russians and britons had now mustered their forces, and this, the first note sounded of a second terrific and desperately-fought battle, portended success for britain's gallant army. yet notwithstanding the disaster the enemy sustained by the blowing up of their balloon, their 2nd army corps, together with the portion of the 3rd army corps operating from their base at leith, succeeded, after terribly hard fighting and heavy losses, in at length forcing back the defenders from the braid and blackford hills, and the corstorphine position having already been occupied, they were then enabled to invest edinburgh. that evening fierce sanguinary fights took place in the streets, for the people held the barricades until the last moment, and the batteries on calton hill, in st. andrew's square, and at the castle effected terrible execution in conjunction with those on arthur's seat. still the enemy by their overwhelming numbers gradually broke down these defences, and, after appalling slaughter on both sides, occupied the city. the fighting was fiercest along princes street, lothian road, and in the neighbourhood of scotland street station, while along cumberland and great king streets the enemy were swept away in hundreds by british maxims brought to bear from drummond place. along canongate from holyrood to moray house, and in lauriston place and the grassmarket, hand-to-hand struggles took place between the patriotic civilians and the foe. from behind their barricades men of edinburgh fought valiantly, and everywhere inflicted heavy loss; still the enemy, pressing onward, set fire to a number of public buildings, including the register office, the royal exchange, the university, the liberal and new clubs, and palace hotel, with many other buildings in princes street. the fires, which broke out rapidly in succession, were caused for the purpose of producing a panic, and in this the enemy were successful, for the city was quickly looted, and the scenes of ruin, death, and desolation that occurred in its streets that night were awful. [illustration: "in edinburgh the fighting was fiercest along princes street."] in every quarter the homes of loyal scotsmen were entered by the ruthless invader, who wrecked the cherished household gods, and carried away all the valuables that were portable. outrage and murder were rife everywhere, and no quarter was shown the weak or unprotected. through the streets the invader rushed with sword and firebrand, causing destruction, suffering, and death. the defenders, though straining every nerve to stem the advancing tide, had, alas! been unsuccessful, and ere midnight edinburgh, one of the proudest and most historic cities in the world, had fallen, and the british standard floating over the castle was, alas! replaced by the eagle of the russian autocrat. chapter xxxii. frightful slaughter outside glasgow. it was a sad misfortune, a national calamity; yet our troops did not lose heart. commanded as they were by britons, astute, loyal, and fearless, they, after fighting hard, fell back from edinburgh in order, and husbanded their force for the morrow. indeed, soon after dawn the russians found themselves severely attacked. exultant over their success, they had, while sacking edinburgh, left their base at leith very inadequately protected, with the result that the defenders, swooping suddenly down upon the town, succeeded, with the assistance of four coast-defence ships and a number of torpedo boats, in blowing up most of the russian transports, and seizing their ammunition and provisions. such an attack was, of course, very vigorously defended, but it was a smart manoeuvre on the part of the british general, and enabled him, after cutting off the enemy's line of retreat, to turn suddenly and attack the russians who were continuing their destructive campaign through the streets of edinburgh. this bold move on the part of the defenders was totally unexpected by the foe, which accounted for the frightful loss of life that was sustained on the russian side, and the subsequent clever tactics which resulted in the driving out of the invaders from edinburgh, and british troops reoccupying that city. [illustration: map of the battlefield outside glasgow.] meanwhile the 1st russian army corps, which on landing had at once set out towards glasgow, had marched on in a great extended line, sacking the various towns through which they passed. as they advanced from linlithgow, airdrie, and coatbridge were looted and burned, while further south, motherwell, hamilton, and bothwell shared the same fate. about 20,000 men, together with 11,000 who had been forced to evacuate edinburgh, had at length advanced a little beyond coatbridge, and, in preparation for a vigorous siege of glasgow, halted within seven miles of the city, with flanks extended away south to motherwell and on to wishaw, and north as far as chryston and kirkintilloch. in glasgow the excitement was intense, and surging crowds filled the streets night and day. the fall of edinburgh had produced the greatest sensation, and the meagre news of the disaster telegraphed had scarcely been supplemented when the report of the retaking of "auld reekie" came to hand, causing great rejoicing. nevertheless, it was known that over thirty thousand trained soldiers were on their way to the banks of the clyde, and glasgow was fevered and turbulent. the scanty business that had lately been done was now at a standstill, and the meagre supplies that reached there from america not being half sufficient for the enormous population, the city was already starving. but, as in other towns, great barricades had been thrown up, and those in gallowgate and duke street, thoroughfares by which glasgow might be entered by way of parkhead and dennistoun, were soon manned by loyal and patriotic bands of civilians. other barriers were constructed at st. rollox station, in canning street, in monteith row, and in great western, dumbarton, and govan roads. south of the river, eglinton street and the roads at crosshill were barricaded, and in new city and garscube roads in the north there were also strong defences. all were held by enthusiastic bodies of men who had hastily armed themselves, confident in the belief that our volunteers and the small body of regulars would not allow the invader to march in force upon their city without a most determined resistance. now, however, the alarming news reached glasgow that the enemy had actually sacked and burned coatbridge. in an hour they could commence looting the shops in gallowgate, and their heavy tramp would be heard on the granite of trongate and argyle street! throughout the city the feeling of insecurity increased, and hourly the panic assumed greater proportions. the sun that day was obscured by dark thunder-clouds, the swirling clyde flowed on black beneath its many bridges, and the outlook was everywhere gloomy and ominous. still, away on the hills to southward, our small force of soldiers and volunteers had narrowly watched the onward tide of destroyers, and carefully laid their plans. the manner in which the defensive operations were conducted is perhaps best related in a letter written by captain boyd drummond of the 1st battalion princess louise's (argyll and sutherland) highlanders, to a friend in london, and which was published with the accompanying sketch in the _daily graphic_. he wrote as follows:--"on the second day after the russians had landed, colonel cumberland of 'ours' received orders to move us from lanark, and reconnoitre as far as possible along the carluke road, with a view to taking up a position to cover the advance of the division, which had during the morning been considerably reinforced by nearly half the centre division from peebles. in addition to our battalion with two machine guns, colonel cumberland was in command of the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th volunteer battalions from greenock, paisley, pollokshaws, and stirling respectively, the 1st dumbarton from helensburgh, the highland borderers, and the renfrew militia, together with a section of field artillery, a field company of royal engineers, and about forty cavalry and cyclists. arriving at carluke early in the afternoon, we awaited the return of scouts, who had been pushed on in advance to beyond wishaw, in the direction of the enemy. they having reported that the russians had withdrawn from wishaw, we at once moved on to law junction, about a mile from that town, and finally took up a position for the night near waterloo, commanding wishaw and overtown. "beyond the junction, towards glasgow, the railway, which the enemy evidently did not intend to use, had been destroyed, but scouts from morningside reported that the line to edinburgh had not been cut, and that the permanent way remained uninjured. colonel cumberland therefore told off the right half battalion, with a machine gun, a section of engineers, and six cyclists, to take up a position near the road between newmains and morningside, with instructions to form piquets and patrol the roads north and east. i was with no. 1 company, but, being senior captain present, the chief gave me command of this detachment. it was the first time such a responsibility had been conferred upon me; therefore i was determined not to be caught napping. "as soon as we arrived at our ground, i sent two cyclists out to newmains and two to morningside, with orders to glean what information they could, and to wait in the villages until further orders, unless they sighted the enemy's outposts, or discovered anything important. as soon as i had sent out my piquets, i took my own company and six of the engineers down to morningside. some of the villagers, who had escaped when a portion of the invaders passed through on the previous night, had returned, and the cyclists gathered from them that we were close upon the heels of the russian rearguard. "as the railway had not been destroyed, i thought that possibly the invaders intended to use the line _viâ_ mid-calder, and therefore examined the station closely. while engaged in this, one of the engineers suddenly discovered a wire very carefully concealed along the line, and as we followed it up 500 yards each way, and could find no connection with the instrument at the station office, i at once concluded that it was the enemy's field telegraph, forming means of communication between their headquarters at airdrie and the division that still remained in the pentlands. "cutting the wire, and attaching the ends to the instrument in the station, i left three engineers, all expert telegraphists, to tap the wire, and they, with the right half company, under lieutenant compton, formed a detached post at this point. i also left the cyclists to convey to me any messages which might be received on the instrument, and then proceeded to newmains. the place was now a mere heap of smouldering ruins; but, as at morningside, some of the terrified villagers had returned, and they stated that early in the morning they had seen small detachments of russian cavalry pass through from bankle, and proceed north along the cleland road. "leaving the left half company here with the other engineers and the two cyclists, under lieutenant planck, with orders to block the road and railway bridge, i returned to my piquet line. a few minutes later, however, a cyclist rode up with a copy of a message which had been sent from the russian headquarters on the pentlands to the glasgow investing force. the message was in cipher, but, thanks to the information furnished by the spy who was captured near manchester, we were now aware of some of the codes used by the invaders, and i sent the messenger on to the colonel at once. one of his staff was able to transcribe it sufficiently to show that some disaster had occurred to the enemy on the pentlands, for it concluded with an order withdrawing the troops from glasgow, in order to reinforce the 3rd army corps in the fierce battle that was now proceeding. it was also stated in the message that despatches followed, so at once we were all on the alert. "almost immediately afterwards news was received over our own telegraph from carstairs, stating that a terrific battle had been fought along the valleys between leadburn, linton, and dolphinton, in which we had suffered very severely, but we had nevertheless gained a decisive victory, for from dawn until the time of telegraphing it was estimated that no fewer than 12,000 russians had been killed or wounded. "it appeared that our forces on the lammermuirs had moved quickly, and, extending along the ridges, through tynehead, and thence to heriot, and on to peebles, joined hands with the division at that place before dawn, and, when it grew light, had made a sudden and desperate attack. the enemy, who had imagined himself in a safe position, was unprepared, and from the first moment of the attack the slaughter was awful. as noon wore on the battle had increased, until now the invaders had been outflanked, and mowed down in such a frightful manner, that the survivors, numbering nearly six thousand of all ranks, had, finding their urgent appeal to their forces at airdrie met with no response, and imagining that they too had been defeated, at last surrendered, and were taken prisoners. "on receipt of this intelligence, colonel cumberland executed a manoeuvre that was a marvel of forethought and smartness. the appeal to airdrie for help had, of course, not been received, but in its place he ordered a message in russian to be sent along the enemy's field telegraph to the force advancing on glasgow in the following words: 'remain at airdrie. do not advance on glasgow before we join you. the defenders are defeated with heavy losses everywhere. our advance guard will be with you in twenty-four hours. signed--drukovitch.' "this having been despatched, he reported by telegraph to the headquarters at carstairs what he had done, and then our whole force immediately moved as far as bellshill, in the direction of glasgow. here we came across the russian outposts, and a sharp fight ensued. after half an hour, however, we succeeded in cutting them off and totally annihilating them, afterwards establishing ourselves in bellshill until reinforcements could arrive. we were now only six miles from the russian headquarters at airdrie, and they, on receipt of our fictitious message, had withdrawn from the clyde bank, and extended farther north over the hills as far as milngavie. "we were thus enabled to watch and wait in bellshill undisturbed throughout the night; and while the enemy were eagerly expecting their legions of infantry who were to swoop down and conquer glasgow, we remained content in the knowledge that the hour of conquest was close at hand. "a short, hasty rest, and we were astir again long before the dawn. just at daybreak, however, the advance guard of our force from carstairs, which had been on the march during the night, came into touch with us, and in an hour the combined right and centre divisions of the british had opened the battle. "our fighting front extended from wishaw right across to condorrat, with batteries on torrance and the hill at new monkland, while another strong line was pushed across from cambuslang to parkhead, and thence to millerston, for the protection of glasgow. "thus, almost before our guns uttered their voice of defiance, we had surrounded the enemy, and throughout the morning the fighting was most sanguinary and desperate. our batteries did excellent service; still, it must be remembered we had attacked a well-trained force of over thirty thousand men, and they had many more guns than we possessed. no doubt the fictitious despatch we had sent had prevented the russian commander from advancing on glasgow during the night, as he had intended; and now, finding himself so vigorously attacked by two divisions which he believed had been cut up and annihilated, all his calculations were completely upset. "it was well for us that this was so, otherwise we might have fared much worse than we did. as it was, cossacks and dragoons wrought frightful havoc among our infantry; while, on the other hand, the fire discipline of the latter was magnificent. every bit of cover on the hills seem to bristle with hidden rifles, that emptied their magazines without smoke and with fatal effect. many a gallant dash was made by our men, the volunteers especially displaying conspicuous courage. the 1st dumbartonshire volunteers, under col. thomson, v.d., the 1st renfrewshire, under col. lamont, v.d., and the 4th battalion argyll and sutherland highlanders, under col. d. m'fayden, v.d., operated together with magnificent success, for they completely cut up a strong russian detachment on the glasgow road beyond uddingston, driving them out of the wood near daldowie, and there annihilating them, and afterwards holding their own on the banks of the north calder without suffering very much loss. they handled their maxims as smartly as any body of regulars; and indeed, throughout the day their performances everywhere were marked by steady discipline and cool courage that was in the highest degree commendable. "about two o'clock in the afternoon the battle was at its height. under the blazing sun that beat down upon us mercilessly, my battalion fought on, feeling confident that the enemy were gradually being defeated. the slaughter everywhere was frightful, and the green hillsides and fields were covered with dead and dying soldiers of the tsar. the grey coats were soaked with blood, and dark, ugly stains dyed the grass of the fertile meadows beside the winding clyde. since their sudden landing in scotland, the enemy's early successes had been followed by defeat after defeat. their transports had been destroyed, their ammunition and stores seized, both their 2nd and 3rd army corps had been totally annihilated, leaving nearly twelve thousand men in our hands as prisoners, and now the defeat of this force of picked regiments, who had, on landing, immediately marched straight across scotland, would effect a crushing and decisive blow. "but the struggle was terrific, the din deafening, the wholesale butchery appalling. our men knew they were fighting for caledonia and their queen, and their conduct, from the first moment of hostilities, until stray bullets laid them low one after another, was magnificent; they were splendid examples of the true, loyal, and fearless briton, who will fight on even while his life-blood ebbs. "evening fell, but the continuous firing did not cease. the sun sank red and angry into dark storm-clouds behind the long range of purple hills beyond the clyde, but the clash of arms continued over hill and dale on the east of glasgow, and we, exerting every effort in our successful attempt to hold the five converging roads near broomhouse, knew not which side were victors. "suddenly i received orders to send over a small detachment to block the two roads at baillieston, the one a main road leading up from coatbridge, and the other from the hilly country around old monkland, where the struggle was fiercest. sending lieutenant planck over immediately with a detachment and several cyclists, i followed as soon as possible, and found he had blocked both roads in the centre of the little scotch village, and had occupied the inn situated between the two roads, leaving just sufficient space for his cyclists to pass. looking towards the city we could see that the hills on our left were occupied by british redcoats. in the village the quaint little low-built cottages, with their stairs outside, were all closed and deserted, and the place seemed strangely quiet after the exciting scenes and ceaseless deafening din. "taking six of planck's men and the cyclists about a mile towards coatbridge, i posted them at the cross-roads beyond rhind house, sending the cyclists out along the valley to dikehead. all was quiet in our immediate vicinity for some time, until suddenly we discerned the cyclists coming back. they reported that they had seen cavalry. this, then, must be a detachment of the enemy, who in all probability were retreating. i at once sent the cyclists back to inform planck, and to tell him we should not take a hand in the game until we had allowed them to pass and they had discovered his barricade. in a few minutes we could distinctly hear them approaching. we were all well under cover, but i was surprised to find that it was only an escort. "they were galloping, and had evidently come a long distance by some circuitous route, and had not taken part in the fighting. i counted five--two cossacks in advance, then about forty yards behind a shabbily-dressed civilian on horseback, and about forty yards behind him two more cossacks. they appeared to expect no interruption, and it occurred to me that the cossacks were escorting the civilian over to the russian position away beyond hogganfield loch. as soon as they were clear, i formed my men up on each side of the road to await events. "we had no occasion to remain long in expectation, for soon afterwards the stillness was broken by shouts and a few rapid shots, and then we could hear two horses galloping back. one was riderless, and a corporal who attempted to stop it was knocked down and seriously injured; but the other had a rider, and as he neared us i could see he was the civilian. i knew i must stop him at all costs. "so, ordering the men on the opposite side of the road to lie down, we gave him a section volley from one side as he rushed past. the horse was badly hit, and stumbled, throwing its rider, who was at once secured. to prevent him from disposing of anything, we bound him securely. two of the cossacks had been shot and the other two captured. upon the civilian, and in his saddle-bags, we found a number of cipher despatches, elaborate plans showing how glasgow was defended, and an autograph letter from the russian general drukovitch, giving him instructions to enter glasgow alone by way of partick, and to await him there until the city fell. "but the city was never invested. an hour after we had sent this mysterious civilian--who spoke english with a foreign accent--over to the colonel, our onslaught became doubly desperate. in the dusk, regiment after regiment of russians were simply swept away by the cool and deliberate fire of the british, who, being reinforced by my battalion and others, wrought splendid execution in the enemy's main body, forced back upon us at baillieston. "then, as night fell, a report was spread that general drukovitch had surrendered. this proved true. with his 2nd and 3rd army corps annihilated, and his transports and base in our hands, he was compelled to acknowledge himself vanquished; therefore, by nine o'clock hostilities had ceased, and during that night nearly six thousand survivors of the 1st russian army corps were taken prisoners, and marched in triumph into glasgow amid the wildest excitement of the populace. this desperate attempt to invest glasgow had cost the russians no fewer than 25,000 men in killed and wounded. "the capture we effected near baillieston turned out to be of a most important character. when searched at headquarters, a visiting-card was found concealed upon the man, and this gave our colonel a clue. the man has since been identified by one of his intimate friends as a person well known in london society, who poses as a wealthy german, the count von beilstein! it is alleged that he has for several years been living in the metropolis and acting as an expert spy in the secret service of the tsar. he was sent handcuffed, under a strong escort, to london a few days after the battle, and if all i hear be true, some highly sensational disclosures will be made regarding his adventurous career. [illustration: defeat of the russians at baillieston, near glasgow.] "but throughout caledonia there is now unbounded joy. our beloved country is safe; for, thanks to the gallant heroism of our volunteers, the muscovite invaders have been completely wiped out, and scotland again proudly rears her head." chapter xxxiii. march of the french on london. south of the thames, where the gigantic force of french and russians, numbering nearly two hundred thousand of all arms, had been prevented from attacking london by our volunteers and regulars massed along the surrey hills, the slaughter on both sides had been frightful. the struggle was indeed not for a dynasty, but for the very existence of britain as an independent nation. sussex had been devastated, but kent still held out, and chatham remained in the possession of the defenders. the rout of the british at horsham prior to the march of the left column of invaders to birmingham was succeeded by defeat after defeat, the engagements each day illustrating painfully that by force of overwhelming numbers the invaders were gradually nearing their goal--the mighty capital of our empire. gallant stands were made by our regulars at east grinstead, crawley, alfold, and from haslemere across hind head common to frensham. at each of these places, long, desperately-fought battles with the french had taken place through the hot september days,--our regular forces confident in the stubborn resistance that would be offered by the long unbroken line of volunteers occupying the range of hills behind. our signallers had formed a long line of stations from reculvers and star hill, south of the medway fortress, to blue bell hill, between chatham and maidstone, thence through snodland, wrotham, westerham, and limpsfield to caterham, and from there on through reigate park, boxhill, st. martha's, and over the hog's back to aldershot. with flags in day and lamps by night messages constantly passed, and communication was thus maintained by this means as well as by the field telegraph, which, however, on several occasions had been cut by the enemy. yet although our soldiers fought day after day with that pluck characteristic of the true briton, fortune nevertheless seemed to have forsaken us, and even although we inflicted frightful losses upon the french all round, still they gradually forced back the defenders over the surrey border. terror, ruin, and death had been spread by the invading gauls. english homes were sacked, french soldiers bivouaced in sussex pastures, and the ripening corn was trodden down and stained with blood. the white dusty highways leading from london to the sea were piled with unheeded corpses that were fearful to gaze upon, yet britannia toiled on undaunted in this desperate struggle for the retention of her empire. after our defeat at horsham, the russians had contented themselves by merely driving back the defenders to a line of resistance from aldershot to the north of bagshot, and then they had marched onward to birmingham. from horsham, however, two columns of the invaders, mostly french, and numbering over twenty thousand each, had advanced on guildford and dorking. at the same time, a strong demonstration was made by the enemy in the country north of eastbourne and hailsham, by which the whole of the district in the triangle from bexhill to heathfield, and thence to cuckfield and steyning, fell into their hands. the british, however, had massed a strong force to prevent the enemy making their way into west kent, and still held their own along the hills stretching from crowborough to ticehurst, and from etchingham, through brightling and ashburnham, down to battle and hastings. the north of london had during the weeks of hostilities been strongly guarded by volunteers and regulars, for information of a contemplated landing in essex had been received; and although the defenders had not yet fired a shot, they were eagerly looking forward to a chance of proving their worth, as their comrades in other parts of england had already done. at first the tactics of the invaders could not be understood, for it had been concluded that they would naturally follow up their successes on landing with a rapid advance on london. it was, of course, evident that the vigorous demonstrations made in the north and other parts of britain were intended with a view to drawing as many troops as possible from the defence of london, and dispose of them in detail before surrounding the capital. yet, to the dismay of the enemy, no blow they delivered in other parts of our country had had the desired effect of weakening the defensive lines around london. at the opening of the campaign it had been the enemy's intention to reduce london by a blockade, which could perhaps have been successfully carried out had they landed a strong force in essex. the troops who were intended to land there were, however, sent to scotland instead, and the fact that they had been annihilated outside glasgow resulted in a decision to march at once upon the metropolis. advancing from horsham, the french right column, numbering 20,000 men with about 70 guns, had, after desperate fighting, at last reached leatherhead, having left a battalion in support at dorking. the british had resolutely contested every step the french had advanced, and the slaughter around dorking had been awful, while the fighting across fetcham downs and around ockley and bear green had resulted in frightful loss on both sides. our regulars and volunteers, notwithstanding their gallantry, were, alas! gradually driven back by the enormous numbers that had commenced the onslaught, and were at last thrown back westward in disorder, halting at ripley. here the survivors snatched a hasty rest, and they were during the night reinforced by a contingent of regulars who had come over from windsor and hounslow. on the arrival of these reinforcements, the colonel, well knowing how serious was the situation now our first line of defence had been broken, sent out a flying column from ripley, while the main body marched to great bookham, with the result that leatherhead, now in the occupation of the french, was from both sides vigorously attacked. the british flying column threatening the enemy from the north was, however, quickly checked by the french guns, and in the transmission of an order a most serious blunder occurred, leading to the impossibility of a retreat upon ripley, for unfortunately the order, wrongly given, resulted in the blowing up by mistake of the bridges over the river mole by which they had crossed, and which they wanted to use again. thus it was that for a time this force was compelled to remain, at terrible cost, right under the fire of the french entrenched position at leatherhead; but the enemy were fortunately not strong enough to follow up this advantage, and as they occupied a strong strategical position they were content to await the arrival of their huge main body, now on the move, and which they expected would reach leatherhead during that night. after more fierce fighting, lasting one whole breathless day, the defenders were annihilated, while their main body approaching from the south also fell into a trap. for several hours a fierce battle also raged between dorking and mickleham. the british battery on box hill wrought awful havoc in the french lines, yet gradually the enemy silenced our guns and cut up our forces. the invaders were now advancing in open order over the whole of sussex and the west of kent, and on the same day as the battle was fought at leatherhead, the high ground south of sevenoaks, extending from wimlet hill to chart common, fell into their hands, the british suffering severely; while two of our volunteer batteries in the vicinity were surprised and seized by a french flying column. in the meantime, another french column, numbering nearly twenty thousand infantry and cavalry, had advanced from alfold, burning ewhurst and cranley, and after a desperately-contested engagement they captured the british batteries on the hills at hascombe and hambledon. on the same day the french advance guard, though suffering terrible loss, successfully attacked the battery of regulars on the hill at wonersh, and godalming having been invested, they commenced another vigorous attack upon the strong line of british regulars and volunteers at guildford, where about fourteen thousand men were massed. on the hills from gomshall to seale our brave civilian defenders had remained throughout the hostilities ready to repel any attack. indeed, as the days passed, and no demonstration had been made in their direction, they had grown impatient, until at length this sudden and ferocious onslaught had been made, and they found themselves face to face with an advancing army of almost thrice their strength. among the volunteer battalions holding the position were the 1st bucks, under lord addington, v.d.; the 2nd oxfordshire light infantry, under col. h. s. hall; the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd bedfordshire regiment, under col. a. m. blake, lieut.-col. rumball, and col. j. t. green, v.d.; the 1st royal berkshire, under col. j. c. carter; the 1st somersetshire light infantry, under col. h. m. skrine, v.d.; and the 1st and 2nd wiltshire, under the earl of pembroke, v.d., and col. e. b. merriman, v.d. strong batteries had been established between guildford and seale by the 1st fifeshire artillery, under col. j. w. johnston, v.d., and the highland artillery, under col. w. fraser, v.d.; while batteries on the left were held by the 1st midlothian, under col. kinnear, v.d.; the 1st east riding, under col. r. g. smith, v.d.; and the 1st west riding, under col. t. w. harding, v.d. commencing before dawn, the battle was fierce and sanguinary almost from the time the first shots were exchanged. the eight 60-pounder guns in the new fort at the top of pewley hill, manned by the royal artillery, commanded the valleys lying away to the south, and effected splendid defensive work. [illustration: british volunteer positions on the surrey hills.] indeed, it was this redoubt, with three new ones between guildford and gomshall, and another on the hog's back, which held the enemy in check for a considerable time; and had there been a larger number of a similar strength, it is doubtful whether the french would ever have accomplished their design upon guildford. the pewley fort, built in the solid chalk, and surrounded by a wide ditch, kept up a continuous fire upon the dense masses of the enemy, and swept away hundreds of unfortunate fellows as they rushed madly onward; while the volunteer batteries and the maxims of the infantry battalions poured upon the invaders a devastating hail of lead. from farnham, the line through odiham and aldershot was held by a force increasing hourly in strength; therefore the enemy were unable to get over to farnborough to outflank the defenders. through that brilliant, sunny september day the slaughter was terrible in every part of the enemy's column, and it was about noon believed that they would find their positions at wonersh and godalming untenable. nevertheless, with a dogged persistency unusual to our gallic neighbours, they continued to fight with unquelled vigour. the 2nd oxfordshire light infantry and the 1st and 2nd wiltshire, holding very important ground over against puttenham, bore their part with magnificent courage, but were at length cut up in a most horrible manner; while the 1st bedfordshire, who, with a body of regulars valiantly held the road running over the hills from gomshall to merrow, fought splendidly; but they too were, alas! subsequently annihilated. over hill and dale, stretching away to the sussex border, the rattle and din of war sounded incessantly, and as hour after hour passed, hundreds of britons and frenchmen dyed the brown, sun-baked grass with their blood. the struggle was frightful. volunteer battalions who had manoeuvred over that ground at many an eastertide had little dreamed that they would have one day to raise their rifles in earnest for the defence of their home and queen. yet the practice they had had now served them well, for in one instance the 1st berkshire succeeded by a very smart manoeuvre in totally sweeping away several troops of cuirassiers, while a quarter of an hour later half an infantry battalion of regulars attacked a large force of zouaves on the compton road, and fought them successfully almost hand to hand. through the long, toilsome day the battle continued with unabated fury, and as the sun went down there was no cessation of hostilities. a force of our regulars, extending from farnham over hind head common, fell suddenly upon a large body of french infantry, and, outflanking them, managed--after a most frightful encounter, in which they lost nearly half their men--to totally annihilate them. in connection with this incident, a squadron of the 5th dragoon guards made a magnificent charge up a steep hill literally to the muzzles of the guns of a french battery, and by their magnificent pluck captured it. still, notwithstanding the bravery of our defenders, and their fierce determination to sweep away their foe, it seemed when the sun finally disappeared that the fortunes of war were once more against us, for the french had now received huge reinforcements, and dorking and leatherhead having already passed into their hands two days previously, they were enabled to make their final assault a most savage and terrific one. it was frightful; it crushed us! in the falling gloom our men fought desperately for their lives, but, alas! one after another our positions were carried by the invaders literally at the point of the bayonet, and ere the moon rose guildford had fallen into the enemy's hands, and our depleted battalions had been compelled to retire in disorder east to effingham and west to farnham. those who went to effingham joined at midnight the column who had made an unsuccessful effort to recover leatherhead, and then bivouaced in oldlands copse. the number of wounded in the battles of guildford and leatherhead was enormous. at mickleham the british hospital flag floated over st. michael's church, the priory at cherkley, chapel farm, and on mickleham hall, a portion of which still remained intact, although the building had been looted by zouaves. in leatherhead the french had established hospitals at givons grove, vale lodge, elmbank, and in the church of st. mary and the parish church at fetcham. at guildford, in addition to the field hospitals on albury downs and behind st. catherine's hill, holden, warren, and tyting farms, sutton place and loseley were filled with wounded french infantrymen and british prisoners, and many schools and buildings, including the guildhall in guildford town, bore the red cross. at two most important strategic points the first line defending london had now been broken, and the british officers knew that it would require every effort on our part to recover our lost advantages. the metropolis was now seriously threatened; for soon after dawn on the following day two great french columns, one from guildford and the other from leatherhead, were advancing north towards the thames! the enemy had established telegraphic communication between the two towns, and balloons that had been sent up from guildford and ashstead to reconnoitre had reported that the second line of the british defence had been formed from kingston, through wimbledon, tooting, streatham, and upper norwood, and thence across _viâ_ sydenham to lewisham and greenwich. it was upon this second line of defence that the french, with their enormous force of artillery, now marched. the leatherhead column, with their main body about one day's march behind, took the route through epsom to mitcham, while the troops from guildford pushed on through ripley, cobham, and esher. this advance occupied a day, and when a halt was made for the night the enemy's front extended from walton to thames ditton, thence across kingston common and malden to mitcham. bivouacing, they faced the british second line of defence, and waited for the morrow to commence their onslaught. in london the alarming news of the enemy's success caused a panic such as had never before been experienced in the metropolis. during the long anxious weeks that the enemy had been held within bounds by our volunteers, london had never fully realised what bombardment would mean. while the french were beyond the surrey hills, londoners felt secure; and the intelligence received of the enemy's utter rout at newcastle, manchester, edinburgh, and glasgow added considerably to this sense of security. london, alas! was starving. business was suspended; trains no longer left the termini; omnibuses, trams, and cabs had ceased running, the horses having been pressed into military service, and those which had not had been killed and eaten. the outlook everywhere, even during those blazing sunny days and clear moonlit nights, was cheerless and dispiriting. the bright sun seemed strangely incongruous with the black war-clouds that overhung the gigantic city, with its helpless, starving, breathless millions. in the sun-baked, dusty streets the roar of traffic no longer sounded, but up and down the principal thoroughfares of the city and the west end the people prowled, lean and hungry--emaciated victims of this awful struggle between nations--seeking vainly for food to satisfy the terrible pangs consuming them. the hollow cheek, the thin, sharp nose, the dark-ringed glassy eye of one and all, told too plainly of the widespread suffering, and little surprise was felt at the great mortality in every quarter. in kensington and belgravia the distress was quite as keen as in whitechapel and hackney, and both rich and poor mingled in the gloomy, dismal streets, wandering aimlessly over the great modern babylon, which the enemy were now plotting to destroy. the horrors of those intensely anxious days of terror were unspeakable. the whole machinery of life in the great city had been disorganised, and now london lay like an octopus, with her long arms extended in every direction, north and south of the thames, inert, helpless, trembling. over the gigantic capital of the world hung the dark shadow of death. by day and by night its ghastly presence could be felt; its hideous realities crushed the heart from those who would face the situation with smiling countenance. london's wealth availed her not in this critical hour. grim, spectral, unseen, the destroying angel held the sword over her, ready to strike! chapter xxxiv. looting in the suburbs. while famished men crept into hyde park and kensington gardens and there expired under the trees of absolute hunger, and starving women with babes at their breasts sank upon doorsteps and died, the more robust londoners had, on hearing of the enemy's march on the metropolis, gone south to augment the second line of defence. for several weeks huge barricades had been thrown up in the principal roads approaching london from the south. the strongest of these were opposite the convalescent home on kingston hill, in coombe lane close to raynes park station, in the morden road at merton abbey, opposite lynwood in the tooting road; while nearer london, on the same road, there was a strong one with machine guns on the crest of balham hill, and another in clapham road. at streatham hill, about one hundred yards from the hospital, earthworks had been thrown up, and several guns brought into position; while at beulah hill, norwood, opposite the post office at upper sydenham, at the half moon at herne hill, and in many of the roads between honor oak and denmark hill, barricades had been constructed and banked up with bags and baskets filled with earth. though these defences were held by enthusiastic civilians of all classes,--professional men, artisans, and tradesmen,--yet our second line of defence, distinct, of course, from the local barricades, was a very weak one. we had relied upon our magnificent strategic positions on the surrey hills, and had not made sufficient provision in case of a sudden reverse. our second line, stretching from croydon up to south norwood, thence to streatham and along the railway line to wimbledon and kingston, was composed of a few battalions of volunteers, detachments of metropolitan police, berks and bucks constabulary, london firemen and postmen, the corps of commissionaires--in fact, every body of drilled men who could be requisitioned to handle revolver or rifle. these were backed by great bodies of civilians, and behind stood the barricades with their insignificant-looking but terribly deadly machine guns. the railways had, on the first news of the enemy's success at leatherhead and guildford, all been cut up, and in each of the many bridges spanning the thames between kingston and the tower great charges of gun-cotton had been placed, so that they might be blown up at any instant, and thus prevent the enemy from investing the city. day dawned again at last--dull and grey. it had rained during the night, and the roads, wet and muddy, were unutterably gloomy as our civilian defenders looked out upon them, well knowing that ere long a fierce attack would be made. in the night the enemy had been busy laying a field telegraph from mitcham to kingston, through which messages were now being continually flashed. suddenly, just as the british outposts were being relieved, the french commenced a vigorous attack, and in a quarter of an hour fighting extended along the whole line. volunteers, firemen, policemen, commissionaires, and civilians all fought bravely, trusting to one hope, namely, that before they were defeated the enemy would be outflanked and attacked in their rear by a british force from the surrey hills. they well knew that to effectually bar the advance of this great body of french was out of all question, yet they fought on with creditable tact, and in many instances inflicted serious loss upon the enemy's infantry. soon, however, french field guns were trained upon them, and amid the roar of artillery line after line of heroic britons fell shattered to earth. amid the rattle of musketry, the crackling of the machine guns, and the booming of 16-pounders, brave londoners struggled valiantly against the masses of wildly excited frenchmen; yet every moment the line became slowly weakened, and the defenders were gradually forced back upon their barricades. the resistance which the french met with was much more determined than they had anticipated; in fact, a small force of volunteers holding the mitcham road, at streatham, fought with such splendid bravery, that they succeeded alone and unaided in completely wiping out a battalion of french infantry, and capturing two field guns and a quantity of ammunition. for this success, however, they, alas! paid dearly, for a quarter of an hour later a large body of cavalry and infantry coming over from woodlands descended upon them and totally annihilated them, with the result that streatham fell into the hands of the french, and a few guns placed in the high road soon made short work of the earthworks near the hospital. under the thick hail of bursting shells the brave band who manned the guns were at last compelled to abandon them, and the enemy were soon marching unchecked into stockwell and brixton, extending their right, with the majority of their artillery, across herne hill, dulwich, and honor oak. in the meantime a desperate battle was being fought around kingston. the barricade on kingston hill held out for nearly three hours, but was at last captured by the invaders, and of those who had manned it not a man survived. mitcham and tooting had fallen in the first hour of the engagement, the barricade at lynwood had been taken, and hundreds of the houses in balham had been looted by the enemy in their advance into clapham. nearly the whole morning it rained in torrents, and both invaders and defenders were wet to the skin, and covered with blood and mud. everywhere british pluck showed itself in this desperate resistance on the part of these partially-trained defenders. at the smaller barricades in the suburban jerry-built streets, britons held their own and checked the advance with remarkable coolness; yet, as the dark, stormy day wore on, the street defences were one after another broken down and destroyed. indeed, by three o'clock that afternoon the enemy ran riot through the whole district, from lower sydenham to kingston. around the larger houses on sydenham hill one of the fiercest fights occurred, but at length the defenders were driven down into lordship lane, and the houses on the hill were sacked, and some of them burned. while this was proceeding, a great force of french artillery came over from streatham, and before dusk five great batteries had been established along the parade in front of the crystal palace, and on sydenham hill and one tree hill; while other smaller batteries were brought into position at forest hill, gipsy hill, tulse hill, streatham hill, and herne hill; and further towards london about twenty french 12-pounders and a number of new quick-firing weapons of long range and a very destructive character were placed along the top of camberwell grove and denmark hill. the defences of london had been broken. the track of the invaders was marked by ruined homes and heaps of corpses, and london's millions knew on this eventful night that the enemy were now actually at their doors. in fleet street, in the strand, in piccadilly, the news spread from mouth to mouth as darkness fell that the enemy were preparing to launch their deadly shells into the city. this increased the panic. the people were in a mad frenzy of excitement, and the scenes everywhere were terrible. women wept and wailed, men uttered words of blank despair, and children screamed at an unknown terror. the situation was terrible. from the embankment away on the surrey side could be seen a lurid glare in the sky. it was the reflection of a great fire in vassall road, brixton, the whole street being burned by the enemy, together with the great block of houses lying between the cowley and brixton roads. london waited. dark storm-clouds scudded across the moon. the chill wind swept up the river, and moaned mournfully in doors and chimneys. at last, without warning, just as big ben had boomed forth one o'clock, the thunder of artillery shook the windows, and startled the excited crowds. great shells crashed into the streets, remained for a second, and then burst with deafening report and appalling effect. in trafalgar square, fleet street, and the strand the deadly projectiles commenced to fall thickly, wrecking the shops, playing havoc with the public buildings, and sweeping hundreds of men and women into eternity. nothing could withstand their awful force, and the people, rushing madly about like frightened sheep, felt that this was indeed their last hour. in ludgate hill the scene was awful. shots fell with monotonous regularity, bursting everywhere, and blowing buildings and men into atoms. the french shells were terribly devastating; the reek of mélinite poisoned the air. shells striking st. paul's cathedral brought down the right-hand tower, and crashed into the dome; while others set on fire a long range of huge drapery warehouses behind it, the glare of the roaring flames causing the great black cathedral to stand out in bold relief. the bombardment had actually commenced! london, the proud capital of the world, was threatened with destruction! chapter xxxv. london bombarded. the hand of the destroyer had reached england's mighty metropolis. the lurid scene was appalling. in the stormy sky the red glare from hundreds of burning buildings grew brighter, and in every quarter flames leaped up and black smoke curled slowly away in increasing volume. the people were unaware of the events that had occurred in surrey that day. exhausted, emaciated, and ashen pale, the hungry people had endured every torture. panic-stricken, they rushed hither and thither in thousands up and down the principal thoroughfares, and as they tore headlong away in this _sauve qui peut_ to the northern suburbs, the weaker fell and were trodden under foot. men fought for their wives and families, dragging them away out of the range of the enemy's fire, which apparently did not extend beyond the line formed by the hackney road, city road, pentonville road, euston road, and westbourne park. but in that terrible rush to escape many delicate ladies were crushed to death, and numbers of others, with their children, sank exhausted, and perished beneath the feet of the fleeing millions. never before had such alarm been spread through london; never before had such awful scenes of destruction been witnessed. the french commander-in-chief, who was senior to his russian colleague, had been killed, and his successor being unwilling to act in concert with the muscovite staff, a quarrel ensued. it was this quarrel which caused the bombardment of london, totally against the instructions of their respective governments. the bombardment was, in fact, wholly unnecessary, and was in a great measure due to some confused orders received by the french general from his commander-in-chief. into the midst of the surging, terrified crowds that congested the streets on each side of the thames, shells filled with mélinite dropped, and, bursting, blew hundreds of despairing londoners to atoms. houses were shattered and fell, public buildings were demolished, factories were set alight, and the powerful exploding projectiles caused the great city to reel and quake. above the constant crash of bursting shells, the dull roar of the flames, and the crackling of burning timbers, terrific detonations now and then were heard, as buildings, filled with combustibles, were struck by shots, and, exploding, spread death and ruin over wide areas. the centre of commerce, of wealth, of intellectual and moral life was being ruthlessly wrecked, and its inhabitants massacred. apparently it was not the intention of the enemy to invest the city at present, fearing perhaps that the force that had penetrated the defences was not sufficiently large to accomplish such a gigantic task; therefore they had commenced this terrible bombardment as a preliminary measure. through the streets of south london the people rushed along, all footsteps being bent towards the bridges; but on every one of them the crush was frightful--indeed, so great was it that in several instances the stone balustrades were broken, and many helpless, shrieking persons were forced over into the dark swirling waters below. the booming of the batteries was continuous, the bursting of the shells was deafening, and every moment was one of increasing horror. men saw their homes swept away, and trembling women clung to their husbands, speechless with fear. in the city, in the strand, in westminster, and west end streets the ruin was even greater, and the destruction of property enormous. westward, both great stations at victoria, with the adjoining furniture repositories and the grosvenor hotel, were burning fiercely; while the wellington barracks had been partially demolished, and the roof of st. peter's church blown away. two shells falling in the quadrangle of buckingham palace had smashed every window and wrecked some of the ground-floor apartments, but nevertheless upon the flagstaff, amidst the dense smoke and showers of sparks flying upward, there still floated the royal standard. st. james's palace, marlborough house, stafford house, and clarence house, standing in exposed positions, were being all more or less damaged; several houses in carlton house terrace had been partially demolished, and a shell striking the duke of york's column soon after the commencement of the bombardment, caused it to fall, blocking waterloo place. time after time shells whistled above and fell with a crash and explosion, some in the centre of the road, tearing up the paving, and others striking the clubs in pall mall, blowing out many of those noble time-mellowed walls. the portico of the athenæum had been torn away like pasteboard, the rear premises of the war office had been pulverised, and the carlton, reform, and united service clubs suffered terrible damage. two shells striking the junior carlton crashed through the roof, and exploding almost simultaneously, brought down an enormous heap of masonry, which fell across the roadway, making an effectual barricade; while at the same moment shells began to fall thickly in grosvenor place and belgrave square, igniting many houses, and killing some of those who remained in their homes petrified by fear. up regent street shells were sweeping with frightful effect. the café monico and the whole block of buildings surrounding it was burning, and the flames leaping high, presented a magnificent though appalling spectacle. the front of the london pavilion had been partially blown away, and of the two uniform rows of shops forming the quadrant many had been wrecked. from air street to oxford circus, and along piccadilly to knightsbridge, there fell a perfect hail of shell and bullets. devonshire house had been wrecked, and the burlington arcade destroyed. the thin pointed spire of st. james's church had fallen, every window in the albany was shattered, several houses in grosvenor place had suffered considerably, and a shell that struck the southern side of st. george's hospital had ignited it, and now at 2 a.m., in the midst of this awful scene of destruction and disaster, the helpless sick were being removed into the open streets, where bullets whistled about them and fragments of explosive shells whizzed past. as the night wore on london trembled and fell. once mistress of the world, she was now, alas! sinking under the iron hand of the invader. upon her there poured a rain of deadly missiles that caused appalling slaughter and desolation. the newly introduced long-range guns, and the terrific power of the explosives with which the french shells were charged, added to the horrors of the bombardment; for although the batteries were so far away as to be out of sight, yet the unfortunate people, overtaken by their doom, were torn limb from limb by the bursting bombs. over the roads lay men of london, poor and rich, weltering in their blood, their lower limbs shattered or blown completely away. with wide-open haggard eyes, in their death agony they gazed around at the burning buildings, at the falling débris, and upward at the brilliantly-illumined sky. with their last breath they gasped prayers for those they loved, and sank to the grave, hapless victims of babylon's downfall. every moment the great city was being devastated, every moment the catastrophe was more complete, more awful. in the poorer quarters of south london whole streets were swept away, and families overwhelmed by their own demolished homes. along the principal thoroughfares shop fronts were shivered, and the goods displayed in the windows strewn about the roadway. about half-past three a frightful disaster occurred at battersea. very few shells had dropped in that district, when suddenly one fell right in the very centre of a great petroleum store. the effect was frightful. with a noise that was heard for twenty miles around, the whole of the great store of oil exploded, blowing the stores themselves high into the air, and levelling all the buildings in the vicinity. in every direction burning oil was projected over the roofs of neighbouring houses, dozens of which at once caught fire, while down the streets there ran great streams of blazing oil, which spread the conflagration in every direction. showers of sparks flew upwards, the flames roared and crackled, and soon fires were breaking out in all quarters. just as the clocks were striking a quarter to four, a great shell struck the victoria tower of the houses of parliament, bringing it down with a terrific crash. this disaster was quickly followed by a series of others. a shell fell through the roof of westminster abbey, setting the grand old historic building on fire; another tore away the columns from the front of the royal exchange; and a third carried away one of the square twin towers of st. mary woolnoth, at the corner of lombard street. along this latter thoroughfare banks were wrecked, and offices set on fire; while opposite, in the thick walls of the bank of england, great breaches were being made. the mansion house escaped any very serious injury, but the dome of the stock exchange was carried away; and in queen victoria street, from end to end, enormous damage was caused to the rows of fine business premises; while further east the monument, broken in half, came down with a noise like thunder, demolishing many houses on fish street hill. the great drapery warehouses in wood street, bread street, friday street, foster lane, and st. paul's churchyard suffered more or less. ryland's, morley's, and cook's were all alight and burning fiercely; while others were wrecked and shattered, and their contents blown out into the streets. the quaint spire of st. bride's had fallen, and its bells lay among the débris in the adjoining courts; both the half-wrecked offices of the _daily telegraph_ and the _daily chronicle_ were being consumed. the great clock-tower of the law courts fell about four o'clock with a terrific crash, completely blocking the strand at temple bar, and demolishing the much-abused griffin memorial; while at the same moment two large holes were torn in the roof of the great hall, the small black turret above fell, and the whole of the glass in the building was shivered into fragments. it was amazing how widespread was the ruin caused by each of the explosive missiles. considering the number of guns employed by the french in this cruel and wanton destruction of property, the desolation they were causing was enormous. this was owing to the rapid extension of their batteries over the high ground from one tree hill through peckham to greenwich, and more especially to the wide ranges of their guns and the terrific power of their shells. in addition to the ordinary projectiles filled with mélinite, charges of that extremely powerful substance lignine dynamite were hurled into the city, and, exploded by a detonator, swept away whole streets, and laid many great public buildings in ruins; while steel shells, filled with some arrangement of liquid oxygen and blasting gelatine, produced frightful effects, for nothing could withstand them. one of these, discharged from the battery on denmark hill, fell in the quadrangle behind burlington house, and levelled the royal academy and the surrounding buildings. again a terrific explosion sounded, and as the smoke cleared it was seen that a gelatine shell had fallen among the many turrets of the natural history museum, and the front of the building fell out with a deafening crash, completely blocking the cromwell road. london lay at the mercy of the invaders. so swiftly had the enemy cut their way through the defences and opened their hail of destroying missiles, that the excited, starving populace were unaware of what had occurred until dynamite began to rain upon them. newspapers had ceased to appear; and although telegraphic communication was kept up with the defenders on the surrey hills by the war office, yet no details of the events occurring there had been made public for fear of spies. londoners had remained in ignorance, and, alas! had awaited their doom. through the long sultry night the situation was one of indescribable panic and disaster. the sky had grown a brighter red, and the streets within the range of the enemy's guns, now deserted, were in most cases blocked by burning ruins and fallen telegraph wires; while about the roadways lay the shattered corpses of men, women, and children, upon whom the shells had wrought their frightful work. the bodies, mutilated, torn limb from limb, were sickening to gaze upon. chapter xxxvi. babylon burning. dynamite had shattered charing cross station and the hotel, for its smoke-begrimed façade had been torn out, and the station yard was filled with a huge pile of smouldering débris. on either side of the strand from villiers street to temple bar scarcely a window had been left intact, and the roadway itself was quite impassable, for dozens of buildings had been overthrown by shells, and what in many cases had been handsome shops were now heaps of bricks, slates, furniture, and twisted girders. the rain of fire continued. dense black smoke rising in a huge column from st. martin's church showed plainly what was the fate of that noble edifice, while fire had now broken out at the tivoli music hall, and the clubs on adelphi terrace were also falling a prey to the flames. the burning of babylon was a sight of awful, appalling grandeur. the few people remaining in the vicinity of the strand who escaped the flying missiles and falling buildings, sought what shelter they could, and stood petrified by terror, knowing that every moment might be their last, not daring to fly into the streets leading to holborn, where they could see the enemy's shells were still falling with unabated regularity and frightful result, their courses marked by crashing buildings and blazing ruins. looking from charing cross, the strand seemed one huge glaring furnace. flames belched from windows on either side, and, bursting through roofs, great tongues of fire shot upwards; blazing timbers fell into the street; and as the buildings became gutted, and the fury of the devouring element was spent, shattered walls tottered and fell into the roadway. the terrific heat, the roar of the flames, the blinding smoke, the stifling fumes of dynamite, the pungent, poisonous odour of mélinite, the clouds of dust, the splinters of stone and steel, and the constant bursting of shells, combined to render the scene the most awful ever witnessed in a single thoroughfare during the history of the world. from kensington to bow, from camberwell to somers town, from clapham to deptford, the vast area of congested houses and tortuous streets was being swept continually. south of the thames the loss of life was enormous, for thousands were unable to get beyond the zone of fire, and many in brixton, clapham, camberwell, and kennington were either maimed by flying fragments of shell, buried in the débris of their homes, or burned to death. the disasters wrought by the frenchmen's improved long-range weapons were frightful. london, the all-powerful metropolis, which had egotistically considered herself the impregnable citadel of the world, fell to pieces and was consumed. she was frozen by terror, and lifeless. her ancient monuments were swept away, her wealth melted in her coffers, her priceless objects of art were torn up and broken, and her streets ran with the blood of her starving toilers. day dawned grey, with stormlight gloom. rain-clouds scudded swiftly across the leaden sky. along the road in front of the crystal palace, where the french batteries were established, the deafening discharges that had continued incessantly during the night, and had smashed nearly all the glass in the sides and roof of the palace, suddenly ceased. the officers were holding a consultation over despatches received from the batteries at tulse hill, streatham, red post hill, one tree hill, and greenwich, all of which stated that ammunition had run short, and they were therefore unable to continue the bombardment. [illustration: the french bombarding london from the crystal palace parade.] neither of the ammunition trains of the two columns of the enemy had arrived, for, although the bombarding batteries were unaware of it, both had been captured and blown up by british volunteers. it was owing to this that the hostile guns were at last compelled to cease their thunder, and to this fact also was due the fortunes of the defenders in the events immediately following. our volunteers occupying the line of defence north of london, through epping and brentwood to tilbury, had for the past three weeks been in daily expectation of an attempt on the part of the invaders to land in essex, and were amazed at witnessing this sudden bombardment. from their positions on the northern heights they could distinctly see how disastrous was the enemy's fire, and although they had been informed by telegraph of the reverses we had sustained at guildford and leatherhead, yet they had no idea that the actual attack on the metropolis would be made so swiftly. however, they lost not a moment. it was evident that the enemy had no intention of effecting a landing in essex; therefore, with commendable promptitude, they decided to move across the thames immediately, to reinforce their comrades in surrey. leaving the 2nd and 4th west riding artillery, under col. hoffmann and col. n. creswick, v.d., at tilbury, and the lincolnshire, essex, and worcestershire volunteer artillery, under col. g. m. hutton, v.d., col. s. l. howard, v.d., and col. w. ottley, the greater part of the norfolk, staffordshire, tay, aberdeen, manchester, and northern counties field brigades moved south with all possible speed. from brentwood, the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th volunteer battalions of the norfolk regiment, under col. a. c. dawson, col. e. h. h. combe, col. h. e. hyde, v.d., and col. c. w. j. unthank, v.d.; the 1st and 2nd north staffordshire, under col. w. h. dutton, v.d., and col. f. d. mort, v.d.; and the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd south staffordshire, under col. j. b. cochrane, v.d., col. t. t. fisher, v.d., and col. e. nayler, v.d.; the 2nd, 4th, 5th, and 6th royal highlanders, under col. w. a. gordon, v.d., col. sir r. d. moncreiffe, col. sir r. menzies, v.d., and col. erskine; the 7th argyll and sutherland highlanders, under col. j. porteous, v.d.; the 3rd, 4th, and 5th gordon highlanders, under col. a. d. fordyce, col. g. jackson, v.d., and col. j. johnston--were, as early as 2 a.m., on their way to london. at this critical hour the engineer and railway volunteer staff corps rendered invaluable services. under the direction of col. william birt, trains held in readiness by the great eastern railway brought the brigades rapidly to liverpool street, whence they marched by a circuitous route beyond the zone of fire by way of marylebone, paddington, kensington gardens, walham green, and across wandsworth bridge, thence to upper tooting, where they fell in with a large force of our regular infantry and cavalry, who were on their way to outflank the enemy. attacking a detachment of the french at tooting, they captured several guns, destroyed the enemy's field telegraph, and proceeded at once to streatham, where the most desperate resistance was offered. a fierce fight occurred across streatham common, and over to lower norwood and gipsy hill, in which both sides lost very heavily. nevertheless our volunteers from essex, although they had been on the march the greater part of the night, fought bravely, and inflicted terrible punishment upon their foe. the 3rd and 4th volunteer battalions of the gordon highlanders and the 1st norfolk, attacking a french position near the mouth of the railway tunnel, displayed conspicuous bravery, and succeeded in completely annihilating their opponents; while in an opposite direction, towards tooting, several troops of french cavalry were cut up and taken prisoners by two battalions of royal highlanders. the batteries on streatham hill having been assaulted and taken, the force of defenders pushed quickly onward to upper norwood, where our cavalry, sweeping along westow hill and church street, fell upon the battery in front of the crystal palace. the enemy, owing to the interruption of their field telegraph, were unaware of their presence, and were completely surprised. nevertheless french infantrymen rushed into the crystal palace hotel, the white swan, stanton harcourt, the knoll, rocklands, and other houses at both ends of the parade, and from the windows poured forth withering volleys from their lebels. our cavalry, riding down the broad parade, used their sabres upon the artillerymen, and the whole of the french troops were quickly in a confused mass, unable to act with effect, and suffering appallingly from the steady fire of our volunteers, who very soon cleared the enemy from the white swan, and, having been drawn up outside, poured forth a galling rifle fire right along the enemy's position. suddenly there was loud shouting, and the british "cease fire" sounded. the french, though fighting hard, were falling back gradually down the hill towards sydenham station, when suddenly shots were heard, and turbaned cavalry came riding into them at a terrific pace from the rear. the british officers recognised the new-comers as a squadron of bengal lancers! at last india had sent us help, and our men sent up a loud cheer. a large force of cavalry and infantry, together with two regiments of goorkas, had, it appeared, been landed at sheerness. they had contemplated landing in hampshire, but, more unfortunate than some of their compatriots who had effected a landing near southampton, they were driven through the straits of dover by the enemy's cruisers. marching north in company with a force from chatham, they had earlier that morning attacked and routed the enemy's right flank at blackheath, and, after capturing the battery of the foe at greenwich, greater part of the escort of which had been sent over to lewisham an hour before, they slaughtered a battalion of zouaves, and had then extended across to denmark hill, where a sanguinary struggle occurred. the french on dog kennel, red post, herne, and tulse hills turned their deadly machine guns upon them, and for a long time all the positions held out. at length, however, by reason of a splendid charge made by the bengal lancers, the battery at red post hill was taken and the enemy slaughtered. during the next half-hour a fierce hand-to-hand struggle took place up dog kennel hill from st. saviour's infirmary, and presently, when the defenders gained the spur of the hill, they fought the enemy gallantly in grove lane, private road, bromar road, camberwell grove, and adjoining roads. time after time the indian cavalry charged, and the goorkas, with their keen knives, hacked their way into those of the enemy who rallied. for nearly an hour the struggle continued desperately, showers of bullets from magazine rifles sweeping along the usually quiet suburban thoroughfares, until the roads were heaped with dead and dying, and the houses on either side bore evidence of the bloody fray. then at last the guns placed along the hills all fell into our hands, and the french were almost completely swept out of existence. many were the terrible scenes witnessed in the gardens of the quaint last-century houses on denmark hill. around those old-world residences, standing along the road leading down to half moon lane, time-mellowed relics of an age bygone, indians fought with zouaves, and british volunteers struggled fiercely hand to hand with french infantrymen. the quiet old-fashioned quarter, that was an aristocratic retreat when camberwell was but a sylvan village with an old toll gate, when cows chewed the cud upon walworth common, and when the walworth road had not a house in the whole of it, was now the scene of a frightful massacre. the deafening explosions of cordite from magazine rifles, the exultant shouts of the victors and the hoarse shrieks of the dying, awakened the echoes in those quaint old gardens, with their dutch-cut zigzag walks, enclosed by ancient red brick walls, moss-grown, lichen covered, and half hidden by ivy, honeysuckle, and creepers. those spacious grounds, where men were now being mercilessly slaughtered, had been the scene of many a brilliant _fête champêtre_, where splendid satin-coated _beaux_, all smiles and _ailes de pigeon_, whispered scandal behind the fans of dainty dames in high-dressed wigs and patches, or, clad as watteau shepherds, had danced the _al fresco_ minuet with similarly attired shepherdesses, and later on played _piquet_ and drank champagne till dawn. [illustration: goorkas slaughtering the french artillery at greenwich observatory.] in the good old georgian days, when johnson walked daily under the trees in gough square, when macklin was playing the "man of the world," and when traitors' heads blackened on temple bar, this colony was one of the most rural, exclusive, and gay in the vicinity of london. alas, how it has decayed! cheap "desirable residences" have sprung up around it, the hand of the jerry-building vandal has touched it, the sound of traffic roars about it; yet still there is a charm in those quaint old gardens of a forgotten era. from under the dark yew hedges the jonquils still peep out early--the flowers themselves are those old-fashioned sweet ones beloved of our grandmothers--and the tea roses still blossom on the crumbling walls and fill the air with their fragrance. but in this terrible struggle the walls were used as defences, the bushes were torn down and trampled under foot, and the flowers hung broken on their stalks, bespattered with men's blood! proceeding south again, the defenders successfully attacked the strong batteries on one tree hill at honor oak, and on sydenham hill and forest hill, and then extending across to the crystal palace, had joined hands with our volunteers from essex, where they were now wreaking vengeance for the ruthless destruction caused in london. the bloodshed along the crystal palace parade was fearful. the french infantry and artillery, overwhelmed by the onward rush of the defenders, and now under the british crossfire, fell in hundreds. dark-faced bengal lancers and goorkas, with british hussars and volunteers, descended upon them with appalling swiftness; and so complete was the slaughter, that of the whole force that had effected that terribly effectual bombardment from sydenham, not more than a dozen survived. by noon many of the shops on westow hill and private residences on college hill and sydenham hill had been wantonly ignited by the enemy; but when the firing ceased some hours later, the roads were heaped with the corpses of those whose mission it had been to destroy london. of all those batteries which had caused such frightful desolation and loss of life during the night, not one now remained. the two french columns had been swiftly wiped out of existence; and although our forces had suffered very considerably, they nevertheless were able to go south to croydon later that afternoon, in order to take part in resisting the vigorous and desperate attack which they knew would sooner or later be made by the whole french army massed beyond the surrey hills. the sun was on the horizon, and the shadows were already deepening. assistance had arrived tardily, for the damage to property in london during the night had been enormous; nevertheless at this the eleventh hour we had inflicted upon the french a crushing defeat, and now england waited, trembling and breathless, wondering what would be the final outcome of this fierce, bloody struggle for our national existence. chapter xxxvii. fighting on the surrey hills. our valiant defenders were striking swift, decisive blows for england's honour. the french, demoralised by their severe defeat in the south of london, and suffering considerable loss in every other direction, fought desperately during the two days following the disastrous bombardment. in darkness and sunlight fierce contests took place along the surrey hills, where our volunteers, under major-gen. lord methuen, were still entrenched. every copse bristled with rifles; red coats gleamed among the foliage, and winding highways were, alas! strewn with corpses. guildford had again been reoccupied by our regulars, who were reorganising; and leatherhead, holding out for another day, was retaken, after a terribly hard-fought battle, by the highland, south of scotland, and glasgow brigades, with the 1st ayrshire and galloway artillery, under col. j. g. sturrock, v.d.; 1st lanarkshire, under col. r. j. bennett, v.d.; 1st aberdeenshire, under col. j. ogston, v.d.; and 1st north riding yorkshire volunteer artillery, under major c. l. bell. in such a splendid and gallant manner had our comparatively small force manoeuvred, that on the second night following the bombardment the whole of the invaders who had penetrated beyond our line of defence towards the metropolis had been completely wiped out, in addition to which the breach in our line had been filled up by strong reinforcements, and the enemy driven from the high ground between box hill and guildford. the invaders, finding how vigorously we repelled any attack, made terrific onslaughts on our position at various points they believed were vulnerable, but everywhere they were hurled back with appalling slaughter. volunteers from australia and the cape, in addition to the other contingent of 10,000 indian native troops, had been landed near southampton, and had advanced to assist in this terrific struggle, upon the result of which the future of our empire depended. among these colonials were 500 victorian rangers, 900 victoria mounted rifles, and seven companies of queensland mounted infantry, with two ambulance corps. the indians landed in splendid form, having brought their full war equipment with them without any contribution whatever from the home government, as it will be remembered they did when they landed at malta during lord beaconsfield's administration. having received intelligence of the movements of the two columns of the enemy that had gone to london after taking leatherhead and guildford, they pushed on to petworth. by the time they arrived there, however, both towns had been recaptured by the british, who were then being severely harassed by the enemy massed along the south side of our defensive line. although numerically inferior to the enemy occupying that part of the country, the indians were already well accustomed to actual warfare, the majority having been engaged in operations against the hill tribes; therefore the commander decided to push on at once, and endeavour to outflank the large french force who with some russian infantry had again attacked guildford, and the manner in which this was accomplished was a single illustration of the valuable assistance the indians rendered us in these days of bloodshed and despair. one of the native officers of a sikh regiment, the subadar banerji singh, having served with sir peter lumsden's expeditionary force some years before, had frequently come into contact with the russians, and could speak russian better than some of the soldiers of the tsar's asiatic corps. the commander of the indian force, determined that his men should strike their blow and sustain their reputation, advanced with great caution from petworth, and late in the afternoon of the second evening after the bombardment of london, two sikhs scouting in front of the advance guard sighted a russian bivouac on the road on the other side of the wye canal beyond loxwood bridge, which latter had been demolished. the indians were thereupon halted on the road which runs through the wood near plaistow, and the officers held council. their information was unfortunately very meagre and their knowledge of the country necessarily vague; but the subadar banerji singh, who was of unusually fair complexion, volunteered to don a russian uniform, which had been taken with other property from a dead officer found upon the road, and endeavour in that disguise to penetrate the enemy's lines. towards dusk he set out on his perilous journey, and, on arriving at the wrecked bridge, shouted over to two russian sentries, explaining that he had been wounded and left behind after the fight at haslemere, and requesting their assistance to enable him to cross. believing him to be one of their infantry officers, they told him there were no means of crossing unless he could swim, as their engineers had sounded the canal before blowing up the bridge, and had found it twenty feet deep. banerji singh questioned them artfully as to the position of their column, which they said intended, in co-operation with a great force of french cavalry and infantry, to again attack guildford at dawn; and further, they told him in confidence that the rearguard to which they belonged only numbered about two thousand men, who had halted for the night with the transport waggons on the guildford road, about two miles north of alfold. then, after further confidences, they suggested that he should continue along the canal bank for about a mile and a half, where there was a bridge still intact, and near which he would find the rearguard. thanking them, he withdrew into the falling gloom, and a quarter of an hour later entered the presence of his commanding officer, who, of course, was delighted with the information thus elicited. the subadar had carefully noted all the features of the canal bank and broken bridge, and the valuable knowledge he had obtained was at once put to account, and the general at once formed his force into two divisions. then, after issuing instructions for the following day, he gave orders for a bivouac for the night. the pioneers, however, were far from idle. during the night they worked with unflagging energy, quietly preparing a position for the guns to cover the contemplated passage at loxwood bridge, and before day broke the guns were mounted, and the engineers were ready for action. as soon as there was sufficient light the laying of the pontoon commenced, but was at once noticed by the russians, who opened fire, and very soon it was evident that information had been conveyed to the enemy's rearguard, and that they were returning to contest the passage. in the meantime one division of the indians, setting out before daybreak, had been cautiously working round to the main road crossing the canal north of alfold, and succeeded in getting over soon after the majority of the russian rearguard had left for the assistance of the detachment at loxwood bridge, and, after a sharp, decisive fight, succeeded in capturing the whole of the transport waggons. the engineers, with the indians, had in the meantime succeeded in completing their pontoon under cover of the guns, and the second division of the indians, dark-faced, daring fellows, rushed across to the opposite bank, and descended upon the enemy with frightful effect. in the hot engagement that followed, the russians, now attacked in both front and rear, were totally annihilated, and thus the whole of the reserve ammunition of the force assaulting guildford fell into our hands. this victory on the enemy's left flank caused the tide of events to turn in our favour, for the huge russian and french columns that intended to again carry the hills from dorking to guildford were hampered by want of ammunition, and so vigorously did our volunteers along the hills defend the repeated attacks, that the invaders were again driven back. then, as they drew south to recover themselves, they were attacked on their left by a large body of our regulars, and in the rear by the indians and australians. over the country stretching across from cranley through ewhurst, ockley, capel, and newdigate to horley, the fighting spread, as each side struggled desperately for the mastery. the fate of england, nay, of our vast british empire, was in the hands of those of her stalwart sons of many races who were now wielding valiantly the rifle and the sword. through that blazing september day, while the people of london wailed among the ruins of their homes, and, breathlessly anxious, awaited news of their victory or their doom, the whole of east kent, the southern portion of surrey and northern sussex, became one huge battlefield. of the vast bodies of troops massed over hill and dale every regiment became engaged. the butchery was awful. chapter xxxviii. naval battle off dungeness. on sea england was now showing the world how she still could fight. following the desperate struggle off sardinia, in which italy had rendered us such valuable help, our mediterranean squadron attacked the french fleet off cape tresforcas, on the coast of morocco, and after a terrific battle, extending over two days, defeated them with heavy loss, several of the enemy's vessels being torpedoed and sunk, two of them rammed, and one so badly damaged that her captain ran her ashore on alboran island. after this hard-earned victory, our squadron passed out of the mediterranean, and, returning home, had joined hands with the battered remnant of our channel fleet, now reinforced by several vessels recalled from foreign stations. therefore, while the enemy marched upon london, we had collected our naval strength on the south coast, and at length made a final descent upon the enemy in british waters. the british vessels that passed beachy head coming up channel on the night of the bombardment of london included the _empress of india_, _inflexible_, _nile_, _trafalgar_, _magnificent_, _hood_, _warspite_, _dreadnought_, _camperdown_, _blenheim_, _barham_, _benbow_, _monarch_, _anson_, _immortalité_, and _royal sovereign_, with four of the new cruisers built under the spencer programme, viz. the _terrible_, _powerful_, _doris_, and _isis_, and a number of smaller vessels, torpedo boats, and "destroyers." at the same hour that our vessels were passing beachy head, the coastguard at sandwich battery were suddenly alarmed by electric signals being flashed from a number of warships that were slowly passing the gull stream revolving light towards the downs. the sensation these lights caused among the coastguard and artillery was immediately dispelled when it was discovered that the warships were not hostile, but friendly; that the kaiser had sent a german squadron, in two divisions, to assist us, and that these vessels were on their way to unite with our own fleet. the first division, it was ascertained, consisted of the _baden_, flying the flag of vice-admiral koester; the _sachen_, commanded by prince henry of prussia; the _würtemberg_, and the _bayern_--all of 7400 tons, and each carrying 18 guns and nearly 400 men; while the despatch boat _pfeil_, the new dynamite cruiser _trier_, and a number of torpedo boats, accompanied them. the second division, under rear-admiral von diederichs on board the _könig wilhelm_, consisted of the _brandenburg_, _kürfurst friedrich wilhelm_, and _woerth_, each of 10,300 tons, and carrying 32 guns; the _deutschland_ and the _friedrich der grosse_, with the despatch vessel _wacht_, and several torpedo gunboats and other craft. before dawn, the british and german fleets united near south sand head light, off the south foreland, and it was decided to commence the attack without delay. turning west again, the british ships, accompanied by those of the emperor william, proceeded slowly down channel in search of the enemy, which they were informed by signal had been sighted by the coastguard at east wear, near folkestone, earlier in the night. just as day broke, however, when the defenders were opposite dymchurch, about eight miles from land, the enemy were discovered in force. apparently the french and russian fleets had combined, and were preparing for a final descent upon dover, or an assault upon the thames defences; and it could be seen that, with both forces so strong, the fight would inevitably be one to the death. little time was occupied in preliminaries. soon our ships were within range in fighting formation in single column in line abreast, while the french, under admiral le bourgeois, advanced in single column in line ahead. the french flagship, leading, was within 2000 yards of the british line, and had not disclosed the nature of her attack. the enemy's admiral had signalled to the ships astern of him to follow his motions together, as nearly as possible to concentrate their guns at point blank, right ahead, and to pour their shot on the instant of passing our ships. he had but three minutes to decide upon the attack, and as he apparently elected to pierce the centre of our line, the british had no time to counteract him. the french admiral therefore continued his course, and as he passed between the _camperdown_ and _blenheim_, he discharged his guns, receiving the british broadsides and bow fire at the same time. in a few minutes, however, it was seen that the french attack had been frustrated, and as dawn spread the fighting increased, and the lines became broken. the ponderous guns of the battleships thundered, and ere long the whole of the great naval force was engaged in this final struggle for england's freedom. the three powerful french battleships, _jauréguiberry_, _jemappes_, and _dévastation_, and the submarine torpedo boat _gustave zédé_, fiercely attacked the _brandenburg_ and the _könig wilhelm_; while the _camperdown_, _anson_, _dreadnought_, and _warspite_ fought desperately with half a dozen of the enemy's battleships, all of which suffered considerably. our torpedo boats, darting swiftly hither and thither, performed much effective service, and many smart manoeuvres were carried out by astute officers in command of those wasps of the sea. in one instance a torpedo boat, which had designs upon a russian ironclad, obtained cover by sending in front of her a gunboat which emitted an immense quantity of dense smoke. this of course obscured from view the torpedo boat under the gunboat's stern, and those on board the tsar's battleship pounded away at the gunboat, unconscious of the presence of the dangerous little craft. just as the gunboat got level with the battleship, however, the torpedo boat emerged from the cloud of smoke, and, darting along, ejected its whitehead with such precision that five minutes later the russian leviathan sank beneath the dark green waters. almost at the same moment, the new german dynamite cruiser destroyed a french cruiser, and a fierce and sanguinary encounter took place between the _immortalité_ and the _tréhouart_. the former's pair of 22-tonners, in combination with her ten 6-inch guns, wrought awful havoc on board the french vessel; nevertheless, from the turret of her opponent there came a deadly fire which spread death and destruction through the ship. suddenly the frenchman swung round, and with her quick-firing guns shedding a deadly storm of projectiles, came full upon the british vessel. the impact and the angle at which she was struck was not, however, sufficient to ram her, consequently the two vessels became entangled, and amid the rain of bullets the frenchmen made a desperate attempt to board our ship. a few who managed to spring upon the _immortalité's_ deck were cut down instantly, but a couple of hundred fully armed men were preparing to make a rush to overpower our bluejackets. on board the british cruiser, however, the enemy's intentions had been divined, and certain precautions taken. the _fusiliers marins_, armed with lebels and cutlasses, suddenly made a desperate, headlong rush upon the british cruiser's deck, but just as fifty of them gained their goal, a great hose attached to one of the boilers was brought into play, and scalding water poured upon the enemy. this, in addition to some hand charges at that moment thrown, proved successful in repelling the attack; but just as the survivors retreated in disorder there was a dull explosion, and then it was evident, from the confusion on board the french ship, that she had been torpedoed by a german boat, and was sinking. humanely, our vessel, the _immortalité_ rescued the whole of her opponent's men ere she sank; but it was found that in the engagement her captain and half her crew had been killed. on every hand the fight continued with unabated fierceness; every gun was worked to its utmost capacity, and amid the smoke and din every vessel was swept from stem to stern. as morning wore on, the enemy met with one or two successes. our two new cruisers _terrible_ and _powerful_ had been sunk by french torpedoes; the _hood_ had been rammed by the _amiral baudin_, and gone to the bottom with nearly every soul on board; while the german despatch boat _wacht_ had been captured, and seven of our torpedo boats had been destroyed. during the progress of the fight, the vessels came gradually nearer dungeness, and at eleven o'clock they were still firing at each other, with appalling results on either side. at such close quarters did this great battle occur, that the loss of life was awful, and throughout the ships the destruction was widespread and frightful. about noon the enemy experienced two reverses. the french battleship _formidable_ blew up with a terrific report, filling the air with débris, her magazine having exploded; while just at that moment the _courbet_, whose 48-tonners had caused serious damage to the _warspite_, was suddenly rammed and sunk by the _empress of india_. this, the decisive battle, was the most vigorously contested naval fight during the whole of the hostilities. the scene was terrible. the steel leviathans of the sea were being rent asunder and pulverised by the terribly destructive modern arms, and amid the roar and crashing of the guns, shells were bursting everywhere, carrying away funnels, fighting tops, and superstructures, and wrecking the crowded spaces between the decks. turrets and barbettes were torn away, guns dismounted by the enormous shells from heavy guns; steel armour was torn up and thrown aside like paper, and many shots entering broadsides, passed clean through and out at the other side. whitehead torpedoes, carrying heavy charges of gun-cotton, exploded now and then under the enemy's ships; while both british and french torpedo boat "destroyers," running at the speed of an ordinary train, were sinking or capturing where they could. through the dull, gloomy afternoon the battle continued. time after time our ships met with serious reverses, for the _anson_ was sunk by the russian flagship _alexander ii._, assisted by two french cruisers, and this catastrophe was followed almost immediately by the torpedoing of the new british cruiser _doris_, and the capture of the new german dynamite cruiser _trier_. [illustration: _h.m.s. royal sovereign._ _h.m.s. camperdown._ _amiral baudin._ _russian flagship blown up._ _h.m.s. warspite._ _cécille._ final battle off dungeness: "the scene of destruction was appalling."] by this time, however, the vessels had approached within three miles of dungeness, and the _camperdown_, _empress of india_, _royal sovereign_, _inflexible_, and _warspite_, lying near one another, fought nine of the enemy's vessels, inflicting upon them terrible punishment. shots from the 67-tonners of the _empress of india_, _royal sovereign_, and _camperdown_, combined with those from the 22-tonners of the _warspite_, swept the enemy's vessels with devastating effect, and during the three-quarters of an hour that the fight between these vessels lasted, the scene of destruction was appalling. suddenly, with a brilliant flash and deafening detonation, the russian flagship _alexander ii._, one of the vessels now engaging the five british ships, blew up and sank, and ere the enemy could recover from the surprise this disaster caused them, the _camperdown_ rammed the _amiral baudin_, while the _warspite_ sank the french cruiser _cécille_, the submarine boat _gustave zédé_, and afterwards captured the torpedo gunboat _bombe_. this rapid series of terrible disasters apparently demoralised the enemy. they fought recklessly, and amid the din and confusion two russian vessels collided, and were so seriously damaged that both settled down, their crews being rescued by british torpedo boats. immediately afterwards, however, a frightful explosion rent the air with a deafening sound that dwarfed into insignificance the roar of the heavy guns, and the french battleship _jauréguiberry_ was completely broken into fragments, scarcely any of her hull remaining. the enemy were amazed. a few moments later another explosion occurred, even louder than the first. for a second the french battleship _dévastation_, which had been engaging the _royal sovereign_, was obscured by a brilliant flash, then, as fragments of steel and human limbs were precipitated on every side, it was seen that that vessel also had been completely blown out of the water! the enemy stood appalled. the defenders themselves were at first dumfounded. a few moments later, however, it became known throughout the british ships that the battery at dungeness, two miles and a half distant, were rendering assistance with the new pneumatic gun, the secret of which the government had guarded so long and so well. five years before, this frightfully deadly weapon had been tested, and proved so successful that the one gun made was broken up and the plans preserved with the utmost secrecy in a safe at the war office. now, however, several of the weapons had been constructed, and one of them had been placed in the battery at dungeness. the british vessels drew off to watch the awful effect of the fire from these marvellous and terribly destructive engines of modern warfare. the enemy would not surrender, so time after time the deafening explosions sounded, and time after time the hostile ships were shattered into fragments. each shot fired by this new pneumatic gun contained 900 lbs. of dynamite, which could strike effectively at four miles! the result of such a charge exploding on a ship was appalling; the force was terrific, and could not be withstood by the strongest vessel ever constructed. indeed, the great armoured vessels were being pulverised as easily as glass balls struck by bullets, and every moment hundreds of poor fellows were being hurled into eternity. at last the enemy discovered the distant source of the fire, and prepared to escape beyond range; but in this they were unsuccessful, for, after a renewed and terrific fight, in which three french ironclads were sunk and two of our cruisers were torpedoed, our force and our allies the germans succeeded in capturing the remainder of the hostile ships and torpedo boats. the struggle had been frightful, but the victory was magnificent. that same night the british ships steamed along the sussex coast and captured the whole of the french and russian transports, the majority of which were british vessels that had been seized while lying in french and russian ports at the time war was declared. the vessels were lying between beachy head and selsey bill, and by their capture the enemy's means of retreat were at once totally cut off. thus, at the eleventh hour, the british navy had shown itself worthy of its reputation, and england regained the supremacy of the seas. chapter xxxix. the day of reckoning. the day of reckoning dawned. on land the battle was terrific; the struggle was the most fierce and bloody of any during the invasion. the british regulars holding the high ground along from crowborough to ticehurst, and from etchingham, through brightling and ashburnham, down to battle, advanced in a huge fighting line upon the enemy's base around eastbourne. the onslaught was vigorously repelled, and the battle across the sussex downs quickly became a most wild and sanguinary one; but as the day passed, although the defenders were numerically very weak, they nevertheless gradually effected terrible slaughter, capturing the whole of the enemy's stores, and taking nearly five thousand prisoners. in kent the french had advanced from east grinstead through edenbridge, extending along the hills south of westerham, and in consequence of these rapid successes the depôt of stores and ammunition which had been maintained at sevenoaks was being removed to bromley by rail; but as the officer commanding the british troops at eynsford could see that it would most probably be impossible to get them all away before sevenoaks was attacked, orders were issued that at a certain hour the remainder should be destroyed. the force covering the removal only consisted of two battalions of the duke of cambridge's own (middlesex) regiment and half a squadron of the 9th lancers; but the hills north of sevenoaks from luddesdown through stanstead, otford, shoreham, halstead, farnborough, and keston were still held by our volunteers. these infantry battalions included the 1st and 2nd derbyshire regiment (sherwood foresters), under col. a. buchanan, v.d., and col. e. hall, v.d.; the 1st nottinghamshire, under col. a. cantrell-hubbersty; the 4th derbyshire, under lord newark; the 1st and 2nd lincolnshire, under col. j. g. williams, v.d., and col. r. g. ellison; the 1st leicestershire, under col. s. davis, v.d.; the 1st northamptonshire, under col. t. j. walker, v.d.; the 1st and 2nd shropshire light infantry, under col. j. a. anstice, v.d., and col. r. t. masefield; the 1st herefordshire, under col. t. h. purser, v.d.; the 1st, 3rd, and 4th south wales borderers, under col. t. wood, col. j. a. bradney, and col. h. burton, v.d.; the 1st and 2nd warwickshire, under col. w. s. jervis and col. l. v. loyd; the 1st and 2nd welsh fusiliers, under col. c. s. mainwaring and col. b. g. d. cooke, v.d.; the 2nd welsh regiment, under col. a. p. vivian, v.d.; the 3rd glamorganshire, under col. j. c. richardson, v.d.; and the 1st worcestershire, under col. w. h. talbot, v.d.; while the artillery consisted of the 3rd kent, under col. hozier; the 1st monmouthshire, under col. c. t. wallis; the 1st shropshire and staffordshire, under col. j. strick, v.d.; and the 5th lancashire, under col. w. h. hunt. the events which occurred outside sevenoaks are perhaps best described by capt. a. e. brown, of the 4th v.b. west surrey regiment, who was acting as one of the special correspondents of the _standard_. he wrote-"i was in command of a piquet consisting of fifty men of my regiment at turvan's farm, and about three hours before the time to destroy the remainder of the stores at sevenoaks my sentries were suddenly driven in by the enemy, who were advancing from the direction of froghall. as i had orders to hold the farm at any cost, we immediately prepared for action. fortunately we had a fair supply of provisions and plenty of ammunition, for since war had broken out the place had been utilised as a kind of outlying fort, although at this time only my force occupied it. our equipment included two machine guns, and it was mainly by the aid of these we were saved. "the strength of the attacking force appeared to be about four battalions of french infantry and a battalion of zouaves, with two squadrons of cuirassiers. their intention was, no doubt, to cut the railway line near twitton, and thus prevent the removal of the sevenoaks stores. as soon as the cavalry scouts came within range we gave them a few sharp volleys, and those who were able immediately retired in disorder. soon afterwards, however, the farm was surrounded, but i had previously sent information to our reserves, and suggested that a sharp watch should be kept upon the line from twitton to sevenoaks, for of course i could do nothing with my small force. dusk was now creeping on, and as the enemy remained quiet for a short time it seemed as though they intended to assault our position when it grew dark. "before night set in, however, my messenger, who had managed to elude the vigilance of the enemy, returned, with a letter from a brother officer stating that a great naval battle had been fought in the channel; and further, that the enemy's retreat had been cut off, and that the kentish defenders had already retaken the invaders' base at eastbourne. if we could, therefore, still hold the surrey hills, there was yet a chance of thoroughly defeating the french and russians, even though one strong body was reported as having taken guildford and leatherhead, and was now marching upon london. "as evening drew on we could hear heavy firing in the direction of sevenoaks, but as we also heard a train running it became evident that we still held the station. nevertheless, soon after dark there was a brilliant flash which for a second lit up the country around like day, and a terrific report followed. we knew the remainder of our stores and ammunition had been demolished in order that it should not fall into the enemy's hands! "shortly afterwards we were vigorously attacked, and our position quickly became almost untenable by the dozens of bullets projected in every direction where the flash of our rifles could be seen. very soon some of the farm outbuildings fell into the hands of the frenchmen, and they set them on fire, together with a number of haystacks, in order to burn us out. this move, however, proved pretty disastrous to them, for the leaping flames quickly rendered it light as day, and showed them up, while at the same time flashes from our muzzles were almost invisible to them. thus we were enabled to bring our two machine guns into action, and break up every party of frenchmen who showed themselves. away over sevenoaks there was a glare in the sky, for the enemy were looting and burning the town. meanwhile, however, our men who had been defending the place had retreated to dunton green after blowing up the stores, and there they re-formed and were quickly moving off in the direction of twitton. fortunately they had heard the commencement of the attack on us, and the commander, halting his force, had sent out scouts towards chevening, and it appeared they reached us just at the moment the enemy had fired the stacks. they worked splendidly, and, after going nearly all round the enemy's position, returned and reported to their colonel, who at once resolved to relieve us. "as may be imagined, we were in a most critical position by this time, especially as we were unaware that assistance was so near. we had been ordered to hold the farm, and we meant to do it as long as breath remained in our bodies. all my men worked magnificently, and displayed remarkable coolness, even at the moment when death stared us in the face. the reports of the scouts enabled their colonel to make his disposition very carefully, and it was not long before the enemy were almost completely surrounded. we afterwards learnt that our reserves at stockholm wood had sent out a battalion, which fortunately came in touch with the survivors of the sevenoaks force just as they opened a desperate onslaught upon the enemy. "with the fierce flames and blinding smoke from the burning stacks belching in our faces, we fought on with fire around us on every side. as the fire drew nearer to us the heat became intense, the showers of sparks galled us almost as much as the enemy's bullets, and some of us had our eyebrows and hair singed by the fierce flames. indeed, it was as much as we could do to keep our ammunition from exploding; nevertheless we kept up our stream of lead, pouring volley after volley upon those who had attacked us. nevertheless, with such a barrier of flame and obscuring smoke between us we could see but little in the darkness beyond, and we all knew that if we emerged from cover we should be picked off easily and not a man would survive. the odds were against us. more than twenty of my brave fellows had fired their last shot, and now lay with their dead upturned faces looking ghastly in the brilliant glare, while a number of others had sunk back wounded. the heat was frightful, the smoke stifling, and i had just given up all hope of relief, and had set my teeth, determined to die like an englishman should, when we heard a terrific volley of musketry at close quarters, and immediately afterwards a dozen british bugles sounded the charge. the scene of carnage that followed was terrible. our comrades gave one volley from their magazines rifles, and then charged with the bayonet, taking the enemy completely by surprise. "the frenchmen tried to rally, but in vain, and among those huge burning barns and blazing ricks they all fell or were captured. dozens of them struggled valiantly till the last; but, refusing to surrender, they were slaughtered amid a most frightful scene of blood and fire. the events of that night were horrible, and the true extent of the losses on both sides was only revealed when the flames died down and the parting clouds above heralded another grey and toilsome day." late on the previous evening the advance guard of the enemy proceeding north towards caterham came in touch with the defenders north of godstone. the french cavalry had seized red hill junction station at sundown, and some of their scouts suddenly came upon a detached post of the 17th middlesex volunteers at tyler's green, close to godstone. a very sharp skirmish ensued, but the volunteers, although suffering severe losses, held their own, and the cavalry went off along the oxted road. this being reported to the british general, special orders were at once sent to col. trotter, the commander of this section of the outpost line. from the reports of the inhabitants and of scouts sent out in plain clothes, it was believed that the french intended massing near tandridge, and that they would therefore wait for supports before attempting to break through our outpost line, which still remained intact from the high ground east of leatherhead to the hills north of sevenoaks. during the night oxted and godstone were occupied by the enemy, and early in the morning their advance guard, consisting of four battalions of infantry, a squadron of cavalry, a battalion of zouaves, and a section of field artillery, proceeded north in two columns, one along the roman road leading past rook's nest, and the other past flinthall farm. at the latter place the sentries of the 17th middlesex fell back upon their piquets, and both columns of the enemy came into action simultaneously. the french infantry on the high road soon succeeded in driving back the volunteer piquet upon the supports, under lieut. michaelis, stationed at the junction of the roman road with that leading to godstone quarry. a strong barricade with two deep trenches in front had here been constructed, and as soon as the survivors of the piquet got under cover, two of the defenders' machine guns opened fire from behind the barricade, assisted at the same moment by a battery on gravelly hill. the french artillery had gone on towards flinthall farm, but in passing the north edge of rook's nest park their horses were shot by some inniskilling fusiliers lying in ambush, and by these two reverses, combined with the deadly fire from the two machine guns at the farm, the column was very quickly thrown into confusion. it was then decided to make a counter attack, and the available companies at this section of the outpost line, under col. brown and col. roche, succeeded, after nearly two hours' hard fighting, in retaking godstone and oxted, compelling the few survivors of the enemy's advance guard to fall back to blindley heath. [illustration: the battle of caterham: plan of the british positions.] in the meantime our troops occupying the line from halstead to chatham and maidstone went down into battle, attacking the french right wing at the same time as the indians were attacking their left, while the volunteers from the surrey hills engaged the main body. the day was blazing hot, the roads dusty, and there was scarce a breath of wind. so hot, indeed, was it, that many on both sides fell from hunger, thirst, and sheer starvation. yet, although the force of the invaders was nearly twice the numerical strength of the defenders, the latter fought on with undaunted courage, striking their swift, decisive blows for england and their queen. the enemy, now driven into a triangle, fought with demoniacal strength, and that frenzied courage begotten of despair. on the hills around sevenoaks and across to the valley at otford, the slaughter of the french was fearful. britons fighting for their homes and their country were determined that britannia should still be ruler of the world. from wimlet hill the enemy were by noon totally cut up and routed by the 12th middlesex (civil service), under lord bury; the 25th (bank), under capt. w. j. coe, v.d.; the 13th (queen's), under col. j. w. comerford; the 21st middlesex, under col. h. b. deane, v.d.; and the 22nd, under col. w. j. alt, v.d. over at oxted, however, they rallied, and some brilliant charges by cossacks, the slaughter of a portion of our advance guard, and the capture of one of our volunteer batteries on botley hill, checked our advance. the french, finding their right flank being so terribly cut up, had suddenly altered their tactics, and were now concentrating their forces upon the volunteer position at caterham in an endeavour to break through our defensive line. but the hills about that position held by the north london, west london, south london, surrey, and cheshire brigades were well defended, and the general had his finger upon the pulse of his command. most of the positions had been excellently chosen. strong batteries were established at gravelly hill by the 9th lancashire volunteer artillery, under col. f. ainsworth, v.d.; at harestone farm by the 1st cinque ports, under col. p. s. court, v.d.; at white hill by the 1st northumberland and the 1st norfolk, under col. p. watts and col. t. wilson, v.d.; at botley hill by the 6th lancashire, under col. h. j. robinson, v.d.; at tandridge hill by the 3rd lancashire, under col. r. w. thom, v.d.; at chaldon by the 1st newcastle, under col. w. m. angus, v.d., who had come south after the victory at the tyneside; at warlingham village by the 1st cheshire, commanded by col. h. t. brown, v.d.; at warlingham court by the 2nd durham, under col. j. b. eminson, v.d.; on the sanderstead road, near king's wood, by the 2nd cinque ports, under col. w. taylor, v.d.; and on the railway near woldingham the 1st sussex had stationed their armoured train with 40-pounder breech-loading armstrongs, which they fired very effectively from the permanent way. through limpsfield, oxted, godstone, bletchingley, and nutsfield, towards reigate, frenchmen and britons fought almost hand to hand. the defenders suffered severely, owing to the repeated charges of the french dragoons along the highway between oxted and godstone, nevertheless the batteries of the 6th lancashire on tandridge hill, which commanded a wide area of country occupied by the enemy, wrought frightful execution in their ranks. in this they were assisted by the 17th middlesex, under col. w. j. brown, v.d., who with four maxims at one period of the fight surprised and practically annihilated a whole battalion of french infantry. but into this attack on caterham the enemy put his whole strength, and from noon until four o'clock the fighting along the valley was a fierce combat to the death. with every bit of cover bristling with magazine rifles, and every available artillery position shedding forth a storm of bullets and shell, the loss of life was awful. invaders and defenders fell in hundreds, and with burning brow and dry parched throat expired in agony. the london irish, under col. j. ward, v.d.; the post office corps, under col. j. du plat taylor, v.d., and col. s. r. thompson, v.d.; the inns of court, under col. c. h. russell, v.d.; and the cyclists, led by major t. de b. holmes, performed many gallant deeds, and served their country well. the long, dusty highways were quickly covered with the bodies of the unfortunate victims, who lay with blanched, bloodless faces and sightless eyes turned upward to the burning sun. on over them rode madly french cavalry and cossacks, cutting their way into the british infantry, never to return. just, however, as they prepared for another terrific onslaught, the guns of the 1st cheshire battery at warlingham village thundered, and with smart section volleys added by detachments of the london scottish, under major w. brodie, v.d., and the artists, under capt. w. l. duffield and lieut. pott, the road was in a few minutes strewn with horses and men dead and dying. still onward there rushed along the valley great masses of french infantry, but the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd volunteer battalions of the royal fusiliers, under col. g. c. clark, v.d., col. a. l. keller, and col. l. whewell respectively; the 2nd v. b. middlesex regiment, under col. g. brodie clark, v.d.; the 3rd middlesex, under col. r hennell, d.s.o., late of the indian army; and the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th west surrey, under col. j. freeland, v.d., col. g. drewitt, v.d., col. s. b. bevington, v.d., and col. f. w. haddan, v.d., engaged them, and by dint of desperate effort, losing heavily all the time, they defeated them, drove them back, and slaughtered them in a manner that to a non-combatant was horrible and appalling. time after time, the enemy, still being harassed by the british regulars on their right, charged up the valley, in order to take the battery at harestone farm; but on each occasion few of those who dashed forward survived. the dusty roads, the grassy slopes, and the ploughed lands were covered with corpses, and blood draining into the springs and rivulets tinged their crystal waters. as afternoon passed and the battle continued, it was by no means certain that success in this fierce final struggle would lie with us. having regard to the enormous body of invaders now concentrated on the surrey border, and striving by every device to force a passage through our lines, our forces, spread over such a wide area and outflanking them, were necessarily weak. it was therefore only by the excellent tactics displayed by our officers, and the magnificent courage of the men themselves, that we had been enabled to hold back these overwhelming masses, which had already desolated sussex with fire and sword. our regulars operating along the old roman highway through blindley heath--where the invaders were making a desperate stand--and over to lingfield, succeeded, after very hard fighting, in clearing the enemy off the railway embankment from crowhurst along to south park farm, and following them up, annihilated them. gradually, just at sundown, a strong division of the enemy were outflanked at godstone, and, refusing to lay down their arms, were simply swept out of existence, scarcely a single man escaping. thus forced back from, perhaps, the most vulnerable point in our defences, the main body of the enemy were then driven away upon redhill, still fighting fiercely. over redstone hill, through mead vale, and across reigate park to the heath, the enemy were shot down in hundreds by our regulars; while our volunteers, whose courage never deserted them, engaged the french in hand-to-hand encounters through the streets of redhill and reigate, as far as underhill park. in hartswood a company of the 4th east surrey rifles, under major s. b. wheaton, v.d., were lying in ambush, when suddenly among the trees they caught glimpses of red, baggy trousers, and scarlet, black-tasselled fezes, and a few seconds later they found that a large force of zouaves were working through the wood. a few moments elapsed, and the combat commenced. the algerians fought like demons, and with bullet and bayonet inflicted terrible punishment upon us; but as they emerged into the road preparatory to firing a volley into the thickets, they were surprised by a company of the 2nd volunteer battalion of the east surrey regiment, under capt. pott, who killed and wounded half their number, and took the remainder prisoners. gradually our volunteer brigades occupying the long range of hills united with our regulars still on the enemy's right from reigate to crawley, and closed down upon the foe, slowly narrowing the sphere of their operations, and by degrees forcing them back due westward. russians and french, who had attacked dorking, had by this time been defeated with heavy loss, and by dusk the main body had been thrown back to newdigate, where in reffold's copse one or two very sanguinary encounters occurred. these, however, were not always in our favour, for the civil service volunteers here sustained very heavy losses. on the railway embankment, and on the road running along the crest of the hill to dorking, the french made a stand, and there wrought frightful execution among our men with their machine guns. around beare green, trout's farm, and behind the "white hart" at holmwood, the enemy rapidly brought their guns into play, and occupied such strong strategic positions that as night drew on it became evident that they intended to remain there until the morrow. the defenders had but little cover, and consequently felt the withering fire of the french very severely. the latter had entrenched themselves, and now in the darkness it was difficult for our men to discern their exact position. indeed, the situation of our forces became very serious and unsafe as night proceeded; but at length, about ten o'clock, a strong force of british regulars, including the sikhs and a detachment of australians, swept along the road from dorking, and came suddenly upon the french patrols. these were slaughtered with little resistance, and almost before the enemy were aware of it, the whole position was completely surrounded. our men then used their field search-lights with very great advantage; for, as the enemy were driven out into the open, they were blinded by the glare, and fell an easy prey to british rifles; while the frenchmen's own machine guns were turned upon them with frightful effect, their battalions being literally mowed down by the awful hail of bullets. chapter xl. "for england!" through the whole night the battle still raged furiously. the enemy fought on with reckless, unparalleled daring. chasseurs and zouaves, cuirassiers, dragoons, and infantry from the loire and the rhone struggled desperately, contesting every step, and confident of ultimate victory. but the enemy had at last, by the splendid tactics of the defenders, been forced into a gradually contracting square, bounded by dorking and guildford in the north, and horsham and billinghurst in the south, and soon after midnight, with a concentric movement from each of the four corners, british regulars and volunteers advanced steadily upon the foe, surrounding and slaughtering them. the horrors of that night were frightful; the loss of life on every hand enormous. britannia had husbanded her full strength until this critical moment; for now, when the fate of her empire hung upon a single thread, she sent forth her valiant sons, who fell upon those who had desecrated and destroyed their homes, and wreaked a terrible vengeance. through the dark, sultry hours this awful destruction of life continued with unabated fury, and many a briton closed with his foe in death embrace, or fell forward mortally wounded. of british heroes there were many that night, for true pluck showed itself everywhere, and englishmen performed many deeds worthy their traditions as the most courageous and undaunted among nations. [illustration: british bluejackets marching through the strand after the victory.] although the french commander-in-chief had been killed, yet the enemy still fought on tenaciously, holding their ground on leith hill and through pasture wood to wotton and abinger, until at length, when the saffron streak in the sky heralded another blazing day, the straggling, exhausted remnant of the once-powerful legions of france and russia, perspiring, dust-covered, and bloodstained, finding they stood alone, and that the whole of sussex and surrey had been swept and their comrades slaughtered, laid down their arms and eventually surrendered. after these three breathless days of butchery and bloodshed england was at last victorious! in this final struggle for britain's freedom the invader had been crushed and his power broken; for, thanks to our gallant citizen soldiers, the enemy that had for weeks overrun our smiling land like packs of hungry wolves, wantonly burning our homes and massacring the innocent and unprotected, had at length met with their well-merited deserts, and now lay spread over the miles of pastures, cornfields, and forests, stark, cold, and dead. britain had at last vanquished the two powerful nations that had sought by ingenious conspiracy to accomplish her downfall. thousands of her brave sons had, alas! fallen while fighting under the british flag. many of the principal streets of her gigantic capital were only parallel lines of gaunt, blackened ruins, and many of her finest cities lay wrecked, shattered, and desolate; yet this terrible ordeal had happily not weakened her power one iota, nor had she been ousted from her proud position as chief among the mighty empires of the world. three days after the great and decisive battle of caterham, the british troops, with their compatriots from the cape, australia, canada, and india, entered london triumphantly, bringing with them some thousands of french and russian prisoners. in the streets, as, ragged and dusty, britain's defenders passed through on their way to a great open-air thanksgiving service in hyde park, there were scenes of the wildest enthusiasm. with heartfelt gratitude, the people, scrambling over the débris heaped each side of the streets, cheered themselves hoarse; the men grasping the hands of volunteers and veterans, and the women, weeping for joy, raising the soldiers' hands to their lips. the glad tidings of victory caused rejoicings everywhere. england, feeling herself free, breathed again. in every church and chapel through the united kingdom special services of thanksgiving for deliverance from the invaders' thrall were held, while in every town popular fêtes were organised, and delighted britons gaily celebrated their magnificent and overwhelming triumph. in this disastrous struggle between nations france had suffered frightfully. paris, bombarded and burning, capitulated on the day following the battle of caterham, and the legions of the kaiser marched up the boulevards with their brilliant cavalry uniforms flashing in the sun. over the hotel de ville, the government buildings on the quai d'orsay, and the ministries of war and marine, the german flag was hoisted, and waved lazily in the autumn breeze, while the emperor william himself had an interview with the french president at the elysée. that evening all france knew that paris had fallen. in a few days england was already shipping back to dieppe and riga her prisoners of war, and negotiations for peace had commenced. as security against any further attempts on england, italian troops were occupying the whole of southern france from grenoble to bordeaux; and the germans, in addition to occupying paris, had established their headquarters in moghilev, and driven back the army of the tsar far beyond the dnieper. from both france and russia, germany demanded huge indemnities, as well as a large tract of territory in poland, and the whole of the vast champagne country from givet, on the belgian frontier, down to the sâone. ten days later france was forced to accept the preliminaries of a treaty which we proposed. this included the cession to us of algiers, with its docks and harbour, so that we might establish another naval station in the mediterranean, and the payment of an indemnity of £250,000,000. our demands upon russia at the same time were that she should withdraw all her troops from bokhara, and should cede to us the whole of that portion of the trans-caspian territory lying between the mouths of the oxus and kizil arvat, thence along the persian frontier to zulfikai, along the afghan frontier to karki, and from there up the bank of the oxus to the aral sea. this vast area of land included the cities of khiva and merv, the many towns around kara khum, the country of the kara turkomans, the tekeh and the yomuts, and the annexation of it by britain would effectually prevent the russians ever advancing upon india. upon these huge demands, in addition to the smaller ones by italy and austria, a peace conference was opened at brussels without delay, and at length france and her muscovite ally, both vanquished and ruined, were compelled to accept the proposals of britain and germany. hence, on november 16th, 1897, the treaty of peace was signed, and eight days later was ratified. then the huge forces of the kaiser gradually withdrew into germany, and the soldiers of king humbert recrossed the alps, while we shipped back the remainder of our prisoners, reopened our trade routes, and commenced rebuilding our shattered cities. chapter xli. dawn. a raw, cold december morning in london. with the exception of a statuesque sentry on the horse guards' parade, the wide open space was deserted. it had not long been light, and a heavy yellow mist still hung over the grass in st. james's park. a bell clanged mournfully. big ben chimed the hour, and then boomed forth eight o'clock. an icy wind swept across the gravelled square. the bare, black branches of the stunted trees creaked and groaned, and the lonely sentry standing at ease before his box rubbed his hands and shivered. suddenly a side door opened, and there emerged a small procession. slowly there walked in front a clergyman bare-headed, reciting with solemn intonation the burial service. behind him, with unsteady step and bent shoulders, a trembling man with blanched, haggard face, and a wild look of terror in his dark, deep-sunken eyes. he wore a shabby morning-coat tightly buttoned, and his hands in bracelets of steel were behind his back. glancing furtively around at the grey dismal landscape, he shuddered. beside and behind him soldiers tramped on in silence. the officer's sword grated along the gravel. suddenly a word of command caused them to halt against a wall, and a sergeant, stepping forward, took a handkerchief and tied it over the eyes of the quivering culprit, who now stood with his back against the wall. another word from the officer, and the party receded some distance, leaving the man alone. the monotonous nasal utterances of the chaplain still sounded as four privates advanced, and, halting, stood in single rank before the prisoner. [illustration: execution of von beilstein on the horse guards' parade.] they raised their rifles. there was a momentary pause. in the distance a dog howled dismally. a sharp word of command broke the quiet. then, a second later, as four rifles rang out simultaneously, the condemned man tottered forward and fell heavily on the gravel, shot through the heart. it was the spy and murderer, karl von beilstein! he had been brought from glasgow to london in order that certain information might be elicited from him, and after his actions had been thoroughly investigated by a military court, he had been sentenced to death. the whole of his past was revealed by his valet grevel, and it was proved that, in addition to bringing the great disaster upon england, he had also betrayed the country whose roubles purchased his cunningly-obtained secrets. geoffrey engleheart, although gallantly assisting in the fight outside leatherhead, and subsequently showing conspicuous bravery during the battle of caterham, fortunately escaped with nothing more severe than a bullet wound in the arm. during the searching private inquiry held at the foreign office after peace was restored, he explained the whole of the circumstances, and was severely reprimanded for his indiscretion; but as no suspicion of von beilstein's real motive had been aroused prior to the declaration of war, and as it was proved that geoffrey was entirely innocent of any complicity in the affair, he was, at the urgent request of lord stanbury, allowed to resume his duties. shortly afterwards he was married to violet vayne, and sir joseph, having recovered those of his ships that had been seized by the russian government, was thereby enabled to give his daughter a handsome dowry. the young french clerk who had been engaged at the admiralty, and who had committed murder for gold, escaped to spain, and, after being hunted by english and spanish detectives for many weeks, he became apparently overwhelmed by remorse. not daring to show himself by day, nor to claim the money that had been promised him, he had tramped on through the snow from village to village in the unfrequented valleys of lerida, while his description was being circulated throughout the continent. cold, weary, and hungry, he one night entered the posada de las pijorras at the little town of oliana, at the foot of the sierra del cadi. calling for wine, he took up a dirty crumpled copy of the madrid _globo_, three days old. a paragraph, headed "the missing spy," caught his eyes, and, reading eagerly, he found to his dismay that the police were aware that he had been in huesca a week before, and were now using bloodhounds to track him! the paper fell from his nerveless grasp. the wine at his elbow he swallowed at one gulp, and, tossing down his last real upon the table, he rose and stumbled away blindly into the darkness. when the wintry dawn spread in that silent, distant valley, it showed a corpse lying in the snow with face upturned. in the white wrinkled brow was a small dark-blue hole from which blood had oozed over the pallid cheek, leaving an ugly stain. the staring eyes were wide open, with a look of unutterable horror in them, and beside the thin clenched hand lay a revolver, one chamber of which had been discharged! * * * * * the dreary gloom of winter passed, and there dawned a new era of prosperity for england. dark days were succeeded by a period of happiness and rejoicing, and britannia, grasping her trident again, seated herself on her shield beside the sea, ruler of the waves, queen of nations, and empress of the world. the end. morrison and gibb, printers, edinburgh. _ready shortly, price 6s._ demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt. zoraida. _a romance of the harem and the desert._ by william le queux, f.r.g.s., author of "the great war in 1897." _profusely illustrated by h. piffard._ * * * * * _ready shortly, price 6s._ the tower romance library. vol. i. a torquay marriage. a new modern novel of to-day. by g. rayleigh vicars and edith vicars. * * * * * _ready shortly, price 6s._ vol. ii. in quest of a name. by mrs. henry wylde. * * * * * _ready shortly._ demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, price 6s. _with numerous illustrations by e. s. hope._ the outlaws of the air. by george griffith, author of "the angel of the revolution," "olga romanoff," etc. * * * * * _now ready. picture cover. price 1s._ blood is thicker than water. _a political dream._ by geoffrey danyers. a vision of the reunited anglo-saxondom asserting the dominion of the sea. _now ready. eleventh edition. price 6s._ the great war in england in 1897. by william le queux, f.r.g.s. _with numerous illustrations by t. s. crowther and captain c. field, and nine military maps._ * * * * * the opinions of some great authorities. the duke of cambridge, writing to the author, says: "such books cannot fail to have a good effect in inducing people to think more seriously of the necessity which lies upon the whole country to always be prepared, and to be more openhanded in giving money for the means of defence." field marshal lord wolseley says: "a pleasure to peruse it." the marquis of salisbury says: "it is very realistic and interesting." lord george hamilton says: "it is very striking and original." sir c. dilke says: "i think it is most valuable as tending to make people realise how little we are prepared for war." * * * * * opinions of the london press. _the times_ says: "everything that can spice a sensational volume." _the morning post_ says: "few works can compare in stirring incidents or careful elaboration of detail.... a great deal of what he forecasts would be very likely to occur if once england were in the clutches of a strong enemy, and in the matter of description wherein the tumult and carnage is brought vividly before the reader.... a clever and exciting book." _the standard_ says: "full of excitement and realism." _the globe_ says: "it is vigorous and rousing.... will do a public service." _the sun_ says: "mr. le queux' narrative is well and spiritedly written." _the evening news_ says: "mr. le queux has succeeded in a very difficult task. he has brought home to us the dangers we expose ourselves if we neglect to maintain our army and navy in an adequate state of efficiency." _the daily graphic_ says: "various essays have been made to forecast the next great european war, but mr. william le queux' volume is certainly the most comprehensive and thrilling of anything yet attempted. regarded simply as a work of fiction, it is exciting enough to satisfy the most enthusiastic lover of 'blood and thunder' literature. in its more serious aspect--and it is this aspect, of course, which the author desires for it--this book certainly evidences serious thought.... it is all very graphic and very thrilling, especially the bombardment of london by the russians, and the author has not scrupled to avail himself of the latest, even of the future, resources of science." _naval and military record_ says: "mr. le queux has special qualifications for the task. he knows a great deal of our army and navy, and he is familiar with continental systems and sentiment. the narrative is lively and spirited, and the author writes with an air of conviction which is calculated to carry the reader on from beginning to end." _admiralty and horse guards gazette_ says: "mr. le queux is a vivid writer, and his work gives evidence of care and thoroughness. the chapter dealing with the march of the french on london is particularly fine. the author's production is the best of the kind we have come across for some time. it should emphasise our old contention as to the unreadiness for active service on a prolonged campaign of the sea and land forces of the empire." _army and navy gazette_ says: "the story is a capital one, full of interest and incident, well sustained and well told." _the idler_ says: "mr. le queux writes brilliantly, sensibly, and with a thorough mastery of his subject." _the sketch_ says: "no novel of the day comes up to mr. le queux' 'great war in england in 1897' for excitement. from the preface to the last paragraph he has kept up his prophetic heroics in magnificent style, and if his patriotism does not scatter our indifference to our insular defences, why, then, nothing will. it is really a terrifying book. mr. le queux has power to shake one's nerves as he foretells fights and slaughters in peaceful suburbs." _the world_ says: "it serves to bring home in a very realistic fashion the horrors of a war brought into our very midst." _to-day_ says: "a mastery of military and naval details is displayed with conception and execution." _the review of reviews_ says: "the story is useful as a warning, and is worked out with much knowledge." _the gentlewoman_ says: "once having started, i couldn't lay it down till i had made an end thereto." _the literary world_ says: "it is undoubtedly one of the books of the year. it is so ingenious and so exciting, it is at once extremely technical and extremely readable. the book is a great book, and one that no englishman could read without a thrill." _the publishers' circular_ says: "mr. le queux shows us what will happen if we do not better prepare ourselves." * * * * * read what the country press say. _manchester evening news_ says: "lovers of exciting literature will be satisfied to the full with the graphic story." _liverpool daily mercury_ says: "extremely interesting, and well worth reading." _liverpool daily chronicle_ says:--"the story is full of stirring episode." _birmingham daily post_ says: "the scenes are marked with real and affecting power." _sheffield daily telegraph_ says: "we offer criticism in no carping spirit, but as part of our grateful acknowledgment for a brilliant, patriotic, and useful work." _yorkshire post_ says: "well calculated to make the nervous tremble at every rumour of foreign complications." _the scotsman_ says: "strategical and other problems are elaborately worked out.... amusing, entertaining, and exciting." _the north british mail_ says: "it is a very powerful work." _glasgow herald_ says: "one of the best books we have read on a subject on which it is only too easy to be tiresome." _glasgow evening news_ says: "whether as a romance or as a prophecy it is highly interesting." _the western morning news_ says: "very exciting reading. of real literary merit." _bradford daily argus_ says: "full of interesting and exciting reading." * * * * * read what the foreign and colonial press say. _sydney daily telegraph_ says: "the writer's capability to speak regarding his subject is displayed on every page of the book. it is splendidly written." _the belgian news_ says: "the book is a remarkable and a phenomenal success." the _palladium_ (newhaven, conn.) says: "one of the most successful books of the season." "il capitano nemo," the well-known italian naval writer, in _l'opinione_ of rome, says that the problems put forward by mr. le queux should secure the serious consideration of european governments. "it is unquestionably a most important book," he says; "it is of interest to everyone, and the minuteness of its detail is astonishing. i can recommend it to the italian public as a very startling yet highly instructive book." _the italia marinara_ says: "it is not a mere fantastic romance; it is a book to study seriously, and we recommend it to the army and navy of italy, for it contains many valuable hints." _il secolo_ says: "a very remarkable and important work. there is genius in every line. the descriptions are most realistic, and it is of interest to everybody." _the china telegraph_ says it is "of really intense and thrilling interest." _now ready. sixth edition. price 6s._ demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt. the captain of the mary rose. _a tale of to-morrow._ by w. laird clowes, u.s. naval institute. with 60 illustrations by the chevalier de martino and fred. t. jane. * * * * * this work has been truly described by the public press as an intensely realistic and stirring romance of the near future. it describes the wonderful adventures of an armour-clad cruiser, built on the tyne, which takes part in a great naval war that suddenly breaks out between france and great britain. the dashing way in which the vessel is handled, her narrow escapes, the boldness of her successful attacks upon the enemy, and the heroic conduct of her commander and crew, form altogether a narrative of most absorbing interest, and full of exciting scenes and situations. * * * * * the following are a few press opinions. "deserves something more than a mere passing notice."--_the times._ "full of exciting situations.... has manifold attractions for all sorts of readers."--_army and navy gazette._ "the most notable book of the season."--_the standard._ "a clever book. mr. clowes is pre-eminent for literary touch and practical knowledge of naval affairs."--_daily chronicle._ "mr. w. laird clowes' exciting story."--_daily telegraph._ "we read 'the captain of the mary rose' at a sitting."--_the pall mall gazette._ "written with no little spirit and imagination.... a stirring romance of the future."--_manchester guardian._ "is of a realistic and exciting character.... designed to show what the naval warfare of the future may be."--_glasgow herald._ "one of the most interesting volumes of the year."--_liverpool journal of commerce._ "it is well told and magnificently illustrated."--_united service magazine._ "full of absorbing interest."--_engineers gazette._ "is intensely realistic, so much so that after commencing the story every one will be anxious to read to the end."--_dundee advertiser._ "the book is splendidly illustrated."--_northern whig._ _ninth edition, price 6s._ demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt. _uniform with "the captain of the mary rose," with numerous illustrations by fred t. jane and edwin s. hope._ the angel of the revolution. a tale of the coming terror. by george griffith. * * * * * in this romance of love, war, and revolution, the action takes place ten years hence, and turns upon the solution of the problem of aerial navigation, which enables a vast secret society to decide the issue of the coming world-war, for which the great nations of the earth are now preparing. battles such as have hitherto only been vaguely dreamed of are fought on land and sea and in the air. aerial navies engage armies and fleets and fortresses, and fight with each other in an unsparing warfare, which has for its prize the empire of the world. unlike all other essays in prophetic fiction, it deals with the events of to-morrow, and with characters familiar in the eyes of living men. it marks an entirely new departure in fiction, and opens up possibilities which may become stupendous and appalling realities before the present generation of men has passed away. * * * * * _a few press opinions._ "since the days of the arabian nights' entertainments, we know of no writer who 'takes the cake' like mr. george griffith."--_daily chronicle._ "a really exciting and sensational romance."--_literary world._ "as a work of imagination it takes high rank."--_belfast news letter._ "full of absorbing interest."--_barrow herald._ "this powerful story."--_liverpool mercury._ "an entirely new departure in fiction."--_reynolds' newspaper._ "of exceptional brilliancy and power."--_western figaro._ "this remarkable story."--_weekly times and echo._ "there is a fascination about his book that few will be able to resist."--_birmingham gazette._ "this exciting romance."--_licensing world._ "a work of strong imaginative power."--_dundee courier._ "we must congratulate the author upon the vividness and reality with which he draws his unprecedented pictures."--_bristol mercury._ "is quite enthralling."--_glasgow herald._ "a striking and fascinating novel."--_hampshire telegraph._ demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, price 6s. _with frontispiece by edwin s. hope._ olga romanoff; or, the syren of the skies. by george griffith, author of "the angel of the revolution," "the outlaws of the air." * * * * * dedicated to mr. hiram s. maxim. * * * * * a sequel to the author's striking and successful romance. _the angel of the revolution_, describing the efforts of a beautiful daughter of the house of romanoff to restore the throne of her ancestors destroyed in the world-war of 1904, and presenting to the reader the spectacle of a world transformed into a wonderland of art and science, yet trembling on the brink of a catastrophe, in comparison with which even the tremendous climax of _the angel_ sinks almost into insignificance. * * * * * some press opinions. "mr. george griffith has made himself a high reputation as an imaginative novelist by his brilliant romances, _the angel of the revolution_ and _the syren of the skies_."--_sketch._ "this is quite as imaginative, as clever, and as enthralling a book as its predecessor."--_glasgow herald._ "the book is a wild one, but its wildness and imaginative boldness make it uncommonly interesting."--_scotsman._ "the flights of fancy and imagination displayed by the author show a most marvellous power and conception."--_aberdeen free press._ "an entrancing book."--_birmingham post._ "full of originality in its rendition.... a marvel of imaginative strength and picturesque pen painting."--_european mail._ "on the whole mr. griffith has published a work which to our mind is the most suggestive of its kind that has been published for many years."--_admiralty and horse guards gazette._ "the work hardly lends itself to critical remark other than the expression of one's appreciation of an imaginative and glowing style likely to add to the pleasure of those who enjoy purely speculative fiction. these pictures have a weird splendour in keeping with the theme, but it is natural to desire a better future for the human race than the one here prophesied."--_morning post._ "his theme is a more tremendous one, and the incidents of his story tenfold more terrible than even those awful battles in the former volume. there is the same swift succession of awful calamities, the same sustained interest from title page to cover, and the same thread of human love running through the narrative which lent its chief charm to the 'angel of the revolution.'"--_weekly times and echo._ "by lovers of sensational writing, in which the scientific discoveries of the future are forecast, and intrigue and warfare related in realistic manner under conditions which now exist but in prophetic imagination, it will be warmly welcomed.... the book must be read to be appreciated. description is impossible."--_bradford daily argus._ * * * * * transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. hyphens removed: muzzle[-]loaders (p. 127), look[-]out (p. 164), short[-]sightedness (p. 176), blood[-]stained (p. 325). p. 67: "termius" changed to "terminus" (over the débris in terminus road). p. 72: "halsted" changed to "halstead" (surrey to halstead in kent). p. 92: "crusier" changed to "cruiser" (the unarmoured cruiser _faucon_). p. 119: "thousand" changed to "thousands" (thousands fleeing into the country). p. 159: "fusilade" changed to "fusillade" (commenced a terrific fusillade). p. 160: "momemt" changed to "moment" (our situation at that moment). p. 240: "hundred" changed to "hundreds" (hundreds of tons). p. 257: "evacute" changed to "evacuate" (to evacuate edinburgh). p. 316: "detatched" changed to "detached" (came upon a detached post). the last shot by frederick palmer author of _over the pass_, etc. 1914 to the reader this story of war grew out of my experience in many wars. i have been under fire without fighting; known the comradeship of arms without bearing arms, and the hardships and the humors of the march with only an observer's incentive. a singular career, begun by chance, was pursued to the ends of the earth in the study of the greatest drama which the earth stages. whether watching a small force of white regulars disciplining a primitive people, or the complex tactics of huge army against huge army; whether watching war in the large or in the small, i have found the same basic human qualities in the white heat of conflict working out the same illusions, heroisms, tragedies, and comedies. the fellowship of campaigning made the cause of the force that i accompanied mine for the time being. thus, one who settles in the town of a absorbs its local feeling of rivalry against the town of b in athletic games or character of citizenship. to a, b is never quite sportsmanlike; b is provincial and bigoted and generally inferior. but settle in b and your prejudices reverse their favor from a to b. yet in the midst of battle, with the detachment of a non-combatant marvelling at the irony of two lines of men engaged in an effort at mutual extermination, i have caught myself thinking with the other side. i knew why my side was busy at killing. why was the other? for the same reasons as ours. i was seeing humanity against humanity. a man killed was a man killed, courage was courage, sacrifice was sacrifice, romance was romance, a heart-broken mother was a heart-broken mother, a village burned was a village burned, regardless of race or nation. every war became a story in a certain set form: the rise of the war passion; the conflict; victory and defeat; and then peace, in joyous relief, which the nations enjoyed before they took the trouble to fight for it. but such thoughts have been a familiar theme to the poet, the novelist, the dramatist, the satirist, the dreamer, and the peace propagandist, while the world goes on arming. in want of their talent, i offer experience of the monstrous object of their gibes and imagination. to me, the old war novels have the atmosphere of smoke powder and antiquated tactics which still survived when i went on my first campaign sixteen years ago. these classic masterpieces endure through their genius; the excuse of any plodder who chooses their theme to-day is that he deals with the material of to-day. methods of light and of motive power have not changed more rapidly in the forty-odd years since the last great european war than the soldier's weapons and his work. with all the symbols of economic improvement the public is familiar, while usually it thinks of war in the old symbols for want of familiarity with the new. my aim is to express not only war as fought to-day, soldiers of to-day under the fire of arms of to-day, but also the effects of war in the _n_th degree of modern organization and methods on a group of men and women, free in its realism from the wild improbabilities of some latter-day novelists who have given us wars in the air or regaled us with the decimation of armies by explosives dropped from dirigibles or their asphyxiation by noxious gases compounded by the hero of the tale. the russo-japanese and the balkan campaigns, particular in their nature, gave me useful impressions, but not the scene for my purpose. the world must think of those wars comparatively as second-rate and only partially illustrative, when its fearful curiosity and more fearful apprehension centre on the possibility of the clash of arms between the enormous forces of two first-class european land-powers, with their supreme training and precision in arms. what would such a war mean in reality to the soldiers engaged? what the play of human elements? what form the new symbols? therefore have i laid my scene in a small section of a european frontier, and the time the present. identify your combatants, some friends insist. make the italians fight the austrians or the french fight the germans. as a spectator of wars, under the spell of the growing cosmopolitanism that makes mankind more and more akin, i could not see it in that way and be true to my experience. my soldiers exist for my purpose only as human beings. race prejudices they have. race prejudice is one of the factors of war. but make the prejudice english, italian, german, russian, or french and there is the temptation for reader and author to forget the story of men as men and war as war. even as in the long campaign in manchuria i would see a battle simply as an argument to the death between little fellows in short khaki blouses and big fellows in long gray coats, so i see the browns and the grays in "the last shot" take the field. but, though the scene is imaginary, the characters are from life. their actions and their sayings are those of men whom i have studied under the stress of danger and sudden emergency. the delightful, boyish confidence of eugene aronson has been at my elbow in a charge; feller i knew in the tropics as an outcast who shared my rations; dellarme's last words i heard from a dying captain; the philosophy of hugo mallin is no less familiar than the bragging of pilzer or the transformation of stransky, who whistled a wedding-march as he pumped bullets at the enemy. in lanstron we have a type of the modern officer; in the elder fragini a type of the soldier of another day. each marches in his place and plays his part in the sort of spectacle that i have often watched. if there be no particular hero, then i can only say, in confidence behind the scenes, that i have found no one man, however heroic in the martial imagination of his country, to be a particular hero in fact. take, for example, our trembling little peterkin, who won the bronze cross for courage. as for marta and minna, they speak for another element--for a good half of the world's population that does not bear arms. in a siege once i had glimpses of women under fire and i learned that bravery is not an exclusively masculine trait. the game of solitaire? well, it occurred in a house in the midst of bursting shells. but the part that marta plays? is it extravaganza? not in war. the author sees it as something very real. frederick palmer. contents i. a speck in the sky ii. ten years later iii. ours and theirs iv. the dividends of power v. off to the frontier vi. the second prophecy vii. times have changed viii. thanks to a bumblebee ix. a sunday morning call x. a luncheon at the gallands' xi. marta hears feller's story xii. a crisis within a crisis xiii. breaking a paper-knife xiv. in partow's office xv. close to the white posts xvi. dellarme's men get a mascot xvii. a sunday morning in town xviii. the baptism of fire xix. receiving the charge xx. marta's first glimpse of war xxi. she changes her mind xxii. flowers for the wounded xiii. stransky fights alone xxiv. the making of a hero xxv. the terrible night xxvi. feller is tempted xxvii. hand to hand xxviii. an appeal to partow xxix. through the veneer xxx. marta meets hugo xxxi. unto cæsar xxxii. tea on the veranda again xxxiii. in feller's place xxxiv. three voices xxxv. mrs. galland insists xxxvi. marking time xxxvii. thumbs down for bouchard xxxviii. hunting ghosts xxxix. a change of plan xl. with fracasse's men xli. with feller and stransky xlii. the ram xliii. jove's isolation xliv. turning the tables xlv. the retreat xlvi. the last shot xlvii. the peace of wisdom the last shot i a speck in the sky it was marta who first saw the speck in the sky. her outcry and her bound from her seat at the tea-table brought her mother and colonel westerling after her onto the lawn, where they became motionless figures, screening their eyes with their hands. the newest and most wonderful thing in the world at the time was this speck appearing above the irregular horizon of the brown range, in view of a landscape that centuries of civilization had fertilized and cultivated and formed. at the base of the range ran a line of white stone posts, placed by international commissions of surveyors to the nicety of an inch's variation. in the very direction of the speck's flight a spur of foot-hills extended into the plain that stretched away to the gray range, distinct at the distance of thirty miles in the bright afternoon light. faithful to their part in refusing to climb, the white posts circled around the spur, hugging the levels. in the lap of the spur was la tir, the old town, and on the other side of the boundary lay south la tir, the new town. through both ran the dusty ribbon of a road, drawn straight across the plain and over the glistening thread of a river. on its way to the pass of the brown range it skirted the garden of the gallands, which rose in terraces to a seventeenth-century house overlooking the old town from its outskirts. they were such a town, such a road, such a landscape as you may see on many european frontiers. the christian people who lived in the region were like the christian people you know if you look for the realities of human nature under the surface differences of language and habits. beyond the house rose the ruins of a castle, its tower still intact. marta always referred to the castle as the baron; for in her girlhood she had a way of personifying all inanimate things. if the castle walls were covered with hoar frost, she said that the baron was shivering; if the wind tore around the tower, she said that the baron was groaning over the democratic tendencies of the time. on such a summer afternoon as this, the baron was growing old gracefully, at peace with his enemies. centuries older than the speck in the sky was the baron; but the pass road was many more, countless more, centuries older than he. it had been a trail for tribes long before roman legions won a victory in the pass, which was acclaimed an imperial triumph. to hold the pass was to hold the range. all the blood shed there would make a red river, inundating the plain. marta, a maker of pictures, saw how the legions, brown, sinewy, lean aliens, looked in their close ranks. they were no less real to her imagination than the infantry of the last war thirty years ago, or the crusaders who came that way, or the baron in person and his shaggy-bearded, uncouth, ignorant ruffians who were their own moral law, leaving their stronghold to plunder the people of the fertile plain of the fruits of their toil. stone axe, spear and bow, javelin and broadsword, blunderbuss and creaking cannon--all the weapons of all stages in the art of war--had gone trooping past. now had come the speck in the sky, straight on, like some projectile born of the ether. "beside the old baron, we are parvenus," marta would say. "and what a parvenu the baron would have been to the roman aristocrat!" "our family is old enough--none older in the province!" mrs. galland would reply. "marta, how your mind does wander! i'd get a headache just contemplating the things you are able to think of in five minutes." the first galland had built a house on the land that his king had given him for one of the most brilliant feats of arms in the history of the pass. he had the advantage of the baron in that he could read and write, though with difficulty. marta had an idea that he was not presentable at a tea-table; however, he must have been more so than the baron, who, she guessed, would have grabbed all the cakes on the plate as a sheer matter of habit in taking what he wanted unless a stronger than he interfered. even the tower, raised to the glory of an older family whose descendants, if any survived, were unaware of their lineage, had become known as the galland tower. the gallands were rooted in the soil of the frontier; they were used to having war's hot breath blow past their door; they were at home in the language and customs of two peoples; theirs was a peculiar tradition, which marta had absorbed with her first breath. every detail of her circumscribed existence reminded her that she was a galland. town and plain and range were the first vista of landscape that she had seen; doubtless they would be the last. meanwhile, there was the horizon. she was particularly fond of looking at it. if you are seventeen, with a fanciful mind, you can find much information not in histories or encyclopædias or the curricula of schools in the horizon. there she had learned that the roman aristocrat had turned his thumb down to a lot of barbarian captives because he had a fit of indigestion, and the next day, when his digestion was better, he had scattered coins among barbarian children; that napoleon, who had also gone over the pass road, was a pompous, fat little man, who did not always wipe his upper lip clean of snuff when he was on a campaign; that the baron's youngest daughter had lost her eyesight from a bodkin thrust for telling her sister, who had her father's temper, that she was developing a double chin. for the people of maria's visions were humanly real to her, and as such she liked and understood them. if the first galland were half a robber, to disguise the fact because he was her ancestor was not playing fair. it made him only a lay figure of romance. one or two afternoons a week colonel hedworth westerling, commander of the regimental post of the grays on the other side of the white posts, stretched his privilege of crossing the frontier and appeared for tea at the gallands'. it meant a pleasant half-hour breaking a long walk, a relief from garrison surroundings. favored in mind and person, favored in high places, he had become a colonel at thirty-two. people with fixed ideas as to the appearance of a soldier said that he looked every inch the commander. he was tall, strong-built, his deep, broad chest suggesting powerful energy. conscious of his abilities, it was not without reason that he thought well of himself, in view of the order, received that morning, which was to make this a farewell call. he had found mrs. galland an agreeable reflection of an aristocratic past. the daughter had what he defined vaguely as girlish piquancy. he found it amusing to try to answer her unusual questions; he liked the variety of her inventive mind, with its flashes of downright matter-of-factness. ascending the steps with his firm, regular tread, he suggested poise and confidence and, perhaps, vanity also in his fastidious dress. as marta's slight, immature figure came to the edge of the veranda, he wondered what she would be like five years later, when she would be twenty-two and a woman. it was unlikely that he would ever know, or that in a month he would care to know. he would pass on; his rank would keep him from returning to south la tir, which was a colonel's billet except in time of war. not until tea was served did he mention his new assignment; he was going to the general staff at the capital. mrs. galland murmured her congratulations in conventional fashion. "into the very holy of holies of the great war machine, isn't it?" marta asked. "yes--yes, exactly!" he replied. her chair was drawn back from the table. she leaned forward in a favorite position of hers when she was intensely interested, with hands clasped over her knee, which her mother always found aggravatingly tomboyish. she had a mass of lustrous black hair and a mouth rather large in repose, but capable of changing curves of emotion. her large, dark eyes, luminously deep under long lashes, if not the rest of her face, had beauty. her head was bent, the lashes forming a line with her brow now, and her eyes had the still flame of wonder that they had when she was looking all around a thing and through it to find what it meant. westerling knew by the signs that she was going to break out with one of her visions, rather than one of her whimsical ideas. she was seeing the roman general, the baron, the first galland, and the fat, pompous little man, no less in the life than hedworth westerling. she had fused them into one. "some day you will be chief of staff, the head of the gray army!" she suddenly exclaimed. westerling started as if he had been surprised in a secret. then he flushed slightly. "why?" he asked with forced carelessness. "your reasons? they're more interesting than your prophecy." "because you have the will to be," she said without emphasis, in the impersonal revelations of thought. "you want power. you have ambition." he looked the picture of it, with his square jaw, his well-moulded head set close to the shoulders on a sturdy neck, his even teeth showing as his lips parted in an unconscious smile. "marta, marta! she is--is so explosive," mrs. galland remarked apologetically to the colonel. "i asked for her reasons. i brought it on myself--and it is not a bad compliment," he replied. indeed, he had never received one so thrilling. his smile, a smile well pleased with itself, remained as mrs. galland began to talk of other things, and its lingering satisfaction disappeared only with marta's cry at sight of the speck in the sky over the brown range. she was out on the lawn before the others had risen from their seats. "an aeroplane! hurry!" she called. this was a summons that aroused even mrs. galland's serenity to haste. for the first time they were seeing the new wonder in all the fascination of novelty to us moderns, who soon make our new wonders commonplace and clamor impatiently for others. "he flies! a man flies!" marta exclaimed. "look at that--coming straight for your tower, baron! you'd better pull up the drawbridge and go on your knees in the chapel, for devils are abroad!" how fast the speck grew! how it spread to the entranced vision! it became a thing of still, soaring wings with a human atom in its centre, captain arthur lanstron, already called a fool for his rashness by a group of brown officers on the aviation grounds beyond the brown range. naturally, the business of war, watching for every invention that might serve its ends, was the first patron of flight. lanstron, pupil of a pioneer aviator, had been warned by him and by the chief of staff of the browns, who was looking on, to keep in a circle close to the ground. but he was doing so well that he thought he would try rising a little higher. when the levers responded with the ease of a bird's wings, temptation became inspiration and inspiration urged on temptation. he had gone mad with the ecstasy of his sensation, there between heaven and earth. five seconds of this was worth five thousand years of any other form of life. the summits of the range shot under him, unfolding a variegated rug of landscape. he dipped the planes slightly, intending to follow the range's descent and again they answered to his desire. he saw himself the eyes of an army, the scout of the empyrean. if a body of troops were to march along the pass road they would be as visible as a cloud in the sky. yes, here was revolution in detecting the enemy's plans! he had become momentarily unconscious of the swiftness of his progress, thanks to its hypnotic facility. he was in the danger which too active a brain may bring to a critical and delicate mechanical task. the tower loomed before him as suddenly as if it had been shot up out of the earth. he must turn, and quickly, to avoid disaster; he must turn, or he would be across the white posts in the enemy's country. "oh, glorious magic!" cried marta. "a dozen good shots could readily bring it down," remarked westerling critically. "it makes a steady target at that angle of approach. he's going to turn--but take care, there!" "oh!" groaned marta and mrs. galland together. in an agony of suspense they saw the fragile creation of cloth and bamboo and metal, which had seemed as secure as an albatross riding on the lap of a steady wind, dip far over, careen back in the other direction, and then the whirring noise that had grown with its flight ceased. it was no longer a thing of winged life, defying the law of gravity, but a thing dead, falling under the burden of a living weight. "the engine has stopped!" exclaimed westerling, any trace of emotion in his observant imperturbability that of satisfaction that the machine was the enemy's. he was thinking of the exhibition, not of the man in the machine. marta was thinking of the man who was about to die, a silhouette against the soft blue holding its own balance resolutely in the face of peril. she could not watch any longer; she could not wait on the catastrophe. she was living the part of the aviator more vividly than he, with his hand and mind occupied. she rushed down the terrace steps wildly, as if her going and her agonized prayer could avert the inevitable. the plane, descending, skimmed the garden wall and passed out of sight. she heard a thud, a crackling of braces, a ripping of cloth, but no cry. westerling had started after her, exclaiming, "this is a case for first aid!" while mrs. galland, taking the steps as fast as she could, brought up the rear. through the gateway in the garden wall could be seen the shoulders of a young officer, a streak of red coursing down his cheek, rising from the wreck. an inarticulate sob of relief broke from marta's throat, followed by quick gasps of breath. captain arthur lanstron was looking into the startled eyes of a young girl that seemed to reflect his own emotions of the moment after having shared those he had in the air. "i flew! i flew clear over the range, at any rate!" he said. "and i'm alive. i managed to hold her so she missed the wall and made an easy bump." marta smiled in the reaction from terror at his idea of an easy bump, while he was examining the damage to his person. he got one foot free of the wreck and that leg was all right. she shared his elation. then he found that the other was uninjured, just as she cried in distress: "but your hand--oh, your hand!" his left hand hung limp from the wrist, cut, mashed, and bleeding. its nerves numbed, he had not as yet felt any pain from the injury. now he regarded it in a kind of awakening stare of realization of a deformity to come. "wool-gathering again!" he muttered to himself crossly. then, seeing that she had turned white, he thrust the disgusting thing behind his back and twinged with the movement. the pain was arriving. "it must be bandaged! i have a handkerchief!" she begged. "i'm not going to faint or anything like that!" "only bruised--and it's the left. i am glad it was not the right," he replied. westerling arrived and joined marta in offers of assistance just as they heard the prolonged honk of an automobile demanding the right of way at top speed in the direction of the pass. "thank you, but they're coming for me," said lanstron to westerling as he glanced up the road. westerling was looking at the wreck. lanstron, who recognized him as an officer, though in mufti, kicked a bit of the torn cloth over some apparatus to hide it. at this westerling smiled faintly. then lanstron saluted as officer to officer might salute across the white posts, giving his name and receiving in return westeling's. they made a contrast, these two men, the colonel of the grays, swart and sturdy, his physical vitality so evident, and the captain of the browns, some seven or eight years the junior, bareheaded, in dishevelled fatigue uniform, his lips twitching, his slender body quivering with the pain that he could not control, while his rather bold forehead and delicate, sensitive features suggested a man of nerve and nerves who might have left experiments in a laboratory for an adventure in the air. there was a kind of challenge in their glances; the challenge of an ancient feud of their peoples; of the professional rivalry of polite duellists. lanstron's slight figure seemed to express the weaker number of the three million soldiers of the browns; westerling's bulkier one, the four million five hundred thousand of the grays. "you had a narrow squeak and you made a very snappy recovery at the last second," said westerling, passing a compliment across the white posts. marta could literally see a white post there between the two. "that's in the line of duty for you and me, isn't it?" lanstron replied, his voice thick with pain as he forced a smile. there was no pose in his fortitude. he was evidently disgusted with himself over the whole business, and he turned to the group of three officers and a civilian who alighted from a big brown army automobile as if he were prepared to have them say their worst. they seemed between the impulse of reprimanding and embracing him. "i hope that you are not surprised at the result," said the oldest of the officers, a man of late middle age, rather affectionately and teasingly. he wore a single order on his breast, a plain iron cross, and the insignia of his rank was that of a field-marshal. "not now. i should be again, sir," said lanstron, looking full at the field-marshal in the appeal of one asking for another chance. "i was wool-gathering. my mind was off duty for a second and i got a lesson in self-control at the expense of the machine. i treated it worse than it deserved, and it treated me better than i deserved. but i shall not wool-gather next time. i've got a reminder more urgent than a string tied around my finger." "yes, that hand needs immediate attention," said the doctor. he and another officer began helping lanstron into the automobile. "the first flight ever made over a range--even a low one! thirty miles straightaway!" remarked the civilian, making a cursory examination of the wreck of the machine which was a pattern known by his name. "very educational for our young man," said the field-marshal, and at sight of mrs. galland paused while they exchanged the greetings of old friends. "your excellency, may we send back for you, sir?" called the doctor. he was not one to let rank awe him when duty pressed. "this hand ought to be at the hospital at once." "i'm coming along. i've a train to catch," replied his excellency, springing into the car. "no more wool-gathering, eh?" he said, giving lanstron a pat on the shoulder. to lanstron this pat meant another chance. "good-by!" he called to the young girl, who was still watching him with big, sympathetic eyes. "i am coming back soon and land in the field, there, and when i do. i'll claim a bunch of flowers." "do! what fun!" she cried, as the car started. "the field-marshal was partow, their chief of staff?" westerling asked. "yes," said mrs. galland. "i remember when he was a young infantry officer before the last war, before he had won the iron cross and become so great. he was not of an army family--a doctor's son, but very clever and skilful." "getting a little old for his work!" remarked westerling. "but apparently he is keen enough to take a personal interest in anything new." "wasn't it thrilling and--and terrible!" marta exclaimed. "yes, like war at our own door again," replied mrs. galland, who knew war. she had seen war raging on the pass road. "lanstron, the young man said his name was," she resumed after a pause. "no doubt the lanstrons of thorbourg. an old family and many of them in the army." "the way he refused to give in--that was fine!" said marta. westerling, who had been engrossed in his own thoughts, looked up. "courage is the cheapest thing an army has! you can get hundreds of young officers who are glad to take a risk of that kind. the thing is," and his fingers pressed in on the palm of his hand in a pounding gesture of the forearm, "to direct and command--head work--organization!" "if war should come again--" marta began. mrs. galland nudged her. a brown never mentioned war to an officer of the grays; it was not at all in the accepted proprieties. but marta rushed on: "so many would be engaged that it would be more horrible than ever." "you cannot make omelets without breaking eggs," westerling answered with suave finality. "i wonder if the baron ever said that!" marta recollected that it was a favorite expression of the fat, pompous little man. "it sounds like the baron, at all events." westerling did not mind being likened to the baron. it was a corroboration of her prophecy. the baron must have been a great leader of men in his time. "the aeroplane will take its place as an auxiliary," he went on, his mind still running on the theme of her prophecy, which the meeting with lanstron had quickened. "but war will, as ever, be won by the bayonet that takes and holds a position. we shall have no miracle victories, no--" there he broke off. he did not accompany mrs. galland and marta back to the house, but made his adieus at the garden-gate. "i'm sure that i shall never marry a soldier!" marta burst out as she and her mother were ascending the steps. "no?" exclaimed mrs. galland with the rising inflection of a placid scepticism that would not be drawn into an argument. another of marta's explosions! it was not yet time to think of marriage for her. if it had been mrs. galland would not have been so hospitable to colonel westerling. she would hardly have been, even if the colonel had been younger, say, of captain lanstron's age. though an officer was an officer, whether of the browns or the grays, and, perforce, a gentleman to be received with the politeness of a common caste, every beat of her heart was loyal to her race. her daughter's hand was not for any gray. young lanstron certainly must be of the thorbourg lanstrons, she mused. a most excellent family! of course, marta would marry an officer. it was the natural destiny of a galland woman. yet she was sometimes worried about marta's whimsies. she, too, could wonder what marta would be like in five years. ii ten years later does any man of power know whither the tendencies of his time are leading him, or the people whom he leads whither they are being led? had any one of these four heroes of the grays in their heavy gilt frames divined what kind of a to-morrow his day was preparing? all knew the pass of la tir well, and if all had not won decisive battles they would have been hung in the outer office or even in the corridors, where a line of half-forgotten or forgotten generals crooked down the stairways into the oblivion of the basement. that unfortunate one whom the first galland had driven through the pass was quite obscured in darkness. he would soon be crowded out to an antique shop for sale as an example of the portrait art of his period. the privileged quartet on that valhalla of victories, the walls of the chief of staff's room, personified the military inheritance of a great nation; their names shone in luminous letters out of the thickening shadows of the past, where those of lesser men grew dimmer as their generations receded into history. he in the steel corselet, with high cheek-bones, ferret, cold eyes, and high, thin nose, its nostrils drawn back in an aristocratic sniff--camps were evil-smelling in those days--his casquette resting on his arm, was the progenitor of him with the louis xiv. curls; he of the early nineteenth century, with a face like marshal ney's, was the progenitor of him with the mustache and imperial of the sixties. it was whispered that the aristocratic sniff had taken to fierce, no-quarter campaigns in the bitterness of a broken heart. did the grays, then, really owe two of their fairest provinces to the lady who had jilted him? had they to thank the clever wife of him of the louis xiv. curls, whose intrigues won for her husband command of the army, for another province? it was whispered, too, that the military glory of him of the marshal ney physiognomy was due to the good fortune of a senile field-marshal for an opponent. but no matter. these gentlemen had seen the enemy fly. they had won. therefore, they were the supermen of sagas who incarnate a people's valor. the browns gratified their own sense of superiority, in turn, by admiration of the supermen who had vanquished the gray generals consigned to the oblivion of the basement. in their staff building, the first galland occupied a prominent position in the main hall; while in the days of marta's old baron heroes did not have their portraits painted for want of painters, and the present nations had consisted only of warring baronies and principalities. they must have been rather lonely, these immortals in the gray valhalla, as his excellency the chief of staff was seldom in his office. his excellency had years, rank, prestige. the breast of his uniform sagged with the weight of his decorations. he appeared for the army at great functions, his picture was in the shop-windows. hedworth westerling, the new vice-chief of staff, was content with this arrangement. his years would not permit him the supreme honor. this was for a figurehead, while he had the power. his appointment to the staff ten years ago had given him the fields he wanted, the capital itself, for the play of his abilities. his vital energy, his impressive personality, his gift for courting the influences that counted, whether man's or woman's, his astute readiness in stooping to some measures that were in keeping with the times but not with army precedent, had won for him the goal of his ambition. he had passed over the heads of older men, whom many thought his betters, rather ruthlessly. those who would serve loyally he drew around him; those who were bitter he crowded out of his way. the immortals would have been still more lonely, or at least confused, in the adjoining room occupied by westerling. there the walls were hung with the silhouettes of infantrymen, such as you see at manoeuvres, in different positions of firing, crouching in shallow trenches, standing in deep trenches, or lying flat on the stomach on level earth. another silhouette, that of an infantryman running, was peppered with white points in arms and legs and parts of the body that were not vital, to show in how many places a man may be hit with a small-calibre bullet and still survive. the immortals had small armies. even the mustache and imperial had only three hundred thousand in the great battle of the last war. in this day of universal european conscription, if westerling were to win it would be with five millions--five hundred thousand more than when he faced a young brown officer over the wreck of an aeroplane--including the reserves; each man running, firing, crouching, as was the figure on the wall, and trying to give more of the white points that peppered the silhouette than he received. now turcas, the assistant vice-chief of staff, and bouchard, chief of the division of intelligence, standing on either side of westerling's desk, awaited his decisions on certain matters which they had brought to his attention. both were older than westerling, turcas by ten and bouchard by fifteen years. turcas had been strongly urged in inner army circles for the place that westerling had won, but his manner and his inability to court influence were against him a lath of a man and stiff as a lath, pale, with thin, tightly-drawn lips, quiet, steel-gray eyes, a tracery of blue veins showing on his full temples, he suggested the ascetic no less than the soldier, while his incisive brevity of speech, flavored now and then with pungent humor, without any inflection in his dry voice, was in keeping with his appearance. he arrived with the clerks in the morning and frequently remained after they were gone. his life was an affair of calculated units of time; his habits of diet and exercise all regulated for the end of service. his subordinates, whose respect he held by the power of his intellect, said that his brain never tired and he had not enough body to tire. he was one of the wheels of the great army machine and loved the work for its own sake too well to be embittered at being overshadowed by a younger man. as a master of detail westerling regarded him as an invaluable assistant, with certain limitations, which were those of the pigeonhole and the treadmill. as for bouchard, nature had meant him to be a wheel-horse. he had never had any hope of being chief of staff. hawk-eyed, with a great beak nose and iron-gray hair, intensely and solemnly serious, lacking a sense of humor, he would have looked at home with his big, bony hands gripping a broadsword hilt and his lank body clothed in chain armor. he had a mastiff's devotion to its master for his chief. "since lanstron became chief of intelligence of the browns information seems to have stopped," said westerling, but not complainingly. he appreciated bouchard's loyalty. "yes, they say he even burns his laundry bills, he is so careful," bouchard replied. "but that we ought to know," westerling proceeded, referring very insistently to a secret of the browns which had baffled bouchard. "try a woman," he went on with that terse, hard directness which reflected one of his sides. "there is nobody like a woman for that sort of thing. spend enough to get the right woman." turcas and bouchard exchanged a glance, which rose suggestively from the top of the head of the seated vice-chief of staff. turcas smiled slightly, while bouchard was graven as usual. "you could hardly reach lanstron though you spent a queen's ransom," said bouchard in his literal fashion. "i should say not!" westerling exclaimed. "no doubt about lanstron's being all there! i saw him ten years ago after his first aeroplane flight under conditions that proved it. however, he must have susceptible subordinates." "we'll set all the machinery we have to work to find one, sir," bouchard replied. "another thing, we may dismiss any idea that they are concealing either artillery or dirigibles or planes that we do not know of," continued westerling. "that is a figment of our apprehensions. the fact that we find no truth in the rumors proves that there is none. such things are too important to be concealed by one army from another." "lanstron certainly cannot carry them in his pockets," remarked turcas. "still, we must be sure," he added thoughtfully, more to himself than to westerling, who had already turned his attention to a document which turcas had laid on the desk. "a recommendation by the surgeon-in-chief," said turcas, "for a new method of prompt segregation of ghastly cases among the wounded. i have put it in the form of an order. if reserves coming into action see men badly lacerated by shell fire it is bound to make them self-conscious and affect morale." "yes," westerling agreed. "if moving pictures of the horrors of port arthur were to be shown in our barracks before a war, it would hardly encourage martial enthusiasm. i shall look this over and then have it issued. it will not be necessary to wait on action of the staff in council." turcas and bouchard exchanged another glance. they had fresh evidence of westerling's tendency to concentrate authority in himself. "the 128th regiment has been ordered to south la tir, but no order yet given for the 132d, whose place it takes," turcas went on. "let it remain for the present!" westerling replied. after they had withdrawn, the look that passed between turcas and bouchard was a pointed question. the 132d to remain at south la tir! was there something more than "newspaper talk" in this latest diplomatic crisis between the grays and the browns? westerling alone was in the confidence of the premier of late. any exchange of ideas between the two subordinates would be fruitless surmise and against the very instinct of staff secrecy, where every man knew only his work and asked about no one else's. westerling ran through the papers that turcas had prepared for him. if turcas had written the order for the wounded, westerling knew that it was properly done. having cleared his desk into the hands of his executive clerk, he looked at the clock. it had barely turned four. he picked up the final staff report of observations on the late balkan campaign, just printed in book form, glanced at it and laid it aside. already he knew the few lessons afforded by this war "done on the cheap," with limited equipment and over bad roads. no dirigibles had been used and few planes. it was no criterion, except in the effect of the fire of the new pattern guns, for the conflict of vast masses of highly trained men against vast masses of highly trained men, with rapid transportation over good roads, complete equipment, thorough organization, backed by generous resources, in the cataclysm of two great european powers. rather idly, now, he drew a pad toward him and, taking up a pencil, made the figures seventeen and twenty-seven. then he made the figures thirty-two and forty-two. he blackened them with repeated tracings as he mused. this done, he put seventeen under twenty-seven and thirty-two under forty-two. he made the subtraction and studied the two tens. a swing door opened softly and his executive clerk reappeared with a soft tread, unheard by westerling engaged in mechanically blackening the tens. the clerk, pausing as he waited for a signal of recognition, observed the process wonderingly. to be absently making figures on a pad was not characteristic of the vice-chief of staff. when he was absorbed his habit was to tap the desk edge with the blunt end of his pencil. "some papers for your signature, sir," said the clerk as he slipped them on the blotter in front of westerling. "and the 132d--no order about that, sir?" he asked. "none. it remains!" westerling replied. the clerk went out impressed. his chief taking to sums of subtraction and totally preoccupied! the 132d to remain! he, too, had a question-mark in his secret mind. westerling proceeded with his mathematics. having heavily shaded the tens, he essayed a sum in division. he found that ten went into seventy just seven times. "one-seventh the allotted span of life!" he mused. "take off fifteen years for youth and fifteen after fifty-five--nobody counts after that, though i mean to--and you have ten into forty, which is one fourth. that is a good deal. but it's more to a woman than to a man--yes, a lot more to a woman than to a man!" the clerk was right in thinking westerling preoccupied; but it was not with the international crisis. he had dismissed that for the present from his thoughts by sending the 128th regiment to south la tir. he might move some other regiments in the morning if advices from the premier warranted. at all events, the army was ready, always ready for any emergency. he was used to international crises. probably a dozen had occurred in the ten years since he had spoken his adieu to a young girl at a garden-gate. over his coffee the name of miss marta galland, in a list of arrivals at a hotel, had caught his eye in the morning paper. a note to her had brought an answer, saying that her time was limited, but she would be glad to have him call at five that afternoon. rather impatiently he watched the slow minute-hand on the clock. he had risen from his desk at four-thirty, when his personal aide, a handsome, boyish, rosy-cheeked young officer, who seemed to be moulded into his uniform, appeared. "your car is waiting, sir," he said. his military correctness could not hide the admiration and devotion in his eyes. he thought himself the most fortunate lieutenant in the army. to him westerling was, indeed, great. westerling realized this. "this is a personal call," westerling explained; "so you are at liberty to make one yourself, if you like," he added, with that magnetic smile of a genial power which he used to draw men to him and hold them. iii ours and theirs on the second terrace, feller, the gallands' gardener, a patch of blue blouse and a patch of broad-brimmed straw hat over a fringe of white hair, was planting bulbs. mrs. galland came down the path from the veranda loiteringly, pausing to look at the flowers and again at the sweep of hills and plain. the air was singularly still, so still that she heard the cries of the children at play in the yards of the factory-workers' houses which had been steadily creeping up the hill from the town. she breathed in the peace and beauty of the surroundings with that deliberate appreciation of age which holds to the happiness in hand. to-morrow it might rain; to-day it is pleasant. she was getting old. serenely she made the most of to-day. the gardener did not look up when she reached his side. she watched his fingers firmly pressing the moist earth around the bulbs that he had sunk in their new beds. there were only three more to set out, and her inclination, in keeping with her leisureliness, was to wait on the completion of his task before speaking. again she let her glance wander away to the distances. it was arrested and held this time by two groups of far-away points in the sky along the frontier, in the same bright light of that other afternoon when captain arthur lanstron had made his first night over the range. "look!" she cried. "look, look!" she repeated, a girlish excitement rippling her placidity. aeroplanes and dirigibles had become a familiar sight. they were always going and coming and manoeuvring, the browns over their territory and the grays over theirs. but here was something new: two squadrons of dirigibles and planes in company, one on either side of the white posts. for the fraction of a second the dirigibles seemed prisms and the planes still-winged dragon-flies hung on a blue wall. with the next fraction the prisms were seen to be growing and the stretch of the plane wings broadening. "they are racing--ours against theirs!" exclaimed mrs. galland. "look, look!" still the gardener bent to his work, unconcerned. "i forgot! i always forget that you are deaf!" she murmured. she touched his shoulder. the effect was magical on the stoop-shouldered figure, which rose with the spring of muscles that are elastic and joints that are limber. his hat was removed with prompt and rather graceful deference, revealing eyebrows that were still dark in contrast to the white hair. for only an instant did he remain erect, but long enough to suggest how supple and well-formed he must have been in youth. then he made a grimace and dropped his hand demonstratively over his knee. "pardon, mrs. galland, i have old bones. they always remind me if i try to play any youthful tricks on them. pardon! i did not see that you were here. i," he said, in the monotonous voice of the deaf, which, however, had a certain attractive wistfulness--"i--" and from the same throat as he saw the object of her gaze came a vibration of passionate interest. "yes, neck and neck! coming right for the baron's tower, neck and neck!" he cried, in the zest of a contest understood and enjoyed. his hand rose in a vigorous, pulsating gesture; his eyes were snapping; his lips parted in an ecstasy that made him seem twenty years younger; his shoulders broadened and his chest expanded with the indrawing of a deep breath. this let go, the stoop returned in a sudden reaction, the briefly kindled flame died out of his eyes, his lips took on the droop of age, and he thrust his hat back on his head, pulling the brim low over his brow. "wonderful, but terrible--terrible!" said mrs. galland. "another horror is added to war, as if there were not already enough. oh, i know what war is! i've seen this garden all spattered with blood and dead bodies in a row here at our feet, and heard the groans and the cheers--the groans of the wounded here in the garden and the cheers of the men who had taken the castle hill!" feller, with the lids of shaded eyes half closed, watched the oncoming squadrons in a staring mesmerism. his only movement was a tattoo of the fingers on his trousers' legs. "war!" he exclaimed with motionless lips. "war!" he repeated softly, coaxingly. one would easily have mistaken the thought of war as something delightful to him if he had not appeared so gentle and detached. it seemed doubtful if he realized what he was saying or even that he was speaking aloud. as the gray squadron started to turn in order to keep on their side of the white posts which circled around the spur of la tir, one of the dirigibles failed to respond to its rudder and lost speed; that in the rear, responding too readily, had its leader on the thwart. an aeroplane, sheering too abruptly to make room, tipped at a dangerous angle and a tragedy seemed due within another wink of the eye. "huh-huh-huh!" came from feller in quick breaths, like the panting of a dog on a hot day. "oh!" gasped mrs. galland in one long breath of suspense. the envelope of the second dirigible grazed the envelope of its leader; the groggy plane righted itself and volplaned underneath a dirigible; and, though scattered, the gray squadron drew away safely from the brown, which, slowing down, came on as straight as an arrow in unchanged formation in a line over the castle tower. from the forward brown aeroplane, as its shadow shot over the garden, pursued by the great, oblong shadows of the dirigibles, a white ball was dropped. it made a plummet streak until about fifty feet above the earth, when it exploded into a fine shower of powder, leaving intact a pirouetting bit of white. "i think that was colonel lanstron leading when he ought to leave such work to his assistants," said mrs. galland. "you remember him--why, it was the colonel who recommended you! there, now, i've forgotten again that you are deaf!" the slip of paper glided back and forth on slight currents of air and finally fell among the rose-bushes a few yards from where the two were standing. feller brought it to mrs. galland. "yes, it was colonel lanstron," she said, after reading the message. "the message says: 'hello, marta!' any other officer would have said: 'how do you do, miss galland!' he could not have known that she was away. i've just had a telegram from her that she will be home in the morning, and that takes me back to my idea that i came to speak about to you," she babbled on, while feller regarded her with a gentle, uncomprehending smile. "you know how she likes chrysanthemums and they are in full bloom. we'll cut them and fill all the vases in the living-room and her room and--oh, how i do forget! you're not hearing a word!" she exclaimed as she noted the helpless eagerness of his eyes. "it is a great nuisance, deafness in a gardener. but i love my work. i try to do it well," he said in his monotone. "you do wonderfully, wonderfully!" she assented; "and you deserve great credit. many deaf people are irritable--and you are so cheerful!" he smiled as pleasantly as if he had heard the compliment and passed her a small pad from his blouse pocket. with the pencil attached to it by a string she wrote her instructions slowly, in an old-fashioned hand, dotting all the i's and crossing all the t's. "pardon me, madam, but miss galland"--he paused, dwelling with a slight inflection on his mention of the daughter as the talisman that warranted his presuming to disagree with the mother--"miss galland, when she took her last look around before going, said: 'please don't cut any yet. i want to see them all abloom in their beds first.'" "she has taken such an interest in them, and my idea was to please her. of course, leave them," said mrs. galland. she made repeated vigorous nods of assent to save herself the trouble of writing. starting back up the steps, she murmured: "i suppose cut flowers are out of fashion--i know i am--and deaf gardeners are in." she sighed. "and you are twenty-seven, marta, twenty-seven!" she drew another, a very long sigh, and then her serenity returned. "ours did not pass theirs," observed the gardener, with a musing smile when he was alone; "but theirs nearly had a jolly spill there at the turn!" as he bent once more to his work a bumblebee approached on its glad, piratical errand from flower to flower in the rapt stillness, and feller looked around with a slight courtesy of his hat brim. "you and your fussily thunderous wings!" he said, half aloud. "i wonder if you think you're an aeroplane. surely, they'd never train you to evolute in squadrons. you are an anarchist, you are, and an epicurean into the bargain!" he went with his barrow for more bulbs. meanwhile, the sun sank behind the range. the plain lay bathed in soft, golden light; the ravines were tongues of black shadow. as the evening gun boomed out from a fortress on the brown side of the frontier, feller glanced around to see if any one were watching. assured that he was alone, he removed his hat, and, though he wiped the brim and wiped his brow, in his attitude was the suggestion of the military stance of attention at colors. a minute later, when the evening gun of the grays across the white posts reverberated over the plain, he jammed his hat back on his head rather abruptly and started to the tool house with his barrow. "war! war!" he repeated softly. "yes, war!" he added in eager desire. iv the dividends of power westerling realized that the question of marriage as a social requirement might arise when he should become officially chief of staff with the retirement of his excellency the field-marshal. for the present he enjoyed his position as a bachelor who was the most favored man in the army too much to think of marriage. this did not imply an absence of fondness for women; rather the contrary. he liked sitting next to a beautiful neck and shoulders and having a pair of feminine eyes sparkle into his at dinner; though, with rare exceptions, not the same neck and shoulders on succeeding nights. his natural sense of organization divided women into two classes: those of family and wealth, whom he met at great houses, and those purring kittens who live in small flats. both afforded him diversion. a woman had been the most telling influence in making him vice-chief of staff; an affair to which gossip gave the breath of scandal had been an argument against him. it was a little surprising that the bell that the girl of seventeen had rung in his secret mind when he was on one of the first rounds of the ladder, now lost in the mists of a lower stratum of existence, should ever tinkle again.... yet he had heard its note in the tone of her prophecy with each step in his promotion; and while the other people whom he had known at la tir were the vaguest shadows of personalities, her picture was as definite in detail as when she said: "you have the will! you have the ambition!" she had recognized in him the power that he felt; foreseen his ascent to the very apex of the pyramid. she was still unmarried, which was strange; for she had not been bad-looking and she was of a fine old family. what was she like now? commonplace and provincial, most likely. many of the people he had known in his early days appeared so when he met them again. but, at the worst, he looked for an interesting half-hour. the throbbing activity of the streets of the capital, as his car proceeded on the way to her hotel, formed an energetic accompaniment to his gratifying backward survey of how all his plans had worked out from the very day of the prophecy. had he heard the remark of a great manufacturer to the banker at his side in a passing limousine, "there goes the greatest captain of industry of us all!" westerling would only have thought: "certainly. i am chief of staff. i am at the head of all your workmen at one time or another!" had he heard the banker's answer, "but pretty poor pay, pretty small dividends!" he would have thought: "splendid dividends--the dividends of power!" he had a caste contempt for the men of commerce, with their mercenary talk about credit and market prices; and also for the scientists, doctors, engineers, and men of other professions, who spoke of things in books which he did not understand. reading books was one of the faults of turcas, his assistant. no bookish soldier, he knew, had ever been a great general. he resented the growing power of these leaders of the civil world, taking distinction away from the military, even when, as a man of parts, he had to court their influence. his was the profession that was and ever should be the elect. a penniless subaltern was a gentleman, while he could never think of a man hi business as one. all the faces in the street belonged to a strange, busy world outside his interest and thoughts. they formed what was known as the public, often making a clatter about things which they did not understand, when they should obey the orders of their superiors. of late, their clatter had been about the extra taxes for the recent increase of the standing forces by another corps. the public was bovine with a parrot's head. yet it did not admire the toiling ox, but the eagle and the lion. as his car came to the park his eyes lighted at sight of one of the dividends--one feature of urban life that ever gave him a thrill. a battalion of the 128th, which he had ordered that afternoon to the very garrison at south la tir that he had once commanded, was marching through the main avenue. youths all, of twenty-one or two, they were in a muddy-grayish uniform which was the color of the plain as seen from the veranda of the galland house. around them, in a mighty, pervasive monotone, was the roar of city traffic, broken by the nearer sounds of the cries of children playing in the sand piles, the bark of motor horns, the screech of small boys' velocipedes on the paths of the park; while they themselves were silent, except for the rhythmic tramp of the military shoes of identical pattern, as was every article of their clothing and equipment from head to foot, whose character had been the subject of the weightiest deliberation of the staff. how much can a soldier carry and how best carry it easily? what shoes are the most serviceable for marching and yet cheap? nothing was so precise in all their surroundings, nothing seemed so resolutely dependable as this column of soldiers. they were the last word in filling human tissue into a mould for a set task. where these came from were other boys growing up to take their places. the mothers of the nation were doing their duty. all the land was a breeding-ground for the dividends of hedworth westerling. at the far side of the park he saw another kind of dividend--another group of marching men. these were not in uniform. they were the unemployed. many were middle-aged, with worn, tired faces. beside the flag of the country at the head of the procession was that of universal radicalism. and his car had to stop to let them pass. for an instant the indignation of military autocracy rose strong within him at sight of the national colors in such company. but he noted how naturally the men kept step; the solidarity of their movement. the stamp of their army service in youth could not be easily removed. he realized the advantage of heading an army in which defence was not dependent on a mixture of regulars and volunteers, but on universal conscription that brought every able-bodied man under discipline. these reservists, in the event of war, would hear the call of race and they would fight for the one flag that then had any significance. yes, the old human impulses would predominate and the only enemy would be on the other side of the frontier. they would be pawns of his will--the will that marta galland had said would make him chief of staff. wasn't war the real cure for the general unrest? wasn't the nation growing stale from the long peace? he was ready for war now that he had become vice-chief, when the retirement of his excellency, unable to bear the weight of his years and decorations in the field, would make him the supreme commander. one ambition gained, he heard the appeal of another: to live to see the guns and rifles that had fired only blank cartridges in practice pouring out shells and bullets, and all the battalions that had played at sham war in manoeuvres engaged in real war, under his direction. he saw his columns sweeping up the slopes of the brown range. victory was certain. he would be the first to lead a great modern army against a great modern army; his place as the master of modern tactics secure in the minds of all the soldiers of the world. the public would forget its unrest in the thrill of battles won and provinces conquered, and its clatter would be that of acclaim for a new idol of its old faith. v off to the frontier ranks broken in the barracks yard, backs free of packs, shoulders free of rifles, the men of the first battalion of the 28th, which westerling had seen marching through the park, had no thought except the prospect of the joyous lassitude of resting muscles and of loosening tongues that had been silent on the march. they were simply tired human beings in the democracy of a common life and service. the 128th had been recruited from a province in the high country distant from the capital. in the days of maria's old baron, a baron of the same type had plundered their ancestors, and in the days of the first galland they formed a principality frequently at war with their neighbors of the same blood and language. at length they had united with their neighbors who had in turn united with other neighbors, forming the present nation of the grays, which vented its fighting spirit against other nations. each generation must send forth its valorous and adventurous youth to the proof of its manhood in battle, while those who survived wounds and disease became the heroes of their reminiscences, inciting the younger generation to emulation. with each step in the evolution learning had spread and civilization developed. since the last war universal conscription had gone hand in hand with popular education and the telegraphic click of the news of the world to all breakfast tables and cheap travel and better living. every private of the five millions was a scholar compared to the old baron; he had a broader horizon than the first galland. in the name of defence, to hold their borders secure, the great powers were straining their resources to strengthen the forces that kept an armed peace. evolution never ceases. what next? in a group of the members of company b, who dropped on a bench in the barrack room, were the sons of a farmer, a barber, a butcher, an army officer, a day-laborer, a judge, a blacksmith, a rich man's valet, a banker, a doctor, a manufacturer, and a small shopkeeper. "six months more and my tour is up!" cried the judge's son. "six months more for me!" "now you're counting!" "and for me--one, two, three, four, five, six!" "oh, don't rub it in," the manufacturer's son shouted above the chorus, "you old fellows! i've a year and six months more." "here, too!" chimed in the banker's son. "a year and six months more of iron spoons and tin cups and army shoes and army fare and early rising. hep-hep-hep, drill-drill-drill, and drudgery!" "oh, i don't know!" said the day-laborer's son. "i don't have to get up any earlier than i do at home, and i don't have to work as hard as i'll have to when i leave." "nor i!" agreed the blacksmith's son. "it's a kind of holiday for me." "holiday!" the banker's son gasped. "that's so," he added thoughtfully, and smiled gratefully over a fate that had been indulgent to him in a matter of fathers and limousines. "look at the newspapers! maybe we shall be going to war," said the manufacturer's son. "stuff! nonsense!" said the judge's son. "we are always having scares. they sell papers and give the fellows at the foreign office a chance to look unconcerned. but let's have the opinion of an international expert, of the great and only philosopher, guide, companion, and friend. what do you think of the crisis, eh, hugo? soberly, now. the fate of nations may hang on your words. if not, at least the price of a ginger soda!" it was around hugo mallin that the group had formed. groups were always forming around hugo. he could spring the unexpected and incongruous and make people laugh. slight but wiry of physique, he had light hair, a freckled and rather nondescript nose, large brown eyes, and a broad, sensitive mouth. nature had not attempted any regularity of features in his case. she had been content with making each one a mobile servant of his mind. in repose his face was homely, and it was a mask. "come on, hugo! out with it!" hugo's brow contracted; the lines of the mask were drawn in deliberate seriousness. "i never hear war mentioned that i don't have a shiver right down my spine, as i did when i was a little boy and went into the cellar without a light," he replied. "fear?" exclaimed eugene aronson, the farmer's son, whose big, plain face expressed dumb incomprehension. he alone was standing. being the giant and the athlete of the company, the march had not tired him. "fear?" some of the others repeated. the sentiment was astounding, and hugo was as manifestly in earnest as if he were a minister addressing a parliamentary chamber. "yes, don't you?" asked hugo, in bland surprise. "i should say not!" declared eugene. "do you want to be killed?" asked hugo, with profound interest. "the bullet isn't made that will get me!" answered eugene, throwing back his broad shoulders. "i don't know," mused hugo, eying the giant up and down. "you're pretty big, gene, and a bullet that only nicked one of us in the bark might get you in the wood. however, if you are sure that you are in no danger, why, you don't count. but let's take a census while we are about it and see who wants to be killed. first, you, armand; do you?" he asked the doctor's son, armand daution. armand grinned. the others grinned, not at him, but at the quizzical solemnity of hugo's manner. "if so, state whether you prefer bullets or shrapnel, early in the campaign or late, à la carte or table d'hôte, morning or--" hugo went on. but laughter drowned the sentence, though hugo's face was without a smile. "you ought to go on the stage!" some one exclaimed. "if it were as easy to amuse a pay audience as you fellows, i might," hugo replied. "but i've another question," he pursued. "do you think that the fellows on the other side of the frontier want to be killed?" "no danger! they'll give in. they always do," said eugene. "i confess that it hardly seems reasonable to make war over the bodlapoo affair!" this from the judge's son. "over some hot weather, some swamp, and some black policemen in africa," said hugo. "but they hauled down our flag!" exclaimed the army officer's son. "on their territory, they say. we were the aggressors," hugo interposed. "it was _our_ flag!" said eugene. "but we wouldn't want them to put up their flag on our territory, would we?" hugo asked. "let them try it!" thundered eugene, with a full breath from the big bellows in his broad chest. "hugo, i don't like to hear you talk that way," he added, shaking his head sadly. such views from a friend really hurt him; indeed, he was almost lugubrious. this brought another laugh. "don't you see he's getting you, gene?" "he's acting!" "he always gets you, you old simpleton!" the judge's son gave eugene an affectionate dig in the ribs. eugene was well liked and in the way that a big saint bernard dog is liked. at the latest manoeuvres, on the night that their division had made a rapid flank movement, without any apparent sense that his own load was the heavier for it, he had carried the rifle and pack of peter kinderling, a valet's pasty-faced little son "peterkin," as he was called, was the stupid of company b. being generally inoffensive, the butt of the drill sergeant, who thought that he would never learn even the manual of arms, and rounding out the variety of characters which makes for fellowship, he was regarded with a sympathetic kindliness by his comrades. "but i don't think you ought to joke about the flag that's sacred!" declared eugene. "now you're talking!" said jacob pilzer, the butcher's son, who sat on the other side of the bench from eugene. he was heavily built, with an undershot jaw and a patch of liverish birthmark on his cheek. "yes," piped peterkin, who had an opinion when the two strong men of the company agreed on any subject. but he spoke tentatively, nevertheless. he was taking no risks. "oh, if we went to war the bodlapoo affair would be only an excuse," said the manufacturer's son. "we shall go to war as a matter of broad national policy." "right you are!" agreed the banker's son. "no emotion about it. emotion as an international quantity is dead. everything is business now in this business age." "killing people as a broad international policy!" mused hugo _sotto voce_, as if this were a matter of his own thoughts. the others scarcely heard him as the manufacturer's son struck his fist in the palm of his hand resoundingly to demand attention. "we need room in which to expand. we have eighty million people to their fifty, while our territory is only a little larger than theirs. our population grows; the browns' does not!" he announced. "but there is a remedy for that," hugo interjected loftly, so softly that everybody looked at him. "why, all the conscripts of the army for two years could take a vow not to marry," he said. "we could reduce the output, as your father's factory does when the market is dull. we should not have so many babies. this would be cheaper than rearing them to be slaughtered in their young manhood." "hear ye! hear ye!" shouted the doctor's son, in the midst of the hilarity that ensued. "hugo mallin solves the whole problem of eugenics by destroying the field for eugenics!" "the levity of a lot of mere unthinking privates who mistake themselves for sociological experts shall not deter me from finishing my speech," pursued the manufacturer's son. "speak on!" "listen to the fount of wisdom play!" "a beer if you produce an idea!" "war must come some day. it must come if for no other reason than to stop the strikes, arouse patriotism, and give an impetus to industry. an army of five millions on our side against the browns' three millions! of course, they won't start it! we shall have to take the aggressive; naturally, they'll not." "and they'll run, they'll run, just as they always have" eugene cried enthusiastically. "you bet they will, or they'll be mush for our bayonets!" said pilzer, the butcher's son. "will they? do you really think they will?" asked hugo, drawing down the corners of his mouth in profound contemplation that was actually mournful. "i wonder, now, i wonder if they can run any faster than i can?" everybody was laughing except him. if he had laughed too, he would not have been funny. his faint, look of surprise over their outburst only served to prolong it. "hugo, you're immense!" "you're a scream!" "but i am considering," hugo resumed, when there was silence. "if both sides ran as fast as they could when the war began, it would be interesting to see which army reached home first. some of us might get out of breath, but nobody would be killed." he had to wait on another laugh before he could continue. it takes little to amuse men in garrison if one knows how. "i don't want to be killed, and why should i want to kill strangers on the other side of the frontier?" he paused on the rising inflection of his question, a calm, earnest challenge in his eyes. "i don't know them. i haven't the slightest grudge against them." no grudge against the browns--against the ancient enemy! the faces around were frowning, as if in doubt how to take him. "what did you come into the army for, then?" called pilzer, the butcher's son. "you didn't have to, being an only son. talk that stuff to your officers! they will let you out. they don't want any cowards like you!" "cowards! hold on, there!" said eugene, who was very fond of hugo. he spoke in the even voice of his vast good nature, but he looked meaningly at the butcher's son. "coward? is that the word, jake?" hugo inquired amiably. "now, maybe i am. i don't know. but it wouldn't prove that i wasn't if i fought you any more than if i fought the strangers on the other side of the frontier." "well, if you don't want to fight, what are you in the army for? that's a fair question, isn't it?" growled pilzer, in an appeal to public opinion. "yes, you can carry a joke too far," said the army officer's son. "yes, why?" the others nodded. an atmosphere of hostility was gathering around hugo. in face of it a smile began playing about the corners of his lips. the smile spread. for the first time he was laughing, while all the others were serious. suddenly he threw his arms around the necks of the men next to him. "why, to be with all you good fellows, of course!" he said, "and to complete my education. if i hadn't taken my period in the army, you might have shaved me, eduardo; you might have fixed a horseshoe for me, henry; you might have sold me turnips, eugene, but i shouldn't have known you. now we all know one another by eating the same food, wearing the same clothes, marching side by side, and submitting to another kind of discipline than that of our officers--the discipline of close association in a community of service. there's hope for humanity in that--for humanity trying to free itself of its fetters. we have mixed with the people of the capital. they have found us and we have found them to be of the same human family." "that's so! this business of moving regiments about from one garrison to another is a good cure for provincialism," said the doctor's son. "judge's son or banker's son or blacksmith's son, whenever we meet in after-life there will be a thought of fellowship exchanged in our glances," hugo continued. "haven't we got something that we couldn't get otherwise? doesn't it thrill you now when we're all tired from the march except leviathan gene--thrill you with a warm glow from the flow of good, rich, healthy red blood?" "yes, yes, yes!" there was a chorus of assent. banker's son clapped valet's son on the shoulder; laborer's son and doctor's son locked arms and teetered on the edge of the cot together. "and i've another idea," proceeded hugo very seriously as the vows of eternal friendship subsided. "it is one to spread education and the spirit of comradeship still further. instead of two sets of autumn manoeuvres, one on either side of the frontier, i'd have our army and the browns hold a manoeuvre together--this year on their side and next year on ours." the biggest roar yet rose from throats that had been venting a tender tone. only the slow eugene aronson was blank and puzzled. but directly he, too, broke into laughter, louder and more prolonged than the others. "you can be so solemn that it takes a minute to see your joke," he said. "and humorous when we expect him to be solemn--and, presto, there he goes!" added the judge's son. hugo's lips were twitching peculiarly. "look at him!" exclaimed the manufacturer's son. "oh, you've had us all going this afternoon, you old farceur, you, hugo!" in the silence that waited on another extravagance from the entertainer the sergeant entered the room. "we shall entrain to-morrow morning!" he announced. "we are going to south la tir on the frontier." oh, joy! oh, lucky 128th! it was to see still more of the world! the sergeant stood by listening to the uproar and cautioning the men not to overturn the tables and benches. even the banker's and the manufacturer's sons, who had toured the country from frontier to frontier in paternal automobiles, were as happy as the laborer's son. "what fun it would be if we could visit back and forth with the fellows on the other side of the frontier!" said hugo. "what the--eh!" exclaimed the sergeant. "will you never stop your joking, you, hugo mallin?" "never, sir," replied hugo dryly. "it comes natural to me!" vi the second prophecy in the reception-room, where he awaited the despatch of his card, hedworth westerling caught a glimpse of his person in a panel glass so convenient as to suggest that an adroit hotel manager might have placed it there for the delectation of well-preserved men of forty-two. he saw a face of health that was little lined; brown hair that did not reveal its sprinkle of gray at that distance; shoulders, bearing the gracefully draped gold cords of the staff, squarely set on a rigid spine in his natural attitude. yes, he had taken good care of himself, enjoying his pleasures with discreet, epicurean relish as he would this meeting with a woman whom he had not seen for ten years. on her part, marta, when she had received the note, had been in doubt as to her answer. her curiosity to see him again was not of itself compelling. the actual making of the prophecy was rather dim to her mind until he recalled it. she had heard of his rise and she had heard, too, things about him which a girl of twenty-seven can better understand than a girl of seventeen. his reason for wanting to see her he had said was to "renew an old acquaintance." he could have little interest in her, and her interest in him was that he was head of the gray army. his work had intimate relation to that which the marta of twenty-seven, a marta with a mission, had set for herself. a page came to tell westerling that miss galland should be down directly. but before she came a waiter entered with a tea-tray. "by the lady's direction, sir," he explained as he set the tray on a table opposite westerling. across a tea-table the prophecy had been made and across a tea-table they had held most of their talks. having a picture in memory for comparison, he was seeing the doorway as the frame for a second picture. when she appeared the picture seemed the same as of old. there was an undeniable delight in this first impression of externals. there had been no promise that she would be beautiful, and she was not. there had been promise of distinction, and she seemed to have fulfilled it. for a second she paused on the threshold rather diffidently. then she smiled as she had when she greeted him from the veranda as he came up the terrace steps. she crossed the room with a flowing, spontaneous vitality that appealed to him as something familiar. "ten years, isn't it?" she exclaimed, putting a genuine quality of personal interest into the words as she gave his hand a quick, firm shake. then, with the informality of old acquaintances who had parted only yesterday, she indicated a place on the sofa for him, while she seated herself on the other side of the tea-table. "the terrace there in the foreground," she said with conforming gestures of location, "the church steeple over the town, the upward sweep of the mountains, and there the plain melting into the horizon. and, let me see, you took two lumps, if i remember?" he would have known the hand that poised over the sugar bowl though he had not seen the face; a brownish hand, not long-fingered, not narrow for its length--a compact, deft, firm little hand. "none now," he said. "do you find it fattening?" she asked. he recognized the mischievous sparkle of the eyes, the quizzical turn of the lips, which was her asset in keeping any question from being personal. nevertheless, he flushed slightly. "a change of taste," he averred. "since you've become such a great man?" she hazarded. "is that too strong?" this referred to the tea. "no, just right!" he nodded. he was studying her with the polite, veiled scrutiny of a man of the world. a materialist, he would look a woman over as he would a soldier when he had been a major-general making an inspection. she was slim, supple; he liked slim, supple women. her eyes, though none the less luminous, and her lips, though none the less flexible, did not seem quite as out of proportion with the rest of her face as formerly, now that it had taken on the contour of maturity, which was noticeable also in the lines of her figure. yes, she was twenty-seven, with the vivacity of seventeen retained, though she were on the edge of being an old maid according to the conventional notions. necks and shoulders that happened to be at his side at dinner, he had found, when they were really beautiful, were not averse to his glance of appreciative and discriminating admiration of physical charm. but he saw her shrug slightly and caught a spark from her eyes that made him vaguely conscious of an offence to her sensibilities, and he was wholly conscious that the suggestion, bringing his faculties up sharply, had the pleasure of a novel sensation. "how fast you have gone ahead!" she said. "that little prophecy of mine did come true. you are chief of staff!" after a smile of satisfaction he corrected her. "not quite; vice-chief--the right-hand man of his excellency. i am a buffer between him and the heads of divisions. this has led to the erroneous assumption which i cannot too forcibly deny--" he was proceeding with the phraseology habitual whenever men or women, to flatter him, had intimated that they realized that he was the actual head of the army. his excellency, with the prestige of a career, must be kept soporifically enjoying the forms of authority. to arouse his jealousy might curtail westerling's actual power. "yes, yes!" breathed marta softly, arching her eyebrows a trifle as she would when looking all around and through a thing or when she found any one beating about the bush. the little frown disappeared and she smiled understandingly. "you know i'm not a perfect goose!" she added. "had you been made chief of staff in name, too, all the old generals would have been in the sulks and the young generals jealous," she continued. "the one way that you might have the power to exercise was by proxy." this downright frankness was another reflection of the old days before he was at the apex of the pyramid. now it was so unusual in his experience as to be almost a shock. on the point of arguing, he caught a mischievous, delightful "isn't that so?" in her eyes, and replied: "yes, i shouldn't wonder if it were!" why shouldn't he admit the truth to the one who had rung the bell of his secret ambition long ago by recognizing in him the ability to reach his goal? he marvelled at her grasp of the situation. "it wasn't so very hard to say, was it?" she asked happily, in response to his smile. then, her gift of putting herself in another's place, while she strove to look at things with his purpose and vision, in full play, she went on in a different tone, as much to herself as to him: "you have labored to make yourself master of a mighty organization. you did not care for the non-essentials. you wanted the reality of shaping results." "yes, the results, the power!" he exclaimed. "fifteen hundred regiments!" she continued thoughtfully, looking at a given point rather than at him. "every regiment a blade which you would bring to an even sharpness! every regiment a unit of a harmonious whole, knowing how to screen itself from fire and give fire as long as bidden, in answer to your will if war comes! that is what you live and plan for, isn't it?" "yes, exactly! yes, you have it!" he said. his shoulders stiffened as he thrilled at seeing a picture of himself, as he wanted to see himself, done in bold strokes. it assured him that not only had his own mind grown beyond what were to him the narrow associations of his old la tir days, but that hers had grown, too. "and you--what have you been doing all these years?" he asked. "living the life of a woman on a country estate," she replied. "since you made a rule that no gray officers should cross the frontier we have been a little lonelier, having only the brown officers to tea. did you really find it so bad for discipline in your own case?" she concluded with playful solemnity. "one cannot consider individual cases in a general order," he explained. "and, remember, the browns made the ruling first. you see, every year means a tightening--yes, a tightening, as arms and armies grow more complicated and the maintaining of staff secrets more important. and you have been all the time at la tir, truly?" he asked, changing the subject. he was convinced that she had acquired something that could not be gained on the outskirts of a provincial town. "no. i have travelled. i have been quite around the world." "you have!" this explained much. "how i envy you! that is a privilege i shall not know until i am superannuated." while he should remain chief of staff he must be literally a prisoner in his own country. "yes, i should say it was splendid! splendid--yes, indeed!" snappy little nods of the head being unequal to expressing the joy of the memories that her exclamation evoked, she clasped her hands over her knees and swung back and forth in the ecstasy of seventeen. "splendid! i should say so!" she nestled the curling tip of her tongue against her teeth, as if the recollection must also be tasted. "splendid, enchanting, enlightening, stupendous, and wickedly expensive! another girl and i did it all on our own." "o-oh!" he exclaimed. "oh, oh, oh!" she repeated after him. "oh, what, please?" "oh, nothing!" he said. it was quite comprehensible to him how well equipped she was to take care of herself on such an adventure. "precisely, when you come to think it over!" she concluded. "what interested you most? what was the big lesson of all your journeying?" he asked, ready to play the listener. "being born and bred on a frontier, of an ancestry that was born and bred on a frontier, why, frontiers interested me most," she said. "i collected impressions of frontiers as some people collect pictures. i found them all alike--stupid, just stupid! oh, so stupid!" her frown grew with the repetition of the word; her fingers closed in on her palm in vexation. he recollected that he had seen her like this two or three times at la tir, when he had found the outbursts most entertaining. he imagined that the small fist pressed against the table edge could deliver a stinging blow. "as stupid as it is for neighbors to quarrel! it put me at war with all frontiers." "apparently," he said. she withdrew her fist from the table, dropped the opened hand over the other on her knee, her body relaxing, her wrath passing into a kind of shamefacedness and then into a soft, prolonged laugh. "i laugh at myself, at my own inconsistency," she said. "i was warlike against war. at all events, if there is anything to make a teacher of peace lose her temper it is the folly of frontiers." "yes?" he exclaimed. "yes? go on!" and he thought: "i'm really having a very good time." "you see, i came home from my tour with an idea--an idea for a life occupation just as engrossing as yours," she went on, "and opposed to yours. i saw there was no use of working with the grown-up folks. they must be left to the hague conferences and the peace societies. but children are quite alike the world over. you can plant thoughts in the young that will take root and grow as they grow." "patriotism, for instance," he observed narrowly. "no, the follies of martial patriotism! the wickedness of war, which is the product of martial patriotism!" the follies of patriotism! this was the red flag of anarchy to him. he started to speak, flushing angrily, but held his tongue and only emitted a "whew!" in good-humored wonder. "i see you are not very frightened by my opposition," she rejoined in a flash of amusement not wholly untempered by exasperation. "we got the appropriation for an additional army corps this year," he explained contentedly, his repose completely regained. "thus increasing the odds against us. but perhaps not; for we are dealing with the children not with recruits, as i said. we call ourselves the teachers of peace. i organized the first class in la tir. i have the children come together every sunday morning and i tell them about the children that live in other countries. i tell them that a child a thousand miles away is just as much a neighbor as the one across the street. at first i feared that they would find it uninteresting. but if you know how to talk to them they don't." "naturally they don't, when you talk to them," he interrupted. she was so intent that she passed over the compliment with a gesture like that of brushing away a cobweb. her eyes were like deep, clear wells of faith and repose. "i try to make the children of other countries so interesting that our children will like them too well ever to want to kill them when they grow up. we have a little peace prayer--they have even come to like to recite it--a prayer and an oath. but i'll not bother you with it. other women have taken up the idea. i have found a girl who is going to start a class on your side in south la tir, and i came here to meet some women who want to inaugurate the movement in your capital." "i'll have to see about that!" he rejoined, half-banteringly, half-threateningly. "there is something else to come, even more irritating," she said, less intently and smiling. "so please be prepared to hold your temper." "i shall not beat my fist on the table defending war as you did defending peace!" he retaliated with significant enjoyment. but she used his retort for an opening. "oh, i'd rather you would do that than jest! it's human. it's going to war because one is angry. you would go to war as a matter of cold reason." "if otherwise, i should lose," he replied. "exactly. you make it easy for me to approach my point. i want to prevent you from losing!" she announced cheerfully yet very seriously. "yes? proceed. i brace myself against an explosion of indignation!" "it is the duty of a teacher of peace to use all her influence with the people she knows," she went on. "so i am going to ask you not to let your country ever go to war against mine while you are chief of staff." "mine against yours?" he equivocated. "why, you live almost within gunshot of the line! your people have as much gray as brown blood in their veins, _your_ country! _my_ country! isn't that patriotism?" "patriotism, but not martial patriotism," she corrected him. "my thought is to stop war for both countries as war, regardless of sides. promise me that you will not permit it!" "i not permit it!" he smiled with the kindly patronage of a great man who sees a charming woman floundering in an attempt at logic. "it is for the premier to say. i merely make the machine ready. the government says the word that makes it move. i able to stop war! come, come!" "but you can--yes, you can with a word!" she declared positively. "how?" he asked, amazed. "how?" he repeated blandly. was she teasing him? he wondered. what new resources of confusion had ten years and a tour around the world developed in her? was it possible that the whole idea of the teachers of peace was an invention to make conversation at his expense? if so, she carried it off with a sincerity that suggested other depths yet unsounded. "very easily," she answered. "you can tell the premier that you cannot win. tell him that you will break your army to pieces against the browns' fortifications!" he gasped. then an inner voice prompted him that the cue was comedy. "excellent fooling--excellent!" he said with a laugh. "tell the premier that i should lose when i have five million men to their three million! what a harlequin chief of staff i should be! excellent fooling! you almost had me!" again he laughed, though in the fashion of one who had hardly unbent his spine, while he was wishing for the old days when he might take tea with her one or two afternoons a week. it would be a fine tonic after his isolation at the apex of the pyramid surveying the deference of the lower levels. then he saw that her eyes, shimmering with wonder, grew dull and her lips parted in a rigid, pale line as if she were hurt. "you think i am joking?" she asked. "why, yes!" "but i am not! no, no, not about such a ghastly subject as a war to-day!" she was leaning toward him, hands on knee and eyes burning like coals without a spark. "i"--she paused as she had before she broke out with the first prophecy--"i will quote part of our children's oath: 'i will not be a coward. it is a coward who strikes first. a brave man even after he receives a blow tries to reason with his assailant, and does not strike back until he receives a second blow. i shall not let a burglar drive me from my house. if an enemy tries to take my land i shall appeal to his sense of justice and reason with him, but if he then persists i shall fight for my home. if i am victorious i shall not try to take his land but to make the most of my own. i shall never cross a frontier to kill my fellowmen.'" very impressive she made the oath. her deliberate recital of it had the quality which justifies every word with an urgent faith. "you see, with that teaching there can be no war," she proceeded, "and those who strike will be weak; those who defend will be strong." "perhaps," he said. "you would not like to see thousands, hundreds of thousands, of men killed and maimed, would you?" she demanded, and her eyes held the horror of the sight in reality. "you can prevent it--you _can_!" her heart was in the appeal. "the old argument! no, i should not like to see that," he replied. "i only do my duty as a soldier to my country." "the old answer! the more reason why you should tell the premier you can't! but there is still another reason for telling him," she urged gently. now he saw her not at twenty-seven but at seventeen, girlish, the subject of no processes of reason but in the spell of an intuition, and he knew that something out of the blue in a flash was coming. "for you will not win!" she declared. this struck fire. square jaw and sturdy body, in masculine energy, resolute and trained, were set indomitably against feminine vitality. "yes, we shall win! we shall win!" he said without even the physical demonstration of a gesture and in a hard, even voice which was like that of the machinery of modern war itself, a voice which the aristocratic sniff, the louis xvi. curls, or any of the old gallery-display heroes would have thought utterly lacking in histrionics suitable to the occasion. he remained rigid after he had spoken, handsome, self-possessed. there was no use of beating feminine fists against such a stone wall. the force of the male was supreme. she smiled with a strange, quivering loosening of the lips. she spread out her hands with fingers apart, as if to let something run free from them into the air, and the flame of appeal that had been in her eyes broke into many lights that seemed to scatter into space, yet ready to return at her command. she glanced at the clock and rose, almost abruptly. "i was very strenuous riding my hobby against yours, wasn't i?" she exclaimed in a flutter of distraction that made it easy for him to descend from his own steed. "i stated a feeling. i made a guess, a threat about your winning--and all in the air. that's a woman's privilege; one men grant, isn't it?" "we enjoy doing so," he replied, all urbanity. "thank you!" she said simply. "i must be at home in time for the children's lesson on sunday. my sleeper is engaged, and if i am not to miss the train i must go immediately." with an undeniable shock of regret he realized that the interview was over. really, he had had a very good time; not only that, but--. "will it be ten years before we meet again?" he asked. "perhaps, unless you change the rules about officers dossing the frontier to take tea," she replied. "even if i did, the vice-chief of staff might hardly go." "then perhaps you must wait," she warned him, "until the teachers of peace have done away with all frontiers." "or, if there were war, i should come!" he answered in kind. he half wished that this might start another argument and she would miss her train. but she made no reply. "and you may come to the gray capital again. you are not through travelling!" he added. this aroused her afresh; the flame was back in her eyes. "yes. i have all the memories of my journeys to enjoy, all their lessons to study," she said. "there is the big world, and you want to have had the breath of all its climates in your lungs, the visions of all its peoples yours. then the other thing is three acres and a cow. if you could only have the solidarity of the japanese, their public spirit, with the old chinese love of family and peace, and a cathedral near-by on a hill! patriotism? why, it is in the soil of your three acres. i love to feel the warm, rich earth of our own garden in my hands! hereafter i shall be a stay-at-home; and if my children win," she held out her hand in parting with the same frank, earnest grip of her greeting, "why, you will find that tea is, as usual, at four-thirty." he had found the women of his high official world--a narrower world than he realized--much alike. striking certain keys, certain chords responded. he could probe the depths of their minds, he thought, in a single evening. then he passed on, unless it was in the interest of pleasure or of his career to linger. this meeting had left his curiosity baffled. he understood how marta's vitality demanded action, which exerted itself in a feminine way for a feminine cause. the cure for such a fad was most clear to his masculine-perception. what if all the power she had shown in her appeal for peace could be made to serve another ambition? he knew that he was a great man. more than once he had wondered what would happen if he were to meet a great woman. and he should not see marta galland again unless war came. vii times have changed a prodigious brown worm, its body turning and rising and falling with the grade and throbbing with the march of its centipede feet, wound its way along a rising mountain road. in the strong, youthful figures set in the universal type of military mould it might have been a regiment of any one of many nations' but the tint of its uniform was the brown of the nine hundred regiments that prepared for war against the gray of the fifteen hundred under hedworth westerling. the 53d of the browns had started for la tir on the same day that the 128th of the grays had started for south la tir. while the 128th was going to new scenes, the 53d was returning to familiar ground. it had detrained in the capital of the province from which its ranks had been recruited. after a steep incline, there was a welcome bugle note and with shouts of delight the centipede's legs broke apart! bankers', laborers', doctors', valets', butchers', manufacturers', and judges' sons threw themselves down on the greensward of the embankment to rest. with their talk of home, of relatives whom they had met at the station, and of the changes in the town was mingled talk of the crisis. meanwhile, an aged man was approaching. at times he would break into a kind of trot that ended, after a few steps, in shortness of breath. he was quite withered, his bright eyes twinkling out of an area of moth patches, and he wore a frayed uniform coat with a medal on the breast. "is this the 53d?" he quavered to the nearest soldier "it certainly is!" some one answered. "come and join us, veteran!" "is tom--tom fragini here?" the answer came from a big soldier, who sprang to his feet and leaped toward the old man. "it's grandfather, as i live!" he called out, kissing the veteran on both cheeks. "i saw sister in town, and she said you'd be at the gate as we marched by." "didn't wait at no gate! marched right up to you!" said grandfather. "marched up with my uniform and medal on! stand off there, tom, so i can see you. my word! you're bigger'n your father, but not bigger'n i was! no, sir, not bigger'n i was in my day before that wound sort o' bent me over. they say it's the lead in the blood. i've still got the bullet!" the old man's trousers were threadbare but well darned, and the holes in the uppers of his shoes were carefully patched. he had a merry air of optimism, which his grandson had inherited. "well, tom, how much longer you got to serve?" asked grandfather. "six months," answered tom. "one, two, three, four--" grandfather counted the numbers off on his fingers. "that's good. you'll be in time for the spring ploughing. my, how you have filled out! but, somehow, i can't get used to this kind of uniform. why, i don't see how a girl'd be attracted to you fellows, at all!" "they have to, for we're the only kind of soldiers there are nowadays. not as gay as in your day, that's sure, when you were in the hussars, eh?" "yes, i was in the hussars--in the hussars! i tell you, with our sabres a-gleaming, our horses' bits a-jingling, our pennons a-flying, and all the color of our uniform--i tell you, the girls used to open their eyes at us. and we went into the charge like that--yes, sir, just that gay and grand, colonel galland leading!" military history said that it had been a rather foolish charge, a fine example of the vainglory of unreasoning bravery that accomplishes nothing, but no one would suggest such scepticism of an immortal event in popular imagination in hearing of the old man as he lived over that intoxicated rush of horses and men into a battery of the grays. "well, didn't you find what i said was true about the lowlanders?" asked grandfather after he had finished the charge, referring to the people of the southern frontier of the browns, where the 53d had just been garrisoned. "no, i kind of liked them. i made a lot of friends," admitted tom. "they're very progressive." "eh? eh? you're joking!" to like the people of the southern frontier was only less conceivable than liking the people of the grays. "that's because you didn't see deep under them. they're all on the outside--a flighty lot! why, if they'd done their part in that last war we'd have licked the grays until they cried for mercy! if their army corps had stood its ground at volmer--" "so you've always said," interrupted tom. "and the way they cook tripe! i couldn't stomach it, could you? and if there's anything i am partial to it's a good dish of tripe! and their light beer--like drinking froth! and their bread--why, it ain't bread! it's chips! 'taint fit for civilized folks!" "but i sort of got used to their ways," said tom. "eh? eh?" grandfather looked at grandson quizzically, seeking the cause of such heterodoxy in a northern man. "say, you ain't been falling in love?" he hazarded. "you--you ain't going to bring one of them southern girls home?" "no!" said tom laughing. "well, i'm glad you ain't, for they're naturally light-minded. i remember 'em well." he wandered on with his questions and comments. "is it a fact, tom, or was you just joking when you wrote home that the soldiers took so many baths?" "yes, they do." "well, that beats me! it's a wonder you didn't all die of pneumonia!" he paused to absorb the phenomenon. then his half-childish mind, prompted by a random recollection, flitted to another subject which set him to giggling. "and the little crawlers--did they bother you much, the little crawlers?" "the little crawlers?" repeated tom, mystified. "yes. everybody used to get 'em just from living close together. had to comb 'em out and pick 'em out of your clothes. the chase we used to call it." "no, grandfather, crawlers have gone out of fashion. and no more epidemics of typhoid and dysentery either," said tom. "times have certainly changed!" grumbled grandfather fragini. interested in their own reunion, they had paid no attention to a group of tom's comrades near-by, sprawled around a newspaper containing the latest despatches from both capitals. it was a group as typical as that of the grays around hugo mallin's cot; only the common voice was that of defence. "five million soldiers to our three million!" "eighty million people to our fifty million!" "because of the odds, they think we are bound to yield, no matter if we are in the right!" "let them come!" said the butcher's son. "if we have to go, it will be on a wave of blood." "and they will come some time," said the judge's son. "they want our land." "we gain nothing if we beat them back. war will be the ruin of business,"-said the banker's son. "yes, we are prosperous now. let well enough alone!" said the manufacturer's son. "some say it makes wages higher," said the laborer's son, "but i am thinking it's a poor way of raising your pay." "there won't be any war," said the banker's son "there can't be without credit. the banking interests will lot permit it." "there can always be war," said the judge's son, "always when one people determines to strike at another people--even if it brings bankruptcy." "it would be a war that would make all others in history a mere exchange of skirmishes. every able-bodied man in line--automatics a hundred shots a minute--guns a dozen shots a minute--and aeroplanes and dirigibles!" said the manufacturer's son. "to the death, too!" "and not for glory! we of the 53d who live on the frontier will be fighting for our homes." "if we lose them we'll never get them back. better die than be beaten!" there was no humorist hugo mallin in this group; no nimble fancy to send heresy skating over thin ice; but there was herbert stransky, with deep-set eyes, slightly squinting inward, and a heavy jaw, an enormous man who was the best shot in the company when he cared to be. he had listened in silence to the others, his rather thick but expressive lips curving with cynicism. his only speech all the morning had been in the midst of the reception in the public square of the town when he said: "this home-coming doesn't mean much to me. home? hell! the hedgerows of the world are my home!" he appeared older than his years, and hard and bitter, except when his eyes would light with a feverish sort of fire which shone now as he broke into a lull in the talk. "comrades," he began. "let us hear from the socialist!" a tory exclaimed. "no, the anarchist!" shouted a socialist. "there won't be any war!" said stransky, his voice gradually rising to the pitch of an agitator relishing the sensation of his own words. "patriotism is the played-out trick of the ruling classes to keep down the proletariat. there won't be any war! why? because there are too many enlightened men on both sides who do the world's work. we of the 53d are a provincial lot, but throughout our army there are thousands upon thousands like me. they march, they drill, but when battle comes they will refuse to fight--my comrades in heart, to whom the flag of this country means no more than that of any other country!" "hold on! the flag is sacred!" cried the banker's son. "yes, that will do!" "shut up!" other voices formed a chorus of angry protest. "i knew you thought it; now i've caught you!" this from the sergeant, who had seen hard fighting against a savage foe in africa and therefore was particularly bitter about the bodlapoo affair. the welt of a scar on his gaunt, fever-yellowed cheek turned a deeper red as he seized stransky by the collar of the blouse. stransky raised his free hand as if to strike, but paused as he faced the company's boyish captain, slender of figure, aristocratic of feature. his indignation was as evident as the sergeant's, but he was biting his lips to keep it under control. "you heard what he said, sir?" "the latter part--enough!" "it's incitation to mutiny! an example!" "yes, put him under arrest." the sergeant still held fast to the collar of stransky's blouse. stransky could have shaken himself free, as a mastiff frees himself from a puppy, but this was resistance to arrest and he had not yet made up his mind to go that far. his muscles were weaving under the sergeant's grip, his eyes glowing as with volcanic fire waiting on the madness of impulse for eruption. "i wonder if it is really worth while to put him under arrest?" said some one at the edge of the group in amiable inquiry. the voice came from an officer of about thirty-five, who apparently had strolled over from a near-by aeroplane station to look at the regiment. from his shoulder hung the gold cords of the staff. his left hand thrust in the pocket of his blouse heightened the ease of his carriage, which was free of conventional military stiffness, while his eyes had the peculiar eagerness of a man who seems to find everything that comes under his observation interesting and significant. it was colonel arthur lanstron, whose plane had skimmed the gallands' garden wall for the "easy bump" ten years ago. there was something more than mere titular respect in the way the young captain saluted---admiration and the diffident, boyish glance of recognition which does not presume to take the lead in recalling a slight acquaintance with a man of distinction. "dellarme! it's all of two years since we met at miss galland's, isn't it?" lanstron said, shaking hands with the captain. "yes, just before we were ordered south," said dellarme, obviously pleased to be remembered. "i overheard your speech," lanstron continued, nodding toward stransky. "it was very informing." a crowd of soldiers was now pressing around stransky, and in the front rank was grandfather fragini. "said our flag was no better'n any other flag, did he?" piped the old man. "beat him to a pulp! that's what the hussars would have done." "if you don't mind telling it in public, stransky, i should like to know your origin," said lanstron, prepared to be as considerate of an anarchist's private feelings as of anybody's. stransky squinted his eyes down the bony bridge of his nose and grinned sardonically. "that won't take long," he answered. "my father, so far as i could identify him, died in jail and my mother of drink." "that was hardly to the purple!" observed lanstron thoughtfully. "no, to the red!" answered stransky savagely. "i mean that it was hardly inclined to make you take ft roseate view of life as a beautiful thing in a well-ordered world where favors of fortune are evenly distributed," continued lanstron. "rather to make me rejoice in the hope of a new order of things--the re-creation of society!" stransky uttered the sentiment with the triumphant pride of a pupil who knows his text-book thoroughly. by this time the colonel commanding the regiment, who had noticed the excitement from a distance, appeared, forcing a gap for his passage through the crowd with sharp words. he, too, recognized lanstron. after they had shaken hands, the colonel scowled as he heard the situation explained, with the old sergeant, still holding fast to stransky's collar, a capable and insistent witness for the prosecution; while stransky, the fire in his eyes dying to coals, stared straight ahead. "it is only a suggestion, of course," said lanstron, speaking quite as a spectator to avoid the least indication of interference with the colonel's authority, "but it seems possible that stransky has clothed his wrongs in a garb that could never set well on his nature if he tried to wear it in practice. he is really an individualist. enraged, he would fight well. i should like nothing better than a force of stranskys if i had to defend a redoubt in a last stand." "yes, he might fight." the colonel looked hard at stransky's rigid profile, with its tight lips and chin as firm as if cut out of stone. "you never know who will fight in the pinch, they say. but that's speculation. it's the example that i have to deal with." "he is not of the insidious, plotting type. he spoke his mind openly," suggested lanstron. "if you give him the limit of the law, why, he becomes a martyr to persecution. i should say that his remarks might pass for barrack-room gassing." "very well," said the colonel, taking the shortest way out of the difficulty. "we will excuse the first offence." "yes, sir!" said the sergeant mechanically as he released his grip of the offender. "we had two anarchists in my company in africa," he observed in loyal agreement with orders. "they fought like devils. the only trouble was to keep them from shooting innocent natives for sport." stransky's collar was still crumpled on the nape of his neck. he remained stock-still, staring down the bridge of his nose. for a full minute he did not vouchsafe so much as a glance upward over the change in his fortunes. then he looked around at lanstron gloweringly. "i know who you are!" he said. "you were born to the purple. you have had education, opportunity, position--everything that you and your kind want to keep for your kind. you are smarter than the others. you would hang a man with spider-webs instead of hemp. but i won't fight for you! no, i won't!" he threw back his head with a determination in his defiance so intense that it had a certain kind of dignity that freed it of theatrical affectation. "yes, i was fortunate; but perhaps nature was not altogether unkind to you," said lanstron. "in napoleonic times, stransky, i think you might even have carried a marshal's baton in your knapsack." "you--what rot!" a sort of triumph played around stransky's full lips and his jaw shot out challengingly. "no, never against my comrades on the other side of the border!" he concluded, his dogged stare returning. now the colonel gave the order to fall in; the bugle sounded and the centipede's legs began to assemble on the road. but stransky remained a statue, his rifle untouched on the sward. he seemed of a mind to let the regiment go on without him. "stransky, fall in!" called the sergeant. still stransky did not move. a comrade picked up the rifle and fairly thrust it into his hands. "come on, bert, and knead dough with the rest of us!" he whispered. "come on! cheer up!" evidently his comrades liked stransky. "no!" roared stransky, bringing the rifle down on the ground with a heavy blow. then impulse broke through the restraint that seemed to characterize the lanstron of thirty-five. the lanstron of twenty-five, who had met catastrophe because he was "wool-gathering," asserted himself. he put his hand on stransky's shoulder. it was a strong though slim hand that looked as if it had been trained to do the work of two hands in the process of its owner's own transformation. thus the old sergeant had seen a general remonstrate with a brave veteran who had been guilty of bad conduct in africa. the old colonel gasped at such a subversion of the dignity of rank. he saw the army going to the devil. but young dellarme, watching with eager curiosity, was sensible of no familiarity in the act. it all depended on how such a thing was done, he was thinking. "we all have minutes when we are more or less anarchists," said lanstron in the human appeal of one man to another. "but we don't want to be judged by one of those minutes. i got a hand mashed up for a mistake that took only a second. think this over to-night before you act. then, if you are of the same opinion, go to the colonel and tell him so. come, why not?" "all right, sir, you're so decent about it!" grumbled stransky, taking his place in the ranks. hep-hep-hep! the regiment started on its way, with grandfather fragini keeping at his grandson's side. "makes me feel young again, but it's darned solemn beside the hussars, with their horses' bits a-jingling. times have certainly changed--officers' hands in their pockets, saying 'if you don't mind' to a man that's insulted the flag! kicking ain't good enough for that traitor! ought to hang him--yes, sir, hang and draw him!" lanstron watched the marching column for a time. "hep-hep-hep! it's the brown of the infantry that counts in the end," he mused. "i liked that wall-eyed giant. he's all man!" then his livening glance swept the heavens inquiringly. a speck in the blue, far away in the realms of atmospheric infinity, kept growing in size until it took the form of the wings with which man flies. the plane volplaned down with steady swiftness, till its racing shadow lay large over the landscape for a few seconds before it rose again with beautiful ease and precision. "bully for you, etzel!" lanstron thought, as he started back to the aeroplane station. "you belong in the corps. we shall not let you return to your regiment for a while. you've a cool head and you'd charge a church tower if that were the orders." viii thanks to a bumblebee "has he changed much?" mrs. galland asked, when she learned that marta had seen westerling. "jove has reached his own--the very top of olympus, and he likes the prospect," marta replied. the only home news of importance that her mother had to impart related to a tiny strip of paper with the greeting, "hello, marta!" that had been dropped from the pilot aeroplane as the brown aerial squadron flew over the garden after its race with the gray. she noted marta's customary quickening interest at mention of lanstron's name. it had become the talisman of a hope whose fulfilment was always being deferred. "how different lanny and westerling are!" marta exclaimed, the picture of the two men rising before her vision. "lanny trying so hard under the pressure of his responsibility not to be human and unable to forget himself, and westerling trying, really trying, to be human at times, but unable to forget that he is jove! did you wave your acknowledgments to lanny,'?" "why, no! how could i?" asked mrs. galland. "he went over so fast i didn't know it was he--a little figure so far overhead." "it's odd, but i think i'd know lanny a mile away by a sort of instinct," said marta. "you know i'd like a gun that would fire a bomb and drop a message of 'hello, yourself!' right on his knee. wouldn't that give him a surprise?" "you and he are so full of nonsense that you--" but mrs. galland desisted. what was the use? sometimes she wished that colonel lanstron would stay away altogether and leave a free field for a newcomer. yet if two or three weeks passed without a call from him she was apprehensive. besides being one of the thorbourg lanstrons, he was a most charming, capable man, who had risen very rapidly in his profession. it had been only six months after he had bolted up from the wreck of his plane by way of self-introduction to marta before he alighted in the field across the road from the garden to report a promise kept. once she knew that he was a lanstron of thorbourg, a fact of hardly passing interest to marta, mrs. galland made him intimately welcome. by the time he had paid his third call he was lanny to marta and she was marta to him, quite as if they had known each other from childhood. she had a gift for unaffected comradeship. he was the kind of man with whom she could be a comrade. there was always something to say the moment they met and they were never through talking when he had to go. they disagreed so often that mrs. galland thought they made a business of it. she wondered how real friendship could exist between two such controversialists. they could be seriously disputatious to the point of quarrelling; they could be light-heartedly disputatious to the bantering point, where either was uncertain which side of the argument he had originally espoused. "the gardener did not cut the chrysanthemums," mrs. galland said. "that is why we had asters in the bowl at luncheon. his deafness is really a cross, i never realized before what a companion one naturally makes of a gardener." "no, there's no purpose in having a deaf gardener," said marta. "nature distributes her defects unintelligently. now, if we had dumb demagogues, deaf gossips, and steel that when it was being formed into a sword-blade or a gun would turn to putty, we should be much better off. but we couldn't let feller go, could we? he's already made himself a fixture. so few people would put up with his deafness! he's so desirous of pleasing and he loves flowers." "and colonel lanstron recommended him. except for his deafness he is a perfect gardener. of course he had to have some drawback, for complete perfection is impossible," mrs. galland agreed. the old straw hat that shaded the fringe of white hair had been hovering within easy approaching distance of the chrysanthemum bed ever since the whistle of the train that brought marta home had been heard from the station. feller was watching marta when she paused for a moment on the second terrace steps, enjoying the sweep of landscape anew with the freshness of a first glimpse and the intimacy of every familiar detail cut in the memory. it was her landscape, famed in history, where history might yet be made. his greeting was picturesque and effective. with white head bared, he looked up from the chrysanthemums to her and back at them and up at her again, with a sort of covert comradeship in his eyes which were young, very young for such white hair, and held out his little pad and pencil. she smiled approval and slowly worked out a "perfect" in the deaf-and-dumb alphabet before she took the proffered pencil and wrote: "i practised the deaf-and-dumb alphabet on the train. i'm learning fast. we've never had such chrysanthemums before. next year we shall have some irises--just a few--as fine as they have in japan. how's your rheumatism?" he had replaced the broad-brimmed hat over his brow and his lips were visible in a lingering smile as he read the message. "thank you, miss galland," he said in his even monotone. "you are very kind and i am very fortunate to find a place like this. i already knew something about irises and i've been reading up on the subject. we'll try to hold our own with those little japanese. as for the rheumatism, since you are good enough to inquire, miss galland, it's about the same. my legs are getting old. there are bound to be some kinks in them." "you select those to cut--a great armful!" she slowly spelled out on her fingers, clapping her hands with a triumphant cry of "how's that?" at the finish. "your time has come! to the sacrifice!" he exclaimed to the flowers. very tenderly, as if he were an executioner considerate of the victims of an inexorable law, he was snipping the stems, his head bent close to the blooms, when a bumblebee appeared among the salvias a few feet away. perhaps army staffs who neglect no detail have made a mistake in overlooking the whirring of bumblebees' wings in affecting the fate of nations. these plunderers are not dangerous from their size, but they have not yet been organized to the hep-hep-hep of partisanship. they would as soon live in a gray as a brown garden, as soon probe for an atom of honey on one side of the white posts as the other. this one as it drew nearer was well to one side over feller's shoulders. with eyes and mind intent on his work, feller turned his head absently, as one will at an interruption. "there you are again, my dear!" he said. "you must think you're a battery of automatics." he went on cutting chrysanthemums, apparently unconscious that he had spoken. "bring them up on the veranda, please," marta wrote on the pad, her fingers moving with unusual nervous rapidity, the only sign of her inward excitement. coming to the head of the steps of the terrace above, she looked back. feller's face was quite hidden under his hat and suddenly she seemed to stub her toe and fall, while she uttered a low cry of pain. the hat rose like a jack-in-the-box with the cover released. feller bounded toward her, taking two of steps at a time. she scrambled to her feet hastily, laughed, and gestured to show that she was not hurt. he drew his shoulders together and bent over spasmodically, gripping his knee. "i can run off if something starts me just as spry as if i were twenty," he said. "but after i've done it and the kinks come, i realize i've got old legs." "now i know he's not deaf!" marta murmured, as he returned to his work. she frowned. she was angry. "lanny, you have something to explain," she thought. but when feller brought his armful of chrysanthemums to her on the veranda, there was no trace in her expression of the discovery she had made, and she wrote a direction on his pad in the usual fashion. ix a sunday morning call as a boy, arthur lanstron had persisted in being an exception to the influences of both heredity and environment. though his father and both grandfathers were officers who believed theirs to be the true gentleman's profession, he had preferred any kind of mechanical toy to arranging the most gayly painted tin soldiers in formation on the nursery floor; and he would rather read about the wonders of natural history and electricity than the campaigns of napoleon and frederick the great and my lord nelson. left to his own choice, he would miss the parade of the garrison for inspection by an excellency in order to ask questions of a man wiping the oil off his hands with cotton-waste, who was far more entertaining to him than the most spick-and-span ramrod of a sergeant. the first time he saw a dynamo in motion he was spellbound. this was even more fascinating than the drill that the family dentist worked with his foot. his tutor found him inclined to estimate a cæsar, self-characterized in his commentaries, as less humanly appealing than his first love, the engine-driver, with whom he kept up a correspondence after his father had been transferred to another post. he was given to magic lanterns, private telegraph and telephone lines, trying to walk a tight rope, and parachute acts and experiments in chemistry. when the family were not worried lest he should break his neck or blow his head off investigating, they were irritated by a certain plebeian strain in him which kept all kinds of company. his mother disapproved of his picking an acquaintance with a group of acrobats in order to improve his skill on the trapeze. his excuse for his supple friends was that they were all "experts" in something, just as his tutor was in greek verbs. very light-hearted he was, busy, vital, reckless, with an earnest smile that could win the post telegrapher to teach him the code alphabet or persuade his father not to destroy his laboratory after he had singed off his eyebrows. this may explain why he had to cram hard in the dead languages at times, with a towel tied around his head. he complained that they were out of date; and he wanted to hear the gauls' story, too, before he fully made up his mind about cæsar. but for the living languages he had a natural gift which his father's service abroad as military attaché for a while enabled him to cultivate. upon being told one day that he was to go to the military school the following autumn, he broke out in open rebellion. he had just decided, after having passed through the stages of engine-driver, telegraph operator, railroad-signal watchman, automobile manufacturer, and superintendent of the city's waterworks, to build bridges over tropical torrents that always rose in floods to try all his skill in saving his construction work. "i don't want to go into the army!" he said. "why?" asked his father, thinking that when the boy had to give his reasons he would soon be argued out of the heresy. "it's drilling a few hours a day, then nothing to do," arthur replied. "all your work waits on war and you don't know that there will ever be any war. it waits on something nobody wants to happen. now, if you manufacture something, why, you see wool come out cloth, steel come out an automobile. if you build a bridge you see it rising little by little. you're getting your results every day; you see your mistakes and your successes. you're making something, creating something; there's something going on all the while that isn't guesswork. i think that's what i want to say. you won't order me to be a soldier will you?" the father, loath to do this, called in the assistance of an able pleader then, eugene partow, lately become chief of staff of the browns, who was an old friend of the lanstron family. it was not in partow's mind to lose such a recruit in a time when the heads of the army were trying, in answer to the demands of a new age, to counteract the old idea that made an officer's the conventional avocation of a gentleman of leisurely habits. "no army that ever worked as hard in peace as the average manufacturer or bridge-builder was ever beaten in battle if it fought anything like equal numbers," he said. "the officer who works hard in the army deserves more credit than he would in any other profession because the incentive for results seems remote. but what a terrible test of results may be made in a single hour's action. there is nothing you have learned or ever will learn that may not be of service to you. there is no invention, no form of industrial organization that must not be included in the greatest organization of all, whose plant and methods must be up to date in every particular. to be backward in a single particular may mean disaster--may mean that the loss of thousands of lives is due to you. you must have self-control, courage, dash, judgment if you have not kept up, if you are not equal to the test, your inefficiency will mean your shame and your country's suffering; while efficiency means a clear conscience and your country's security." thus partow turned the balance on the side of filial affection. he kept watch of the boy, but without favoring him with influence. young lanstron, who wanted to see results, had to earn them. he realized in practice the truth of partow's saying that there was nothing he had ever learned but what could be of service to him as an officer. what the acrobats had taught him probably saved his life on the occasion of his first flight across the range. the friendships with all sorts of people in his youth were the forerunner of his sympathy with the giant, wall-eyed stransky who had mutinied on the march. "finding enough work to do?" par tow would ask with a chuckle when they met in these days, for he had made lanstron both chief of intelligence and chief aerostatic officer. young colonel lanstron's was the duty of gaining the secrets of the gray staff and keeping those of the brown and organizing up-to-the-moment efficiency in the new forces of the air. he had remarked truly enough that the injury to his left hand served as a better reminder against the folly of wool-gathering than a string, even a large red string, tied around his finger. thanks to skilful surgery working ingeniously with splintered bone and pulpy flesh, there was nothing unpleasant to the eye in a stiffened wrist and scarred knuckles slightly misshapen. the fingers, incapable of spreading much, were yet serviceable and had a firm grip of the wheel as he rose from the aeroplane station on the sunday morning after marta's return home for a flight to la tir. he knew the pattern weaving under his feet as one knows that of his own garden from an overlooking window. every detail of the staff map, ravines, roads, buildings, battery positions, was stitched together in the flowing reality of actual vision. no white posts were necessary to tell him where the boundary between the two nations lay. the line was drawn in his brain. nature was in a gracious humor, the very tree tops motionless. the rich landscape in sunday quiet appealed to his affections. he loved his country and he loved marta. it had been on such a day as this when there would be no danger, that he had taken her for her first flight. the glimpses, as they flew, of her profile, so alive and tense, were fresh to his eye. how serious she had been! how vivid her impressions! how tempestuous her ideas! he recalled their talk upon their return; all his questions and her answers. * * * * * "sublime and ridiculous!" she had begun in a summing up. "it is like seeing the life of a family through a glass roof--the big, universal family! valleys seemed no larger than sauce-dishes on a table." "what was the sublime thing?" "man's toil! the cumulative result of it, on every hand, in the common aim for food, comfort, happiness, and progress! little details of difference disappeared. towns, villages, houses were simply towns, villages, houses of any country." "and the supremely ridiculous thing?" "a regiment of cavalry of the grays and one of the browns on the same road! they appeared so self-important, as if the sky would fall or the earth heave up to meet the sky if they got out of formation. i imagined each man a metal figure that fitted astride a metal horse of the kind that comes to children at christmas time. they might better be engaged in brass-ring-snatching contests at the merry-go-rounds of public fairs. i wanted to brush them all over with a wave of the hand as you might the battalions of the nursery floor. just drilling and drilling in order to slash at one another some day. flight! flight! it makes one's mind as big and broad as the world. oh, what a wonderful talk i'll have for my kids next sunday!" * * * * * now that lanstron was the organizer of the aviation corps his own flights were rare. mostly they were made to la tir. his visits to marta were his holidays? all the time that she was absent on her journey around the world they had corresponded. her letters, so revealing of herself and her peculiar angles of observation, formed a bundle sacredly preserved. her mother's joking reference about her girlish resolution not to marry a soldier often recurred to him. there, he sometimes thought, was the real obstacle to his great desire. he wished, this morning, that he were not colonel lanstron, but the bridge-builder returning from his triumph after he had at last spanned the chasm and controlled the floods. ah, there was something like romance and real accomplishment in that! what an easy time a bridge-builder had, comparatively, too! what an easy master capital must be compared to eugene partow! but no! if marta loved it would not matter whether he were bridge builder or army builder. yes, she was like that. and what right had he to think of marriage? he could not have any home. he was now in the capital; again, along the frontier--a vagabond of duty and partow's orders. * * * * * when he alighted from the plane he thrust his left hand into his blouse pocket. he always carried it there, as if it were literally sewn in place. in moments of emotion the scarred nerves would twitch as the telltale of his sensitiveness; and this was something he would conceal from others no matter how conscious he was of it himself. he found the galland veranda deserted. in response to his ring a maid came to the open door. her face was sad, with a beauty that had prematurely faded. but it lighted pleasurably in recognition. her hair was thick and tawny, lying low over the brow; her eyes were a softly luminous brown and her full lips sensitive and yielding. lanstron, an intimate of the galland household, knew her story well and the part that marta had played in it. some four years previously, when a baby was in prospect for minna, who wore no wedding-ring, mrs. galland had been inclined to send the maid to an institution, "where they will take good care of her, my dear. that's what such institutions are for. it is quite scandalous for her and for us--never happened in our family before!" marta arched her eyebrows. "we don't know!" she exclaimed softly. "how can you think such a thing, let alone saying it--you, a galland!" her mother gasped in indignation. "that is, if we go far back," said marta. "at all events, we have no precedent, so let's establish one by keeping her." "but for her own sake! she will have to live with her shame!" mrs. galland objected. "let her begin afresh in the city. we shall give her a good recommendation, for she is really an excellent servant. yes, she will readily find a place among strangers." "still, she doesn't want to go, and it would be cruel to send her away." "cruel! why, marta, do you think i would be cruel? oh, very well, then we will let her stay!" * * * * * "both are away at church. mrs. galland ought to be here any minute, but miss galland will be later because of her children's class," said minna. "will you wait on the veranda?" he was saying that he would stroll in the garden when childish footsteps were heard in the hall, and after a curly head had nestled against the mother's skirts its owner, reminded of the importance of manners in the world where the stork had left her, made a curtsey. lanstron shook a small hand which must have lately been on intimate terms with sugar or jam. "how do you do, flying soldier man?" chirruped clarissa eileen. it was evident that she held lanstron in high favor. "let me hear you say your name," said lanstron. clarissa eileen was triumphant. she had been waiting for days with the revelation when he should make that old request. now she enunciated it with every vowel and consonant correctly and primly uttered; indeed, she repeated it four or five times in proof of complete mastery. "a pretty name. i've often wondered how you came to give it to her," said lanstron to minna. "you do like it!" exclaimed minna with girlish eagerness. "i gave her the most beautiful name i could think of because"--she laid her hand caressingly on the child's head and a madonna-like radiance stole into her face--"because she might at least have a beautiful name when"--the dull blaze of a recollection now burning in her eyes--"when there wasn't much prospect of many beautiful things coming into her life; though i know, of course, that the world thinks she ought to be called maggie." * * * * * proceeding leisurely along the main path of the first terrace, lanstron followed it past the rear of the house to the old tower. long ago the moat that surrounded the castle had been filled in. the green of rows of grape-vines lay against the background of a mat of ivy on the ancient stone walls, which had been cut away from the loopholes set with window-glass. the door was open, showing a room that had been closed in by a ceiling of boards from the walls to the circular stairway that ran aloft from the dungeons. on the floor of flags were cheap rugs. a number of seed and nursery catalogues were piled on a round table covered with a brown cloth. "hello!" lanstron called softly. "hello!" he called louder and yet louder. receiving no answer, he retraced his steps and seated himself on the second terrace in a secluded spot in the shadow of the first terrace wall, where he could see any one coming up the main flight of steps from the road. when marta walked she usually came from town by that way. at length the sound of a slow step from another direction broke on his car. some one was approaching along the path that ran at his feet. around the corner of the wall, in his workman's sunday clothes of black, but still wearing his old straw hat, appeared feller, the gardener. he paused to examine a rose-bush and lanstron regarded him thoughtfully and sadly: his white hair, his stoop, his graceful hands, their narrow finger-tips turning over the leaves. as he turned away he looked up, and a glance of definite and unfaltering recognition was exchanged between the two men. feller's hat was promptly lowered enough to form a barrier between their eyes. his face was singularly expressionless. it seemed withered, clayish, like the walls of a furnace in which the fire has died out. after a few steps he paused before another rose-bush. meanwhile, both had swept the surroundings in a sharp, covert survey. they had the garden to themselves. "gustave!" lanstron exclaimed under his breath. "lanny!" exclaimed the gardener, turning over a branch of the rose-bush. he seemed unwilling to risk talking openly with lanstron. "you look the good workman in his sunday best to a t!" said lanstron. "being stone-deaf," returned feller, with a trace of drollery in his voice, "i hear very well--at times. tell me"--his whisper was quivering with eagerness--"shall we fight? shall we fight?" "we are nearer to it than we have ever been in our time," lanstron replied. the hat still shaded feller's face, his stoop was unchanged, but the branch in his hand shook. "honest?" he exclaimed. "oh, the chance of it! the chance of it!" "gustave!" lanstron's voice, still low, came in a gust of sympathy, and the pocket which concealed his hand gave a nervous twitch as if it held something alive and distinct from his own being. "the trial wears on you! you feel you must break out?" "no, i'm game--game, i tell you!" still feller spoke to the branch, which was steady now in a firm hand. "no, i don't grow weary of the garden and the isolation as long as there is hope. but being deaf, always deaf, and yet hearing everything! always stooped, even when the bugles are sounding to the artillery garrison--that is somewhat tiresome!" "the idea of being deaf was yours, you know, gustave," said lanstron. "yes, and the right plan. it was fun at first going through the streets and hearing people say, 'he's deaf as a stone!' and having everybody work their lips at me while i pretended to study them in a dumb effort to understand. actors have two hours of it an evening, and an occasional change of parts, but i act one part all the time. i get as taciturn as a clam. if war doesn't come pretty soon i shall be ready for a monastery of perpetual silence." "confound it, gustave!" exclaimed lanstron. "it's inhuman, old boy! you shan't stay another day!" discretion to the winds, he sprang to his feet. an impulse of the same sort overwhelmed feller. his hand let go of the branch. the brim of the hat shot up, revealing a face that was not old, but in mercurial quickness of expressive, uncontrollable emotion was young, handsomely and attractively young in its frame of prematurely white hair. the stoop was wholly gone. he was tall now, his eyes sparkling with wild, happy lights and the soles of the heavy workman's shoes unconsciously drawn together in a military stance. lanstron's twitching hand flew from his pocket and with the other found feller's hand in a strong, warm, double grip. for a second's silence they remained thus. feller was the first to recover himself and utter a warning. "miss galland--minna--some one might be looking." he drew away abruptly, his face becoming suddenly old, his stoop returning, and began to study the branch as before. lanstron dropped back to his seat and gazed at the brown roofs of the town. thus they might continue their conversation as guest and gardener. "i didn't think you'd stick it out, but you wanted to try--you chose," said lanstron. "come--this afternoon--now!" "this is best for me--this to the end of the chapter!" feller replied doggedly. "because you say you didn't think i'd stick it out--ah, how well you know me. lanny!--is the one reason that i should." "true!" lanstron agreed. "a victory over yourself!" "how often i have heard in imagination the outbreak of rifle-fire down there by the white posts! how often i have longed for that day--for war! i live for war!" "it may never come," lanstron said in frank protest. "and, for god's sake, don't pray for it in that way!" "then i shall be patient--patient under all irritations. the worst is," and feller raised his head heavily, in a way that seemed to emphasize both his stoop and his age, "the worst is miss galland." "miss galland! how?" "she is learning the deaf-and-dumb alphabet in order the better to communicate with me. she likes to talk of the flowers--gardening is a passion with her, too--and all the while, in face of the honesty of those big eyes of hers and of her gentle old mother's confidence, i am living a lie! oh, the satire of it! and i have not been used to lying. that is my only virtue; at any rate, i was never a liar!" "then, why stay, gustave? i will find something else for you." "no!" feller shot back irritably. "no!" he repeated resolutely. "i don't want to go! i mean to be game--i--" he shifted his gaze dismally from the bush which he still pretended to examine and suddenly broke off with: "miss galland is coming!" he started to move away with a gardener's shuffling steps, looking from right to left for weeds. then pausing, he glanced back, his face in another transformation--that of a comedian. "la, la, la!" he clucked, tossing his head gayly. "depend on me, lanny! they'll never know i'm not deaf. i get my blue fits only on sundays! and deafness has its compensations. think if i had to listen to all the stories of my table companion, peter, the coachman! la, la, la!" he clucked again, before disappearing around a bend in the path. "la, la, la! i'm the man for this part!" lanstron started toward the steps that marta was ascending. she moved leisurely, yet with a certain springy energy that suggested that she might have come on the run without being out of breath or seeming to have made an effort. without seeing him, she paused before one of the urns of hydrangeas in full bloom that flanked the third terrace wall, and, as if she would encompass and plunge her spirit into their abundant beauty, she spread out her arms and drew the blossoms together in a mass in which she half buried her face. the act was delightful in its grace and spontaneity. it was like having a page out of her secret self. it brought the glow of his great desire into lanstron's eyes. "hello, stranger!" she called as she saw him, and quickened her pace. "hello, pedagogue!" he responded. as they shook hands they swung their arms back and forth like a pair of romping children for a moment. "we had a grand session of the school this morning, the largest class ever!" she said. "and the points we scored off you soldiers! you'll find disarmament already in progress when you return to headquarters. we're irresistible, or at least," she added, with a flash of intensity, "we're going to be some day." "so you put on your war-paint!" "it must be the pollen from the hydrangeas!" she flicked her handkerchief from her belt and passed it to him. "show that you know how to be useful!" he performed the task with deliberate care. "heavens! you even have some on your ear and some on your hair; but i'll leave it on your hair; it's rather becoming. there you are!" he concluded. "off my hair, too!" "very well. i always obey orders." "i oughtn't to have asked you to do it at all!" she exclaimed with a sudden change of manner as they started up to the house. "but a habit of friendship, a habit of liking to believe in one's friends, was uppermost. i forgot. i oughtn't even to have shaken hands with you!" "marta! what now, marta?" he asked. he had known her in reproach, in anger, in laughing mockery, in militant seriousness, but never before like this. the pain and indignation in her eyes came not from the sheer hurt of a wound but from the hurt of its source. it was as if he had learned by the signal of its loss that he had a deeper hold on her than he had realized. "yes, i have a bone to pick with you," she said, recovering a grim sort of fellowship. "a big bone! if you're half a friend you'll give me the very marrow of it." "i am ready!" he answered more pathetically than philosophically. "there's not time now; after luncheon, when mother is taking her nap," she concluded as they came to the last step and saw mrs. galland on the veranda. x a luncheon at the gallands' seated at the head of the table at luncheon, mrs. galland, with her round cheeks, her rather becoming double chin, and her nicely dressed hair, almost snow-white now, suggested a girlhood in the bulwer lytton and octave feuillet age, when darkened rooms were favored for the complexion and it was the fashion for gentlewomen to faint on occasion. she lived in the past; the present interested her only when it aroused some memory. to-day all her memories were of the war of forty years ago. "i remember how mrs. karly collapsed when they brought word of the death of her son, and never recovered her mind. and i remember eunice steiner when they brought charles home looking so white--and it was the very day set for their wedding! and i remember all the wounded gathered at the foot of the terrace and being carried in here, while the guns were roaring out on the plain--and now it's all coming again!" "why, mother, you're very blue to-day!" said marta. "we have had these crises before. we--" lanstron began, rallying her. "oh, yes, you have reason and argument," she parried gently. "i have only my feelings. but it's in the air--yes, war is in the air, as it was that other time. and i remember that young private, only a boy, who lay crumpled up on the steps where he fell. i bandaged him myself and helped to make his position easier. yes, i almost lifted him in my arms" she was looking at the flowers on the table but not seeing them. she was seeing the face of the young private forty years ago. "he asked me to bring him a rose. he said the smell of roses was so sweet and he felt so faint. i brought him the rose--and he was dead!" "yes, yes!" marta breathed. she, too, in her quick imagination, was seeing the young private and spatters of blood on the terrace. lanstron feasted his eyes on her face, which mirrored her emotion. "oh, the groans of the dying in the night and the cheering when the news of victory came in!" mrs. galland continued. "i could not cheer. but that was, long, long ago--long ago, and yet only yesterday! and now we are to have it all over again. the young men must have their turn. they will not be satisfied by the experience of their fathers. yes, all over again; still more horrible--and it was horrible enough then! i used to get giddy easily. i do yet. but i didn't faint--no, not once through the days of nursing, the weeks of suspense. i wondered afterward how i could have endured so much." "are we of the septicized-serum age equal to it?" marta exclaimed. "yes, we of the matter-of-fact, automatic gun-recoil age!" put in lanstron. "oh, mother," marta went on, "i wish you would go with me to the class some morning, you who have seen and felt war, and tell it all as you saw it to the children!" "but," remonstrated mrs. galland, "i'm an old-fashioned woman; and, marta, your father was an officer, as your grandfather was, too. i am sure he would not approve of your school, and i could do nothing against his wishes." she looked up with moistening eyes to a portrait on the opposite wall over the seat which her husband had occupied at table. lanstron saw there a florid, jaunty gentleman in riding-habit, gloves on knee, crop in hand. the spirit of the first galland or of the stern grandfather on the side wall--with blücher tufts in front of his ears sturdy defiance of that parvenu bonaparte and of his own younger brother who had fallen fighting for bonaparte--would have frowned on the descendant who had filled the house with many guests and paid the bills with mortgages in the ebbing tide of the family fortunes. but mrs. galland saw only a hero. she shared his prejudices against the manufacturers of the town; she saw the sale of land to be cut up into dwelling sites, which had saved the gallands from bankruptcy, as the working of the adverse fate of modern tendencies. even as she had left all details of business to her husband, so she had of late left them to marta's managing. "edward and i were just engaged before the outbreak of the war," she proceeded. "how handsome he was in his hussars' uniform! how frightened i was and hew proud of his fine bravado when i heard him and a number of fellow officers drinking here in this room to quick death and speedy promotion! do they still have that toast, colonel?" "yes, in some regiments," lanstron answered. he would not say that what was good form in the days of the _beau sabreur_ was considered a little theatrical in the days of the automatic gun-recoil. "and when he came--oh, when you came home," breathed mrs. galland to the portrait, "with the scar on your cheek, how tanned and strong your hands were and how white mine as you held them so fast! and then"--she smiled in peaceful content--"then i did faint. i am not ashamed of it--i did!" "without any danger of falling far!" said lanstron happily. "or with much of a jar!" added marta. "you prattling children!" gasped mrs. galland, her cheeks flushing. "do you think that i fainted purposely? i would have been ashamed to my dying day if i had feigned it!" "and you did not faint in the presence of the dead and dying!" said marta thoughtfully, wonderingly, leaning nearer to her mother, her eyes athirst and drinking. "but i believe it is only a wispy-waspy sort of girl that faints at all these days. they're all so businesslike," said mrs. galland--"so businesslike that they are ceasing to marry." how many girls she had known to wait a little too long! if anything could awaken marta to action it ought to be war, which was a great match-maker forty years ago. the thought of a lover in danger had precipitated wavering hearts into engagements. marta's mood was such that she received the hint openly and playfully to-day. "oh, i don't despair!" she exclaimed, straightening her shoulders and drawing in her chin with a mock display of bravery. "i believe it was in an english novel that i read that any woman without a hump can get any man she sets out for. it is a matter of determination and concentration and a wise choice of vulnerable objects." "marta, marta!" gasped mrs. galland. in her tone was a volume of lamentation. "now that i'm twenty-seven mother is ready to take any risk on my behalf, if it is masculine. by the time i'm thirty she will be ready to give me to a peddler with a harelip!" she said mischievously. "a peddler with a harelip! marta, will you never be serious?" "some day, mother," marta went on, "when we find the right man, you hold him while i propose, and together we'll surely--" mrs. galland could not resist laughing, which was one way to stop further absurdities--absurdities concealing a nervous strain they happened to be this time--while colonel lanstron was a little flushed and ill at ease. she had a truly silvery laugh--the kind no longer in fashion among the gentry since golden laughs came in,--that went well with the dimples dipping into her pink cheeks. contrary to custom, she did not excuse herself immediately after luncheon for her afternoon nap, but kept battling with her nods until nature was victorious and the fell fast asleep. marta, grown restless with impatience, suggested to lanstron that they stroll in the garden, and they took the path past the house toward the castle tower, stopping in an arbor with high hedges on either side around a statue of mercury. "now!" exclaimed marta narrowly. "it was you, lanny, who recommended feller to us as a gardener, competent though deaf!" with literal brevity she told how she had proved him to be a man of most sensitive hearing. "i didn't let him know that he was discovered. i felt too much pity for him to do that. you brought him here--you, lanny, you are the one to explain." "true, he is not deaf!" lanstron replied. "you knew he was not deaf, while we wrote our messages to him and i have been learning the deaf-and-dumb alphabet! it was pretty fun, wasn't it?" "not fun--no, marta!" he parried. "he is a spy?" she asked. "yes, a spy. you can put things in a bright light, marta!" he found words coming with difficulty in face of the pain and disillusion of her set look. "using some broken man as a pawn; setting him as a spy in the garden where you have been the welcome friend!" she exclaimed. "a spy on what--on my mother, on minna, on me, on the flowers, as a part of this monstrous game of trickery and lies that you are playing?" there was no trace of anger in her tone. it was that of one mortally hurt. anger would have been easier to bear than the measuring, penetrating wonder that found him guilty of such a horrible part. those eyes would have confused partow himself with the steady, welling intensity of their gaze. she did not see how his left hand was twitching and how he stilled its movement by pressing it against the bench. "you will take feller with you when you go!" she said, rising. lanstron dropped his head in a kind of shaking throb of his whole body and raised a face white with appeal. "marta!" he was speaking to a profile, very sensitive and yet like ivory. "i've no excuse for such an abuse of hospitality except the obesssion of a loathsome work that some man must do and i was set to do. my god, marta! i cease to be natural and human. i am a machine. i keep thinking, what if war comes and some error of mine let the enemy know where to strike the blow of victory; or if there were information i might have gained and failed to gain that would have given us the victory--if, because i had not done my part, thousands of lives of our soldiers were sacrificed needlessly!" at that she turned on him quickly, her face softening. "you do think of that--the lives?" "yes, why shouldn't i?" "of those on your side!" she exclaimed, turning away. "yes, of those first," he replied. "and, marta, i did not tell you why feller was here because he did not want me to, and i was curious to see if he had sustained power enough to keep you from discovering his simulation. i did not think he would remain. i thought that in a week he would tire of the part. but now you must have the whole story. you will listen?" "i should not be fair if i did not, should i?" she replied, with a weary shadow of a smile. xi marta hears feller's story to tell the story as lanstron told it is to have it from the partisan lips of a man speaking for a man out of the depths of a friendship grown into the fibre of youth. it is better written by the detached narrator. gustave feller's father had died when gustave was twelve and his mother found it easy to spoil an only son who was handsome and popular. he suffered the misfortune of a mental brilliancy that learns too readily and of a personal charm that wins its way too easily. he danced well; he was facile at the piano; and he had so pronounced a gift as an amateur actor that a celebrated professional had advised him to go on the stage. the two entering the cadet officers' school at the same time, chance made them roommates and choice soon made them chums. they had in common cleverness and the abundant energy that must continually express itself in action, and a mutual attraction in the very complexity of dissimilar traits that wove well in companionship. while they were together lanstron was a brake on his friend's impulses of frivolity which carried him to extremes; but they separated after receiving their commissions, feller being assigned to the horse-artillery and lanstron to the infantry and later to the staff. in charge of a field-battery at manoeuvres feller was at his best. but in the comparative idleness of his profession he had much spare time for amusement, which led to gambling. soon many debts hung over his head, awaiting liquidation at high rates of interest when he should come into the family property. to the last his mother, having ever in mind a picture of him as a fine figure riding at the head of his guns, was kept in ignorance of this side of his life. with her death, when he had just turned thirty, a fortune was at his disposal. he made an oath of his resolution to pay his debts, marry and settle down and maintain his inheritance unimpaired. this endured for a year before it began to waver; and the wavering was soon followed by headlong obsession which fed on itself. as his passion for gambling grew it seemed to consume the better elements of his nature. lanstron reasoned with him, then implored, then stormed; and feller, regularly promising to reform, regularly fell each time into greater excesses. twice lanstron saved him from court-martial, but the third time no intercession or influence would induce his superiors to overlook the offence. feller was permitted to resign to avoid a scandal, and at thirty-three, penniless, disgraced, he faced the world and sought the new land which has been the refuge for numbers of his kind. only one friend bade him farewell as he boarded a steamer for new york, and this was lanstron. "keep away from cities! seek the open country! and write me, gustave--don't fail!" said lanstron. letters full of hope came from a wyoming ranch; letters that told how feller had learned to rope a steer and had won favor with his fellows and the ranch boss; of a one-time gourmet's healthy appetite for the fare of the chuck wagon. lanstron, reading more between the lines than in them, understood that as muscles hardened with the new life the old passion was dying and in its place was coming something equally dangerous as a possible force in driving his ardent nature to some excess for the sake of oblivion. finally, feller broke out with the truth. "my hair is white now, lanny," he wrote. "i have aged ten years in these two. with every month of this new life the horror of my career has become clear to me. i lie awake thinking of it. i feel unworthy to associate with my simple, outspoken, free-riding companions. remorse is literally burning up my brain. it is better to have my mind diseased, my moral faculties blurred, my body unsound; for to be normal, healthy, industrious is to remember the whole ghastly business of my dishonor. "'pay back! pay back in some way!' a voice keeps saying. 'pay back! have an object in mind. get to work on something that will help you to pay back or you will soon take a plunge to lower depths than you have yet sounded.' "it is not the gambling, not the drinking--no! the thing that i cannot forget, that grows more horrible the more keenly awake clean living makes me to the past, is that i am inwardly foul--as foul as a priest who has broken his vows. i have disgraced the uniform--my country's uniform. i may never wear that uniform again; never look the meanest private in a battery in the face without feeling my cheeks hot with shame. while i cannot right myself before the service, i should like to do something to right myself with my conscience. i should like to see a battery march past and look at the flag and into the faces of the soldiers of my country feeling that i had atoned--feeling so for my own peace of mind--atoned by some real deed of service. "i have been reading how japanese volunteers made a bridge of their bodies for their comrades into a russian trench, and when everybody else felt a horrible, uncanny admiration for such madness i have envied them the glorious exhilaration of the moment before the charge. that was a sufficient reward in life for death. so i come again to you for help. now that you are chief of intelligence you must have many secret agents within the inner circle of the army's activities. in the midst of peace and the commonplaces of drill and manoeuvres there must be dangerous and trying work where the only distinction is service for the cause--our cause of three million against five. find a task for me, no matter how mean, thankless, or dangerous, lanny. the more exacting it is the more welcome, for the better will be my chance to get right with myself." "come!" was lanstron's cable in answer. at the time he had not chosen any employment for feller. he was thinking only that something must be found. when he heard of the death of the gallands' gardener he recollected that before the passion for gambling overtook feller he had still another passion besides his guns. the garden of the feller estate had been famous in its neighborhood. young lanstron had not been more fond of the society of an engine-driver than young feller of a gardener's. on a holiday in the capital with his fellow cadets he would separate from them to spend hours in the botanical gardens. once, after his downfall began, at a riotous dinner party he had broken into a temper with a man who had torn a rose to pieces in order to toss the petals over the table. "flowers have souls!" he had cried in one of his tumultuous, abandoned reversions to his better self which his companions found eccentric and diverting. "that rose is the only thing in the room that is not foul --and i am the foulest of all!" the next minute, perhaps after another glass of champagne, he would be winning a burst of laughter by his mimicry of a gouty old colonel reprimanding him for his erring career. naturally, in the instinct of friendship, lanstron's own account left out the unpleasant and dwelt on the pleasant facts of feller's career. "his colonel did not understand him," he said. "but i knew the depths of his fine spirit and generous heart. i knew his talent. i knew that he was a victim of unsympathetic surroundings, of wealth, of love of excitement, and his own talent. where he was, something must happen. he bubbled with energy. the routine of drill, the same old chaff of the mess, the garrison gossip, the long hours of idleness while the busy world throbs outside, which form a privileged life to most officers, were stifling to him. 'let's set things going!' he would say in the old days, and we'd set them. most of our demerits were for some kind of deviltry. and how he loved the guns! i can see the sparkle of his men's eyes at sight of him. nobody could get out of them what he could. if he had not been put in the army as a matter of family custom, if he had been an actor, or if he and i had gone to build bridges, then he might have a line of capital letters and periods after his name, and he would not be a spy or i an employer of spies, doing the work of a detective agency in an officer's uniform because nobody but an officer may do it." at first marta listened rigidly, but as the narrative proceeded her interest grew. when lanstron quoted feller's appeal for any task, however mean and thankless, she nodded sympathetically and understandingly; when he related the incident of the rose, its appeal was irresistible. she gave a start of delight and broke silence. "yes. i recall just how he looked as he stood on the porch, his head bent, his shoulders stooped, twirling his hat in his hands, while mother and i examined him as to his qualifications," she said. "i remember his words. he said that he knew flowers and that, like him, flowers could not hear; but perhaps he would be all the better gardener because he could not hear. he was so ingratiating; yet his deafness seemed such a drawback that i hesitated." following the path to the tower leisurely, they had reached the tower. feller's door was open. marta looked into the room, finding in the neat arrangement of its furniture a new significance. he was absent, for it was the dinner hour. "and on my recommendation you took him," lanstron continued. "yes, on yours, lanny, on a friend's! you"--she put a cold emphasis on the word--"you wanted him here for your plans! and why? you haven't answered that yet. what purpose of the war game does he serve in our garden?" his look pleaded for patience, while he tried to smile, which was rather difficult in face of her attitude. "not altogether in the garden; partly in the tower," he replied. "you are to be in the whole secret and in such a way as to make my temptation clear, i hope. first, i think you ought to see the setting. let us go in" impelled by the fascination of feller's romantic story and by a curiosity that lanstron's manner accentuated, she entered the room. apparently lanstron was familiar with the premises. passing through the sitting-room into the room adjoining, where feller stored his tools, he opened a door that gave onto the circular stone steps leading down into the dungeon tunnel. "i think we had better have a light," he said, and when he had fetched one from the bedchamber he descended the steps, asking her to follow. they were in a passage six feet in height and about three feet broad, which seemed to lead on indefinitely into clammy darkness. the dewy stone walls sparkled in fantastic and ghostly iridescence under the rays from the lantern. the dank air lay moist against their faces. "it's a long time since i've been here," said marta, glad to break the uncanny sound of their footsteps in the weird silence with her voice. "not since i was a youngster. then i came on a dare to see if there were goblins. there weren't any; at least, none that cared to manifest himself to me." "we have a goblin here now that we are nursing for the grays--an up-to-date one that is quite visible," said lanstron. "this is far enough." he paused and raised the lantern. with its light full in her face, she blinked. "there, at the height of your chin!" she noted a metal button painted gray, set at the side of one of the stones of the wall, which looked unreal. she struck the stone with her knuckles and it gave out the sound of hollow wood, which was followed, as an echo, by a little laugh from lanstron. pressing the button, a panel door flew open, revealing a telephone mouthpiece and receiver set in the recess. without giving him time to refuse permission, her thought all submissive to the prompting spirit of adventure, she took down the receiver and called: "hello!" "the wire isn't connected," explained lanstron. marta hung up the receiver and closed the door abruptly in a spasm of reaction. "like a detective play!" were the first words that sprang to her lips. "well?" as she faced around her eyes glittered in the lantern's rays. "well, have you any other little tricks to show me? are you a sleight-of-hand artist, too, lanny? are you going to take a machine gun out of your hat?" "that is the whole bag," he answered. "i thought you'd rather see it than have it described to you." "having seen it, let us go!" she said, in a manner that implied further reckoning to come. "if out of a thousand possible sources one source succeeds, then the cost and pains of the other nine hundred and ninety-nine are more than repaid," he was saying urgently, the soldier uppermost in him. "some of the best service we have had has been absurd in its simplicity and its audacity. in time of war more than one battle has been decided by a thing that was a trifle in itself. no matter what your preparation, you can never remove the element of chance. an hour gained in information about your enemy's plans may turn the tide in your favor. a chinese peasant spy, because he happened to be intoxicated, was able to give the japanese warning in time for kuroki to make full dispositions for receiving the russian attack in force at the sha-ho. there are many other incidents of like nature in history. so it is my duty to neglect no possible method, however absurd." by this time he was at the head of the steps. standing to one side, he offered his hand to assist marta. but she seemed not to see it. her aspect was that of downright antagonism. "however absurd! yes, it is absurd to think that you can make me a party to any of your plans, for--" she broke off abruptly with starting eyes, as if she had seen an apparition. lanstron turned and through the door of the tool-room saw feller entering the sitting-room. he was not the bent, deferential old gardener, nor was he the feller changed to youth as he thought of himself at the head of a battery. his features were hard-set, a fighting rage burning in his eyes, his sinews taut as if about to spring upon an adversary. when he recognized the intruders he turned limp, his head dropped, hiding his face with his hat brim, and he steadied himself by resting a hand on the table edge. "oh, it's you, lanny--colonel lanstron!" he exclaimed thickly. "i saw that some one had come in here and naturally i was alarmed, as nobody but myself ever enters. and miss galland!" he removed his hat deferentially and bowed; his stoop returned and the lines of his face drooped. "i was so stupid; it did not occur to me that you might be showing the tower to colonel lanstron." "we are sorry to have given you a fright!" said marta very gently. "eh? eh?" queried feller, again deaf. "fright? oh, no, no fright. it might have been some boys from the town marauding." he was about to withdraw, in keeping with his circumspect adherence to his part, which he played with a sincerity that half-convinced even himself at times that he was really deaf, when the fire flickered back suddenly to his eyes and he glanced from lanstron to the stairway in desperate inquiry. "wait, feller! three of us share the secret now. these are miss galland's premises. i thought best that she should know everything," said lanstron. "everything!" exclaimed feller. "everything--" the word caught in his throat. "you mean my story, too?" he was neither young nor old now. he seemed nondescript and miserable. "she knows who i am?" he asked. "yes!" lanstron answered. "lanny!" this almost reproachfully, as if the ethics of friendship had been abused. "yes. i'm sorry, gustave. i--" lanstron began miserably. "but why not?" said feller, with a wan attempt at a smile. "you see--i mean--it does not matter!" he concluded in a hopeless effort at philosophy. "my thoughtlessness, my callousness, my obsession with my work! i should not have told your story," said lanstron. "his story!" exclaimed marta, with a puzzled look to lanstron before she turned to feller with a look of warm sympathy. "why, there is no story! you came with excellent recommendations. you are our very efficient gardener. that is all we need to know. isn't that the way you wish it, mr. feller?" "yes, just that!" he said softly, raising his eyes to her in gratitude. "thank you, miss galland!" he was going after another "thank you!" and a bow; going with the slow step and stoop of his part, when lanstron, with a masculine roughness of impulse which may be a sublime gentleness, swung him around and seized his hands in a firm caress. "forgive me, gustave!" he begged. "forgive the most brutal of all injuries--that which wounds a friend's sensibilities." "why, there is nothing i could ever have to forgive you, lanny," he said, returning lanstron's pressure while for an instant his quickening muscles gave him a soldierly erectness. then his attitude changed to one of doubt and inquiry. "and you found out that i was not deaf when you had that fall on the terrace?" he asked, turning to marta. "that is how you happened to get the whole story? tell me, honestly!" "yes" "had you suspected me before that?" "yes, if you must know. i observed you speak to a bumblebee you could not see," she said frankly, though she knew that her answer hurt him. there was no parleying with the insistence of his pale, drawn face and his fingers playing in nervous tension on the table edge. suddenly he smiled as he had at the bumblebee. "there you are again, confound you!" he exclaimed, shaking his finger at the imaginary intruder on the silence of the garden. "did anyone else suspect?" he asked in fierce intensity. "no, i don't think so." he drew back with a long breath of relief, while his fingers now beat a merry tattoo. "you saw so much more of me than the others, miss galland," he said with a charming bow, "and you are so quick to observe that you are hardly a fair test. that little thunderer will not get me again. i'll fool the ones i want to fool. and i'm learning, lanny, learning all the time--getting a little deafer all the time. miss galland," he added, struck in visible contrition by a new thought, "i am sorry"--he paused with head down for an instant--"very sorry to have deceived you." "but you are still a deaf gardener to me," said marta, finding consolation in pleasing him. "eh? eh?" he put his hand to his ear as he resumed his stoop. "yes, yes," he added, as a deaf man will when understanding of a remark which he failed at first to catch comes to him in an echo. "yes, the gardener has no past," he declared in the gentle old gardener's voice, "when all the flowers die every year and he thinks only of next year's blossoms--of the future!" now the air of the room seemed to be stifling him, that of the roofless world of the garden calling him. his face spoke pitifully a desire for escape as he withdrew. the bent figure disappeared around a turn in the path and they listened without moving until the sound of his slow, dragging footfalls had died away. "when he is serving those of his own social station i can see how it would be easier for him not to have me know," said marta. "sensitive, proud, and intense--" and a look of horror appeared in her eyes. "as he came across the room his face was transformed. i imagine it was like that of a man giving no quarter in a bayonet charge!" "his secret was at stake!" lanstron said in ready championship. she put up her hand as if to shut out a picture. "don't let us think of it!" she exclaimed with a shudder. "he did not know what he was doing. his is one of the natures that have moments when an impulse throws them off their balance and ruins the work of years. no, we must think only of his sacrifice, his enforced humiliation, in order to try to make amends for the past according to his light. no one could refuse him sympathy and respect." feller had won the day for himself where a friend's pleas might have failed. this was as it should be, lanstron thought; and he smiled happily over the rare thing in marta that felt the appeal which feller had for him. "the right view--the view that you were bound to take!" he said. "and yet, i don't know your plans for him, lanny. pity is one thing; there is another thing to consider," she replied, with an abrupt change of tone. "but first let us leave feller's quarters. we are intruders here." xii a crisis within a crisis "a broken-hearted man playing deaf; a secret telephone installed on our premises without our consent--this is all i know so far," said marta, who was opposite lanstron at one end of the circular seat in the arbor of mercury, leaning back, with her weight partly resting on her hand spread out on the edge of the bench, head down, lashes lowered so that they formed a curtain for her glance. "i listen!" she added. "of course, with our three millions against their five, the grays will take the offensive," he said. "for us, the defensive. la tir is in an angle. it does not belong in the permanent tactical line of our defences. nevertheless, there will be hard fighting here. the browns will fall back step by step, and we mean, with relatively small cost to ourselves, to make the grays pay a heavy price for each step--just as heavy as we can!" they had often argued before with all the weapons known to controversy; but now the realization that his soldierly precision was bringing the forces of war into their personal relations struck her cold, with a logic as cold as his own seemed to her. "you need not use euphonious terms," she said without lifting her lashes or any movement except a quick, nervous gesture of her free hand that fell back into place on her lap. "what you mean is that you will kill as many as possible of the grays, isn't it? and if you could kill five for every man you lost, that would be splendid, wouldn't it?" "i don't think of it as splendid. there is nothing splendid about war," he objected; "not to me, marta." "still you would like to kill five to one, even ten to one, wouldn't you?" she persisted. "marta, you are merciless!" "so is war. it should be treated mercilessly." "yes, twenty to one if they try to take our land!" he declared. "if we could keep up that ratio the war would not last more than a week. it would mean a great saving of lives in the end. we should win." "exactly. thank you. westerling could not have said it better as a reason for another army-corps. for the love of humanity--the humanity of our side--please give us more weapons for murder! and after you have made them pay five to one or ten to one in human lives for the tangent, what then? go on! i want to look at war face to face, free of the will-o'-the-wisp glamour that draws on soldiers!" "we fall back to our first line of defence, fighting all the time. the grays occupy la tir, which will be out of the reach of our guns. your house will no longer be in danger, and we happen to know that westerling means to make it his headquarters." "our house westerling's headquarters!" she repeated. with a start that brought her up erect, alert, challenging, her lashes flickering, she recalled that westerling had said at parting that he should see her if war came. this corroborated lanstron's information. one side wanted a spy in the garden; the other a general in the house. was she expected to make a choice? he had ceased to be lanny. he personified war. westerling personified war. "i suppose you have spies under his very nose--in his very staff offices?" she asked. "and probably he has in ours," said lanstron, "though we do our best to prevent it." "what a pretty example of trust among civilized nations!" she exclaimed. "and you say that westerling, who commands the killing on his side, will be in no danger?" "naturally not. as you know, a chief of staff must be at the wire head where all information centres, free of interruption or confusion or any possibility of broken lines of communication with his corps and divisions." "then partow will not be in any danger?" "for the same reasons, no." "how comfortable! in perfect safety themselves, they will order other men to death!" "marta, you are unjust!" exclaimed lanstron, for he revered partow as disciple reveres master. "partow has the iron cross!"--the prized iron cross given to both officers and men of the browns for exceptional courage in action and for that alone. "he won it leading a second charge with a bullet in his arm, after he had lost thirty per cent, of his regiment. the second charge succeeded." "yes, i understand," she went on a little wildly. "and perhaps the colonel on the other side, who fought just as bravely and had even heavier losses, did not get the bronze cross of the grays because he failed. yes, i understand that bravery is a requisite of the military cult. you must take some risk or you will not cause enough slaughter to win either iron or bronze crosses. and, lanny, are you a person of such distinction in the business of killing that you also will be out of danger?" she had forgotten about the telephone; she had forgotten the picture of dare-devil nerve he made when he rose from the wreck of his plane. if his work were to make war, her work was against war--the mission of her life as she saw it in the intense, passionate moments when some new absurdity of its processes appeared to her. she was ready to seize any argument his talk offered to combat the things for which he stood. she did not see, as her eyes poured her hot indignation into his, that his maimed hand was twitching or how he bit his lips and flushed before he replied: "each one goes where he is sent, link by link, down from the chief of staff. only in this way can you have that solidarity, that harmonious efficiency which means victory." "an autocracy, a tyranny over the lives of all the adult males in countries that boast of the ballot and self-governing institutions!" she put in. "but i hope," he went on, with the quickening pulse and eager smile that used to greet a call from feller to "set things going" in their cadet days, "that i may take out a squadron of dirigibles. after all this spy business, that would be to my taste." "and if you caught a regiment in close formation with a shower of bombs, that would be positively heavenly, wouldn't it?" she bent nearer to him, her eyes flaming demand and satire. "no! war--necessary, horrible, hellish!" he replied. something in her seemed to draw out the brutal truth she had asked for in place of euphonious terms. "you apparently know where your profession ought to feel perfectly at home--but what is the use? what?" she put her hands over her face and shuddered. "i grow savage; but it is because i have known you so well and because everything you say brings up its answer irresistibly to my mind. i keep thinking of what mother said at luncheon--of her certainty that war is coming. i see the garden spattered with blood, the wounded and the dying--an eddy in the conflict! and i am in a controversial eddy whirling round and round away from the main current of what you were to tell me." she let her hands drop, but her eyes still held their lights of hostility. "go on. i listen!" "when i became chief of intelligence i found that an underground wire had been laid to the castle from the eighth division headquarters, which will be our general staff headquarters in time of war," he said. "the purpose was the same as now, but abandoned as chimerical. all that was necessary was to install the instrument, which feller did. i, too, saw the plan as chimerical, yet it was a chance--the one out of a thousand. if it should happen to succeed we should play with our cards concealed and theirs on the table." "the noble art of war, so sportsmanlike!" she exclaimed. "so like the rules and ideals of the olympic games! but the games will not serve to keep nations virile. they must shed blood!" "sportsmanlike? not in the least!" he said. "the sport and glamour of war are past. the army becomes a business, a trade that ought to be uniformed in blue jumpers rather than gold lace. we are in an era of enormous forces, untried tactics, and rapidly changing conditions. this is why the big nations hesitate to make war; why they prepare well; why the stake is so great that the smallest detail must not be overlooked." she could not hold back her arguments, reason was so unquestionably on her side. "yes, the cunning of the fox, the brutality of cain, using modern science and invention! feint and draw your enemy into a cul-de-sac; screen your flank attacks; mask your batteries and hold their fire till the infantry charge is ripe for decimation! oh, i have been brought up among soldiers! i know!" "the rest of feller's part you have guessed already," he concluded. "you can see how a deaf, inoffensive old gardener would hardly seem to know a gray soldier from a brown; how it might no more occur to westerling to send him away than the family dog or cat; how he might retain his quarters in the tower; how he could judge the atmosphere of the staff, whether elated or depressed, pick up scraps of conversation, and, as a trained officer, know the value of what he heard and report it over the 'phone to partow's headquarters." "but what about the aeroplanes?" she asked. "i thought you were to depend on them for scouting." "we shall use them, but they are the least tried of all the new resources," he said. "a gray aeroplane may cut a brown aeroplane down before it returns with the news we want. at most, when the aviator may descend low enough for accurate observation he can see only what is actually being done. feller would know westerling's plans before they were even in the first steps of execution. this"--playing the thought happily--"this would be the ideal arrangement, while our planes and dirigibles were kept over our lines to strike down theirs. and, marta, that is all," he concluded. "i've tried to make everything clear." "you have, quite!" marta replied decisively. "now it is my turn to talk." "you have been talking a little already!" he intimated good-naturedly. "only interruptions. that's not really talking," she answered, and broke into a sharp little laugh. a laugh was helpful to both after such a taut colloquy, but it seemed only to renew her energies for conflict. "if there is war, the moment that feller's ruse is discovered he will be shot as a spy?" she asked. "i warned him of that," said lanstron. "i made the situation plain. he refused the assignments i first suggested to him. he objected that they did not offer any real expiation; they were not difficult or hazardous enough. i saw that i could not trick his conscience--what a conscience old gustave has!--by any nominal task. when i mentioned this one he was instantly keen. the deafness was his idea of a ruse for his purpose. he wanted his secret kept. thinking that his weakness for change would not let him bear the monotony of a gardener's life as he saw himself bearing it in imagination, i recommended him to you. and there was the chance--the thousandth chance, marta! he is a soldier, with a soldier's fatalism. he sees no more danger in this than in commanding a battery in a crisis." "naturally, as he is all impulse and fire. but you are the tempered steel of self-control. you should save him from his impulses, not make use of them." "you put it bluntly, marta. you--" "my turn to talk!" she reminded him. "did you of all her views of feller from his entrance to his quarters till he had gone. her lips, which had kept so firm in argument, were parted and trembling in sympathy. "i can see how he would take it!" she exclaimed. "i see his white hair, his eyes, his fingers trembling on the edge of the table, his utter dejection--and then impulse, headlong, irresponsible, craving the devil's company!" "yes, nothing could hold him," lanstron agreed. "what makes it worse is that with regular living, the pleasure of the garden, and a settled purpose i have noticed his improvement already!" "there is something so fine about him, something that deserves to win out against his weaknesses," she said reflectively. "if there is no war, i hope--after a year or so, i hope and believe that i may have him rewarded in some way that would make him feel that he had atoned." "and we have been talking as if war were due to-morrow!" she exclaimed. the breaking light of a discovery, followed by a wave of happy relief, swept over her responsive features, from relaxing brows to chin, which gave a toss on its own account. "why, of course, lanny! till war does come he is only a gardener with an illusion that is giving mental strength. why didn't you put it that way before?" she asked in surprise at so easy a solution having escaped them. "let him stay, at least until war comes." "and then?" "lanny, you yourself, with all your information, you don't think--" "no; though we are nearer it than ever before, it seems to me," he said, choosing his words carefully. "but it is likely that diplomacy will find its way out of this crisis as it has out of many others." "then we'll leave that question till the evil day," she replied. "we have had a terrific argument, lanny, haven't we? and you have won!" her fingers flew out to his arm and rested lightly there after an instant's firm pressure, as was her wont after an argument and they sheathed their blades. their comradeship seemed to be restored in all its old glory of freedom from petty restraint. he was sure of one thing: that she would let her fingers remain on no other man's sleeve in this fashion; and he hoped that she would let them remain there a long time. very foolish he was about her, very foolish for a piece of human machinery driven by the dynamo of a human will. "i have an impression that your goodness of heart has won," he suggested gently. "or rather let us say that feller has won." "better still, yes, feller has won!" he agreed. "oh, it is good, good, good to be here with you, marta, away from the grind for a little while," he was saying, in the fulness of his anticipation of the hours they should have together before he had to go, when they heard the sound of steps. he looked around to see an orderly from the nearest military wireless station. "i was told it was urgent, sir," said the orderly, in excuse for his intrusion, as he passed a telegram to lanstron. immediately lanstron felt the touch of the paper his features seemed to take on a mask that concealed his thought as he read: "take night express. come direct from station to me. partow." this meant that he would be expected at partow's office at eight the next morning. he wrote his answer; the orderly saluted and departed at a rapid pace; and then, as a matter of habit of the same kind that makes some men wipe their pens when laying them down, he struck a match and set fire to one corner of the paper, which burned to his fingers' ends before he tossed the charred remains away. marta imagined what he would be like with the havoc of war raging around him--all self-possession and mastery; but actually he was trying to reassure himself that he ought not to feel petulant over a holiday cut short. "i shall have to go at once," he said. "marta, if there were to be war very soon--within a week or two weeks--what would be your attitude about feller's remaining?" "to carry out his plan, you mean?" "yes." there was a perceptible pause on her part. "let him stay," she answered. "i shall have time to decide even after war begins." "but instantly war begins you must go!" he declared urgently. "you forget a precedent," she reminded him. "the galland women have never deserted the galland house!" "i know the precedent. but this time the house will be in the thick of the fighting." "it has been in the thick of the fighting before," she said, with a gesture of impatience. "not this kind of fighting, marta," he proceeded very soberly. "other wars are no criterion for this. i know about the defences of the tangent because i helped to plan them. in order to keep the enemy in ignorance we have made no permanent fortifications. but the engineers and the material will be ready, instantly the frontier is closed to intelligence, to construct defences suited to a delaying and punishing action. every human being will be subject to martial law; every resource at military command. every hill, house, ditch, and tree will be used as cover or protection and will be subject to attack." not argument this, but the marshalling of facts of the kind in which he dealt as unanswerable evidence, while she listened with a still face and dilating eyes that did not look at him until he had finished. then a smile came, a faint, drawn smile of irony, and her eyes staring into his were chilling and greenish-black in their anger. "and the house of a friend meant nothing! it was only fuel for the hell you devise!" she said, making each word count like shot singing over glare ice. "it is only fair to myself to say that when i laid the sheets of my map before partow i had excluded your house and grounds," he pleaded in defence. "his thumb pounced on that telltale blank space. 'a key-point! so this is your tendon of achilles, eh?' he said in his blunt fashion." "the blunt fashion is admired by soldiers," she replied without softening. "yes, he could play chess with heaps of bodies! he is worse than westerling!" "no, he would use his own premises, his brother's, his father's if it would help. well, then he took a pen and filled in the blank space with the detail which is to make your house and garden the centre of an inferno." "how christian!" breathed marta. "i suppose he loves his grandchildren and that they are taught the lord's prayer!" "i believe his only pastime is playing with them," admitted lanstron, stumbling on, trying to be loyal to partow, to duty, to country, no longer calm or dispassionate, but demoralized under the lash. "he tells them that when they are grown he hopes there will be an end of war." "worse yet--a hypocrite!" "but, marta, i never knew a man more sincere. he is working to the same end as you--peace. if the grays would play with fire he would give them such a burning that they will never try again. he would make war too horrible for practice; fix the frontier forever where by, right it belongs; make conquest by one civilized nation of another impossible hereafter. yes, when it is stalemate, when it is proved that the science of modern defence has made the weak so strong that superior numbers cannot play the bully, then shall we have peace in practice!" "my children's prayer and partow in the same gallery!" she laughed stonily. "the peace of armament, not of man's superiority to the tiger and the tarantula! and you say it all so calmly. you picture the hell of your manufacture as coolly as if it were some fairies' dance!" "should i be enthusiastic? should i view the prospect with an old-fashioned hussar's hurrah?" he asked. "the right way is without illusions. let us lose our heads, cry out for glory--and then chaos!" "the heedless barbarism of ignorance intoxicated with primitive passion versus calculating, refined, intellectual, comprehending barbarism! i see no choice," she concluded, rising slowly in the utter weariness of spirit that calls for the end of an interview. "marta, you will promise not to remain at the house?" he urged. "isn't that my affair?" she asked. "aren't you willing to leave even that to me after all you have been telling how you are to make a redoubt of our lawn, inviting the shells of the enemy into our drawing-room?" what could he say in face of a hostility so resolute and armed with the conviction of its logic? only call up from the depths the two passions of his life in an outburst, with all the force of his nature in play. "i love this soil, my country's soil, ours by right---and i love you! i would be true to both!" "love! what mockery to mention that now!" she cried chokingly. "it's monstrous!" "i--i--" he was making an effort to keep his nerves under control. this time the stiffening elbow failed. with a lurching abruptness he swung his right hand around and seized the wrist of that trembling, injured hand that would not be still. she could not fail to notice the movement, and the sight was a magic that struck anger out of her. "lanny, i am hurting you!" she cried miserably. "a little," he said, will finally dominant over its servant, and he was smiling as when, half stunned and in agony--and ashamed of the fact--he had risen from the débris of cloth and twisted braces. "it's all right," he concluded. she threw back her arms, her head raised, with a certain abandon as if she would bare her heart. "lanny, there have been moments when i would have liked to fly to your arms. there have been moments when i have had the call that comes to every woman in answer to a desire. yet i was not ready. when i really go it must be in a flame, in answer to your flame!" "you mean--i--." but if the flame were about to burst forth she smothered it in the spark. "and all this has upset me," she went on incoherently. "we've both been cruel without meaning to be, and we're in the shadow of a nightmare; and next time you come perhaps all the war talk will be over and--oh, this is enough for to-day!" she turned quickly in veritable flight and hurried toward the house. at the bend of the path she wheeled and stood facing him, a hand tossed up and opening and closing as if she had caught a shaft of sunshine and let it go again. thus she would wave to him from the veranda as he came up the terrace steps. indelible to him this picture, radiant of a versatile, impressionable vitality, of capacities yet unsounded, of a downright sincerity of impulses, faiths, and ideals which might buffet her this way and that over a strange course. a woman unafraid of destiny; a woman too objective yet to know herself! "if it ever comes," she called, "i'll let you know! i'll fly to you in a chariot of fire bearing my flame--i am that bold, that brazen, that reckless! for i am not an old maid yet. they've moved the age limit up to thirty. but you can't drill love into me as you drill discipline into armies--no, no more than i can argue peace into armies!" for a while, motionless, lanstron watched the point where she had disappeared. "if i had only been a bridge-builder or an engine-driver," he thought; "anything except this beastly--" but he was wool-gathering again. he pulled himself together and started at a rapid pace for the tower, where he found feller sitting by the table, one leg over the other easily, engaged in the prosaic business of sewing a button on his blouse. lanstron rapped; no answer. he beat a tattoo on the casing; no answer. "gustave!" he called; no answer. now he entered and touched feller's shoulder. "hello, lanny!" exclaimed feller, rising and setting a chair and breaking into a stream of talk. "that's the way they all have to do when they want to attract my attention. i heard your voice and miss galland's--having an argument in the garden, i should say. then i heard your step. since i became deaf my sense of hearing has really grown keener, just as the blind develop a keener sense of feeling. eh? eh?" he cupped his hand over his ear in the unctuous enjoyment of his gift of acting. "yes, colonel lanstron, would you like to know what a perfect triumph we're going to pull off in irises next season--but, lanny, you seem in a hurry!" "gustave, i am ordered to headquarters by the night express and i came to tell you that i think it means war." "war! war!" feller shouted. "ye gods and little fishes!" in riotous glee he seized a chair and flung it across the room. "ye salty, whiskery gods and ye shiny-eyed little fishes! war, do you hear that, you plebeian trousers of the deaf gardener? war!" flinging the trousers after the chair, he executed a few steps. when he had thus tempered his elation, he grasped lanstron's arm and, looking into his eyes with feverish resolution and hope, said: "oh, don't fear! i'll pull it off. and then i shall have paid back--yes, paid back! i shall be a man who can look men in the face again. i need not slink to the other side of the street when i see an old friend coming for fear that he will recognize me. yes, i could even dare to love a woman of my own world! and--and perhaps the uniform and the guns once more!" "you may be sure of that. partow cannot refuse," said lanstron, deeply affected. after a pause he added: "but i must tell you, gustave, that miss galland, though she is willing that you remain as a gardener, has not yet consented to our plan. she will make no decision until war comes. perhaps she will refuse. it is only fair that you should know this." for an instant feller was downcast; then confidence returned at high pitch. "trust me!" he said. "i shall persuade her!" "i hope you can. it is a chance that might turn the scales of victory--a chance that hangs in my mind stubbornly, as if there were some fate in it. luck, old boy!" "luck to you, lanny! luck and promotion!" they threw their arms about each other in a vigorous embrace. "and you will keep watch that mrs. galland and marta are in no danger?" "trust me for that, too!" "then, good-by till i hear from you over the 'phone or i return to see you after the crisis is over!" concluded lanstron as he hurried away. xiii breaking a paper-knife hedworth westerling would have said twenty to one if he had been asked the odds against war when he was parting from marta galland in the hotel reception-room. before he reached home he would have changed them to ten to one. a scare bulletin about the bodlapoo affair compelling attention as his car halted to let the traffic of a cross street pass, he bought a newspaper thrust in at the car window that contained the answer of the government of the browns to a despatch of the grays about the dispute that had arisen in the distant african jungle. this he had already read two days previously, by courtesy of the premier. it was moderate in tone, as became a power that had three million soldiers against its opponent's five; nevertheless, it firmly pointed out that the territory of the browns had been overtly invaded, on the pretext of securing a deserter who had escaped across the line, by gray colonial troops who had raised the gray flag in place of the brown flag and remained defiantly in occupation of the outpost they had taken. as yet, the browns had not attempted to repel the aggressor by arms for fear of complications, but were relying on the gray government to order a withdrawal of the gray force and the repudiation of a commander who had been guilty of so grave an international affront. the surprising and illuminating thing to westerling was the inspired statement to the press from the gray foreign office, adroitly appealing to gray chauvinism and justifying the "intrepidity" of the gray commander in response to so-called "pin-pricking" exasperations. at the door of his apartment, françois, his valet and factotum, gave westerling a letter. "important, sir," said françois. westerling knew by a glance that it was, for it was addressed and marked "personal" in the premier's own handwriting. a conference for ten that evening was requested in a manner that left no doubt of its urgency. "let me see, do i dine at the countess zalinski's to-night?" asked westerling. both françois and his personal aide kept a list of his appointments. "not to-night, sir. to-night you--" said françois. "good!" thought westerling. "no excuses will be necessary to marie in order to be at the premier's by ten." curiosity made him a little ahead of time, but he found the premier awaiting him in his study, free from interruption or eavesdropping. in the shadow of the table lamp the old premier looked his years. his definite features were easy material for the caricaturist, who does not deal in halftones. a near view of them was not attractive. they had the largeness which impresses the gallery from the floor of a parliamentary chamber, where delicate lines of sensibility and character lack the quality which the actor supplies with his make-up. as is often the case with elderly statesmen, his face seemed like that of the crowd done boldly as a single face, while his shrewd eyes in a bed of crow's-feet, when they lighted to their purpose in confidence, expressed his understanding of the crowd and its thoughts and how it may be led. from youth he had been in politics, ever a bold figure and a daring player, but now beginning to feel the pressure of younger men's elbows. fonder even of power, which had become a habit, than in his twenties, he saw it slipping from his grasp at an age when the 'downfall of his government meant that he should never hold the reins again. he had been called an ambitious demagogue and a makeshift opportunist by his enemies, but the crowd liked him for his ready strategy, his genius for appealing phrases, and for the gambler's virtue which hitherto had made him a good loser. "you saw our _communiqué_ to-night that went with the publication of the browns' despatch?" he remarked. "yes, and i was glad that i had been careful to send a spirited commander to that region," westerling replied. "so you guess my intention, i see." the premier smiled. he picked up a long, thin ivory paper-knife and softly patted the palm of his hand with it. "we have had many discussions, you and i, westerling," he said. "but to-night i'm going to ask categorical questions. they may take us over old ground, but they are the questions of the nation to the army." "certainly!" westerling replied in his ready, confident manner. "we hear a great deal about the precision and power of modern arms as favoring the defensive," said the premier. "i have read somewhere that it will enable the browns to hold us back, despite our advantage of numbers. also, that they can completely man every part of their frontier and that their ability to move their reserves rapidly, thanks to modern facilities, makes a powerful flanking attack in surprise out of the question." "some half-truths in that," answered westerling. "one axiom, that must hold good through all time, is that the aggressive which keeps at it always wins. we take the aggressive. in the space where napoleon deployed a division, we deploy a battalion to-day. the precision and power of modern arms require this. with such immense forces and present-day tactics, the line of battle will practically cover the length of the frontier. along their range the browns have a series of fortresses commanding natural openings for our attack. these are almost impregnable. but there are pregnable points between them. here, our method will be the same that the japanese followed and that they learned from european armies. we shall concentrate in masses and throw in wave after wave of attack until we have gained the positions we desire. once we have a tenable foothold on the crest of the range the brown army must fall back and the rest will be a matter of skilful pursuit." the premier, as he listened, rolled the paper-knife over and over, regarding its polished sides, which were like westerling's manner of facile statement of a programme certain of fulfilment. "we can win, then? we can go to their capital, or far enough to force a great indemnity, the annexation of one of their provinces, perhaps, and the taking over of their african colonies, which we can develop so much better than they?" westerling took care to show none of the eagerness which had set his pulses humming. "to their capital!" he declared decisively. "nothing less. for that i have planned." "and the cost in lives?" "five or six hundred thousand casualties, which means about a hundred thousand killed." "ghastly! the population of a good-sized city!" exclaimed the premier. "a small percentage out of five million soldiers; a smaller out of eighty million population," westerling returned. "and how long do you think the war would last? how long the strain on our finances, the suspense to the markets?" "about a month. we shall go swiftly. the completeness of modern preparation must make a war of to-day brief between two great powers. we must win with a rush, giving the defenders no breathing spell, pouring masses after masses upon the critical positions." "how long will it take to mobilize?" "less than a week after the railroads are put entirely at our service, with three preceding days of scattered movements," answered westerling. "deliberate mobilizations are all right for a diplomatic threat that creates a furore in the newspapers and a depression in the stock-market, but which is not to be carried out. when you mean war, all speed and the war fever at white heat." "therefore, there would be little time for the public to hoard money or to provoke a panic. the government, knowing precisely what was before it, could take severe preventive measures." "but i may say that we should strike before mobilization is complete. a day will be required to take the la tir tangent and other outlying positions. the 128th and other regiments who will do this work are already at the front. they were chosen because they came from distant provinces and we can count on their patriotic fervor for brilliant and speedy action, with resulting general enthusiasm for the whole army, which will be up in time for the assault on the browns' permanent defences." "you would have made a good politician, westerling," the premier remarked, with a twitching uplift of the brows and a knowing gleam in his shrewd old eyes. "thank you," replied westerling, appearing flattered, though secretly annoyed that any one should think that a chief of staff could care to change places with any man in the world. governments might come and go, but the army was the rock in the midst of the play of minor forces, the ultimate head of order and power. "a man who is able to lead in anything must be something of a politician," he said suavely. "very true, indeed. perhaps i had that partly in mind in making you vice-chief of staff," responded the premier enjoyably. "you spoke of the war fever at white heat," he went on, returning to his muttons, "and of the army's enthusiasm for its work. there we come to the kernel in the nut, eh?" he asked, as he prodded the paper-knife into the palm of his hand. "drill, organization, discipline, and centralized authority and a high-spirited aristocracy of officers are most important," said westerling. "but after that come morale and the psychology of the soldier." there he shrugged slightly, in indication of a resentment at the handicap of human nature in his work. "the business of a soldier is to risk death in the way he is told. the keener he is for his cause the better. an ideal soldier is he who does not think for himself, but observes every detail of training and will not stop until halted by orders or a bullet. therefore we want the army hot with desire. the officers of a company cannot force their men forward. without insubordination or mutiny the men may stop from lack of interest after only a very small percentage of loss." "lack of interest!" mused the premier. but westerling, preoccupied with the literal exposition of his subject, did not catch the flash of passing satire before the premier, his features growing hard and challenging, spoke in another strain: "then it all goes back to the public--to that enormous body of humanity out there!" he swung the paper-knife around with outstretched arm toward the walls of the room. "to public opinion--as does everything else in this age--to the people! i have seen them pressing close, about to remove me from power, and i have started a diversion which made them forget the object of their displeasure. i have thought them won one day, and the next i realized that they were going against me. thank heaven for the brevity of their memory, or we leaders would be hung high by our own inconsistencies! he who leads sees which way they will go, rushes to the head of the procession, discovers them to themselves and turns a corner and they follow, thinking that they are going straight to the point. but always they are there, never older, never younger, never tiring--there, smiling or scowling or forgetting all about you, only to have a sudden fierce reminder overnight to surprise you--and our masters, yours and mine! for no man can stand against them when they say no or yes." "you know the keys to play on, though," remarked westerling with a complimentary smile. "no one knows quite so well." "i ought to," replied the premier. "that was the purpose of the semi-official _communiqué_ about bodlapoo, which, of course, we can repudiate later, if need be. i saw that the brilliant forced march of our commander had excited popular enthusiasm. it does not matter if he were in the wrong. will race feeling rise to the pitch of war from this touchstone with the proper urging? of course, the impulse must come from the people themselves. we must seem to resist it, the better to arouse it." he bent the paper-knife into a bow with fingers that were rigid. "times are hard, factions are bitter, our cabinet is in danger, with economic and political chaos from overpopulation in sight," he continued. "we hunger for land, for fresh opportunities for development. an outburst of patriotism, concentrating every thought of the nation on war!--is that the way out?" westerling had only answered questions so far. here was his cue for argument. "we were never so ready," he said. "war must come some time. we should choose the moment, not leave it to chance. the nation needs war as a stimulant, as a corrective, as a physician. we grow stale; we think of our domestic troubles. the old racial passions are weakening and with them our virility. victory will make room for millions in the place of the thousands who fall. the indemnity will bring prosperity. because we have had no war, because the long peace has been abnormal, is the reason you have all this agitation and all these strikes. they will be at an end. those who are fit to rule will be in power." "and you are sure--sure we can win?" the premier asked with a long, tense look at westerling, who was steady under the scrutiny. "absolutely!" he answered. "five millions against three! it's mathematics, or our courage and skill are not equal to theirs absolutely! we have the power, why not use it? we do not live in a dream age!" the premier sank deeper in his chair. he was silent, thinking. he who had carried off so many great coups with rare ease was on the threshold of one that made them all seem petty. he had heard random talk that some of the officers of the staff considered westerling to be lath painted to look like steel. there was a reported remark by turcas, his assistant, implying that the ability to achieve a position did not mean the ability to fill it. jealousy, no doubt; the jealousy of rivals! the premier himself was used to having members of his own cabinet ever on the watch for the vulnerable spot in his back, which he had never allowed them to find. yet, there was the case of louis napoleon. he had the ability to achieve a position; he had been the lath painted to look like steel. he had all the externals which the layman associates with victory until he went to the supreme test, which ripped him into slivers of rotten wood. the little napoleon had been one of the premier's favorite bugaboo examples of stage realism tried out in real life. but it was ridiculous to compare him with the stalwart figure sitting across the table, who had spoken the language of materialism without illusion. westerling's ambition on edge communicated itself to the premier, whose soft hands, long since divorced from any labor except official hand-shaking and the exercise of authority, were bending the paper-knife with unconscious vigor. "all the achievements of power form only a dull background for victory in war to a people's imagination!" he exclaimed. "your name and mine to symbolize an age! what power for us! what power for the nation!" from a sudden, unwitting exertion of his strength the knife which had been the recipient of his emotions snapped in two. rather carefully he laid the pieces on the table before he rose and turned to westerling, his decision made. "if the people respond with the war fever, then it is war!" he said. "i take you at your word that you will win!" westerling's chair creaked with the tense drawing of his muscles in the impulse of delight. he had gained the great purpose; but there was another and vital one on his programme. "a condition!" he announced. "from the moment war begins the army is master of all intelligence, all communication, all resources. everything we require goes into the crucible!" "and the press--the mischievous, greedy, but very useful press?" asked the premier. "it also shall serve; also obey. no lists of killed and wounded shall be given out until i am ready. the public must know nothing except what i choose to tell. i act for the people and the nation." "that is agreed," said the premier. "for these terrible weeks every nerve and muscle of the nation is at your service to win for the nation. in three or four days i shall know if the public rises to the call. if not--" he shook his head. "while all the information given out is provocative to our people, you will declare your hope that war may be averted," westerling continued. "this will screen our purpose. finally, on top of public enthusiasm will come the word that the browns have fired the first shot--as they must when we cross the frontier--that they have been killing our soldiers. this will make the racial spirit of every man respond. having decided for war, every plan is worthy that helps to victory." "it seems fiendish!" exclaimed the premier in answer to a thought eddying in the powerful current of his brain. "fiendish with calculation, but merciful, as you say." "a fast, terrific campaign! a ready machine taking the road!" westerling declared. "less suffering than if we went to war carelessly for a long campaign--than if we allowed sentiment to interfere with intellect." "i like your energy, your will!" said the premier admiringly. "and about the declaration of war? we shall time that to your purpose." "declarations of war before striking, by nations taking the aggressive, are a disadvantage," westerling explained. "they are going out of practice. witness the examples of japan against russia and the balkan allies against turkey. in these days declarations are not necessary as a warning of what is going to happen. they belong to the etiquette of fencers." "yes, exactly. the declaration of war and the ambassador's passports will be prepared and the wire that fighting has begun will release them," agreed the premier. "another thing," he added, "there is the question of the opinion of the world as represented by the hague and the peace societies. this government has always expressed sympathy with their ideas." "naturally," westerling put in. "we shall use hand-grenades, explosives from dirigibles, every known power of destruction. so will the browns, you may be sure. in such a cataclysm we shall have no time for niceties. the peace societies will have hardly formulated their protests to the hague before the war is over. our answer will be our victory--the power that goes with the prestige of unconquerable force. victory, nothing but victory counts!" westerling was speaking by the book, expressing the ideas that he had again and again rehearsed as a part of the preparation, the eternal preparation for the sudden emergency of war, which is the duty of the staff. so letter-perfect was he in his lines that a layman might have scouted his realization of the enormousness of his responsibility. "yet if we did lose! if when i had given you all you ask your plans went wrong! if our army were broken to pieces on the frontier and then the nation, kept in ignorance of events, learned the truth"--the premier enunciated slowly and pointedly while he locked glances with westerling--"that is the end for us both. you would hardly want to return to the capital to face public wrath!" "we must win though we lose a million men!" he answered. "i stake my life!" he cried hoarsely, striking his fist on the table. "you stake your life!" repeated the premier with slow emphasis. "bravado hardly becomes a chief of staff. his place is not under fire," westerling explained. "however, i mean to make my headquarters at la tir, immediately we have taken it, for the effect of having the leader of the army promptly established on conquered territory." "i understand that," replied the premier. "but still you stake your life? that is the greatest thing a man has to stake. you stake your life on victory?" he demanded fiercely. "i do!" said westerling. "yes, my life. we cannot fail!" "then it will be war, if the people want it!" said the premier. "i shall not resist their desire!" he added in his official manner, at peace with his conscience. xiv in partow's office partow was a great brain set on an enormous body. partow's eyes had the fire of youth at sixty-five, but the pendulous flesh of his cheeks was pasty. partow was picturesque; he was a personality with a dome forehead sweeping back nobly to scattered and contentious, short gray hairs. jealousy and faction had endeavored for years to remove him from his position at the head of the army on account of age. new governments decided as they came in that he must go, and they went out with him still in the saddle. he worked fourteen hours a day, took no holidays and little exercise, violated the rules of health, and never appeared at gold-braid functions. the business of official display, as he said pungently, he delegated to that specialist, his handsome vice-chief of staff. he had set up no silhouette of a charging soldier peppered with bullet marks on the wall of his office, for this was a picture that he carried in his mind. pertinent to his own taste, under the glance of the portraits of the old heroes, was a little statuette of a harvester called toil on his desk. "that's the fellow we're defending," he would say, becoming almost rhapsodical. "i like to think back to him. he's the infantry before you put him in uniform." let officers apply themselves with conspicuous energy and they heard from a genial partow; let officers only keep step and free of courts martial, and they heard from a merciless taskmaster. resign, please, if you like a leisurely life, he told the idlers; and he had a way of making them so uncomfortable that they would take the advice. among the sons of rest who had retired to mourn over the world going to the devil he was referred to as not being a gentleman, which amused him; some said that he was crazy, which amused him even more. peculiarly human, peculiarly dictatorial, dynamic, and inscrutable was partow, who never asked any one under him to work harder than himself. lanstron appeared in the presence of jove shortly after eight o'clock the next morning after he left la tir. jove rolled his big head on his short neck in a nod and said: "late!" "the train was late, sir!" "and you have disobeyed orders!" grumbled partow. "disobeyed orders? how, sir?" "and you look me in the eye as you always do! you think that excuses you, perhaps?" "no, sir. but i am bound to ask what orders?" "well, not orders, but my instructions; at least, my desire. flying yourself--directing a manoeuvre--racing the grays!" "you heard about it?" "i hear about everything! i have told you not to risk your life. lives are assets of various kinds in an army. it is my business to determine the relative value of those of my subordinates. you are not to sacrifice yours." "i haven't yet, sir. i have it with me this morning," lanstron replied, "and i have some news about our thousandth chance." "hm-m! what is it?" asked partow. when lanstron had told the story, partow worked his lips in a way he had if he were struck by a passing reflection which might or might not have a connection with the subject in hand. "strange about her when you consider who her parents were!" he said. "but you never know. his son," nodding to toil, "might be a great painter or a snob. miss galland has an idea--that's something--and character and a brain making arrows so fast that she shoots them into the blue just for mental relief. she's quite a woman. if i were thirty, and single, i believe i'd fall in love with her. but don't you dare tell mrs. partow. i want the fun of telling her myself. hm-m! why don't you sit down, young man?" partow turned his thick, white palm toward a chair, and his smile, now clearly showing that he was not deeply offended with lanstron's insubordination, had a singular charm. the smile vanished as lanstron seated himself and in its place came such a look as friend toil had seen on very rare occasions. "the way that the grays gave out our despatch convinces me of their intentions," partow said. "their people are rising to it and ours are rising in answer. the grays have been transferring regiments from distant provinces to their frontier because they will fight better in an invasion. we are transferring home regiments to our frontier because they will fight for their own property. by thursday you will find that open mobilization on both sides has begun." "my department is ready," said lanstron, "all except your decision about press censorship." "a troublesome point," responded partow. "i have procrastinated because two definite plans were fully worked out. it is a matter of choice between them: either publicity or complete secrecy. you know i am no believer in riding two horses at once. my mind is about made up; but let me hear your side again. sometimes i get conviction by probing another mans." lanstron was at his best, for his own conviction was intense. "of course they will go in for secrecy; but our case is different," he began. partow settled himself to listen with the gift of the organizer who draws from his informant the brevity of essentials. "i should take the people into our confidence," lanstron proceeded. "i should make them feel that we were one family fighting for all we hold dear against the invader. if our losses are heavy, if we have a setback, then the inspiration of the heroism of those who have fallen and the danger of their own homes feeling the foot of the invader next will impel the living to greater sacrifices. for the grays are in the wrong. the moral and the legal right is with us." "and the duty of men like you and me, chosen for the purpose," said partow, "is worthily to direct the courage that goes with moral right. the overt act of war must come from them by violating our frontier, not in the african jungle but here. even when the burglar fingers the window-sash we shall not fire--no, not until he enters our house. when he does, you would have a message go out to our people that will set them quivering with indignation?" "yes, and i would let the names of our soldiers who fall first be known and how they fell, their backs to their frontier homes and their faces to the foe." "our very liberality in giving news will help us to cover the military secrets which we desire to preserve," partow said, with slow emphasis. "we shall hold back what we please, confident of the people's trust. good policy that, yes! but enough! your orders are ready, in detail, i believe. you have nothing to add?" "no, sir, nothing; at least, not until war begins." "very well. we shall have the orders issued at the proper moment," concluded partow. "and westerling is going to find," he proceeded after a thoughtful pause, "that a man is readier to die fighting to hold his own threshold than fighting to take another man's. war is not yet solely an affair of machinery and numbers. the human element is still uppermost. i know something, perhaps, that westerling does not know. i have had an experience that he has not had and that few active officers of either army have had--i have been under fire." his eyes flashed with the memory of his charge, and visions of the day when grandfather fragini was a _beau sabreur_ and marta galland's father toasted quick death and speedy promotion seemed to cluster around him. "experience plus an old man's honest effort for a mind open to all suggestion and improvements!" he exclaimed. "an open mind that let you have your way in equipping more dirigibles and planes than westerling guesses we have, eh? and, perhaps, a few more guns! and you, too, have been under fire," he added. "give me your hand--no, not that one, not the one you shake hands with--the one wounded in action!" partow enclosed the stiffened fingers in his own with something of the caress which an old bear that is in very good humor might give to a promising cub. "i have planned, planned, planned for this time," he said. "i have played politics with statesmen to hold my place in the belief that i was the man for the work which i have done. the world shall soon know, as the elements of it go into the crucible test, whether it is well done or not. i want to live to see the day when the last charge made against our trenches is beaten back. then they may throw this old body onto the rubbish heap as soon as they please--it is a fat, unwieldy behemoth of an old body!" "no, no, it isn't!" lanstron objected hotly. he was seeing only what most people saw after talking with partow for a few minutes, his fine, intelligent eyes and beautiful forehead. "all that i wanted of the body was to feed my brain," partow continued, heedless of the interruption. "i have watched my mind as a navigator watches a barometer. i have been ready at the first sign that it was losing its grip to give up. yet i have felt that my body would go on feeding my brain and that to the last moment of consciousness, when suddenly the body collapses, i should have self-possession and energy of mind. under the coming strain the shock may come, as a cord snaps. at that instant my successor will take up my work where i leave it off." "goerwitz, you mean." lanstron referred in unmistakable apprehension to the vice-chief of staff, whom all the army knew had no real ability or decision underneath his pleasing, confident exterior. "no, not goerwitz," said partow, with a shrug. "some one who will go on with the weaving, not by knotting threads but with the same threads in a smooth fabric." lanstron felt an increased pressure of the hand, a communicated tingling to his nerves. "i have chosen him. the old fogy who has aimed to join experience to youth chooses youth. you took your medicine without grumbling in the disagreeable but vitally important position of chief of intelligence. now you--there, don't tremble with stage fright!" for lanstron's hand was quivering in partow's grasp, while his face was that of a man stunned. "but goerwitz--what will he say?" he gasped. "goerwitz goes to a division in reserve." "and the army! the government! what will they say at such--such a jump for a colonel?" "the government leaves all to me from the day war begins. i shall transfer others than goerwitz--others who have had influence with the premier which it was not wise to deny in time of peace." "very well, sir," answered lanstron, with a subordinate's automatic consent to a superior's orders. his words sounded ridiculous in view of his feelings, yet they were more expressive than any florid speech. "you are to be at the right hand of this old body," continued partow. "you are to go with me to the front; to sleep in the room next to mine; to be always at my side, and, finally, you are to promise that if ever the old body fails in its duty to the mind, if ever you see that i am not standing up to the strain, you are to say so to me and i give you my word that i shall let you take charge." lanstron was too stunned to speak for a moment. the arrangement seemed a hideous joke: a refinement of cruelty inconceivable. it was expecting him to tell atlas that he was old and to take the weight of the world off the giant's shoulders. "have you lost your patriotism?" demanded partow. "are you afraid? afraid to tell me the truth? afraid of duty? afraid in your youth of the burden that i bear in age?" his fingers closed in on lanstron's with such force that the grip was painful. "promise!" he commanded. "i promise!" lanstron said with a throb. "that's it' that's the way! that's the kind of soldier i like," partow declared with change of tone, and he rose from his chair with a spring that was a delight to lanstron in its proof of the physical vigor so stoutly denied. "we have a lot to say to each other to-day," he added; "but first i am going to show you the whole bag of tricks." his arm crooked in lanstron's, they went along the main corridor of the staff office hung with portraits of generals who had beaten or held their own with the grays. passing through a door for which partow held the key, they were in a dim, narrow passage with bare walls, lighted by two small gas flames. at the end was another, a heavy steel door, of the sort associated with the protection of bonds and securities, but in this case for the security of a nation's defence. partow turned the knob of the combination back and forth and with the smooth swing of a great weight on noiseless hinges the door opened and they entered a vault having a single chair and a small table in the centre and lined by sections of numbered pigeonholes, each with a combination lock at the base of one section was a small safe. it was not the first time that lanstron had been in this vault. he had the combination of two of the sections of pigeonholes, aerostatics and intelligence. the rest belonged to other divisions. "the safe is my own, as you know. no one opens it; no one knows what is in it but me," said partow, taking from it an envelope and a manuscript, which he laid on the table. "there you have all that, is in my brain--the whole plan. the envelope contains the combinations of all the pigeonholes, if you wish to look up any details." "thank you!" lanstron half whispered. it was all he could think of to say. "and you will find that there is more than you thought, perhaps: the reason why i have fought hard to remain chief of staff; why--" partow continued in a voice that had the sepulchral uncanniness of a threat long nursed now breaking free of the bondage of years within the sound-proof walls. "but--" he broke off suddenly as if he distrusted even the security of the vault. "yes, it is all there--my life's work, my dream, my ambition, my plan!" lanstron heard the lock slide in the door as partow went out and he was alone with the army's secrets. as he read partow's firm handwriting, many parts fell together, many moves on a chess-board grew clear. his breath came faster, he bent closer over the table, he turned back pages to go over them again. every sentence dropped home in his mind like a bolt in a socket. when he had finished the manuscript the trance of his thoughts held him in the same attitude. "five millions to our three!" a voice kept repeating to him. "in face of that this dream!" another voice was saying. had it been right to intrust such responsibility to one man of partow's age and right to transfer that responsibility to himself in an emergency? yet how clear the plan in the confidence of its wisdom! unconscious of the passage of time, he did not hear the door open or realize partow's presence until he felt partow's hand on his shoulder. "i see that you didn't look into any of the pigeonholes," the chief of staff observed. lanstron pressed his finger-tips on the manuscript significantly. "no. it is all there!" "the thing being to carry it out!" said partow. "god with us!" he added devoutly. xv close to the white posts have you forgotten hugo mallin, humorist of company b of the 128th regiment of the grays, whom we left in their barracks under orders for south la tir on the afternoon that westerling called on marta galland? have you forgotten eugene aronson, the farmer's son, and jacob pilzer, the butcher's son, and pasty-faced little peterkin, the valet's son, and the judge's son, and the other privates of the group that surrounded hugo mallin as he aired heresies that set them laughing? through the press, an unconscious instrument of his purpose, the astute premier has inoculated them with the virus of militant patriotism. day by day the crisis has become more acute; day by day the war fever has risen in their veins. big eugene aronson believes everything he reads; his country can do no wrong. jacob pilzer is most bellicose; he chafes at inaction, while they all suffer the discomforts of an empty factory building in the rear of south la tir which has become a temporary barracks. on tuesday they hear of crowds around the foreign office demanding war, on wednesday of panics on the stock exchanges, on thursday of mobilization actually begun and a rigid press censorship established, and on friday other regiments and guns and horses are detraining and departing right and left. hurrying officers know nothing except what they have been told to do. "when do we start? what are we waiting for?" demanded pilzer. "i want to be in the thick of the fighting and not trailing along with the reserves!" if any one in the 128th wins the bronze cross he means that it shall be he and not eugene aronson. "never mind, you'll have a chance. there'll be war enough to go around, i am sure!" said hugo mallin. "more than you'll want!" pilzer shot back, thrusting out his jaw. "i'm sure of that!" answered hugo, the mask of his face drawn in quizzical solemnity. "i don't want any at all." this brought a tremendous laugh. all the laughs had been tremendous since mobilization had begun in earnest, and the atmosphere was like the suspense before a thunder-storm breaks. on saturday evening the 128th was mustered in field accoutrements and a full supply of cartridges. in the darkness the first battalion marched out at right angles to the main road that ran through la tir and south la tir. at length company b, deployed in line of skirmishers, lay down to sleep on its arms. "we wait here for the word," fracasse, the captain, whispered to his senior lieutenant. "if it comes, our objective is the house and the old castle on the hill above the town." the tower of the church showed dimly when a pale moon broke through a cloud. by its light hugo saw on his right eugene's big features and massive shoulders and on his left the pinched and characterless features of peterkin. a few yards ahead was a white stone post. "that's their side over there!" whispered the banker's son, who was next to peterkin. "when we cross war begins," said the manufacturer's son. "i wonder if they are expecting us!" said the judge's son a trifle huskily, in an attempt at humor, though he was not given to humor. "just waiting to throw bouquets!" whispered the laborer's son. he, too, was not given to humor and he, too, spoke a trifle huskily. "and we'll fix bayonets when we start and they will run at the sight of our steel!" said eugene aronson. he and hugo alone, not excepting pilzer, the butcher's son, spoke in their natural voices. the others were trying to make their voices sound natural, while pilzer's voice had developed a certain ferocity, and the liver patch on his cheek twitched more frequently. "why, company b is in front! we have the post of honor, and maybe our company will win the most glory of any in the regiment!" eugene added. "oh, we'll beat them! the bullet is not made that will get me!" "your service will be over in time for you to help with the spring planting, eugene," whispered hugo, who was apparently preoccupied with many detached thoughts. "and you to be at home sucking lollipops!" pilzer growled to hugo. "that would be better than murdering my fellowman to get his property," hugo answered, so soberly that it did not seem to his comrades that he was joking this time. pilzer's snarling exclamation of "white feather!" came in the midst of a chorus of indignation. captain fracasse, who had heard only the disturbance without knowing the cause, interfered in a low, sharp tone: "silence! as i have told you before, silence! we don't want them to know that we are here. go to sleep! you may get no rest to-morrow night!" but little peterkin, the question in his mind breaking free of his lips, unwittingly asked: "shall--shall we fight in the morning?" "i don't know. nobody knows!" answered fracasse. "we wait on orders, ready to do our duty. there may be no war. don't let me hear another peep from you!" now all closed their eyes. in front of them was vast silence which seemed to stretch from end to end of the frontier, while to the rear was the rumble of switching railway trains and the rumble of provision trains and artillery on the roads, and in the distance on the plain the headlight of a locomotive cut a swath in the black night. but the breathing of most of the men was not that of slumber, though eugene and pilzer slept soundly. hours passed. occasional restless movements told of efforts to force sleep by changing position. "it's the waiting that's sickening!" exploded the manufacturer's son under his breath, desperately. "so i say. i'd like to be at it and done with the suspense!" said the doctor's son. "they say if you are shot through the head you don't know what killed you, it's so quick. think of that!" exclaimed peterkin, huddling closer to hugo and shivering. "yes, very merciful," hugo whispered, patting peterkin's arm. "sh-h-h! silence, i tell you!" commanded fracasse crossly. he was falling into a half doze at last. xvi dellarme's men get a mascot and have you forgotten gigantic private stransky, born to the red, with the hedgerows of the world his home? have you forgotten tom fragini and the sergeant and the others of captain dellarme's men of the 53d of the browns, whom we left marching along the road to la tir, with old grandfather fragini, veteran of the hussars, in his faded uniform coat with his medal on his breast, keeping step, hep-hep-hep? grandfather fragini has attached himself to the regiment while it rests in barracks a few hours' march from the frontier. he is accepted as the mascot of the company in which both his grandson and stransky are serving. but he never speaks to stransky and refers to him in the third person as "that traitor," which makes stransky grin sardonically. each day's developments bring more color to his cheeks; his rheumatic old legs are limbering with the elixir of rising patriotism, though tom and his comrades are singularly without enthusiasm, according to grandfather's idea. they lead the newspapers gluttonously and they welcome each item that promises a peaceful solution of the crisis. inwardly, grandfather fragini is worried about the state of the army. is his race becoming decadent? or, as he puts it, are the younger generation without sand in their craws? when he came into the barracks yard swinging his cap aloft and shouting the news that mobilization had begun there was not even a cheer. "i suppose it means war," said tom fragini with a soberness that was in keeping with the grave faces of his fellows. stransky sitting at one side by himself smiled. "well, you'd think it was a funeral!" grandfather exclaimed in disgust. "there will be lots of funerals!" said tom. "i s'pose there will be; but if you get that in your mind how can you fight?" grandfather demanded. "why, if any hussar had spoken of funerals we'd called him white-livered, that's what we would! we cheered till we was hoarse; we danced and hugged one another; we rattled our sabres in our scabbards; we sang rip-roaring death-or-glory songs. when you're going to war you want to sing and shout. that's the way to keep your spirits up." "let's sing 'ring-around-the-rosy' to please the old gentleman. come on!" suggested stransky. "i don't see that we are after either death or glory," said tom. "we are going to do our duty." the impulse of enthusiasm seemed equally lacking in the others. stransky grinned and his deep-set eyes turned inward with a squint of knowing satisfaction at the bony bridge of his nose. "i'm not wanting any traitor to start any songs for me!" declared grandfather. "never mind. the fellows on the other side aren't any more enthusiastic than we are, grandfather," stransky said soothingly, in his mocking way. "the fact is, we don't want to kill our brothers across the frontier and they don't want to kill us or be killed. it's only the ruling classes that want the proletariat to--" "fire away, stransky! it's hours since you made a speech!" chirruped a voice. "look out, bert, the sergeant's coming!" another voice warned the orator. the state of mind of the 53d was that of all the regiments of the browns with their faces toward the white posts, quiet, thoughtful, and grave; for they had not to arouse ardor for the aggressive. as they were to receive rather than give blows they might be more honest with themselves than the men of the grays. in marching order, with cartridge-boxes full, on saturday night the 53d marched out to the main pass road. when grandfather fragini found that he had been ordered to remain behind he sought the colonel. "i've got reasons! let me come!" he pleaded. "no. it is no place for you." "i can keep up! i can keep up! i feel like a boy!" "but it is different these days, and this is the infantry. the bullets carry far. you will not know how to take cover," the colonel explained. "well, if i am killed i won't be losing much time on this earth," grandfather observed with cool logic. "but that ain't it. i'm worried about tom. i'm afraid he ain't going to fight! i--i want to stiffen him up!" "he will fight, all right. sorry, but it is out of the question," said the colonel, turning away. grandfather buried his face in his hands and shook with the sobs of second childhood until an idea occurred to him. wasn't he a free man? hadn't he as much right as anybody to use the public highway? drying his eyes, he set out along the road in the wake of the regiment. one company after another left the road at a given point, bound for the position mapped in its instructions dellarme's, however, went on until it was opposite the galland house. "we are depending on you," the colonel said to dellarme, giving his hand a grip. "you are not to draw off till you get the flag." "no, sir," dellarme replied. "mind the signal to the batteries--keep the men screened--warn them not to let their first baptism of shell fire shake their nerves!" the colonel added in a final repetition of instructions already indelibly impressed on the captain's mind. moving cautiously through a cut, dellarme's company came, about midnight, to a halt among the stubble of a wheat-field behind a knoll. after he had bidden the men to break ranks, he crept up the incline. "yes, it's there!" he whispered when he returned. "on the crest of the knoll a cord is stretched from stake to stake," he said, explaining the reason for what was to be done, as was his custom. "the engineers placed it there after dusk and the frontier was closed, so that you would know just where to use your spades in the dark. quietly as possible! no talking!" he kept cautioning as the men turned the soft earth, "and not higher than the cord, and lay the stubble side of the sods on the reverse so as to cover the fresh earth on the sky-line." when the work was done all returned behind the knoll except the sentries posted at intervals on the crest to watch. with the aid of a small electric flash, screened by his hands, dellarme again examined a section of the staff map that outlined the contour of the knoll in relation to the other positions. after this he wrote in his diary the simple facts of the day's events, concluding with a sentiment of gratitude for the honor shown to his company and a prayer that he might keep a clear head and do his duty if war came on the morrow. "now, every one get all the sleep he can!" he advised the men. stransky slept, with his head on his arm, as soundly as eugene aronson, his antithesis in character; the others slept no better than the men of the 128th. the night passed without any alarm except that of their own thoughts, and they welcomed dawn as a relief from suspense. there was no hot coffee this morning, and they washed down their rations with water from their canteens. the old sergeant was lying beside captain dellarme on the crest, the sunrise in their faces. as the mist cleared from the plain it revealed the white dots of the frontier posts in the meadow and behind them many gray figures in skirmish order, scarcely visible except through the glasses. "it looks like business!" declared the old sergeant. "yes, it begins the minute they cross the line!" said dellarme. his glance sweeping to the rear to scan the landscape under the light of day, he recognized, with a sense of pride and awe, the tactical importance of his company's position in relation to that of the other companies. easily he made out the regimental line by streaks of concealed trenches and groups of brown uniforms; and here and there were the oblong, cloth stretches of waiting hospital litters. on the reverse slope of another knoll was the farmhouse, marked x on his map as the regimental headquarters, where he was to watch for the signal to fall back from his first stand in delaying the enemy's advance. directly to the rear was the cut through which the company had come from the main pass road, and beyond that the galland house, which was to be the second stand. "can you see them from up here?" chirped a voice in a jubilant, cackling laugh that drew dellarme's attention to his immediate surroundings, and he saw grandfather fragini coming up to join him on the crest. he slid back on his stomach below the sky-line and held up an arresting hand. "kept along after you," piped the old man; "and it's just as i thought--the glummest lot of funeral faces i ever seen!" "you must not remain! follow that cut there and it will take you out to the road!" dellarme told grandfather sharply. "just got to stay. too tired to take another step," and grandfather dropped in utter exhaustion. "have to carry me if you want me to go." "that means two men out of the line," thought dellarme. "you're an archaic old fire-eater!" stransky remarked in cynical amusement to grandfather fragini. "and you're a traitor!" answered grandfather with all the energy he could command. now dellarme disposed his men in line back of the ridge of fresh earth that they had dug in the night, ready to rush to their places when he blew the whistle that hung from his neck, but he did not allow them a glimpse over the crest. "i know you are curious, but powerful glasses are watching for you to show yourselves; and if a battery turned loose on us you'd understand," he explained. the men wanted to talk but did not know what to talk about, so they examined their rifles critically as if they were unfamiliar gifts which they had found in their stockings on christmas morning. some began to empty their magazines of cartridges for the pleasure or occupation of refilling them; but one of the lieutenants stopped this. it might mean delay when the whistle blew. thus the hours wore on, and the church clock struck nine and ten. "never a movement down there!" called the sergeant from the crest to dellarme. "maybe this is just their final bluff before they come to terms about bodlapoo"--that stretch of african jungle that seemed very far away to them all. "let us hope so!" said dellarme seriously. "hope there won't be any war! just listen to that from an army officer, with the enemy right in front of him!" gasped grandfather. xvii a sunday morning in town "you ought not to leave the house--not this morning," protested mrs. galland when marta was putting on her hat to start for the regular sunday service of her school. "the children expect me," marta explained. "hardly, hardly this morning. they will take it for granted that you will not come." but marta thrust her hatpin home decisively. "jacky werther will certainly be there. though he were the only one to come, i would not disappoint him!" she said. "heaven knows, mother, if there were ever a time for teaching peace it is to-day! and i can't remain inactive. just to sit still and wait in a time like this--that is too terrible!" "as you will!" mrs. galland responded with gentle resignation. garden and veranda were as peaceful as on any other sunday morning, but it was a different kind of peace--a peace mocked by sounds beyond its boundaries which were to her like the rattling of the steel scales of a demon licking its jaws with its red tongue in voracious anticipation of a gorge and stretching out great steel claws in readiness to sink them into the flesh of its victims when partow and westerling gave the word. as lanstron had said, this demon would feed on every resource and energy of the nation. it had no voice and no thought except kill, kill, kill! and man called this demon patriotism and love of country. those who risked death in the demon's honor got iron crosses and bronze crosses, but any one who dared to call it by its true name, if a man, received the decoration of the white feather; if a woman, was regarded as a sentimentalist and merely a woman, and told that she did not understand practical human nature. choosing to go to town by the castle road rather than down the terrace to the main pass road, marta, as she emerged from the grounds, saw feller, garden-shears in hand and in his workman's clothes instead of his sunday black, a figure of stone watching the approach of some field-batteries. in the week of distracting and cumulative suspense that had elapsed since his secret had been revealed to her, their relations had continued as before. she studiously kept up the fiction of his deafness by writing her orders. the question of allowing him to undertake his part as a spy had drifted into the background of her mind under the distressing and ever-present pressure of the crisis. he was to remain until there was war, and thought about anything that implied that war was coming was the more hideous to her the nearer war approached. "it will be averted! it cannot be!" she was thinking. her glimpse of him had no more interest for her at this moment of preoccupation than any other familiar object of the landscape. "the guns! the guns! how i love the guns!" he was thinking. she was almost past him before he realized her presence, which he acknowledged by a startled movement and a step forward as he took off his hat. she paused. his eyes were glowing like coals under a blower as he looked at her and again at the batteries, seeming to include her with the guns in the spell of his fervid abstraction. he was unconscious that he had ever been anything but a soldier. his throat was athirst for words and his words craved a listening ear for all the pictures of the machinery of war in motion that crowded his imagination. to him the demon was a fair, beckoning god in cloth of gold--a god of hope and fortune. "frontier closed last night to prevent intelligence about our preparations leaking out--lanny's plan all alive--the guns coming," he went on, his shoulders stiffening, his chin drawing in, his features resolute and beaming with the ardor of youth in action--"troops moving here and there to their places--engineers preparing the defences--automatics at critical points with the infantry--field-wires laid--field-telephones set up--the wireless spitting--the caissons full--planes and dirigibles ready--search-lights in position" there the torrent of his broken sentences was checked a shadow passed in front of him. he came out of his trance of imageries of activities, so vividly clear to his military mind, to realize that marta was abruptly leaving. "miss galland!" he called urgently. "firing may commence at any minute. you must not go into town!" "but i must!" she declared, speaking over her shoulder while she paused. it was clear that no warning would prevail against her determined mood. "then i shall go with you!" he said, starting toward her with a light step, in keeping with the gallantry of a man even younger than his years. he spoke in a tone of protective masculine authority, as an officer might to a woman of whom he was fond when he saw her exposing herself to danger. he would escort her; he would see that no harm befell her. the impulse was spontaneous in an illusion free of the gardener's part. but he saw her lips tighten and a frown gather. "it is not necessary, thank you!" she answered, more coldly than she had ever spoken to him. this had a magically quick effect on his attitude. "i beg pardon! i forgot!" he explained in his old man's voice, his head sinking, his shoulders drooping in the humility of a servant who recognizes that he has been properly rebuked for presumption. "not a gunner any more--i'm a spy!" he thought, as he shuffled off without looking toward the batteries again, though the music of wheels and hoofs was now close by. "i must turn my back on the guns, for they tempt me. and i must win her consent before i shall have even the dignity of a spy--and i will win it!" he added, brightening. "la, la, la! trust me!" marta had a glimpse, as she turned away, of an appealingly pathetic figure bent as under a wound to his spirits, which gave her a sense of personal cruelty in the midst of a wave of pity and regret. "he is what he is because of the army; a victim of a cult, a habit," she was thinking. "had he been in any other calling his fine qualities might have been of service to the world and he would have been happy." then her sympathy was drawn to another object of war's injustice--a man approaching under the guard of two soldiers. suddenly the man planted his feet and refused to budge. "i tell you, it isn't fair!" he cried in rage and appeal. "i tell you, i was only visiting on this side and got caught! i'm a reservist of the first line. if i don't answer the call i'll be branded a shirker in my village, and i've got to live in that village all my life. you better kill me and have done with it!" "sorry," said one of the soldiers, "but you were caught trying to sneak. we're acting under orders. no use of balking." "who wouldn't sneak?" demanded the prisoner desperately. "oh, say, be a little human! the worst of it is that i came over here to see my girl to say good-by to her. i'm going to marry her," he pleaded, "though my folks are against it because she's a brown. it makes me so cheap--it--" "we were told to take you to the general. he'll let you off if there isn't any war, and he may, anyway. but he sure won't if you resist arrest." the soldiers seized his arms firmly. "come along!" they said, and he went. any one must go when a steel claw of the demon enforces the order. a company of infantry resting among their stacked rifles changed the color of the square in the distance from the gray of pavement to the brown of a mass of uniforms. in the middle of the main street a major of the brigade staff, with a number of junior officers and orderlies, was evidently waiting on some signal. sentries were posted at regular intervals along the curb. the people in the houses and shops from time to time stopped packing up their effects long enough to go to the doors and look up and down apprehensively, asking bootless, nervous questions. "are they coming yet?" "do you think they will come?" "are you sure it's going to be war?" "will they shell the town?" "there'll be time enough for you to get away!" shouted the major. "all we know is what is written in our instructions, and we shall act on them when the thing starts. then we are in command. meanwhile, get ready!" a lieutenant of a detachment of engineers coming at the double from a cross street stopped to inquire: "this way to the knitting mills?" "straight ahead! can't go wrong!" the major answered. "we are going to loophole their walls for the infantry," explained the lieutenant as he hurried on. "then they're going to fight in the town!" "blow our homes to pieces!" "destroy our property!" after this fusillade from the people the major glared at the retreating back of the lieutenant as much as to say that some men would never learn to hold their tongues. naturally, the duty of looking after refugees was not to his soldierly taste. "we are doing it all for you, for the country," he explained. "we are going to make them pay for every foot they take--the invaders!" "yes, make them pay!" called a voice from the houses. "make them pay!" other voices joined in. "it isn't the fellows just across the border that want to take our property," said an elderly man. "they're good friends enough. it's the grays' politicians and the fire-eaters in the other provinces." "the robbers!" piped a woman's high-pitched note. "i've got a son in the army, and if ever he leaves that mountain range and goes down the other side with the grays chasing him, he'll get worse from me than the grays could give him!" "that's right! that's the way to talk!" came a chorus. then the major became aware of a young woman who was going in the wrong direction. her cheeks were flushed from her rapid walk, her lips were parted, showing firm, white teeth, and her black eyes were regarding him in a blaze of satire or amusement; an emotion, whatever it was, that thoroughly centred his attention. "yes," she said, anger getting the better of her, "make them pay--and they make you pay--and you make them pay--and so on!" the major smiled. it seemed the safe thing to do. he did not know but the young woman might charge. "mademoiselle, i am sorry, but unless you live in this direction," he said very politely, "you may not go any farther. until we have other orders or they attack, every one is supposed to remain in his house or his place of business." "this is my place of business!" marta answered, for she was already opposite a small, disused chapel which was her schoolroom, where a half dozen of the faithful children were gathered around the masculine importance of jacky werther, one of the older boys. "then you are miss galland!" said the major, enlightened. his smile had an appreciation of the irony of her occupation at that moment. "your children are very loyal. they would not tell me where they lived, so we had to let them stay there." "those who have homes," she said, identifying each one of the faithful with a glance, "have so many brothers and sisters that they will hardly be missed from the flock. others have no homes--at least, not much of a one"--here her temper rose again--"taxes being so high in order that you may organize murder and the destruction of property." "i--" gasped the major under the fire of those black eyes. but their flashes suddenly splintered into less threatening lights as she realized the fatuity of this personal allusion. "oh, i'm not the town scold!" she explained with a nervous little laugh that helped her to recover poise. with the black eyes in this mood, the major was conscious only of a desire to please which conflicted with duty. "now, really, miss galland," he began solicitously, "i have been assigned to move the civil population in case of attack. your children ought--" "after school! you have your duty this morning and i have mine!" marta interrupted pleasantly, and turned toward the chapel. "they are putting sharpshooters in the church tower to get the aeroplanes, and there are lots of the little guns that fire bullets so fast you can't count 'em--and little spring wagons with dynamite to blow things up--and--" jacky werther ran on in a series of vocal explosions as marta opened the door to let the children go in. "yet you came!" said marta with a hand caressingly on his shoulder. "it looks pretty bad for peace, but we came," answered jacky, round-eyed, in loyalty. "we'd come right through the bullets 'cause we said we would if we wasn't sick, and we wasn't sick." "my seven disciples--seven!" exclaimed marta as she counted them. "and you need not sit on the regular seats, but around me on the platform. it will be more intimate." "that's grand!" came in chorus. they did not bother, about chairs, but seated themselves on the floor around marta's skirts. "my, miss galland, but your eyes are bright!" "and your cheeks are all red!" "with little spots in the centre!" "you're very wonderful, miss galland!" the church clock boomed out its deliberate strokes through ten, the hour set for the lesson, and all counted them--one--two--three. marta was thinking what a dismal little effort theirs was, and yet she was very happy, tremblingly happy in her distraction and excitement, that they had not waited for her at the door of the chapel in vain. she announced that there would be no talk this morning; they would only say their oath. repeating in concert the pledge to the boys and girls of other lands, the childish voices peculiarly sweet and harmonious in contrast to the raucous and uneven sounds of foreboding from the street, they came in due course to the words of the concession that the oath made to militancy. "if an enemy tries to take my land--" "children--i--" marta interrupted with a sense of wonder and shock. they paused and looked at her questioningly. "i had almost forgotten that part!" she breathed confusedly. "that's the part that makes all we're doing against the grays right!" put in jacky werther promptly. "as i wrote it for you! 'i shall appeal to his sense of justice and reason with him--'" jaws dropped and eyes bulged, for above the sounds of the street rose from the distance the unmistakable crackling of rifle-fire which, as they listened, spread and increased in volume. "go on--on to the end of the oath! it will take only a moment," said marta resolutely. "it isn't much, but it's the best we can do!" xviii the baptism of fire after the morning sun commenced to tickle the back of his neck, eugene aronson, the giant of the 128th of the grays, stretched his limbs as healthily as a cub bear. "no war yet!" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. "oh, we'd have called you if there were!" said the manufacturer's son, trying to make a joke, which was hard work with his clothes dew-soaked after a sleepless night in the open. "wouldn't want you to miss it after coming so far," added the laborer's son, aiming to show that he, too, was in a light-hearted mood. "and how did you sleep?" asked eugene, cheerily, of his neighbors. "fine!" "first rate!" "like a stone!" every man was too intent in forcing his own spontaneity to notice that that of the others was also forced. "like a top!" chimed in pasty-faced peterkin, the valet's son, to be in fashion. "i didn't sleep much myself; in fact, not at all," said hugo mallin. "oh, ho!" groaned pilzer, the butcher's son, with a broad grin that made a crease in the liver patch on his cheek. "you see, it's a new experience for me," hugo explained in a drawl, his face drawn as a mask. "i'm not so used to war as you other fellows are. i'm not so brave!" there was a forced laugh because hugo appeared droll, and when he appeared droll it was the proper thing to laugh. besides, in the best humor there is a grain of truth, whether you see it or not. this time a number saw it quite clearly. "i was thinking how ridiculous we all are," hugo went on without change of tone or expression, "grovelling here on our stomachs and pretending that we slept when we didn't and that we want to be killed when we don't!" "white feather again!" pilzer exclaimed. "oh, shut up!" snapped the doctor's son irritably. "let hugo talk. he's only gassing. it's so monotonous lying here that any kind of nonsense is better than growling." "yes, yes!" the others agreed. hugo's outburst of the previous evening was forgotten. they welcomed anything that broke the suspense. let the regimental wag make a little fun any way that he could. as the officers had withdrawn somewhat to the rear for breakfast, there was no constraint. "i was thinking how i'd like to go out and shake hands with the browns," said hugo. "that's the way fencers and pugilists do before they set to. it seems polite and sportsmanlike, indicating that there's no prejudice." there was a ripple of half-hearted merriment punctuated by exclamations. "what a fool idea!" "how do all your notions get into your head, hugo?" "sometimes by squinting at the moonlight and counting odd numbers; sometimes by knowing that anything that's different is ridiculous; and sometimes by looking for tangent truths out of professorial ruts," hugo observed with a sort of erudite discursiveness which was the rank dissimulation of a hypocrite to pilzer and wholly confusing to peterkin, not to say a draught on mental effort for many of the others. "for instance, i got a good one from two fellows of the browns whom i met on the road the first day we arrived. they were reservists. we were soon talking together and so peaceably that i was sceptical if they were browns at all. so i determined on a test. i told them i was from a distant province and hadn't travelled much and wouldn't they please take off their hats. they consented very good-naturedly." "oh, good old hugo! he got one on the browns!" "i'd like to have been there to see it!" "and when they took off their hats, what then?" "why, i said: 'this isn't convincing at all.'" hugo's drawl paused for a second while interest developed. "'you haven't any horns! haven't you any forked tails, either? or are they curled up nicely inside your trousers' legs?'" "whew! but they must have felt cheap to have been got in that way!" "and old hugo looking so solemn!" "just like he does now!" but the judge's son said under his breath, "very pretty!" and the doctor's son, who was next him in the ranks, nodded understandingly. "it seems they had checked their horns and tails at the frontier," hugo continued, "and, as i had left mine hanging in the rifle racks at the barracks, we got on together like real human beings. i found they could speak my language better than my lesson-book try at theirs--yes, as well as i can speak it myself--and that made it all the easier. after a while i mentioned the war. they were very amiable and they didn't begin to call me a swill-eating land-shark or any other of the pretty names i've heard they are so fond of using. 'we want to keep what is ours,' they said. 'your side will have to start the fight by crossing the line. we shall not!"' "because they know they'll be licked!" put in pilzer hotly. "no, we may beat them in fighting," agreed hugo, "but these two fellows had me beaten on the argument!" "they hauled down our flag! they insulted us in their despatches! they quibble! they're the perfidious browns!" cried big eugene aronson, speaking the lesson taught him by the newspapers, which had it from the premier. "there, he's got you again, gene!" "yes, you funny old simpleton! you are almost too easy!" there was something of the vivacity of the barrack-room banter in the exclamations at eugene's expense. yet they were not the same. the look on no man's face was the same. the humorist was silent. "what next, hugo?" he half stared at them, and his mask was not solemn but tragic. "i was thinking how men work their courage up, as if patriotism were a moloch of which they were afraid," he said. "how in order to get killed we go out to kill others, when right is on their side! how you, armand, or you, eugene, might be dead before to-morrow! how--." "the bullet is not made that will get me!" exclaimed eugene, with a swelling breath from his bellows-like lungs. "take him home to mother!" groaned pilzer. "that will do for you, hugo mallin!" came another interruption, a sharp one from captain fracasse, who had returned unobserved from the rear in time to overhear hugo's remarks. "and that's the way to talk, aronson and pilzer. as for you, mallin, i've a mind to put you under arrest and send you back for a coward! a coward--do you hear?" "ah-h!" breathed pilzer in a guttural of satisfaction. hugo crimsoned at first in confusion, then he looked frankly and unflinchingly at the captain. "very well, sir!" he said with a certain dignity which fracasse, who was a good deal of a martinet, found very irritating. "no, that would suit you too well!" fracasse declared. "you shall stay! you shall do the duty for which your country trained you and take your share of the chances." "yes, sir!" answered hugo. "but won't you," he asked persuasively and with the wondering inquiry of the suggestion that had sprung into his heretic brain, "won't you ask the men if there are not some here who really, in their hearts, the logic of their hearts--which is often better than brain logic--do not believe just as i do?" "have you gone insane? there are none!" in the impulse of anger that swept his cheeks with a red wave fracasse half drew his sword as if he would strike hugo. "and, mallin, you are a marked man. i shall watch you! i'll have the lieutenants and sergeants watch you. at the first sign of flunking i'll make an example of you!" "yes, sir," answered hugo, with the automatic deference of private to officer but with a reserved and studious inquiry that made the captain bite his lip. "i'll have aronson and pilzer watch you, too!" fracasse added. "yes, sir!" said pilzer promptly. then, under the restraint of the captain's presence, there was a silence that endured. the men were left to the sole resource of their thoughts and observation of their surroundings. they were lying in a pasture facing the line of white posts whose tops ran in an even row over level ground. on the other side of the boundary was a wheat-field. here a farmer had commenced his fall ploughing. his plough was in the furrow where he had left it when he unhitched his team for the day, before an orderly had come to tell him that he must move out of his house overnight. the wheat stubble swept on up to a knoll in the distance. all the landscape in front of fracasse's company seemed to have been deserted; no moving figures were anywhere in sight; no sign of the enemy's infantry. no trains came or went along the lines of steel into the mountain tunnel, which had been mined at a dozen points by the browns. no vehicles and no foot-passengers dotted the highway into the town. over the mountains and over the plain, planes and dirigibles moved in wide circles restively, watching for a signal as hawks watch for prey. suspense this--suspense of such a swift vibration that it was like a taut g string of a violin under the bow! faintly the town clock was heard striking the hour. from eight to nine and nine to ten fracasse's men waited; waited until the machine was ready and westerling should throw in the clutch; waited until the troops were in place for the first move before he hurled his battalions forward. every pawn of flesh facing the white posts had a thousand thoughts whirling in such a medley that he could be said to have no thought at all, only an impression juggled by destiny. no one would have confessed what he felt, while physical inactivity gave free rein to mental activity. that thing of a nation's nightmare; that thing for which generations had drilled without its materializing; that thing of speculation, of hazard, of horror; that thing of quick action and long-enduring consequences was coming. they did not know how the captain at their back received his orders; they only heard the note of the whistle, with a command familiar to a trained instinct on the edge of anticipation. it released a spring in their nerve-centres. they responded as the wheels respond when the throttle is opened. jumping to their feet they broke into a run, bodies bent, heads down, like the peppered silhouette that faced westerling's desk. what they had done repeatedly in drills and manoeuvres they were now doing in war, mechanically as marionettes. "come on! the bullet is not made that can get me! come on!" cried the giant eugene aronson. he leaped over a white post and then over the plough, which was also in his path. little peterkin felt his legs trembling. they seemed to be detached from his will, and the company's and the captain's will, and churning in pantomime or not moving at all. if hugo mallin had been called a coward, what of himself? what of the stupid of the company, who would never learn even the manual of arms correctly, as the drill-sergeant often said? a new fear made him glance around. he would not have been surprised to find that he was already in the rear. but instead he found that he was keeping up, which was all that was necessary, as more than one other man assured his legs. after thirty or forty yards most of the legs, if not peterkin's, had worked out their shiver and nearly all felt the exhilaration of movement in company. then came the sound that generations had drilled for without hearing; the sound that summons the imagination of man in the thought of how he will feel and act when he hears it; the sound that is everywhere like the song snatches of bees driven whizzing through the air. "that's it! we're under fire! we're under fire!" flashed as crooked lightning recognition of the sound through every brain. there was no sign of any enemy; no telling where the bullets came from. "such a lot of them, one must surely get me!" peterkin thought. whish-whish! th-ipp-whing! the refrain gripped his imagination with an unseen hand. he seemed to be suffocating. he wanted to throw himself down and hold his hands in front of his head. while pilzer and aronson were not thinking, only running, peterkin was thinking with the rapidity of a man falling from a high building. worse! he did not know how far he had to go. he was certain only that he was bound to strike ground. "an inch is as good as a mile!" he recollected the captain's teaching. "only one of a thousand bullets fired in war ever kills a man"--but he was certain that he had heard a million already. then one passed very close, its swift breath brushing his cheek with a whistle like a s-s-st through the teeth. he dodged so hard that he might have dislocated his neck; he gasped and half stumbled, but realized that he had not been hit. and he must keep right on going, driven by one fear against another, in face of those ghastly whispers which the others, for the most part, in the excitement of a charge, had ceased to hear. again he would be sure that his legs, which he was urging so frantically to their duty, were not playing pantomime. he looked around to find that he was still keeping up with eugene and felt the thrill of the bravery of fellowship at sight of the giant's flushed, confident face revelling in the spirit of a charge. and then, just then, eugene convulsively threw up his arms, dropped his rifle, and whirled on his heel. as he went down his hand clutched at his left breast and came away red and dripping. after one wild, backward glance, peterkin plunged ahead. "eugene!" hugo mallin had stopped and bent over eugene in the supreme instinct of that terrible second, supporting his comrade's head. "the bullet is not--made--." eugene whispered, the ruling passion strong to the last. a flicker of the eyelids, a gurgle in the throat, and he was dead. fracasse had been right behind them. the sight of a man falling was something for which he was prepared; something inevitably a part of the game. a man down was a man out of the fight, service finished. a man up with a rifle in his hand was a man who ought to be in action. "here, you are not going to get out this way!" he said in the irritation of haste, slapping hugo with his sword. "go on! that's hospital-corps work." hugo had a glimpse of the captain's rigid features and a last one of eugene's, white and still and yet as if he were about to speak his favorite boast; then he hurried on, his side glance showing other prostrate forms. one form a few yards away half rose to call "hospital!" and fell back, struck mortally by a second bullet. "that's what you get if you forget instructions," said fracasse with no sense of brutality, only professional exasperation, "keep down, you wounded men!" he shouted at the top of his voice. the colonel of the 128th had not looked for immediate resistance. he had told fracasse's men to occupy the knoll expeditiously. but by the common impulse of military training, no less than in answer to the whistle's call, in face of the withering fire they dropped to earth at the base of the knoll, where hugo threw himself down at full length in his place in line next to peterkin. "fire pointblank at the crest in front of you! i saw a couple of men standing up there!" called fracasse. "fire fast! that's the way to keep down their fire--pointblank, i tell you! you're firing into the sky! i want to see more dust kicked up. fire fast! we'll have them out of there soon! they're only an outpost." hugo was firing vaguely, like a man in a dream, and thinking that maybe up there on the knoll were the two browns he had met on the road and perhaps their comrades were as fond of them as he was of eugene. it is a mistake for a soldier to think much, as westerling had repeatedly said. pilzer was shooting to kill. his eye had the steely gleam of his rifle sight and the liver patch on his cheek was a deeper hue as he sought to avenge eugene's death. drowned by the racket of their own fire, not even peterkin was hearing the whish-whish of the bullets from dellarme's company now. he did not know that the blacksmith's son, who was the fourth man from him, lay with his chin on his rifle stock and a tiny trickle of blood from a hole in his forehead running down the bridge of his nose. fracasse, glancing along from rifle to rifle, as a weaver watches the threads of a machine loom, saw that hugo was firing at too high an angle. "mallin!" he called. hugo did not hear because of the noise, and fracasse had to creep nearer, which was anything but cooling to his temper. "you fool! you are shooting fifty feet above the top of the knoll! look along your sight!" he yelled. fracasse observed, with some surprise, that hugo's hand was steady as he carefully drew a bead. hugo saw a spurt of dust at the point slightly below the crest where he aimed; for he was the best shot in the company at target practice. "i'm not killing anybody!" he thought happily. xix receiving the charge what about stransky of the reds, who would not fight to please the ruling classes? what about grandfather fragini, who would fight on principle whenever a gray was in sight? now we leave the story of fracasse's men at the foot of the knoll for that of the browns on the crest. young dellarme, new to his captain's rank, with lips pressed tightly together, his delicately moulded, boyish features reflecting the confidence which it was his duty to inspire in his company, watching the plain through his glasses, saw the movement of mounted officers to the rear of the 128th as a reason for summoning his men. "creep up! don't show yourselves! creep up--carefully--carefully!" he kept repeating as they crawled forward on their stomachs. "and no one is to fire until the command comes." hugging the cover of the ridge of fresh earth which they had thrown up the previous night, they watched the white posts. stransky, who had been ruminatively silent all the morning, was in his place, but he was not looking at the enemy. cautiously, to avoid a reprimand, he raised his head to enable him to glance along the line. all the faces seemed drawn and clayish. "they don't want to fight! they're just here because they're ordered here and haven't the character to defy authority," he thought. "the leaven is working! my time is coming!" but grandfather fragini's cheeks had a hectic flush; his heart was beating with the exhilaration of an old war-horse. looking over tom's shoulder, he squinted into the distance, his underlip quivering against his toothless gums. "my eyesight's kind of uncertain," he said. "can you see 'em?" "there by the white posts--those lying figures!" said tom. "they're almost the color of the stubble." "so i do, the land-sharks! down on their bellies, too! no flag, either! but that ain't no reason why we shouldn't have a flag. it ought to be waving at 'em in defiance right over our heads!" "flags draw fire. they let the enemy know where you are,' tom explained. "the hussars didn't bother about that. we let out a yell and went after 'em!" growled grandfather. "appears to me the fighting these days is grovelling in the dirt and taking care nobody don't get hurt!" "oh, there'll be enough hurt--don't you worry about that!" said a voice from the line. "good thing an old fellow who's been under fire is along to stiffen you rookies!" replied grandfather tartly. "you'll be all right once you get going. you'll settle down to be real soldiers yet. and i'd like to hear a little more cussing. how the hussars used to cuss! too much reading and writing nowadays. it makes men too ladylike." by this time he had once more attracted the captain's attention. "grandfather fragini, you must drop back--you must! if you don't, i'll have you carried back!" called dellarme, sparing the old man only a glance from his concentrated observation on the front. when he looked again at the enemy any thought of carrying out his threat vanished, for the minute had come when all his training was to be put to a test. the figures on the other side of the white posts were rising. he was to prove by the way he directed a company of infantry in action whether or not he was worthy of his captain's rank. he breathed one of those unspoken prayers that are made to the god of one's own efficient, conscientious responsibility to duty. the words of it were: "may i keep my head as if i were at drill!" then he smiled cheerily. in order that he might watch how each man used his rifle, he drew back of the line, his slim body erect as he rested on one knee, his head level with the other heads while he fingered his whistle. his lieutenants followed his example even to the detail of his cheery smile. there was a slight stirring of heads and arms as eyes drew beads on human targets. the instant that eugene aronson sprang over the white post a blast from dellarme's whistle began the war. it was a signal, too, for stransky to play the part he had planned; to make the speech of his life. his six feet of stature shot to its feet with a jack-in-the-box abruptness, under the impulse of a mighty and reckless passion. "men, stop firing!" he cried thunderously. "stop firing on your brothers! like you, they are only the pawns of the ruling class, who keep us all pawns in order that they may have champagne and caviare. comrades, i'll lead you! comrades, we'll take a white flag and go down to meet our comrades and we'll find that they think as we do! i'll lead you!" grandfather fragini, impelled by the hysterical call of the hussar spirit, also sprang up, waving his hat and trembling and swaying with the emotion that racked his old body. "give it to 'em! aim low! give it to 'em--give it to 'em, horns and hoofs, sabre and carbine!" he shouted in a high, jumpy voice. "give it to 'em! make 'em weep! make 'em whine! make 'em bellow!" both appeals were drowned in the cracking of the rifles working as regularly as punching-machines in a factory. every soldier was seeing only his sight and the running figures under it. mechanically and automatically, training had been projected into action, anticipation into realization. a spectator might as well have called to a man in a hundred-yard dash to stop running, to an oarsman in a race to jump out of his shell. so centred was dellarme in watching his men and the effect of their fire that he did not notice the two silhouettes on the sky-line, making ridicule of all his care about keeping his company under cover, until the doctor, who alone had nothing to do as yet, touched him on the arm. at the moment he looked around, and before he could speak a command, a hospital-corps man who was near grandfather fragini threw himself in a low tackle and brought the old man to earth, while the company sergeant sprang for stransky with an oath. but stransky was in no mood to submit. he felled the sergeant with a blow and, recklessly defiant, stared at dellarme, while the men, steadily firing, were still oblivious of the scene. the sergeant, stunned, rose to his knees and reached for his revolver. dellarme, bent over to keep his head below the crest, had already drawn his as he hastened toward them. "stransky," said dellarme, "you have struck an officer under fire! you have refused to fight! within the law i am warranted in shooting you dead!" "well!" answered stransky, throwing back his head, his face seeming all big, bony nose and heavy jaw and burning eyes. "will you get down? will you take your place with your rifle?" demanded dellarme. stransky laughed thunderously in scorn. he was handsome, titanic, and barbaric, with his huge shoulders stretching his blouse, which fell loosely around his narrow hips, while the fist that had felled the sergeant was still clenched. "no!" said stransky. "you won't kill much if you kill me and you'd kill less if you shot yourself! god almighty! do you think i'm afraid? me--afraid?" his eyes in a bloodshot glare, as uncompromising as those of a bull in an arena watching the next move of the red cape of the matador, regarded dellarme, who hesitated in the revulsion of the horror of killing and in admiration of the picture of human force before him. but the old sergeant, smarting under the insult of the blow, his sandstone features mottled with red patches, had no compunctions of this order. he was ready to act as executioner. "if you don't want to shoot, i can! an example--the law! there's no other way of dealing with him! give the word!" he said to dellarme. stransky laughed, now in strident cynicism. it was the laugh of the red, of bastardy, of blanketless nights in the hedgerows, and boot soles worn through to the macadam, with the dust of speeding automobiles blown in the gaunt face of hunger. dellarme still hesitated, recollecting lanstron's remark. he pictured stransky in a last stand in a redoubt, and every soldier was as precious to him as a piece of gold to a miser. "one ought to be enough to kill me if you're going to do it to slow music," said stransky. "you might as well kill me as the poor fools that your poor fools are trying to--" another breath finished the speech; a breath released from a ball that seemed to have come straight from hell. the fire-control officer of a regiment of gray artillery on the plain, scanning the landscape for the origin of the rifle-fire which was leaving many fallen in the wake of the charge of the gray infantry, had seen two figures on the knoll. "how kind! thank you!" his thought spoke faster than words. no need of range-finding! the range to every possible battery or infantry position around la tir was already marked on his map. he passed the word to his guns. the burst of their first shrapnel-shell blinded all three actors in the scene on the crest of the knoll with its ear-splitting crack and the force of its concussion threw stransky down beside the sergeant. dellarme, as his vision cleared, had just time to see stransky jerk his hand up to his temple, where there was a red spot, before another shell burst, a little to the rear. this was harmless, as a shrapnel's shower of fragments and bullets carry forward from the point of explosion. but the next burst in front of the line. the doctor's period of idleness was over. one man's rifle shot up as his spine was broken by a jagged piece of shrapnel jacket. now there were too many shells to watch them individually. "it's all right--all right, men!" dellarme called again, assuming his cheery smile. "it takes a lot of shrapnel to kill anybody. our batteries will soon answer!" his voice was unheard, yet its spirit was felt. the men knew through their training that there was no use of dodging and that their best protection was an accurate fire of their own. "shelling us, the -------!" gasped grandfather fragini, who had experience, if he were weak in reading and writing. "all noise and smoke!"--as it was to a larger degree in his day. stransky had half risen, a new kind of savagery dawning on his features as he regained his wits. with inverted eyes he regarded the red ends of his fingers, held in line with the bridge of his nose. he felt of the wound again, now that he was less dizzy. it was only a scratch and he had been knocked down like a beef in an abattoir by an unseen enemy, on whom he could not lay hands! he glared around as if in search of the hidden antagonist. the sergeant had crept forward to be a steadying influence to the men in their first trial, if need be, and the doctor and a hospital-corps man were dragging a wounded man out of fine without exposing their own shoulders above the crest. stransky rolled his eyes in and out; the tendons of his neck swelled; his jaw worked as if crunching pebbles. deafeningly, the shrapnel jackets continued to crack with "ukung-s-sh--ukung-s-sh" as the swift breath of the shrapnel missiles spread. "give it to 'em! give it to 'em!" grandfather fragini cried, his old voice a quavering bird note in the pandemonium. "my, but they do come fast!" he gasped. yes, a trifle faster than in your day, grandfather, when a gun of the horse-artillery had to be relaid after the recoil, which is now taken up by an oil chamber, while the gunner on his seat behind the breech keeps the sight steady on the target. the guns of one battery of that gray regiment of artillery, each firing six fourteen-pound shells a minute methodically, every shell loaded with nearly two hundred projectiles, were giving their undivided attention to the knoll. how long could his company endure this? dellarme might well ask. he knew that he would not be expected to withdraw yet. with a sense of relief he saw fracasse's men drop for cover at the base of the knoll and then, expectation fulfilled, he realized that rifle-fire now reinforced the enemy's shell fire. his duty was to remain while he could hold his men, and a feeling toward them such as he had never felt before, which was love, sprang full-fledged into his heart as he saw how steadily they kept up their fusillade. the sergeant, who now had time to think of stransky, was seized with a spasm of retributive rage. he drew his revolver determinedly. "you brought this on! i'll do for you!" he cried, turning toward the spot where he had left stransky, only to lower his revolver in amazement as he saw stransky, eager in response to a new passion, spring forward into place and pick up his rifle. "if you will not have it my way, take it yours!" said the best shot in the company, as he began firing with resolute coolness. "they have a lot of men down," said dellarme, his glasses showing the many prostrate figures on the wheat stubble. "steady! steady! we have plenty of batteries back in the hills. one will be in action soon." but would one? he understood that with their smokeless powder the gray guns could be located only by their flashes, which would not be visible unless the refraction of light were favorable. then "thur-eesh--thur-eesh" above every other sound in a long wail! no man ever forgets the first crack of a shrapnel at close quarters, the first bullet breath on his cheek, or the first supporting shell from his side in flight that passes above him. "that is ours!" called dellarme. "ours!" shouted the sergeant. "ours!" sang the thought of every one of the men. over the gray batteries on the plain an explosive ball of smoke hung in the still air; then another beside it. "thur-eesh--thur-eesh--thur-eesh," the screaming overhead became a gale that built a cloud of blue smoke over the offending gray batteries--beautiful, soft blue smoke from which a spray of steel descended. there was no spotting the flashes of the browns' guns in order to reply to them, for they were under the cover of a hill, using indirect aim as nicely and accurately as in firing pointblank. the gunners of the gray batteries could not go on with their work under such a hail-storm, they were checkmated. they stopped firing and began moving to a new position, where their commander hoped to remain undiscovered long enough to support the 128th by loosing his lightnings against the defenders at the critical moment of the next charge, which would be made as soon as fracasse's men had been reinforced. there was an end to the concussions and the thrashing of the air around dellarme's men, and they had the relief of a breaking abscess in the ear. but they became more conscious of the spits of dust in front of their faces and the passing whistles of bullets. in return, they made the sections of gray infantry in reserve rushing across the levels, leave many gray lumps behind. but fracasse's men at the foot of the slope poured in a heavier and still heavier fire. "down there's where we need the shells now!" spoke the thought of dellarme's men, which he had anticipated by a word to the signal corporal, who waved his flag one--two--three--four--five times. come on, now, with more of your special brand of death, fire-control officer! your own head is above the sky-line, though your guns are hidden. five hundred yards beyond the knoll is the range! come on! he came with a burst of screams so low in flight that they seemed to brush the back of the men's necks with a hair broom at the rate of a thousand feet a second. having watched the result, dellarme turned with a confirmatory gesture, which the corporal translated into the wigwag of "correct!" the shrapnel smoke hanging over fracasse's men appeared a heavenly blue to dellarme's men. "they are going to start for us soon! oh, but we'll get a lot of them!" whispered stransky gleefully to his rifle. dellarme glanced again toward the colonel's station. no sign of the retiring flag. he was glad of that. he did not want to fall back in face of a charge; to have his men silhouetted in the valley as they retreated. and the grays would not endure this shower-bath long without going one way or the other. he gave the order to fix bayonets, and hardly was it obeyed when he saw flashes of steel through the shrapnel smoke as the grays fixed theirs. the grays had five hundred yards to go; the browns had the time that it takes running men to cover the distance in which to stop the grays. "we'll spear any of them who has the luck to get this far!" whispered stransky to his rifle. the sentence was spoken in the midst of a salvo of shrapnel cracks, which he did not hear. he heard nothing, thought nothing, except to kill. the gray batteries on the plain, having taken up a new position and being reinforced, played on the crest at top speed instantly the gray line rose and started up the slope at the run. with the purpose of confusing no less than killing, they used percussion, which burst on striking the ground, as well as shrapnel, which burst by a time-fuse in the air. fountains of sod and dirt shot upward to meet descending sprays of bullets. the concussions of the earth shook the aim of dellarme's men, blinded by smoke and dust, as they fired through a fog at bent figures whose legs were pumping fast in dim pantomime. but the guns of the browns, also, have word that the charge has begun. the signal corporal is waiting for the gesture from dellarme agreed upon as an announcement. the brown artillery commander cuts his fuses two hundred and fifty yards shorter. he, too, uses percussion for moral effect. half of the distance from the foot to the crest of the knoll fracasse's men have gone in face of the hot, sizzling tornado of bullets, when there is a blast of explosions in their faces with all the chaotic and irresistible force of a volcanic eruption. not only are they in the midst of the first lot of the browns' shells at the shorter range, but one gray battery has either made a mistake in cutting its fuses or struck a streak of powder below standard, and its shells burst among those whom it is aiming to assist. the ground seems rising under the feet of fracasse's company; the air is split and racked and wrenched and torn with hideous screams of invisible demons. the men stop; they act on the uncontrollable instinct of self-preservation against an overwhelming force of nature. a few without the power of locomotion drop, faces pressed to the ground. the rest flee toward a shoulder of the slope through the instinct that leads a hunted man in a street into an alley. in a confusion of arms and legs, pressing one on the other, no longer soldiers, only a mob, they throw themselves behind the first protection that offers itself. fracasse also runs. he runs from the flame of a furnace door suddenly thrown open. the gray batteries have ceased firing; certain gunners' ears burn under the words of inquiry as to the cause of the mistake from an artillery commander. dellarme's men are hugging the earth too close to cheer. a desire to spring up and yell may be in their hearts, but they know the danger of showing a single unnecessary inch of their craniums above the sky-line. the sounds that escape their throats are those of a winning team at a tug of war as diaphragms relax. with the smoke clearing, they see twenty or thirty grays plastered on the slope at the point where the charge was checked. every one of those prostrate forms is within fatal range. not one moves a finger; even the living are feigning death in the hope of surviving. among them is little peterkin, so faithful in forcing his refractory legs to keep pace with his comrades. if he is always up with them they will never know what is in his heart and call him a coward. as he has been knocked unconscious, he has not been in the pell-mell retreat. his first stabbing thought on coming to was that he must be dead; but, no; he was opening his eyes sticky with dust. at least, he must be wounded! he had not power yet to move his hands in order to feel where, and when they grew alive enough to move, what he saw in front of him held them frigidly still. his nerves went searching from his head to his feet and--miracle of heaven!--found no point of pain or spot soppy with blood. if he were really hit there was bound to be one or the other, he knew from reading. between him and the faces of the browns--yes, the actual, living, terrible browns--above the glint of their rifle barrels, was no obstacle that could stop a bullet, though not more than three feet away was a crater made by a shell burst. the black circle of every muzzle on the crest seemed to be pointing at him. when were they going to shoot? when was he to be executed? would he be shot in many places and die thus? or would the very first bullet go through his head? why didn't they fire? what were they waiting for? the suspense was unbearable. the desperation of overwhelming fear driving him in irresponsible impulse, he doubled up his legs and with a cat's leap sprang for the crater. a blood-curdling burst of whistles passed over his head as a dozen rifles cracked. this time he was surely killed! he was in some other world! which was it, the good or the bad? the good, for he had a glimpse of blue sky. no, that could not be, for he had been alive when he leaped for the crater, and there he was pressed against the soft earth of its bottom. he burrowed deeper blissfully. he was the nearest to the enemy of any man of the 128th, and he certainly had passed through a gamut of emotions in the half-hour since eugene aronson had leaped over a white post. * * * * * "confound it! if we'd kept on we'd have got them! now we have to do it all over again!" growled fracasse distractedly as he looked around at the faces hugging the cover of the shoulder--faces asking, what next? each in its own way; faces blank and white; faces with lips working and eyes blinking; faces with the blood rushing back to cheeks in baffled anger. one, however, was half smiling--hugo mallin's. "you did your share of the running, i'll warrant, mallin!" said fracasse excitedly, venting his disgust on a particular object. "yes, sir," answered hugo. "it was very hard to maintain a semblance of dignity. yes, sir, i kept near you all the time so you could watch me. wasn't that what you wanted me to do, sir?" "good old hugo! the same old hugo!" breathed the spirit of the company. three or four men burst into a hysterical laugh as if something had broken in their throats. everybody felt better for this touch of drollery except the captain. yet, possibly, it may have helped him in recovering his poise. sometimes even a pin-prick will have this effect. "silence!" he said in his old manner. "i will give you something to joke about other than a little setback like this! get up there with your rifles!" he formed the nucleus of a firing-line under cover of the shoulder, and then set the remainder of his company to work with their spades making a trench. the second battalion of the 128th, which faced the knoll, was also digging at the base of the slope, and another regiment in reserve was deploying on the plain. after the failure to rush the knoll the gray commander had settled down to the business of a systematic approach. and what of those of fracasse's men who had not run but had dropped in their tracks when the charge halted? they were between two lines of fire. there was no escape. some of the wounded had a mercifully quick end, others suffered the consciousness of being hit again and again; the dead were bored through with bullet holes. in torture, the survivors prayed for death; for all had to die except peterkin, the pasty-faced little valet's son. peterkin was quite safe, hugging the bottom of the shell crater under a swarm of hornets. in a surprisingly short time he became accustomed to the situation and found himself ravenously hungry, for the strain of the last twelve hours had burned up tissue. he took a biscuit out of his knapsack and began nibbling it, as became a true rodent. xx marta's first glimpse of war as marta and the children came to the door of the chapel after the recitation of the oath, she saw the civil population moving along the street in the direction of the range. suddenly they paused in a common impulse and their heads turned as one head on the fulcrum of their necks, and their faces as one face in a set stare looked skyward. "keep on moving! no danger!" called the major of the brigade staff. "pass the word--no danger! it's not going to drop any bombs; it's only a scout plane trying to locate the positions of the defences we've thrown up overnight. no danger--keep moving!" he might as well have tried to distract the attention of the grand stand from the finish of a horse-race. more than the wizard's spell, years before, at the first sight of man in flight held them in suspense as they watched a plane approaching with the speed of an albatross down the wind straight on a line with the church tower where the sharpshooters were posted. the spread of the wings grew broader; the motor was making a circle of light as large as a man's hat-box, and the aviator was the size of some enormous insect when three or four sharp reports were audible from the church tower. still the plane came on intact over the spire. the sharpshooters had only rimmed the target, without injury to braces or engine. but they had another chance from the windows on the nearer side of the tower; and the crowd saw there the glint of rifle barrels. this time they got the bull's-eye. the aviator reeled and dropped sidewise, a dead weight caught by the braces, with his arm dangling. a teetering dip of the plane and his body was shaken free. his face, as he neared the earth in his descent, bore the surprised look of a man thumped on the back unexpectedly. marta pressed her fingers to her ears, but not soon enough to keep out the sound of a thud on the roof of the building across the street from the chapel. "i was a coward to do that! i shall see worse things!" she thought, and went to the major, who had turned to the affairs of the living directly he saw that neither the corpse of the aviator nor the wreck of the plane was to strike in the street. "i will look after these children," she said, "and we will care for as many of the old and sick as we can in our house." "the children will find their relatives or guardians in the procession there," he answered methodically. "if they do not, the government will look after them. it will not do for you to take them to your house. that would only complicate the matter of their safety." here he was interrupted by a precipitate question from one of his lieutenants, who had come running up. "no! no matter what the excuse, no one can remain!" he answered. "the nation is not going to take the risk of letting spies get information to the enemy for the sake of gratifying individual interests. every one must go!" then he called to an able-bodied citizen of thirty years or so in the procession: "here, you, if you're not in the reserve i have work for you!" "but i was excused from army service on account of heart trouble!" explained the able-bodied citizen. "we all have heart trouble to-day," remarked the major pithily. "men are giving up their lives in defence of you and your property. every man of your age must do his share when required. go with this orderly!" was the final and tart conclusion of the argument. "and see that he is made useful," he added to the orderly. an explosion in the factory district made windows rattle and brought an hysterical outcry from some of the women. "it's nothing!" the major called, in the assurance of a shepherd to his sheep. "blowing up some building that furnish cover for the enemy's approach in front of our infantry positions! you will hear more of it. don't worry! do as you're told! keep moving! keep moving!" now he had time to conclude what he had to say to marta. "as your house will soon be under fire, it will be not refuge for the children; and, in any event, we should net want to leave them to the care of the grays with the parents on our side," he explained in a manner none the less final because of its politeness. "every detail has been systematically arranged under government supervision. private efforts will only bring confusion and hardship where we would have order and all possible mercy. as for the old, the sick, and the infirm--those who cannot bear being carried far are being moved to the hospital and barracks outside the town." in proof of his words, ambulances and requisitioned carriages filled with the sick and infirm were already proceeding up one of the side streets. "it's not human, though!" marta exclaimed in the desperation of helplessness. "no, it is war, which has a habit of being inhuman," replied the major, turning to call to a woman: "now, madame, if you leave that pillow behind you will not be dropping your other things and having to stop all the time to pick them up!" "but it's the finest goose feathers and last year's crop!" said the woman; and then gasped: "oh, lord! i left my silver jug on the mantel!" "as i've told you before--as the printed slips we distributed when we woke you at dawn told you," said the major with some asperity, "you were to take only light things easily portable, and after you had gone, wagons would get what you had packed and left ready at the door of your houses, with your names clearly marked, up to two hundred pounds. the rest we trust to the mercy of the grays." there was nothing for marta to do but start homeward. the thought that her mother was alone made her hasten at a pace much more rapid than the procession of people, whose talk and exclamations formed a monotone audible in its nearness, despite the continuous rifle-fire, now broken by the pounding of the guns. "i wish i had brought the clock--it was my great-grandfather's." "johnny, you keep close to me!" "and they've taken my wife off to the hospital--separated us!" some were excruciatingly alive to the situation; others were in a daze. but one cry always roused them from their complaints; always brought a flash to the dullest eye: retribution! retribution! taken from their peaceful pursuits arbitrarily by the final authority of physical force, which they could not dispute, their minds turned in primitive passion to revenge through physical force. "i hope our army makes them pay!" "yes, make them pay! make them pay!" "it's all done to beat the grays, isn't it, miss galland? they are trying to take our land," said jacky werther as marta parted from him. "yes, it is done to beat the grays," she answered. "good luck, jacky!" yes, yes, to beat the grays! the same, idea--the fighting nature, the brute nature of man--animated both sides. had the browns really tried for peace? had they, in the spirit of her oath, appealed to justice and reason? why hadn't their premier before all the world said to the premier of the grays, as one honest, friendly neighbor to another over a matter of dispute: "we do not want war. we know you outnumber us, but we know you would not take advantage of that. if we are wrong we will make amends; if you are wrong we know that you will. let us not play tricks in secret to gain points, we civilized nations, but be frank with each other. let us not try to irritate each other or to influence our people, but to realize how much we have in common and that our only purpose is common progress and happiness." but no. this was against the precedent of cain, who probably got abel into a cul-de-sac, handed down to the keeping of the roman aristocrat, the baron, the first galland, and the fat, pompous little man. it would deprive armies of an occupation. it would make statesmanship too simple and naïve to have the distinction of craft, which gave one man the right to lead another. both sides had to act in the old fashion of mutual suspicion and chicanery. she was overwrought in the fervor of her principles; she was in an anguish of protest. her spirit, in arms against an overwhelming fact that was wrong, sinful, ridiculous, demanded some expression in action. now she was half running, both running away from horror and toward horror; in a shuttle of resolutions and emotions: a being at war with war. passing the head of the procession, she soon had the castle road to herself, except for orderlies on motor-cycles and horseback, until a train of automobile wagons loaded with household goods roared by. the full orchestra of war was playing right and left: crashing, high-pitched gun-booms near at hand; low-pitched, reverberating gun-booms in the distance. at the turn of the road in front of the castle she saw the gunners of the batteries that feller had watched approaching making an emplacement for their guns in a field of carrots that had not yet been harvested. the roots of golden yellow were mixed with the tossing spadefuls of earth. a shadow like a great cloud in mad flight shot over the earth, and with the gunners she looked up to see a gray dirigible. already it was turning homeward; already it had gained its object as a scout. on the fragile platform of the gondola was a man, seemingly a human mite aiming a tiny toy gun. his target was one of the brown aeroplanes. "they're in danger of cutting their own envelope! they can't get the angle! the plane is too high!" exclaimed the artillery commander. both he and his men forgot their work in watching the spectacle of aerial david against aerial goliath. "if our man lands with his little bomb, oh, my!" he grinned. "that's why he is so high. he's been waiting up there." "pray god he will!" exclaimed one of the gunners. "look at him volplane--motor at full speed, too!" the pilot was young etzel, who, as lanstron had observed, would charge a church tower if he were bidden. he was taking no risks in missing. his ego had no cosmos except that huge, oblong gas-bag. he drove for it as a hawk goes for its prey. one life for a number of lives--the sacrifice of a single aeroplane for a costly dirigible--that was an exchange in favor of the browns. and etzel had taken an oath in his heart--not standing on a café table--that he would never let any dirigible that he attacked escape. "into it! making sure! oh, splen--o!" cried the artillery commander. a ball of lightning shot forth sheets of flame. dirigible and plane were hidden in an ugly swirl of yellowish smoke, rolling out into a purple cloud that spread into prismatic mist over the descent of cavorting human bodies and broken machinery and twisted braces, flying pieces of tattered or burning cloth. david has taken goliath down with him in a death grip. an aeroplane following the dirigible as a screen, hoping to get home with information if the dirigible were lost, had escaped the sharpshooters in the church tower by flying around the town. however, it ran within range of the automatic and the sharpshooters on top of the castle tower. they failed of the bull's-eye, but their bullets, rimming the target, crippling the motor, and cutting braces, brought the crumpling wings about the helpless pilot. the watching gunners uttered "ahs!" of horror and triumph as they saw him fall, gliding this way and that, in the agony of slow descent. "come, now!" called the artillery commander. "we are wasting precious time." entering the grounds of the galland house, marta had to pass to one side of the path, now blocked by army wagons and engineers' materials and tools. soldiers carrying sand-bags were taking the shortest cut, trampling the flowers on their way. "do you know whose property this is?" she demanded in a burst of anger. "ours--the nation's!" answered one, perspiring freely at his work. "sorry!" he added on second thought. already parts of the first terrace were shoulder-high with sand-bags and one automatic had been set in place, marta observed as she turned to the veranda. there her mother sat in her favorite chair, hands relaxed as they rested on its arms, while she looked out over the valley in the supertranquillity that comes to some women under a strain--as soldiers who have been on sieges can tell you--that some psychologists interpret one way and some another, none knowing even their own wives. "marta, did any of the children come?" mrs. galland asked in her usual pleasant tone. so far as she was concerned, the activity on the terrace did not exist. she seemed oblivious of the fact of war. "yes, seven." "and did you hold your session?" "yes." marta's monosyllables absently answering the questions were expressive of her wonder at her mother. most girls do not know their mothers much better than psychologists know their wives. "i am glad of that, marta. i am glad you went and sorry that i opposed your going, because, marta, whatever happens one should go regularly about what he considers his duty," said mrs. galland. "they have been as considerate as they could, evidently by colonel lanstron's orders," she proceeded, nodding toward the industrious engineers. "and they've packed all the paintings and works of art and put them in the cellar, where they will be safe." the captain of engineers in command, seeing marta, hurried toward her. "miss galland, isn't it?" he asked. "i have been waiting for you. i--i--well, i found that i could not make the situation clear to your mother." "he thinks me in my second childhood or out of my head," mrs. galland explained with a shade of tartness. "and he has been so polite in trying to conceal his opinion, too," she added with a comprehending smile. the captain flushed in embarrassment. "i--i can't speak too strongly," he declared when he had regained his composure. "though everything seems safe here now, it may not be in an hour. you must go, all of you. this house will be in an inferno as soon as the 53d falls back, and i can't possibly get your mother to appreciate the fact, miss galland." "but i said that i did appreciate it and that the gallands have been in infernos before--perhaps not as bad as the one that is coming--but, then, the gallands must keep abreast of the times," replied mrs. galland. "i have asked minna and she prefers to remain. i am glad of that. i am glad now that we kept her, marta. she is as loyal as my old maid and the butler and the cook were to your grandmother in the last war. ah, the gallands had many servants then!" "this isn't like the old war. this place will be shelled, enfiladed! and you two--" the captain protested desperately. "i became a galland when i married," said mrs. galland, "and the galland women have always remained with their property in time of war. naturally, i shall remain!" "miss galland, it was you--your influence i was counting on to--" the captain turned to marta in a final appeal. mrs. galland was watching her daughter's face intently. "we stay!" replied marta, and the captain saw in the depths of her eyes, a cold blue-black, that further argument was useless. with a shrug of his shoulders he was turning to go when his lieutenant, hurrying up and pointing to the row of lindens at the edge of the estate, exclaimed: "if we only had those trees out of the way! they cut the line of our fire! they form cover and protection for the enemy." "the orders are against it," replied the captain. "lanstron may be a great soldier, but--" declared the lieutenant petulantly. "cut the lindens if it will help the browns!" called mrs. galland. "cut the lindens, mother! is everything to be destroyed--everything to satisfy the appetite of savagery?" exclaimed marta. then, in an abrupt change of mood, inexplicable to the captain and even to herself, she added: "my mother says to cut the lindens. and you will tell us when to go into the house?" marta asked the captain. "yes. there is no danger yet--none until we see the 53d falling back." what mockery, what uncanny staginess for either her mother or herself to be so calm! yet, what else were they to do? were they to scream? or fall into each other's arms and sob? marta found a strange pleasure in looking at her garden before it was spattered with blood, as it had been in the last war. it had never seemed more beautiful. there was a sublimity in nature's obliviousness to the thrashing of the air with shells in a gentle breeze that fluttered the petals of the hydrangeas. the sight of feller coming along the path of the second terrace brought in sudden vividness to her mind that question which must soon be decided: whether or not she would allow him to remain to carry out his plan. he still had the garden-shears in hand. he was walking with the slow and soft step which was in keeping with the serenity of his occupation. pausing before the chrysanthemum bed, he touched his hat, and as he awaited her approach he lifted one of the largest blooms that was drooping from its weight on the slender stem. "they look well, don't you think?" he asked cautiously; and he was very cool, while his eyes had a singular limpidity, speaking better than any words the sadness of his story and the dependence of his hope of regeneration upon her. "yes, quite the best they ever have," she replied, inclined to look away from him, conscious of her sensitiveness to his appeal, and yet still looking at him, while she marvelled at him, at herself, at everything. "thank you," he said. "you don't know how much that means, how pleased i am." now came the sweep of a rising roar from the sky with the command to attention of the rush of a fast express-train past a country railway station. two gray dirigibles with their escort of aeroplanes--in formation like that which mrs. galland and feller had seen race along the frontier--were bearing toward the pass over the pass road. one glimpse of the squadron was as a match to feller's military passion. he swept off his old straw hat and with it all of the gardener's chrysalis. feller the artillerist gazed aloft in feverish excitement. "lanny has them guessing! they're bound to know his plans if it takes all the air craft in the shop!" he exclaimed. "and what are we doing? yes, what are we doing?" he cried in alarm as his glance swept the sky in front of the squadron, already even with the terrace in its terrific speed. the automatic and the riflemen in the tower banged away to no purpose, for the aerostatic officers of the grays had been apprised of the danger in that direction. "minutes, seconds count! where are our high-angle guns?" feller went on. he was unconsciously gesticulating with all the fervor of hurrying a battery into place to cover an infantry retreat in a crisis. "and they're turning! what's the matter? what are high-angle guns for, anyway, with such targets naked over our lines? ah-h! beautiful!" the central sections of the envelope of the rear dirigible had been torn in shreds; it was buckling. clouds of blue shrapnel smoke broke around its gondola. a number of field-guns joined forces with a battery of high-angle guns in a havoc that left a drifting derelict that had ceased to exist to feller's mind immediately it was out of action; for he saw that the remainder of the squadron had completed its loop and was pointing toward the plain. "and they were low enough to see all they want to know and rising now--evidently already out of reach of our guns--and nothing against them!" he groaned as he saw a clear sky ahead of the big disk and its attending wings, while clenched fists pumping up and down with the movement of his forearms shook his whole body in a palpitation of angry disgust. "lanny, what's the matter! lanny, they've beaten you! eh? what? what--" a long whistle broke from his lips. his body still, transfixed, he cupped his hands over his eyes. "so, that is it! that is your plan, lanny, old boy!" he shouted. "but if one of their confounded little aviators gets back, he has the story!" from a great altitude, literally out of the blue of heaven, high over the gray lines, marta made out a brown squadron of dirigibles and planes descending across the track of the grays. "catch them as they come back! between them and home--between the badger and his hole!" feller went on explosively; and then, while the two squadrons were approaching at countering angles, he breathed the thoughts that the spectacle aroused in his quick brain: "this is war--war! talk about your old-fashioned, take-snuff-my-card-sir courage, pray-and-swear courage--what about this? what about old lanny's chosen men of the air, without boasts or oaths, offering their lives in no wild charge, but coolly, hand on lever, concentratedly, scientifically, in sane, twentieth-century fashion, just to keep our positions secret! now--now for it!" the gray dirigibles, stern on, were little larger than umbrellas and the planes than swallows; the brown dirigibles, side on, were big sausages and their planes specks. to the eye, this meeting was like that of two small flocks of soaring birds apparently unable to change their course. but imagination could picture the fearful crash of forces, whose wounded would find the succor of no hospital except impact on the earth below. marta put her hands over her eyes for only a second, she thought, before she withdrew them in vexation--hadn't she promised herself not to be cowardly?--to see one brown dirigible and two brown aeroplanes ascending at a sharp angle above a cloud of smoke to escape the high-angle guns of the grays. "we've got them all! no lips survive to tell what the eye saw!" exclaimed feller, his words bubbling with the joy of water in the sunlight. "as i thought," he continued in professional enthusiasm and discrimination. "we are getting the theory of one feature of the new warfare in practice. it isn't like the popular dream of wiping out armies by dropping bombs as you sail overhead. the force of gravity is against the fliers. you have only to bring them to earth to put them out of action. plane driven into plane dirigible into dirigible, and an end of bomb-dropping and scouting! war will still be won by the infantry and the guns. yes, the guns--the new guns! they--" feller recalled with a nervous shock flashing through his system that he was a gardener, a gentle old gardener. he put his hat back on a head already bent, while the shoulders, after a pathetic shrug, drew together in the accustomed stoop. his slim fingers slipped under the largest chrysanthemum blossom, his attitude the same as when he had held it up for marta's inspection before they heard the roar of the gray squadron's motors. "i think that we might cut them all now and fill the vases," he suggested, a musical, ingratiating note in his voice. "to-morrow we may not have a chance." "yes," she agreed mechanically, her thoughts still dwelling on the collision of the squadrons. "and some of the finest ones for you to take now," he added, plying the shears as he made his selections. "i'll bring the rest," he concluded when he had gathered a dozen choice blossoms. his fingers touched hers as the stems changed hands. in his eyes, showing just below the rim of his hat, was the light which she had seen first during the dramatic scene in his sitting-room and the appeal of deference, of suffering, and of the boyish hope of a cadet. xxi she changes her mind the indefatigable captain of engineers had turned spectator. with high-power binoculars glued to his eyes, he was watching to see if the faint brown line of dellarme's men were going to hold or break. if it held, he might have hours in which to complete his task; if it broke, he had only minutes. marta came up the terrace path from the chrysanthemum bed in time to watch the shroud of shrapnel smoke billowing over the knoll, to visualise another scene in place of the collision of the squadrons, and to note the captain's exultation over fracasse's repulse. "how we must have punished them!" he exclaimed to his lieutenant. "how we must have mowed them down! lanstron certainly knew what he was doing." "you mean that he knew how we should mow them down?" asked marta. not until she spoke did he realize that she was standing near him. "why, naturally! if we hadn't mowed them down his plan would have failed. mowing them down was the only way to hold them back," he said; and seeing her horror made haste to add: "miss galland, now you know what a ghastly business war is. it will be worse here than there." "yes," she said blankly. her colorless cheeks, her drooping underlip convinced him that now, with a little show of masculine authority, he would gain his point. "you and your mother must go!" he said firmly. this was the very thing to whip her thoughts back from the knoll. he was thunderstruck at the transformation: hot color in her cheeks, eyes aflame, lips curving around a whirlwind of words. "you name the very reason why i wish to stay. why do you want to save the women? why shouldn't they bear their share? why don't you want them to see men mowed down? is it because you are ashamed of your profession? why, i ask?" the problem of dealing with an angry woman breaking a shell fire of questions over his head had not been ready-solved in the captain's curriculum like other professional problems, nor was it mentioned in the official instructions about the defences of the galland house. he aimed to smile soothingly in the helplessness of man in presence of feminine fury. "it is an old custom," he was saying, but she had turned away. "picking flowers! what mockery! lanny's plan--mow them down! mow them down! mow them down!" she went on, more to herself than to him, as she dropped the chrysanthemums on the veranda table. in a fire of resolution she hastened back down the terrace steps. the grays and the browns were fighting in their way for their causes; she must fight in her way for hers. stopping before feller, she seemed taller than her usual self and quivering with impatience. "have you connected the wire to the telephone yet?" she asked abruptly. "no, not yet," he answered. "then please come with me to the tower!" whatever his fears, he held them within the serene bounds of the gardener's personality, while his covert glimpse of her warned him against the mistake of trying to dam the current of a passion running so strong. "certainly, miss galland," he said agreeably, quite as if there were nothing unusual in her attitude. no word passed between them as he kept pace with her rapid gait along the path, but out of the corner of his eye he surveyed in measuring admiration and curiosity the straight line of nose and forehead under its heavy crown of hair, with a few detached and riotous tendrils. "bring a lantern!" she said, as they entered his sitting-room, in a way that left no excuse for refusal. when he had brought the lantern she took it from his hand and led the way into the tunnel. "please make the connection so that i can speak to lanny!" she instructed him after she had pressed the button and the panel door of the telephone recess flew open. for an instant he hesitated; then curiosity and the unremitting authority of her tone had their way. he dropped to his knees, ran his fingers into an aperture between two stones and made a jointure of two wire ends. "all ready!" he said, and eagerly. what a delightfully spirited rage she was in! and what the devil was she going to do, anyway? as she took the receiver from the hook she heard an electric bell at the other end of the line, but no "hello!" "the bell means that lanny will be called if he is there. no one except him is to talk over this telephone," feller explained softly. marta waited for some time before she heard a familiar, calm voice, with a faint echo of irritation over being interrupted in the midst of pressing duties. "well, gustave, old boy, it can't be that you are in touch with westerling yet?" "it is i--marta!" and she came abruptly to the flaming interrogation that had brought her there. "i want to ask a question. i want a clear answer--i want everything clear! if feller's plan succeeds it means that you will know where the grays are going to attack?" "yes; why, yes, marta!" "so that you can mow them down?" "that is one way of putting it--yes." "if i keep your secret--if i let the telephone remain, i am an accomplice! i shall not be that--not to any kind of murder! i shall not let the telephone remain!" "as you will, marta," he replied. "but anything that leads to victory means less slaughter in the end. for we have tested our army well enough to know that only when it is decimated will it ever retreat from its main line of defence." "the old argument!" she answered bitterly. "as you will, marta! only, marta--i plead with you--please, please leave the house!" he begged passionately. again that request, which was acid to the raw spot of her anger! again that assumption that she must desert her own home because uninvited guests would make it the theatre of their quarrel! how clear and unassailable her reply in the purview of her distraught logic! "why particularly care for one life when you deal in lives by the wholesale?" she demanded. "why think of my life when you are taking other lives every minute?" "because i am human, not just a machine! because yours is the one life of all to me--because i love you!" feller, getting only one side of the talk, cautiously watching her as he held up the lantern to throw her face more clearly in relief, saw her start and caught the sound of a quick indrawing of breath between her lips, while something electric quivered through her frame. then, as one who has twinged from a pin-prick of distraction which she will not permit to waive her from a white-heat purpose, she exclaimed, in rapid, stabbing, desperate sentences: "that! that now! after what i said to you a week ago! that in the midst of your mowing! no, no, no!" she drove the receiver down on the hook and blazed out to feller: "now you will tear out the 'phone'" he steadied himself against the wall, covering his face with his hands, and for the first time in her life she heard a man sob. "my one chance--my last chance--gone!" he said brokenly. "the chance for me to redeem myself, so that i might again look at the flag without shame, taken from me in the name of mercy, when, by helping to bring victory and shorten the war, i might have saved thousands of lives!" he proceeded dismally. "the old argument! lanny has just used it!" said marta. but coming from a man sobbing it sounded differently. his hands fell away from his face as if they were a dead weight. she saw him a wreck of a human being with only his eyes alive, regarding her in harrowing wonder and reproach. "when i was a gardener eating at the kitchen table, playing the part of a spy--i who was honor man at the military school--i who had a conscience that sent me back from the free life on the plains to try to atone--when i hoped to do this thing in order to prove that i was fit to die if not to live----" he was as a man pitting his last grain of strength against overwhelming odds. there were long, poignant pauses between his sentences as he seemed to strive for coherence. "--in order to prove it for my country, for lanny, and for you who have been so kind to me!" he concluded, another dry sob shaking him. his chin dropped to his breast. even the spark in his eyes flickered out. in the feeble lantern light that deepened the shadows of his face he was indescribably pitiful. she could not look away from him. there was something infectious about his misery that compelled her to feel with his nerves. "please," he pleaded faintly--"please leave me to myself. i will tear out the telephone--trust me--only i wish to be alone. i am uncertain--i see only dark!" he sank lower against the wall, his head fell forward, though not so far but he could see her from under his eyebrows. she started as she had at the telephone, her breath came in the same sweep between her lips, and he looked for a passionate refusal; but it did not come. she seemed in some spell of recollection or projection of thought. a lustrous veil was over her eyes. she was not looking at him or at anything in the range of her vision. she shuddered and abruptly seized her left wrist with her right hand, as lanstron had in the arbor, which had brought her cry of "i'm hurting you!" in this inscrutable attitude she was silent for a time. "let it remain--it means so much to you!" she said wildly, and hurried past him still clasping her wrist. he stared into the darkness that closed around her. with the last sound of her footsteps he became another gustave feller, who, all mercurial vivacity, clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth with a "la, la, la!" as his hand shot out for the receiver. there it paused, and still another idea animated still another gustave feller. "why not tear out the telephone--why not?" he mused. "why didn't i agree to her plan? why can't i ever carry more than one thing in mind at once? i forgot that we were at war. i forget that i am already at the front. i have skill! god knows, i ought to have courage! volunteers who have both are always welcome in war. any number of gunners will be killed! when an artillery colonel saw what i could do he would take me on without further questioning. then i should not be a spy, shuffling and whining, but bang-bang-bang on the target!" in imagination he now had a gun. his hand made a movement of manipulation, head bent, eye sighting. "how do you like that? you will like this one less! and here's another--but, no, no!" he dropped against the wall again; he drove his nails into his palms in a sort of castigation. "i am the same as a soldier now--a soldier assigned to a definite duty for my flag. i should break my word of honor--a soldier's word of honor! no, not that again!" he snatched down the receiver to make sure that temptation did not reappear in too luring a guise, and still another gustave feller was in the ascendant. "didn't i say to trust it to me, lanny?" he called merrily. "miss galland consents!" "she does? good! good for you, gustave!" "her second thought," feller rejoined. "and, lanny," he proceeded in boyish enthusiasm, using a slang word of military school days, "it was bulludgeous the way we brought down their planes and dirigibles! how i ache to be in it when the guns are so busy! with batteries back of the house and an automatic in the yard, things seem very homelike. i--" "gustave," interrupted lanstron, "we all have our weaknesses, and perhaps yours is to play a part. so keep away from the fight and don't think of the guns!" "i will, i swear!" feller answered fervently. "one thought, one duty! i'll 'phone you when the house is taken, and if you don't hear from me again, why, you'll know the plan has failed and i'm a prisoner. but, trust me, lanny! trust me--for my flag and my country against the invader!" "against the invader--that justifies all! and get miss galland out of it. you seem to have influence with her. get her out of it!" "trust me!" "bless you, and god with you!" "one thought, one duty!" repeated feller with the devoutness of a monk trying to forget everything except his aves as he started toward the stairway. "i wonder if we still hold the knoll!" he mused, extinguishing the lantern. "we do! we do!" he cried when he was in the doorway. "oh, this is life!" he added after a deep-drawn breath, watching the little clouds of shrapnel smoke here and there along the base of the range. xxii flowers for the wounded was there nothing for marta to do? could she only look on in a fever of restlessness while action roared around her? on the way from the tower to the house the sight of several automobile ambulances in the road at the foot of the garden stilled the throbs of distraction in her temples with an answer. the wounded! they were already coming in from the field. she hurried down the terrace steps. the major surgeon in charge, surprised to find any woman in the vicinity, was about to tell her so automatically; then, in view of her intensity, he waited for her to speak. "you will let us do something for them?" marta asked. "we will make them some hot soup." he was immediately businesslike. no less than dellarme or fracasse or lanstron or westerling, he had been preparing throughout his professional career for this hour. the detail of caring for the men who were down had been worked out no less systematically than that of wounding them. "thank you, no! we don't want to waste time," he replied. "we must get them away with all speed so that the ambulances may return promptly. it's only a fifteen-minute run to the hospital, where every comfort and appliance are ready and where they will be given the right things to eat." "then we will give them some wine!" marta persisted. "not if we can prevent it! not to start hemorrhages! the field doctors have brandy for use when advisable, and there is brandy with all the ambulances." clearly, volunteer service was not wanted. there was no room at the immediate front for florence nightingales in the modern machine of war. "then water?" the major surgeon aimed to be patient to an earnest, attractive young woman. "we have sterilized water--we have everything," he explained. "if we hadn't at this early stage i ought to be serving an apprenticeship in a village apothecary shop. anything that means confusion, delay, unnecessary excitement is bad and unmerciful." marta was not yet at the end of her resources. the recollection of the dying private who had asked her mother for a rose in the last war flashed into mind. "you haven't flowers! they won't do any harm, even if they aren't sterilized. the wounded like flowers, don't they? don't you like flowers? look! we've millions!" "yes, i do. they do. a good idea. bring all the flowers you want to." the major surgeon's smile to marta was not altogether on account of her suggestion. "it ought to help anybody who was ever wounded anywhere in the world to have you give him a flower!" he was thinking. she ran for an armful of blossoms and was back before the arrival of the first wounded man who preceded the stretchers on foot. he was holding up a hand bound in a white first-aid bandage which had a red spot in the centre. those hit in hand or arm, if the surgeon's glance justified it, were sent on up the road to a point a mile distant, where transportation in requisitioned vehicles was provided. these men were triumphant in their cheerfulness. they were alive; they had done their duty, and they had the proof of it in the coming souvenirs of scars. some of the forms on stretchers had peaceful faces in unconsciousness of their condition. others had a look of wonder, of pain, of apprehension in their consciousness that death might be near. the single word "shrapnel!" by a hospital-corps corporal told the story of crushed or lacerated features, in explanation of a white cloth covering a head with body uninjured. feller, strolling out into the garden under the spell of watching shell bursts, saw what marta was doing. with the same feeling of relief at opportunity for action that she had felt, he hastened to assist her, bringing flowers by the basketful and pausing to watch her distribute them--watching her rather than the wounded and enjoying incidental thrills at examples of the efficiency of artillery fire. "the guns--the guns are going to play a great part!" he thought. "these rapid-firers will recover all the artillery's prestige of napoleon's time!" many of the wounded themselves looked at marta even more than at the flowers. it was good to see the face of a woman, her eyes limpid with sympathy, and it was not what she said but the way she spoke that brought smiles in response to hers. for she was no solemn ministering angel, but high-spirited, cheery, of the sort that the major surgeon would have chosen to distribute flowers to the men. every remark of the victims of war made its distinct and indelible impression on the gelatine of her mind. "i like my blue aster better than that yellow weed of yours, tom!" "you didn't know ed schmidt got it? yes, he was right next me in the line." "say, did you notice dellarme's smile? it was wonderful." "and old bert stransky! i heard him whistling the wedding march as he fired." "miss, i'll keep this flower forever!" "they say billy lister will live--his cheek was shot away!" "once we got going i didn't mind. it seemed as if i'd been fighting for years!" "hole no bigger than a lead-pencil. i'll be back in a week!" "yes; don't these little bullets make neat little holes?" "we certainly gave them a surprise when they came up the hill! i wonder if we missed the fellow that jumped into the shell crater!" "our company got it worst!" "not any worse than ours, i'll wager!" "oh--oh--can't you go easier? oh-h-h--" the groan ending in a clenching of the teeth. "hello, jake! you here, too, and going in my automobile? and we've both got lower berths!" "sh-h! that poor chap's dying!" worst of all to marta was the case of a shrapnel fracture of the cranium, with the resulting delirium, in which the sufferer's incoherence included memories of childhood scenes, moments on the firing-line, calls for his mother, and prayers to be put out of misery. a prod of the hypodermic from the major surgeon, and "on the operating-table in fifteen minutes" was the answer to marta's question if the poor fellow would live. until dark, in groups, at intervals, and again singly, the wounded were coming in from a brigade front in the region where the rifles were crackling and the shrapnel clouds were hanging prettily over the hills; and stretchers were being slipped into place in the ambulances, while marta kept at her post. "we shan't have much more to do at this station," said the major surgeon when a plodding section of infantry in retreat arrived. xxiii stransky fights alone every unit engrossed in his own work! every man taught how a weak link may break a chain and realizing himself as a link and only a link! the captain of engineers forgot marta's existence as an error of his subordinates caught his eye, and he went to caution the axemen to cut closer to the ground, as stumps gave cover for riflemen. for the time being he had no more interest in the knoll than in the wreckage of dirigibles which were down and out of the fight. after all, the knoll was only a single point on the vast staff map--only one of many points of a struggle whose progress was bulletined through the siftings of regimental, brigade, division, and corps headquarters in net results to the staff. partow and lanstron overlooked all. their knowledge made the vast map live under their eyes. but our concern is with the story of two regiments, and particularly of two companies, and that is story enough. if you would grasp the whole, multiply the conflict on the knoll by ten thousand. there had been the engrossment of transcendent emotion in repelling the charge. what followed was like some grim and passionless trance with triggers ticking off the slow-passing minutes. dellarme aimed to keep down the fusillade from fracasse's trench and yet not to neglect the fair targets of the reserves advancing by rushes to the support of the 128th. reinforced, the gray streak at the bottom of the slope poured in a heavier fire. above the steady crackle of bullets sent and the whistle of bullets received rose the cry of "doctor! doctor!" which meant each time that another brown rifle had been silenced. the litter bearers, hard pressed to remove the wounded, left the dead. already death was a familiar sight--an article of exchange in which dellarme's men dealt freely. the man at stransky's side had been killed outright. he lay face down on his rifle stock. his cap had fallen off. stransky put it back on the man's head, and the example was followed in other cases. it was a good idea to keep up a show of a full line of caps to the enemy. suddenly, as by command, the fire from the base of the knoll ceased altogether. dellarme understood at once what this meant--the next step in the course of a systematic, irresistible approach by superior numbers. it was to allow the ground scouts to advance. individual gray spots detaching themselves from the gray streak began to crawl upward in search of dead spaces where the contour of the ground would furnish some protection from the blaze of bullets from the crest. "over their heads! don't try to hit them!" dellarme passed the word. "that's it! spare one to get a dozen!" said stransky, grinning in ready comprehension. he seemed to be grinning every time that dellarme looked in that direction. he was plainly enjoying himself. his restless nature had found sport to its taste. the creeping scouts must have signalled back good news, for groups began crawling slowly after them. "over their heads! encourage them!" dellarme commanded. after they had advanced two or three hundred yards they stopped, shoulders and hands exposed in silhouette, and began to work feverishly with their spades. "now let them have it!" "oh, beautiful!" cried stransky. "that baby captain of ours has some brains, after all! we'll get them now and we'll get them when they run!" but they did not run. unfalteringly they took their punishment while they turned over the protecting sod in the midst of their own dead and wounded. in a few minutes they had dropped spades for rifles, and other sections either crawled or ran forward precipitately and fell to the task of joining the isolated beginnings into a single trench. again dellarme looked toward regimental headquarters, his fixed, cheery smile not wholly masking the appeal in his eyes. the grays had only two or three hundred yards to go when they should make their next charge in order to reach the crest. but his men had fifteen hundred to go in the valley before they were out of range. after their brave resistance facing the enemy they would receive a hail of bullets in their backs. this was the time to withdraw if there were to be assurance of a safe retreat. but there was no signal. until there was, he must remain. the trench grew; the day wore on. two rifles to one were now playing against his devoted company, which had had neither food nor drink since early morning. as he scanned his thinning line he saw a look of bloodlessness and hopelessness gathering on the set faces of which he had grown so fond during this ordeal. some of the men were crouching too much for effective aim. "see that you fire low! keep your heads up!" he called. "for your homes, your country, and your god! pass the word along!" parched throat after parched throat repeated the message hoarsely and leaden shoulders raised a trifle and dust-matted eyelashes narrowed sharply on the sights. "for the man in us!" growled stransky. "for the favor of nature at birth that gave us the right to wear trousers instead of skirts! for the joy of hell, give them hell!" "for our homes! for the man in us!" they repeated, swallowing the words as if they had the taste of a stimulant. but dellarme knew that it would not take much to precipitate a break. he himself felt that he had been on that knoll half a lifetime. he looked at his watch and it was five o'clock. for seven hours they had held on. the grays' trench was complete the breadth of the slope; more reserves were coming up. the brigade commander of the grays was going to make sure that the next charge succeeded. at last dellarme's glance toward regimental headquarters showed the flag that was the signal for withdrawal. could he accomplish it? the first lieutenant, with a shattered arm, had gone on a litter. the old sergeant was dead, a victim of the colonial wars. used to fighting savage enemies, he had been too eager in exposing himself to a civilized foe. he had been shot through the throat. "men of the first section," dellarme called, "you will slip out of line with the greatest care not to let the enemy know that you are going!" "going--going! careful! men of the first section going!" the parched throats repeated in a thrilling whisper. "those who remain keep increasing their fire!" called dellarme again. "cover the whole breadth of the trench!" every fourth man wormed himself backward on his stomach until he was below the sky-line, when his stiffened limbs brought him to his feet and he started on a dead run down into the valley and toward a cut behind another knoll across the road from the galland house. "tom fragini, with your corporal dead i put you in charge of the first section! what are you waiting for, corporal fragini?" tom was bending over grandfather fragini, who had been forgotten by everybody in the ordeal. the old man was lying where he had fallen after the first burst of shrapnel. "can't go! got a game leg!" said grandfather, pointing to a swollen ankle that had been bruised by a piece of shrapnel jacket that had lost most of its velocity before striking him. "you do your duty and leave me alone. i ain't a fighting man any more. i done my work when i steadied you young fellows." "yes, go on, fragini," said dellarme. "attend to your men. everybody in his place. we'll get the old man away on a litter." "yes, you go or you ain't any grandson of mine!" shouted the old man in a high-pitched voice. "just been promoted, too! you'll be up for insubordination in a minute, you young whelp!" dellarme meant to look after grandfather, but his attention was engrossed in seeing that his men withdrew cautiously, for every minute that he was able to delay the enemy's charge was vital. he himself picked up a rifle in order to increase the volume of fire when the third section was starting. as the fourth and last section drew off he uttered his first cry of triumph of the day as his final look revealed the grays still in place. but they would not wait long once all fire from the knoll had ceased. stransky, who was in the fourth section, remained to give a parting shot. "good-by, d---you!" he called to the grays. "you'll hear more from me later!" then dellarme saw that grandfather had not yet been carried away and no litters remained. what was to be done? grandfather was prompt with his own view. "just leave me behind. i've done my work, i tell you!" he declared. "can't lose you, grandpop!" said stransky. quickly shifting his pack to the ground, he squatted with his back to the old man. "i ain't going to--and you're a traitor, anyway; that's what you are!" "no back talk! no politics in this!" stransky replied. "get up! you carry your skin and i'll carry your bones. get up quick!" with dellarme's authoritative assistance grandfather mounted. then dellarme put stransky's pack on his own back. "let me carry your rifle, too," he said to stransky as they started. "not much!" answered stransky. "i was just married to that rifle this morning. we're on our honeymoon trip and getting fairly well acquainted, and expect shortly to settle down to a busy domestic life." he set off at a lope and gained the rear of the section in his first burst of speed. as the other men got their second wind, however, stransky began to puff and they soon drew away from him. "put me down! i ain't going to depend on any traitor that insulted the flag!" protested grandfather. "that's the way! call out to me now and then so i'll know you're there," said stransky. "you're so light i mightn't know it if you fell off." dellarme did not think it right to expose the last section by asking it to delay. shepherd of his flock and miser of his pieces of gold, now that their work was done the one thing he wanted in the world was that they should escape without further punishment. already the van of the first section was disappearing into the cut in safety. but the fourth section, which had held to the last, had yet a thousand yards to go over a path bare of cover except a single small bush. at any moment he expected to hear a cheer from the knoll, and what would follow the cheer he knew only too well. yet he tarried with stransky out of one man's impulse not to desert another in danger. at the same time he was wroth with the old man for having made such a nuisance of himself. "what are you waiting for?" stransky demanded of dellarme. "i like good company," answered dellarme cheerfully. "compliment for you, grandfather!" said stransky. "put me down!" screamed grandfather. "still there, eh? thanks, grandpop!" said stransky, turning on dellarme. "can't you run any faster than that, captain? your place is with your men, sir. if you got wounded i'd have to carry you, too. your company's gaining on you every minute. hurry up!" from the peremptory way that he spoke, dellarme might have been the private and stransky the officer. "right!" said dellarme in face of such unanswerable military logic, and broke into a run. stransky adapted himself to a pace which he thought he could maintain, and plodded on, eyes on the bush as a half-way point. after a while he heard a mighty hurrah, which was cut short abruptly; then spits of dust about their feet hastened the steps of the last section, which was near the cut. he saw men drop out of line to make a cradle of their arms for comrades who had been hit; and these finally passed out of danger with their burdens. "no flock in sight! it's the turn of the individual birds!" thought stransky, and heard a familiar sound about his ears. "bullets!" exclaimed grandfather. "don't whistle like they used to. they kind of crack and sizzle now. maybe if they hit me i'll stop 'em, and that'll save you." "that's so," replied stransky glumly, realizing that he was running with a human shield on his back. "but they'll go right through him he's so thin," he thought in relief. the worst of it was that he had to receive without sending, which made him boil with rage. he wished that the bush had legs so it could run toward him; he half believed that it had and was retreating. "they're shooting right at us, and that's in our favor. it's hard to get the bull's-eye at that range," he assured grandfather. whish-whish-whish! enough pellets were singing by to have torn away the rim of the target, yet none got the centre before stransky dropped behind the bush. blessed bush! back of it was a bowlder. thrice-blessed bowlder! it protected grandfather as securely as the armor of a battleship. "we are having a noisy time," remarked stransky as two or three of the leaves fell. "intelligent thieves! how did you guess we were here?" and he put his big thumb to his big nose. "but they didn't know about the bowlder!" said the old man with a senile giggle. "say, i didn't mean it when i called you a traitor--not after the fight! i just said that to make you mad so you'd put me down and we shouldn't lose a good fighting man trying to save an old bag of bones like me. you ain't no traitor! you're a patriot!" "more politics, when i'm simply full of cussedness!" grumbled stransky. "not having any home, i'm fighting to save the other fellows' homes, principally because i was married this morning by a shrapnel-shell to a lady that understands me perfectly. say, shall we give them a few?" he asked with a squint down the bridge of his nose as he took up his rifle. "yes, give 'em a few!" grandfather urged when they ought to have remained quiet, as the firing was dying down. it was not worth while to shoot at a bush, and after all the torrent of lead that they had poured into the bush the grays had concluded that nothing behind it could remain alive. stransky aimed at a head and shoulder on the sky-line, which he took for those of an officer, and was accurate enough to make the head and shoulders duck and to get a swarm of bullets in return. "children, why will you waste your country's ammunition?" said stransky, firing again. "that's the way to talk!" said grandfather approvingly. "nothing like a little gayety and ginger in war." now a brown battery whose fire could be spared from other work dropped a few shells on the knoll and so occupied the attention of the 128th that it had no time to attend to occasional bullets from snipers. "think we're no account! shall we charge them now we've got the support of the guns?" chuckled stransky. "you hussar, you!" grandfather gave stransky a slap on the back. "with a thousand like you we could charge me whole army, if the general would let us!" "but he wouldn't let us," replied stransky. "i could even tell you why." with the shadows gathering he slipped back to grandfather's side, and after it was quite dark he said that it was time for the old hussar to mount his fiery steed. grandfather's hands slipped from around stransky's neck at the first trial; with the next, stransky took the bony fingers in his grip and held them clasped on his chest with one hand, proceeding as quietly as he could, for he had an idea that the grays were already moving down from the knoll under cover of night. "yes, sir, i'm glad i came!" said grandfather faintly and meanderingly. "i wasn't sure about tom--all this new-fangled education and these uniforms without any color in 'em. but i saw him firing away steady as a rock; yes, sir! i was in it, too, under fire! it made my heart thump-thump like the old days. and we're going to hold 'em--we're going to teach the land-sharks--i'm very happy--made my heart thump so--kind of tired me--" the old man's voice died away into silence. his knees weakened their grip and his legs swung pendulum-like with stransky's steps. "what about me for a sleeping-car!" thought stransky. "but he's certainly harder to carry." yet it pleased stransky not to waken his passenger until they reached the station his ticket called for. entering the cut, he was halted by the challenging cry of "who goes there?" in his own tongue. "stransky of the reds!" he roared back. "stransky, private of the 53d--stransky and his bride and grandfather!" "all right, bert!" was the answer. "hurrah for you! i'd know your old bull voice out of a thousand." even this did not arouse grandfather. stransky trudged on past the sentry, across a road and up three series of steps of a garden terrace, through a breach in a breastwork of sand-bags, and was again at home--the only home he knew--among the comrades of his company. most of them had fallen asleep on the ground after finishing their rations, logs of men in animal exhaustion. some of those awake were too weary to give more than a nod and smile and an exclamation of delight. they had witnessed too much horror that day to be excited over a soldier with an old man on his back. a few of the others, including tom fragini, gathered around the pair. "we've arrived, grandfather!" said stransky, squatting. there was no answer. "he certainly sleeps sound. i wonder if--." "yes," said dellarme, who with tom eased the fall of the limp body. the thumping of an old man's heart with the youth of a hussar had been too much for it. "he was game!" said stransky. "there isn't much in this world except to be game, i've concluded; and you can't be so old or so poor or so big-nosed and wall-eyed that you can't be game." marta, coming out on the veranda, had not heard his remark, but she had seen a leonine sort of private bearing an old man on his back and had guessed that he had remained behind to save a life when every man in uniform had been engaged in taking life. "you are tired! you are hungry!" she said with urgent gentleness. "come in!" he followed her into the house and dropped on a leather chair before a shining table in a room panelled with oak, wondering at her and at himself. no woman of marta's world had ever spoken in that way to him. but it was good to sit down. then a maid with a sad, winsome face and tender eyes brought him wine and bread and cold meat and jam. he gulped down a glassful of the wine; he ate with great mouthfuls in the ravenous call of healthy, exhausted tissues, while the maid stood by to cut more bread. "when it comes to eating after fighting--" he looked up when the first pangs of hunger were assuaged. enormous, broad-shouldered, physical, his cheeks flushed with the wine, his eyes opened wide and brilliant with the fire that was in his nature--eyes that spoke the red business of anarchy and war. "say, but you're pretty!" springing up, he caught her hand and made to kiss her in the brashness of impulse. minna struck him a stinging blow in the face. he received it as a mastiff would receive a bite from a pup, and she stood her ground, her eyes challenging his fearlessly. "so you are like that!" he said thoughtfully. "it was a good one, and you meant it, too." "decidedly!" she answered. "there's more where that came from!" "as i was telling the grays this afternoon! good for you!" he sat down again composedly, while she glared at him. "i'm still hungry. i've had wine enough; but would you cut me another slice of bread?" she cut another slice and he covered it generously with jam. then little clarissa eileen entered and pressed against her mother's skirts, subjecting stransky to childhood's scrutiny. he waved a finger at her and grinned and drew his eyes together in a squint at the bridge of his nose, making a funny face that brought a laugh. "your child?" stransky asked minna. "yes." "where's her father? away fighting?" "i don't know where he is!" "oh!" he mused. "was that blow for him at the same time as for me?" he pursued thoughtfully. "yes, for all of your kind." "m-m-m!" came from between his lips as he rose. "would you mind holding out your hand?" he asked with a gentleness singularly out of keeping with his rough aspect. "why?" she demanded. "i've never studied any books of etiquette of polite society, and i am a poor sort at making speeches, anyhow. but i want to kiss a good woman's hand by way of apology. i never kissed one in my life, but i'm getting a lot of new experiences to-day. will you?" she held out her hand at arm's length and flushed slightly as he pressed his lips to it. "you certainly do cut thick slices of bread," he said, smiling. "and you certainly are pretty," he added, passing out of the door as jauntily as if he were ready for another fight and just in time to see the colonel of the regiment come around the house. he stood at the salute, half proudly, half defiantly, but in nowise humbly. "well, major dellarme!" was the colonel's greeting of the company commander. "major?" exclaimed dellarme. "yes. partow has the power. four of the aviators have iron crosses already and promotion, too; and you are a major. company g got into a mess and the whole regiment would have been in one unless you held on. so i let you stay. it all came out right, as lanstron planned--right so far. but your losses have been heavy and here you are in the thick of it again. your company may change places with company e, which has had a relatively easy time." "no, sir; we would prefer to stay," dellarme answered quietly. "good! then you will take this battalion and i'll transfer groller to alvery's bad loss, alvery--shrapnel. the artillery has been doing ugly work, but that is all in favor of the defensive. if we can hold them on this line till to-morrow noon, it's all we want for the present," he concluded. "we'll hold them! don't worry!" put in stransky. if a private had spoken to a colonel in this fashion at drill, without being spoken to, it would have been a glaring breach of military etiquette. now that they were at war it was different. real comradeship between officer and man begins with war. "we shall, eh?" chuckled the colonel. "you look big enough to hold anything, young man! here! isn't this the fellow that lanstron got off?" "yes, sir," answered dellarme. "well, was lanstron right?" "yes, sir." "wonderful man, lanstron!" "he knows just' a little too much!" stransky half growled. xxiv the making of a hero a digression, this, about pale, little peterkin, the valet's son, whom we left nibbling a biscuit in perfect security after his leap in mortal terror. when fracasse's men rose from their trench for the final charge and found that the enemy had gone, peterkin, hearing their cheer and the thunderous tread of their feet, dared to look above the edge of the shell crater. here was his company coming and he not in the ranks where he belonged. of course he ought to have gone back with them when they went; whatever they did he ought to do. this was the only safe way for one of his incurable stupidity, as the drill sergeant had told him repeatedly. he recognized the stocky butcher's son and other familiar figures among his comrades. their legs, unlike his, had not been paralyzed with fright; they had been able to run. he was in an absolute minority of one, which he knew, from the experience of his twenty years of life and his inheritance as a valet's son, meant that he was utterly in the wrong. in a minute they would be sweeping down on him. they would be jeering him and calling him a rabbit or something worse for hiding in the ground. fright prompted him to a fresh impulse. picking up his rifle, which he had not touched since his leap, he faced toward the now unoccupied crest of the knoll and commenced firing. meanwhile, fracasse's men had reached the point where their first charge had broken, marked by a line of bodies, including that of the manufacturer's son, who had thought that war would be beneficial as a deterrent to strikes and an impetus to industry, lying with his head on his arm, his neck twisted, and the whites of his eyes idled skyward. in a spasm of sickening realization of how impossible it was for those who had not run back to survive between two lines of fire, they heard a shot from the ground at their feet and beheld the runt of the company in the act of making war single-handed. it was a miracle! it was like the dead coming to life! "peterkin?" "yes, peterkin!" "with a whole skin!" probably it was a great mistake for him to have a whole skin, thought peterkin. he scrambled to his feet and kept pace with the others, hoping that he would be overlooked in the ranks. "i'm so glad! dear little peterkin!" said hugo mallin, who was at peterkin's side. his knowledge of hugo's gentle nature convinced peterkin that hugo was trying to soften the forthcoming reprimand. when their feet at last actually stood on the knoll which had dealt death to their ranks and they saw the brown figures of the enemy that had driven them back in full flight, the men of the 128th felt the thrill of triumph won in the face of bullets. this is a thrill by itself, primitive and masculine, that calls the imagination of men to war for war's sake. pilzer, the butcher's son, wanted to kill for the sheer joy and revenge of killing. he rejoiced in the dead and the blood spots that, as clearly as the trench itself, marked the line that dellarme's men had occupied along the crest of the knoll. it pleased him to use one of the bodies as a rest for his rifle, while he laid his sight in ecstasy on the large target of two men of the last section who were bringing off one of the wounded, and he swore when they got away. "but there's another out there all alone!" he cried. "better say your prayers, for i'm going to get you," he whispered; though, as we know, stransky was not hit. peterkin had been doing his best to make amends for past errors by present enthusiasm of application. he fired no less earnestly than the butcher's son. now that eugene aronson was dead, pilzer had become peterkin's chief patron and guide. he would be doing right if he did what that brave pilzer did, he was thinking, while he was conscious of fracasse's eyes boring into his back. with the others, but no more expeditiously, however frightened, he fell back to cover from the burst of shell fire; and then, with the word to break ranks, he found himself the centre of a group including not only his captain but the colonel of the regiment. he could not quite make out the expressions on their faces, but he surmised that they were wondering how any man born under the flag of the grays could be such a coward as he was. probably he would be shot at sunrise. "how did it happen?" fracasse asked. his tone was very pleasant, but peterkin felt that this was only the calmness of a judge hearing the evidence of a culprit. punishment would be, accordingly, the more drastic. he was too scared to tell the truth. he spoke softly, with the mealy tongue of a valet father who never explained why the wine was low in the decanter by any reference to a weakness of his own palate. "i didn't hear the whistle to fall back," he said, "so i stayed." "didn't hear the whistle!" exclaimed the captain. he looked at the colonel and the colonel looked at him. the colonel stroked his mustache as if it were a nice mustache. "there wasn't any whistle," said fracasse with a wry grin. "yes, my boy; and then?" asked the colonel, who had never before called any private in his regiment "my boy." a bright light broke on peterkin. inherited instinct did not permit him to show much emotion on his face, and he had, too, an inherited gift of invention. he rubbed his rifle stock with his palm and bowed much in the fashion of the parent washing his hands in gratitude for a compliment. "and i didn't want to run," he continued. "i wanted to take that hill. that was what we were told to do, wasn't it, sir?" "yes, yes!" said the colonel. "go on!" the light grew brighter, showing peterkin's imagination the way to higher flights. "i jumped quick into the crater, knowing that if i jumped quick i would not be hit," he proceeded, his thin voice accentuating his deferential modesty. "my! but the bullets were thick, going both ways! but i remembered the lectures to recruits said that it took a thousand to kill a man. i found that i had cover from the bullets from our side and some cover from their side. i could not lie there doing nothing, i decided, after i had munched biscuits for a while--" "coolly munching biscuits!" exclaimed the colonel. "yes, sir; so i began firing every time i had a chance and i picked off a number, i think, sir." "my boy," said the colonel, putting his hand on peterkin's shoulder, "i am going to recommend you for the bronze cross." the bronze cross--desired of generals and privates--for peterkin, when pilzer had been so confident that he should win the first that came to the 128th now that eugene aronson was dead! "i--i--" stammered peterkin. "and so modest about it!" added the colonel. "remembered the lectures to recruits and acted on them faithfully!" the old spirit of the nation was not dead. here it was reappearing in a valet's son, as it was bound to reappear in all classes! yes, peterkin had supplied the one shining incident of the costly day to the colonel, who found himself without his headquarters for the night at the galland house as planned, waiting for orders on this confounded little knoll. he was wondering if his regiment would be out in reserve and given a rest on the morrow, when an officer of the brigade staff brought instructions: "the batteries are going to emplace here for your support in the morning. you will move as soon as your men have eaten and occupy positions b-31 to b-35. that gives you a narrow front for one battalion, with two battalions in reserve to drive home your attack. the chief of staff himself desires that we take the galland house before noon. the enemy must not have the encouragement of any successes." "so easy for westerling to say," thought the colonel; while aloud he acknowledged the message with proper spirit. before the order to move was given the news of it passed from lip to lip among the men in tired whispers. since dawn they had lived through the impressions of a whole war, and they had won. with victory they had not thought of the future, only of their hunger. after the nightmare of the charge, after hearing death whispering for hours intimately in their ears, they were too weary and too far thrown out of the adjustments of any natural habits of thought and feeling to realize the horror of eating their dinners in the company of the dead. now they were to go through another hell, but many of them in their exhaustion were chiefly concerned as to whether or not they should get any sleep that night. peterkin could hear his heart thumping and feel chills running down his spine. how should he ever live up to a bronze cross--the precious cross given for valor alone, which marked him as heroic for life--when all he wanted to do was to crawl away to some quiet, safe place and munch more biscuits? he had once been a buttons who looked down on scullery boys, but how gladly would he be a scullery boy forever if he could escape to the rear where he would hear no more bullets! his conscience smote him; he wanted a confessor. he had an impulse to tell the whole truth to hugo mallin, for hugo was the one man in the company who would sympathetically understand the situation. yet he did not find the words, because he was rather pleased with the réclame of being a hero, which was an entirely new experience in a family that had been for generations in service. hugo mallin had fired when the others fired; advanced when the others advanced. he had done his mechanical part in a way that had not excited fracasse's further acute displeasure, and he had no sense of physical fatigue, only of mental depression, of the elemental things that he had seen and felt this day in a whirling pressure on his brain. it seemed to him that all his comrades had changed. they could never be the same as before they had set out to kill another lot of men on the crest of the knoll. he could not keep a comparison out of mind: one of the dead browns, lying in almost the same position, looked enough like the manufacturer's son to be his brother. he pictured eugene aronson's parents receiving the news of his death--the mother weeping, the father staring stonily. and he saw many mothers weeping and many fathers staring stonily. xxv the terrible night the satire of war makes the valet's son a hero; the chance of war kills the manufacturer's son and lets the day-laborer's son live; the sport of war gives the latent forces of a stransky full play; the mercy of war grants grandfather fragini a happy death; the glory of war brings dellarme quick promotion; the glamour and the spectacular folly of war turn the bolts of the lightnings which man has mastered against man. perhaps the savage who learned that he could start a flame by rubbing two dry sticks together may have set fire to the virgin forest and wild grass in order to destroy an enemy--and naturally with disastrous results to himself if he mistook the direction of the wind. marta galland's thoughts at dusk when she returned up the steps to the house were much the same as hugo mallin's after fracasse had taken the knoll. while he had felt the hot whirlwind of war in his face, she had witnessed the wreckage that it left. she also was seeing fathers staring and mothers weeping. her experience with the wounded drawing deep on the wells of sympathy, heightened her loathing of war and of all who planned and ordered it and led its legions. a stransky righting would have been repulsive to her, but a stransky trying to save a life was noble. except for the few minutes when she had gone out on the veranda and had seen stransky bringing in the lifeless body of grandfather fragini, she had been engaged since dark in completing the work of moving valuable articles from the front to the rear rooms of the house, which had been begun early in the day by minna and the coachman. shortly after stransky had finished his meal minna came to say that major dellarme wished to speak to miss galland. dellarme a major! this was his reward for his part in filling the ambulances with groans! in the days when he was at the la tir garrison he had been a frequent caller. now, in the perversity of her reasoning, out of the chaos of the tangent odds of her impressions since she had gone to hold the session of her school that morning, she thought of him as peculiarly one who gave to the profession of arms the attraction that had made it the vocation of the aristocrat. waiting for her in the dismantled dining-room, despite all that he had passed through, his greeting had the diffident, boyish manner of her recollection; and despite a night on the ground his brown uniform was without creases, giving him a well-groomed, even debonair, appearance. "i scarcely thought that we should ever meet under these conditions," he said slightly constrained, a touch of color in his cheeks. she had no excuse for her reply unless, in truth, she were in training for the town scold. but he typified an idea. he gave to war the aspect of refinement. "if you did not expect it, why did you enter the army?" she asked. he saw that she was not quite herself. the strain of the day had unnerved her. yet he answered her bootless question with simple directness. "i liked the idea of being a soldier. i was reared in the atmosphere of the army, and i hoped that i might do my duty if war came." perhaps this was point one for him. marta shrugged her shoulders. "i might have guessed beforehand what you would say," she replied. "you sent for me?" "hardly that, please. i asked if i might see you. the captain of engineers tells me that you insist on staying and i came to beg you to keep in the back of the house. you will be safe there. any shell that may enter will explode in the front rooms and the fragments will not go through the second wall." "yes, we understand that. we have already removed our heirlooms," she replied indifferently. the fatalism of her attitude and his alarm lest she had gone a little out of her head aroused all the innate horror of a man at the thought of a woman under fire. he broke out desperately: "miss galland, this is no place for you! you do not realize--" he had made the same mistake as the captain of engineers--touched a spot of irritation as raw as it had been in the morning. "why shouldn't i stay here? why shouldn't every wife and mother be here in the fire zone? you soldiers die--it is very easy to die--and leave us to suffer. you destroy and leave us to build up. you go on a debauch of killing and come home to the women to nurse you. why make us suffer the consequences without sharing the glory of the deed?" such reasoning was not in the province of his training. he feared that she was about to become hysterical. "really, miss galland, i--women and children--i--" he was stammering. "better kill the children young than go to the expense of bringing them up before they are killed!" she went on, not hysterically, unless frozen intensity is hysteria. "children clinging to your knees might stop you, but i suppose you would have a police force to tear the children away rather than miss the masculine privilege of murder." "miss galland, you are overwrought. i--" she interrupted him with half-breathed laughter. "don't i look it--hysterical?" she exclaimed. "how awkward for you if i should fall on the floor and kick and scream!" with a peculiar uplifting of the brows which spoke a brittle humor, she looked at the floor as if selecting a place for the performance. "that is not your way," he managed to say. he was quite adrift in confusion at the recollection of quotations he had heard about woman's subtleties and inconsistencies and her charm. resorting to the last weapon in his armory--which the captain of engineers had already used--his attitude changed to a soldierly sternness. "miss galland, i feel that it is my duty, as long as you are going to stay, to make sure that--" she killed the sentence on his lips with a gleam of mockery from her eyes. he understood that she had again anticipated what he was going to say. "there are times when you must be firm with a woman, aren't there? and the time has come for you to be firm!" the color in his cheeks deepened. he knew what to do with his men on the knoll, but not what to do in the present situation. "this is our home; our home is our country. here we remain; but, naturally, we don't propose to stick our heads out of the windows in a shower of shrapnel bullets," she continued. "even your soldiers are not so zealous for death but they fight behind sand-bags. they are not like mohammedan fatalists who so love to die for their illusions that they bare their breasts to bullets. we have already arranged sleeping-quarters in the rear. good night!" she held out her hand with a smile of conventional pleasantry. had it not been for the sound of firing, which still continued, and for the walls denuded of pictures, they might have been parting at the head of the stairs at a house-party. she stopped half-way up in an impulse to call back happily: "you see, masculine firmness did calm feminine hysteria!" "oh, miss galland!" he exclaimed. "miss galland, you are beyond me!" "what a pose! how foolish to break out in that way!" she thought angrily, as she hastened up the rest of the flight and along the corridor. "to him of all men! a pattern-plate of an officer, who never has had anything but a military thought! but everything is pose! everything is abnormal! and sleep? sleep is a pose, too. i feel as if my eyes would remain open forever. oh, i wish they would begin the fighting and tear the house to pieces if they are going to! i wish--" she was at the door of her mother's room, which was like an antique shop. old plates lay on top of old tables, with vases on the floor under the tables. surrounded by her treasures, mrs. galland awaited the attack; not as a soldier awaits it, but as that venerable roman senator of the story faced the barbarous gauls--neither disputing the power of their spears nor yielding the self-respect of his own mind and soul. she had lain down in her wrapper for the night, and the light from a single candle--she still favored candles--revealed her features calm and philosophical among the pillows. yet the magic of war, reaching deep into hidden emotions, had her also under its spell. her voice was at once more tender and vital. "marta, i see that you are all on wires!" "yes; jangling wires, every one, jangling every second out of tune," marta acquiesced. "marta, my father"--her father had been a premier of the browns--"always said that you may enjoy the luxury of fussing over little things, for they don't count much one way or another; but about big things you must never fuss or you will not be worthy of big things. marta, you cannot stop a railroad train with your hands. this is not the first war on earth and we are not the first women who ever thought that war was wrong. each of us has his work to do and you will have yours. it does no good to tire yourself out and fly to pieces, even if you do know so much and have been around the world." she smiled as a woman of sixty, who has a secret heart-break that she had never given her husband a son, may smile at a daughter who is both son and daughter to her, and her plump hand, all curves like her plump face and her plump body, spread open in appeal. marta, who, in the breeding of her generation, felt sentiment as more or less of a lure from logic, dropped beside the bed in a sudden burst of sentiment and gathered the plump hand in hers and kissed it. "mother, you are wonderful!" she said. "mother, you are great!" "tush, marta!" said mrs, galland. "you shouldn't say that. your grandfather was great--a very great man. he never quite got his deserts; no good man does in politics." "you are better than great," said marta. "you soothe; you help; you have--what shall i call it?--the wisdom of mothers! minna has it, too." she ran a tattoo of kisses along the velvety skin of mrs. galland's arm. mrs. galland was blushing, and out of the depths of her eyes bubbled a little fountain of stars. "marta, you have kissed me often before," she said, "but you have been a little patronizing from your hilltop of youth and knowledge. sometimes you have looked to me lonely up there on your hilltop and i know that i have been lonely sometimes in my valley of the years where knees are not good at climbing hills." "it was not my intention," marta said rather miserably. "no, it is a businesslike age," answered mrs. galland. "i--you mean i was too detached? i was not human?" "you are now. you make me very happy," her mother replied. "but you must sleep," she insisted. after a time, her ear becoming as accustomed to the firing as a city dweller's to the distant roar of city traffic mrs. galland slept. but marta could not follow her advice. if, transiently at least, she had found something of the peace of the confessional, the vigor of youth was in her arteries; and youth cannot help remaining awake under some conditions. she tiptoed across the hall into her own room and seated herself by the window, which had often spread the broadening vista of landscape with its lessening detail before her eyes. on other nights she had looked out into opaqueness with the drum-beat of rain on the roof; into the faint starlight when there was only the vagueness of heights and levels; into the harvest moonlight with its spectral unreality. now the symbol of what the ear had heard the eye saw: war, working in tones of the landscape by day with smokeless powder; war, revealed by its tongues of flame at night. ugly bursts of fire from the higher hills spread to the heavens like an aurora borealis and broke their messengers in sheets of flame over the lower hills--the batteries of the browns sprinkling death about the heads of the gunners of the grays emplacing their batteries. staccato flashes from a single point counted so many bullets from an automatic, which, directed by the beams of the search-lights, found their targets in sections of advancing infantry. hill crests, set off with flashes running back and forth, demarked infantry lines of the browns assisting the automatics. there were lulls between the crashes of the small arms and the heavy, throaty speech of the guns; lulls that seemed to say that both sides had paused for a breathing spell; lulls that allowed the battle in the distance to be heard in its pervasive undertone. in one of them, when even the undertone had ceased for a few seconds, marta caught faintly the groans of a wounded man--one of the crew of a gray dirigible burned by an explosion and brought in his agony softly to earth by a billowing piece of envelope which acted as a parachute. fighting proceeded in la tir in stages of ferocity and blank silence. the upper part of the town, which the browns still held, was in darkness; the lower part, where the grays were, was illuminated. "another one of lanny's plans!" thought marta. "he would have them work in the light, while we fire out of obscurity!" soon all the town was in darkness, for the grays had cut the wire in the main conduit shortly after she had heard the groans of the wounded man. there the automatics broke out in a mad storm, voicing their feelings at getting a company in close order in a street for the space of a minute, before those who escaped could plaster themselves against doorways or find cover in alleys. then silence from the automatics and a cheer from the browns that rasped out its triumph like the rubbing together of steel files. from the line of defence, that included the first terrace of the galland grounds as the angle of a redoubt, not a shot, not a sound; silence on the part of officers and men as profound as mrs. galland's slumber, while one of the browns' search-lights, like some great witch's slow-turning eye in a narrow radius, covered the lower terraces and the road. marta gave intermittent glances at the garden; the glances of a guardian. she happened to be looking in that direction when figures sprang across the road, crouching, running with the short, quick steps of no body movement accompanying that of the legs. the search-light caught them in merciless silhouette and the automatic and the rifles from behind the sand-bags on the first terrace let go. some of the figures dropped and lay in the road and she knew that she had seen men hit for the first time. others, she thought, got safely to the cover of the gutter on the garden side. of those on the road, some were still and some she saw were moving slowly back on their stomachs to safety. now the search-light laid its beam steadily on the road. again silence. from the upper terrace came a great voice, like that of the guns, from a human throat: "why didn't we level those terraces? they'll creep up from one to the other!" it was stransky. in answer was another voice--dellarme's. "perhaps there wasn't time to do everything. and if this position is taken before we are ready to go, it will not be from that side, but from the side of the town." "we're making them pay for seeing our garden, but, anyhow, we won't let them pick any flowers," stransky remarked pungently. "if they get as far as the first terrace--well, in case of a crisis, we have hand-grenades," dellarme added in explanation. "but, god knows, i hope we shall not have to use them." after an interval, more figures made a rush across the road. they, too, in stransky's words, paid a price for seeing the garden. but the flashes from the rifles and the automatic provided a target for a gray battery. the blue spark that flies from an overhead trolley or a third rail, multiplied a hundredfold, broke in marta's face. it was dazzling, blinding as a bolt of lightning a few feet distant, with the thunder crash at the same second, followed by the thrashing hum of bullets and fragments against the side of the house. "i knew that this must come!" something within her said. if she had not been prepared for it by the events of the last twelve hours she would have jumped to her feet with an exclamation of natural shock and horror. as it was, she felt a convulsive, nervous thrill without rising from her seat. a pause. the next shell burst in line with the first, out by the linden-trees; a third above the veranda. "we've got that range, all right!" thought the gray battery commander, who had judged the distance by the staff map. this was all he wanted to know for the present. he would let loose at the proper time to support the infantry attack, when there were enough driblets across the road to make a charge. the driblets kept on coming, and, one by one, the number of dead on the road was augmented. marta was diverted from this process of killing by piecemeal by a more theatric spectacle. a brigade commander of the grays had ticked an order over the wires and it had gone from battery to battery. not only many field-guns, which are the terriers of the artillery, but some guns of siege calibre, the mastiffs, in a sudden outburst started a havoc of tumbling walls and cornices in the upper part of the town. then an explosion greater than any from the shells shot a hemisphere of light heavenward, revealing a shadowy body flying overhead, and an instant later the heavens were illuminated by a vast circle of flame as the dirigible that had dropped the dynamite received its death-blow. but already the brown infantry was withdrawing from the town, destroying buildings that would give cover for the attack in the morning as they went. two or three hours after midnight fell a silence which was to last until dawn. the combatants rested on their arms, browns saying to grays, "we shall be ready for the morrow!" and grays replying: "so shall we!" marta, at her window, her eyes following the movements of the display, now here, now there, found herself thinking of many things, as in the intermissions between the acts of a drama. she wondered if the groaning, wounded man were crying for water or if he were wishing that some one at home were near him. she thought of her talk with lanstron over the telephone and how mad and feminine and feeble it must have sounded to a mind working in the inexorable processes of the clash of millions of men. she saw his left hand twitching in his pocket, his right hand gripping it to hold it still, on that afternoon when, for the first time, she had understood his injury in the aeroplane accident as the talisman of his feelings--his controlled feelings! always his controlled feelings! she saw feller leaning against the moist wall of the dank tunnel, suffering as it had never seemed to her that man could suffer, his agony an irresistible plea. she saw westerling, so conscious of his strength, directing his chessmen in a death struggle against partow. and he was coming to this house as his headquarters when the final test of the strength of the titans was made. she hoped that her mother was still sleeping; and she had seconds when she was startled by her own calmness. again, the faces of the children in her school were as clear as in life. she breathed her gratitude that the procession in which they moved to the rear was hours ago out of the theatre of danger. in the simplicity of big things, her duty was to teach them, a future generation, no less than feller's duty was to the pursuing shadow of his conscience. she should see war, alive, naked, bloody, and she would tell her children what she had seen as a warning. silence, except an occasional rifle-shot--silence and the darkness before dawn which would, she knew, concentrate the lightnings around the house. she glanced into her mother's room and marvelled as at a miracle to find her sleeping. then she stole down-stairs and opened the outer door of the dining-room. a step or two brought her to the edge of the veranda. there she paused and leaned against one of the stone pillars. dellarme himself was in a half-reclining position, his back to a tree. he seemed to be nodding. except for a few on watch over the sand-bags, his men were stretched on the earth, moving restlessly at intervals, either in an effort to sleep or waking suddenly after a spell of harassed unconsciousness. xxvi feller is tempted with the first sign of dawn there was a movement of shadowy forms taking position in answer to low-spoken commands. the search-light yielded its vigil to the wide-spread beam out of the east, and the detail of the setting where marta was to watch the play of one of man's passions, which he dares not permit the tender flesh of woman to share, grew distinct. bayonets were fixed on the rifles that lay along the parapet of sand-bags in front of the row of brown shoulders. back of them in the yard was a section of infantry in reserve, also with bayonets fixed, ready to fill the place of any who fell out of line, a doctor and stretchers to care for the wounded, and a detachment of engineers to mend any breaches made in the breastwork by shell fire. the gunner of the automatic sighted his barrel, slightly adjusted its elevation, and swung it back and forth to make sure that it worked smoothly, while his assistant saw that the fresh belts of cartridges which were to feed it were within easy reach. dellarme, walking behind his men, cautioning them not to expose their heads and at the same time to fire low, had his cheery smile in excellent working order. "we expect great things of you!" this smile said as he bent over the gunner with a pat on the shoulder. "i understand!" said the upward glance in reply. marta could not deny that there was something fine about dellarme's smile no less than in his bearing and his delicately, chiselled features. it had the assurance and self-possession of a surgeon about to perform a critical operation, the difference being that, unlike the surgeon, he shared in the risk, which was for the purpose of taking vigorous young lives rather than saving lives enfeebled by disease. was it this that gave to war its halo--this offering of the most valuable thing man possesses to sudden destruction that made war heroic? but where was the romance of the last war forty years ago? where the glad songs going into battle? the glitter of buttons and the pomp of showy uniforms? the general's staff watching the course of the action by the billows of black smoke? gone where the railroad sent the stage-coach, electricity sent the candle and horse-drawn street-cars, serum sent diphtheria, the knife sent the appendix, and rifled cannon and explosive shells sent the wooden walls of old ships of the line. it occurred to none of the actors, and to marta alone, in the tight, foreboding silence, to look aloft. there was a serene blue sky. the birds were tuning up for their morning songs when she heard the dull echo of distant guns, soon to be submerged in other thunders at nearer points along the frontier. with every faculty an alert wire strung in suspense, she was instantly aware of the appearance of a figure whose lack of uniform made it conspicuous on that stage. in straw hat and blue blouse, shuffling with his old man's walk, feller came along the path from the gate. he was in retreat from the enticing picture of the regiment of field-guns in front of the castle that was ready for action. as the infantry had never interested him, he would be safe from temptation in the yard. he stopped back of the engineers, his glance roving down the line of brown shoulders until it rested on the automatic. this also was a gun, though it fired only bullets. his fingers began beating a tattoo on his trousers' seam; a hungry brilliance shone in his eyes. he took four or five steps forward as if drawn by an overpowering fascination. "this is no place for you!" said one of the engineers. "no, and don't waste any time, either, old man!" said another. "back to your bulbs!" feller did not even hear them. for the moment he was actually deaf. "fire!" said dellarme's whistle. "thur-r-r!" went the automatic in soulless, mechanical repetition, its tape spinning through the cylinder, while the rifles spoke with the human irregularity of steel-tipped fingers pounding at random on a drumhead. all along the line facing la tir the volume of fire spread until it was like the concert of a mighty loom. marta could see nothing of the enemy, but she guessed that he was making a rush from the second to the third terrace and from the outskirts of the town. the engineer's repeated warning unheard above the din, he touched feller on the leg. feller looked around with a frown of querulous abstraction just as the breaking of a storm of shell fire obscured marta's vision with dust and smoke. she felt her head jerk as if it would go free of her neck with each explosion, until she reinforced her nerves with the memory of an old soldier's warning about the folly of dodging missiles that were already past before you heard them. she knew that she was perfectly safe behind the pillar. the gray batteries having tried out their range by the flashes of the automatic the previous evening were making the most of the occasion. "uk-ung-n-ng!" the breaking jackets whipped out their grists. a crash on the roof brought a small avalanche of slate tumbling down. a concussion in the dining-room was followed by the tinkling of falling window-glass. the engineers had work immediately when two of the infantrymen and their rifles and the sand-bags on which they leaned were hurled together in a heap of sand and torn flesh. other bags were placed in the breach; other men sprang forward and began firing. the reserves, the hospital-corps men and the engineers hugged the breastwork for cover. the leaves clipped from the trees by bullets were blown aside with the hurricane breaths of shrapnel bursts; bullets whistled so near marta that she heard their shrillness above every other sound. she was amazed that the house still remained standing--that any one was alive. but she had a glimpse of dellarme maintaining his set smile and another of feller, who had crept up behind the automatic, making impatient "come-on! come-on! what-is-the-matter-with-you?" gestures in the direction of the batteries in front of the castle. "thur-eesh--thur-eesh!" as the welcome note swept overhead he waved his hands up and down in mad rapture and then peeped over the breastwork to ascertain if the practice were good. the brown batteries had been a little slow in coming into action, but they had the range from the gray batteries' flashes the previous night and, undisturbed in the security of their own flashes screened by the trees, soon broke the precision of the opposing fire. now shells coming infrequently fell short or went wide. the air cleared. marta could again see distinctly, and she marvelled that the brown figures were proceeding with their knitting as if nothing had happened. she could not resist a thrill of grim admiration for their steadiness or an appreciative thrill as she saw feller eagerly peering over the automatic gunner's shoulder to watch the effect of his fire. suddenly, both the rifles and the automatic, which had been firing deliberately, began to fire with desperate rapidity. it was as if a boxer, sparring slowly, let out all his power in a rain of blows. she could see nothing of the grays, but she understood that they were making a rush. then a chance shell, striking at the one point which the man who fired it six thousand yards away would have chosen as his bull's-eye, obscured feller and the automatic and its gunners in the havoc of explosion. feller must have been killed. the dust settled; she saw dellarme making frantic gestures as he looked at his men. they were keeping up their fusillade with unflinching rapidity. through the breach left in the breastwork she had glimpses, as the dust was finally dissipated, of gray figures, bayonets fixed, pressing together as they came on fiercely toward the opening. the browns let go the full blast of their magazines. had that chance shell turned the scales? would the grays get into the breastwork? all marta's faculties and emotions were frozen in her stare of suspense at the breach. her heart seemed straining with the effort of the living, who heard nothing, thought nothing, in the crux of their effort. war's own mesmerism had made her forget feller and everything except the gamble, the turn of the card, while the gray figures kept stumbling on over their fallen. then her heart leaped, a cry in a gust of short breaths broke from her lips as the browns let go a rasping, explosive, demoniacal cheer. the first attack had been checked! after triumph, terror, faintness, and a closing of her eyes, she opened them to see feller, with his old straw hat--brim torn and crownless now--still on his head, rise from the débris and shake himself like a dog coming ashore from a swim. while the engineers hastened to repair the breach he assisted stransky, who had also been knocked down by the concussion, to lift the overturned automatic off the gunner. the doctor, putting a hand on the gunner's heart, shook his head, and two hospital-corps men removed the body to make room for the engineers. dellarme could now spare attention from the charge of the gray infantry to observe the results of the shell fire. with the gunner dead, he looked for the gunner's assistant, who lay several feet distant. as dellarme and the doctor hastened to him he raised himself to a sitting posture and looked around in dazed inquiry. the doctor poured a cup of brandy from his flask and held it to the assistant's lips, whereon he blinked and nodded his head in personal confirmation of the fact that he was still alive. but when he tried to raise his right arm the hand would not join in the movement. his wrist was broken. for once dellarme's cheery smile deserted him. there was no one left to man the automatic, so vital in the defence, and even if somebody could be found the gun was probably out of commission. as he started toward it his smile, already summoned back, was shot with surprise at sight of the gun in place and a stranger in blue blouse, white hair showing through a crownless straw hat, trying out the mechanism with knowing fingers. dellarme stared. feller, unconscious of everything but the gun, righted the cartridge band, swung the barrel back and forth, and then fired a shot. "you--you seem to know rapid-firers!" dellarme exclaimed in blank incomprehension. "yes, sir!" feller raised his finger, whether in salute as a soldier or as a gardener touching his hat it was hard to say. "but how--where?" gasped dellarme. this time the movement of the finger was undoubtedly in salute, in perfect, swift, military salute, with head thrown back and shoulders stiff. feller the gardener was dead and buried without ceremony. "lanstron's class, school for officers, sir. stood one in ballistics, prize medallist control of gun-fire. yes, sir, i know something about rapid-firers," feller replied, and fired a few more shots. "a little high, a little low--right, my lady, right!" stransky was back in his place next to the automatic and firing whenever a head appeared. he rolled his eyes in a characteristic squint of scrutiny toward the new recruit. "beats spraying rose-bushes for bugs, eh, old man?" he asked. "yes, a lead solution is best for gray bugs!" feller remarked pungently, and their glances meeting, they saw in each other's eyes the joy of hell. "a pair of anarchists!" exclaimed stransky grinning, and tried a shot for another head. as if in answer to prayer, a gunner had come out of the earth. sufficient to the need was the fact. it was not for dellarme to ask questions of a prize-medallist graduate of the school for officers in a blue blouse and crownless straw hat. his expert survey assured him that before another rush the enemy had certain preparations to make. he might give his fighting smile a recess and permit himself a few minutes' relaxation. looking around to ascertain what damage had been done to the house and grounds, he became aware of marta's presence for the first time. "miss galland, you--you weren't there during the fighting?" he cried as he ran toward her. "yes," she said rather faintly. "if i had known that i should have been scared to death!" "but i was safe behind the pillar," she explained. "your company did its work splendidly," she added, looking at him with eyes dull and wondering. "do you think so? they _are_ splendid, my men! they make one try to be worthy of them. thank you!" he said, blushing with pleasure. "but, miss galland, please--there's no firing now, but any minute----." "yes?" he did not attempt masculine firmness this time, only boyish pleading and a sort of younger-brother camaraderie. "miss galland, you're such a good soldier--please--and i'm sure you have not had your breakfast, and all good soldiers never neglect their rations, not at the beginning of a war! miss galland, please--." yes, as he meant it, please be a good fellow. she could not resist smiling at the charming manner of his plea. she felt weak and strange--a little dizzy. besides, her mother's voice now came from the doorway and then her mother's hand was pressing her arm. "marta, if you remain out here, i shall!" announced mrs. galland. "i was just coming in," said marta. dellarme, his cap held before him in the jaunty fashion of officers, bowed, his face beaming his happiness at her decision. as they entered the dining-room marta saw that the shell which had entered the window had burst just over the heavy mahogany table and a fragment of the jacket had cut a long scar in the rich fibre. she paused, her breath coming and going hotly. she felt the smarting pain of a file drawn over the skin. the table was very old; for generations it had been a family treasure. as a child she had loved its polished surface and revered its massive solidity. "oh! oh! somebody ought to be made to pay for such wickedness!" she exclaimed wrathfully. "it will plane down and it is nothing we could help, marta," said mrs. galland. "fortunately, all the portraits were out of the room." "mother, you--you are just a little too philosophical!" complained marta. "come!" mrs. galland slipped her hand into marta's. "two women can't fight both armies. come! i prescribe hot coffee it is waiting; and, do you know, i find a meal in the kitchen very cosey." being human and not a heroine fed on lotos blossoms, and being exhausted and also hungry, when she was seated at table, with minna adroitly urging her, marta ate with the relish of little peterkin in the shell crater munching biscuits from his haversack. xxvii hand to hand with mrs. galland on guard, insistent that wherever her daughter went she should go, marta might not so easily expose herself again. for the time being she seemed hardly of a mind to. she sat staring at the kitchen clock on the wall in front of her, the only sign of any break in the funereal march of her thoughts being an occasional deep-drawn breath, or a shudder, or a clenching of the hands, or a bitter smile of irony. an hour or more of intermittent firing passed in the suspense of listening to a trickle of water undermining a dam. then, with the roar of waters carrying away the dam, a cataract of shell fire broke and continued in far heavier volume than that of the first attack. "the last war was nothing like this!" murmured mrs. galland. at every concussion against the walls of the house, at every crash within the house, marta pressed her nails tighter into her palms. abruptly as the inferno of the guns had commenced, it ceased, and the steady, passionate, desperate blasts of the rifles, now uninterrupted, were more deadly and venomous if less shocking to the ear. the movement of the minute-hand on the clock-face became uncanny and merciless to her eye in its deliberate regularity. dellarme had been told to hold on until noon, she knew. was he still smiling? was feller still happy in playing a stream of lead from the automatic? was the second charge of the grays, which must have come to close quarters when the guns went silent, going to succeed? the rifle-fire died down suddenly and she heard a cheer like that of the morning, only wilder and fiercer and even less human. could it be from the browns celebrating a repulse? or from the grays after taking the position? what did it matter? if the grays had won there was an end to the agony so far as her mother and herself were concerned--an end to murder on the lawn and devastation of their property. but, at length, the rifle-fire beginning again in a slow, irregular pulse told her that the browns had held. now another long intermission. the demon was wiping his brow and recovering his breath, marta thought; he was repairing damaged joints in his armor and removing the flesh of victims from his claws. but he would not rest long, for the war was young--exactly one day old--and many battalions of victims remained unslain. how slowly the big hand of the clock kept hitching on from minute-mark to minute-mark! yet no more slowly than the hands of clocks in distant provinces of the browns or of the grays, where this day was as quiet and peaceful as any other day. mrs. galland had settled down conscientiously to play solitaire, a favorite pastime of hers; but she failed to win, as she complained to marta, because of her stupid way this morning of missing the combination cards. "i really believe i need new glasses," she declared. "let me help you," said marta. welcome idea! why hadn't she thought of it before? it was something to do. "but, marta--there you are, covering up the jack of spades, the very card i need--though it will not help now. i've lost again!" exclaimed mrs. galland at length. "why, marta, you miss worse than i do!" "do i? do i?" asked marta in blank surprise and irritation. "please let me try once alone. i'll not miss this time. correct me if i do." she played with the deliberation and accuracy of feller should he have to make a little ammunition for his automatic go a long way, and mrs. galland did not observe a single error. "hurrah! i won!" marta cried triumphantly, with some of her old vivacity. then she drew away from the table wearily. the strain of concentrating her mind had been worse than that of the battle; or, rather, it had merely added another strain to a tortured brain after a sleepless night. for her ears had been constantly alert. the demon had moved one of his claws to fresh ground; the inferno on the la tir side of the frontier had shifted to a valley beyond the galland estate, where the firing appeared to come from the brown side. breaking from the leash of silence, guns, automatics, rifles--each one straining for a speed record--roared and crashed and rattled in greedy chorus, while the clock ticked perhaps a hundred times. thus famished savages might boll their food in a time limit. thereafter, for a while, the battle was desultory. then came another outburst from dellarme's men, which she interpreted as the response to another rush by the grays; and this yelping of the demon was not that of the hound after the hare, as in the valley, but of the hare with his back to the wall. when it was over there was no cheer. what did this mean? oh, that slow minute-hand, resting so calmly between hitches of destiny, now pointing to a quarter after eleven! for half a century, it seemed to her, marta had endured watching its snail pace. now inaction was no longer bearable. without warning to her mother she bolted out of the kitchen. mrs. galland sprang up to follow, but minna barred the way. "one is enough!" she said firmly, and mrs. galland dropped back into her chair. in the front rooms marta found havoc beyond her imagination. a portion of the ceiling had been blown out by a shell entering at an up-stairs window; the hardwood floors were littered with plaster and window-glass and ripped into splinters in places. "how can we ever afford repairs!" she thought. but she hurried on, impelled by she knew not what, through the dining-room, and, coming to the veranda, stopped short, with dilating eyes and a cry of grievous shock. two of his men were carrying dellarme back from the breastwork where they had caught him in their arms as he fell. they laid him gently on the sward with a knapsack under his head. his face grew whiter with the flow of blood from the red hole in the right breast of his blouse. then he opened his lips and whispered to the doctor: "how is it?" something in his eyes, in the tone of that faint question, required the grace of a soldier's truth in answer. "bad!" said the doctor. "then, good-by!" and his head fell to one side, his lips set in his cheery smile. had ever any martyr shown a finer spirit dying for any cause? marta wondered. she felt the sublimity of a great moment, an inexorable sadness. she knew that she should never forget that cheery smile or that white face. what was danger to anybody? what was death if you had seen how he had died? his company was a company with his smile out of its heart and in its place blank despair. many of the men had stopped firing. some had even run back to look at him and stood, caps off, backs to the enemy, miserable in their grief. others leaned against the parapet, rifles out of hand, staring and dazed. "they have killed our captain!" "they've killed our captain!"--still a captain to them. a general's stars could not have raised him a cubit in their estimation. "and once we called him 'baby dellarme,' he was so young and bashful! him a baby? he was a king!" "men, get to your places!" cried the surviving lieutenant rather hopelessly, with no dellarme to show him what to do; and marta saw that few paid any attention to him. in that minute of demoralization the grays had their chance, but only for a minute. a voice that seemed to speak some uncontrollable thought of her own broke in, and it rang with the authority and leadership of a mature officer's command, even though coming from a gardener in blue blouse and crownless straw hat. "your rifles, your rifles, quick!" called feller. "we're only beginning to fight!" and then another voice in a bull roar, stransky's: "avenge his death! they've got to kill the last man of us for killing him! revenge! revenge!" that cry brought back to the company all the fighting spirit of the cheery smile and with it another spirit--for dellarme's sake!--which he had never taught them. "make them pay!" "he was told to stay till noon!" "they'll find us here at noon, alive or dead!" stransky picked up one of several cylindrical objects that were lying at his feet. "he wouldn't use this--he was too soft-hearted--but i will!" he cried, and flung a hand-grenade, and then a second, over the breastwork. the explosions were followed by agonized groans from the grays hugging the lower side of the terrace. for this they had crawled across the road in the night--to find themselves unable to move either way and directly under the flashes of the browns' rifles. feller's and stransky's shouts rose together in a peculiar unity of direction and full of the fellowship they had found in their first exchange of glances. "you engineers, make ready!" "hand-grenades to the men under the tree! that's where they're going to try for it--no wall to climb over there!" "you engineers, take your rifles--and bayonet into anything that wears gray!" "get back, you men by the tree, to avoid their hand-grenades! form up behind them, everybody!" "no matter if they do get in at first! back, you men, from under the tree!" there was not a single rifle-shot. in a silence like that before the word to fire in a duel, all orders were heard and the more readily obeyed because dellarme's foresight had impressed their sense upon the men in his quiet way. the sand-bags by the tree were blown up by the grays. then, before the dust had hardly settled, came a half score of hand-grenades thrown by the first men of a gray wedge, scrambling as they were pushed through the breach by the pressure of the mass behind. in that final struggle of one set of men to gain and another to hold a position, guns or automatics or long-range bullets played no part. it was the grapple of cold steel with cold steel and muscle with muscle, in a billowing, twisting mob of wrestlers, with no sound from throats but straining breaths; with no quarter, no distinction of person, and bloodshot eyes and faces hot with the effort of brute strength striving, in primitive desperation, to kill in order not to be killed. the cloud of rocking, writhing arms and shoulders was neither going forward nor backward. its movement was that of a vortex, while the gray stream kept on pouring through the breach as if it were only the first flood from some gray lake on the other side of the breastwork. marta had come to the edge of the veranda, at once drawn and repelled, feeling the fearful suspense of the combat, the savage horror of it, and herself uttering sounds like the straining breaths of the men. what a place for her to be! but she did not think of that. she was there. the dreadful alchemy of war had made her a stranger to herself. she was mad; they were mad; all the world was mad! one minute--two, perhaps--not three--and the thing was over. she saw the grays being crushed back and realized that the browns had won, when a last detail of the lessening tumult fixed her attention with its gladiatorial simplicity. here, indeed, it was a case of man to man with the weapons nature gave them. standing higher than the others on the edge of the breach was that giant who had brought grandfather fragini in pickaback, looking a young god on an escarpment of rock on olympus. his great nose showed in silhouette at intervals of wrestling lurches back and forth as he tugged at the rifle of a thick-set soldier of the grays with a liver patch on the cheek that made his face hideous enough for an incarnation of war's savagery. at last jacob pilzer tumbled backward over the breastwork. unlucky pilzer! that bronze cross was further away than ever for him, while stransky shook the trophy of a captured rifle aloft, a torn sleeve revealing the weaving muscles of his powerful arm. "i thought so!" cried feller. "attacks on frontal positions by daylight are going out of fashion!" it was he who mercifully arrested the shower of hand-grenades that followed the exit of the enemy. two of the guns of the castle batteries, having changed their position, were making havoc enough at pointblank range, with a choice of targets between the grays huddled on the other side of the breastwork and those in retreat. "we'll have peace for a few hours now," said stransky, squinting down his nose. "and we'll have something to eat. i ought to have got that fellow with the beauty-spot on his physiognomy, but, confound him, he was an eel!" by this time the men had recovered their breath. it occurred to them by common impulse that a cheer was due, and for the first time they broke into a hurrah with wide-open throats. "another--for dellarme!" called stransky, who seemed to think that he and not the callow lieutenant was in command. this they gave, standing instinctively at attention, with heads bared, for the leader whose spirit survived in them; a cheer with triumph in its roar, but a different sort of triumph from the first cheer. listening to it were the wounded among the grays who had fallen within the breastwork to be trampled by the browns as they had pressed forward. the doctor, but a moment ago a fiend himself with features of rage, now, in the second nature of his calling, with a look of tender sympathy, was ministering without distinction of friend or foe. one of the grays, his cheek bearing the mark of a boot heel, raised himself, and, in defiance and the satisfaction of the thought to his bruises and humiliation, pointing his finger at feller, marta heard him say: "you there, in your straw hat and blue blouse, they've seen you--a man fighting and not in uniform! if they catch you it will be a drumhead and a firing squad at dawn!" "that's so!" replied feller gravely. "but they'll have to make a better job of it than you fellows did if they're going to----" he turned away abruptly but did not move far. his shoulders relaxed into the gardener's stoop, and he pulled his hat down over his eyes and lowered his head as if to hide his face. he was thus standing, inert, when a division staff-officer galloped into the grounds. "splendid! splendid! there's some iron crosses in this for you!" he was shouting before he brought his horse to a standstill. "the way you held on gained the day for lanstron's plan. they tried to flank in the valley after their second attack on your position failed we drew them on and had them--a battalion in close order--under the guns for a couple of minutes. it was ghastly! our losses have been heavy enough, but nothing to theirs--and how they are driving their men in! but where is major dellarme?" when he saw dellarme's still body he dismounted and in a tide of feeling which, for the moment, submerged all thought of the machine, stood, head bowed and cap off, looking down at dellarme's face. "i was very fond of him! he was at the school when i was teaching there. but a good death--a soldier's death!" he said. "i'll write to his mother myself." then the voice of the machine spoke. "who is in command?" "i am, sir!" said the callow lieutenant, coming up. feller's fingers moved in a restless beat on his trousers' seam, his lips half parted as if he must speak, but the men of the company spoke for him. "bert stransky!" they roared. it was not according to military etiquette, but military etiquette meant nothing to them now. they were above it in veteran superiority. "and--" stransky had started to point to feller, whose name he did not know, when a forbidding gleam under the hat brim arrested him. "where's stransky?" demanded the staff-officer. "you're looking at him!" replied stransky with a benign grin. seeing that stransky was only a private, the officer frowned at the anomaly when a lieutenant was present, then smiled in a way that accorded the company parliamentary rights, which he thought that they had fully earned. "yes, and he gets one of those iron crosses!" put in tom fragini. "what for?" demanded stransky in surprise. they were making a lot of fuss about him when he had not done anything except to work out his individual destiny. "yes--the first cross for bert of the reds!" "and we'll let him make a dozen anarchist speeches a day!" "yes, yes!" roared the company. "by all means--but not for this; for trying to save an old man's life!" put in marta. after his survey of that amazing company the officer was the more amazed to hear a woman's voice in such surroundings. "the ays have it!" he announced cheerfully. he lifted his cap to marta. with tender regard and grave reverence for that company, he took extreme care with his next remark lest a set of men of such dynamic spirit might repulse him as an invader. "the lieutenant is in command for the present, according to regulations," he proceeded. "you will retire immediately to positions 48 to 49 a-j by the castle road. you have done your part. to-night you sleep and to-morrow you rest." sleep! rest! where had they heard those words before? oh, yes, in a distant day before they went to war! sleep and rest! better far than an iron cross for every man in the company! they could go now with something warmer in their hearts than consciousness of duty well done; but this time they need not go until their dead as well as their wounded were removed. "you're not coming with us?" stransky whispered to feller. "eh? eh?" feller put his hand to his ear. "quite deaf!" he quavered. "but i judge you ask if i am coming with you. no. i have to stay to look after my garden. it has been sadly damaged, i fear." "that's right--of course you're deaf!" agreed stransky, well knowing the contrary. "i'll be lonely without you, pal. it was love at first sight with me!" "and with me!" feller whispered. "you and i, with a brigade of infantry and guns--" he began, but remembering his part, as he often would in the middle of a sentence since the distraction of war was in his mind, he turned to go. "a cheer for the old gardener! we don't know who he is or was, and it's none of our business. he saved the day!" called stransky. feller started; he paused and looked back as he heard that stentorian chorus in his honor; and, irresistibly, he made a snappy officer's salute before starting on. "that was very sweet to me," he was thinking, and then: "a mistake! a mistake! one thought! one duty!" making to pass around the corner of the house, he was confronted by marta, who had come to the end of the veranda. there, within hearing of the soldiers, the dialogue that followed was low-toned, and it was swift and palpitant with repressed emotion. "mr. feller, i saw you at the automatic. i heard what the wounded private of the grays said to you and realized how true it was." "he is a prisoner. he cannot tell." "does he need to? you have been seen--the conspicuous figure of a man in gardener's garb fighting on the very terrace of his own garden! the gray staff is bound to hear of such an extraordinary occurrence. it is one of those stories that travel of themselves. and westerling will find that same gardener here when he comes! what hope have you for your ruse, then?" "i--i--no matter! i forgot myself, when lanny had warned me not to go near the guns. my promise to him! my duty! i accept what i have prepared for myself--that is a soldier's code." "but i shall not let you risk your life in this fashion." "you--" a searching look--a look of fire--from his eyes into hers, which were bright with appeal. "i feel that i have no right to let you go to your death by a firing squad," she interrupted hurriedly, "and i shall not! for i decide now not to allow the telephone to remain!" "but my chance--my one chance to--" "you have it there--happiness in the work you like, the work for which you seem to have been born--at least, a better work than spying and deceit--the right that you have won this morning there with the gun!" "i"--he looked around at the automatic ravenously and fearsomely--"i--" "it is all simply arranged. there is time for me to use the telephone before the grays arrive. i shall tell lanny why you took charge of the gun and how you handled it, and i know he will want you to keep it." "and the uniform--the uniform again! yes, the uniform--if only a gunner private's uniform!" he exclaimed in short, pulsating breaths of ecstasy. "yes, count on that, too! and good-by!" "good-by! i--" but she had already turned away. "i've changed my mind! exit gardener! enter gunner! i'm going with you! i'm going with you!" he cried in a jubilant voice that arrested the attention of every one on the grounds. they saw him throw his arms around stransky and then rush to the automatic. "one thought! one duty! oh, that is easy now!" he breathed, caressing the breech with a flutter of pats from both hands. xxviii an appeal to partow "you, marta--you are still there!" lanstron exclaimed in alarm when he heard her voice over the tunnel telephone. "but safe!" he added in relief. "thank god for that! it's a mighty load off my mind. and your mother?" "safe, too." "and minna and little clarissa eileen?" "all safe." "well, you're through the worst of it. there won't be any more fighting around the house, and certainly westerling will be courteous. but where is gustave?" "gone!" "gone!" he repeated dismally. in a flash he had guessed another tragedy for poor gustave, who must have once more failed to stick to his purpose, thus shattering the last hope that the thousandth chance would ever come to anything. "wait until you hear how he went," marta said. with all the vividness of her impressions, a partisan for the moment of him and dellarme, she sketched feller's part with the automatic. as he listened, lanstron's spirit was twenty again, with the fever that feller's "let's set things going!" could start rollicking in his veins. what did the thousandth chance matter? only a wool-gatherer would ever have had any faith in it. victory for gustave! victory for the friend in whom he believed when others had disbelieved! victory for those gifts that had broken a career against army routine in peace, once they had full play in war! "i can see him," he said. "it was a full breath of fresh air to the lungs of a suffocating man. i--" marta was off in interruption in the full tide of an appeal. "you must--i promised--you must let him have the uniform again!" she begged. "you must let him keep his automatic. to take it away would be like separating mother and child; like separating minna from clarissa eileen." "better than an automatic--a battery of guns!" replied lanstron. "this is where i will use any influence i have with partow for all it is worth. now, let the red-tapists dare to point to his past when i ask anything for him and i'll overwhelm them with the living present! yes, and he shall have the iron cross. it is for such deeds as his that the iron cross was meant." "thank you," she said. "it's worth something to make a man as happy as you will make him. yes, you are real flesh and blood to do this, lanny." her point won with surprising ease, when she had feared that military form and law could not be circumvented, she leaned against the wall in reaction. for twenty-four hours she had been without sleep. the interest of her appeal for feller had kept up her strength after the excitement of the fight for the redoubt was over. now there seemed nothing left to do. "no doctor who ever examined me for promotion has yet found that i wasn't flesh and blood," lanstron remarked a little plaintively. "then the doctor must have kept the truth from partow," she told him with a faint return of the teasing spirit that he knew well. "he wants only men of steel, with nerves of copper wire run by an electric battery, on his staff, i'm sure." lanstron laughed very humanly for an automaton. "i'll suggest the battery to him. it might prove a labor saver," he said. "being a little old-fashioned, he has depended on clockwork, which requires a special orderly to wind us when we fun down and nod at our desks." then he turned solicitous. "the gray staff will certainly give you an escort beyond the gray lines, where you will find a place to establish yourselves comfortably." the suggestion brought her energy back with the snap of a whip. "no!" she declared. "we stay in our home. it's ours! no one else has any right there while our taxes are paid. doesn't my children's oath say: 'i'll not let a burglar drive me out of my house'?" "isn't that coming around to my view, marta?" he asked. "aren't we refusing to leave the nation's house because a burglar is trying to enter?" "lanny, you, with all your intellect--when you know the oath as well as i--you pettifog like that! the oath says to appeal to justice and reason even after the first blow is struck. why doesn't our premier appeal to the people of the grays?" "they garbled his last despatch, as it was, to suit their purpose." "their government garbled it. i meant to appeal not to their premier but to the people, as human beings to human beings. over there they're human beings just as much as we are. why didn't partow speak, too, as chief of staff, if he is so fond of peace? he is the one--not the fellers and the dellarmes and the stranskys, who merely act up to their faith and training as pawns--he in the security of his cabinet making war. why didn't he say: 'we do not want war. we will not mobilize our army. we will do nothing to arouse the war passion?'" "their government would only have been convinced of an easier conquest, and by this time they would have been up to the main line of defence. marta, when the diplomatic history of the war is known it will be found that the gray government struck as a matter of cold, deliberate intention. bodlapoo was only an excuse to carry out a plan of conquest." "so partow has taught the browns," she answered stubbornly. "that is one partisan view. what is theirs? what is westerling teaching the grays?" "marta--really, i--" "what a smashing argument _really_ is! you see that you really are not for peace, but for war. but won't you ask partow to do one thing, if he still insists that he is for peace? i wonder if he will chuckle or laugh at my suggestion, or will he grin or roar? though you know that he will do them all, ask him to send out a flag of truce to the grays and beg them to stay their operations while his appeal--an appeal with a little of the christ spirit in it, from one christian nation to another to stop the murder--is read to the gray soldiers and ours; to those who have to suffer and die! oh, i'd like to help write that appeal, telling the women what i have seen! do you think if it were given to the world that the grays would still come on? ask him, lanny, ask him to make that simple human appeal, as brother to brother, to the court of all humanity! ask him, please, lanny!" "i shall, marta!" he replied seriously, in respect for her seriousness throbbing with the abandoned play of her vitality, though he knew how fruitless the request would be. he loved her the more for this outburst. he loved her for her quick sympathies with any one in trouble, whether feller or minna; for all of her inconsistencies which were so real to her; for her dreams, her visions, her impulses, because she tried to put them in action, and he envied feller for having fought in defence of her house. how could he expect her to interest herself exclusively in him as one human being when all human beings interested her so profoundly? if the world were peopled with martas and their disciples then her proposal would be practicable. "that's fine of you, lanny!" she said. "you've taken it like a good stoic, this loss of your thousandth chance. you really believed in it, didn't you?" "forgotten already, like the many other thousandth chances that have failed," he replied cheerfully. "one of the virtues of partow's steel automatons is that, being tearless as well as passionless, they never cry over spilt milk. and now," he went on soberly, "we must be saying good-by." "good-by, lanny? why, what do you mean?" she was startled. "till the war is over," he said, "and longer than that, perhaps, if la tir remains in gray territory." "you speak as if you thought you were going to lose!" "not while many of our soldiers are alive, if they continue to show the spirit that they have shown so far; not unless two men can crush one man in the automatic-gun-recoil age. but la tir is in a tangent and already in the grays' possession, while we act on the defensive. so i should hardly be flying over your garden again." "but there's the telephone, lanny, and here we are talking over it this very minute!" she expostulated. "you must remove it," he said. "if the grays should discover it they might form a suspicion that would put you in an unpleasant position." the telephone had become almost a familiar institution in her thoughts. its secret had something of the fascination for her of magic. "nonsense!" she exclaimed. "i am going to be very lonely. i want to learn how feller is doing--i want to chat with you. so i decide not to let it be taken out. and, you see, i have the tactical situation, as you soldiers call it, all in my favor. the work of removal must be done at my end of the line. you're quite helpless to enforce your wishes. and, lanny, if i ring the bell you'll answer, won't you?" "i couldn't help it!" he replied. "until then! you've been fine about everything to-day!" "until then!" when marta left the tower she knew only that she was weary with the mind-weariness, the body-weariness, the nerve-weariness of a spectator who has shared the emotion of every actor in a drama of death and finds the excitement that has kept her tense no longer a sustaining force. as she went along the path, steps uncertain from sheer fatigue, her sensibilities livened again at the sight of a picture. war, personal war, in the form of the giant stransky, was knocking at the kitchen door. his two-days-old beard was matted with dust and there were dried red spatters on his cheek. war's furnace flames seemed to have tanned him; war seemed to be breathing from his deep chest; his big nose was war's promontory. but the unexposed space of his forehead seemed singularly white when he took off his cap as minna came in answer to his knock. her yielding lips were parted, her eyes were bright with inquiry and suspicion, her chin was firmly set. "i came to see if you would let me kiss your hand again," said stransky, squinting through his brows wistfully. "would that do you any good?" minna asked. "a lot--a big lot!" said stransky. "but if it is easier for you, why, you can give me another blow in the face. i deserve it. it would show that you weren't quite indifferent; that you took some interest in me." "i see your nose has been broken once. you don't want it broken a second time. i'm stronger than you think!" minna retorted, and held out her hand carelessly as if it pleased her to humor him. he was rather graceful, despite his size, as he touched his lips to her fingers. just as he raised his head a burst of cheering rose from the yard. "so you've found that we have gone, you brilliant intellects!" he shouted, and glared at the wall of the house in the direction of the cheers. "quick! you have no time to lose!" minna warned him. "quick! quick!" cried marta. stransky paid no attention to the urgings. he had something more to say to minna. "i'm going to keep thinking of you and seeing your face--the face of a good woman--while i fight. and when the war is over, may i come to call?" he asked. his feet were so resolutely planted on the flags that apparently the only way to move them was to consent. "yes, yes!" said minna. "now, hurry!" "say, but you make me happy! watch me poke it into the grays for you!" he cried and bolted. "it seems to me that he is the biggest, most ridiculous man i ever saw!" said minna, as she watched him out of sight. "i'm tired, just tired to death, aren't you?" she added to marta. "exactly!" agreed marta. "i feel as if i had worked my way through hell to heaven and heaven was the chance to sleep." within the kitchen mrs. galland was already slumbering soundly in her chair. overhead marta heard the exclamations of male voices and the tread of what was literally the heel of the conqueror--guests that had come without asking! intruders that had entered without any process of law! would they overrun the house, her mother's room, her own room? indignation brought fresh strength as she started up the stairs. the head of the flight gave on to a dark part of the hall. there she paused, held by the scene that a score or more of gray soldiers, who had riotously crowded into the dining-room, were enacting. xxix through the veneer these men in the dining-room were members of fracasse's company of the grays whom marta had seen from her window the night before rushing across the road into the garden. it is time for their story--the story of their attack on the redoubt. one of those who remained motionless on the road was the doctor's son. if he had sprained his ankle at manoeuvres, the whole company would have gossiped about the accident. if he had died in the garrison hospital from pneumonia, the barracks would have been blue for a week. if he had fallen in the charge across the white posts, the day-laborer's son on his right and the judge's son on his left would have felt a spasm of horror. this is death, they would have thought; death that barely missed us; death that lays a man in the full tide of youth, as we are, silent and still forever. twelve hours after the war had begun, when the judge's son missed the doctor's son from the ranks, he remarked: "then they must have got him!" "yes, i saw him roll over on his side," said the laborer's son. there was no further comment. the lottery had drawn the doctor's son this time; it would get some one else with the next rush. existence had resolved itself into a hazard; all perspective was merged into a brimstone-gray background. the men did not think of home and parents, as they had on the previous night while they waited for the war to begin, or of patriotism. relatives were still dear and country was still dear, but the threads of these affections were no longer taut. they hung loose. fatalism had taken the place of suspense. there is no occurrence that frequency will not make familiar, and they were already familiar with death. a man might even get used to falling from a great height. at first, in lightning rapidity of thought, all his life would pass in review before him and all his hopes for the future would crowd thick. but what if he were to go on descending for hours; yes, for days? would not his sensations finally wear themselves down to a raw, quivering brain and the brain at length grow callous? suppose, further, that a number of men had been thrown over a precipice at the same time as he and that the bottom of the abyss was the distance from star to star! suppose that they fell at the same rate of speed! the first to be dashed against a shelf of rock would be a ghastly reminder to each man of his own approaching end. but, proceeding on horror's journey, he would become accustomed to such pictures. he would feel hunger and cold. physical discomfort would overwhelm mental agony. if a biscuit shot out from the pocket of a corpse, wouldn't the living hand grab for it in brute greediness? the thinner the veneer of civilized habit, the more easily the animal, always waiting and craving war, breaks through. and the animal was strong in jacob pilzer, the butcher's son. he had a bull's heart and lacked the little tendrils of sensibility whose writhing would tire him. hugo mallin had these tendrils by the thousand. he had so many that they gave him a reserve physical endurance like a kind of intoxication. he felt as if he had been drinking some noxious, foamy wine which made his mind singularly keen to every impression. therefore he and pilzer alone of fracasse's company were not utterly fatigued. the savagery of pilzer's bitterness at seeing another get the bronze cross before he received one turned not on little peterkin, the valet's son, but on hugo. as he and hugo moved, elbow to elbow, picking their way forward from the knoll, he eased his mind with rough sarcasm at hugo's expense. he christened hugo "white liver." when hugo stumbled over a stone he whispered: "white liver, that comes from the shaking knees of a coward!" hugo did not answer, nor did he after they had crossed the road and were under the cover of the fourth terrace wall, and pilzer whispered: "still with us, little white liver? cowards are lucky. but your time will come. you will die of fright." they worked their way ahead in the darkness to the third terrace and then to the second, without drawing fire. there they were told to unslip their packs "and sleep--sleep!" fracasse passed the word, as if this were also an order which perforce must be obeyed. they dropped down in a row, their heads against the cold stone wall. so closely packed were their bodies that they could feel one another's breaths and heart-beats. where last night they had thought of a multitude of things in vivid flashes, to-night nothing was vivid after the last explosion in the town and there was an end of firing. spaces of consciousness and unconsciousness were woven together in a kind of patchwork chaos of mind. for the raw brains were not yet quite calloused; they quivered from the successive benumbing shocks of the day. hugo would not even cheat himself by trying to close his eyes. he lay quite still looking at the quietly twinkling, kindly stars. unlike his comrades, he had not to go to hell in order to know what hell was like. he had foreseen the nature of war's reality, so it had not come as a surprise. sufficient universal projection of this kind of imagination might afford sufficient martial excitement without war. his mind was busy in the gestation of his impressions and observations since he had crossed the frontier. definitely he knew that he was not afraid of bullets or shell fire, and in this fact he found no credit whatever. the lion and the tiger and the little wild pigs of south america who will charge a railroad train are brave. but it took some courage to bear pilzer's abuse in silence, he was thinking, while he was conscious that out of all that he had seen and felt in the conflict of multitudinous angles of view was coming something definite, which would result in personal action, fearless of any consequences. the thing that held him back from a declaration of self was the pale faces around him; his comrades of the barracks and manoeuvres. he loved them; he thought, student fashion, that he understood them. he liked being their humorist; he liked to win their glances of affection. the fortitude to endure their contempt, their enmity, their ostracism would not save those dear to him in his distant provincial home from humiliation and heart-break. there was the rub: his father and mother and his sweetheart. he was an only son. his sweetheart was a goddess to his eyes. what purpose is there in the rebellion of a grain of sand on the seashore, in the insubordination of one of five million soldiers? hadn't westerling answered all doubts with the aphorism, "it is a mistake for a soldier to think too much"? thus pondering, in the company of the stars, hugo, who had so many thoughts of his own that he led a double life, awaited the dawn. when the church spire became outlined in the rosy, breaking light of the east, he thought how much it was like the church spire of his own town. he saw that he was in what had been a beautiful, tenderly cared-for old garden before soldiery had ruthlessly trampled its flowers. raising his head to a level with the terrace wall--the second terrace was low--he could see the piles of sand-bags on the first terrace only twenty feet away and an old house that belonged to the garden. the location appealed to him as his glance swept over plain and mountains glistening with dew. it must be glorious to come down from the veranda at daybreak or day's end to look at the flowers at your feet and the horizon in the distance. "could little white liver sleep away from home and mamma? did he long for mamma to tuck him among the goose feathers, with a sweet biscuit in his paddy?" inquired pilzer awakening. hugo looked around at pilzer in his quizzical fashion. "jake, you are unnecessarily uprooting an aster with the toe of your boot," he said. pilzer had a torrent of abuse ready to his tongue's end when fracasse interrupted with a hoarse, whispered warning: "silence, pilzer! you talk too much." now the irascible pilzer had a further grudge against hugo for having made him the object of a reprimand. "you!" he whispered, when the captain's back was turned, calling hugo a foul name. this cut through even hugo's philosophy and the blood went in a hot rush to his cheeks; but he slipped on his pack, as the others were doing, and readjusted his cartridge-box. word was passed to make ready for another rush, and soon the men knew that yesterday was not part of the hideous nightmare which had kept their legs quivering mechanically, as in the charge, while they slept, but that the nightmare was a continuing reality and the peace of morning a dream. under cover of the rain of shell fire on dellarme's position, already described, they mounted the wall of the second terrace and ran to the wall of the first terrace. they had expected to suffer terribly, but passed safely underneath a sheet of bullets that caught other sections of their regiment on the lower terraces. over their heads were the muzzles of the browns' rifles, blazing toward the road, while in the direction of the tower they saw the first charge of another regiment melting like snow under sprays of flame. they could not fire at dellarme's men and dellarme's men could not fire at them without leaning over the parapet. they could not go ahead. there was no room to their rear, for the reserves behind the third terrace had rushed up to the second terrace; those behind the fourth to the third; and still others across the road to the fourth, in successive waves. with a welter of slaughter around them, fracasse's men were in something of the position that little peterkin had enjoyed in the shell crater. they ate a breakfast of biscuits, washed down by water from their canteens. trickles of sand from bullet holes sprinkled their shoulders and they had enough resiliency of spirit to grin when a stream of sand from a bag torn by a shell burst ran down the back of pilzer's neck. it was rather amusing to hear jake growling as he twisted in his blouse. hugo caught the humor of it in another sense, for the same shell burst threw a piece of brown sleeve matted in a piece of flesh among the flowers. the next instant he saw a squad of grays who sprang up to rush toward the linden stumps go down under the hose stream from the automatic with the precision of having been struck by an electric current. not occupied, as he had been yesterday, with the business of keeping to his part as a physical cog in the machine, he was seeing war as a spectator--as marta saw it, as only a privileged few ever see it. society, he was thinking, took the trouble to bring boys through the whooping-cough and measles, pay for clothing and doctors' bills, and, while it complained about business losses and safe-guarded trees and harvests and buildings, destroyed the most valuable product of all with a spatter of bullets from a rapid-firer. the position of him and his comrades struck him as tragically ludicrous. were they grown men? had they reasoning minds? were they of the great races that had given the world steam-power, electric power, anæsthesia, and antiseptics? had they the religion of christ? had they an inheritance of great ages of art, literature, music, and philosophy? did they guard the treasures of their libraries and galleries? would they shudder in indignation if some one sent a bullet through the sistine madonna, or throw a bomb at the venus de milo, or struck a rare chinese porcelain into fragments with an axe? yes; oh, yes! here were beings created in the likeness of their maker, whose criterion of superiority over other animals was in these symbols and not in that of tooth, claw, or talon, disembowelling their fellow creatures. here were beings huddled together like a lot of puppies or cubs on an island in the midst of carnage which was not a visitation of the almighty, but of their own making. and suicide and homicide were against the law in the lands of both the browns and the grays! the whole business was monstrous, lunatic, inconceivable. yet he himself was one of the actors, without the character or the courage to break free of the machine which was taking lives with the irresponsibility of a baby hammering at the jewels of a watch. the fact that he knew better made him far more culpable, he thought, than little peterkin or any of his comrades. yes, he was despicable; he was a coward! all were lulled into a sense of security except captain fracasse, who had a set frown of apprehension which came of a professional knowledge not theirs. little peterkin, warmed by the autumn sunlight, began to believe in his star. if there were to be a special dispensation providing shell craters and the reverse walls of redoubts for him, he might retain his reputation for heroism. the sand still working its way downward between pilzer's bare skin and his undershirt irritated him to unusual restlessness of ambition for glory and bronze crosses. he was the strong man of his company, now that eugene aronson was dead. he must prove his importance. an inspiration made him leap to his feet. this brought his head within a foot of the top of the parapet, with an enemy's rifle barrel in easy reach. fortunately, or unfortunately, he was the type who must precede action with a boast; a bite with a growl. let all see that he was about to do a gallant, clever thing. "watch me snatch that rifle!" he announced. "no, you don't! get down!" snapped fracasse. "we aren't inviting hand-grenades. it's a wonder that we have escaped so far." "hand-grenades!" gasped peterkin, going white. but nobody observed his pallor. every one else was gasping, "hand-grenades!" under his breath; or, if not, his thoughts were shrieking, "hand-grenades!" there was a restless movement, a wistful look to the rear. "keep quiet!" whispered fracasse. "let us hope it isn't known that we're here." they became as still as men of stone. "well, if they are going to throw grenades then they will throw them!" exclaimed peterkin with the bravery of fear. he must do or say something worthy of a hero, he thought, in order to prove that he was not as scared as he knew he had looked and still felt. "you have the right sort of _sang-froid_, peter kinderling!" whispered fracasse. "and you, pilzer, showed a proper spirit, too, if wrongly directed." under cover of this favor, peterkin drew a little out of line, making a great pretence of stretching his legs and yawning--yawning with a sincerely dropped jaw and a quivering lip. he pressed his chin against the ground and this stopped the quivering. also, he was in a position to watch the parapet closely and to make a quick spring. fatalism had become suspense--suspense without action to take their minds off the prospect, the suspense of death lurking in a cloud which might break in a lightning flash! they thought that they knew the full gamut of horrors; but nothing that they had yet gone through was any criterion for what they now had to endure. all understood the nature of a hand-grenade, which bursts like a nihilist's bomb. it was as easy, they knew, to toss hand-grenades over the sand-bags into human flesh as apples into a basket. they felt themselves bound and gagged, waiting for an assassin to macerate them at his own sweet will. the second hour was worse than the first, the third worse than the second. in lulls they heard the voices of dellarme and his men, which seemed more ominous than the crash of rifles or the scream and crack of shells. finally there was a lull which they knew meant the supreme attempt to storm the position from the town side. they heard the commotion that followed dellarme's death; the sharp, rallying commands of feller and stransky; and then, as peterkin saw a black object fly free of a hand over the parapet he made a catlike spring, followed by another and another, and plunged face downward at the angle where the face of the redoubt bent toward the town. he thought that he was dead, and found, as he had in the shell crater, that he was not. after the two explosions he heard groans that chilled his blood, and looked around to see living faces like chalk, with glassy, beady, protruding eyes, and a dozen men killed and eviscerated and mangled in bleeding confusion. but hugo and pilzer and those of peterkin's immediate group were alive. they were in their places, while he was alone and out of his place. he had bolted, while they held their ground; now he would be revealed in his true light. the bronze cross would be lost before it was pinned to his breast. from where he lay, however, he could see the other face of the redoubt and a wedge of men about to mount the sand-bags. his next act was born of the inspired cunning of his fear of being exposed, which was almost as compelling as his fear of death. he waved his hand excitedly to the others to come on. "charge! charge! this is the way!" shrieked peterkin. his voice had the terror of a man floating toward a falls and calling for a rope, but not so to fracasse, to whom it was the voice of a great chance. why hadn't he thought of this before? of course, he should move around under cover of the reverse wall of the redoubt to join in the attack on the weak point! the valet's son had shown him the way. "come, men, come! follow me and peterkin!" cried fracasse. did they follow? westerling or any expert in the psychology of war could understand how ripe was their mood. "it is the wait under right conditions that will make men fiends unleashed when the word to storm is given," an older authority had written. under sentence of death for six hours, they welcomed any opportunity to get at grips with those who had held death suspended over their heads. you will use hand-grenades, will you? snug behind sand-bags you will tear the flesh of our comrades to pieces, will you? they saw red, the red of raw fragments of flesh; the red of the gush from torn artery walls--all except hugo and peterkin, who might well begin to believe that there was a measure of art in heroism. peterkin seemed to share leadership at the captain's side, but he slipped and fell--he had weak ankles, anyway--as fracasse's men pressed the rear of the wedge forward with the strength of mass, only to be borne back by men, riddled with bullets, tumbling fairly into their faces. as we have seen, there was no getting through a breach under the concentrated blasts of a hundred rifles, and pilzer, who, by using human shoulders for steps, had reached the parapet, turned a back somersault with out his rifle. however, he seized one from a dead man's hand before the captain had noticed the loss. some of the company joined in the flight of the attackers from the town into the open, but hugo and pilzer and their friends remained under cover of the wall. they still saw red, the red of a darker anger--that of repulse. when, finally, they burst into the redoubt after it was found that the browns had gone, all, even the judge's son, were the war demon's, own. the veneer had been warped and twisted and burned off down to the raw animal flesh. their brains had the fever itch of callouses forming. not a sign of brown there in the yard; not a sign of any tribute after all they had endured! they had not been able to lay hands on the murderous throwers of hand-grenades. far away now was the barrack-room geniality of the forum around hugo; in oblivion were the ethics of an inherited civilization taught by mothers, teachers, and church. but here was a house--a house of the browns; a big, fine house! they would see what they had won--this was the privilege of baffled victory. what they had won was theirs! to the victor the spoils! pell-mell they crowded into the dining-room, hugo with the rest, feeling himself a straw on the crest of a wave, and pilzer, most bitter, most ugly of all, his short, strong teeth and gums showing and his liver patch red, lumpy, and trembling. in crossing the threshold of privacy they committed the act that leaves the deepest wound of war's inheritance, to go on from generation to generation in the history of families. "a swell dining-room! i like the chandeliers!" roared pilzer. with his bayonet he smashed the only globe left intact by the shell fire. there was a laugh as a shower of glass fell on the floor. even the judge's son, the son of the tribune of law, joined in. pilzer then ripped up the leather seat of a chair. this introductory havoc whetted his appetite for other worlds of conquest, as the self-chosen leader of the increasing crowd that poured through the doorway. "maybe there's food!" he shouted. "maybe there's wine!" "food and wine!" "yes, wine! we're thirsty!" "and maybe women! i'd like to kiss a pretty maid servant!" pilzer added, starting toward the hall. "stop!" cried hugo, forcing his way in front of pilzer. he was like no one of the hugos of the many parts that his comrades had seen him play. his blue eyes had become an inflexible gray. he was standing half on tiptoe, his quivering muscles in tune with the quivering pitch of his voice: a hugo in anger! this was a tremendous joke. he was about to regain his reputation as a humorist by a brilliant display in keeping with the new order of their existence. "we have no right in here! this is a private house!" but the fever of their savagery--the infectious savagery of the mob--wanted no humor of this kind. "out of the way, you white-livered little rat!" cried pilzer, "or i'll prick the tummy of mamma's darling!" what happened then was so sudden and unexpected in hugo that all were vague about details. they saw him in a catapultic lunge, mesmeric in its swiftness, and they saw pilzer go down, his leg twisted under him and his head banging the floor. hugo stood, half ashamed, half frightened, yet ready for another encounter. fracasse, entering at this moment, was too intent on his mission to consider the rights of a personal difference between two of his company, though he heard and noted pilzer's growling complaint that he had been struck an unfair blow. "there's work to do! out of here, quick! we are losing valuable time!" he announced, rounding his men toward the door with commanding gestures. "we are going in pursuit!" marta, who had observed the latter part of the scene from the shadows of the hall, knew that she should never forget hugo's face as he turned on pilzer, while his voice of protest struck a singing chord in her jangling nerves. it was the voice of civilization, of one who could think out of the orbit of a whirlpool of passionate barbarism. she could see that he was about to spring and her prayer went with his leap. she gloried in the impact that felled the great brute with the liver patch on his cheek, which was like a birthmark of war. after the men were gone she regretted that she had not gone to hugo and expressed her gratitude. she vaguely wondered if she should see him again and hoped that she might. the two faces, hugo's and pilzer's, in the instant of hugo's protest and pilzer's contempt, were as clear as in life before her eyes. then a staff-officer appeared in the doorway. when he saw a woman enter the room he frowned. he had ridden from the town, which was empty of women, a fact that he regarded as a blessing. if she had been a maid servant he would have kept on his cap. seeing that she was not, he removed it and found himself in want of words as their eyes met after she had made a gesture to the broken glass on the floor and the lacerated table top, which said too plainly: "do you admire your work?" the fact that he was well groomed and freshly shaven did not in any wise dissipate in her feminine mind his connection with this destruction. he had never seen anything like the smile which went with the gesture. her eyes were two continuing and challenging flames. her chin was held high and steady, and the pallor of exhaustion, with the blackness of her hair-and eyes, made her strangely commanding. he understood that she was not waiting for him to speak, but to go. "i did not know that there was a woman here!" he said. "and i did not know that officers of the grays were accustomed to enter private houses without invitations!" she replied. "this is a little different," he began. she interrupted him. "but the law of the grays is that homes should be left undisturbed, isn't it? at least, it is the law of civilization. i believe you profess, too, to protect property, do you not?" "why, yes!" he agreed. he wished that he could get a little respite from the steady fire of her eyes. it was embarrassing and as confusing as the white light of an impracticable logic. "in that case, please place a guard around our house lest some more of your soldiers get out of control," she went on. "i can do that, yes," he said. "but we are to make this a staff headquarters and must start at once to put the house in readiness." "general westerling's headquarters?" she inquired. he parried the question with a frown. staff-officers never give information. they receive information and transmit orders. "i know general westerling. you will tell him that my mother, mrs. galland, and our maid and myself are very tired from the entertainment he has given us, unasked, and we need sleep to-night. so you will leave us until morning and that door, sir, is the one out into the grounds." the staff-officer bowed and went out by that door, glad to get away from marta's eyes. his inspection of the premises with a view to plans for staff accommodation could wait. westerling would not be here for two days at least. "whew! what energy she has!" he thought. "i never had anybody make me feel so contemptibly unlike a gentleman in my life." yet marta, returning to the hall, had to steady herself in a dizzy moment against the wall. complete reaction had come. she craved sleep as if it were the one true, real thing in the world. she craved sleep for the clarity of mind that comes with the morning light. in the haziness of fleecy thought, as slumber drew its soft clouds around her, her last conscious visions were the pleasant ones rising free of a background of horror: of feller's smile when he went back to his automatic for good; of dellarme's smile as he was dying; of stransky's smile as minna gave him hope; and of hugo's face as he uttered his flute-like cry of protest. in her ears were the haunting calmness and contained force of lanstron's voice over the telephone. she was pleased to think that she had not lost her temper in her talk with the staff-officer. no, she had not flared once in indignation. it was as if she had absorbed some of lanny's own self-control. lanny would approve of her in that scene with an officer of the grays. and she realized that a change had come over her--a change inexplicable and telling--and she was tired--oh, so tired! it had been exhausting work, indeed, for one woman, though she had been around the world, making war on two armies. * * * * * meanwhile, all too flushed with energy, the energy of movement, to think of the feud between hugo and pilzer, fracasse's men had sped along the castle road. little peterkin easily kept pace. there was no danger in pursuit. in him was the same zest of the chase which animated his comrades. they dropped down on a ledge without much regard to order. before them, at close range, was a company breaking out of close order in a _sauve-qui-peut_ rout up a reverse slope. it was not dellarme's company, but some other that had mistaken its direction and retired too late and by the wrong road. you will throw hand-grenades, will you? thought fracasse's men. you will mangle our fellows when they can't strike back, will you? now you'll pay! now it is our turn! we have seen our blood flow and now yours will flow! the lust of the red slipped the cartridge clips into the magazines and held a true aim in the mad delight of slaughter. no one minded, for no one heard--not even little peterkin--the scattering bullets in return. they had reached the stage where the objective thought of revenge wholly submerged the subjective thought of personal danger, which is the mood of the hungry tiger in the hunt. they were the veritable finished products of veteran experience in purpose and marksmanship. hugo, too, was firing, but far over the head of every target; firing like a man in a trance who needs some deciding incident to bring him out of it into the part he was to play. only occasional figures who had not escaped over the ridge were to be seen. the fewer the targets the greater the concentration. a whole company was firing on a dozen straggling figures. but one--that one in the pasture--seemed to have a charmed life. the ground around him was peppered with dust spots. he had only a few yards more to go to safety; yes his head--the exasperation of him!--was in line with the crest before he fell. where was there any more prey? with ferret quickness eyes swept the range of vision. out of an orchard into the stubble of a wheat-field broke a panicky mass; a score or more of men who had lost their officer and their heads presumably. they were the nail under the hammer, a brown blot, a target. "ah!" a chorus of excited exclamations in greeting of the game flushed from cover ran along the line. just the way you got our fellows with the hand-grenades, we will get you! this was the thought, this the prayer which they saw being fulfilled by the glad medley of their fire when hugo mallin sprang up and threw down his rifle as if it were something whose touch had become venomous. he threw it down with features transformed in the uplifting thought and the relief of a final resolution taken. "i am through!" he cried. "i will not murder my fellowman who has done me no wrong! i cannot, i will not kill!" fracasse, who was near by, heard enough to understand the purport of the declaration, and his recollection of hugo's heresy and all the prejudice that he had formed against hugo and the abhorrence of hugo's offence to the strict militarist brought a rush of anger to his brain as he leaped up and drawing his sword, struck at hugo with the flat of it. he aimed for hugo's back, but a bullet had hit hugo in the calf of his leg and, his knees giving under him, he received the blow on the head and fell unconscious. when he came to it was with a twitch of pain in his ribs. he saw the glowering faces of his comrades above him and realized that pilzer had given him a kick which expressed the general opinion. "once ought to be enough of that," said the doctor, who was bandaging the leg, speaking to pilzer. yet in the doctor's eyes hugo saw no favor, only the humanity of his occupation of mercy to criminal and king alike. but hugo expected no favor and he was glad of what he had done as he swooned again. when he came to a second time, his head aching with throbs, it was with a sense of falling. he found that he was on a litter that had just been set down. evidently this was by order of the colonel, who was standing over hugo in the company of some officers. all were regarding him as if he were a species of reptile. "world anarchist ideas, which is another word for treason or white liver," observed the colonel. "to think that it happened in my regiment! but i'll not try to cover it for the regiment's good name. he will get the full measure of the law!" "the placard is a good idea," suggested an officer. "yes, put on by one of his comrades!" "the punishment of public opinion. it shows how sound the army is at heart." hugo, lowering his glance, was able to see a sheet of note-paper pinned to his blouse. it was lettered, but he could not make out the words. then he heard the approach of a galloping horse, whose hoofs seemed to strike his head, and heard the horse stop and an orderly saying something about company i having got too far forward into a mess and the need of litters. "we can spare this one," said the colonel. hugo was rolled roughly onto the ground by the roadside and left alone. he managed to raise himself on his elbow and saw that the lettering of the placard was "coward!" officers and soldiers and hospital-corps men called attention to it as they passed. the sun was very hot and he was growing feverish. painfully he dragged himself to the shelter of a tree, and then, looking around, saw that he was near the big house of the terraced garden. xxx marta meets hugo the general staff-officer of the grays, who had tasted marta's temper on his first call, when he returned the next morning did not enter unannounced. he rang the door-bell. "i have a message for you from general westerling," he said to her. "the general expresses his deep regret at the unavoidable damage to your house and grounds and has directed that everything possible be done immediately in the way of repairs." in proof of this the officer called attention to a group of service-corps men who were removing the sand-bags from the first terrace. others were at work in the garden setting uprooted plants back into the earth. "his excellency says," continued the officer, "that, although the house is so admirably suited for staff purposes, we will find another if you desire." he was too polite and too considerate in his attitude for marta not to meet him in the same spirit. "that is what we should naturally prefer," and marta bowed her head in indecision. "we should have to begin installing the telegraph and telephone service on the lower floor at once," he remarked. "in fact, all arrangements must be made before the general's arrival." "he has been a guest here before," she said reminiscently and detachedly. her head dropped lower, in apparent disregard of his presence, as she took counsel with herself. she was perfectly still, without even the movement of an eyelash. other considerations than any he might suggest, he subtly understood, held her attention. they were the criterion by which she would at length assent or dissent, and nothing could hurry the marta of to-day, who yesterday had been a creature of feverish impulse. it seemed a long time that he was watching that wonderful profile under the very black hair, soft with the softness of flesh, yet firmly carved. she lifted her head gradually, her eyes sweeping past the spot where dellarme had lain dying, where feller had manned the automatic, where stransky had thrown pilzer over the parapet. he saw the glance arrested and focussed on the flag of the grays, which was floating from a staff on the outskirts of the town, and slowly, glowingly, the light rippling on its folds was reflected in her face. "she is for us! she is a gray!" he thought triumphantly. the woman and the flag! the matter-of-fact staff-officer felt the thrill of sentiment. "i think we can arrange it," marta announced with a rare smile of assent. "then i'll go back to town and set the signal-corps men to work," he said. "and when you come you will find the house at your disposal," she assured him. except that he was raising his cap instead of saluting, he was conscious of withdrawing with the deference due to a superior. in place of the smile, after he had gone, came a frown and a look in her eyes as if at something revolting; then the smile returned, to be succeeded by the frown, which was followed by an indeterminate shaking of the head. the roar of battle kept up its steady refrain in the direction of the range. marta had heard it when she fell asleep and heard it when she awakened. a battery of heavy guns of the grays broke their flashes from a knoll this side of the one where dellarme's men had made their first stand. at the foot of the garden, where yesterday she had distributed flowers to the wounded browns, a regiment of gray infantry was marching past a train of siege-guns. all the figures moving on the landscape, which yesterday had been brown, had changed to gray. the grays were masters of the town and all the neighborhood. marta stepped down from the veranda in response to the call of the open air to physical vigor renewed after sweet sleep. rather than return directly to the kitchen, where breakfast was waiting, she would go around the house. she stopped before a japanese maple which had been split by a shell striking in a crotch. was there any hope of saving it? no. she turned white about the lips, with red spots on her cheeks, and at length nodded her head as if in answer to some inward question. over the sward, cut by shell fragments, lay torn limbs and bits of bark, and in the shade of a tree near the road she had a glimpse of the shoulder of the gray uniform of a prostrate man. the rest of him was hidden by the low-hanging branches of one of the norway spruces which bordered the estate at this point. another step and she saw a circular red spot on a white leg bandage; another, and a white square of paper pinned to a blouse; another, and she identified the wounded man as her hero of the scene in the dining-room. hugo's eyes were closed, his breaths slow, in restless sleep. his face, flushed with fever, was winningly boyish and frank. he who had had the courage to speak alone against the opinion of his fellows, to voice a belief that made every sympathetic chord in her own mind sing with praise and understanding, the courage to say that invasion was wrong even when made by his own people, had been labelled coward and left to die! the exaltation of his features when he had been the champion of her beliefs and her impulse against the barbarism of his comrades and the charm of their resignation now, the pitifulness of his condition--all had an appeal as she bent over him that called for an expression having the touch of the sublimely feminine. she took his hand in hers and pressed it gently. he awoke and brought himself jerkily to a sitting posture. the effort made a crash in his head that sent his senses swimming. she thought that he was going to swoon and slipped her arm behind him in support and, the marta of impulse, pressed her lips to his brow. after the first racking throb of his temples he was able to steady himself, and as she drew away she saw his blue eyes starting in wonder at her act. "i--i had to do it to thank you for what you did in the dining-room!" she stammered. "oh! oh! it was very beautiful of you, but i couldn't help being surprised, for it was rather unusual--from a stranger." he smiled, and hugo had a gift in smiles, as we know: smiles for laughter, smiles for reassurance, and smiles to cure embarrassment. "it was almost as refreshing as a drink of water," he concluded impersonally. "you are thirsty?" "this--this is morning, isn't it?" hugo went on quizzically. "yes, yes!" "then it must be the next day," he pursued, still quizzically. "you see, i said i would not kill any more--and i will not--and i was shot and got tagged without even being shipped as freight. i was thirsty last night, very thirsty, and some one--i think it was jake pilzer--some one said to go to the fountain of hell for a drink, but i--i don't think that a very good place to get a drink, do you?" weak and faint as he was, he put a touch of drollery into the question which made her laugh, her eyes sparkling through a moist haze. "you're real, aren't you?" he inquired in sudden perplexity. "i'm not dreaming?" "as real as the water i shall bring you." soon marta was back, holding a glass to his lips. "there's no doubt about it; you are real!" said hugo. "i feel as if the chimney were still hot but that you had drenched the fire in the grate." "who put this on you?" she asked as she unpinned the placard. "i've a vague idea, from a vague overhearing of the colonel's remarks, that it is public opinion," he replied, and seeing, that she was about to tear it up, he arrested her action. "no, i think i'd like to save it as a souvenir--the odds are so greatly against me--as a sort of souvenir to keep up my courage." his tone, the way he drew the muscles of his face, ironed out her frown of disgust at public opinion with a smile. for he made his kind of courage no less light-hearted and free of pose than dellarme had made his. directly the coachman, whom marta had summoned when she went for the water, appeared with an improvised litter, and the two bore in at the kitchen door a guest for breakfast whose arrival gave mrs. galland a distinctly visible surprise. his uniform was gray, and in her heart of hearts she hated gray as the symbol of an enemy whom her husband had fought. but when marta told the story of the part he had played in defence of the chandelier, personal partisanship abetted the motherly impulse that was already breaking down prejudice. she was busy with a dozen suggestions for his comfort, quite taking matters out of marta's hands. "i know more about the care of the sick than you do!" she insisted. "one lump or two in your coffee, sir? there, there, you had better let me hold the cup for you. you are sure you can sit up? then we must have a pillow." "i'll fetch one from the other room," put in minna. "two will be better!" marta called after her. "it is delightful to have breakfast in your kitchen, madame," said hugo to mrs. galland in a way that ought to have justified her in thinking herself the most charming and useful person in the world. xxxi unto cæsar it was more irritating than ever for mrs. galland to keep pace with her daughter's inconsistencies. there was a marta listening in partisan sympathy to hugo's story of why he had refused to fight and telling the story of her school in return. there was a marta seizing hugo's hand in a quick, impulsive grasp as she exclaimed: "your act personified what i taught my children!" there was a marta planning how he should be secreted in the coachman's quarters over the stable, where he would be reasonably free from discovery until his strength was regained. then here was another marta, after hugo had been carried away on the litter, saying coolly to her mother: "'unto cæsar the things that are cæsar's!' we have our property, our home to protect. perhaps the grays have come to stay for good, so graciousness is our only weapon. we cannot fight a whole army single-handed." "you have found that out, marta?" said mrs. galland. "we have four rooms in the baron's tower and a kitchen stove," marta proceeded. "with minna we can make ourselves very comfortable and leave the house to the staff." "the gallands in their gardener's quarters! the staff of the grays in ours! your father will turn in his grave!" mrs. galland exclaimed. "but, mother, it is not quite agreeable to think of three women living in the same house with a score of strange men!" marta persisted. "i had not thought of that, marta. of course, it would be abominable!" agreed mrs. galland, promptly capitulating where a point of propriety was involved. when marta informed the officer--the same one who had rung the door-bell on his second visit--of the family's decision he appeared shocked at the idea of eviction that was implied. but, secretly pleased at the turn of events, he hastened to apologize for war's brutal necessities, and marta's complaisance led him to consider himself something of a diplomatist. yes, more than ever he was convinced of the wisdom of an invader ringing door-bells. meanwhile, the service-corps men had continued their work until now there was no vestige of war in the grounds that labor could obliterate; and masons had come to repair the walls of the house itself and plasterers to renew the broken ceilings. all this marta regarded in a kind of charmed wonder that an invader could be so considerate. her manner with the officers in charge of preparations had the simplicity and ease which a woman of twenty-seven, who is not old-maidish because she is not afraid of a single future, may employ as a serene hostess. she frequently asked if there were good news. "yes," was the uniform reply. an unexpected setback here or resistance there, but progress, nevertheless. but she learned, too, that the first two days' fighting along the frontier had cost the grays fifty thousand casualties. "in order to make an omelet you must break eggs!" she remarked. "spoken like a true soldier--like a member of the staff!" was the reply. in her constraint and detachment they realized her conscious appreciation of the fact that in earlier times her people had been for the browns; but in her flashes of interest in the progress of the war, flashes from a woman's unmilitary mind, they judged that her heart was with the grays. and why not? was it not natural that a woman with more than her share of intellectual perception should be on the right side? from her associations it was not to be expected that she would make an outright declaration of apostasy. this would destroy the value and the attractiveness of her conversion reverence for the past, for a father who had fought for the browns, against her own convictions, made her attitude appear singularly and delicately correct. though everything was ready for them, the staff delayed coming owing to the stubbornness of some heavy guns of the browns, which, while they had directed no shells against the house, had shown that they had the range by unexpectedly playing havoc with infantry in close order on the pass road at the foot of the garden and with transportation on the castle road. but at last the battery was silenced and the mind of the army might establish itself in its offices on the ground floor and its quarters on the second floor without being in danger. the war was a week old--a week which had developed other tangents and traps than la tir--on the morning that the first instalment of junior officers came to occupy the tables and desks. where the family portraits had hung in the dining-room were now big maps dotted with brown and gray flags. portable field cabinets with sectional maps on a large scale were arranged around the walls of the drawing-room. in what had been the lounging room of the old days of galland prosperity, the refrain of half a dozen telegraph instruments made medley with the clicking of typewriters. cooks and helpers were busy in the kitchen; for the staff were to live like gentlemen; they were to have their morning baths, their comfortable beds, and regular meals. no twinge of indigestion or of rheumatism from exposure was to interfere with the working of their precious intellectual processes. no detail of assistance would be lacking to save any bureaucratic head time and labor the bedrooms were apportioned according to rank--that of the master awaited the master; the best servant's bedroom awaited françois, his valet. when bouchard, the chief of intelligence, who fought the battle of wits and spies against lanstron, came, two hours before westerling was due, the last of the staff except westerling and his personal aide had arrived bouchard, with his iron-gray hair, bushy eyebrows, strong, aquiline nose, and hawk-like eyes, his mouth hidden by a bristly mustache, was lean and saturnine, and he was loyal. no jealous thought entered his mind at having to serve a man younger than himself. he did not serve a personality; he served a chief of staff and a profession. the score of words which escaped him as he looked over the arrangements were all of directing criticism and bitten off sharply, as if he regretted that he had to waste breath in communicating even a thought. "i tell nothing, but you tell me everything!" said bouchard's hawk eyes. he was old-fashioned; he looked his part, which was one of the many points of difference between him and lanstron as a chief of intelligence. after he had gone through the house he went for a flyspecking tour of the grounds, where he came upon a private of the grays on crutches. with rest and good food the tiny hole in hugo's leg from the merciful small-calibre bullet had healed rapidly. confinement was irksome on a sunny day. he had grown strong enough in spirit to face his fate, whatever it might be, and in the absence of the watchful coachman he had risked the delight of a convalescent's adventure in the open, clad in his uniform, the only clothes he had. bouchard saw instantly that this private did not wear the insignia of staff service. "what are you doing here?" he asked. "getting well of a wound," answered hugo, looking frankly into the hawk eyes. "evidently!" said bouchard, who was always irritated when told what he could see for himself. "why aren't you at a hospital?" "i was not wanted there!" said hugo. "what! what!" but bouchard had wasted two words. "your name and regiment?" he asked. "hugo mallin, of the 128th," replied hugo. "uh-h!" bouchard's pigeonhole memory had retained the name. "charge--mutiny under fire; anarchism!" he went on, chopping out the words as if they were chips from a piece of granite. "well, you have not escaped trial by hiding." "i did not flatter myself that with one leg against a whole army i had much chance, sir!" hugo replied respectfully. "uh-h!" the hawk eyes flashed their disapproval of such controversial freedom of language from a private. had he had his way he would have hanged hugo to the nearest tree; for bouchard had truly a mediæval soul. but hugo's case was so extraordinary that it had reached westerling's ears, and bouchard knew that westerling wished to see hugo when he was apprehended. it was not for bouchard to consider this desire of a chief of staff to deal with the case of a private in person as singular. no request of the chief of staff was singular to him. it became a matter of natural law. he called to one of the staff guards who was pacing back and forth near by. "take this man in charge and watch him sharply until general westerling sends for him!" "and you will get justice from general westerling!" it was marta's voice. in approaching she had unavoidably overheard part of the conversation. "justice is his first characteristic!" she added as the hawk eyes turned their scrutiny into hers, which were calm and smiling. hugo had not seen marta since he had been carried to the coachman's quarters. minna had visited him frequently, bearing inquiries from her mistress as well as custards. he had looked forward to a talk with marta as a kindred spirit, yet it was difficult for him to reconcile the woman speaking now with the woman who had kissed him on the forehead. but he said nothing as he was marched away. "miss galland!" exclaimed bouchard in a way that said he knew her story. "yes, that little monkey can depend on more justice than he deserves. the unanswerable evidence is on the chief of staff's desk awaiting his arrival." bouchard's hawk eyes probed hers for an instant longer and seemed to find nothing to call further curiosity; then he lifted his cap and proceeded with his tour of inspection. marta smiled thoughtfully as she watched his receding figure, while her eyelashes narrowed and she inclined her head with a nod before she moved away in the direction of the tower. there was almost complete silence along the front. since yesterday's action, which had checked the guns commanding the range of the house, there had been little firing. she guessed that the lull was only a recess of preparation for the grand attack on the first line of permanent defence, and that probably this would follow westerling's arrival. he was due at four o'clock and he would be characteristically prompt to the minute. "it must not be! hugo mallin is too fine a spirit to be sacrificed. i'll go on my knees, if need be, to westerling," marta was thinking as she paced back and forth in her room. on her knees to him! she stopped short, struck in revolt with a memory of the way he had looked at her once as she sat across the tea-table from him in the hotel reception-room. "no, i could not endure that except as a last resort. if ever there were a time to use all my wits it is now--to save hugo mallin, the one soldier who acted out the principles which i taught my children!" xxxii tea on the veranda again as it lacked one minute to four when hedworth westerling, chief of staff in name as well as power now, alighted from the gray automobile that turned in at the galland drive, the chauffeur thought well enough of himself to forget the crush of supplies and ambulances that had delayed his excellency's car for at least ninety seconds in the main street of the town. though his excellency had not occupied his new headquarters as soon as he expected, this could have no influence on results. if he had lost fifty thousand men on the first two days and two hundred thousand since the war had begun, should he allow this to disturb his well-being of body or mind? his well-being of body and mind meant the ultimate saving of lives. the grays were winning; this alone counted in the present. they would continue to win; this alone counted in the future. they had won by crowding in reserves till the positions attacked yielded to superior strength. thus they would continue to win until the last positions had yielded. five million mothers' sons against three million mothers' sons! five to three pounds of flesh! five to three ounces of blood! with equal skill, superior strength must always tell. westerling and his staff were responsible for the skill. if their minds would work better for it, the nation could well afford to feed them on nightingales' tongues. confidence is the handmaiden of skill. confidence is the edge on the sword; confidence brings the final charge that wins the redoubt. confidence was reflected in westerling's bearing and in his smile of command as he passed through the staff rooms, turcas and bouchard in his train, with tacit approval of the arrangements. finally, turcas, now vice-chief of staff, and the other chiefs awaited his pleasure in the library, which was to be his sanctum. on the massive seventeenth-century desk lay a number of reports and suggestions. westerling ran through them with accustomed swiftness of sifting and then turned to his personal aide. "tell françois that i will have tea on the veranda." from the fact that he took with him the papers that he had laid aside, subordinate generals, with the gift of unspoken directions which is a part of their profession, understood that he meant to go over the subjects requiring special attention while he had tea. "everything is going well--well!" he added in a way that said that everything must be if he said so and that he knew how to make everything go well. "and we shall be up pretty late to-night. any one who feels the need had better take a nap"--the implication being that he did not. "well!" ran the unspoken communication of confidence through the staff. so well that his excellency was calmly taking tea on the veranda! for the indefatigable turcas the detail; for westerling the front of jove. "well!" the thrill of the word was with him in a flight of sentiment as he stood on that veranda where a certain prophecy had been made to a young colonel. sight of the rippling folds of the flag of his country on the outskirts of the town prolonged the thrill. his eyes swept the pale horizon of the distances of plain and mountain and lowered to the garden. above the second terrace he saw a crown of woman's hair--hair of a jet abundance, radiant in the sunlight and shading a face that brought familiar completeness to the scene. he had told marta only two weeks ago that he should see her again if war came; and war had come. with the inviting prospect of a few holiday moments in which to continue the interview that had been abruptly concluded in a hotel reception-room, he started down the terrace steps. their glances met where the second terrace path ended at the second terrace flight; hers shot with a beam of restrained and questioning good humor that spoke at least a truce to the invader. "you called sooner than i expected," she said in a note of equivocal pleasantry. "or i," he rejoined with a shade of triumph, the politest of triumph. he was a step above her, her head on a level with the pocket of his blouse. his square shoulders, commanding height, and military erectness were thus emphasized, as was her own feminine slightness. "i want to thank you," she said. "as becomes a soldier, your forethought was expressed in action. it was the promptness of the men you sent to look after the garden which saved the uprooted plants before they were past recovery." "i wished it for your sake and somewhat for my own sake to be the same that it was in the days when i used to call," he said graciously. "tea was from four to five, do you remember? will you join me? i have just ordered it." a generous, pleasant conqueror, this! no one knew better than westerling how to be one when he chose. he was something of an actor. leaders of men of his type usually are. "why, yes. very gladly!" she assented with no undue cordiality and no undue constraint, quite as if there were no war. "it was the browns who cut the lindens?" he suggested significantly. "they said that it was necessary as part of the defence," she replied. "we shall plant new ones and have the pleasure of watching them grow." neutrality could not be better impersonated he thought, than in the even cleaving of her lips over the words. they seemed to say that a storm had come and gone and a new set of masters had taken the place of the old. as they approached the veranda françois was placing the tea things. "quite the same! that was your chair, as i remember," said westerling after indicating to françois that he might go, "and this was mine." but the teapot was not mrs. galland's--it belonged to the staff. "this is different," observed marta, touching her finger-tip to the coat of arms of the grays on the side of a cup. "yes, my own field kit," he answered, thinking that the novelty of tea from a soldier's service had appealed to her; for she was smiling. "so, you being the host and i the guest now, why, you pour!" she said. there was a touch of brittleness in her tone--of half-teasing, half-serious brittleness. "oh, no, no!" he protested laughingly, and found her glance flashing through her brows holding him fast in an indefinable challenge. "i shall pour when you do us the honor to come to tea at the gardener's quarters in the tower," she said. "no, no!" he objected. "the tea conditions are the same as before." he was earnest for his point. it would please his masculine fancy to watch those firm, small fingers pausing over the cup before the plunge of a lump of sugar stirred the miniature ocean in waves; to watch the firm little hand in its grip of the handle of the pot. "conditions the same as before?" she laughed softly. "how can they be in my thoughts or yours?" she asked with a sudden show of seriousness. "we did turn you out of house and home--i understand!" he exclaimed apologetically. "and that is the symbol of it to you!" he indicated the coat of arms. "the symbol of the conqueror, isn't it?" he asked playfully, for in the company of women it pleased him to be playful. "conqueror? it's a big word!" she mused. "i hadn't thought of it in connection with pouring tea"--which might be another way of saying that she had just been thinking of it very hard and might be trying to find whether it had a pleasant or an unpleasant side. clearly, here was a marta different from any yet precipitated by the alchemy of war. the resourceful variety of her! oh, it was like the old days! it made him feel young, as young as when he had been a colonel commanding the garrison on the other side of the white posts. she had intelligence, yet was at the same time distinctly feminine, with the gift of as much talk about who should pour tea as about how to storm a redoubt. she did not carry her mental wares on her sleeve. she flashed them in a way that prompted curiosity as to the next exhibit. he had sought primarily, selfishly, to be entertained at tea, and he was being entertained. to want to win was his nature. he understood, too, that she wanted to win. he liked that quality in her the more because it heightened the valve of victory for him. "then, if you don't think of it in connection with pouring tea, let me tell you what i think of when i sit on this veranda. i think of you as hostess. you refuse to play the part!" he exclaimed with that persistence, softened a little, perhaps, yet suggestive of the quality characterized by the firm jaw and still eyes, which won his point at staff councils. again he was conscious of one of her sweeping glances of appraisal, with just a glint of admiration and even approval tucked away in the recesses of her smile. "suppose we compromise," she suggested thoughtfully, with the gravity of one making a great concession. "suppose you do the heavy work, and pour, and i drop the sugar in the cups." but westerling always used a half concession as a lever to gain a full concession. "i'd really better do it all--act out the host and the conqueror!" he declared. "one can't compromise principles." "oh! why?" she was distinctly interested, leaning nearer to him and playing a tattoo with one set of fingers on the back of the other hand. "anything except your doing all the honors leaves me in the same invidious position," he answered. "it compounds my felony. it shows that you do think that we failed by our conduct to show respect for your property. it leaves me feeling that you think that i do not regard this as your veranda, your garden, your home, sacred by more than the laws of war--by an old friendship!" he made his appeal finely, as he well knew how to do. a certain magnetic eloquence that went well with his handsome face and sturdy bearing had been his most successful asset in making him chief of staff. the tattoo of her fingers died down while she listened to his final, serious reasons about a subject that became peculiarly significant; and her brows lifted, her eyes opened in the surprise of one who gets a sudden new angle of light. "you put it very well. in that case--" she said, and his glance and hers dropped, his to the capable hand on the handle of the teapot, hers into the cup. "with the honors of war and officers permitted to retain their side-arms?" she asked. "yes; oh, yes!" he answered happily. she smiled her acknowledgment with just that self-respect of capitulation which flatters the victor with the thought that he has overcome no mean opponent--the highest form of compliment known to the guild of courtiers. he was susceptible to it and, in turn, to the curiosity about her that had remained unsatisfied at the end of their talk in the hotel. her own veranda was the natural, familiar place to judge the work of time in those character-forming years from seventeen to twenty-seven. she was not like what she had been in the artificial surroundings of a fortnight ago. she filled the eye and the mind now in the well-knit suppleness of figure and the finished maturity of features which bore the mark of inner growth of knowledge of life. she was not a species of intellectual exotic, as he had feared, too baffling to allow the male intellect to feel comfortable, but very much, as he noted discriminatingly, a woman in all the physical freshness of a woman in her prime. "just like the old days, isn't it?" he exclaimed with his first sip, convinced that the officers' commissary supplied excellent tea in the field. "yes, for the moment--if we forget the war!" she replied, and looked away, preoccupied, toward the landscape. if we forget the war! she bore on the words rather grimly. the change that he had noted between the marta of the hotel reception-room and the marta of the moment was not altogether the work of ten years. it had developed since she was in the capital. in these three weeks war had been brought to her door. she had been under heavy fire. yet this subject of the war was the one which he, as an invader, considered himself bound to avoid. "we do forget it at tea, don't we?" he asked. "at least we need not speak of it!" she replied. safely, then, at first, their conversation ran not on the present but on an intimate past, free of any possible bumpers. the train of memories once started, she herself gave it speed if it stopped at a way station; cargo if it went empty. prone to avoid recollections that made him feel old--to feel old was to be out of date in his profession---he found these livening with the youth of thirty-two and gratifying as youth's dreams become reality. feeling as young as a colonel, he had the consciousness of being chief of staff. this was enough to make any soldier enjoy the place and the company and to drink his tea slowly so as to prolong the recess from duty. his second cup growing cold, he was reminded of the value of time, and with a playfully reproachful look at marta he put a warning finger of conscience on the papers that lay beside the bread plate. "there's work--always work for a chief!" he declared. "i--" marta was quick to act on the hint. her hands flew to the arms of her chair as she spoke. "there's always the garden for me! but first--" yes, first there was poor hugo. westerling flushed guiltily that she should have taken his words as a hint, which was only half of his emotion. the other half shot out his hand in a restraining, companionable touch on her forearm, while his eyes--his calculating gray eyes--glinted a youthful entreaty. "please! i didn't finish my sentence!" he begged. "you remember that often i used to wait after tea until the sunset--" "and reached your quarters late for dinner, i also remember!" she put in. but she remained in the same position, his finger-tips on her arm, her hands holding her body free of the chair. "that is, when you did not stay to dinner!" she added. "i am staying to-night. i was going to ask if you wouldn't remain on the veranda while i go over these papers. it--it would be very cosey and pleasant." one of these papers, she knew, must be the evidence against hugo mallin. she preferred not to make a direct appeal but to have westerling bring up the subject himself. his smile and the look with which he regarded her spoke his appreciation of the picture she made and his fear of losing it. very cosey and pleasant, yes, the company of a prophetess, with a ray of sunlight making her hair an aurora of flashing bronze overtopping a brown face, the eyes holding answers to an increasing number of unasked questions about the new forces that he had found in her. "why, yes," she agreed with evident pleasure, for she was thinking of hugo. turcas now came, in answer to westerling's ring. the orders and suggestions on the table seemed to be the product of this lath of a man, the vice-chief, but a lath of steel, not wood, who appeared a runner trained for a race of intellects in the scratch class. one by one, almost perfunctorily, westerling gave his assent as he passed the papers to turcas; while turcas's dry voice, coming from between a narrow opening of the thin lips, gave his reasons with a rapid-firer's precision in answer to his chief's inquiries. with each order somewhere along that frontier some unit of a great organism would respond. the reserves from this position would be transferred to that; such a position would be felt out before dark by a reconnaissance in force, however costly; the rapid-firers of the 19th division would be transferred to the 20th; despite the 37th brigade's losses, it would still form the advance; general so-and-so would be superseded after his failure of yesterday; colonel so-and-so would take his place as acting major-general; more care must be exercised in recommendations for bronze crosses, lest their value so depreciate that officers and men would lack incentive to win them. marta was having a look behind the scenes at the fountainhead of great events. power! power! the absolute power of the soldier in the saddle, with premier and government and all the institutions of peace only a dim background for the processes of war! opposite her was a man who could make and unmake not only generals but even the destinies of peoples. by every sign he enjoyed his power for its own sake. there must be a chief of the five millions, which were as a moving forest of destruction, and here was the chief, his strength reflected in the strong muscles of his short neck as he turned his head to listen to turcas. marta recalled the contrast between westerling and lanstron as they faced each other after the wreck of the aeroplane ten years ago: the iron invincibility of the elder's sturdy, mature figure and the alert, high-strung invincibility of the slighter figure of the younger man. "the evidence you asked for in that mallin mutiny case," said turcas, indicating the only remaining paper. "yes, i want to go into that--it's a question of policy," said westerling. he had taken up the paper thoughtfully after turcas withdrew, when he looked up to marta in answer to a movement in her chair. she had bent forward in a pose that freed her figure from the chair-back in an outline of suppleness and firmness; her lips were parted, showing a faint line of the white of her teeth, and he caught her gazing at him in a kind of wondering admiration. but she dropped her eyelids instantly and said deliberately, less to him than to herself: "you have the gift!" no tea-table flattery that, he knew; only the reflection of a fact whose existence had been borne in on her by observation. "the gift? how?" he inquired, speaking to the fringe of hair that half hid her lowered face. she looked up, smiling brightly. "you don't know what gift! not the pianist's! not the poet's!" (oh, to save hugo! the method she had chosen to save him, alien to all her impulses, born of the war's stress on her mind, seemed the wise one in view of her knowledge of the man before her) "why, of course, the supreme gift of command! the thing that made you chief of staff! and the war goes well for you, doesn't it?" delicious morsel, this, to a connoisseur in compliments! he tasted it with the same self-satisfied smile that he had her first prophecy. to her who had then voiced a secret he had shared with no one, as his chest swelled with a full breath, he bared another in the delight of the impression he had made on her. "yes, as you foresaw--as i planned!" he said. "yes, i planned all, step by step, till i was chief of staff and ready. i convinced the premier that it was time to strike and i chose the hour to strike; for bodlapoo was only a convenient excuse for the last of all the steps" the subjective enjoyment of the declaration kept him from any keen notice of the effect of his words. lanny was right. it had been a war of deliberate conquest; a war to gratify personal ambition. all her life marta would be able to live over again the feelings of this moment. it was as if she were frozen, all except brain and nerves, which were on fire, while the rigidity of ice kept her from springing from her chair in contempt and horror. she would always wonder how the bonds of her purpose to save hugo held her tongue but still another purpose came on the wings of diabolical temptation which would pit the art of woman against the power of a man who set millions against millions in slaughter to gratify personal ambition. she was thankful that she was looking down as she spoke, for she could not bring herself to another compliment. her throat was too chilled for that yet. "the one way to end the feud between the two nations was a war that would mean permanent peace," he explained, seeing how quiet she was and realizing, with a recollection of her children's oath, that he had gone a little too far. he wanted to retain her admiration. it had become as precious to him as a new delicacy to lucullus. "yes, i understand," she managed to murmur; then she was able to look up. "it's all so immense!" she added. "and you have yet another paper there?" she said with a little gesture that might have been taken as the expression of a hope that she was not overstaying her welcome. "this is very interesting," he said, watching her narrowly now, "the case of a private, one hugo mallin, who refused to fight because he was against war on principle. four charges: assault on a fellow soldier, cowardice, treason, and insubordination under fire." "enough, i should say!" said marta in a low tone. "a question of which one to press--of an example," continued westerling, reading the full official statement for the first time. "what is the punishment?" she asked. "why, of course, death!" he replied, somewhat absently, in preoccupation. "extraordinary! and they have located him, it seems he is here at headquarters!" "yes; certainly," marta said. "we found him under a tree, deserted and wounded, labelled coward, and we cared for him." "indeed!" exclaimed westerling. "he must have appealed strongly to your sympathies." there was no sharpness in the words, but he had lapsed from the personal to the official manner. "to my sense of humanity!" her reply was made in much the same tone as his remark, where he had expected emotion, even passion. more than ever was he certain that she had undergone some revealing experience since he had seen her in the capital. "yes, to any one's sense of humanity--a wounded, thirsty man in a fever!" there came, with a swift and mellowing charm, the look of a fervent and exalted tenderness and the pulse-arresting quiver of intensity that had swept over her at her first sight of hugo under the tree. "i know that he was not a coward in one sense," she added, "for i saw him make the assault named in the first charge." she proceeded with the story of what she had witnessed in the dining-room. there was no appeal on hugo's account. appraising the qualities of the marta of the moment in contrast with the marta of seventeen and the marta of three weeks ago, westerling was significantly conscious of her attitude of impartiality, free of any attempt at feminine influence, and of her evident desire to help him with the facts that she knew. "the charge of assault is only incidental," said westerling. "but mallin was in the right about his comrades entering the house; right about the destruction of property. it is our business to protect property, not only as a principle but as a matter of policy. we do not desire to make the population of the country we occupy unnecessarily hostile." "i judged that from your kindness in repairing the damage done to ours," she assured him, and added happily: "though i don't suppose that you go so far in most cases as to set uprooted plants back in their beds." "no; that is a refinement, perhaps," he answered, laughing. she was not only more agreeable but also more sane than at the hotel. he liked the idea of continuing to despatch his work while retaining her company. "i must have a talk with mallin," he said. "i must settle his case so that if similar cases arise subordinates will know what to do without consulting me. would you mind if i sent for him?" he reached for the bell to call an orderly. "yes, i should like to hear what he says to you and what you say to him," she confessed with unfeigned interest, which brought a suggestion that he was to be put on trial before her at the same time as mallin was on trial before westerling. his fingers paused on the bell head without pressure. "i told him that you were a just man," she remarked, "that any one would be certain of justice from you." he rang the bell; and after he had sent for mallin, warming under the compliment of her last remark, he dared a reconnaissance along the line of inquiry which he had wanted to undertake from the first. "mallin's ideas about war seem to be a great deal like your own," he hinted casually. "as i expressed them at the hotel, you mean!" she exclaimed. "that seems ages ago--ages!" the perplexity and indecision that, in a space of silence, brooded in the depths of her eyes came to the surface in wavering lights. "yes, ages! ages!" the wavering lights grew dim with a kind of horror and she looked away fixedly at a given point. he was conscious of a thrill; the thrill that always presaged victory for him. he realized her evident distress; he guessed that terrible pictures were moving before her vision, and he changed the subject. "i know how revolting it must have been to have seen those soldiers wantonly smashing your chandelier and gloating over their mischief," he said. "really, the captain was to blame for letting his men get out of hand. he seems not to have been a competent man. we can train and train an officer, but when war comes--well, no amount of training will supply a certain quality that must be inborn--the quality of command." "such as dellarme had!" she exclaimed absently, under her breath. she had forgotten her part and westerling's presence. the given point of her gaze was exactly where dellarme lay when he died. she was unconsciously smiling in the way that he had smiled. but to westerling it seemed that she was smiling at space. he was puzzled; his perception piqued. "who was dellarme?" he was bound to ask. "the officer in command of the company of infantry posted behind the sand-bags in the yard--he was killed!" she answered, turning her face toward westerling without the smile, singularly expressionless. "yes, he must have had the quality from the defence he made," agreed westerling, in the hearty tribute of a taxable soldier to a capable soldier. so very well had that one small position been held that every detail was graven on the mind of a chief of staff who was supposed to leave details to his brigade commanders. it was he himself who had ordered the final charge after the brigade commander had advised delaying another attack until the redoubt could be hammered to pieces by heavy guns brought up from the rear. "but he had to go!" westerling exclaimed doggedly; for he could not resist this tribute, in turn, to his own success in making an example for timid brigade commanders in the future by driving in more reserves until the enemy yielded. "yes!" she agreed without any change in the set face and moody eyes. "you saw something of the defence?" "yes!" marta replied in a way that aroused his imagination. this, he recalled, had always been her gift. the slow-drawn monosyllable was pregnant with revelations which his knowing mind could readily supply. she had been in the midst of the fury of the most tenacious fighting within a small space that the war had yet to chronicle. she had been an intimate of the splendid desperation of the browns; known their thoughts and feelings. what a multitude of impressions were stored in her sensitive mind, impressions which, for the moment, seemed to benumb her! how she could make them speak from her eyes and quiver from her very finger-tips when she chose! he would yet hear her vivid account of all that she had seen. it would be informatory--a reflection of the spirit of the browns. her quietness itself was compelling in its latent strength, and strength was the thing he most admired. more and more questions winged themselves into his thoughts, while his next one served the purpose of passing the time until hugo came. "there was a man out of uniform, in a gardener's garb, in charge of the automatic," he remarked. "it was so puzzling that i heard of it. you see, there is no limit to what a chief of staff may know." "yes, our gardener," she replied. "your gardener! why, how was that? wasn't he in the reserves if he were a brown? wasn't he called to the colors at the outbreak of the war?" in spite of himself the questions were somewhat sharp. they seemed to take marta by surprise, which, however, was evanescent. "i wonder!" she said, as interested as westerling in the suggestion. "something a soldier would think of immediately and a woman wouldn't. i know that we lost our gardener." that was all. she did not attempt any further explanation or enlarge on the subject, but let it go as an inquiry unexplained in the course of conversation. had westerling been inclined to pursue it further he would have been interrupted by the arrival of a figure with a bandaged leg and head which came hobbling cheerfully around the corner of the house on crutches, escorted by an infantryman. the guard saluted and withdrew into the background. hugo saluted and removed his cap and looked at westerling with the faintest turn of a smile on his lips, which plainly spoke his quizzical appreciation of the fact that he was in the presence of dazzling heights for a private. marta had a single glance from him--a glance of peculiar inquiry and astonishment, sweeping over the tea things fairly into her eyes. then it was gone. he might have been the most dutiful and respectful soldier of the five millions as he waited on the head of the five millions to speak. westerling read the four charges. then he asked the stereotyped question: "what have you to say to them?" when he looked up from the paper he saw a face that was a mask, a gentle, pleasant mask, and blue eyes looking quite steadily into his own with a sort of well-established and dreamy fatalism. "nothing, sir," said hugo respectfully. westerling frowned. though a confession of guilt simplified everything, perhaps he frowned to find no embarrassment in his presence in the private; perhaps he apprehended impertinence in the soft blue eyes. "you know what that means--the charges sustained?" "yes, sir!" "and you have nothing to say?" westerling's frown deepened. there was an undercurrent of urgency in his tone. this mild culprit, waiting for the wheels of justice to roll over him without a protest, gave him no light as to a policy that should apply to other cases. he resented, too, any suggestion of readiness for martyrdom no man of power who is anything of a politician and not a fool likes to make martyrs. "nothing?" he repeated. "nothing at all in your own behalf?" a faint expression appeared on the mask. so insistently could hugo's mask hold attention that westerling noted even a slight, thoughtful drawing down of the brow and one corner of the mouth. he could not conceive that the laws of gravity could be upset or that a private would undertake to have fun at the expense of a chief of staff. "nothing, sir, unless i should make a long speech," he said. "do you want me to do that, sir?" westerling held his irritation in control and looked around at marta. he saw only wonder in her eyes as she intently regarded hugo, which was his own feeling, he suddenly realized. "i have hardly time to listen to long speeches," he remarked. "i thought not, sir," replied hugo, unmoved. "that is why i said i had nothing to say. and in want of a long speech the best that i could do to explain would be to ask you to read certain books." an explosion of his breath in astonishment saved westerling from harsh expletives. for one thing, he was piqued. though he would not admit it even to himself, he had, perhaps, fancied the idea of playing the gentle and patient dispenser of justice before marta a private on trial for the greatest of military crimes seraphically advising a chief of staff to read books! there were not enough words in the dictionary to rebuke the insubordination of such conceit! the only way to look at the thing was as a kind of grim jest. he retrieved his vexation with a laugh as he turned to marta. she was smiling irresistibly, in concert with his own mood, as she continued to regard hugo. hugo's mask was entirely for westerling. he did not seem to see marta now, and through his mask radiated the considerate understanding of one who can put himself in another's place--which was hugo's besetting fault or virtue, as you choose. in short, the chief of staff had a feeling that this private knew exactly what he, the chief of staff, was thinking. "yes, i was certain, sir," said hugo, "that you were too busy either to listen to speeches or to read books. you have months of hard work before you, sir." his respectful "sirs" had the deference of youth to an elder; otherwise, he was an equal in conversation with an equal. westerling still kept his temper, but the way that his under jaw closed indicated that he had made up his mind. "one charge is enough," he said in a businesslike fashion. "on the firing-line you threw down your rifle. you refused to fight any more. you said: 'damn patriotism! i'm through!' is that so?" a slight flush shot into hugo's cheeks; he twisted his shoulder on his crutch as if he had a twinge of pain, but his face did not change its expression. "no, sir. i did not say: 'damn patriotism!' i'm afraid captain fracasse was out of temper when he reported that. i didn't say, 'damn patriotism!' because i did not think that then and do not now. would you care to have my recollection of what i said?" "yes!" breathed marta with so intent an emphasis that westerling turned sharply, only to find her smiling at him. her smile said that she thought that hugo's story would be interesting. "yes; go ahead!" said westerling. "i think that i can recall my words very accurately, sir," hugo proceeded. "they were important to me. i was the individual most affected in the matter. i said: 'i am through. i will not murder my fellowmen who have done me no wrong. i cannot, i will not kill!'" "that is all?" queried westerling, again looking at marta, this time covertly, while he played with a teaspoon. brooding uncertainty had flooded the sparkle out of her eyes. she was statue-like in her stillness, her breaths impalpable in their softness. but the points of her knuckles were ghostly, sharp spots on her tightly clenched hands. all that westerling could tell was that she was thinking, and thinking hard. there was a space of silence broken only by the movement of the teaspoon. hugo was the first to speak. "i believe in patriotism, sir. that means love of country. i love my country," he said slowly. a preachment of patriotism from this nonchalant private was a straw too much for westerling's patience. he made a nervous gesture--a distinctly nervous one as he dropped the teaspoon. he would have an end of nonsense. "you will answer questions!" he said. "first, you dropped your rifle?" "yes, sir." "you refused to fight?" "yes, sir." "you know the penalty for this?" hugo inclined his head. he was silent. "shot for treason--and immediately!" westerling went on, irritated at the man's complaisance. then he bit his lip. this was harsh talk before marta. he expected to hear her utter some sort of protest against such cruelty, and instead saw that her face remained calm and that there was nothing but wonder in her eyes. she knew how to wait. "then, sir," said hugo, speaking, evidently, because he was expected to say something, "i suppose, of course, that i shall be shot. but"--he was smiling in the way that he would when he brought a "good one" to the head in the barracks--"but it will not be necessary to do it more than once, will it? to tell you the truth, i had not counted on being shot more than once." westerling was like a man who had lunged a blow at an object and struck only air. "i said that he was not a coward," marta remarked quietly. there was nothing in her manner to imply that she was defending hugo. she seemed to be incidentally justifying a previous observation of her own. a smile in face of death! westerling's prayer was for countless masses of infantry who would smile in face of death and do his bidding. he could not resist a soldier's admiration, which, however, he would not permit to take the form of words. the form which it took was a sharp thrust of his fist into the hollow of his hand. he had, too, a sense of defeat which was uppermost as he spoke--a defeat that he was bound to retrieve. "you have a home, a father, and a mother?" he asked. "yes, sir." "and perhaps a sweetheart?" westerling proceeded. hugo unmistakably flushed. "i don't think sir, that official statistics require an answer to that question. i"--and again that confounded smile, as westerling was beginning to regard it--"i trust, sir, that i shall not have to be shot more than once if we do not bring any one not yet officially of my family into the affair." "you do not seem to like life," westerling observed. "i love life!" answered hugo earnestly. "i try to get something out of every minute of it; if nothing particular, at least the miracle of living and breathing and thinking and seeing--seeing such beautiful scenes as this." he looked away toward the glorious landscape. it was the first time that he had lifted the steady gaze of those studious blue eyes from westerling, but directly they were back on duty. "it is because i love life," he continued, "and think that everybody else must love life, that i do not want to kill. because i love my country i know that others love their country, and i want them to keep their country." marta's glance had followed hugo's into the distance. it still rested there intently. to westerling she showed only a profile, with the shadow of the porch between them and the golden light of receding day in the background: a golden light on a silhouette of ivory, a silhouette that you might find without meaning or so full of meaning as to hold an observer in a quandary as to what she was thinking or whether or not she was thinking at all. westerling had the baffled consciousness of fencing with a culprit at the bar who had turned adversary. it was the visionary's white logic of the blue dome against the soldier's material logic of _x_ equals initial velocity. here was an incomprehensible mortal who loved life and yet was ready to die for love of life. here was love of country that refused to serve country. all a pose, a clever bit of acting to play on his feelings through the presence of a woman, westerling concluded. and marta was still looking at the landscape. her mind seemed withdrawn from the veranda. only her body remained. all the impulse of westerling's military instinct and training, rebelling at an abstract ethical controversy with a private about book heresies that belonged under the censor's ban, called for the word of authority from the apex of the pyramid to put an end to talk with an atom at the base. but that profile--that serene ivory in the golden light, so unlike the marta of the hotel reception-room--was compellingly present though her mind were absent. it suggested loss of temper as the supreme weakness. he had permitted a controversy. he must argue his man down; he must find his adversary's weak point. "your province is one of the most patriotic," he said. "its people are of the purest blood of our race. they have always been loyal. they have always fought determinedly. to no people would a traitor be so abhorrent. do you want the distinction of being a traitor--one lone traitor in your loyal province?" hugo was visibly affected. the twisted corner of his mouth quivered. "i had thought of that, too, sir," he said. "suppose your father and mother knew that your comrades had labelled you a coward before the whole army; that they had thought you worthy only of kicks and to be left to die by the roadside. suppose that your father and mother knew that the story of hugo mallin, coward and traitor, who threw down his rifle under fire is being told throughout the land--as i shall have it told--until your name is a symbol for cowardice and treason. how would your father and mother feel?" there was an unsteady movement of hugo's body on his crutches. he swallowed hard, moistening dry lips; and the mobility of feature that could change the mask into the illumination of varied emotions spoke horror and asked for pity. "i--i--as a matter of mercy, when i have admitted the charge, i ask you not to bear on that, sir!" he stammered. then the crutches creaked with a stronger grip of his hands and a stiffening of his body as he mastered his feelings. the mask recovered its own, even to the drawing down of the corner of the mouth. "i have reasoned that all out, sir," he went on. "it was the thing which kept me from throwing down my rifle before we made our first charge. i have written a letter to my father and mother." marta had been so engrossed in the landscape that she seemed not to have been listening. it was her voice, come out of the distance, that asked, without any inflection except that of tense curiosity: "may we see the letter?" as she turned her eyes looked directly into hugo's, their gaze locked, as it were: hers that of a simple request, his that of puzzled, unsatisfied scrutiny. "may we?" she repeated to westerling, looking now frankly at him, "though i don't know as it is in keeping with the situation or with your wishes to grant the whim of a woman. but you see," she added smiling, "that is what comes of having a woman present." if she had any double meaning westerling could not find it in her eyes. "i am willing," said hugo. "indeed, i shall be very glad to have my side heard." "yes, let us see the letter," assented westerling; for he, too, was curious. when hugo had given it to westerling and he saw that it was not very long, he began reading aloud: "'i've kept very well and cheerful and i'm cheerful now,'" the letter began. "'please always think of me as cheerful. everybody in our company has fought well; just as bravely as our forefathers did in the wars of their day.'" "which hardly agrees with your ideas," observed westerling. "exactly, sir. men should be brave for their convictions," answered hugo. "and, as you said, the men of our province are loyal to the old ideas. they believe they ought to fight the browns." then followed a brief, intimate, appealing story of how each of his dead comrades had fallen. "'you can read these to their folks at home, if you want to. they might like to know.'" irresistibly there crept into westerling's face at these recitals of soldierly courage the satisfaction of the commander with the spirit of his men. here was proof of the valor of the units of his army. "'now i have something to tell you which will hurt you very much,'" westerling read on, "'but you must recollect that i was always regarded as a little queer. and i don't think people will hold you to blame on my account. i hope they will sympathize with you for having such a son. you will have heard the story from the men of the company, but i also want to tell it to you....'" after it was told the letter proceeded: "'i feel that i was a coward up to the moment that everybody else was calling me a coward. then i felt free and happy, as if i had been true to myself. i felt that i had been just as much in the wrong as if we should break into our neighbor's house and take his property because we were stronger than he. how would you feel if a neighbor entered your house and made it his own? you would call in the police. but what if there were no police? would that make it right?'" marta's own opinions! the spirit of her children's prayer! head bent, hands clasped, she was simply listening. "'would it be cowardice if one of the neighbor's family said, "i will not take any further part in this robbery!" when he saw you, mother, weeping over you, father, as you lay dead after trying to defend your house? when i was asked to fire at those running men it was like standing on a neighbor's door-step and firing down the street at my neighbors in flight. i could not do it. i could not do it though twenty million men were doing the same thing. no, i could not do it any more than you could commit murder, father. that is all. perhaps when those who survive from my company come home, after they have been beaten as they will be--'" "what!" westerling exploded. all the force of his being had to take umbrage at this. beaten! marta saw the rigid, unyielding westerling who had cried, "we shall win!" when she made her second prophecy. but the comparison did not occur to him. nothing occurred to him but red anger, until the first dart of reason warned him, a chief of staff, that a private had made him completely lose his temper. he recovered his poise with a laugh and without even glancing at marta. "well, we might as well hear the reasons for your expert opinion," he said, his satire a trifle hoarse after the strain of his emotion. "because the browns fight for their homes!" answered hugo "when the great crisis comes they have a reserve strength that we have not: conscience, the intelligent conscience of this age that cannot fool itself with false enthusiasm continually. they are fighting as i should pray that i might fight if the browns invaded our country; as i might fight against a murderous burglar. for i will fight, sir, i will fight with my face to the white posts, but not with my back to them! the browns have no more right to cross our frontier than we have to cross theirs!" there was a perceptible shudder on marta's part, an abrupt, tossing elevation of her head. she stared at the spot where dellarme had lain in the garden. dellarme's smile was back on her lips; it seemed graven there. her eyes, which westerling could not see, were leaping flames. "i'm afraid you will not have the chance," westerling observed, as he returned the letter to hugo, its reading unfinished. "what if every man held your views? what would become of the army and the nation?" he demanded. "why, i think i have made that plain," replied hugo. he appeared no less weary than westerling over continual beating of the air to no purpose. "we should retreat to our own soil, where we belong." "and you are ready to be shot for that principle?" the question was sharp and final. "yes, if being shot for what i did is dying for it--though i prefer to live for it!" said hugo, still without any pose. he refused to play for a chapter in the future book of martyrs to peace. this was the irritating thing about him to a soldier, who deprecated all kinds of personal bravado and show as against the efficiency of the modern military machine, when men were supposed to respond to duty in the face of death as automatically as in any business requiring team-work, with an every-day smile like hugo's on their lips. "then," westerling began, and broke off abruptly. his eyes sought marta. the affair seemed to have worn on her nerves also. there was a distinctly appreciable effort at self-control in the slow way that she turned her head. the flame in her eyes was suddenly suffused in a liquid glance which slowly brightened with a suggestion. "it is extraordinary!" she breathed. "don't you think that the blow on his head and the fever afterward has something to do with it?" hugo answered for himself. "my views are the same as they were before the blow and the act that brought the blow!" he said, with a slight cast of the eye toward marta which intimated that he wanted no help from the deserter of the principles which she had professed to him previously. she shuddered as if hurt, but only momentarily. "psychological, i suppose--psychological and irresponsible abnormality!" she murmured, avoiding hugo's look and bending her own on westerling persistently. "long words!" said hugo. "insanity is shorter." but westerling did not seem to hear. his thought was shaped by the superb misery and sensitiveness in marta's face. he had done wrong to ask her to remain. of course the scene had been painful to her. she would not be herself if she wanted to see a man tried for his life. he knew that views not unlike hugo's were latent in many minds lacking hugo's initiative that would respond to the right impulse. a way out occurred to him as inspiration, which pleased his sense of craft. the press, which the premier reported was irritated by his censorship--the press which must have sensation, the traffic of its trade--should have a detailed account of how one of our indomitable regiments placarded a private as coward, proving thereby that the army was a unit of aggressive zeal. "you are alone--one man in a million in your ideas!" he declared, with judicial gravity. "we shall postpone your trial and leave public opinion to punish you. your story will be given to the press in full; your name will be a byword throughout the land, an example, and while you are convalescing you will remain a prisoner. when you are well we shall have another talk i may give you a chance, for the sake of your father and mother and your sweetheart and the good opinion of your neighbors, to redeem yourself." "i had to tell you what i felt, sir," said hugo. "thank you for letting me live, after you knew." he saluted and turned away. marta and westerling watched him as he hobbled around the corner of the house and in a heavy silence listened to the crunch of his crutch tips on the gravel growing fainter. her lashes, those convenient curtains for hiding thought, dropped as westerling looked around; but he saw that her lips had reddened and that she was drawing a long, deep, energizing breath. when the lashes lifted, there was still wonder in her eyes--wonder which had become definite tribute to him. the assurance he wanted was that he had borne himself well, and he had it. "you kept your patience beautifully," she told him. "it seems to me that you were both kind and wise." "how i was to be merciful against the facts puzzled me," he replied, "until you saved the day with your suggestion of psychological irresponsibility." "then i helped? i really helped?" "you did, decidedly! you--" there he broke off, for he found himself speaking to her profile. she had looked away in a sudden flight of abstraction, very far away, where the lowering sun was stretching the shadows of the foot-hills toward the white posts. capes and pillars and promontories of shadow there in the distance! swinging, furry finger-points of shadow from the tall hollyhocks in the garden swaying with the breeze! the dark shade of the house's mass over the yard! it was time for him to be at his desk. but she seemed far from any suggestion of going. she seemed to expect him to wait; otherwise he might have concluded that she had forgotten his presence. yet were he to rustle a paper he knew that she would hear it. though she did not change her position in the chair, she appeared subtly active in every fibre. he found waiting easy, free as he was to watch the beauty of her profile in the glory of the sunset. the superb thing about her was that she always called for study. her lips moved in sensitive turns; her breast rose in soft billows with her breaths; the long, flickering eyelashes ran outward from black to bronze and to feather tips of gold. in time measured by the regular standard of clock ticks, which in the brain may either race madly or drag mercilessly, she was not long silent. when she spoke she' did not look entirely around at first; he had no glimpse into her eyes. "it was another experience of war," she said moodily, returning to the subject of hugo. "yes, something like the final chapter of experience, the trial of this dreamer." then a wave of restless impatience with her abstraction swept over her. speaking of dreamers, she herself would stop dreaming. "for experience does make a great difference, doesn't it?" she exclaimed with a sad, knowing smile. after a perceptible pause her eyes suddenly glowed into his. all the commotion of her thought was galvanized into purpose in the look. "i have had a heart full and a mind full of experiences!" she said. "i have been close to war--closer than you! i have looked on while others fought!" the thing was coming! he should hear the story of the change that war had wrought in her. she appeared to regard him as the one listener whom she had sought; as a confidant who alone could understand her. his gift for listening was in full play as he relaxed and settled back in his chair, shading his eyes with his hand lest he should seem to stare. for in his eagerness he would not miss any one of her varied signals of emotion. she was as vivid as he knew that she would be, her narration flashes of impression in clear detail. her being seemed transparent to its depths and her moods through the last week to run past him in review. he marvelled at times at her military knowledge; again at her impartiality. she was neither for the browns nor the grays; she was simply telling what she had seen. she passed by some horrors; on others she dwelt with fearless emphasis. "then the hand-grenades were thrown!" she put her hands over her eyes. "as they fell"--she put her hands over her ears--"oh, the groans!" "it was the browns who started it!" he interjected in defence. "i had hoped that we should escape that kind of warfare." he was too intent to recall what he had said to the premier about using every known method of destruction. "and this is only the beginning, isn't it?" she asked piteously, exhausted with her story. "only the beginning!" he agreed. again brooding wonder appeared in her eyes, while there was wonder in his eyes--wonder at her. "and you remain with your property!" he exclaimed in a burst of admiration. once more she was looking away into the distance; once more he was studying her profile. he knew that she had gone through her experience without tears and without a scream. she had been subjected to his final test of all merit--war. courage she had, feminine courage. and he had often asked himself what would happen if he, a great man, should ever meet a great woman. he was baffled by the resources of a mind that was held in detachment under her charm; baffled as to what she was thinking at that moment, only to find her smiling at him, the wonder in her eyes resolving itself into purpose. "you see, i have been very much stirred up," she said half apologetically. "there are some questions i want to ask--quite practical, selfish questions. you might call them questions of property and mercy. the longer the war lasts the greater will be the loss of life and the misery?" "yes, for both sides; and the heavier the expense and the taxes." "if you win, then we shall be under your flag and pay taxes to you?" "yes, naturally." "the browns do not increase in population; the grays do rapidly. they are a great, powerful, civilized race. they stand for civilization!" "yes, facts and the world's opinion agree," he replied. puzzled he might well be by this peculiar catechism. he could only continue to reply until he should see where she was leading. "and your victory will mean a new frontier, a new order of international relations and a long peace, you think? peace--a long peace!" was there ever a soldier who did not fight for peace? was there ever a call for more army-corps or guns that was not made in the name of peace? he had his ready argument, spoken with the forcible conviction of an expert. "this war was made for peace--the only kind of peace that there can be," he said. "my ambition, if any glory comes to me out of this war, is to have later generations say: 'he brought peace!'" though the premier, could he have heard this, might have smiled, even grinned, he would have understood westerling's unconsciousness of inconsistency. the chief of staff had set himself a task in victory which had no military connection. without knowing why, he wanted to win ascendancy over her mind. "the man of action!" exclaimed marta, her eyes opening very wide, as they would to let in the light when she heard something new that pleased her or gave food for thought. "the man of action, who thinks of an ideal as a thing not of words but as the end of action!" "exactly!" said westerling, sensible of another of her gifts. she could get the essence of a thing in a few words. "when we have won and set another frontier, the power of our nation will be such in the world that the browns can never afford to attack us," he went on. "indeed, no two of the big nations of europe can afford to make war without our consent. we shall be the arbiters of international dissensions. we shall command peace--yes, the peace of force, of fact! if it could be won in any other way i should not be here on this veranda in command of an army of invasion. that was my idea--for that i planned." he was making up for having overshot himself in his confession that he had brought on the war as a final step for his ambition. "you mean that you can gain peace by propaganda and education only when human nature has so changed that we can have law and order and houses are safe from burglary and pedestrians from pickpockets without policemen? is that it?" she asked. "yes, yes! you have it! you have found the wheat in the chaff." "perhaps because i have been seeing something of human nature--the human nature of both the browns and the grays at war. i have seen the browns throwing hand-grenades and the grays in wanton disorder in our dining-room directly they were out of touch with their officers!" she said sadly, as one who hates to accept disillusionment but must in the face of logic. westerling made no reply except to nod, for a movement on her part preoccupied him. she leaned forward, as she had when she had told him he would become chief of staff, her hands clasped over her knee, her eyes burning with a question. it was the attitude of the prophecy. but with the prophecy she had been a little mystical; the fire in her eyes had precipitated an idea. now it forged another question. "and you think that you will win?" she asked. "you think that you will win?" she repeated with the slow emphasis which demands a careful answer. the deliberateness of his reply was in keeping with her mood. he was detached; he was a referee. "yes, i know that we shall. numbers make it so, though there be no choice of skill between the two sides." his tone had the confidence of the flow of a mighty river in its destination on its way to the sea. there was nothing in it of prayer, of hope, of desperation, as there had been in lanstron's "we shall win!" spoken to her in the arbor at their last interview. she drew forward slightly in her chair. her eyes seemed much larger and nearer to him. they were sweeping him up and down as if she were seeing the slim figure of lanstron in contrast to westerling's sturdiness; as if she were measuring the might of the five millions behind him and the three millions behind lanstron. she let go a half-whispered "yes!" which seemed to reflect the conclusion gained from the power of his presence. "then my mother's and my own interests are with you--the interests of peace are with you!" she declared. she did not appear to see the sudden, uncontrolled gleam of victory in his eyes; for now she was looking fixedly at the point where hugo had stood. by this time it had become a habit for westerling to wait silently for her to come out of her abstractions. to disturb one might make it unproductive. "then if i want to help the cause of peace i should help the grays!" the exclamation was more to herself than to him. he was silent. this girl in a veranda chair desiring to aid him and his five million bayonets and four thousand guns! quixote and the windmills--but it was amazing; it was fine! the golden glow of the sunset was running in his veins in a paean of personal triumph. the profile turned ever so little. now it was looking at the point where dellarme had lain dying. westerling noted the smile playing on the lips. it had the quality of a smile over a task completed--dellarme's smile. she started; she was trembling all over in the resistance of some impulse--some impulse that gradually gained headway and at last broke its bonds. "for i can help--i can help!" she cried out, turning to him in wild indecision which seemed to plead for guidance. "it's so terrible--yet if it would hasten peace--i--i know much of the browns' plan of defence! i know where they are strong in the first line and--and one place where they are weak there--and a place where they are weak in the main line!" "you do!" westerling exploded. the plans of the enemy! the plans that neither bouchard's saturnine cunning, nor bribes, nor spies could ascertain! it was like the bugle-call to the hunter. but he controlled himself. "yes, yes!" he was thoughtful and guarded. "do you think it is right to tell?" marta gasped half inarticulately. "right? yes, to hasten the inevitable--to save lives!" declared westerling with deliberate assurance. "i--i want to see an end of the killing! i--" she sprang to her feet as if about to break away tumultuously, but paused, swaying unsteadily, and passed her hand across her eyes. "we intend a general attack on the first line of defence to-night!" he exclaimed, his supreme thought leaping into words. "and you would want the information about the first line to-night if--if it is to be of service?" "yes, to-night!" marta brought her hands together in a tight clasp. her gaze fluttered for a minute over the tea-table. when she looked up her eyes were calm. "it is a big thing, isn't it?" she said. "a thing not to be done in an impulse. i try never to do big things in an impulse. when i see that i am in danger of it i always say: 'go by yourself and think for half an hour!' so i must now. in a little while i will let you know my decision." without further formality she started across the lawn to the terrace steps. westerling watched her sharply, passing along the path of the second terrace, pacing slowly, head bent, until she was out of sight. then he stood for a time getting a grip on his own emotions before he went into the house. xxxiii in feller's place what am i? what have i done? what am i about to do? shot as forked shadows over the hot lava-flow of malta's impulse. the vitality that westerling had felt by suggestion from a still profile rejoiced in a quickening of pace directly she was out of sight of the veranda. all the thinking she had done that afternoon had been in pictures; some saying, some cry, some groan, or some smile went with every picture. coming to the arbor she slowed down for a step or two, arrested by the recollection of her last meeting with lanstron. there it was that she had scored him for making her an accomplice of trickery. she saw his twitching hand, and the misery in his eyes and the cadence of his words came as clearly as notes from a violin in a silent chamber to her ears. she nodded in affirmation; she shook her head in negation; she frowned; she laughed strangely, and hurried on. the sitting-room of the tower was empty to other eyes but not to hers. in imagination she saw feller standing by the table in the dejection of his heart-break when he faced her and lanstron, his secret disclosed; and the appeal was more potent in memory than it had been at the time. she went on into the bedroom, which had been formerly the tool-room. on the threshold of the steps into the darkness she glanced back, to see feller's face transfixed as it had been when he discovered the presence of interlopers--transfixed in fighting rage. the lantern was in the corner at hand. only yesterday, in want of occupation, as she thought, she had cleaned the chimney and trimmed the wick. it seemed as if lanny's fingers were lighting it now; as if he were leading the way as he had on her first visit to the telephone. after her hastening steps had carried her along the tunnel to the telephone, she set down the lantern and pressed the spring that opened the panel door. another moment and she would be embarked on her great adventure in the finality of action. that little ear-piece became a spectre of conscience. she drew back convulsively and her hands flew to her face; she was a rocking shadow in the thin, reddish light of the lantern. conscious mind had torn off the mask from subconscious mind, revealing the true nature of the change that war had wrought in her. she who had resented feller's part--what a part she had been playing! every word, every shade of expression, every telling pause of abstraction after westerling confessed that he had made war for his own ends had been subtly prompted by a purpose whose actuality terrified her. her hypocrisy, she realized, was as black as the wall of darkness beyond the lantern's gleam. all her pictures became a whirling involution of extravaganza and all the speeches of the characters of the scenes a kind of wail. then this demoralization passed, as a nightmare passes, with westerling's boast again in her ears. she was seeing hugo mallin; hearing him announce his principles in sight of the spot where dellarme had died: "i love my country.... but i know that other men love theirs.... men should be brave for their convictions.... the browns are fighting for their homes.... they are fighting, as i should want to fight, against murder and burglary.... i will fight with my face to the white posts, but not with my back to them." she was seeing the faces of her children; she was hearing them repeat: "but i shall not let a burglar drive me from my house. if an enemy tries to take my land i shall appeal to his sense of justice and reason with him; but if he then persists i shall fight for my home." when war's principles, enacted by men, were based on sinister trickery called strategy and tactics, should not women, using such weapons as they had, also fight for their homes? marta's hands swept down from her eyes; she was on fire with resolution. forty miles away a bell in lanstron's bedroom and at his desk rang simultaneously. at the time he and partow were seated facing each other across a map on the table of the room where they worked together. no persuasion of the young vice-chief, no edict of the doctors, could make the old chief take exercise or shorten his hours. "i know. i know myself!" he said. "i know my duty. and you are learning, my boy, learning!" every day the flabby cheeks grew pastier and the pouches under the eyebrows heavier. but there was no dimming of the eagle flashes of the eyes, no weakening of the will. last night lanstron had turned as white as chalk when partow staggered on rising from the table, the veins on his temples knotted blue whip-cords. yet after a few hours' sleep he reappeared with firm step, fresh for the fray. the paraphernalia around these two was the same as that around westerling. only the atmosphere of the staff was different. it had a quality of sober and buoyant alertness and fatality of determination rather than rigid confidence. otherwise, there was the same medley of typewriters and telegraph instruments, the same types of busy officers and clerks that occupied the galland house. to them, at least, war had brought no surprises. its routine was as they had anticipated it there in the big division headquarters building, dissociated from the actual experience of the intimate emotions of the front. each man was performing the part set for him. no man knew much of any other man's part. partow alone knew all, and lanstron was trying to grasp all and praying that partow's old body should still feed his mind with energy. lanstron was thinner and paler, a new and glittering intensity in his eyes. a messenger had just brought in two despatches from the telegraph room. one was from the taciturn press bureau of the grays which flashed into the browns' headquarters from a neutral country at the same time that it flashed around the world to illumine bulletin-boards in every language of civilization. day after day the grays had announced the occupation of fresh positions. this was the only news that they had permitted egress--the news which read like the march of victory to the eager world of the press, hastening to quick conclusions. to-day came the official word that westerling had established his headquarters on conquered territory. proof, this, that five could drive back three; that the weak could not resist the strong! "hm-m--indeed!" exclaimed partow, lifting his brow into massive, corrugated wrinkles. "it may affect the stock market, but not the result." the other despatch was also out of the land of the grays, but not by westerling's consent or knowledge. by devious ways it had broken through the censorship of the frontier in cunning cipher. it told of artillery concentrations three days old; it told only what the aeroplanes had already seen; it told what the grays had done but nothing of what they intended to do. when word of feller's defection came, lanstron realized for the first time by partow's manner that the old chief of staff, with all his deprecation of the telephone scheme as chimerical, had grounded a hope on it. "there was the chance that we might know--so vital to the defence--what they were going to do before and not after the attack," he said. yet the story of how feller yielded to the temptation of the automatic had made the nostrils of the old war-horse quiver with a dramatic breath, and instead of the command of a battery of guns, which lanstron had promised, the chief made it a battalion. he had drawn down his brows when he heard that marta had asked that the wire be left intact; he had shot a shrewd, questioning glance at lanstron and then beat a tattoo on the table and half grinned as he grumbled under his breath: "she is afraid of being lonesome! no harm done!" a week had passed since the grays had taken the galland house, and still no word from marta. the ring of the bell brought lanstron to his feet with a startled, boyish bound. "very springy, that tendon of achilles!" muttered partow. "and, my boy, take care, take care!" he called suddenly in his sonorous voice, as vast and billowy as his body. "take care! she might unwittingly repeat something you said--and hold on!" he was amazingly light and vigorous on his feet as he rose and hurried after lanstron with the quick, short steps of active adiposity. "she may have seen or heard something. ask--ask what is the spirit of the staff, of the soldiers who have fought? what is the truth about their losses? what--" he broke off at the door of lanstron's bedroom. lanstron had flung aside a bathrobe that covered a panel door in the closet and already had the receiver in his hand. "but you know what to ask!" concluded partow. a flush of embarrassment crept into the pasty cheeks and a sparkle into his fine old eyes as he withdrew to acquit himself of being an eavesdropper. it was marta's voice and yet not marta's, this voice that beat in nervous waves over the wire. "lanny--yes, i, lanny! you were right. westerling planned to make war deliberately to satisfy his ambition. he told me so. the first general attack on the first line of defence is to-night. westerling says so!" she had to pause for breath. "and, lanny, i want to know some position of the browns which is weak--not actually weak, maybe, but some position where the grays expect terrible resistance and will not find it--where you will let them in!" "in the name of--marta! marta, what--" "i am going to fight for the browns--for my home!" in the sheer satisfaction of explaining herself to herself, of voicing her sentiments, she sent the pictures which had wrought the change moving across the screen before lanstron's amazed vision. there was no room for interruption on his part, no question or need of one. the wire seemed to quiver with the militant tension of her spirit. it was marta aflame who was talking at the other end; not aflame for him, but with a purpose that revealed all the latent strength of her personality and daring. "yes, the only way is to fight for your home," she concluded. "otherwise, the world would be to the bully and the heads of saints and philosophers and teachers would be egg-shells under his bludgeon." "it seems," said lanstron, "that this is almost like my own view." he was sorry before the words were fairly out of his mouth that he had taken that tack. it was asking her to back down abruptly from her old principles, which only the weak proselyte will do readily; and she was not a proselyte at all, to her conception. "no, no!" she etched her reply into his mind with acid, "my profession is peace; it is not war. i am caught with my back to the wall. if the browns lose, the gray flag floats over my home. as westerling says, everybody must take orders from the grays then. oh, the mockery of his repairing the damage done to our house and grounds! let him repair the damage done to fathers and mothers by bringing their sons sacrificed to the ambition for conquest back to life! oh, i got the whole of him reflected in the mirror of himself this afternoon when he was comfortably taking tea, and in no danger, and sending men to death!" there lanstron winced over a characterization that might apply to him. he could think of only one thing that would ever heal the wound. perhaps the chance for it would come some day. "yes," she went on, "sitting there so comfortably and serenely and deciding that a man who was ready to die for his convictions must be shot for cowardice! my views are like hugo mallin's and my back is against the wall. but to the work, lanny! i have a half-hour in which to make up my mind"--she laughed curiously as she repeated the phrase--"in which to make up my mind." briefly she recounted what about: "i want to give him positive information of a weak point that can be taken easily." "but, marta--marta--have you considered what a terrible risk--what--" he protested, the chief of intelligence now submerged in the man. "no more than for feller. i sent feller away and i am taking his place. how is he? did he get his guns?" "yes, not a battery, but a battalion--a major's command--and the iron cross, too!" "splendid! oh, i'd like to see him in uniform directing their fire! how happy he must be! but, are you going to do your part? are you going to give me the information?" "i shall have to ask partow. it's a pretty big thing." "yes--only that is not all my plan, my little plan. after they have taken the first line of defence--and they will get it, won't they?" "yes, we shall yield in the end, yield rather than suffer too great losses there that will weaken the defence on the main line." "then i want to know where it is that you want westerling to attack on the main line, so that we can get him to attack there. that--that will help, won't it?" "yes." "of course, all the while i shall be getting news from him--when i have proven my loyalty and have his complete confidence--and i'll telephone it to you. i am sure i can get something worth while with you to direct me; don't you think so, lanny?" she put the question as simply as if she were asking if she might sew on a button for him. it had the charm of an intimate fellowship of purpose. it appeared free of the least realization of the magnitude of her undertaking. didn't mrs. galland believe that blood would tell? and hadn't the old premier, her grandfather, said: "you can afford to be fussed about little things but never about big things"? "i'll hold the wire, lanny. ask partow!" she concluded. of the two she was the steadier. "well?" said partow, looking up at the sound of lanstron's step. then he half raised himself from his chair at sight of a lanstron with eyes in a daze of brilliancy; a lanstron with his maimed hand twitching in an outstretched gesture; a lanstron in the dilemma of being at the same time lover and chief of intelligence. should he let her make the sacrifice of everything that he held to be sacred to a woman's delicacy? should he not return to the telephone and tell her that he would not permit her to play such a part? partow's voice cut in on his demoralization with the sharpness of a blade. "well, what, man, what?" he demanded. he feared that the girl might be dead. anything that could upset lanstron in this fashion struck a chord of sympathy and apprehension. lanstron advanced to the table, pressed his hands on the edge, and, now master of himself, began an account of marta's offer. partow's formless arms lay inert on the table, his soft, pudgy fingers outspread on the map and his bulk settled deep in the chair, while his eagle eyes were seeing through lanstron, through a mountain range, into the eyes of a woman and a general on the veranda of an enemy's headquarters. the plan meant giving, giving in the hope of receiving much in return. would he get the return? "a woman was the ideal one for the task we intrusted to feller," he mused, "a gentlewoman, big enough, adroit enough, with her soul in the work as no paid woman's could be! there seemed no such one in the world!" "but to let her do it!" gasped lanstron. "it is her suggestion, not yours? she offers herself? she wants no persuasion?" partow asked sharply. "entirely her suggestion," said lanstron. "she offers herself for her country--for the cause for which our soldiers will give their lives by the thousands. it is a time of sacrifice." partow raised his arms. they were not formless as he brought them down with sledge-hammer force to the table. "your tendon of achilles? my boy, she is your sword-arm!" his sturdy forefinger ran along the line of frontier under his eye with little staccato leaps. "eh?" he chuckled significantly, finger poised. "let them up the bordir road and on to redoubts 36 and 37, you mean?" asked lanstron. "you have it! the position looks important, but so well do we command it that it is not really vital. yes, the bordir road is her bait for westerling!" partow waved his hand as if the affair were settled. "but," interjected lanstron, "we have also to decide on the point of the main defence which she is to make westerling think is weak." "hm-m!" grumbled partow. "that is not necessary to start with. we can give that to her later over the telephone, can't we, eh?" "she asked for it now." "why?" demanded partow with one of his shrewd, piercing looks. "she did not say, but i can guess," explained lanstron. "she must put all her cards on the table; she must tell westerling all she knows at once. if she tells him piecemeal it might lead to the supposition that she still had some means of communication with the browns." "of course, of course!" partow spatted the flat of his hand resoundingly on the map. "as i decided the first time i met her, she has a head, and when a woman has a head for that sort of thing there is no beating her. well--" he was looking straight into lanstron's eyes, "well, i think we know the point where we could draw them in on the main line, eh?" "up the apron of the approach from the engadir valley. we yield the advance redoubts on either side." "meanwhile, we have massed heavily behind the redoubt. we retake the advance redoubts in a counter-attack and--" partow brought his fist into his palm with a smack. "yes, if we could do that! if we could get them to expend their attack there!" put in lanstron very excitedly for him. "we must! she shall help!" partow was on his feet. he had reached across the table and seized lanstron's shoulders in a powerful if flesh-padded grip. then he turned lanstron around toward the door of his bedroom and gave him a mighty slap of affection. "my boy, the brightest hope of victory we have is holding the wire for you. tell her that a bearded old behemoth, who can kneel as gracefully as a rheumatic rhinoceros, is on both knees at her feet, kissing her hands and trying his best, in the name of mercy, to keep from breaking into verse of his own composition." back at the telephone, lanstron, in the fervor of the cheer and the enthusiasm that had transported his chief, gave marta partow's message. "you, marta, are our brightest hope of victory!" "yes?" the monosyllable was detached, dismal, labored. "a woman can be that!" she exclaimed in an uncertain tone, which grew into the distraction of clipped words and broken sentences. "a woman play-acting--a woman acting the most revolting hypocrisy--influences the issue between two nations! her deceit deals in the lives of sons precious to fathers and mothers, the fate of frontiers, of institutions! think of it! think of machines costing countless millions--machines of flesh and blood, with their destinies shaped by one little bit of lying information! think of the folly of any civilization that stakes its triumphs on such a gamble! am i not right? isn't it true? isn't it?" "yes, yes, marta! but--i--" if she were weakening it was not his place to try to strengthen her purpose. "i was thinking, only thinking!" she murmured reflectively. "that's not the thing now!" she added with sudden force. "partow gave you the positions?" he described the bordir position. she repeated the description after him with a stoical matter-of-factness to make sure that she had it correctly. "i must actually know in order to be convincing," she said. "now that of the main line." he did not include in the description of engadir any reference to the browns' plan of a crushing counter-attack. but as she was repeating this, her calm tone broke into an outcry of horror, as the nature of what he was inadvertently concealing flashed into her mind. she was seeing another picture of imagination, with all the hideous detail of realism drawn from her week's experiences. "that column of grays will go forward cheering with victory, led on, tricked on--and then they will find themselves in a shambles. no going forward, no going back through the cross-fire! is that it?" "yes, something like that, though not exactly a cross-fire--not unless the enemy has poorer generals than we think." "but that will be the object and the effect--wholesale slaughter?" "yes!" assented lanstron honestly. "and a woman whose greatest happiness and pride was in teaching the righteousness and the beauty of peace to children--her lie will send them to death!" she moaned. "i shall be a party to murder!" "no more than westerling! no more than any general! no--" but he paused in his argument. conviction must come to her from within, not from without. he stood graven and wordless, while she was tortured in the hell of her mind's creation. she was hearing the cry in the night of the gray soldier who had fallen from the dirigible in the first day's fighting; the agonized groans of the men under the wall of the terrace when the hand-grenades spattered human flesh as if it were jelly. but there was dellarme smiling; there was hugo mallin saying that he would fight for his own home; there was stransky, who had thrown the hand-grenade, bringing in an exhausted old man on his back from under fire; there was feller as he rallied dellarme's men; and--and there was lanny waiting at the other end of the wire--and a burglar should not take her home. "men must have the courage of their convictions!" hugo had said. hers were all for peace. but there was not peace. there could not be peace until the war demon had had his fill of killing and one side had to cry for mercy. which side should that be? that was the only question. "it will the sooner end fighting, won't it, lanny?" she asked in a small, tense voice. "yes." "and the only real end that means real peace is to prove that the weak can hold back the strong from their threshold?" "yes." even now westerling might be on the veranda, perhaps waiting for news that would enable him to crush the weak; to prove that the law of five pounds of human flesh against three, and five bayonets against three, is the law of civilization. "yes, yes, yes!" the constriction was gone from her throat; there was a drum-beat in her soul. "depend on me, lanny!" it was feller's favorite phrase spoken by the one who was to take his place. "yes, i'm ready to make any sacrifice now. for what am i? what is one woman compared to such a purpose? i don't care what is said of me or what becomes of me if we can win! good-by, lanny, till i call you up again! and god with us!" "god with us!" as partow had said, over and over the saying had come to be repeated by hard-headed, agnostic staff-officers, who believed that the deity had no relation to the efficiency of gun-fire. the brown infantrymen even were beginning to mutter it in the midst of action. xxxiv three voices waiting on the path of the second terrace for westerling to come, marta realized the full meaning of her task. day in and day out she was to have suspense at her elbow and the horror of hypocrisy on her conscience, the while keeping her wits nicely balanced. she must feel her part and at the same time she must be sufficiently conscious that she was placing a part not to let any impulse of aversion betray her. the tea-table scene had been a rehearsal; coming was a _première_ before the ghostly, still faces across the bent glare of the footlights. no ready-made lines, hers she must create them. every word must be the right word and spoken in the right way, all for the deception of one man. when she saw westerling appear on the veranda and start over the lawn she felt dizzy and uncertain of her capabilities. in the gathering dusk he seemed of giant stature, too masterful to be outwitted by any trickery she might devise. she wondered if she would be able to articulate a word; if she would not turn and flee. "i have considered all that you said for my guidance and i have decided," she began. marta heard her own voice with the relief of a singer in a début who, with knees shaking, finds that her notes are true. she was looking directly at westerling in profound seriousness. though knees shook, lips and chin could aid eyes in revealing the painful fatigue of a battle that had raged in the mind of a woman who went away for half an hour to think for herself. "i have concluded," she went on, "that it is an occasion for the sacrifice of private ethics to a great purpose, the sooner to end the slaughter." "all true!" whispered an inner voice. its tone was lanny's, in the old days of their comradeship. it gave her strength. all true! "yes, an end--a speedy end!" said westerling with a fine, inflexible emphasis. "that is your prayer and mine and the prayer of all lovers of humanity." "he is not thinking of humanity, but of individual victory!" whispered another voice, which had the mellow tone of hugo mallin's deliberate wisdom. "it is little that i know, but such as it is you shall have it," she began, conscious of his guarded scrutiny. when she told him of bordir, the weak point in the first line of the browns' defence, she noted no change in his steady look; but with the mention of engadir in the main line she detected a gleam in his eyes that had the merciless delight of a cutting edge of steel. "i have made my sacrifice to some purpose? the information is worth something to you?" she asked wistfully. "yes, yes! yes, it promises that way," he replied thoughtfully. quietly he began a considerate catechism. soon she was subtly understanding that her answers lacked the convincing details that he sought. she longed to avert her eyes from his for an instant, but she knew that this would be fatal. she felt the force of him directed in professional channels, free of all personal relations, beating as a strong light on her bare statements. how could a woman ever have learned two such vital secrets? how could it happen that two such critical points as bordir and engadir should go undefended? no tactician, no engineer but would have realized their strategic importance. did she know what she was saying? how did she get her knowledge? these, she understood, were the real questions that underlay westerling's polite indirection. "invention! quick, quick! how did you find out? quick and naturally and obviously--pure invention; no half-way business!" whispered still another voice, the voice of that most facile of story-builders, feller, this time. "but i have not told you the sources of my information! isn't that like a woman!" she exclaimed. "you see, it did not concern me at all at the time i heard it. i didn't even realize its importance and i didn't hear much," she proceeded, her introduction giving time for improvisation. "you see, partow was inspecting the premises with colonel lanstron. my mother had known partow in her younger days when my grandfather was premier. we had them both to luncheon." "yes?" put in westerling, betraying his eagerness. partow and lanstron! then her source was one of authority, not the gossip of subalterns! "and it occurs to me now that, even while he was our guest," she interjected in sudden indignation--"that even while he was our guest partow was planning to make our grounds a redoubt!" "bully! very feminine and convincing!" whispered the voice of feller. "after luncheon i remember partow saying, 'we are going to have a look at the crops,' and they went for a walk out to the knoll where the fighting began." "yes! when was this?" westerling asked keenly. "only about six weeks ago," answered marta. "that's it! that's splendid! if you'd said a year ago there would have been time enough in the meanwhile to fortify!" whispered the voice of feller encouragingly. "you're going fine! keep it up!" "later, i came upon them unexpectedly after they had returned," marta went on. "they were sitting there on that seat concealed by the shrubbery. i was on the terrace steps unobserved and i couldn't help overhearing them. their voices grew louder with the interest of their discussion. i caught something about appropriations and aeroplanes and bordir and engadir, and saw that lanstron was pleading with his chief. he wanted a sum appropriated for fortifications to be applied to building planes and dirigibles. finally, partow consented, and i recall his exact words: 'they're shockingly archaically defended, especially engadir,' he said, 'but they can wait until we get further appropriations in the fall.'" she was so far under the spell of her own invention that she believed the reality of her words, reflected in her wide-open eyes which seemed to have nothing to hide. "that is all," she exclaimed with a shudder--"all my eavesdropping, all my breach of confidence! if--if it--" and her voice trembled with the intensity of the one purpose that was shining with the light of truth through the murk of her deception--"it will only help to end the slaughter!" she held out her hand convulsively in parting as if she would leave the rest with him. "i think it will," he said soberly. "i think it will prove that you have done a great service," he repeated as he caught both her hands, which were cold from her ordeal. his own were warm with the strong beating of his heart stirred by the promise of what he had just heard. but he did not prolong the grasp. he was as eager to be away to his work as she to be alone. "i think it will. you will know in the morning," he added. his steps were sturdier than ever in the power of five against three as he started back to the house. when he reached the veranda, bouchard, the saturnine chief of intelligence, appeared in the doorway of the dining-room: or, rather, reappeared, for he had been standing there throughout the interview of westerling and marta, whose heads were just visible, above the terrace wall, to his hawk eyes. "a little promenade in the open and my mind made up," said westerling, clapping bouchard on the shoulder. "something about an attack to-night?" asked bouchard. "you guess right. call the others." five minutes later he was seated at the head of the dining-room table with his chiefs around him waiting for their chairman to speak. he asked some categorical questions almost perfunctorily, and the answer to each was, "ready!" with, in some instances, a qualification--the qualification made by regimental and brigade commanders that, though they could take the position in front of them, the cost would be heavy. yes, all were willing and ready for the first general assault of the war, but they wanted to state the costs as a matter of professional self-defence. westerling could pose when it served his purpose. now he rose and, going to one of the wall maps, indicated a point with his forefinger. "if we get that we have the most vital position, haven't we?" some uttered a word of assent; some only nodded. a glance or two of curiosity was exchanged. why should the chief of staff ask so elementary a question? westerling was not unconscious of the glances or of their meaning. they gave dramatic value to his next remark. "we are going to mass for our main attack in front at bordir!" "but," exclaimed four or five officers at once, "that is the heart of the position! that is--" "i believe it is weak--that it will fall, and to-night!" "you have information, then, information that i have not?" asked bouchard. "no more than you," replied westerling. "not as much if you have anything new." "nothing!" admitted bouchard wryly. he lowered his head under westerling's penetrating look in the consciousness of failure. "i am going on a conviction--on putting two and two together!" westerling announced. "i am going on my experience as a soldier, as a chief of staff. if i am wrong, i take the responsibility. if i am right, bordir will be ours before morning. it is settled!" "if you are right, then," exclaimed turcas--"well, then it's genius or--" he did not finish the sentence. he had been about to say coincidence; while westerling knew that if he were right all the rising scepticism in certain quarters, owing to the delay in his programme, would be silenced. his prestige would be unassailable. xxxv mrs. galland insists "you have been in the tunnel again!" said mrs. galland with an emphasis on "again," when marta came up the stairs, lantern in hand, after telling lanstron of her interview with westerling. "again--yes!" marta replied mechanically. her mind was empty, burned out. she had thought herself through with deceit for the day. "what interests you so much down there?" mrs. galland pursued softly. marta realized that she had to deal with a fresh dilemma. she could not be making frequent visits to the telephone without her mother's knowledge; and, as yet, mrs. galland knew nothing of the part originally planned for feller, let alone any inkling of her daughter's part. "i didn't know but it would be a good place to hide our plate and other treasures," said marta, offering rather methodically the first invention that came to mind as she threw open-the reflector of the lantern and turned down the wick. she was ashamed of the excuse. it warned her how easy it was becoming for her to lie--yes, lie was the word. "don't blow out the light, please," said mrs. galland. "i should like to see for myself if the tunnel is a good hiding-place for the plate." "it's too damp for you down there--it's--" marta blew out the flame with a sudden gust of breath and bolted across the room and into her chamber, closing the door and taking the lantern with her. in utter fatigue she dropped on the bed. then came a gentle, prolonged knocking on the door. "you forgot to leave the lantern," called mrs. galland. "i have come to get it, if you please." marta did not answer. her head had sunk forward; her hands, bearing the weight of her body, were resting on her knees. all she could think was that one more lie would break the camel's back. "marta, please mayn't i come in?" rose the gentle voice on the other side of the door. "marta, don't you hear me? i asked if i might come in." "it's too childish and silly to remain silent any longer," thought marta. tired nerves revived spasmodically under another call to action. "yes, certainly, mother--yes, do!" she said in a forced, metallic tone. mrs. galland entered to find her daughter before the mirror brushing her hair with hectic vigor. she did not take up the lantern, which marta had left in the middle of the floor, but seated herself. her nice deliberation in smoothing out a wrinkle of her skirt over her knees indicated that she meant to stay a while. she folded her plump, white hands; a faint touch of color came into her round, pink cheeks; a trace of a smile knitted itself into the corners of her mouth. she was as she had been--_j'y suis! j'y reste_!--when the captain of engineers had pleaded with her at the outset of the war to leave the house. in the reflection of the mirror marta's glance caught hers, which was without reproach or complaint, but very resolute. "do you like best to keep it all to yourself, marta?" mrs. galland inquired solicitously. "what? keep what?" asked marta crossly. "even if you have been all the way around the world, it might be easier if you allowed me to help you a little," pursued mrs. galland. "help! help about what?" said marta. that reply, as marta knew now as an expert in deceit, was a mistake. she was hedging and petulant when she ought to have whirled around gayly and kissed her mother on the cheek, while laughing at such solemnity over a trip of exploration through the tunnel. mrs. galland had caught her prevaricating. not since marta was a little girl of seven had she "fibbed" to her mother; and on that memorable and ethically instructive occasion her mother had regarded her in this same calm fashion. "at all events," said mrs. galland, "i could help you a little if you would let me comb your hair. you are combing in a most unsystematic way, i must say. systematic, gentle combing is very good for headaches and--" there was a twinkle in mrs. galland's eye that was not exactly humor; a persistent twinkle that seemed to shine out of every part of the mirror. her curiosity had come to stay; there was no escaping it. marta brought her brush down with a bang on the bureau, only to be disgusted with this show of temper which the persistent twinkle had not missed. her next impulse, unanalyzed because it was one of the oldest and simplest of impulses, made her spin round and drop on her knees at her mother's feet, which was just what had happened when she had started to brave out the last lie--the childhood lie. her head buried in her mother's lap, she was sobbing. it was many years since mrs. galland had known marta to sob and she was glad that marta had not forgotten how. she believed in the value of the law of overflow. when marta looked up with eyes still moist, it was with the joyous satisfaction that begins a confession. not once during the recital did the smile fade from mrs. galland's lips. she was too well fortified for any kind of a shock to exhibit surprise. "you see, i could not tell you--i--" marta concluded, still uncertain what conclusion lay behind her mother's attitude. "of course you could not," said mrs. galland. "as grandfather--my father, the premier--said; a man action cannot stop to explain everything he does. he must strike while the iron is hot. if you had stopped to discuss every step you would not have gone far--yes, i should have argued and protested. it was best that i, being as i am--that i should not have been told--not until now." "and i must go on!" added marta. "of course you must!" replied mrs. galland. "you must for the sake of the browns--the flag your father and grandfather served. they would not have approved of petty deceit, but anything for the cause, any sacrifices, any immolation of self and personal sensibilities. yes, your father would have been happy, though he had no son, to know that his daughter might do such a service. and we must tell minna," she added. "minna! you think so? every added link may mean weakness." "but minna will see you going and coming from the tunnel, too. she is for the browns with all her heart. they are her people and, besides," mrs. galland smiled rather broadly, "that giant stransky is with the browns!" so minna was told. "i'd like to kiss your skirt, miss galland!" exclaimed minna in admiration. "better kiss me!" said marta, throwing her arms around the girl. "we must stand together and think together in any emergency." soon after dark the attack began. flashes of bursting shells and flashes from gun mouths and glowing sheets of flame from rifles made ugly revelry, while the beams of search-lights swept hither and thither. this kept up till shortly after midnight, when it died down and, where hell's concert had raged, silent darkness shrouded the hills. marta knew that bordir was taken without having to ask lanstron or wait for confirmation from westerling. she was seated in the recess of the arbor the next morning, when she heard the approach of those regular, powerful steps whose character had become as distinct to her as those of a member of her own family. five against three! five against three! they were saying to her; while down the pass road and the castle road ran the stream of wounded from last night's slaughter. posted in the drawing-room of the galland house were the congratulations of the premier to westerling, who had come from the atmosphere of a staff that accorded to him a military insight far above the analysis of ordinary standards. but he was too clever a man to vaunt his triumph. he knew how to carry his honors. he accepted success as his due, in a matter-of-course manner that must inspire confidence in further success. "you were right," he said to marta easily, pleasantly. "we did it--we did it--we took bordir with a loss of only twenty thousand men!" _only_ twenty thousand! her revulsion at the bald statement was relieved by the memory of lanny's word over the telephone after breakfast that the browns had lost only five thousand. four to one was a wide ratio, she was thinking. "then the end--then peace is so much the nearer?" she asked. "very much nearer!" he answered earnestly, as he dropped on the bench beside her. he stretched his arms out on the back of the seat and the relaxed attitude, unusual with him, brought into relief a new trait of which she had been hitherto oblivious. the conqueror had become simply a companionable man. though he was not sitting close to her, yet, as his eyes met hers, she had a desire to move away which she knew would be unwise to gratify. she was conscious of a certain softening charm, a magnetism that she had sometimes felt in the days when she first knew him. she realized, too, that then the charm had not been mixed with the indescribable, intimate quality that it held now. "in the midst of congratulations after the position was taken last night," he declared, "i confess that i was thinking less of success than of its source." he bent on her a look that was warm with gratitude. she lowered her lashes before it; before gratitude that made her part appear in a fresh angle of misery. "there seems to be a kind of fatality about our relations," he went on. "i lay awake pondering it last night." his tone held more than gratitude. it had the elation of discovery. "look out! look out, now!" not only the voices of lanny and feller and hugo warned her, but also those of her mother and minna. "he is going to make it harder than i ever guessed!" echoed her own thought, in a flutter of confusion. "yes, it was strange our meeting on the frontier in peace and then in war!" she exclaimed at random. the sound of the remark struck her as too subdued; as expectant, when her purpose was one of careless deprecation. "i have met a great many women, as you may have imagined," he proceeded. "they passed in review. they were simply women, witty and frail or dull and beautiful, and one meant no more to me than another. nothing meant anything to me except my profession. but i never forgot you. you planted something in mind: a memory of real companionship." "yes, i made the prophecy that came true!" she put in. this ought to bring him back to himself and his ambitions, she thought. "yes!" he exclaimed, his body stiffening free of the back of the seat. "you realized what was in me. you foresaw the power which was to be mine. the fate that first brought us together made me look you up in the capital. now it brings us together here on this bench after all that has passed in the last twenty-four hours." she realized that he had drawn perceptibly nearer. she wanted to rise and cry out: "don't do this! be the chief of staff, the conqueror, crushing the earth with the tread of five against three!" it was the conqueror whom she wanted to trick, not a man whose earnestness was painting her deceit blacker. far from rising, she made no movement at all; only looked at her hands and allowed him to go on, conscious of the force of a personality that mastered men and armies now warm and appealing in the full tide of another purpose. "the victory that i was thinking of last night was not the taking of bordir. it was finer than any victory in war. it was selfish--not for army and country, but born of a human weakness triumphant; a human weakness of which my career had robbed me," he continued. "it gave me a joy that even the occupation of the browns' capital could not give. i had come as an invader and i had won your confidence." "in a cause!" she interrupted hurriedly, wildly, to stop him from going further, only to find that her intonation was such that it was drawing him on. "that fatality seemed to be working itself out to the soldier so much older than yourself in renewed youth, in another form of ambition. i hoped that there was more than the cause that led you to trust me. i hoped--" was he testing her? was he playing a part of his own to make certain that she was not playing one? she looked up swiftly for answer. there was no gainsaying what she saw in his eyes. it was beating into hers with the power of an overwhelming masculine passion and a maturity of intellect as his egoism admitted a comrade to its throne. such is ever the way of the man in the forties when the clock strikes for him. but who could know better the craft of courtship than one of westerling's experience? he was fighting for victory; to gratify a desire. "i did not expect this--i--" the words escaped tumultuously and chokingly. she heard all the voices in chorus: "look out! look out!" and then the voice of feller alone, insinuating, with a sinister mischievousness: "what more could you ask? now that you have him, hold him! for god and country--for our dear brown land!" hold a man who was making love to her by the tricks of the courtesan! but what kind of love? he was bending so close to her that she felt his breath on her cheek burning hot, and she was sickeningly conscious that he was looking her over in that point-by-point manner which she had felt across the tea-table at the hotel. this horrible thing in his glance she had sometimes seen in strangers on her travels, and it had made her think that she was wise to carry a little revolver. she wanted to strike him. "confess! confess!" called all her own self-respect. "make an end to your abasement!" "confession, after the browns have given up bordir! confession that makes lanny, not westerling, your dupe!" came the reply, which might have been telegraphed into her mind from the high, white forehead of partow bending over his maps. "confession, betraying the cause of the right against the wrong; the three to the conquering five! no! you are in the things. you may not retreat now." for a few seconds only the duel of argument thundered in her temples--seconds in which her lips were parted and quivering and her eyes dilated with an agitation which the man at her side could interpret as he pleased. a prompting devil--a devil roused by that thing in his eyes--urging a finesse in double-dealing which only devils understand, made her lips hypnotically turn in a smile, her eyes soften, and sent her hand out to westerling in a trance-like gesture. for an instant it rested on his arm with telling pressure, though she felt it burn with shame at the point of contact. "we must not think of that now," she said. "we must think of nothing personal; of nothing but your work until your work is done!" the prompting devil had not permitted a false note in her voice. her very pallor, in fixity of idea, served her purpose. westerling drew a deep breath that seemed to expand his whole being with greater appreciation of her. yet that harried hunger, the hunger of a beast, was still in his glance. "this is like you--like what i want you to be!" he said. "you are right." he caught her hand, enclosing it entirely in his grip, and she was sensible, in a kind of dazed horror, of the thrill of his strength. "nothing can stop us! numbers will win! hard fighting in the mercy of a quick end!" he declared with his old rigidity of five against three which was welcome to her. "then," he added--"and then--" "then!" she repeated, averting her glance. "then--" there the devil ended the sentence and she withdrew her hand and felt the relief of one escaping suffocation, to find that he had realized that anything further during that interview would be banality and was rising to go. "i don't feel decent!" she thought. "society turned on minna for a human weakness--but i--i'm not a human being! i am one of the pawns of the machine of war!" walking slowly with lowered head as she left the arbor, she almost ran into bouchard, who apologized with the single word "pardon!" as he lifted his cap in overdone courtesy, which his stolid brevity made the more conspicuous. "miss galland, you seem lost in abstraction," he said in sudden loquacity. "i am almost on the point of accusing you of being a poet." "accusing!" she replied. "then you must think that i would write bad poetry." "on the contrary, i should say excellent--using the sonnet form," he returned. "i might make a counter accusation, only that yours would be the epic form," answered marta. "for you, too, seem fond of rambling." there was a veiled challenge in the hawk eyes, which she met with commonplace politeness in hers, before he again lifted his cap and proceeded on his way. xxxvi marking time for the next two weeks marta's rôle resolved itself into a kind of routine. their cramped quarters became spacious to the three women in the intimacy of the common secret shared by them under the very nose of the staff. with little clarissa eileen, they formed the only feminine society in the neighborhood. on sunshiny days mrs. galland was usually to be found in her favorite chair outside the tower door; and here minna set the urn on a table at four-thirty as in the old days. no member of the staff was more frequently present at marta's teas than bouchard, who was developing his social instinct late in life by sitting in the background and allowing others to do the talking while he watched and listened. in his hearing, marta's attitude toward the progress of the war was sympathetic but never interrogatory, while she shared attention with clarissa eileen, who was in danger of becoming spoiled by officers who had children of their own at home. after the reports of killed and wounded, which came with such appalling regularity, it was a relief to hear of the day's casualties among clarissa's dolls. the chief of transportation and supply rode her on his shoulder; the chief of tactics played hide-and-seek with her; the chief engineer built her a doll house of stones with his own hands; and the chief medical officer was as concerned when she caught a cold as if the health of the army were at stake. "we mustn't get too set up over all this attention, clarissa eileen, my rival," said marta to the child. "you are the only little girl and i am the only big girl within reach. if there were lots of others it would be different." she had occasional glimpses of hugo mallin on his crutches, keeping in the vicinity of the shrubbery that screened the stable from the house. how marta longed to talk with him! but he was always attended by a soldier, and under the rigorous discipline that held all her impulses subservient to her purpose she passed by him without a word lest she compromise her position. bouchard was losing flesh; his eyes were sinking deeper under a heavier frown. his duty being to get information, he was gaining none. his duty being to keep the grays' secrets, there was a leak somewhere in his own department. he quizzed subordinates; he made abrupt transfers, to no avail. meanwhile, the grays were taking the approaches to the main line of defence, which had been thought relatively immaterial but had been found shrewdly placed and their vulnerability overestimated. the thunders of batteries hammering them became a routine of existence, like the passing of trains to one living near a railroad. the guns went on while tea was being served; they ushered in dawn and darkness; they were going when sleep came to those whom they later awakened with a start. fights as desperate as the one around the house became features of this period, which was only a warming-up practice for the war demon before the orgy of the impending assault on the main line. marta began to realize the immensity of the chess-board and of the forces engaged in more than the bare statement of numbers and distances. if a first attack on a position failed, the wires from the galland house repeated their orders to concentrate more guns and attack again. in the end the browns always yielded, but grudgingly, calculatingly, never being taken by surprise. the few of them who fell prisoners said, "god with us! we shall win in the end!" and answered no questions. gradually the gray army began to feel that it was battling with a mystery which was fighting under cover, falling back under cover--a tenacious, watchful mystery that sent sprays of death into every finger of flesh that the grays thrust forward in assault. "another position taken. our advance continues," was the only news that westerling gave to the army, his people, and the world, which forgot its sports and murders and divorce cases in following the progress of the first great european war for two generations. he made no mention of the costs; his casualty lists were secret. the gray hosts were sweeping forward as a slow, irresistible tide; this by partow's own admission. he announced the loss of a position as promptly as the grays its taking. he published a daily list of casualties so meagre in contrast to their own that the grays thought it false; he made known the names of the killed and wounded to their relatives. yet the seeming candor of his press bureau included no straw of information of military value to the enemy. westerling never went to tea at the gallands' with the other officers, for it was part of his cultivation of greatness to keep aloof from his subordinates. his meetings with marta happened casually when he went out into the garden. only once had he made any reference to the "and then" of their interview in the arbor. "i am winning battles for _you_!" he had exclaimed with that thing in his eyes which she loathed. to her it was equivalent to saying that she had tricked him into sending men to be killed in order to please her. she despised herself for the way he confided in her; yet she had to go on keeping his confidence, returning a tender glance with one that held out hope. she learned not to shudder when he spoke of a loss of "only ten thousand." in order to rally herself when she grew faint-hearted to her task, she learned to picture the lines of his face hard-set with five-against-three brutality, while in comfort he ordered multitudes to death, and, in contrast, to recall the smile of dellarme, who asked his soldiers to undergo no risk that he would not share. and after every success he would remark that he was so much nearer engadir, that position of the main line of defence whose weakness she had revealed. "your engadir!" he came to say. "then we shall again profit by your information; that is, unless they have fortified since you received it." "they haven't. they had already fortified!" she thought. she was always seeing the mockery of his words in the light of her own knowledge and her own part, which never quite escaped her consciousness. one chamber of her mind was acting for him; a second chamber was perfectly aware that the other was acting. "one position more--the twin boulder redoubt, it is called," he announced at last. "we shall not press hard in front. we shall drive in masses on either side and storm the flanks." this she was telephoning to lanstron a few minutes later and having, in return, all the news of the browns. the sheer fascination of knowing what both sides were doing exerted its spell in keeping her to her part. "they've lost four hundred thousand men now, lanny," she said. "and we only a hundred thousand. we're whittling them down," answered lanstron. "whittling them down! what a ghastly expression!" she gasped. "you are as bad as westerling and i am worse than either of you! i--i announced the four hundred thousand as if they were a score--a score in a game in our favor. i am helping, lanny? all my sacrifice isn't for nothing?" she asked for the hundredth time. "immeasurably. you have saved us many lives!" he replied. "and cost them many?" she asked. "yes, marta, no doubt," he admitted; "but no more than they would have lost in the end. it is only the mounting up of their casualties that can end the war. thus the lesson must be taught." "and i can be of most help when the attack on the main defence is begun?" "yes." "and when westerling finds that my information is false about engadir--then--" she had never put the question to him in this way before. what would westerling do if he found her out? "my god, marta!" he exclaimed. "if i'd had any sense i would have thought of that in the beginning and torn out the 'phone! i've been mad, mad with the one thought of the nation--inhuman in my greedy patriotism. i will not let you go any further!" it was a new thing for her to be rallying him; yet this she did as the strange effect of his protest on the abnormal sensibilities that her acting had developed. "thinking of me--little me!" she called back. "of one person's comfort when hundreds of thousands of other women are in terror; when the destiny of millions is at stake! lanny, you are in a blue funk!" and she was laughing forcedly and hectically. "i'm going on--going on like one in a trance who can't stop if he would. it's all right, lanny. i undertook the task myself. i must see it through!" after she had hung up the receiver her buoyancy vanished. she leaned against the wall of the tunnel weakly. yes, what if she were found out? she was thinking of the possibility seriously for the first time. yet, for only a moment did she dwell upon it before she dismissed it in sudden reaction. "no matter what they do to me or what becomes of me!" she thought. "i'm a lost soul, anyway. the thing is to serve as long as i can--and then i don't care!" xxxvii thumbs down for bouchard haggard and at bay, bouchard faced the circle of frowns around the polished expanse of that precious heirloom, the dining-room table of the gallands. the dreaded reckoning of the apprehensions which kept him restlessly awake at night had come at the next staff council after the fall of the twin boulder redoubt. with the last approach to the main line of defence cleared, one chapter of the war was finished. but the officers did not manifest the elation that the occasion called for, which is not saying that they were discouraged. they had no doubt that eventually the grays would dictate peace in the browns' capital. exactly stated, their mood was one of repressed professional irritation. not until the third attempt was twin boulder redoubt taken. as far as results were concerned, the nicely planned first assault might have been a stroke of strategy by the browns to drive the grays into an impassable fire zone. "the trouble is we are not informed!" exclaimed turcas, opening his thin lips even less than usual, but twisting them in a significant manner as he gave his words a rasping emphasis. the others hastened to follow his lead with equal candor. "exactly. we have no reports of their artillery strength, which we had greatly underestimated," said the chief of artillery. "our maps of their forts could not be less correct if revealed to us for purposes of deceit. again and again we have thought that we had them surprised, only to be surprised ourselves. in short, they know what we are doing and we don't know what they are doing!" said the tactical expert. there the chief of the aerostatic division took the defensive. "they certainly don't learn our plans with their planes and dirigibles!" he declared energetically. "hardly, when we never see them over our lines." "the browns are acting on the defensive in the air as well as on the earth!" "but our own planes and dirigibles bring little news," said turcas. "i mean, those that return," he added pungently. "and few do return. my men are not wanting in courage!" replied the chief aerostatic officer. "immediately we get over the brown lines the browns, who keep cruising to and fro, are on us like hawks. they risk anything to bring us down. when we descend low we strike the fire of their high-angle guns, which are distributed the length of the frontier. i believe both their aerial fleet and their high-angle artillery were greatly underestimated. finally, i cannot reduce my force too much in scouting or they might rake the offensive." "another case of not being informed!" concluded turcas, returning grimly to his point. he looked at bouchard, and every one began looking at bouchard. if the gray tacticians had been outplayed by their opponents, if their losses for the ground gained exceeded calculations, then it was good to have a scapegoat for their professional mistakes. bouchard was westerling's choice for chief of intelligence. his blind loyalty was pleasing to his superior, who, hitherto, had promptly silenced any suggestion of criticism by repeating that the defensive always appeared to the offensive to be better informed than itself. but this time westerling let the conversation run on without a word of excuse for his favorite. each fresh reproach from the staff, whose opinion was the only god he knew, was a dagger thrust to bouchard. at night he had lain awake worrying about the leak; by day he had sought to trace it, only to find every clew leading back to the staff. now he was as confused in his shame as a sensitive schoolboy. vaguely, in his distress, he heard westerling asking a question, while he saw all those eyes staring at him. "what information have we about engadir?" "i believe it to be strongly fortified!" stammered bouchard. "you believe! you have no information?" pursued westerling. "no, sir," replied bouchard. "nothing--nothing new!" "we do seem to get little information," said westerling, looking hard and long at bouchard in silence--the combined silence of the whole staff. this public reproof could have but one meaning. he should soon receive a note which would thank him politely for his services, in the stereotyped phrases always used for the purpose, before announcing his transfer to a less responsible post. "very little, sir!" bouchard replied doggedly. "there is that we had from one of our aviators whose machine came down in a smash just as he got over our infantry positions on his return," said the chief aerostatic officer. "he was in a dying condition when we picked him up, and, as he was speaking with the last breaths in his body, naturally his account of what he had seen was somewhat incoherent. it would be of use, however, if we had plans of the forts that would enable us to check off his report intelligently." "yet, what evidence have we that partow or lanstron has done more than to make a fortunate guess or show military insight?" westerling asked. "there is the case of my own belief that bordir was weak, which proved correct." "last night we got a written telegraphic staff message from the body of a dead officer of the browns found in the twin boulder redoubt," said the vice-chief, "which showed that in an hour after our plans were transmitted to our own troops for the first attack they were known to the enemy." "that looks like a leak!" exclaimed westerling, "a leak, bouchard, do you hear?" he was frowning and his lips were drawn and his cheeks mottled with red in a way not pleasant to see. stiffening in his chair, a flash of desperation in his eye, bouchard's bony, long hand gripped the table edge. every one felt that a sensation was coming. "yes, i have known that there was a leak!" he said with hoarse, painful deliberation. "i have sent out every possible tracer. i have followed up every sort of clew i have transferred a dozen men. i have left nothing undone!" "with no result?" persisted westerling impatiently "yes, always the same result: that the leak is here in this house--here in the grand headquarters of the army under our very noses. i know it is not the telegraphers or the clerks. it is a member of the staff!" "have you gone out of your head?" demanded westerling. "what staff-officer? how does he get the information to the enemy? name the persons you suspect here and now! explain, if you want to be considered sane!" here was the blackest accusation that could be made against an officer! the chosen men of the staff, tested through many grades before they reached the inner circle of cabinet secrecy, lost the composure of a council. all were leaning forward toward bouchard breathless for his answer. "there are three women on the grounds," said bouchard. "i have been against their staying from the first. i----." he got no further. his words were drowned by the outburst of one of the younger members of the staff, who had either to laugh or choke at the picture of this deep-eyed, spectral sort of man, known as a woman-hater, in his revelation of the farcical source of his suspicions. "why not include clarissa eileen?" some one asked, starting a chorus of satirical exclamations. "how do they get through the line?" "yes, past a wall of bayonets?" "when not even a soldier in uniform is allowed to move away from his command without a pass?" "by wireless?" "perhaps by telepathy!" "unless," said the chief of the aerostatic division, grinning, "bouchard lends them the use of our own wires through the capital and around by the neutral countries across the brown frontier!" "but the correct plans and location of their forts and the numbers of their heavy guns and of their planes and dirigibles--your failure to have this information is not the result of any leak from our staff since the war began," said turcas in his dry, penetrating voice, clearing the air of the smoke of scattered explosions. all were staring at bouchard again. what answer had he to this? he was in the box, the evidence stated by the prosecutor. let him speak! he was fairly beside himself in a paroxysm of rage and struck at the air with his clenched fist. "------lanstron!" he cried. "there's no purpose in that. he can't hear you!" said turcas, dryly as ever. "he might, through the leak," said the chief aerostatic officer, who considered that many of his gallant subordinates had lost their lives through bouchard's inefficiency. "perhaps clarissa eileen has already telepathically wigwagged it to him." to lose your temper at a staff council is most unbecoming. turcas would have kept his if hit in the back by a fool automobilist. westerling had now recovered his. he was again the superman in command. "it is for you and not for us to locate the leak; yes, for you!" he said. "that is all on the subject for the present," he added in a tone of mixed pity and contempt, which left bouchard freed from the stare of his colleagues and in the miserable company of his humiliation. all on the subject for the present! when it was taken up again his successor would be in charge. he, the indefatigable, the over-intense, with his mediæval partisan fervor, who loathed in secret machines like turcas, was the first man of the staff to go for incompetency. "and engadir is the key-point," westerling was saying. "yes," agreed turcas. "so we concentrate to break through there," westerling continued, "while we engage the whole line fiercely enough to make the enemy uncertain where the crucial attack is to be made." "but, general, if there is any place that is naturally strong, that--" turcas began. "the one place where they are confident that we won't attack!" westerling interrupted. he resented the staff's professional respect for turcas. after a silence and a survey of the faces around, he added with sententious effect: "and i was right about bordir!" to this argument there could be no answer. the one stroke of generalship by the grays, who, otherwise, had succeeded alone through repeated mass attacks, had been westerling's hypothesis that had gained bordir in a single assault. "engadir it is, then!" said turcas with the loyalty of the subordinate who makes a superior's conviction his own, the better to carry it out. hazily, bouchard had heard the talk, while he was looking at westerling and seeing him, not at the head of the council table, but in the arbor in eager appeal to marta. "i shall find out! i shall find out!" was drumming in his temples when the council rose; and, without a word or a backward glance, he was the first to leave the room. xxxviii hunting ghosts in his search for the medium of the leak to the enemy bouchard had studied every detail of the galland premises and also of the ruins of the castle, with the exception of one feature mentioned in the regular staff records, prepared before the war, in the course of their minute description of the architecture of buildings which were accessible to the spies of the grays. the tunnel to the dungeons could be reached only through the private quarters of the gallands. when he came out onto the veranda from the staff council a glimpse of mrs. galland walking in the garden told him that one of the guardians who stood between him and the satisfaction of his desperate curiosity was absent. he started for the tower and found the door open and the sitting-room empty. in his impatience he had one foot across the threshold before a prompting sense of respect for form made him pause. after all, this was a private residence. there being no bell, he rapped, and was glad that it was minna and not marta who appeared. he watched her intently for the effect of his abrupt announcement as he exclaimed: "i want to go into the tunnel under the castle!" there was no mistaking her shock and alarm. her lips remained parted in a letter o as a sweep of breath escaped. yet, in the very process of recovering her scattered faculties, her feminine quickness noted a triumphant gleam in his eye. she knew that her manner had given conviction to his suspicions. she knew that she alone stood between him and his finding marta talking to brown headquarters. as she was in a state of astonishment, why, astonishment was her cue. she appeared positively speechless from it except for the emission of another horrified gasp. time! time! she must hold him until marta left the telephone. "what an idea! that musty, horrible, damp tunnel!" she exclaimed, shuddering. "i never think of it without thinking of ghosts!" "i am looking for ghosts," replied bouchard with saturnine emphasis. "oh, don't say that!" cried minna distractedly. "sometimes at night i hear their chains clanking and their groans and cries for water," she continued, playing the superstitious and stupid maid servant. "that is, i think i do. miss galland says i don't." "does she go into the tunnel?" asked bouchard. "yes, she's been in to show me that there were no ghosts," replied minna. "but not the whole way--not into the dungeons. i believe she got frightened herself, though she wouldn't admit it. i know there are ghosts! she needn't tell me! don't you believe there are?" she asked solemnly, with dropped jaw. "i'm going to find out!" he said, taking a step forward. but minna, just inside the doorway, did not move to allow him to enter. "oh, i'm so glad!" she exclaimed. "then we'll know the truth. but no!" and she turned wild with protest. "no, no! i know there are! it's dangerous, sir! you'd never come out alive! unseen hands would seize you and draw you down and strangle you--those terrible spirits of the dark ages!" her hands uplifted, fingers stretched apart in terror, lace white with fear, minna's distress was real--very real, indeed!--while she listened impatiently for marta's step in the adjoining room. "good heavens!" exclaimed bouchard in disgust. "i didn't know such superstition existed in this day." "i didn't, sir, until the groans and the clanking of the chains kept me awake," replied minna. "have you a lantern?" asked bouchard in exasperation. "a lantern?" repeated minna blankly. time! time! she must gain time! "yes, you gawk, a lantern!" "certainly; you'll need one," said minna--"a big one! go and fetch a big army one--and some soldiers to fight the ghosts. but what are soldiers against ghosts? oh, sir, i don't like to think of you going at all. please, sir, don't, for the sake of your life!" there bouchard frowned heavily and his hawk eyes flashed in command and decision. "enough of this farce! a lamp, a candle will do. come, get me one immediately!" just as she was at her wits' end and it seemed as if there were nothing left to do but to scream and fall in a faint in front of bouchard, her ear caught the welcome sound which told her that marta had returned from the tunnel. "yes, sir. won't you come in, sir? of course, sir," she said, standing aside. "won't you be seated, sir?" "good day, colonel bouchard!" called marta, appearing in the doorway. "he wants to go into the dungeons to see the ghosts!" minna exclaimed in a return of horror before bouchard had time to say a word, while she screwed up the side of her face away from him suggestively to marta. "those terrible ghosts! i'm afraid for him. like a man, he may go right into the dungeons, even if you didn't dare to, miss galland." "i wish he would!" marta joined in eagerly. "that might cure you of your silly imaginings, minna. she actually thinks, colonel bouchard, that she hears them groan and moan and even shriek. didn't you say they shrieked as well as groaned and moaned once about 3 a.m.?" she asked jocularly. "a ghost must be hard put to it when he shrieks," observed bouchard, glaring from one to the other. "it's all very well for you to make fun of me because you have the advantage of an education," said minna to marta, "but you yourself--you--" "yes, i did hear what sounded like moaning voices," admitted marta rather sheepishly. "but of course it was imagination. now we have a man with nerve enough to go into the dungeons, we'll lay this ridiculous psychological bugaboo at once; that is, if you have the nerve!" she arched her brows in challenging scrutiny of bouchard, while her eyes twinkled at the prospect of adventure. "i thought i had, myself, but before i got to the dungeons the clammy air wilted it and i was rubbing my eyes to keep from seeing all kinds of apparitions." she puzzled bouchard, she was so facile, so ready, so many-sided. but the more she puzzled him the stronger became his conviction of her guilt. he guessed that all this talk was only a prelude to some trick to keep him out of the tunnel. poor at speech at best, slightly fussed by her candid good humor and teasing, he hesitated as to his next remark. he was going to be short with her in stating that he would go into the tunnel immediately, when she took the words out of his mouth. "this way, please. i'm all impatience. i only wish that you had suggested it before." as they passed out of the room minna leaned against the wall, exhausted and wonder-struck. "miss galland is beyond me!" she thought. "does she think those hawk eyes will miss that little button of the panel door?" "we'll need a lantern," said marta as she took up the one she had been using from a corner of the tool room; while bouchard, slowly turning his head like some automaton, was examining every detail of floor and wall, spades, hoes, and weeders, for a hidden significance. the lantern was still hot, and marta's finger smarted with a burn, but she did not twitch. she was so keyed up that she felt capable of walking over red-hot coals, while she joked about ghosts. "there!" she exclaimed, after the lantern was lighted. "this is going to be great sport. ghost hunting--think of that! we might have made a ghost party too bad we didn't think of it in time. yes, it's a pity to be so exclusive about it. even now we might send for general westerling and some of the other staff-officers." she paused and looked at bouchard questioningly, perhaps challengingly; at least, he thought challengingly. he had half a mind to concur. could anything be better than to have westerling present if suspicions proved correct? but no. she wanted westerling and that was the best reason why he should not be present. yet there was no sign of chicane in the brimming fun of her eyes that went with the suggestion. bouchard's search for the proper words of dissent left him rather confused and at a disadvantage. with sympathetic quickness she seemed to guess his thoughts, and in a way that he found all the more exasperating. "no, no! we're too impatient! we can't wait, can we?" she exclaimed. "let's go. let's get the ghosts single-handed, you and i. if we win we'll demand a specially large bronze cross to be struck for us." "yes," he agreed with an affectation of humor that made him feel ludicrous. he always felt ludicrous when he tried to be humorous. "come on!" said marta, going to the stairway. he extended his hand to take the lantern with an "if you please!" "no. when we approach the enemy i'll let you lead," she replied, refusing the offer. "i'll be only too glad then; but these stairs are very tricky if you don't know them. keep watch!" she warned him as she started to descend, picking her way slowly. once in the tunnel she held the lantern a little back of her in her right hand, which threw a shadow to the left on the side of the panel door. she was walking very fast, too fast to please bouchard. in the swinging rays he could not fly-speck the surroundings with the care that he desired. yet how could he ask her to slacken her pace? this she did of her own accord before they had gone far. "isn't it damp and deathlike? think of it!" she exclaimed. "no ray of sunlight has been in here since the tunnel was dug--no, not even then; for probably it was dug after the castle was built. think of the stories these walls could tell after the silence of centuries! think of the prisoners driven along at the point of the halberd to slow death in the dungeons! you feel their spirits in the cold, clammy air." her elocution was excellent, as her voice sank to an awed whisper, impressing even bouchard with a certain uncanniness. her steps became slow, as with effort, while he was not missing a square inch of the top, bottom, or sides of the tunnel. "but i'll not--i'll not this time, when i have a soldier with me. for once i'll go to the end!" she cried with forced courage, suddenly starting forward at a half run that sent the lantern's rays lurching and dancing in a way that confused the hawk eyes. then her burst of strength seemed to give out in collapse and she dropped against the wall for support, her back covering the panel door. "i can't! i'm just foolishly, weakly feminine!" she whispered brokenly. "according to reason there aren't any ghosts, i know. but it gets on my nerves too much-my imaginings!" she held out the lantern with a trembling hand. "i will wait here. you go on in!" she begged. "please do and show me what a fool i am! show that it is all a woman's hysteria--for we are all hysterical, aren't we? go into every dungeon, please!" she did seem on the verge of hysteria, quivering as die was from head to foot. but bouchard, holding the lantern and staring at her, his eyes unearthly lustrous in the yellow rays, hesitated to agree to the request because it was hers. marta was not so near hysteria that she did not divine his thought. "has it got on your nerves, too?" she inquired. "are you, too, afraid?" "no, i'm not afraid!" replied bouchard irritably. "but aren't you afraid to be left alone in the dark? i'll take you back to the sitting-room and you can wait there," he added with a show of gallantry, which she improved on with a flattering if scared smile. "i'm not afraid with you between me and the dungeons," she said. "i'll hold my ground. don't think me altogether a craven." "very well," was all that he could say. "i came to see the dungeons, and i'll see them!" after the lantern flame grew fainter and finally disappeared around a bend, marta emitted a peculiar, squeaky little laugh. it sounded to her as if her own ghost--the ghost of her former self--were laughing in satire. there was a devilish, mischievous joy in battling to outwit bouchard more than in her deceit of westerling. satire, yes--needle-pointed, acid-tipped! melodrama done in burlesque, too. in the name of the noble art of war, a bit of fooling about ghosts in a tunnel might influence the fate of armies that were the last word in modern equipment. and men played at killing with a grand front of martial dignity, when such a little thing could turn the balance of slaughter! the ghosts in the dungeons seemed about as real as anything, except the childishness of adult humanity in organized mass. she laughed again, this time very softly, as she moved away from the panel door a few steps farther along the wall toward the entrance and again leaned back for support. she had to wait a half-hour before she saw a yellow flame reappear and heard the dully echoing steps of bouchard approaching. that tiny push-button on the panel, of the color of stone, was in the shadow of her figure against the lantern's rays, which gave a glazed and haunted effect to bouchard's eyes, rolling as he studied the walls and ceiling and floor of the tunnel in final baffled and desperate inquiry. "did you see anything? did you go into all the dungeons?" marta called to him. bouchard did not answer. perhaps he was too full of disgust for words. marta, however, had plenty of words in her impatience for knowledge. "if there were you must have caught them with a quick strangle-hold. or, did you see one and not dare to go on? tell me! tell me!" she insisted when he stopped before her, his expression a strange mixture of defiance and dissatisfaction while he was searching the wall around her figure. before his eye had any inclination to look as far away from her as the button she stepped free of the wall and laid her hand on bouchard's arm. "i can't wait! i've nearly perished of suspense!" she cried. "i'm just dying to know what you found. please tell me!" meanwhile, she was looking into his eyes, which were eagerly devouring the spot that her figure had hidden. he saw nothing but bare stone. marta slipped her hand behind her and began brushing her back. "my gown must be a sight!" she exclaimed. "but i do believe you saw a ghost and that he struck you speechless!" "no!" exploded bouchard. "no, i saw nothing!" "nothing!" she repeated. she half turned to go. he passed by her with the lantern, while she kept to the side of the wall which held the button, covering it with her shadow successfully. "nothing! no bones, no skulls--not even any anklets fastened by chains to the clammy, wet stones?" "yes, just an ordinary set of middle age dungeons and some staples in the walls!" he grumbled. this was no news to her as, with minna for company, she had explored all the underground passages. "wonderful! i suppose a little courage will always lay ghosts!" she even found it difficult to conceal a note of triumph in her tone, for the button was now well behind them. "it's all right, minna; there aren't any ghosts!" she called as they entered the sitting-room. and minna, in the kitchen, covered her mouth lest she should scream for joy. "thank you!" said bouchard grudgingly as marta saw him to the door. "on the contrary, thank you! it was such fun--if i hadn't been so scared," replied marta, and their gaze held each other fast in a challenge, hers beaming good nature and his saturnine in its rebuff and a hound-like tenacity of purpose, saying plainly that his suspicions were not yet laid. when bouchard returned to his desk he guessed the contents of the note awaiting him, but he took a long time to read its stereotyped expressions in transferring him to perfunctory duty well to the rear of the army. then he pulled himself together and, leaden-hearted, settled down to arrange routine details for his departure, while the rest of the staff was immersed in the activity of the preparations for the attack on engadir. he knew that he could not sleep if he lay down. so he spent the night at work. in the morning his successor, a young man whom he himself had chosen and trained, colonel bellini, appeared, and the fallen man received the rising man with forced official courtesy. "in my own defence and for your aid," he said, "i show you a copy of what i have just written to general westerling." a brief note it was, in farewell, beginning with conventional thanks for westerling's confidence in the past. "i am punished for being right," it concluded. "it is my belief that miss galland sends news to the enemy and that she draws it from you without your consciousness of the fact. i tell you honestly. do what you will with me." it took more courage than any act of his life for the loyal bouchard to dare such candor to a superior. seeing the patchy, yellow, bloodless face drawn in stiff lines and the abysmal stare of the deep-set eyes in their bony recesses, bellini was swept with a wave of sympathy. "thank you, bouchard. you've been very fine!" said bellini as he grasped bouchard's hand, which was icy cold. "my duty--my duty, in the hope that we shall kill two browns for every gray who has fallen--that we shall yet see them starved and besieged and crying for mercy in their capital," replied bouchard. he saluted with a dismal, urgent formality and stalked out of the room with the tread of the ghost of hamlet's father. the strange impression that this farewell left with bellini still lingered when, a few moments later, westerling summoned him. not alone the diffidence of a new member of the staff going into the presence accounted for the stir in his temples, as he waited till some papers were signed before he had westerling's attention. then westerling picked up bouchard's note and shook his head sadly. "poor bouchard! you can see for yourself," and he handed the note to bellini. "i should have realized earlier that it was a case for the doctor and not for reprimand. mad! poor bouchard! he hadn't the ability or the resiliency of mind for his task, as i hope you have, colonel." "i hope so, sir," replied bellini. "i've no doubt you have," said westerling. "you are my choice!" xxxix a change of plan that day and the next westerling had no time fix strolling in the garden. his only exercise was a few periods of pacing on the veranda. turcas, as tirelessly industrious as ever, developed an increasingly quiet insistence to leave the responsibility of decisions about everything of importance to a chief who was becoming increasingly arbitrary. the attack on engadir being the jewel of westerling's own planning, he was disinclined to risk success by delegating authority, which also meant sharing the glory of victory. bouchard's note, though officially dismissed as a matter of pathology, would not accept dismissal privately. in flashes of distinctness it recurred to him between reports of the progress of preparations and directions as to dispositions. at dusk of the second day, when all the guns and troops had their places for the final movement under cover of darkness and he rose from his desk, the thing that had edged its way into a crowded mind took possession of the premises that strategy and tactics had vacated. it passed under the same analysis as his work. his overweening pride, so sensitive to the suspicion of a conviction that he had been fooled, put his relations with marta in logical review. he had fallen in love in the midst of war. this fact was something that his egoism must resent. any woman who had struck such a response in him as she had must have great depths. had she depths that he had not fathomed? he recalled her sudden change of attitude toward war, her conversion to the cause of the grays, and her charm in this as in all their relations. was it conceivable that the change was not due to a personal feeling for him? was her charm a charm with a purpose? had he, the chief of staff, been beguiled into making a woman his confidant in military secrets? just what had he told her? he could not recollect anything definite and recollection was the more difficult because he could not call to mind a single pertinent military question that she had ever asked him. such information as he might have imparted had been incidental to their talks. he had enveloped her in glamour; his most preciously trained mental qualities lapsed in her presence. it was time that she was regarded impersonally, as a woman, by the critical eye of the chief of staff. a cool and intense impatience possessed him to study her in the light of his new scepticism, when, turning the path of the first terrace, he saw her watching the sunset over the crest of the range. she was standing quite still, a slim, soft shadow between him and the light, which gilded her figure and quarter profile. did she expect him? he wondered. was she posing at that instant for his benefit? and the answer, could he have searched her secret brain, was, yes--yes, if the conscious and the subconscious mind are to be considered as one responsible intelligence. he usually came at that hour. but he had not come last night. they had not met since bouchard's ghost hunt. there was no firing near by; only desultory artillery practice in the distance. she heard the familiar crunch of five against three on the gravel. she knew that he had stopped at the turn of the path, and she was certain that he was looking at her! but she did not make the slightest movement. the golden light continued to caress her profile. then, crunch, crunch, rather slowly, the five against three drew nearer. the delay had been welcome; it had been to her a moment's respite to get her breath before entering the lists. when she turned, her face in the shadow, the glow of the sunset seemed to remain in her eyes, otherwise without expression, yet able to detect something unusual under externals as they exchanged commonplaces of greeting. "well, there's a change in our official family. we have lost bouchard--transferred to another post!" said westerling. marta noted that, though he gave the news a casual turn, his scrutiny sharpened. "is that so? i can't say that my mother and i shall be sorry," she remarked. "he was always glaring at us as if he wished us out of his sight. indeed, if he had his way, i think he would have made us prisoners of war. wasn't he a woman-hater?" she concluded, half in irritation, half in amusement. "he had that reputation," said westerling. "what do you think led to his departure?" he continued. "i confess i cannot guess!" said marta, with a look at the sunset glow as if she resented the loss of a minute of it. "there has been a leak of information to the browns!" he announced. "there has! and he was intelligence officer, wasn't he?" she asked, turning to westerling, her curiosity apparently roused as a matter of courtesy to his own interest in the subject. "who do you think he accused? why, _you_," he added, with a peculiar laugh. she noted the peculiarity of the laugh discriminatingly. "oh!" her eyes opened wide in wonder--only wonder, at first. then, as comprehension took the place of wonder, they grew sympathetic. "that explains!" she exclaimed. "his hateful glances were those of delusion. he was going mad, you mean?" "yes," said westerling, "that--that would explain it!" "i have been told that when people go mad they always ascribe every injury done to them to the person who happens to have excited their dislike," she mused. "which seems to have been the case here," westerling assented. he did not know what else to say. "it was the strain of war, wasn't it?" marta proceeded thoughtfully. "i notice that all the staff-officers are showing it; that is," she added on second thought, quite literally, as she regarded him for an instant of silence, "all except you. you remain the same, calm and decisive." there she looked away with a flutter of her lashes, as if she were shamed at having allowed herself to be caught in open admiration of him. "look! the last effulgence of rose!" she went on hurriedly about the sunset. "why shouldn't we think of the sky as heaven, as nirvana? what better immortality than to be absorbed into that?" "none!" he agreed, but he was looking at her rather than at the sky. his pride was recovering its natural confidence in the infallibility of his judgment of human beings. he was seeing his suspicions as ridiculous enough to convict him of a brain as disordered as bouchard's. marta was thinking that she had been skating on very thin ice and that she must go on skating till she broke through. there was an exhilaration about it that she could not resist: the exhilaration of risk and the control of her faculties, prompted by a purpose hypnotically compelling. both were silent, she watching the sky, he in anticipation and suspense. the rose went violet and the shadows over the range deepened. "the guns and the troops wait. with darkness the music begins!" he said slowly, with a sort of stern fervor. "the music--the music! he calls it music!" ran through marta's mind mockingly, but she did not open her lips. "according to my plan--and your plan!" he added. "my plan--my plan!" she thought. her plan that was to send men into a shambles! "they wait, ready, every detail arranged," he continued proudly. the violet melted into an inky blue; silence, vast, heavy, prevailed--silence where the millions lay on their arms. even the guns in the distance had ceased their echoing rumble. he felt the power of her presence and of the moment. it was she who had given the information that had enabled him to confound the scepticism of the staff by the easy taking of bordir. through her he might repeat bordir in a larger way at engadir, proving his theories of frontal attack. his courage of initiative would shine out against the background of his staff's scepticism as a light to the world's imagination. the first great man in forty years; the genius of the new system of tactics to meet the demands of a new age as napoleon had met those of his, grant of his, and von moltke of his! engadir taken, and his place on valhalla would be secure. the very silence with its taut expectancy was of his planning. alone with her he waited for the thunders of his planning that were to break it. the sky merged into the shadows of the landscape that spread and thickened into blackness. out of the drawn curtains of night broke an ugly flash and farther up the slope spread the explosive circle of light of a bursting shell. "the signal!" he exclaimed. right and left the blasts spread along the gray lines and right and left, on the instant, the browns sent their blasts in reply. countless tongues of flame seemed to burst from countless craters, and the range to rock in a torment of crashes. in the intervening space between the ugly, savage gusts from the gray gun mouths, which sent their shells from the midst of exploding brown shells, swept the beams of the brown search-lights, their rays lost like sunlight in the vortex of an open furnace door. "splendid! splendid!" exclaimed westerling, in a sweep of emotion at the sight that had been born of his command. "five thousand guns on our side alone! the world has never seen the equal of this!" "five thousand guns!" marta was thinking. what wouldn't their cost have bought in books, in gardens, and in playgrounds! every shot the price of a year's schooling for a child! "you see, we are pounding them along the whole frontier quite impartially, so they shall not know where we are going to press home the attack!" he continued. "but they do know! i've told them!" shot the burning arrow of mockery through marta's brain. "their search-lights are watching for the infantry--and we shall press the infantry forward, too," he added; "everywhere we make a show of fight!" then it occurred vividly to her, as a sudden discovery in the midst of the blinding display, that this was not a kind of chaos like that of the beginning of the world, not nature's own elemental debauch, but men firing guns and men waiting for the charge under that spray of death-dealing missiles. "splendid! splendid!" he repeated. marta looked away from the range to his face, very distinct in the garish illumination. it was the face of a maestro of war seeing all his rehearsals and all his labors come true in symphonic gratification to the eye and ear; the face of a man of trained mind, the product of civilization, with the elation of a party leader on the floor of a parliament in a crisis. "soon, now!" said westerling, and looked at his watch. shortly, in the direction of engadir, to the rear of the steady flashes broke forth line after line of flashes as the long-range batteries, which so far had been silent, joined their mightier voices to the chorus, making a continuous leaping burst of explosions over the brown positions, which were the real object of the attack. "the moment i've lived for!" exclaimed westerling. "our infantry is starting up the apron of engadir! we held back the fire of the heavy guns concentrated for the purpose of supporting the men with an outburst. three hundred heavy guns pouring in their shells on a space of two acres! we're tearing their redoubts to pieces! they can't see to fire! they can't live under it! they're in the crater of a volcano! when our infantry is on the edge of the wreckage the guns cease. our infantry crowd in--crowd into the house that partow built. he'll find that numbers count; that the power of modern gun-fire will open the way for infantry in masses to take and hold vital tactical positions! and--no--no, their fire in reply is not as strong as i expected." "because they are letting you in! it will be strong enough in due season!" thought marta in the uncontrollable triumph of antagonism. five against three was in his tone and in every line of his features. "it's hard for a soldier to leave a sight like this, but the real news will be awaiting me at my desk," he concluded, adding, as he turned away: "it's fireworks worth seeing, and if you remain here i will return to tell you the results." she had no thought of going. that arc of dreadful lightnings held her with ghastly fascination. suddenly all the guns ceased. faintly in the distance she heard a tumult of human voices in the high notes of a savage cheer; the rattling din of rifles; the purring of automatics; and then, except for the firefly flashes of scattered shots around engadir, silence and darkness. but she knew that chaos would soon be loosed again--chaos and murder, which were the product of her own chicanery. the grays would find themselves in the trap of partow's and lanny's planning. turning her back to the range for the moment, she saw the twinkle of the lights of the town and the threads of light of the wagon-trains and the sweep of the lights of the railroad trains on the plain; while in the foreground every window of the house was ablaze, like some factory on a busy night shift. she could hear the click of the telegraph instruments already reporting the details of the action as cheerfully as brobdingnagian crickets in their peaceful surroundings. then out of the shadows westerling reappeared. "the apron of engadir is ours!" he called. "thanks to you!" he added with pointed emphasis. back in the house he had received congratulations with a nod, as if success were a matter of course. before her, exultation unbent stiffness, and he was hoarsely triumphant and eager. "it's plain sailing now," he went on. "a break in the main line! we have only to drive home the wedge, and then--and then!" he concluded. she felt him close, his breath on her cheek. "peace!" she hastened to say, drawing back instinctively. and then! the irony of the words in the light of her knowledge was pointed by a terrific renewal of the thunders and the flashes far up on the range, and she could not resist rejoicing in her heart. "that's the browns!" exclaimed westerling in surprise. the volume of fire increased. with the rest of the frontier in darkness, the engadir section was an isolated blaze. in its light she saw his features, without alarm but hardening in dogged intensity. "they've awakened to what they have lost! they have been rushing up reserves and are making a counter-attack. we must hold what we have gained, no matter what the cost!" his last sentence was spoken over his shoulder as he started for the house. thus more fire called for more fire; more murder for more murder, she thought. her mind was projected into the thick of the battle. she saw a panic of grays caught in their triumph; of wounded men writhing and crawling over their dead comrades, their position shown to the marksmen by a search-light's glare. the dead grew thicker; their glassy eyes were staring at her in reproach. she heard the hoarse and straining voices of the browns in their "god with us!" through the din of automatics. men snuggled for cover amidst torn flesh and red-tinged mud in the trenches, and other men trampled them in fiendish risk of life to take more lives. without changing her position, hardly turning her head, she watched until the firing began to lessen rapidly. then she breathed, "engadir must be ours again!" and realized that she was weak and faint. suspense had sapped her strength. she sought a seat in the arbor, where the nervous force of other thoughts revived her. what would westerling say when he found that her information had led his men into a trap--when staff scepticism was proven right and he a false prophet? from the house came the confused sound of voices in puzzling chorus. it was not a cheer. it had the quality of a rapid fire of jubilant exclamation as a piece of news was passed from lip to lip. then she heard that step which she knew so well. sensitive ears noted that it touched the gravel with unusual energy and quickness, which she thought must be due to vexation over the repulse. she rose to face him, summoning back the spirit of the actress. "this is better yet! i came to tell you that the counter-attack failed!" he said as he saw her appear from the shelter of the arbor. she wondered if she were going to fall. but the post of the trellis was within reach. she caught hold of it to steady herself. failed! all her acting had served only to make such a trap for the browns as lanny had planned for the grays! she was grateful for the darkness that hid her face, which was incapable of any expression now but blank despair. westerling's figure loomed very large to her as she regained her self-possession--large, dominant, unconquerable in the suggestion of five against three. and felicitations were due! she drew away from the post, swaying and trembling, nerves and body not yet under command of mind. she could not force her tongue to so false a sentiment as congratulation. "the killing--it must have been terrible!" her mind at last made her exclaim to cover her tardiness of response to his mood. "you thought of that--as you should--as i do!" he said. he took her hands in his, pulsing warm with the flowing red of his strength. she let them remain lifelessly, as if she had not the will to take them away, the instinct of her part again dominant. to him this was another victory, and it was discovery--the discovery of melting weakness in her for the first time, which magnified his sense of masculine power. he tightened his grip slightly and she shuddered. "you are tired!" he said, and it hurt her that he could be so considerate. "the killing--to end that! it's that i want!" she breathed miserably. "and the end is near!" he said. "yes, now, thanks to you!" thanks to her! and she must listen and submit to his touch! "the engineers and material were ready to go in," he continued. "before morning, as i had planned, we shall be so well fortified in the position that nothing can budge us. this success so strengthens my power with the staff and the premier that i need not wait on fabian tactics. i am supreme. i shall make the most of the demoralization of this blow to the enemy. i shall not wait on slow approaches in the hope of saving life. to-morrow i shall attack and keep on attacking till all the main line is ours." "now you are playing your real part, the conqueror!" she thought gladly. "your kind of peace is the ruin of another people; the peace of a helpless enemy. that is better"--better for her conscience. unwittingly, she allowed her hands to remain in his. in the paralysis of despair she was unconscious that she had hands. she felt that she could endure anything to retrieve the error into which she had been the means of leading the browns. and the killing--it would not stop, she knew. no, the browns would not yield until they were decimated. "we have the numbers to spare. numbers shall press home--home to terms in their capital!" westerling's voice grew husky as he proceeded, harsh as orders to soldiers who hesitated in face of fire. "after that--after that"--the tone changed from harshness to desire, which was still the desire of possession--"the fruits of peace, a triumph that i want you to share!" he was drawing her toward him with an impulse of the force of this desire, when she broke free with an abrupt, struggling pull. "not that! not that! your work is not yet done!" she cried. he made a move as if to persist, then fell back with a gesture of understanding. "right! hold me to it!" he exclaimed resolutely. "hold me to the bargain! so a woman worth while should hold a man worth while." "yes!" she managed to say, and turned to go in a sudden impetus of energy. his egoism might ascribe her precipitancy to a fear of succumbing to the tenderness which he thought that she felt for him, when her one wish was to be free of him; her one rallying and tempestuous purpose of the moment to reach the telephone. mrs. galland and minna saw her ghostlike as she passed through the living-room, their startled questions unheeded. could it be true that she had betrayed every decent attribute of a woman in vain? why had the counter-attack failed? because westerling had been too strong, too clever, for old partow? because god was still with the heaviest battalions? half running, half stumbling, the light of the lantern bobbing and trembling weirdly, she hastened through the tunnel. usually the time from taking the receiver down till lanny replied was only a half minute. now she waited what seemed many minutes without response. had the connection been broken? to make sure that her impatience was not tricking her she began to count off the seconds. then she heard lanstron's voice, broken and hoarse: "marta, marta, he is dead! partow is dead!" recovering himself, lanstron told the story of partow's going, which was in keeping with his life and his prayers. as the doctor put it, the light of his mind, turned on full voltage to the last, went out without a flicker. through the day he had attended to the dispositions for receiving the grays' attack, enlivening routine as usual with flashes of humor and reflection ranging beyond the details in hand. an hour or so before dark he had reached across the table and laid his big, soft palm on the back of lanstron's hand. he was thinking aloud, a habit of his, in lanstron's company, when an idea requiring gestation came to him. "my boy, it is not fatal if we lose the apron of engadir. the defences behind it are very strong." "no, not fatal," lanstron agreed. "but it's very important." "and westerling will think it fatal. yes, i understand his character. yes--yes; and if our counter-attack should fail, then miss galland's position would be secure. hm-m-m--those whom the gods would destroy--hm-m-m. westerling will be convinced that repeated, overwhelming attacks will gain our main line. instead of using engineering approaches, he will throw his battalions, masses upon masses, against our works until his strength is spent. it would be baiting the bull. a risk--a risk--but, my boy, i am going to--" partow's head, which was bent in thought, dropped with a jerk. a convulsion shook him and he fell forward onto the map, his brave old heart in its last flutter, and lanstron was alone in the silent room with the dead and his responsibility. "the order that i knew he was about to speak, marta, i gave for him," lanstron concluded. "it seemed to me an inspiration--his last inspiration--to make the counter-attack a feint." "and you're acting chief of staff, lanny? you against westerling?" "yes." xl with fracasse's men we have heard nothing of jacob pilzer, the butcher's son, and peterkin, the valet's son, and others of fracasse's company of the 128th of the grays since hugo mallin threw down his rifle when they were firing on scattered brown soldiers in retreat. it was in one of the minor actions of the step-by-step advance after the taking of the galland house that the judge's son received official notice of a holiday in the form of a nickel pellet from the browns which made a clean, straight hole the size of a lead pencil through his flesh and then went singing on its way without deflection, as if it liked to give respites from travail to tired soldiers. "grazed the ribs--no arteries!" remarked the examining surgeon. "you'll be well in a month." "we'll hold the war for you!" called the banker's son cheerily after the still figure on the stretcher. "and you'll get gruel and custards, maybe," said the barber's son. "i like custards." once the judge's son had thought that nothing could be so grand as to be wounded fighting for one's country. he had in mind then, as the object of his boyish admiration, a young officer returned from a little campaign against the blacks in africa, when, the casualties being few and the scene distant and picturesque, all heroes with scars had an aspect of romantic exclusiveness. but there was no more distinction now in being wounded than in catching cold. truly, colonial wars were the only satisfactory kind. the judge's son found himself one of many men on cots in long rows in the former barracks of the browns near la tir. daily bulletins told the patients the names of the positions taken and daily they heard of fresh batches of wounded arriving, which were not mentioned on the bulletin-board. "we continue to win," said the doctors and nurses invariably in answer to all questions. "general westerling announces that everything is going as planned." "you must know that speech well!" observed the judge's son to the nurse of his section. her lips twitched in a kind of smile. "letter-perfect!" she replied "it's official." in two weeks, so fast had the puncture from the aseptic little pellet of civilized warfare healed under civilization's medical treatment, the judge's son was up and about, though very weak. but the rules strictly confined his promenades to the barracks yard. there might be news coming down the traffic-gorged castle road out of the region where the guns sounded that convalescents were not intended to hear. for news could travel in other ways than by bulletin-boards; and the judge's son, merely watching the faces of medical officers, guessed that it was depressing. but after the first attack on engadir their faces lighted. the very thrill of victory seemed to be in the air. "it's in the main line of defence!" called the doctor on his morning rounds of the cots. "they've made westerling a field-marshal. he's outwitted the browns! in a few days now we'll have the range!" how staggering was the cost he was not to realize till later, when the ambulance stewards kept repeating: "more to come!" a newcomer, who took the place of a man who had died on the cot next to the judge's son, had been in the fight. he was still ether-sick and weak from the amputation of his right arm, with a dazed, glassy, and far-away look in his eyes, as if everything in the world was strange and uncertain. "the fearful flashes--the explosions--the gusts of steel in the air!" he whispered. the next night westerling followed up his supposed advantage at engadir as he had planned, and there was no sleep for the thunders and the light of the explosions through the barracks-room windows. "i can see what is happening and feel--and feel!" said the man who had been at engadir. in the morning the bulletin announced that more positions were taken, with very heavy losses--to the enemy. but the news that travelled unofficially from tongue to tongue down the castle road and spoke in the faces of doctors and nurses said, "and to us!" plainly enough, even if the judge's son had not heard a doctor remark: "it's awful--inconceivable! not a hospital tent in this division is unoccupied. most of the houses in town are full, and we're preparing for another grand attack!" now for two days the guns kept up their roar. "making ready for the infantry to go in," ran the talk around the barracks yard. after the infantry had gone in and the result was known, the doctor on his morning round said to the judge's son: "you're pretty pale yet, but you'll do. we must make room for a big crowd that is coming and the orders are to get every man who is in any condition to fight to the front." "and if i get another hole in me you'll patch me up again?" "get any number and we'll patch you up if they're in the right place," was the answer. "but be careful about that detail." soon the judge's son was with a score of convalescents who were marched down to the town, where they formed in column with other detachments. "not with that cough!" exclaimed a doctor as they were about to start, ordering a man out of line. "you'd never get to the front. you'd only have to be brought back in an ambulance." an enlightening march this for the judge's son from hospital to trenches, moving with a tide of loaded commissariat wagons and empty ambulances and passing a tide of loaded ambulances and empty commissariat wagons. a like scene was on every road to the front; a like scene on every vista of landscape along any part of the frontier. all trees and bushes and walls and buildings that would give cover to the enemy the browns had razed. on every point of rising ground were the trenches and redoubts that the browns had yielded after their purpose of making the grays earn their way by trenches of their own had been served. the fields were trampled by the feet of infantry, cut by gun wheels, ploughed by shells, and sown with the conical nickel pellets from rifles and the round lead bullets of shrapnel. an escarpment of rock, where the road-bed was slashed into a hillside in a sharp turn, struck by the concentrated fire of automatics, appeared to have been beaten by thousands of sharp-headed hammers, leaving a pile of chips and dust. the traffic of the main roads spread into branch roads which ended in the ganglia of supply depots, all kept in touch by the network of wires focussing through different headquarters to westerling. in this conquered territory with its face of desolation there were no fighting men except reserves or convalescents on their way to the front. all the rest were wounded or dead or occupied in the routine of supply and intelligence. the organization which had been drilled through two generations of peace for this emergency exhibited the signs of pressure. eyes that met when commands were given and received were dull from want of sleep or hectically bright as a hypochondriac's. voices spoke in a grim, tired monotone, broken by sudden flashes of irritation or eruptions of anger. features were drawn like those of rowers against a tide. the very proportions of the ghastly harvest after the last, the heaviest of all, of the attacks brought spasms of nausea to men already hardened to blood and death. if the officers of the staffs in their official conspiracy of silence would not talk, the privates and the wounded would. the judge's son, observing, listening, thinking, was gathering a story to tell his comrades of company b of the 128th. that night he and his comrade convalescents slept in the open. their bodies were huddled close together under their blankets for warmth, while aching limbs twitched from the fatigue of the march. the morning showed that others had coughs which should have kept them from the front. "four or five cases of pneumonia due in that lot!" a doctor remarked to a hospital-corps sergeant. "put them in empties right away." after this announcement other coughs developed. amusing, these sudden, purposeful efforts should one happen to think of them in that way. but no one did. "no you don't, you malingerers!" said the doctor sharply. "i've been at this business long enough to know a real cough." now the judge's son and a dozen others were separated from the rest of their companions and started over a hill. from the top they had a broad view. across a strip of valley lay the main rise to the heights of the range. along the summit nothing warlike was visible except the irregular landscape against the horizon. there the enemy rested in his fortifications. the slopes, as far as the judge's son could see on either hand, were like the warrens of an overpopulated rabbit world in hiding. here was the army of the grays in its redoubts and trenches a thousand times as many men as were ever at work on the panama canal had been digging their way forward--digging regardless of union hours; digging to save their own lives and to take lives. and the nearer they came to the top of the range the deeper they had to dig and the slower their progress. as the little group of convalescents descended into a valley a bursting shell from the browns scattered its fragments over the earth near by. "they drop one occasionally, though they don't expect to get more than a man or two by chance, which is hardly worth the cost of the charge," some one explained. "you see that they must know just what our positions are from their understanding of our army's organization, and the purpose is to bother us about bringing up supplies and reserves. start a commissariat train or a company in close order across, and--whew! the air screams!" once on the other side of the valley, and the maze of zigzags and parallels leading into the warrens was simplified by signs indicating the location of regiments. at length the judge's son found himself in the home cave of his own tribe. his comrades were resting at the noon-hour, their backs against the wall of their shell-proof. in the faint light their faces were as gray as the dust on the dirty uniforms that hung on their gaunt bodies. dust was caked in the seams around their eyes; their cheeks were covered with dusty beards. their greeting of the returned absentee was that of men who had passed through a strain that left existence untouched by the spring of average sensations. "did you get the custards?" asked the barber's son in a squeaky voice. "no, but i got a jelly once--only once!" "snob!" said the barber's son. "jelly! i could eat a hogshead of jelly and still be empty! what i want is fresh meat!" growled pilzer, the butcher's son. "a hogshead of jelly might be good to bathe in!" said the banker's son. "i haven't had a bath for a month." "i have. i turned my underclothes inside out!" said the barber's son. he was aiming to take hugo's place as humorist, in the confidence of one sprung from a talkative family. scanning the faces, the judge's son found many new ones--those of the older reservists--while many of the faces of barrack days were missing. "whom have we lost?" he asked. the answer, given with dull matter-of-factness, revealed that, of the group that had talked so light-heartedly of war six weeks before, only little peterkin, the valet's son, and pilzer, the butcher's son, and the barber's and the banker's sons survived. they were sitting in a row, from the instinct that makes old associates keep together even though they continually quarrel. the striking thing was that peterkin looked the most cheerful and well-kept of the four. as the proud possessor of a pair of scissors, he had trimmed a surprisingly heavy beard van dyck fashion, which emphasized his peaked features and a certain consciousness of superiority; while the barber's son sported only a few scraggly hairs. the scant, reddish product of pilzer's cheeks, leaving bare the liver patch, only accentuated its repulsiveness and a savagery in his voice and look which was no longer latent under the conventional discipline of every-day existence. the company had not been in the first engadir assault, but, being near the engadir position, had suffered heavily in support. "you were in the big attack night before last?" asked the judge's son. "we started in," said peterkin, "but captain fracasse brought us back," he added in a way that implied that only orders had kept him from going on. peterkin, the trembling little peterkin of the baptismal charge across the line of white posts, had been the first out of the redoubt on to the glacis in that abortive effort, living up to the bronze cross on his breast. he was one of the half dozen out of the score that had started to return alive. the psychology of war had transformed his gallantry; it had passed from simulation to reality, thanks to his established conviction that he led a charmed life. little peterkin, always pale but never getting paler, was ready to lead any forlorn hope. a superstitious nature, which, at the outset of the war, had convinced him that he must be killed in the first charge, now, as the result of his survival, gave him all the faith of eugene aronson that the bullet would never be made that could kill him. "was the attack general all along the front?" some one asked. "we couldn't tell. all we knew was the hell around us." "yes," answered the judge's son. "did we accomplish anything?" "a few minor positions, i believe." "but we will win!" said peterkin. "the colonel said so." "and the news--what is the news?" demanded the barber's son. "you needn't be afraid," he added. "the officers are on the other side of the redoubt. they get sick of the sight of us and we of them and this is their recess and ours from the eternal digging." "yes, the news from home!" "yes, from home! we don't even get letters any more. they've shut off all the mails." "i met a man from our town," said the judge's son. "he said that after that story was published in the press about hugo's damning patriotism and hurrahing for the browns--it was fearfully exaggerated--his old father and mother shut themselves up in the house and would not show their faces for shame. but his sweetheart, however much her parents stormed, refused to renounce him. she held her head high and said that the more they abused him the more she loved him, and she knew he could do nothing wrong." "hugo was not a patriot. it takes red blood to make a patriot!" said peterkin. in the pride of heroism and prestige, he was becoming an oracular enunciator of commonplaces from the lips of his superiors. "the absence of any word from the front only increases the suspense of the people. they do not know whether their sons and brothers and husbands are living or dead," continued the judge's son. "up to a week ago they let us write," said pilzer, "though they wouldn't let us say anything except that we were well." "that was because it might give information to the enemy," said peterkin. "as if i didn't know that!" grumbled pilzer. "the enemy seems to be always ready for us, anyway," he added. "the chief of staff stopped the letters because he said that mothers who received none took it for granted that their sons were dead," explained the judge's son. "besides, he asserts that casualties are not heavy and asks for patience in the name of patriotism." "the--!" exclaimed pilzer, referring to westerling. he who had set out to be an officers' favorite had become bitter against all officers, high and low. peterkin was speechlessly aghast. the others said nothing. they were used to pilzer's oaths and obscenity, with a growing inclination to profanity on their own part. besides, they rather agreed with his view of the chief of staff. "did you see many dead and wounded?" asked a very tired voice, that of one of the older reservists who was emaciated, with a complexion like blue mould. "how can i tell you what i saw? ought i to tell you?" "when you've had to wipe a piece of brains out of your eye, as i have--it was warm and jelly-like," said pilzer, "you ain't as squeamish as hugo mallin. i wonder they don't give him a bronze cross!" "bronze crosses are given for bravery in action," said peterkin in his new-fashioned parrot way since he had become great. "you should not do anything to affect the spirit of corps." "the boy wonder from the butler's pantry! our dear, natty little buttons! bullets glide off him!" snarled pilzer, who had set out to win a bronze cross, only to see it won by a pygmy. "did you see many dead and wounded?" persisted the very tired voice of the old reservist. "yes, yes--and every kind of destruction!" answered the judge's son. "and--i kept thinking of hugo mallin." "i'm glad they didn't shoot hugo," said the very tired voice. "i'm sorry for his old father and mother. i'm a father myself." "i certainly had a good farewell kick at him!" declared pilzer. "lean on yourself!" he added, giving a shove to the old reservist who was next him. "i saw men who had ceased to be human. that reminds me, pilzer," the judge's son went on, "i saw one wounded man, lying beside another, turn and strike him, and he said: 'i had to hit somebody or something!' and i heard a wounded man who was waiting in line before the surgeon's table say: 'there's others hurt worse than me. i can wait.' i heard men begging the doctors to put them out of their misery. i saw two dead men with their hands clasped as they were when they died. then there were the men who went mad. one had to be held by force. he kept crying with demoniacal laughs: 'i want to go back and kill--kill! let's all kill, kill, kill!' another insisted on dancing, despite a bandaged leg. 'look, look at the little red spots!' he was saying. 'you must step on one every time; if you don't, the automatic will get you!' another declared that he had been through hell and insisted that he would live forever now. another was an artist, a landscape-painter, who had lost his eyesight. he was seeing beautiful landscapes, and the nurses had to strap him to his cot to keep him from struggling to his feet and trying to use an imaginary brush on imaginary canvases. he died seeing beautiful landscapes. "a pretty dreary sight, too, was the field of the dead, as i called it. as the bodies were brought in they were laid in long rows, until there was no more room without moving a supply depot. so there was nothing to do but begin to pile them two deep. a service-corps man took off each man's metal identification tag and tossed it into an ammunition box. one box was already full and a second half full. chink-chink-chink--tags of the rich man's son and the poor man's son, the doctor of philosophy and the illiterate; chink-chink-chink--a life each time. they'll take the tags to the staff office and tired clerks will find the names that go with the numbers." "you cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs," said peterkin, quoting high authority. "some have to be killed." "the last i heard from home my wife and one of the children were sick and my employer had gone bankrupt," broke in the very tired voice rather irrelevantly. "yes, my father's last letter was pretty blue about business," said the banker's son. he was looking at his dirty hands. the odor of clothes unlaundered for weeks, in which the men had slept, tortured his sensitive nostrils. "a millionaire and filthy as swine in a sty!" he exclaimed. "digging like a navvy in order to get admission to the abattoir!" "were there any reserves coming our way?" asked the barber's son. "yes, masses." "perhaps they will relieve us and we'll go into the reserves for a while," suggested the very tired voice. "no fear!" growled pilzer. "they have called out the old men, the fellows of forty-five to fifty, who were supposed to be out of it for good," said the judge's son. "westerling says they are to guard prisoners and property when we cross the range and start on the march to the browns' capital. then all the other men can be on the firing-line and force the war to a mercifully quick end with a minimum loss. i saw numbers of them just arriving at la tir, footsore and limping." "i know. mine's been indoor work, making paints," said the very tired voice. "when you've had long hours in the shop and had to sit up late with sick babies, you aren't fit for marching. and i think i've got lead-poisoning." "whew!" the judge's son put his hand over his nose as a breeze sprang up from the direction of the brown lines. "i thought we got them all," said the barber's son. "must have missed one that was buried by a shell and another shell must have dug him up!" muttered pilzer, glaring at the barber's son. "it's not nice on people with ladylike nostrils. james, get the _eau de cologne_ and draw his bath for our plutocrat!" "you see, something had to be done about the dead between the redoubts," explained the barber's son, "though the officers on both sides were against it." "naturally. it afforded opportunities for observation," put in peterkin, repeating the colonel's words. "but finally it was agreed to let a dozen from either side go out without arms," the barber's son concluded. "i heard there was great complaint from the women," went on the judge's son. "women aren't like what they were in the last war. they want to know what has become of their men-folk. they have been gathering in crowds and making trouble for the police. one of the old reservists was telling me of talk of an army of women marching to the front to learn the truth of the situation." "if you don't stop leaning on me i'll give you a punch you'll remember!" exclaimed pilzer as he rammed his elbow into the old reservist's ribs. "i beg pardon! it was because i am tired and sort of blank-minded," the old reservist explained. "you brute!" snapped the banker's son to pilzer. "mallin thrashed you once and i've done it once. on my word, i've a mind to again!" "no, you don't! no, you can't! and this time your boxing tricks will do you no good. i'll finish you!" the two had sprung to their feet with hectic energy: pilzer's liver patch a mottled purple in the midst of his curly red beard, his head lowered in front of his short, thick neck as before a spring, and the banker's son, lighter and quicker, awaiting the attack. some of the others half rose, while the rest looked on in curiosity mixed with indifference. "i'll call the captain!" piped peterkin. the judge's son stopped peterkin and put a hand on either of the adversaries' shoulders. "can't we get enough fighting from the browns without fighting each other?" he asked. the banker's son and pilzer dropped back in their places, in the reaction of men who had spent their strength in defiance. "the thick of it last night, i heard, was still at engadir, where westerling is determined to break through," the judge's son proceeded. "at one point they sent in a regiment with a regiment covering it from the rear, and the fellows ahead were told that they wouldn't be allowed to come back alive--just what occurred at port arthur, you know--so they had better take the position." "what happened?" asked the very tired voice. "those who reached the enemy's works alive were taken prisoner." further talk was interrupted by a volume of voices singing, which seemed to issue from a cellar not far away. it had the swell of a hymn of resolute purpose. "the browns' song--something new since you were with us," explained the barber's son to the judge's son. "yes, their whole line sung it in the silence of dawn following last night's repulse," said the banker's son. "notice the hammer beat to it and then the earth rumble, like pounding nails in a coffin box and rattling the earth on top of the box after it is lowered." "yes, and i get the words," said the judge's son, who knew the language of the browns: "'god with us, not to take what is theirs, but to keep what is ours! god with us!'" "they say some private--stransky, i believe his name is--composed the words from a saying of partow, their chief of staff, and it spread," put in the very tired voice. "as it would at a time of high pressure like this, when all humanity's nerves form an electric circuit," said the judge's son. "'god with us!' what a power they put into that!" "but god is with us, not with them!" put in peterkin earnestly. "let's have our song to answer them," he added, striking up the tune. so they sung the song they had sung as they started off to the war--a song about camping in the squares of the browns' capital and dining in the browns' government palace; a hurrahing, marchy song, but without exactly the snap in keeping with its character. "the trouble is that they lie at the mouths of their burrows and get us naked to their fire," said the banker's son. "we have to take their positions--they don't try to take ours." "but we must go on! we can't give up now!" said the barber's son. "yes, we must go on!" agreed some of the others stubbornly. "yes, yes," came faintly from the very tired voice. "we shall win! the aggressive always wins!" declared peterkin. then the redoubt shook with an explosion and their eyes were blinded with dust. "i thought it was about time!" said the barber's son. "yes, the--!" snarled pilzer. the shell had struck some distance away from where they sat, and as the dust settled they heard the news of the result: "one fellow had his arm broken and another had his head crushed." "it'll keep us from working on the mine while we mend the breach," said the barber's son. while the judge's son was telling the news, the colonel of the 128th and captain fracasse were eating their biscuits together and making occasional remarks rather than holding a conversation. "well, westerling is a field-marshal," said the colonel. "yes, he's got something out of it!" "the men seem to be losing their spirit--there's no doubt of it!" exclaimed the colonel, more aloud to himself than to fracasse, after a while. "no wonder!" replied fracasse. martinet though he was, he spoke in grumbling loyalty to his soldiers. "what kind of spirit is there in doing the work of navvies? spirit! no soldiers ever fought better--in invasion, at least. look at our losses! spirit! westerling drives us in. he thinks we can climb niagara falls! he--" "stop! you're talking like an anarchist!" snapped the colonel. "how can the men have spirit when you feel that way?" "i shall continue to obey orders and do my duty, sir!" replied fracasse. "and they will, too, or i'll know the reason why." there was a silence, but at length the colonel exploded: "i suppose westerling knows what he is doing!" "still, we must go on! we must win!" "yes, the offensive always wins in the end. we must go on!" "and once we have the range--yes, once we've won one vital position--the men will recover their enthusiasm and be crying: 'on to the capital!'" "right! we were forgetting history. we were forgetting the volatility of human nature." xli with feller and stransky far up on a peak among the birds and aeroplanes, in a roofed, shell-proof chamber, with a telephone orderly at his side, a powerful pair of field-glasses and range-finders at his elbow, and a telescope before his eye, gustave feller, one-time gardener and now acting colonel of artillery, watched the burst of shells over the enemy's lines. while other men had grown lean on war, he had taken on enough flesh to fill out the wrinkles around eyes that shone with an artist's enjoyment of his work. down under cover of the ridge were his guns, the keys of the instrument that he played by calls over the wire. their barking was a symphony to his ears; errors of orchestration were errors in aim. he talked as he watched, his lively features reflective of his impressions. "oh, pretty! right into their tummies! right in the nose! la, la, la! but that's off--and so's that! tell battery c they're fifty yards over. oh, beady-eyed gods and shiny little fishes--two smacks in the same spot! humph! tell battery c that the trouble with that gun is worn rifling; that's why it's going short. elevate it for another hundred yards--but it ought not to wear out so soon. i'd like to kick the maker or the inspector. the fellows in b 21 will accuse us of inattention. it's time to drop a shell on them to show we're perfectly impartial in our favors. la, la, la! oh, what a pretty smack! congratulations!" b 21 was the position of fracasse's company and the pretty smack the one that broke one man's arm and crushed another's head. * * * * * the "god with us!" song was singularly suited to the great, bull voice of its composer, born to the red and become captain stransky in the red business of war. it was he who led the thunder of its verses not far from where peterkin led the song of the grays. "i certainly like that song," said stransky. well he might. it had made him famous throughout the nation. "there's jehovah and brimstone in it. now we'll have our own." "our own" was also of stransky's composition and about dellarme; for stransky, child of the highways and byways, of dark, tragic alleys and sunny fields, had music in him, the music of the people. the skin on his high cheek-bones was drawn tighter than before, further exaggerating the size of his nose, and the deeper set of his eyes gave their cross a more marked character. he carried on the spirit of dellarme in the company in his own fashion. the survivors among his men were as lean and dirty as fracasse's, but, never having expected to reach the enemy's capital, war had brought few illusions. they had known sleepless vigils, but not much digging since they had fallen back on the main line into the fortifications which, with all resources at command, the engineers had built before the war. and the browns still held the range! the principal fortifications of engadir and every other vital point of the main line was theirs. all that the enemy had gained in his latest attack were a few minor positions. "but we're always losing positions!" complained one of the men. "little by little they are getting possession." "they say the offensive always wins," said another. "five against three! they count on numbers," said lieutenant tom fragini. "there you go, tom! any other pessimists or anarchists want to be heard?" called out stransky. "just how long, at the present rate, will it take them to get the whole range? there's a limit to the number of even five millions." "yes, but if they ever break through in one place and get their guns up--" "as you've said before, tom!" "as we want to keep saying--as we want to keep fighting our damnedest to make sure they won't," tom explained. "yes, that's it!" declared a chorus. "that's it, no matter what we pay!" declared stransky. "we're not going back there except in hearses!" he swung his hand in a semicircle toward the distant hills, gold and purple in their dying foliage under the autumn sunlight. then the telephone in the redoubt brought some news. the staff begged to inform the army that the enemy's casualties in the last three days had been two hundred thousand! immediately everybody was talking at once in stransky's parliament, as he sometimes called that company of which he was, in the final analysis, unlimited monarch. "how do they know?" "do you think it's fake?" "that sums up to pretty near a million!" "my god! think of it--a million!" "we're whittling them down!" "it doesn't make any difference whether partow or lanstron is chief of staff!" "they're paying!" "paying for our fellows that they've killed! paying for being in the wrong!" "let's have the song again! come on!" "yes, the song! the song!" "no; hold on!" cried tom. "not because men are killed!" "that's right, that's right!" said stransky. "after all, they're our brothers." it was the first time since he had undergone the transformation which the war had wrought in him that he had mentioned any of his world-brotherhood ideas. "i still believe in that. we're fighting for that!" he concluded. with the ready change of subject of soldiers who have been long in company, they were soon talking about other things--things that concerned the living. "say, wouldn't i like a real bath--an altogether!" "and plenty of soap all over!" "a welter of lather from head to foot and blowing bubbles from between my lips!" "and to shave off this beard!" "think of the beards that are going when the war is over!" "not if you can't grow any more than john!" "i'm not fighting out of ambush like you!" replied john. "i haven't got a place for the birds to nest!" "i'm going to trim mine down gradually," said another; "first an imperial and mustache with mutton choppers; then mow my cheeks; then a great, sweeping mustache; then a dandy little mustache; then--" "mow is the word! don't inflict a barber!" "and, after the bath, clean underclothes, and, oh, me!--a home dinner!" "stop with your home dinners! that's barred. army biscuits!" "yes, we all prefer army biscuits!" "we wouldn't touch a home dinner!" stransky, his eyes drawing inward in their characteristic slant, was well pleased with his company, and the scattered exclamatory badinage kept on until it was interrupted by the arrival of the mail. partow and lanstron, understanding their machine as human in its elements, had chosen that the army should hear from home. "how's this!" exclaimed one man, reading from a newspaper. "they're going to put up a statue of partow in the capital! it's to show him as he died, dropped forward on the map, and in front of his desk a field of bayonets. on one face of the base will be his name. two of the other faces will have 'god with us!' and 'not for theirs, but for ours!' the legend on the fourth face the war is to decide." "victory! victory!" cried those who had listened to the announcement. "my mother says just what yours says, tom. i needn't come home unless we win." "the girl i'm going to marry said that, too!" "if we go back with the gray army at our heels we shall strike a worse fire than if we stick!" stransky was thinking that they had to do more than hold the grays. before he should see his girl they had to take back the lost territory. he carried two pictures of minna in his mind: one when she had struck him in the face as he had tried to kiss her and the other as he said good-by at the kitchen door. there was not much encouragement in either. "but when she gets better acquainted with me there's no telling!" he kept thinking. "i was fighting out of cussedness at first. now i'm fighting for her and to keep what is ours!" xlii the ram "i've learned that the greatest, most desperate attack of all is coming," marta told lanstron. "but i don't know at what point. i see westerling only when he comes into the garden, and he does not come so frequently of late." very sweet and very harrowing to him was the intimacy of their conspiracy over that underground wire. with the prolongation of the strain, he feared for her. he understood how she suffered. sometimes he felt that the marta of their holiday comradeship was dead and it was the impersonal spirit of a great purpose that brought him information and inspiration. her voice was taut, without inflection, as if in pain, occasionally breaking into a dry sob, only to become even more taut after a silence. "i don't--i can't urge you to any further sacrifice," lanstron replied. "you have endured enough." "but it will help? it will be of vital service?" "yes, tremendously vital." "i will try to learn more when i see him," she continued. "but it cannot be done by questioning. a single question might be fatal. the thing must come in a burst of confidence. that's the horrible part of it, the--" there was a dry sob over the wire as the voice broke and then went on steadily: "but i'm game! i'm game!" in the closet off the galland library, where the long-distance telephone was installed, westerling was talking with the premier in the gray capital. "your total casualties are eight hundred thousand! that is terrific, westerling!" the premier was saying. "only two hundred thousand of those are dead!" replied westerling. "many with only slight wounds are already returning to the front. terrific, do you say? two hundred thousand in five millions is one man out of every twenty-five. that wouldn't have worried frederick the great or napoleon much. eight hundred thousand is one out of six. the trouble is that such vast armies have never been engaged before. you must consider the percentages, not the totals." "yet, eight hundred thousand! if the public knew!" exclaimed the premier. "the public does not know!" said westerling. "they guess. they realize that we stopped the soldiers' letters because they told bad news. the situation is serious." "why not give the public something else to think about?" westerling demanded. "i've tried. it doesn't work. the murmurs increase. i repeat, my fears of a rising of the women are well grounded. there is mutiny in the air. i feel it through the columns of the press, though they are censored. i--" "then, soon i'll give the public something to think about, myself!" westerling broke in. "the dead will be forgotten. the wounded will be proud of their wounds and their fathers and mothers triumphant when our army descends the other side of the range and starts on its march to the browns' capital." "but you have not yet taken a single fortress!" persisted the premier. "and the browns report that they have lost only three hundred thousand men." "lanstron is lying!" retorted westerling hotly. "but no matter. we have taken positions with every attack and kept crowding in closer. i ask nothing better than that the browns remain on the defensive, leaving initiative to us. we have developed their weak points. the resolute offensive always wins. i know where i am going to attack; they do not. i shall not give them time to reinforce the defence at our chosen point. i have still plenty of live soldiers left. i shall go in with men enough this time to win and to hold." "the army is yours, westerling," concluded the premier. "i admire your stolidity of purpose. you have my confidence. i shall wait and hold the situation at home the best i can. we go into the hall of fame or into the gutter together, you and i!" for a while after he had hung up the receiver westerling's head drooped, his muscles relaxed, giving mind and body a release from tension. but his spine was as stiff as ever as he left the closet, and he was even smiling to give the impression that the news from the capital was favorable. when the telegraphers' jaws had dropped as the reports of casualties came in, when discouragement lengthened the faces around him and whispered in the very breezes from the fields of the dead, he had automatically maintained his confident mien. any sign of weakening would be ruinous in its effect on his subordinates. the citadel of his egoism must remain unassailable. he must be the optimist, the front of jove, for all. when he called his chiefs of divisions it was hardly for a staff council. stunned by the losses and repulses, loyally industrious, their opinions unasked, they listened to his whirlwind of orders without comment--all except turcas. "if they are apprised of our plan and are able to concentrate more artillery than our guns can silence, the losses will be demoralizing," he observed. westerling threw up his head, frowning down the objection. "suppose they amount to half the forces that we send in!" he exclaimed. "isn't the position, which means the pass and the range, worth it?" "yes, if we both take and hold it; not if we fail," replied turcas, quite unaffected by westerling's manner. "failure is not in my lexicon!" westerling shot back. "for great gains there must be great risks." "we prepare for the movement, your excellency," answered turcas. it was a steel harness of his own will that westerling wore, without admitting that it galled him, and he laid it off only in marta's presence. with her, his growing sense of isolation had the relief of companionship. she became a kind of mirror of his egoism and ambitions. he liked to have her think of him as a great man unruffled among weaker men. in the quiet and seclusion of the garden, involuntarily as one who has no confidant speaks to himself, reserving fortitude for his part before the staff, while she, under the spell of her purpose, silently, with serene and wistfully listening eyes, played hers, he outlined how the final and telling blow was to be struck. "we must and we shall win!" he kept repeating. * * * * * through a rubber disk held to his ear in the closet of his bedroom a voice, tremulous with nervous fatigue, was giving lanstron news that all his aircraft and cavalry and spies could not have gained; news worth more than a score of regiments; news fresh from the lips of the chief of staff of the enemy. the attack was to be made at the right of engadir, its centre breaking from the redoubt manned by fracasse's men. "marta, you genius!" lanstron cried. "you are the real general! you--" "not that, please!" she broke in. "i'm as foul and depraved as a dealer in subtle poisons in the middle ages! oh, the shame of it, while i look into his eyes and feign admiration, feign everything which will draw out his plans! i can never forget the sight of him as he told me how two or three or four hundred thousand men were to be crowded into a ram, as he called it--a ram of human flesh!--and guns enough in support, he said, to tear any redoubts to pieces; guns enough to make their shells as thick as the bullets from an automatic!" "we'll meet ram with ram! we'll have some guns, too!" exclaimed lanstron. "we'll send as heavy a shell fire at their infantry as they send into our redoubts." "yes; oh, yes!" she replied. "westerling couldn't say it any better! what difference is there between you? each at his desk is saying: 'this regiment will die here; that regiment will die there!' i bring you word of one human ram going to destruction in order that you may send another to destroy and be destroyed! and i'm worse than you. i am the go-between in the conspiracy of universal murder, sleeping in a good bed every night, in no danger--when i can sleep; but i can't. i go mad from thinking of my part, keying myself up deliriously to each fresh deceit!" with every sentence her voice broke and it seemed that she would not be able to utter another. yet she kept on in the alternation of taut, pitiful monotone and dry, coughing sobs. "how have i ever been able to go as far as i have? how did i get through this last scene? when it seems as if i were about to collapse, something supports me. when the thing grows too horrible and i am about to cry out to westerling that i am false, i hear his boast that he made the war as a last step in his ambition. and there is dellarme's smile rising before me. he died so finely in defence of our garden! when my brain goes numb and i can't think what to say, can't act, feller appears, prompting with ready word and facile change of expression, and i have my wits again. i go on! i go on!" a racking sob, now, and silence; then, in the sudden effort of one who must change the subject to hold his sanity, she asked: "how is feller? is he doing well?" "yes." "at least i have brought him happiness. sometimes i think that is about all the good i have accomplished--i, his successor in carrying out your plans! oh, i'm burned out, lanny! i'm ashes. it doesn't seem that i can ever be sane or clean and human again. in order to forget i should have to find a new life, like feller. each morning when i look in the mirror i expect to see my hair turned white, like his." lanstron felt her suffering as if it were his own. he had let his patriotic passion overwhelm every other consideration. he had allowed her to be a spy; he had sacrificed her sensibilities along with the battalions he had sent into battle. she was right: he was only the inhuman head of a machine. and she and feller--they were human. destiny playing in the crux of war's inconsistencies had formed a bond between them. "but, go on, lanny. play your part as you see it--as westerling sees his and feller his and i mine," she said. "that is the only logic clear to me; only i can't play any more. i haven't the strength." "yes, i shall go on, marta," he replied, "but you must not. your work is over, and perhaps this last service may bring a quick end and save countless lives." "don't. it's too like westerling! it has become too trite!" she protested. "the end! if i really were helping toward that and to save lives and our country to its people, what would my private feelings matter' my honor, my soul--what would anything matter? for that, any sacrifice. i'm only one human being--a weak, lunatic sort of one, just now!" "marta, don't suffer so! you are overwrought. you--" "i can say all that for you, lanny," she interrupted with the faintest laugh. "i've said it so many times to myself. perhaps when i call you up again i shall not be so hysterical. tell feller how i have played his part, and, in the midst of all your responsibilities, remember to give him a chance." lanstron was not thinking of war or war's combination when he hung up the receiver. "yes, it is gustave!" he thought. "i understand!" it was some moments before he returned to the staff room, and then he had mastered his emotion. he was the soldier again. * * * * * "they are clearing the wires for the chief of staff to speak to you, sir," announced the telephone aide in feller's eyrie artillery lookout. feller received the word with his clucking "la, la, la!" and hummed a tune while the connection was being made. he had not spoken with lanny since his own promotion to a colonelcy and partow's death. "my ear-drums split for joy at hearing your voice again!" feller cried. "a regiment of guns for yours truly! you've made me the happiest man in the world. and haven't i smacked the grays in the tummy, not to mention in the nose and on the shins! well, i should say so! la, la, la!" "you certainly have, you bully old boy!" said lanstron. "miss galland sends her congratulations and regards." "eh, what? her regards to me! the telephone still continues to work? our own original trunk-tunnel private line? eh? tell me; tell me, quick!" "yes, she has performed the greatest service of the war--better than you could have done it, gustave!" "whee-ee! why not? of course! i'm not surprised. she's the greatest woman in the world, i tell you, and i know! and she sends her regards to her old gardener? think of that! if trouble never comes singly, why shouldn't joys come in a pour? oh, it she could see me now, so cosey up here among the birds, chucking shells about as cheerily as if i were tossing roses to the ladies in a ballroom!" "she wants you to have every chance," said lanstron. "she asks that for me!" the peculiar intimate fervor of the exclamation sprang from a feller in an officer's uniform who could now move in marta's world. lanstron hurried on to explain the nature of the next attack. "if we repulse them we are going to throw in a ram of our own," he said. "we're going to take the aggressive for the moment. it is the only sure policy for successful defence." "right! now you're talking. we learned that principle at school, didn't we?" "and that means a bigger chance for you, gustave. we are bringing up reserve artillery and making new dispositions. i am going to give you charge of the field-guns. but the chief of artillery will tell you about your work." "this is heaven, lanny! how am i ever going to--" "there, no thanks, gustave. you are the man. it is a time when only efficiency must be considered." "then i have made good! then i've been worthy of my opportunity! i'd rather be a good gunner than a king. i'll eat this new work and smack my lips for more. tell miss galland that every shell that hits the mark is a thought from the old gardener for her. six weeks ago trimming rose-bushes and now--this is life! la, la, la! there's been romance and destiny in the whole business for us both, lanny. and you--you are acting chief of staff! i forgot to congratulate you, your excellency. your excellency! think of that! but it's no surprise to me. didn't we go to school together? how could any one ever go to school with me and not be a great man? and i'm wearing a flower in my buttonhole! la, la, la!" all that night and day before the night set for the attack, while the guns were being emplaced and the infantry formed in a gray carpet behind the slopes, a chill, misty rain fell, which the devout of the grays might say proved that god was with them rather than with the browns; for it screened their movements from the brown lookouts. the judge's son and peterkin and others of fracasse's company had finished their mine; the fuses were laid. there was no dry place for a seat in their flooded redoubt and they had to stand, eating cold rations and shivering in their filthy, wet clothes. the whole army was drenched; the whole army shivered. if only the air did not clear when darkness fell! the last thing the staff of the grays wanted was to see a star in the sky. had they believed in prayer they would have gone on their knees for a black fog, unaware that all that they would hide had been made known to the browns through marta almost from the hour that the preparations for the attack were begun. with darkness, the rain ceased; but the mist remained a thick mantle over the landscape, impenetrable to the watchful search-lights of the browns, which never stopped playing from sunset to dawn. the gray carpet of the reserves that were to form westerling's ram moved over the slopes, dipping and rising with the convolutions of the earth, with no word spoken except the repeated whispered warnings of silence from the officers. sweeping on up toward the redoubts, it found that parallels and trenches had been filled to give footing for the swifter impulse of the tide, once it was started for the heights. a flash from fracasse's pocket lamp showed faces pasty white and eyes of staring glassiness. fracasse's face and the colonel's were also white--white with the rigidity of carved marble, carved with a set frown of determination. fracasse was going in with his company and the colonel with his regiment. it was their duty. both realized the nature of the risk; and, worse, each knew that the men realized it. in another age, when education was not so common and unthinking, unforeseeing passion could be aroused in ignorant minds, a stimulant on an empty stomach might have made them animals, oblivious to danger. they were about to offer their lives to pave the way for others to reach the works that none of them, probably, would ever reach. for the like of this, in gathering the enemy's spears to his breast, a saga had risen around one national hero. but fracasse's veterans were only the shivering units of the millions; the part of the machine that happened to be the first to strike another machine in collision. such was the end of all the training, the marching, the drilling in the gallant business of arms, with no more romance or glory than beeves going to the slaughter. "you'll be the first out into the glacis, the first into the enemy's redoubt," said the colonel, forcing a tone of good, old-fashioned "up-guards-and-at-'em" vigor, as he touched the bronze cross on peterkin's breast with his forefinger. little peterkin, always pale but not so pale now as his comrades, flushed at the distinction. "yes, sir!" and he saluted. in his eyes was the exaltation of his simple-minded faith. he did not think too much. what more could kings and conquerors ask than such a soldier as the valet's son, secure in the belief that his charmed life would bring him through the assault unharmed? "my god! i can't!" exclaimed the banker's son. "i've suffered enough. there's life and wealth and all that it gives waiting for me at home! i'm young--i can't!" there was a rustle of bodies in a restless movement of drawn breaths at common thought taking form, desperately fraught with alarm to fracasse. "you will!" fracasse said, thrusting his revolver muzzle against the ribs of the banker's son. "if you don't, i'll shoot you dead, or you'll be trampled to death by the rush from the rear!" the wedge point may not strike back at the hammer that drives it. close packed behind fracasse's company was a seemingly limitless mass of soldiery, palpitant with their short breaths, a steamy, sickening odor rising from their water-soaked clothes. here were men so wet, so tired, so nerve-worn that they did not care when death came; men who wanted to curse and strike out against their fate; men who wanted to turn in flight, their natural impulse held down by the bonds of discipline and that pride of fellowship which is shamed to confess to a shiver along the spine. some saw pictures of home, of sweethearts; some saw nothing. some were in a coma of merciless suspense that grew more and more unendurable, until it seemed that anything to break it would be welcome. occasionally came a sob from a man gone hysterical under the strain, a moan of mental misery; and once a laugh, a strange, hiccoughy, delirious laugh, a strident attempt at the wit that keeps up courage; and from pilzer, the butcher's son, a string of oaths mixed with brimstone and obscenity. after each outbreak an automatic, irritable whisper for silence came from an officer. legs and arms, bodies and souls and brains in a nauseating press! humanity reckoned by the pound, high-priced from breeding and rearing and training; yet very cheap. hearts thumped and watches ticked off the time, until suddenly the heavens were racked by the prologue of the guns. child's play that baptism of shell fire in the first charge of the war beside later thunders; and these, in turn, mild beside this terrific outburst, with all the artillery concentrated to support the ram in a sudden blast. the passing projectiles formed the continuous scream and roar of some many-toned siren that penetrated the flesh as well as the ears with its sound. orders could not have been heard if given. there was no need for orders. fracasse, counting off the minutes between him and eternity on his watch face by his flash-light, saw that ten had passed. then his finger that pressed a button, his brain that spoke to his hand, were those of an automaton acting by time release. he exploded the mine. this was the signal for the charge; for all the legs of the ram to move. xliii jove's isolation an hour or so before the attack the telegraph instruments in the galland house had become pregnantly silent. there were no more orders to give; no more reports to come from the troops in position until the assault was made. officers of supply ceased to transmit routine matters over the wire, while they strained their eyes toward the range. officers of the staff moved about restlessly, glancing at their watches and going to the windows frequently to see if the mist still held. no one entered the library where westerling was seated alone with nothing to do. his suspense was that of the mothers who longed for news of their sons at the front; his helplessness that of a man in a hospital lobby waiting on the result of an operation whose success or failure will save or wreck his career. the physical desire of movement, the conflict with something in his own mind, drove him out of doors. "i want to blow my lungs in the fresh air! call me if i am needed. i shall be in the garden," he told his aide; and he thought that his voice sounded calm and natural, as became jove in a crisis that unnerved lesser men. "though i fancy it is the other chief of staff who will have the work to do this evening, eh?" he added, forcing one of the smiles which had been the magnetic servant of his personal force in his rise to power. "yes, your excellency," said the aide. westerling was rather pleased with the fact that he could still smile; pleased with the loyalty of this young officer when, day by day, the rest of the staff had grown colder and more mechanical in the attitude that completed his isolation. walking vigorously along the path toward the tower, the exercise of his muscles, the feel of the cool, moist air on his face, brought back some of the buoyancy of spirit that he craved. a woman's figure, with a cape thrown over the shoulders and the head bare, loomed out of the mist. "i couldn't stay in--not to-night," marta said, as westerling drew near. "i had to see. it's only a quarter of an hour now, isn't it?" "the browns may sing 'god with us,' but he seems to have been with the grays," westerling answered. "our whole movement was perfectly screened by the heavy weather." "but they know--they know every detail that you have told me!" ran her mocking, scarifying thought. "and this will be the most terrible attack of all?" she asked faintly. "yes, such a concentration of men and guns as never were driven against any position--an irresistible force," he said. "irresistible!" he repeated with a heavy emphasis. "but if the browns did know where you were going to attack?" she asked absently and still more faintly. "the sacrifice of lives then would be all the greater?" "yes, we should have to pay a higher price, but still we should be irresistible--irresistible!" he answered. ghastly faces were staring at her, their lips moving in death to excoriate her. it was not too late to tell him the truth; not too late to stop the attack. her head had sunk; she trembled and swayed and a kind of moan escaped her. she seemed utterly frail and so distraught that westerling, in an impulse of protection, laid his hands on her relaxed shoulders. she could feel the pressure of each finger growing firmer in its power, while a certain eloquence possessed him in defiance of his apprehensions. "our cause is at stake to-night," he declared, "yours and mine! we must win, you and i! it is our destiny!" "you and i!" repeated marta. "why you and i?" it seemed very strange to be thinking of any two persons when hundreds of thousands were awaiting the signal for the death prepared by him. he mistook the character of her thought in the obsession of his egoism. "what do lives mean?" he cried with a sudden desperation, his grip of her shoulders tightening. "it is the law of nature for man to fight. unless he fights he goes to seed. one trouble with our army is that it was soft from the want of war. it is the law of nature for the fittest to survive! other sons will be born to take the place of those who die to-night. there will be all the more room for those who live. victory will create new opportunities. what is a million out of the billions on the face of the earth? those who lead alone count--those who dwell in the atmosphere of the peaks, as we do!" the pressure of his strong hands in the unconscious emphasis of his passion became painful; but she did not protest or try to draw away, thinking of his hold in no personal sense but as a part of his self-revelation. "all--all is at stake there!" he continued, staring toward the range. "it's the rubicon! i have put my career on to-night's cast! victory means that the world will be at our feet--honor, position, power greater than that of any other two human beings! do you realize what that means--the honor and the power that will be ours? i shall have directed the greatest army the world has ever known to victory!" "and defeat means--what does defeat mean?" she asked narrowly, calmly; and the pointed question released her shoulders from the vise. what had been a shadow in his thoughts became a live monster, striking him with the force of a blow. he forgot marta. yes, what would defeat mean to _him_? sheer human nature broke through the bonds of mental discipline weakened by sleepless nights. convulsively his head dropped as he covered his face. "defeat! fail! that i should fail!" he moaned. then it was that she saw him in the reality of his littleness, which she had divined; this would-be conqueror. she saw him as his intimates often see the great man without his front of jove. don't we know that napoleon had moments of privacy when he whined and threatened suicide? she wondered if lanny, too, were like that--if it were not the nature of all conquerors who could not have their way. it seemed to her that westerling was beneath the humblest private in his army--beneath even that fellow with the liver patch on his cheek who had broken the chandelier in the sport of brutal passion. all sense of her own part was submerged in the sight of a chief of staff exhibiting no more stoicism than a petulant, spoiled schoolboy. while his head was still bent the artillery began its crashing thunders and the sky became light with flashes. his hands stretched out toward the range, clenched and pulsing with defiance and command. "go in! go in, as i told you!" he cried. "stay in, alive or dead! stay till i tell you to come out! stay! i can't do any more! you must do it now!" "then this may be truly the end," thought marta, "if the assault fails." and silently she prayed that it would fail; while the flashes lighted westerling's set features, imploring success. no commander was a more prodigal employer of spies than napoleon. did he or any other conqueror ever acknowledge a success due to the despised outcasts who brought him information? no. the brilliance of combinations, the stroke of genius of the swift march and the decisive blow in flank, the splendid charges--these always win in the historian's narrative and public imagination. think of any place in the frieze of the statue of the great leader for that hypocrite, that poor devil in disguise, whose news made the victory possible! "good generalship is easy if you know what the enemy is going to do," lanstron remarked to a member of the staff council who said something complimentary to him. compliments from subordinates to superiors had not received partow's favor and, therefore, not lanstron's. eccentric old partow had once disparaged the napoleonic idea as a fetich which had nothing to do with modern military efficiency, and he had added that if napoleon were alive to-day nobody would be so prompt to see it as napoleon himself. if he did not, and tried to incarnate the idea of the time by making himself the supreme genius of war, he would fail, because ability was too nearly universal and the age too big for another colossus. through marta's information every detail of westerling's plan outlined itself to the trained minds of the brown staff. amazement at their dependence on an underground wire and a woman's word for shaping vast affairs was not reflected in any scepticism or hesitation as to the method of meeting the assault. the fortifications that had sheltered the brown infantry, including stransky's men of the 53d, would be the object of the artillery fire which was to support the gray charge. well lanstron knew that no fortifications could withstand the gusts of shells to be concentrated on such a small target. the defenders could not see to fire for the dust. their rifles would be knocked out of their hands by the concussions. they must be crushed or imprisoned by the destruction of the very walls that had been their protection. so they were withdrawn to other redoubts in the rear, where a line of automatics placed under their rifles were in pointblank range of their old position which the grays' shells would tear to pieces. back of them was a brown carpet of waiting soldiery of as close a pile as westerling's carpet of gray. the rain-drenched brown engineers dug as fast as the enemy's. lanstron massed artillery against massed artillery. for every gray gun he had more than one brown gun. the grays might excel by ratio of five to three in human avoirdupois, but a willing brown government had been generous with funds. money will buy guns and skill will man them. battery back of battery in literal tiers, small calibres in front and heavy calibres in the rear, with ranges fixed to given points--more guns than ever fired on a single position before--were to pour their exploding projectiles not into redoubts but into the human wedge. in the browns' headquarters, as in the grays', telegraph instruments were silent after the preparations were over. here, also, officers walked about restlessly, glancing at their watches. they, too, were glad that the mist continued. it meant no wind. when the telegraph did speak it was with another message from some aerostatic officer, saying, "still favorable," which was taken at once to lanstron, who was with the staff chiefs around the big table. they nodded at the news and smiled to one another; and some who had been pacing sat down and others rose to begin pacing afresh. "we could have emplaced two lines of automatics, one above the other!" exclaimed the chief of artillery. "but that would have given too much of a climb for the infantry in going in--delayed the rush," said lanstron. "if they should stick--if we couldn't drive them back!" exclaimed the vice-chief of staff. "i don't think they will!" said lanstron. to the others he seemed as cool as ever, even when his maimed hand was twitching in his pocket. but now, suddenly, his eyes starting as at a horror, he trembled passionately, his head dropping forward, as if he would collapse. "oh, the murder of it--the murder!" he breathed. "but they brought it on! not for theirs, but for ours!" said the vice-chief of staff, laying his hand on lanstron's shoulder. "and we sit here while they go in!" lanstron added. "there's a kind of injustice about that which i can't get over. not one of us here has been under fire!" even the minute of the attack they knew; and just before midnight they were standing at the window looking out into the night, while the vice-chief held his watch in hand. in the hush the faint sound of a dirigible's propeller high up in the heavens, muffled by the fog, was drowned by the gray guns opening fire. * * * * * before the mine exploded, by the light of the shell bursts breaking their vast prisms from central spheres of flame for miles, with the quick sequence of a moving-picture flicker, fracasse's men could see one another's faces, spectral and stiff and pasty white, with teeth gleaming where jaws had dropped, some eyes half closed by the blinding flashes and some opened wide as if the lids were paralyzed. faces and faces! a sea of faces stretching away down the slope--faces in a trance. up over the breastworks, over rocks and splintered timbers, peterkin and the judge's son and their comrades clambered. when they moved they were as a myriad-legged creature, brain numbed, without any sensation except that of rapids going over a fall. those in front could not falter, being pushed on by the pressure of those in the rear. for a few steps they were under no fire. the scream of their own shells breaking in infernal pandemonium in front seemed to be a power as irresistible as the rear of the wedge in driving them on. then sounds more hideous than the flight of projectiles broke about them with the abruptness of lightnings held in the hollow of the almighty's hand and suddenly released. the browns' guns had opened fire. explosions were even swifter in sequence than the flashes that revealed the stark faces. dust and stones and flying fragments of flesh filled the air. men went down in positive paralysis of faculties by the terrific crashes. sections of the ram were blown to pieces by the burst of a shrapnel shoulder high; other sections were lifted heavenward by a shell burst in the earth. peterkin fell with a piece of jagged steel embedded in his brain. he had gone from the quick to the dead so swiftly that he never knew that his charm had failed. the same explosion got fracasse, sword in hand, and another buried him where he lay. the banker's son went a little farther; the barber's son still farther. men who were alive hardly realized life, so mixed were life and death. infernal imagination goes faint; its wildest similes grow feeble and banal before such a consummation of hell. but the tide keeps on; the torn gaps of the ram are filled by the rushing legs from the rear. officers urge and lead. such are the orders; such is the duty prescribed; such is human bravery even in these days when life is sweeter to more men in the joys of mind and body than ever before. precision, organization, solidarity in this charge such as the days of the "death-or-glory" boys never knew! over the bodies of peterkin and the barber's and the banker's sons, plunging through shell craters, stumbling, staggering, cut by swaths and torn by eddies of red destruction in their ranks, the tide proceeded, until its hosts were oftener treading on flesh than on soil. and all they knew was to keep on--keep on, bayonet in hand, till they reached the redoubt, and there they were to stay, alive or dead. in that pulsating, fierce light, while the ground under their feet trembled with the concussions, westerling's face was as clear to marta as if he were staring in at a furnace door. the lines of breeding and of restrained authority which gave it distinction had faded. it had the eager ferocity of the hunt. his short, tense exclamations explained the stages of progress of the attack as revealed to his sight. "it cannot fail! no! impossible! look at the speed of our gun-fire! but i judge that we have not been able to silence as many of their guns as we ought to--they're using shell into our close order. but all the guns in creation shall not stop us! i have men enough this time--enough, enough, enough! there! our shorter-range guns have ceased firing! that shows we are in the redoubts. the longer-range guns continue. they are firing beyond the redoubt against any counter-attack, if the browns try to recover what they have lost. but every minute brings another battalion into place. engineers and guns will follow. the war is as good as won!" he caught at marta's hand, but she drew away; and her start of revulsion at his touch was almost coincident with a start on his part for another reason. a huge shadow shot at railway-train speed over their heads. something very like fear flashed into his expression. "one of our dirigibles!" he exclaimed. "i confess it came so near that it gave me a sort of shock, too." "only a shadow with no death in it," she said. "and there is death in every flash there on the range. general westerling, have you ever been under fire?" she asked suddenly. he had scarcely heard the question. he took a step forward, with head raised and shading his eyes. "not ours! one of theirs!" he exclaimed. "theirs--and any number of theirs!" driving toward the volcano's centre were many brown dirigibles, slowing down as they approached. greater eruptions than any from shells rose from the earth as they passed. "so that's what they've had their dirigibles in reserve for--for the last desperate defence!" he said. "the defence that can never win! not their dirigibles--not any power known to man can stop my men. i have sent in so many that enough must survive. but where are _our_ dirigibles? a few are up--why don't they close in? and our guns--why don't they fire at a target before their eyes as big as a house? there they go, and they got one!"--as a circle of flame brighter than the illumination of other explosions broke in the sky. "and one of ours is closing in! look, both have blown up as they collided! that shows that two can play at the game! but what a swarm they have--more than we knew! bouchard's intelligence at fault again! however, if they try to stop our fortifying the redoubt our guns will care for them. that clever trick of lanstron's may have cost us a few extra casualties, but it will not change the result. it's time we had details over the wire," he concluded, turning back to the house rather precipitately. "then there may be work for me." * * * * * "after hell, more hell, and then still more hell!" was the way that stransky expressed his thought when the engineers had taken the place of the 53d of the browns in the redoubt. they put their mines and connections deep enough not to be disturbed by shell fire. after the survivors in the van of the grays' charge, spent of breath, reached their goal and threw themselves down, the earth under them, as the mine exploded, split and heaved heavenward. but those in the rear, slapped in the face by the concussion, kept on, driven by the pressure of the mass at their backs, and, in turn, plunged forward on their stomachs in the seams and furrows of the mine's havoc. the mass thickened as the flood of bodies and legs banked up, in keeping with westerling's plan to have "enough to hold." now the automatics and the rifles from the redoubt to which the browns had fallen back opened fire. so close together were these bullet-machines that the orbit of each one's swing made a spray of only a few yards' breadth over the old redoubt, where the browns' gun-fire had not for a moment ceased its persistent shelling, with increasingly large and solid targets of flesh for their practice. the thing for these targets to do, they knew, was to intrench and begin to return the infantry and automatics' fire. desperately, with the last effort of courage, they rose in the attempt--rose into playing hose streams of bullets whose close hiss was a steady undertone between shell bursts. in the garish, jumping light brave officers impulsively stood up to hearten their commands in their work, and dropped with half-uttered urgings, threats, and oaths on their lips. the bullets from the automatics missing one mark were certain to find another, perhaps four or five in a row, such was their velocity and power of penetration. where shells made gaps and tore holes in the human mass, the automatics cut with the regularity of the driven teeth of a comb. the men who escaped all the forms of slaughter and staggered on to the ruins of the redoubt, pressed their weight on top of those in the craters or hugged behind the pyramids of débris, and even made breastworks from the bodies of the dead. the more that banked up, the more fruitless the efforts of the officers to restore order in the frantic medley of shell screams and explosions at a time when a minute seemed an age. meanwhile, between them--this banked-up force at the charge's end--and the brown redoubt with its automatics, the gray gunners were making a zone of shell bursts in order to give the soldiers time to make their hold of the ground they had gained secure. through this zone stransky and his men were to lead the browns in a counter-attack. at the very height of the gray charge, when all the reserves were in, dark objects fell out of the heavens, and where they dropped earth and flesh were mingled in the maceration. like some giant reptile with its vertebræ breaking, gouged and torn and pinioned, the charge stopped, in writhing, throbbing confusion. those on the outer circle of explosions were thrown against their fellows, who surged back in another direction from an explosion in the opposite quarter. from the rear the pressure weakened; the human hammer was no longer driving the ram. blinded by the lightnings and dust, dizzy from concussions and noise, too blank of mind to be sane or insane, the atoms of the bulk of the charge in natural instinct turned from their goal and toward the place whence they had come, with death from all sides still buffeting them. staggeringly, at first, they went, for want of initiative in their paralysis; then rapidly, as the law of self-preservation asserted itself in wild impulse. as sheep driven over a precipice they had advanced; as men they fled. there was no longer any command, no longer any cohesion, except of legs struggling in and out over the uneven footing of dead and wounded, while they felt another pressure, that of the mass of the browns in pursuit. of all those of fracasse's company whom we know, only the judge's son and jacob pilzer were alive. stained with blood and dust, his teeth showing in a grimace of mocking hate of all humankind, pilzer's savagery ran free of the restraint of discipline and civilized convention. striking right and left, he forced his way out of the region of shell fire and still kept on. clubbing his rifle, he struck down one officer who tried to detain him; but another officer, quicker than he, put a revolver bullet through his head. * * * * * westerling, who had buried his face in his hands in marta's presence at the thought of failure, must keep the pose of his position before the staff. with chin drawn in and shoulders squared in a sort of petrified military habit, he received the feverish news that grew worse with each brief bulletin. he, the chief of staff; he, hedworth westerling, the superman, must be a rock in the flood of alarm. when he heard that his human ram was in recoil he declared that the repulse had been exaggerated--repulses always were. with word that a heavy counter-attack was turning the retreat into an ungovernable rout, he broke into a storm. he was not beaten; he could not be beaten. "let our guns cut a few swaths in the mob!" he cried. "that will stop them from running and bring them back to a sense of duty to their country." the irritating titter of the bell in the closet off the library only increased his defiance of facts beyond control. he went to the long distance with a reply to the premier's inquiry ready to his lips. "we got into the enemy's works but had to fall back temporarily," he said. "temporarily! what do you mean?" demanded the premier. "i mean that we have only begun to attack!" declared westerling. he liked that sentence. it sounded like the shibboleth of a great leader in a crisis. "i shall assault again to-morrow night." "then your losses were not heavy?" "no, not relatively. to-morrow night we press home the advantage we gained to-night." "but you have been so confident each time. you still think that--" "that i mean to win! there is no stopping half-way." "well, i'll still try to hold the situation here," replied the premier. "but keep me informed." drugged by his desperate stubbornness, westerling was believing in his star again when he returned to the library. all the greater his success for being won against scepticism and fears! he summoned his chiefs of divisions, who came with the news that the browns had taken the very redoubt from which the head of the gray charge had started; but there they had stopped. "of course! of course they stopped!" exclaimed westerling. "they are not mad. a few are not going to throw themselves against superior numbers--our superior numbers beaten by our own panic! lanstron is not a fool. you'll find the browns back in their old position, working like beavers to make new defences in the morning. meanwhile, we'll get that mob of ours into shape and find out what made them lose their nerve. to-morrow night we shall have as many more behind them. we are going to attack again!" the staff exchanged glances of amazement, and turcas, his dry voice crackling like parchment, exclaimed: "attack again? at the same point?" "yes--the one place to attack!" said westerling. "the rest of our line has abundant reserves; a needless number for anything but the offensive. we'll leave enough to hold and draw off the rest to engadir at once." "but their dirigibles! a surprising number of them are over our lines," bellini, the chief of intelligence, had the temerity to say. "you will send our planes and dirigibles to bring down theirs!" westerling commanded. "i have--every last one; but they outnumber us!" persisted bellini. "even in retreat they can see. the air has cleared so that considerable bodies of troops in motion will be readily discernible from high altitudes. the reason for our failure last night was that they knew our plan of attack." "they knew! they knew, after all our precautions! there is still a leak! you--" westerling raised his clenched hand threateningly at the chief of intelligence, his cheeks purple with rage, his eyes bloodshot. but bellini, with his boyish, small face and round head set close to his shoulders, remained undisturbedly exact. "yes, there is a leak, and from the staff," he answered. "until i have found it this army ought to suspend any aggressive--" "i was not asking advice!" interrupted westerling. "but, i repeat, the leak is not necessary to disclose this new movement that you plan. their air craft will disclose it," bellini concluded. he had done his duty and had nothing more to say. "dirigibles do not win battles!" westerling announced. "they are won by getting infantry in possession of positions and holding them. no matter if we don't surprise the enemy. haven't the browns held their line with inferior numbers? if they have, we can hold the rest of ours. that gives us overwhelming forces at engadir." "you take all responsibility?" asked turcas. "i do!" said westerling firmly. "and we will waste no more time. the premier supports me. i have decided. we will set the troops in motion." with fierce energy he set to work detaching units of artillery and infantry from every part of the line and starting them toward engadir. "this means an improvised organization; it breaks up the machine," said the tactical expert to turcas when they were alone. "yes," replied turcas. "he wanted no advice from us when he was taking counsel of desperation. if he succeeds, success will retrieve all the rest of his errors. we may have a stroke of luck in our favor." * * * * * in the headquarters of the browns, junior officers and clerks reported the words of each bulletin with the relief of men who breathed freely again. the chiefs of divisions who were with lanstron alternately sat down and paced the floor, their restlessness now that of a happiness too deeply thrilling to be expressed by hilarity. each fresh detail only confirmed the completeness of the repulse as that memorable night in the affairs of the two nations slowly wore on. shortly before three, when the firing had died down after the brown pursuit had stopped, a wireless from a dirigible flying over the frontier came, telling of bodies of gray troops and guns on the march. soon planes and other dirigibles flying over other positions were sending in word of the same tenor. the chiefs drew around the table and looked into one another's eyes in the significance of a common thought. "it cannot be a retreat!" said the vice-chief. "hardly. that is inconceivable of westerling at this time," lanstron replied. "the bull charges when wounded. it is clear that he means to make another attack. these troops on the march across country are isolated from any immediate service." it was lanstron's way to be suggestive; to let ideas develop in council and orders follow as out of council. "the chance!" exclaimed some one. "the chance!" others said in the same breath. "the god-given chance for a quick blow! the chance! we attack! we attack!" it was the most natural conception to a military tactician, though any man who made it his own might have builded a reputation on it if he knew how to get the ear of the press. their faces were close to lanstron as they leaned toward him eagerly. he seemed not to see them but to be looking at partow's chair. in imagination partow was there in the life--partow with the dome forehead, the pendulous cheeks, the shrewd, kindly eyes. a daring risk, this! what would partow say? lanstron always asked himself this in a crisis: what would partow say? "well, my boy, why are you hesitating?" partow demanded. "i don't know that i'd have taken my long holiday and left you in charge if i'd thought you'd be losing your nerve as you are this minute. wasn't it part of my plan--my dream--that plan i gave you to read in the vaults, to strike if a chance, this very chance, were to come? hurry up! seconds count!" "yes, a chance to end the killing for good and all!" said lanstron, coming abruptly out of his silence. "we'll take it and strike hard." the staff bent over the map, lanstron's finger flying from point to point, while ready expert answers to his questions were at his elbow and the wires sang out directions that made a drenched and shivering soldiery who had been yielding and holding and never advancing grow warm with the thought of springing from the mire of trenches to charge the enemy. and one, gustave feller, in command of a brigade of field-guns--the mobile guns that could go forward rumbling to the horses' trot--saw his dearly beloved batteries swing into a road in the moonlight. "la, la, la! the worm will turn!" he clucked. "it's a merry, gambling old world and i'm right fond of it--so full of the unexpected for the grays! that lead horse is a little lame, but he'll last the night through. lots of lame things will! who knows? maybe we'll be cleaning the mud off our boots on the white posts of the frontier to-morrow! a whole brigade mine! i live! you old brick, lanny! this time we are going to spank the enemy on the part of his anatomy where spanks are conventionally given. la, la, la!" * * * * * if not his own pain, the moans, the gasps, the appeals for water, the convulsive shivers from cold, and the demoniacal giggles from a soldier gone insane in medley around him would have kept the judge's son awake. after he had fallen, struck by he knew not what, and consciousness had returned, came the surging charge of the browns in the counter-attack, with throaty cries and threshing tread. he was able to turn over on his face and cover the back of his head with his hands, as a slight protection from steps that found footing on his body instead of on the earth. after that he had understood vaguely that a newcomer on the field of the fallen needed help with a first aid, and he had found his knife and slit a sleeve and applied a bandage to check the bleeding of an artery. before dawn broke the sky was all alight again with a far-reaching gun-fire--that of the brown advance--throwing the scene of slaughter into spectral relief, which became more real and terrible in the undramatic light of day. thick, ghastly thick, the dead and wounded; and the faces--faces half buried, faces black with congealed blood, faces staring straight up at the sky, faces with eyes popping where necks had been twisted! near by was the distorted metal work of a dirigible, with the bodies of its crew burned beyond recognition, and farther away were other dirigible wrecks. a wounded gray, who had not the strength to do it himself, begged some one to lift a corpse off his body. a gray and a brown were locked in a wrestling embrace in which a shrapnel burst had surprised them. piles of dead and wounded had been scattered and torn by a shell which found only dead and wounded for destruction at the point of its explosion. the living were crawling out from under the shields they had made of corpses in shell craters, and searching for water in the canteens and biscuits in the haversacks of the dead. one gray who was completely entombed except his head remarked that he was all right if some one would dig him out. at his side showed the legs of a man who had been buried face downward. ribs of the wounded broken in; features of the dead mashed by the heels of the brown countercharge! with every turn of his glance his surroundings grew more intimate in details of horror to the judge's son. on the earth, saturated with rivulets and little lakes of blood, gleamed the lead shrapnel bullets and the brighter, nickelled rifle-bullets and the barrels of rifles dropped from the hands of the fallen. "i'd have bled to death if you hadn't put on that bandage. you saved my life!" whispered the man next to the judge's son, who was tom fragini. "did i? did i?" exclaimed the judge's son. "well, that's something." "it certainly is to me," replied tom, holding out his hand, and thus they shook hands, this gray and this brown. "maybe some time, when the war's over, i can thank you in more than words." "more than words! perhaps you can do that now. you--you haven't a cigarette, old fellow?" asked the judge's son. "i haven't smoked for three days." "yes, only i roll mine," said tom. "so do i mine," said the judge's son. "but with a game hand i--" "oh, i've the hands. it's my leg that's been mashed up," said the judge's son. "labor and capital!" he added cheerily as he dropped the cosmopolitan tobacco on the cosmopolitan wafer of rice-paper. they smoked and smiled at each other in the glow of that better passion when wounds have let out the poison of conflict, while the doctors and the hospital-corps men began their attention to the critical cases and on down the slopes the mills of war were grinding out more dead and wounded. "at the hospital where i was interne before the war we were trying to save a crippled boy the use of his leg," remarked a reserve surgeon. "half a dozen surgeons held consultations over that boy--yes, just for one leg. and now look at this!" xliv turning the tables "i shall take a little nap. there will be plenty to do later," said westerling, after the last telegram detaching the reserves for concentration had gone. yes, he would rest while the troops were in motion. the staff should see that he was still the same self-contained commander whose every faculty was the trained servant of his will. his efforts at sleep resulted in a numbing brain torture, which so desensitized it to outward impressions that his faithful personal aide entering the room at dawn had to touch him on the shoulder to arouse attention. "there's nothing like being able to order yourself to sleep, whatever the crisis," he said. but suddenly he winced as if a blast of bullets had crashed through a window-pane and buried themselves in the wall beside his bed. "what is that?" he gasped "what?" with appalling distinctness he heard a cannonade that seemed as wide-spread as the horizon. "i was to tell you that the enemy has been attacking along the whole front," the aide explained. "attacking! the browns attacking!" westerling exclaimed as he gathered his wits. "well, so much the worse for them. i rather expected they would," he added. then through the door which the aide had left open the division chiefs, led by turcas, filed in. to westerling they seemed like a procession of ghosts. the features of one were the features of all, graven with the weariness of the machine's treadmill. their harness held them up. a moving platform under their feet kept their legs moving. they grouped around the great man's desk silently, turcas, his lips a half-opened seam, his voice that of crinkling parchment, acting as spokesman. "the enemy seized his advantage," he said, "when he found that our reserves were on the march, out of touch with the wire to headquarters." westerling forced a smile which he wanted to be a knowing smile. "exactly! of course their guns are making a lot of noise," he said. "it seems strange to you, no doubt, that they and not we should be attacking. excellent! let them have a turn at paying the costs of the offensive. let them thrash their battalions to pieces. we want them exhausted when we go in to-night." "however, we had not prepared our positions for the defensive," continued that very literal parchment voice. "they began an assault on our left flank first and we've just had word that they have turned it." "probably a false report. probably they have taken an outpost. order a counter-attack!" exclaimed westerling. "nor is that the worst of it," said the vice-chief. "they are pressing at other well-chosen points. they threaten to pierce our centre." "our centre!" gibed westerling. "you do need rest. our centre, where we have the column of last night's attack still concentrated! if anything would convince me that i have to fight this war-alone--i--" westerling choked in irritation. "yes. the ground is such that it is a tactically safe and advantageous move for lanstron to make. he strikes at the vitals of our machine." "but what about the remainder of the force that made the charge? what about all our guns concentrated in front of engadir?" "i was coming to that. the rout of the assaulting column was much worse than we had supposed. those who are strong enough cannot be got to reform. many were so exhausted that they dropped in their tracks. our guns are at this moment in retreat--or being captured by the rush of the browns' infantry. your excellency, the crisis is sudden, incredible." "our wire service has broken down. we cannot communicate with many of our division commanders," put in bellini, the chief of intelligence. "yes, our organization, so dependent on communication, is in danger of disruption," concluded turcas. "to avoid disorder, we think it best to retreat across the plain to our own range." at the word "retreat" westerling sprang to his feet, his cheeks purple, the veins of his neck and temples sculptured as he took a threatening step toward the group, which fell back before the physical rage of the man, all except the vice-chief, his mouth a thin, ashy line, who held his own. "you cowards!" westerling thundered. "retreat when we have five millions to their three!" "we have not that odds now," replied the parchment voice. "all their men are engaged. they have caught us at a disadvantage, unable to use our numbers except in detail in trying to hold on in face of--" "i tell you we cannot retreat!" westerling interrupted. "that is the end. i know what you do not know. i am in touch with the government. yes, i know--" this brought fresh alarm into faces which had become set in grim stoicism by many alarms. if the people were in ignorance of the losses and the army in ignorance of the nation's feeling, the officers of the staff were no less in ignorance of what passed over the long-distance wire between the chief of staff and the premier. "i know what is best--i alone!" westerling continued, driving home his point. "tell our commanders to hold. neither general nor man is to budge. they are to stick to the death. any one who does not i shall hold up to public shame as a poltroon. who knows but lanstron's attack may be a council of desperation? the browns may be worse off than we are. hold, hold! if are are tired, they are tired. frequently it takes only an ounce more of resolution to turn the tide of battle. hold, hold! to-morrow will tell a different story! we are going to win yet! yes, we are going to win!" "it is for you to decide, your excellency," said turcas, slowly and precisely. "you take the responsibility." "i take the responsibility. i am in command!" replied westerling in unflinching pose. "yes, your excellency." and they filed out of the room, leaving him to his isolation. a little later, when françois came in unannounced, bringing coffee, he found his master with face buried in hands. westerling was on the point of striking the valet in anger at the discovery, but instead attempted a yawn to deceive him. "i fell asleep; there's so little to worry about, françois," he explained. "yes, your excellency. there is no need of worrying as long as you are in command," said françois; and westerling gulped at the coffee and chewed at a piece of roll, which was so dry in his mouth and so hard to swallow that he gave up the attempt. after marta had learned, over the telephone, from lanstron of the certain repulse of the gray assault, fatigue--sheer physical fatigue such as made soldiers drop dead in slumber on the earth, their packs still on their backs--overcame her. her work was done. the demands of nature overwhelmed her faculties. she slept with a nervous twitching of her muscles, a restless tossing of her lithe body, until hammers began beating on her temples, beating, beating with the sound of shell bursts, as if to warn her that punishment for her share in the killing was to be the eternal concussion of battle in her ears. at length she realized that the cannonading was real. hastening out-of-doors, as her glance swept toward the range she saw bursts of shrapnel smoke from the guns of the browns nearer than since the fighting had begun on the main line, and these were directed at bodies of infantry that were in confused retreat down the slopes, while all traffic on the pass road was moving toward the rear. impelled by a new apprehension she hurried to the tunnel. lanstron answered her promptly in a voice that had a ring of relief and joy in place of the tension that had characterized it since the outbreak of the war. "thanks to you, marta!" he cried. "everything goes back to you--thanks to you came this chance to attack, and we are succeeding at every point! you are the general, you the maker of victories!" "yes, the general of still more killing!" she cried in indignation. "why have you gone on with the slaughter? i did not help you for this. why?" no reply came. she poured out more questions, and still no reply. she pressed the button and tried again, but she might as well have been talking over a dead wire. * * * * * though the morning was chill, mrs. galland, in a heavy coat, was seated outside the tower door, beatifically calm and smiling; for she would miss rejoicing over no detail of the spectacle. the battle's sounds were sweet music--symphony of retribution. oh, if her husband and her father could only be with her to see the ancient enemy in flight! her cheeks were rosy with the happy thrumming of her heart; a delirious beat was in her temples. she wanted to sing and cheer and give thanks to the almighty. the advancing bursts of billowy shrapnel down the slopes were a heavenly nimbus to her eyes. she breathed a silent blessing on a manoeuvring brown dirigible. they were coming! the soldiers of her people were coming to take back their own from the robber hosts and restore her hearth to her. soon she would be seated on the veranda watching the folds of her flag floating over la tir. "isn't it wonderful? isn't it like some good story?" she said to marta. "yes, like a miracle--and there has been a galland in every war of the browns and you were in this!" having no son, she had given her daughter in sacrifice on the altar of her country's gods, who had answered with victory. her old-fashioned patriotism, true to the "all-is-fair-in-war" precept, delighted in the hour of success in every trick of marta's double-dealing, though in private life she could have been guilty of no deceit. "marta, marta, i shall never tease you again about your advanced ideas or about journeying all the way around the world without a chaperon. your father and my father would have approved!" she squeezed marta's hands and pressed them to her cheek. marta smiled absently. "yes, mother," she said, but in such a fashion that mrs. galland was reminded again that marta had always been peculiar. probably it was because she was peculiar that she had been able to outwit the head of an army. "oh, that mighty westerling who was going to conquer the whole world! how does he feel now?" mused mrs. galland "westerling and his boasted power of five against three!" for the grays were barbarians to her and the browns a people of a superior civilization, a superior aristocracy, a superior professional and farming and laboring class. there was nothing about the browns to mrs. galland that was not superior. war, that ancient popular test of superiority in art, civilization, morals, scholarship, the grace of woman and the manliness of man, had proved her point in the high court, permitting of no appeal. one man alone against the tide--rather, the man who has seen a tide rise at his orders now finding all its sweep against him--westerling, accustomed to have millions of men move at his command, found himself, one man out of the millions, still and helpless while they moved of their own impulses. as news of positions lost came in, he could only grimly repeat, "hold! tell them to hold!" fruitlessly, like adjurations to the wind to cease blowing. the bell of the long distance kept ringing unheeded, until at last his aide came to say that the premier must speak either to him or to the vice-chief. westerling staggered to his feet and with lurching steps went into the closet. there he sank down on the chair in a heap, staring at the telephone mouthpiece. again the bell rang. clenching his hands in a rocking effort, he was able to stiffen his spine once more as he took down the receiver. to admit defeat to the premier--no, he was not ready for that yet. "the truth is out!" said the premier without any break in his voice and with the fatalism of one who never allows himself to blink a fact. "telegraphers at the front who got out of touch with the staff were still in touch with the capital. once the reports began to come, they poured in--decimation of the attacking column, panic and retreat in other portions of the line--chaos!" "it's a lie!" westerling declared vehemently. "the news has reached the press," the premier proceeded. "editions are already in the streets." "what! where is your censorship?" gasped westerling. "it is helpless, a straw protesting against a current," the premier replied. "a censorship goes back to physical force, as every law does in the end--to the police and the army; and all, these days, finally to public opinion. after weeks of secrecy, of reported successes, when nobody really knew what was happening, this sudden disillusioning announcement of the truth has sent the public mad." "it is your business to control the public!" complained westerling. "with what, now? with a speech or a lullaby? as well could you stop the retreat with your naked hands. my business to control the public, yes, but not unless you win victories. i gave you the soldiers. we have nothing but police here, and i tell you that the public is in a mob rage--the whole public, bankers and business and professional men included. i have just ordered the stock exchange and all banks closed." "there's a cure for mobs!" cried westerling. "let the police fire a few volleys and they'll behave." "would that stop the retreat of the army? we must sue for peace." "sue for peace! sue for peace when we have five millions against their three!" "it seems so, as the three millions are winning!" said the premier. "sue for peace because women go hysterical? do you suppose that the browns will listen now when they think they have the advantage? leave peace to me! give me forty-eight hours more! i have told our troops to hold and they will hold. i don't mistake cowardly telegraphers' rumors for facts--" "pardon me a moment," the premier interrupted. "i must answer a local call." so astute a man of affairs as he knew that westerling's voice, storming, breaking, tightening with effort at control, confirmed all reports of disaster. "in fact, the crockery is broken--for you and for me!" said the premier when he spoke again. his life had been a gamble and the gamble had turned against him in playing for a great prize. there was an admirable stoicism in the way he announced the news he had received from the local call: "the chief of police calls me up to say that the uprising is too vast for him to hold. there isn't any mutiny, but his men simply have become a part of public opinion. a mob of women and children is starting for the palace to ask me what i have done with their husbands, brothers, sons, and fathers. they won't have to break in to find me. i'm very tired. i'm ready. i shall face them from the balcony. yes, westerling, you and i have achieved a place in history, and they're far more bitter toward you than me. however, you don't have to come back." "no, i don't have to go back! no, i was not to go back if i failed!" said westerling dizzily. again defiance rose strong as the one tangible thought, born of his ruling passion. it was inconceivable that so vast an ambition should fail. failure! he defied it! he burst into the main staff room, where the tired officers regarded him with a glare, or momentary, weary wonder, and continued packing up their papers for departure. he went on into the telegraphers' room. some of the operators were packing their instruments. "the news? what is the news?" westerling asked hoarsely. an operator who was still at the key, without even half rising let alone saluting, glanced up from the cavernous sockets of eyes unawed by the chief of staff's presence. "all that comes in is bad," he said. "where we get none because the wires are down we know it's worse. we've been licked." he went on sending a message, wholly oblivious of westerling, who stumbled back into the staff room and paused inarticulate before turcas. "the army is going--resisting by units, but going. it has made its own orders!" turcas said. the other division chiefs nodded in agreement. "your excellency, we are doing our best," added the vice-chief, holding the door for westerling to return to his own office. "the nation is not beaten. given breathing time for reorganization, the army will settle down to the defensive on our own range. there the enemy may try our costly tactics against the precision and power of modern arms, if they choose. no, the nation is not beaten." the nation! westerling was not thinking of the nation. "you--" he began, looking around from face to face. not one showed any sign of softening or deference, and, his mind a blank, he withdrew, driven back to his isolation by an inflexible ostracism. the world had come to an end. public opinion was master--master of his own staff. he sank down before his desk, staring, just staring; hearing the roar of battle which was drawing nearer; staring at the staff orderlies, who came in to take down the wall maps, and at his aide packing up the papers and leaving him in a room bare of all the appurtenances of his position, with little idea in his coma of despair of the hour or even that time was passing. finally, some one touched him on the shoulder. he looked up to see his aide at his elbow saluting and françois, his valet, standing by with an overcoat. "we must go, your excellency," said the aide. "go?" asked westerling dazedly. "yes, the staff has already gone to a new headquarters." the announcement was the needle prick that once more aroused him to a sense of his situation. he rose and struck his fist on the desk in a pulsing outbreak of energy and stubbornness. "but i stay! i stay!" he cried. "the enemy is not near. he can't be!" "very near, general. you can see for yourself, said the aide. "i will!" westerling replied. "i will see how the conspiracy of the staff has made ruin of my plans!" again something of his old manner returned; something of the stoic's fatalism flashed in his eye. he shook his head to françois, refusing to slip his arms into the sleeves of the coat which françois dropped on to his shoulders. "yes, i will see for myself!" he repeated, as he led the way out to the veranda. "i'll see what goblin scared my pusillanimous staff and robbed me of victory!" * * * * * every cry of triumph in war is paid for by a cry of pain. on one side, anguish of heart; on the other, inexpressible ecstasy. the gray staff were oblivious of fatigue in the glum, overpowering necessity of restoring the organization of the gray army for a second stand. the brown staff were oblivious of fatigue in the exhilaration of victory. had a picture of the sight which the judge's son had witnessed at dawn in the path of the attack and the counter-attack been thrown on the wall of the big lobby room of the brown headquarters, there might have been less exultation on the part of the junior officers of the staff gathered there. they were not seeing or thinking of the dead. they were seeing only brown-headed pins pushing gray-headed pins out of the way on the map, as the symbol of an attack become a pursuit and of better than their dreams come true--the symbol of security for altar fires and race and nation. they were of the living, in the mightiest thrill that a soldier may know. no doubt now! no more suspense! labor and sacrifice rewarded! fervent thanks to the almighty were mingled with whistled snatches of wedding marches and popular songs. an aide taking a message to the wire preferred leaping over a chair to going around it. a subaltern and a colonel danced together. victory, victory, victory out of the burr of automatics, the pounding of artillery, the popping roar of rifles! victory out of the mire of trenches after brain-aching strain! victory for you and for me and for sweethearts and wives and children! aren't we all browns, orderly and captain, boyish lieutenant and gray-haired general? a taciturn martinet of a major hugged a telegrapher to whom he had never spoken a single unofficial word. hadn't the telegraphers, those silent men who were the tongue of the army, received the good news and passed it on? some officers who could be spared from duty went to their quarters, where they dropped like falling logs on their beds. to them, after their spell of rejoicing, victory meant sleep for the first time in weeks without forked lightnings of apprehension stabbing their sub-consciousness. fellowship was in the victory, the fellowship which, developed under partow, who believed that napoleons and colossi and gods in the car and all such gentlemen belonged to an archaic farce-comedy, had grown under lanstron. "the staff reports," began the messages that awakened a world, retiring with the idea that the browns were grimly holding the defensive, to the news that three millions had outgeneralled and defeated five. in the inner room, whose opening door gave glimpses of lanstron and the division chiefs, a magic of secret council which the juniors could not quite understand had wrought the wonder. lanstron had not forgotten the dead. he could see them; he could see everything that happened. had not partow said to him: "don't just read reports. visualize men and events. be the artillery, be the infantry, be the wounded--live and think in their places. in this way only can you really know your work!" his elation when he saw his plans going right was that of the instrument of partow's training and marta's service. he pressed the hands of the men around him; his voice caught in his gratitude and his breaths were very short at times, like those of a spent, happy runner at the goal. feeding on victory and growing greedy of more, his division chiefs were discussing how to press the war till the grays sued for peace; and he was silent in the midst of their talk, which was interrupted by the ringing of the tunnel telephone. when he came out of his bedroom, lanstron's distress was so evident that those who were seated arose and the others drew near in inquiry and sympathy. it seemed to them that the chief of staff, the head of the machine, who had left the room had returned an individual. "the connection was broken while we were speaking!" he said blankly. "that means it must have been cut by the enemy--that the enemy knows of its existence!" "perhaps not. perhaps an accident--a chance shot," said the vice-chief. "no, i'm sure not," lanstron replied. "i am sure that it was cut deliberately and not by her." "the 53d regiment is going forward in that direction--the same regiment that defended the house--and it can't go any faster than it is going," the vice-chief continued, rather incoherently. he and the others no less felt the news as a personal blow. though absent in person, marta had become in spirit an intimate of their hopes and councils. "she is helpless--in their power!" lanstron said. "there is no telling what they might do to her in the rage of their discovery. i must go to her! i am going to the front!" the announcement started a storm of protest. "but you are the chief of staff! you cannot leave the staff!" "you've no right to expose yourself!" "a chance shell or bullet--" "you do not seem to realize what this victory means to you. you might be killed at the very moment of triumph." "i haven't had any triumph. but if i had, could there be a better time?" lanstron asked with a half-bantering smile. "you couldn't reach there before the 53d regiment anyway!" declared the vice-chief, having in mind the fact that the staff was fifteen miles to the rear, where it could be at the wire focus. "you will find the roads blocked with the advance. you'll have to ride, you can't go all the way in a car." "terrible hardship!" replied lanstron. "still, i'm going. things are well in hand. i can keep in touch by the wire as i proceed. if i get out of touch then you," with a nod to the vice-chief, "know as well as i how to meet any sudden emergency. yes, you all know how to act--we're so used to working together. the staff will follow as soon as the galland house is taken. we shall make our headquarters there. i'm free now. i can be my own man for a little while--i can be human!" a certain awe of him and of his position, born of the prestige of victory, hushed further protest. who if not he had the right to go where he pleased in the brown lines now? they noted the eagerness in his eyes, the eagerness of one off the leash, shot with a suspense which was not for the fate of the army, as he left headquarters. * * * * * a young officer of the grays who was with a signal-corps section, trying to keep a brigade headquarters in touch with the staff during the retreat, two or three miles from the galland house, had seen what looked like an insulated telephone wire at the bottom of a crater in the earth made by the explosion of a heavy shell. the instructions to all subordinates from the chief of intelligence to look for the source of the leak in information to the browns made him quick to see a clew in anything unusual. he jumped down into the crater and not only found his pains rewarded, but that the wire was intact and ran underground in either direction. who had laid it? not the grays. why was it there? he called for one of his men to bring a buzzer, and it was the work of little more than a minute to cut the wire and make an attachment. then he heard a woman's voice talking to "lanny." who was lanny? he waited till he had heard enough to know that it was none other than lanstron, the chief of staff of the browns, and the woman must be a spy. an orderly despatched to the chief of intelligence with the news returned with the order: "drop everything and report to me in person at once." "for this i have made my sacrifice!" marta thought. "the killing goes on by lanny's orders, not by westerling's, this time." leaving her mother to enjoy the prospect, a slow-moving figure, trance-like, she went along the first terrace path to a point near the veranda where the whole sweep of landscape with its panorama of retreat magnetized her senses. like the gray of lava, the gray soldiery was erupting from the range; in columns, still under the control of officers, keeping to the defiles; in swarms and batches, under the control of nothing but their own emotions. mostly they were hugging cover, from instinct if not from direction, but some relied on straight lines of flight and speed of foot for escape. coursing aeroplanes were playing a new part. their wireless was informing the brown gunners where the masses were thickest. this way and that the brown artillery fire drove retreating bodies, prodding them in the back with the fearful shepherdry of their shells. officers' swords flashed in the faces of the bolters or in holding rear-guards to their work. officers and orderlies were galloping hither and thither with messages, in want of wires. commanders had been told to hold, but how and where to hold? they saw neighboring regiments and brigades going and they had to go. the machine, the complicated modern war machine, was broken; the machine, with its nerves of intelligence cut, became a thing of disconnected parts, each part working out its own salvation. authority ceased to be that of the bureau and army lists. it was that of units racked by hardship, acting on the hour's demand. gorged was the pass road, overflowing with the struggling tumult of men and vehicles. self-preservation breaking the bonds of discipline was in the ascendant, and it sought the highway, even as water keeps to the river bed. like specks on the laboring tide was the white of bandages. an ambulance trying to cut out to one side was overturned. the frantic chauffeur and hospital-corps orderly were working to extricate the wounded from their painful position. a gun was overturned against the ambulance. a mêlée of horses and men was forming at the foot of the garden gate in front of the narrowing bounds of the road into the town, as a stream banks up before a jam of driftwood. the struggle for right of way became increasingly wild; the dam of men, horses, and wagons grew. a brown dirigible was descending toward the great target; but on closer view its commander forbore, the humane impulse outweighing the desire for retribution for colleagues in camp and mess who had gone down in a holocaust in the aerial battles of the night. thus far the flight had seemed in the face of an unseen pursuer, like that of an army fleeing from some power visible to itself but not to marta. now she began to observe the flashes of rifles from the crests that the rear-guards of the grays were deserting; then the rush of the brown skirmish line to close quarters. her glance pausing long on no detail, so active the landscape with its swarms and tumult, returned to the scene in front of the house. a gray field-battery, cutting out to one side of the road, knocking over flimsier vehicles and wounded who got in the way, careening, its drivers cursing and officers shouting, galloped out in the open field and unlimbered to support a regiment of infantry that was hastily intrenching as a point to steady the retreating masses on its front and protect them in their flight when they had passed. marta saw how desperately the gunners worked; she could feel their fatigue. nature had sunk in her heart a partisanship for the under dog. she who had stood for the three against five, now stood for the shaken, bewildered five in the cockpit under the fire of the three. her sympathies went out to every beaten, weary gray soldier. what was the difference between a gray and a brown? weren't they both made of flesh and bone and blood and nerves? under the awful spell of the panorama, she did not see westerling, who had stopped only a few feet distant with his aide and his valet, nor did he notice her as the tumult glazed his eyes. he was as an artist who looks on the ribbons of the canvas of his painting, or the sculptor on the fragments of his statue. worse still, with no faith to give him fortitude except the materialistic, he saw the altar of his god of military efficiency in ruins. he who had not allowed the word retreat to enter his lexicon now saw a rout. he had laughed at reserve armies in last night's feverish defiance, at turcas's advocacy of a slower and surer method of attack. in those hours of smiting at a wall with his fists and forehead, in denial of all the truth so clear to average military logic, if he had only given a few conventional directions all this disorder would have been avoided. his army could have fallen back in orderly fashion to their own range. the machine out of order, he had attempted no repair; he had allowed it to thrash itself to pieces. the splinters of its débris--steel splinters--were lacerating his brain. he had a sense that madness was coming and some instinct of self-preservation made the whole scene grow misty, as he tried to resolve it out of existence in the desire for some one object which was not his guns and his men in demoralization. a bit of pink caught his eye--the pink of a dress, a little girl's dress, down there at the edge of the garden by the road, at the same moment that some guns of the browns, in a new position, opened on an inviting target. over her head was a crack and a blue tongue of smoke whipped out of nothing; while a shower of shrapnel bullets made spurts of dust around her. she started to run toward the terrace steps and another burst made her run in the opposite direction, while she looked about in a paralysis of fear and then threw herself on her face. "my god! that little girl--there--there!" westerling exclaimed distractedly. "clarissa! clarissa!" cried marta, seeing the child for the first time. she started precipitately to the rescue, but a hand on her arm arrested her and she turned to see hugo mallin bound past her down the slope. still remaining on the premises under guard while westerling had neglected to dispose of the case, he had the run of the grounds that morning while the staff was feverishly preparing for departure. marta watched him leaping from terrace to terrace. before he had reached clarissa worse than shrapnel bursts happened. the spatter of the fragments and bullets falling on either side of the road whipped the edges of the struggling human jam inward. in the midst of this a percussion shell struck, bursting on contact with the road and spreading its own grist of death and the stones of the road in a fan-shaped, mowing swath. legs and bodies were thrown out as if driven centrifugally by a powerful breath, with hugo lost in the smoke and dust of the weaving mass. he came out of it bearing clarissa in his arms, up the terrace steps. to marta, this was an isolated deed of saving life, of mercy in the midst of merciless slaughter; a parallel to that of stransky bringing in grandfather fragini pickaback. "big fireworks!" said clarissa eileen as hugo set her down in front of marta, whose heart was in her eyes speaking its gratitude. the artillery's maceration of the human jam suddenly ceased; perhaps because the gunners had seen the red cross flag which a doctor had the presence of mind to wave. westerling turned from a sight worse to him than the killing--that of the flowing retreat along the road pressing frantically over the dead and wounded in growing disorder for the cover of the town, and found himself face to face with the mask-like features of that malingerer who had told him on the veranda that the grays could not win. gall flooded his brain. in hugo he recognized something kindred to the spirit that had set his army at flight, something tangible and personified; and through a mist of rage he saw hugo smiling--smiling as he had at times at the veranda court--and saluting him as a superior officer. "now i am going to fight," said hugo, "if they try to cross the white posts; to fight with all the skill and courage i can command. but not till then. they are still in their own country and we are not in ours. then they, in the wrong, will attack and we, in the right, will defend--and, god with us, we shall win." thus a second time he had given to the prayer of marta's children the life of action. she could imagine how steadfastly and exaltedly he would face the invader. "thank you, miss galland," he said. "and say good-by to your mother and minna for me." he was gone, without waiting for any reply, this stranger whom her part had not permitted to know well. a thousand words striving for utterance choked her as she watched him pass out of sight. westerling was regarding her with a stare which fixed itself first on one thing and then on another in dull misery. near by were bellini, the chief of intelligence, and a subaltern who had arrived only a minute before. the subaltern was dust-covered. he seemed to have come in from a hard ride. both were watching marta, as if waiting for her to speak. she met westerling's look steadily, her eyes dark and still and in his the reflection of the vague realization of more than he had guessed in her relations with hugo. "well," she breathed to westerling, "the war goes on!" "that's it! that's the voice!" exclaimed the subaltern in an explosion of recognition. a short, sharp laugh of irony broke from bellini; the laugh of one whose suspicions are confirmed in the mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous. marta looked around at the interruption, alert, on guard. "you seem amused," she remarked curiously. "no, but you must have been," replied bellini hoarsely. "early this morning, not far from the castle, this young officer found in the crater made by a ten-inch shell a wire that ran in a conduit underground. the wire was intact. he tapped it. he heard a voice thanking some one for her part in the victory, and it seems that the woman's voice that answered is yours, miss galland. so, general westerling, the leak in information was over this wire from our staff into the browns' headquarters, as bouchard believed and as i came to believe." so long had marta expected this moment of exposure that it brought no shock. her spirit had undergone many subtle rehearsals for the occasion. "yes, that is true," she heard herself saying, a little distantly, but very quietly and naturally. westerling fell back as from a blow in the face. his breath came hard at first, like one being strangled. then it sank deep in his chest and his eyes were bloodshot, as a bull's in his final effort against the matador. he raised a quivering, clenched fist and took a step nearer her. but far from flinching, marta seemed to be greeting the blow, as if she admitted his right to strike. she was without any sign of triumph and with every sign of relief. lying was at an end. she could be truthful. "do you recall what i said in the reception-room at the hotel?" she asked. the question sent a flash into a hidden chamber of his mind. now the only thing he could remember of that interview was the one remark which hitherto he had never included in his recollection of it. "you said i could not win." he drew out the words painfully. "and i pleaded with your selfishness--the only appeal to be made to you," she continued, "to prevent war, which you could have done. when you said that you brought on this war to gratify your ambition, i chose to be one of the weapons of war; i chose, when driven to the wall, to be true to that part of my children's oath that made an exception of the burglar, the highwayman, and the invader. in war you use deceit and treachery, under the pleasanter names of tactics and strategy, to draw men to their death in traps, in order to increase the amount of your killing. it was strategy, tactics, manoeuvres--give it any fine word you please--that hideous and shameless part which i played. with fire i fought fire. i fought for civilization, for my home, with the only means i had against the wickedness of a victory of conquest--the precedent of it in this age--a victory which should glorify such trickery as you practised on your people." "i should like to shoot you dead!" cried bellini. "no doubt. i like your honesty in saying so," said marta. "why not? the business of war is murder; and as i have engaged in it i can claim no exception. and why shouldn't women engage in it? why should they be excepted from the sport when they pay so many of the costs? it's easy to die and easy to kill. the part you force on women is much harder. by killing me you admit me to full equality." "you--you--" but bellini had no adequate word for her, and his anger softened into a kind of admiration of her, of envy, perhaps, that he had had no such adjutant. it hardened again as he looked westerling up and down, before turning to leave without a salute or even a direct word. "and you let me make love to you!" westerling said in a dazed, groping monotone to marta. such a wreck was he of his former self that she found it amazing that she could not pity him. yet she might have pitied him had he plunged into the fight; had he tried to rally one of the broken regiments; had he been able to forget himself. "rather, you made love to yourself through me," she answered, not harshly, not even emphatically, but merely as a statement of passionless fact. "if you dared to endure what you ordered others to endure for the sake of your ambition; if--" she was interrupted by a sharp zip in the air. westerling dodged and looked about wildly. "what is that?" he asked. "what?" five or six zips followed like a charge of wasps flying at a speed that made them invisible. marta felt a brush of air past her cheek and westerling went chalky white. it was the first time he had been under fire. but these bullets were only strays. no more came. "come, general, let us be going!" urged the aide, touching his chief on the arm. "yes, yes!" said westerling hurriedly. françois, who had picked up the coat that had fallen from westerling's shoulders with his start at the buzzing, held it while his master thrust his hands through the sleeves. "and this is wiser," said the aide, unfastening the detachable insignia of rank from the shoulders of the greatcoat. "it's wiser, too, that we walk," he added. "walk? but my car!" exclaimed westerling petulantly. "i'm afraid that the car could not get through the press in the town," was the reply. "walking is safer." the absence in him of that quality which is the soldier's real glory, the picture of this deserted leader, this god of a machine who had been crushed by his machine, his very lack of stoicism or courage--all this suddenly appealed to marta's quick sympathies. they had once drunk tea together. "oh, it was not personal! i did not think of myself as a person or of you as one--only of principles and of thousands of others--to end the killing--to save our country to its people! oh, i'm sorry and, personally, i'm horrible--horrible!" she called after him in a broken, quavering gust of words which he heard confusedly in tragic mockery. he made no answer; he did not even look around. head bowed and hardly seeing the path, he permitted the aide to choose the way, which lay across the boundary of the galland estate. they had passed the stumps of the linden-trees and were in the vacant lot on the other side, when something white fluttered toward him, rustled by the breeze that carried it, and lay still almost at his feet. he saw his own picture on the front page of a newspaper, with the caption, "his excellency, field-marshal hedworth westerling, chief of staff of our victorious army." he stared at the picture and the picture stared at him as if they knew not each other. a racking shudder swept through him. he turned his face with a kind of resolution, appealing in its starkness, toward the battle and his glance rested on the battery and the shattered regiment of infantry in the fields opposite the galland gate, under a canopy of shrapnel smoke, bravely holding their ground. "i should be there. that is the place for me!" he exclaimed with a trace of his old forcefulness. the aide's lips parted as if to speak in protest, but they closed in silence, while a glance of deep human understanding, dissolving the barriers of caste, passed between him and the valet, eloquent of their approval and their loyal readiness to share the fate of their fallen chief. the canopy of shrapnel smoke grew thicker; the infantry began to break. "but, no!" said westerling. "the place for a chief of staff is at his headquarters." xlv the retreat marta remained where westerling had left her, rooted to the ground by the monstrous spell of the developing panorama of seemingly limitless movement. with each passing minute there must be a hundred acts of heroism which, if isolated in the glare of a day's news, would make the public thrill. at the outset of the war she had seen the browns, as part of a preconceived plan, in cohesive rear-guard resistance, with every detail of personal bravery a utilized factor of organized purpose. now she saw defence, inchoate and fragmentary, each part acting for itself, all deeds of personal bravery lost in a swirl of disorganization. that was the pity of it, the helplessness of engineers and of levers when the machine was broken; the warning of it to those who undertake war lightly. the browns' rifle flashes kept on steadily weaving their way down the slopes, their reserves pressing close on the heels of the skirmishers in greedy swarms. a heavy column of brown infantry was swinging in toward the myriad-legged, writhing gray caterpillar on the pass road and many field-batteries were trotting along a parallel road. their plan developed suddenly when a swath of gun-fire was laid across the pass road at the mouth of the defile, as much as to say: "here we make a gate of death!" at the same time the head of the brown infantry column flashed its bayonets over the crest of a hill toward the point where the shells were bursting. these men minded not the desperate, scattered rifle-fire into their ranks. before their eyes was the prize of a panic that grew with their approach. kinks were out of legs stiffened by long watches. the hot breath of pursuit was in their nostrils, the fever of victory in their blood. in the defile, the impulse of one gray straggler, who shook a handkerchief aloft in fatalistic submission to the inevitable, became the impulse of all. soon a thousand white signals of surrender were blossoming. as the firing abruptly ceased, marta heard the faint roar of the mighty huzzas of the hunters over the size of their bag. in the area visible to marta was the strife of forces larger than the largest that napoleon ever led in battle; as large as fought the decisive battle in the last war of the grays. but here was only a section of the raging whole from frontier end to frontier end. the immensity of it! all the young manhood of a nation employed! marta ceased to see any particular incident of the scene. all was confused in a red mist--red as blood. she, the one being in that landscape who was a detached observer, felt herself condemned to watch the war go on forever. an edge of the curtain of mist lifted. sight and mind and soul concentrated on the nearest horror. she saw the whirlpool at the foot of the garden, horses and men in a straggle among dead and wounded, which had grown fiercer now that the portion of the retreat that had not been cut off in the defile pressed forward the more madly. she had thought of herself as ashes; as an immovable creature of flayed nerves, incapable of raising her hand to change the march of events. but the misery that she saw intimately, almost within stone's throw of her door, broke the spell with its appeal. the hectic energy of battle speeded her steps in the blessed oblivion of action. some doctors of different regiments thrown together in the havoc of remnants of many organizations, with the help of hospital-corps men, were trying to extricate the wounded from among the dead. they heard a woman's voice and saw a woman's face. they did not wonder at her presence, for there was nothing left in the world for them to wonder at. had an imp from hell or an angel from heaven appeared, or a shower of diamonds fallen from the sky, they would not have been surprised. their duty was clear; there was work of their kind to do, endless work. units of the broken machine, in the instinct of their calling they struggled with the duty nearest at hand. "what do you need? what can i do?" marta asked. "rest, shelter, safety for these poor fellows," answered one of the doctors. "there is the house--our house!" said marta. "my god! aren't you men?" bellowed an officer. "get away from the road! come out here! form line! you--you; i mean you!" "you who can walk--you who aren't hurt, you cowards, give us a hand with the wounded!" shouted another doctor. the soldiers were deaf to commands, but they heard a feminine voice above the oaths and groans and heavy breathing and rustle of pressing bodies and thrusting arms; a feminine voice, clear and steadying in that orgy of male ferocity. it was like a chemical precipitate clearing muddy water. their wild glances saw a woman's features in exaltation and in her eyes something as definite as the fire of command. she was shaming them for their unmanliness; shaming their panic--the foolish panic at a theatre exit--and giving orders as if that were her part and theirs was to obey; a woman to soldiers, the weak sex to the strong. they did obey, under the spell of the amazing fact of her presence, in the relief of having some simple human purpose to cling to. after the work was begun they needed no urging to carry the wounded up the terrace steps; and men who had knocked down and trampled on the wounded were gentle with them now, under the guidance of better impulses. how could they falter directed by a woman unmindful of occasional shells and bullet whistles? they begged her to go back to the house; this was no place for her. but marta did not want safety. danger was sweet; it was expiation. she was helping, actually helping; that was enough. she envied the peaceful dead--they had no nightmares--as she aided the doctors in separating the bodies that were still breathing from those that were not; and she steeled herself against every ghastly sight save one, that of a man lying with his legs pinned under a wagon body. his jaw had been shot away. slowly he was bleeding to death, but he did not realize it. he realized nothing in his delirium except the nature of his wound. he was dipping his finger in the cavity and, dab by dab, writing "kill me!" on the wagon body. it sent reeling waves of red before her eyes. then a shell burst near her and a doctor cried out: "she's hit!" but marta did not hear him. she heard only the dreadful crack of the splitting shrapnel jacket. she had a sense of falling, and that was all. the next that she knew she was in a long chair on the veranda and the vague shadows bending over her gradually identified themselves as her mother and minna. "i remember when you were telling of the last war that you didn't swoon at the sight of the wounded, mother," marta whispered. "but i was not wounded," replied mrs galland. marta ceased to be only a consciousness swimming in a haze. with the return of her faculties, she noticed that both her mother and minna were looking significantly at her forearm; so she looked at it, too. it was bandaged. "a cut from a shrapnel fragment," said a doctor. "not deep," he added. "do i get an iron cross?" she asked, smiling faintly. it was rather pleasant to be alive. "all the crosses--iron and bronze and silver and gold!" he replied. "you forgot platinum," she said almost playfully, as she found nerves, muscles, and bones intact after that drop over a precipice into a black chasm. it was like the marta of the days before she had undertaken to reform all creation, her mother was thinking. "did i help any?" she asked seriously. "well, i should say so!" declared the doctor. "i should say so!" he repeated. "you did the whole business down there by the gate." "yes, the whole business! i brought it all on--all! i--" she flung a wild gesture at the landscape and then buried her face in her hands. "yes, i did the whole business i--i played, smiled, lied! that awful sight--and he might not have been writing 'kill me' if i--" the doctor grasped her shoulders to keep her from rising. he spoke the first soothing words that came to mind. there was another shudder, an effort at control, and her hands dropped and she was looking up with a dull steadiness. "i'm not going mad!" she exclaimed. "what happened to--to that man who was pleading for death? did any one who had been engaged in killing men who wanted to live kill the one who wanted to die?" "the shell burst that wounded you finished him," said the doctor. "which, of course, was quite according to the tenets of civilization, which wouldn't have allowed it to be done as an open act of mercy!" said marta. "but that is only satire. it is of no service," she added, rising to a sitting posture to look around. the struggle by the gate was over. all the uninjured had made good their escape. a red cross flag floated above the wounded and the débris of overturned wagons. brown skirmishers were descending the near-by slopes and crossing the path of the cavalry charge. signal-corps men were spinning out their wires. a regiment of guns were being emplaced behind a foot-hill. a returning brown dirigible swept over the town. all firing except occasional scattered shots had ceased in the immediate vicinity, though in the distance could be heard the snarl of the firmer resistance that the grays were making at some other point. the galland house, for the time being, was isolated--in possession of neither side. "isn't there something else i can do to help with the wounded?" marta asked. she longed for action in order to escape her thoughts. "you've had a terrible shock--when you are stronger," said the doctor. "when you have had something to eat and drink," observed the practical minna authoritatively. marta would not have the food brought to her. she insisted that she was strong enough to accompany minna to the tower. while minna urged mouthfuls down marta's dry throat as she sat outside the door of the sitting-room with her mother a number of weary, dust-streaked faces, with feverish energy in their eyes, peered over the hedge that bounded the garden on the side toward the pass. these scout skirmishers of stransky's men of the 53d regiment of the browns made beckoning gestures as to a crowd, before they sprang over the hedge and ran swiftly, watchfully, toward the linden stumps, closely followed by their comrades. soon the whole garden was overrun by the lean, businesslike fellows, their glances all ferret-like to the front. "look, minna!" exclaimed marta. "the giant who carried the old man in pickaback the first night of the war!" "yes, the bold impudence of him!" said minna. "as if there was nothing that could stand in his way and what he wanted he would have!" but minna was flushing as she spoke. the flush dissipated and she drew up her chin when stransky, looking around, recognized her with a merry, confident wave of his hand. "see, he's a captain and he wears an iron cross!" said marta as stransky hastened toward them. "he acts like it!" assented minna grudgingly. eager, leviathan, his cap doffed with a sweeping gesture as he made a low bow, stransky was the very spirit of retributive victory returning to claim the ground that he had lost. "well, this is like getting home again!" he cried. "so i see!" said minna equivocally. stransky drew his eyes together, sighting them on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully at this dubious reception. "i came back for the chance to kiss a good woman's hand," he observed with a profound awkwardness and looking at minna's hand. "your hand!" he added, the cast in his eyes straightening as he looked directly at her appealingly. she extended her finger-tips and he pressed his lips to them. then she drew back a step, a trifle pale, her eyes sad and questioning, more than ever madonna-like, and curled her arm around little clarissa eileen, who had stolen to her mother's side. "what is that?" asked clarissa eileen, pointing to the cross on stransky's breast. "that," observed stransky deliberately, "is a little piece of metal that i got for an inspiration of manhood. it doesn't cost the price of a day's rations, but it's one of the things which money can't buy--not yet--in this commercial age. one of those institutions of barbarism that we anarchists call government gave it to me, and i'll never part with it!" "because he was a brave soldier, clarissa," explained marta in simpler terms. "because he was ready to die for his country." "and for your mother!" put in stransky, seizing clarissa in his great hands and lifting her lightly to the level of his face. "oh, i've got stories," he said to her, "a soldier-man's stories, to tell you, young lady, one of these days--and such stories!" he crossed his eyes over his big nose in a fashion that made clarissa clap her hands and burst into a peal of laughter. "you're an awfully funny man!" she declared as stransky set her down. "so your mother thinks," said stransky, blinking at minna, who had indulged in a smile which his remark promptly ironed out. this irrepressible soldier, given so much as an inch, would be demanding a province. but erasing a smile is not destroying the fact of it. stransky took heart for the charge on seeing a breach in the enemy's lines. "yes, i was fighting for you!" he burst out to minna. "when the other fellows were reading letters from their sweethearts i was imagining letters from you. i even wrote out some and posted them from one pocket to another, in place of the regular mails." "what did you say in those letters?" asked marta. "why, you're big and awkward and cross-eyed, stransky, but you've a way with you, and maybe--" "humph!" sniffed minna. "i kept seeing the way you looked when you belted me one in the face," he went on unabashed to minna, "and knocked any anarchism out of me that was left after the shell burst. i kept seeing your face in my last glimpse when the grays made me run for it from your kitchen door before i had half a chance for the oration crying for voice. you were in my dreams! you were in battle with me!" "this sounds like a disordered mind," observed minna. "i've heard men talk that way before." "oh, i have talked that way to other women myself!" said stransky. "yes," said minna bitterly. his candor was rather unexpected. "i have talked to others in passing on the high road," he continued. "but never after a woman had struck me in the face. that blow sank deep--deep--deep as what lanstron said when i revolted on the march. i say it to you with this"--he touched the cross--"on my breast. and i'm not going to give you up. it's a big world. there's room in it for a place for you after the war is over and i'm going to make the place. yes, i've found myself. i've found how to lead men. my home isn't to be in the hedgerows any more. it's to be where you are. you and i, whom society gave a kick, will make society give us a place!" he was eloquent in his strength; eloquent in the fire of resolution blazing from his eyes. "and i'll be back again," he concluded. "you can't shake me. i'll camp on your door-step. but now i've got to look after my company. good-by till i'm back--back to stay! good-by, little daughter!" he added with a wave of his hand to clarissa as he turned to go. "maybe we shall have our own automobile some day. it's no stranger than what's been happening to me since the war began." "if you don't marry him, minna, i'll--i'll--" mrs. galland could not find words for the fearful thing that she would do. "marry him! i have only met him three times for about three minutes each time!" protested minna. she was as rosy as a girl and in her confusion she busied herself retying the ribbon on clarissa eileen's hair. "he called you little daughter!" she said softly to the child as she withdrew into the tower. "i am glad we didn't send minna away when misfortune befell her," said mrs. galland. "you were right about that, marta, with your new ideas. what a treasure she has been!" marta was scarcely hearing her mother; certainly not finding any credit for herself in the remark. she was thinking what a simple, what a glorious thing was a love such as stransky's and minna's: the mating of a man and a woman whose brains were not oversensitized by too complicated mentality; of a man and a woman direct and sincere, primarily and clearly a man and a woman. such happiness could never be for her now; for her who had let a man make love to her for his own undoing. the skirmishers having halted beyond the linden stumps, the reserves were stacking their rifles and dropping to rest in the garden. the sight of the uniforms of the deliverers, of her own people, stirred mrs. galland to unwonted activity. she moved here and there among them with smiles of mothering pride. she told them how brave they were; how her husband had been a colonel of hussars in the last war. they must be tired and hungry. she hurried in to minna, and together they emptied the larder of everything, even to the lumps of sugar, which were impartially bestowed. but marta remained in the chair by the doorway of the tower, weak and listless. she was weary of the sight of uniforms and bayonets. in the dreary opaqueness of her mind flickered one tiny, bright light as through a blanket; that she herself had been in danger. she had been under fire. she had not merely sent men to death; she had been in death's company. now her lashes were closed; again they opened slightly as her gaze roved the semicircle of the horizon. a mounted officer and his orderly galloping across the fields to the pass road caught her desultory attention and held it, for they formed the most impetuous object on the landscape. when the officer alighted at the foot of the garden and tossed his reins to the orderly, she detected something familiar about him. he leaped the garden wall at a bound and, half running, came toward the tower. not until he lifted his cap and waved it did she associate this lithe, dapper artillerist with a stooped old gardener in blue blouse and torn straw hat who had once shuffled among the flowers at her service. "hello! hello!" he shouted in clarion greeting at sight of her. "hello, my successor!" only in the whiteness of his hair was he like the old feller. his tone, the boyish sparkle of his black eyes, those full, expressive lips playing over the brilliant teeth, his easy grace, his quick and telling gestures--they were of the feller of cadet days. something in his look as he stopped in front of her startled marta. suddenly he bent over and drew down his face, with dropping underlip. "i'm deaf--stone deaf, if you please!" he wheezed in senile fashion. she had to laugh and he laughed, too, with the ringing tone of youth that made him seem younger than his years. "not a gardener--a colonel of artillery, in the uniform, under the flag again, thanks to you!" he cried. "an officer once more!" "i'm glad!" she exclaimed. here was one thing more to the credit of war. "thanks to you, instead of being shot as a spy--thanks to you!" more than the emotion of the brimming gratitude of his heart shone through his mobile features. "it was your choice; you improved it. you fulfilled a faith that i had in you," she said. "faith in me! that is the finest tribute of all--better than this, better than this!" he touched the iron cross on his coat as stransky had to minna. "and i took your place," said marta with a dull, slow emphasis. yes, he did owe much to her, she was thinking. in his place she had lied; his part she had played in shame and no future act, she felt, could ever expiate it. the teacher of peace, she had become the partisan of war in wicked cunning. he guessed nothing of what lay behind her words. he had forgotten her children's school. "and did my work better than i could! you are wonderful, wonderful!" he was aglow with admiration, with awe, with adoration. she smiled faintly, bitterly, while he burst into a flood of talk. "i was back with the guns you had given me when i heard that you were taking my place. then i thought, can i be worthy of this--of what you have done for me, giving me back my own world, your world? i vowed i would be worthy--worthy of you. heavens! how i made the guns play--bang-bang-bang!" he cupped his bands over his eyes as an imaginary range-finder, sweeping the field. "oh, they are beautiful guns, these new models! with a battalion i won a regiment. i asked lanny to tell you; did he?" "yes, and also of the iron cross." "a fine bit of metal, the cross, and they have not been giving them too promiscuously, either," said feller. "but they're not gun-metal! that is the real metal. it was my guns that closed the gate to the pass," he went on, swept by the flood of enthusiasm. "i didn't open fire till i could concentrate so as to make a solidly locked gate. i tell you, the guns are the thing! you ought to have seen that retreat curl up on itself. and where the shells struck on the hard road--phew! they lifted the grays upward to meet shrapnel pounding them from the sky! we could have torn the whole column to pieces if they hadn't surrendered. what a bag of rifles and guns and stores is going to our capital! oh, our friends the grays were a little too fast! they didn't know what the guns meant in defence. the guns--they are back to their old place of glory! they rule!" "was it your guns that fired into the mêlée there by the gate?" marta asked. "yes. i saw that soft target early. they put up a red cross flag at first, but i soon realized that it wasn't any dressing station; only stragglers; only the kind that run away without orders. so i let them have it, for that's the law of war, and the way they would give it to us and did, more than once. but i took care that no shots were fired at the house, though if it had not been your house i'd have sent a shell or two on the chance that some of the gray staff might still be there. then, after the surrender, i kept spanking that lot with intermittent shells till i was sure the red cross flag was justified." "the fire was very accurate, as i happen to know, for it wounded me," said marta. so intent had he been in talking to his audience, to her eyes, that now for the first time he noticed the bandage on her forearm. his impressionable features were as struck with alarm and horror at sight of the tiny red spot as if she had been in danger of immediate death. "you--you were down by the road?" he gasped. "my guns were firing at you? why--how?" "helping with the wounded." "the gray wounded?" "yes." "of course, you would--with any wounded!" he cried. "splendid! like you! it is not bad? it does not pain you?" he bent over the red spot, his lips very near it and twitching, all his volatile force melting into solicitude and his voice taut, as if he himself were suffering the anguish of a dozen wounds. "only a scratch. don't worry about it!" she assured him soothingly, with a peculiar smile. now he made a gesture of amazement, catching at another thought that darted as a shooting star across his mind. "wonderful--wounded! wonderful! was there ever such a woman?" he cried. "no, i knew from the first there never was. the minute the way was clear and i could be spared from my guns i came to you--to you! this time i come not as a deaf, cringing, watery-eyed old gardener"--for an instant he was the gardener--"but as one of your world, to which i was bred," and his shoulders, rising, filled out his uniform in the grace of the commander of men in action. "destiny has played with us. it sent a spy to your garden. it put you in my place. a strange service, ours--yes, destiny is in it!" "yes," she breathed painfully, his suggestion striking deep. she was staring at the ground, her face very still. yes, it was he who had started the train of circumstances that had left her with a memory more tragic than the one that had whitened his hair. his memory was already erased. what could ever erase hers? he had begun anew. how could she ever begin anew? the fact of this man talking of everything as destiny--of the slaughter, the misery, as destiny--was the worst mockery of all. yet he was true to himself. his enjoyed facility of fervid expression, his boyishness, his gift of making the lived moment the greatest of his life, was the very gift she had craved to make her forget her yesterdays. only faintly did she hear his next outburst, until he came to the end. "i come with the question which i had sealed in my lonely heart," he was saying, "while i lived a lie and trimmed rose-bushes and hung on your words. you saved me. i fought for you. you were in my eyes, in my angers, in my brain as i directed the fire of my guns. 'she will be pleased to hear that i am a colonel!' i kept thinking. i love you! i love you!" marta started up from her chair, her eyes moist and open wide, amazed, but growing kind and troubled. had she been guilty of giving him hope? was there something in her that had led him on, a shame that came natural to her since she had let westerling proceed with his love? her guilt in feller's case was worse than in westerling's. a thousand westerlings were not worth one feller. and he had been near her, near as a comrade, in imagination, with his ready suggestions of how to play her part in its most exacting moments! while he stood, the picture of the eager, impatient lover trembling for an answer that seemed to mean heaven or perdition for him, the kindness that went with the trouble in her eyes warmed to fondness, as she laid her fingers on his shoulder. "you would want me to love you, wouldn't you?" she asked gently. "and if i cannot? yes, if i can neither act nor play at love, so real must love be to me?" he turned miserable, with eyes seeming to sink into his head, and body to wilt in the dejection of that pitiful, hopeless attitude when his secret had been discovered in the tower sitting-room. "act! act!" he murmured. "yes." her fingers exercised the faintest pressure on his shoulder. "your true love, your one enduring love, is the guns. all other loves come and go. to-morrow, if not, next day, in this big, throbbing world, with your future assured, as you lived other great moments you would look back on this moment as another part that you had acted--and so beautifully acted." "act! act!" he repeated, like one who is coming to grip with facts. for a period he stared at the ground before he reached for the hand on his shoulder, which he pressed in both of his, looking soberly into her eyes. he smiled; smiled apparently at a memory, let her hand drop, and raised his own hands, palms out, in a gesture of good-humored comprehension. "you know me!" he exclaimed. "but i did it well, didn't i?" he asked, after a pause. "beautifully. i repeat, it was convincingly real," she replied, laughing in relief. "if i hadn't, it would have been most disappointing after all my rehearsals," he went on. "yes, you know me! why, i might have been wanting to break the engagement in a week because i was beginning other rehearsals!" he laughed, too, as if relishing the prospect. "yes, i act--act always, except with the guns. they alone are real!" he burst out in joyous fury. "we are going on, i and my guns, on to the best yet--on in the pursuit! nothing can stop us! we shall hit the grays so fast and hard that they can never get their machine in order again. god bless you! everything that is fine in me will always think finely of you! you and lanny--two fixed stars for me!" "truly!" she was radiant. "truly?" she asked wistfully. "yes, yes--a yes as real as the guns!" "then it helps! oh, how it helps!" she murmured almost inaudibly. "good-by! god bless you!" he cried as he started to go, adding over his shoulder merrily: "i'll send you a picture post-card from the grays' capital of my guns parked in the palace square." she watched him leap the garden wall as lightly as he had come and gallop away, an impersonation of the gay, adventurous spirit of war, counting death and wounds and hardship as the delights of the gamble. yes, he would follow the grays, throwing shells in the irresponsible joy of tossing confetti in a carnival. pursuit! was feller's the sentiment of the army? were the browns not to stop at the frontier? were they to change their song to, "now we have ours we shall take some of theirs"? the thought was fresh fuel to the live coals that still remained under the ashes. a brigade commander and some of his staff-officers near by formed a group with faces intent around an operator who was attaching his instrument to a field-wire that had just been reeled over the hedge. marta moved toward them, but paused on hearing an outburst of jubilant exclamations: "a hundred thousand prisoners!" "and five hundred guns!" "we're closing in on their frontier all along the line!" "it's incredible!" "but the word is official--it's right!" from mouth to mouth--a hundred thousand prisoners, five hundred guns--the news was passed in the garden. eyes dull with fatigue began flashing as the soldiers broke into a cheer that was not led, a cheer unlike any marta had heard before. it had the high notes of men who were weary, of a terrible exultation, of spirit stronger than tired legs and as yet unsatisfied. other exclamations from both officers and men expressed a hunger whetted by the taste of one day's victory. "we'll go on!" "we'll make peace in their capital!" "and with an indemnity that will stagger the world!" "nothing is impossible with lanstron. how he has worked it out--baited them to their own destruction!" "a frontier of our own choosing!" "on the next range. we will keep all that stretch of plain there!" "and the river, too!" "they shall pay--pay for attacking us!" pay, pay for the drudgery, the sleepless nights, the dead and the wounded--for our dead and wounded! no matter about theirs! the officers were too intent in their elation to observe a young woman, standing quite still, her lips a thin line and a deep blaze in her eyes as she looked this way and that at the field of faces, seeking some dissentient, some partisan of the right. she was seeing the truth now; the cold truth, the old truth to which she had been untrue when she took feller's place. there could be no choice of sides in war unless you believed in war. one who fought for peace must take up arms against all armies. her part as a spy appeared to her clad in a new kind of shame: the desertion of her principles. nor did the officers observe a man of thirty-five, wearing the cords of the staff and a general's stars, coming around the corner of the house. marta's feverish, roving glance had noted him directly he was in sight. his face seemed to be in keeping with the other faces, in the ardor of a hunt unfinished; hand in blouse pocket, his bearing a little too easy to be conventionally military--the same lanny. she was dimly conscious of surprise not to find him changed, perhaps because he was unaccompanied by a retinue or any other symbol of his power. he might have been coming to call on a sunday afternoon. in that first glimpse it was difficult to think of him as the commander of an army. but that he was, she must not forget. she was shaken and trembling; and a mist rose before her, so that she did not see him clearly when, with a gesture of relief, he saw her. "lanstron!" exclaimed an officer in the first explosive breath of amazement on recognizing him; then added: "his excellency, the chief of staff!" but the one word, lanstron, had been enough to thrill all the officers into silence and ramrod salutes. marta noted the deference of their glances as they covertly looked him over. on what meat had our cæsar fed that he had grown so great? this was the man who had pleaded with her to allow a spy in her garden; for whom she herself had turned spy. to-morrow his name would be in the head-lines of every newspaper in the world. his portrait would become as familiar to the eyes of the world as that of the best-advertised of kings. he was the conqueror whose commonplace sayings would be the sparks of genius because the gamble of war had gone his way. he had grown so great by sending shells into the stricken eddy at the foot of the garden and driving punishing columns against the retreating masses in the defile. the god in the car and of the machine, with his quiet manner, his intellectual features; this one-time friend, more subtle in pursuit of the same ambitions than the blind egoism of westerling! these officers and men and all officers and men and herself were pawns of his plans and his will. yes, even herself. had he stopped with the repulse of the enemy? no. would he stop now? no. her disillusion was complete. she knew the truth; she felt it as steel stiffening against him and against every softer impulse of her own. "i wanted a glimpse of the front as well as the rear," lanstron remarked in explanation of his presence to the general of brigade as he passed on toward marta, who was thinking that she, at least, was not in awe of him; she, at least, saw clearly and truly his part. "marta! marta!" lanstron's voice was tremulous, as if he were in awe of her, while he drank in the fact that she was there before him at arms' length, safe, alive. she did not offer her hand in greeting. she was incapable of any movement, such was her emotion; and he, too, was held in a spell, as the reality of her, after all that had passed, filled his eyes. he waited for her to speak, but she was silent. "marta--that bandage! you have been hurt?" he exclaimed. unlike feller, he had not been so obsessed with a purpose as to be blind to externals. her hostile mood was quick to recall that no smallest detail of anything under his sight ever escaped him. this was his kind of strength--the strength that had wrecked westerling as a fine, intellectual process. he could act, too. in the tone of the question, "you've been hurt?" without tragic emphasis, was a twitching, throbbing undercurrent of horror, which set the hand hidden in the pocket of his blouse quivering. why care if she were hurt? why not think about the hundreds of thousands of others who were wounded. why not care for that poor fellow whose ghastly wound kept staring at her as he wrote "kill me!" on the wagon body? "it's the fashion to be wounded," she said, eyebrows lifted and lashes lowered, with a nervous smile. "i played florence nightingale, the natural woman's part, i believe. we should never protest; only nurse the victims of war. after helping to send men to death i went under fire myself, and--and that helped." she could be kind to feller but not to lanstron. he was not a child. he was lanny, who, as she thought of him now, did nothing except by calculation. "yes, that would help," he agreed, wincing as from a knife thrust. her old taunt: sending men to death and taking no risk himself! she saw that he winced; she realized that she had stayed words that were about to come in a flood. then she seemed to see him through new lenses. he appeared drawn and pale and old, as if he, too, had become ashes; anything but the conqueror. her feelings grew contradictory. why all this fencing? how weak, how silly! she had much to say to him--a last appeal to make. her throat held a dry lump. she was marshalling her thoughts to begin when the brittle silence was broken by a rumbling of voices, a stirring of feet, and a cheer. "lanstron! lanstron! hurrah for lanstron!" the soldiers in the garden did not bother with any "your excellency, the chief of staff" formula when word had been passed of his presence. marta looked around to see their tempestuous enthusiasm as they tossed their caps in the air and sent up their spontaneous tribute from the depths of their lungs. conqueror and hero to the living, but the dead could not speak, whispered some fiend in her heart. lanstron uncovered to the demonstration impulsively, when the conventional military acknowledgment would have been a salute. he always looked more like the real lanny to her with his forehead bare. it completed the ensemble of his sensitive features. she saw that he was blinking almost boyishly at the compliment and noted the little deprecatory shake of his head, as much as to say that they were making a mistake. "thank you!" he called, and the cheeriness of his voice, she thought, expressed his real self; the delight of victory and the glowing anticipation of further victories. "thank _you_!" called a private with a big voice. "yes, thank _you_!" repeated some of the officers in quick appreciation of a compliment as real as human courage. "we're going to put your headquarters in the grays' capital!" cried the soldier with the big voice. another cheer rose at the suggestion. "you will follow the staff?" lanstron called in sudden intensity. "yes, yes, yes!" they shouted. "yes, yes; follow you!" "you think our staff led you wisely?" he continued distinctly, slowly, and very soberly. "you think we can continue to do so? you trust us? you trust our judgment?" "yes, yes, yes!" "thank you!" he said with a long-drawn, happy breath. "thank _you_!" they shouted. he stood smiling for a moment in reply to their smiles; then, still smiling, but in a different way, he said to marta: "as you say, that helps!" with a nod toward the bandage on her forearm and hurriedly turned away. she saw him involuntarily clutch the wrist above the pocket of his blouse to still the twitching; but beyond that there was no further sign of emotion as he went to the telephone. she had been about to cry out her protest against the continuance of the war in the name of humanity, of justice, of every bit of regard he had ever had for her. when he was through talking she should go to him in appeal--yes, on her knees, if need be, before all the officers and soldiers--to stop the killing; but instantly he was through he started toward the pass road, not by the path to the steps, but by leaping from terrace to terrace and waving his hand gayly to the soldiers as he went. the officers stared at the sight of a chief of staff breaking away from his communications in this unceremonious fashion. they saw him secure a horse from a group of cavalry officers on the road and gallop away. marta having been the object of lanstron's attention now became the object of theirs. it was good to see a woman, a woman of the browns, after their period of separation from feminine society. she found herself holding an impromptu reception. she heard some other self answering their polite questions; while a fear, a new kind of fear, was taking hold of her real self; a fear inexplicable, insidiously growing. lanstron was still in the officers' minds after his strange appearance and stranger departure. they began to talk of him, and marta listened. "he said something about being a free man now!" "yes, he looked as eager as a terrier after rats." "he knows what he is doing. he sees so far ahead of what we are thinking that it's useless to guess his object. we'll understand when it's done." "how little side he has! so perfectly simple. he hardly seems to realize the immensity of his success. in fact, none of us realizes it; it's too enormous, overwhelming, sudden!" "and no nerves!" "no nerves, did you say? there you are wrong. did you see that hand twitching in his pocket? of course, you've heard about the hand? why, he's a bundle of nerve-wires held in control; a man of the age; master of his own machine, therefore, able to master the machine of an army." of course, they guessed nothing of marta's part in his success. the very things they were saying about him built up a figure of the type whose character she had keenly resented a few minutes before. "but, miss galland, you seem to know him far better than we. this is not news to you," remarked the brigade commander. "yes, i saw the accident of his first flight when his hand was injured," she said, and winced with horror. never had the picture of him as he rose from the wreck appeared so distinct. she could see every detail of his looks; feel his twinges of pain while he smiled. was the revelation the more vivid because it had not once occurred to her since the war began? it shut out the presence of the officers; she no longer heard what they were saying. black fear was enveloping her. vaguely she understood that they were looking away at something. she heard the roar of artillery not far distant and followed their gaze toward the knoll where dellarme's men had received their baptism of fire, now under a canopy of shrapnel smoke. "that's about their last stand in the tangent, their last snarl on our soil," remarked the brigade commander. "and we're raining shells on it!" said his aide. "with our glasses we'll be able to watch the infantry go in." "yes, very well." "we're all used to how it feels, now we'll see how it looks at a distance," piped one of the soldiers. not until he had shouted to them did they notice a division staff-officer who had come up from the road. he had a piece of astounding news to impart before he mentioned official business. "what do you think of this?" he cried. "nothing could stop him! lanstron--yes, lanstron has gone into that charge with the african braves!" in these days, when units of a vast army in the same uniform, drilled in the same way, had become interchangeable parts of a machine, the african braves still kept regimental fame. they had guarded the stretches of hot sand in one of the desert african colonies of the browns; and they had served in the jungle in the region of bodlapoo, which, by the way, was nominally the cause of the war. they had fought mohammedan fanatics and black savages. it did not matter much to them when they died; now as well as ever. if they had mothers or sisters they were the secrets of each man's heart. the scapegrace youth, the stranded man of thirty who would forget his past, the born adventurer, the renegade come a cropper, the gentleman who had gambled, the remittance man whose remittance had stopped, the peasant's son who had run away from home, criminals and dreamers, some minor poets, some fairly good actors, scholarly fellows who chanted the "odyssey," and both oath-ripping and taciturn, quiet-mannered fellows who could neither read nor write found a home in the african braves' muster-roll. their spirit of corps had a dervish fatalism. they had begged to have a share in the war and partow had consented. in the night after their long journey, while westerling's ram was getting its death-blow, they had detrained and started for the front. but the grays were going as fast as the braves, and they had been unable to get into action. "wait for us! we want to be in it!" cried their impatience. "we'll show you how they fight in africa! way for us!" "give them a chance!" said lanstron. this order a general of corps repeated to a general of division, who repeated it to a general of brigade. "give them a chance! give them a chance!" reserves along the route of their advance knew them at a glance by their uniform, their indian tan, and their jaunty swagger and gave a cheer as they passed. they touched the chord of romance in the hearts of officers, who regarded them as an archaic survival which sentiment permitted in an isolated instance in africa, where it excellently served. and officers looked at one another and shook their heads knowingly, out of the drear, hard experience in spade approaches, when they thought of that brilliant uniform as a target and of frontier tactics against massed infantry and gun-fire. "once will be enough," said the cynical. "there won't be many left to tell the tale!" and the african braves knew how the army felt. they had a reputation out of africa to sustain, this band of exotics among the millions of home-trained comrades. they didn't quite believe in all this machine business. down the slopes with their veteran stride, loose-limbed and rhythmic, they went, past the line of the galland house, with no fighting in sight. what if they had to return to africa without firing a shot? the lugubrious prospect saddened them. they felt that a battle should be ordered on their account. "you will take that regiment's place and it will fall back for support, while you storm the knoll beyond!" said the brigade commander, a twinkle in his eye. "is it much of a job, do you think?" asked the colonel of the braves. he had two fingers' length of service colors on his blouse. lean he was and bony-jawed, with deep-set eyes. he loved every mother's son of the braves, from illiterate to the chanter of the "odyssey"; from peasant's son to penniless nobleman, and thought any one of his privates rather superior to a home brigade commander. "a pretty good deal. i think the grays'll make a snappy resistance," said the brigade commander honestly. "the way we feel them out, they're getting back their wind, and for the first time we'll be fighting them up-hill. yes, there's a sting in a retreating army's tail when it gets over its demoralization." "good!" observed the colonel as if he had a sweet taste in his mouth. "and if you find it too stiff," the brigade commander went on, "why, i've seasoned veterans back of you who will press in to your support." "veterans, you say, and seasoned? i have some of my own, too! thank you! thank you most kindly!" said the colonel, saluting stiffly, with a twist to the corner of his mouth. "when we need their help it will be to bury our dead," he added. "can we do it alone? will we?" he passed these inquiries along the line, which rose to the suggestion with different kinds of oaths and jests and grins and grim whistles. the scholar suddenly transferred his affections from the greeks' phalanx to the roman legions and began with the first verse of virgil's "æneid." he always made the change when action was near. "the greeks for poetry and the romans for war!" he declared, and could argue his company to sleep if anybody disputed him. "i want to be in one fight. i haven't been under fire in the whole war," lanstron explained to the colonel, who understood precisely the feeling. "lanstron is with us! the chief of staff is watching us!" ran the whisper from flank to flank of the braves. it was not wonderful to them that he should be there. this complicated business of running a war over a telephone was not in the ken of their calculations. the colonel was with them, so all the generals ought to be. "we'll show lanstron!" determined the braves. "we'll show him how we fight in africa!" "with the first rush you go to the bottom of the valley; with the second, take the knoll!" such were the colonel's simple tactics. "but stop on the top of the knoll. though we'd like to take the capital this afternoon, it's against orders." lanstron, dropping into place in the line, felt as if he were about to renew his youth. he had the elation of his early aeroplane flights, when he was likely to be hung on a church steeple. now he was not sending men to death; he was having his personal fling. it was all very simple beside sitting at a desk with battle raging in the distance. he dodged at the first bullet that whistled near his head and looked rather sheepishly at the man next him, who was grinning. "lots of fellows do that with the first one, no matter how many times they've been under fire," said the comrade. "but if they do it with the second one--" he dropped the corners of his mouth with a significance that required no further comment to express his views on that kind of a soldier. "i shan't!" said lanstron; and he kept his word. "i knew by the cut of your jib you wouldn't!" observed the brave, speaking not to the chief of staff but to the man. what were chiefs of staff to him? everybody on the firing-line was simply another brave. lanstron liked the compliment. it pleased him better than those endowing him with military genius. it was free of rank and etiquette and selfishness. of such stuff were the braves as cæsar's veterans who walloped the belgæ, the adventurous ruffians of cortez, the swashbucklers who fought in flanders, the followers of bonnie prince charlie, and the regulars of the american indian campaigns. when they rose to the charge with a yell, in a wave of scarlet and blue, flashing with brass buttons, their silken flag rippling in the front rank, they made a picture to please the romantic taste. here on the brown background of the commonplace three millions of moderns was a patch of the color and glamour that story-tellers, poets, artists, and moving-picture men would choose as the theme of real military glory. intoxication of all the senses, of muscles and nerves, with the mesmerism of movement and burning desire which calls the imagination of youth to arms! the supreme moment of fury and splendid rush, which becomes the recollection to the survivor to be told from the knee to future generations in a way to make small boys love to play with soldiers! these men knew nothing except that they had legs and that ahead was a goal. oaths and laughter were mingled in their souls; the energy of a delirium sped their steps. they were so many human missiles fired by an impulse, with too much initial velocity to stop at the bottom of the valley as the colonel had directed. lord, no! let's have the thing over with, bit in teeth! the common instinct of the living, who neither saw nor thought of those who fell, swept them up the slope. every man who survived was the whole regiment in himself; its pride, its gallantry, its inheritance in his keeping. "fiends of hell and angels of heaven! we're here and we did it alone!" gasped the winded, ragged line that reached the crest. "i thought they would!" said the brigade commander, who had watched the charge through his glasses from an eminence. "but at what a cost! it was lucky for them that it was only a rear-guard resistance. however, it certainly thrills the imagination and it will be a good thing for brown prestige in africa." "why?" marta heard the officers around her asking after their exclamations of amazement at the news that lanstron was going in the charge. "why should the chief of staff risk his life in this fashion?" marta knew. all her taunts about sending others to death from his office chair, uttered as the fugitive sarcasm of a mood, recurred in the merciless hammer-beat of recollection. for a moment she was aghast, speechless. then the officers, occupied with the startling news, heard a voice, wrenched from a dry throat in anguish, saying: "the telephone! try to reach him! tell him he must not!" "we can hardly say 'must not' to a chief of staff," said the general automatically. "tell him i ask him not to! try to reach him--try--you can try!" "yes, yes! certainly!" exclaimed the general, turning to the telephone operator. he had seen now what the younger men had seen at a glance. they were recalling lanstron's relief at seeing her; how he had passed them by to speak to her; the intensity of the two in their almost wordless meeting. her bloodless lips, the imploring passion in her eyes, her quivering impatience told the rest. "division headquarters!" called the operator. "they're getting brigade headquarters," he added while he waited in silence. "brigade headquarters says the braves have no wire. it's too late. the charge is starting." "so it is!" cried one of the subalterns. "look! look!" marta looked toward the rising ground this side of the knoll in time to see bayonets flash in the waning afternoon sunlight and disappear as they descended the slope. "there! they're up on the other slope without stopping!" exclaimed the general. "quick! don't you want to see?" he offered his glasses to marta. "no, i can see well enough," she murmured, though the landscape was moving before her eyes in giddy waves. "the madness of it! the whole slope is peppered with the fallen!" "what a cost! magnificent, but not war. carrying their flag in the good old way, right at the front!" "heavens! i hope they do it!" "the flag's down!" "another man has it--it's up!" "now--now--splendid! they're in!" "so they are! and the flag, too!" "yes, what's left are in!" "and lanstron was there--in that!" "what if--" "yes, the chief of staff, the head of the army, in an affair like that!" "the mind of the army--the mind that was to direct our advance!" "when all the honors of the world are his!" their words were acid-tipped needles knitting back and forth through marta's brain. was lanny one of those black specks that peppered the slope? was he? was he? "telephone and--and see if lanny is--is killed!" she begged. she knew not how she uttered that monstrous word killed. but utter it she did in its naked terror. now she knew a simpler feeling than that of the grand sympathy of the dreamer with the horrors of war as a whole. she knew the dumb, helpless suspense of the womenfolk remaining at home watching for the casualty lists that westerling had suppressed. what mattered policies of statesmen and generals, propagandas and tactics, to them? the concern of each wife or sweetheart was with one--one of the millions who was greater to the wife or the sweetheart than all the millions. marta was not thinking of sending thousands to death. had she sent _him_ to death? the agony of waiting, waiting there among these strangers, waiting for that little instrument at the end of a wire to say whether or not he were alive, became insupportable. "i'll go--i'll go out there where he is!" she said incoherently, still looking toward the knoll with glazed eyes. she thought she was walking fast as she started for the garden gate, but really she was going slowly, stumblingly. "i think you had better stop her if you can," said the general to his aide. the aide overtook her at the gate. "we shall know about his excellency before you can find out for yourself," he said; and, young himself, he could put the sympathy of youth with romance into his tone. "you might miss the road, even miss him, when he was without a scratch, and be for hours in ignorance," he explained. "in a few minutes we ought to have word." marta sank down weakly on the tongue of a wagon, overturned against the garden wall in the mêlée of the retreat, and leaned her shoulder on the wheel for support. "if the women of the grays waited four weeks," she said with an effort at stoicism, "then i ought to be able to wait a few minutes." "depend on me. i'll bring news as soon as there is any," the aide concluded, and, seeing that she wished to be alone, he left her. for the first time she had real oblivion from the memory of her deceit of westerling, the oblivion of drear, heart-pulling suspense. all the good times, the sweetly companionable times, she and lanny had had together; all his flashes of courtship, his outburst in their last interview in the arbor, when she had told him that if she found that she wanted to come to him she would come in a flame, passed in review under the hard light of her petty ironies and sarcasms, which had the false ring of coquetry to her now, genuine as they had been at the time. through her varying moods she had really loved him, and the thing that had slumbered in her became the drier fuel for the flame--perhaps too late. her thought, her feeling was as if he were not chief of staff, but a private soldier, and she were not a woman who had girdled the world and puckered her brow over the solution of problems, but a provincial girl who had never been outside her village--his sweetheart. all questions of the army following up its victory, of his responsibilities and her fears that he would go on with conquest, faded into the fact of life--his life, as the most precious thing in the world to her. for him, yes, for him she had played the spy, as that village girl would for her lover, thinking of warm embraces; for him she had kept steady under the strain. without him--what then? it seemed that the fatality that had let him escape miraculously from the aeroplane accident, made him chief of staff, and brought him victory, might well choose to ring down the curtain of destiny for him in the charge that drove the last foot of the invader off the soil of the browns.... a voice was calling.... she heard it hazily, with a sudden access of giddy fear, before it became a cheerful, clarion cry that seemed to be repeating a message that had already been spoken without her understanding it. "he's safe, safe, safe, miss galland! he was not hit! he is on his way back and ought to be here very soon!" she heard herself saying "thank you!" but that was not for some time. the aide was already gone. he had had his thanks in the effect of the news, which made him think that a chief of staff should not receive congratulations for victory alone. lanny would return through the garden. she remained leaning against the wagon body, still faint from happiness, waiting for him. she was drawing deeper and longer breaths that were velvety with the glow of sunshine. a flame, the flame that lanny had desired, of many gentle yet passionate tongues, leaping hither and thither in glad freedom, was in possession of her being. when his figure appeared out of the darkness the flame swept her to her feet and toward him. though he might reject her he should know that she loved him; this glad thing, after all the shame she had endured, she could confess triumphantly. but she stopped short under the whip of conscience. where was her courage? where her sense of duty? what right had she, who had played such a horrible part, to think of self? there were other sweethearts with lovers alive who might be dead on the morrow if war continued. the flame sank to a live coal in her secret heart. another passion possessed her as she seized lanstron's hand in both her own. "lanny, listen! not the sound of a shot--for the first time since the war began! oh, the blessed silence! it's peace, peace--isn't it to be peace?" as they ascended the steps she was pouring out a flood of broken, feverish sentences which permitted of no interruption. "you kept on fighting to-day, but you won't to-morrow, will you? it isn't i who plead--it's the women, more women than there are men in the army, who want you to stop now! can't you hear them? can't you see them?" in the fervor of appeal, before she realized his purpose, they were on the veranda and at the door of the dining-room, where the brown staff was gathered around the table. "i still rely on you to help me, marta!" he whispered as he stood to one side for her to enter. xlvi the last shot "miss galland!" blinking as she came out of the darkness into the bright light, with a lock of her dew-sprinkled dark hair free and brushing her flushed cheek, marta saw the division chiefs of the browns, after their start when lanstron spoke her name, all stand at the salute, looking at her rather than at him. the reality in the flesh of the woman who had been a comrade in service, sacrificing her sensibilities for their cause, appealed to them as a true likeness of their conceptions of her. in their eyes she might read the finest thing that can pass from man's to woman's or from man's to man's. these were the strong men of her people who had driven the burglar from her house with the sword of justice. their tribute had the steadfast loyalty of soldiers who were craving to do anything in the world that she might ask, whether to go on their knees to her or to kill dragons for her. "i may come in?" she asked. "who if not you is entitled to the privilege of the staff council?" exclaimed the vice-chief. the others did not propose to let him do all the honors. each murmured words of welcome on his own account. "we are here, thanks to you!" "and, thanks to you, our flag will float over the gray range!" she must be tired, was their next thought. four or five of them hurried to place a chair for her, the vice-chief winning over his rivals, more through the exercise of the rights of rank than by any superior alacrity. "you are appointed actual chief of staff and a field-marshal!" said the vice-chief to lanstron. "the premier says that every honor the nation can bestow is yours. the capital is mad. the crowds are crying: 'on to the gray capital!' to-morrow is to be a public holiday and they are calling it lanstron day. the thing was so sudden that the speculators who depressed our securities in the world's markets have got their due--ruin! and we ought to get an indemnity that will pay the cost of the war." seated at one side, marta could watch all that passed, herself unobserved. she noted a touch of color come to lanstron's cheeks as he made a little shrug of protest. "it never rains but it pours!" he said. "we were all just as able and loyal yesterday as to-day when we find ourselves heroic. we owe our victory to partow's plans, to the staff's industry, the spirit of the people and the army, and--" he threw a happy smile toward marta. "perhaps it ought to be galland day rather than lanstron day," remarked the vice-chief. "the crowds at the capital when they know her part might cheer her more frenziedly than you, general." "no, no--please, no!" marta was hectic in alarm and protest. "your secret is ours! it's in the family!" the vice-chief hastened to assure her. where could a secret be safe if not in the keeping of an army staff? "that was almost like teasing!" she exclaimed with a laugh of relief. "we're all in pretty good humor," remarked the vice-chief. he seemed to have a pleasant taste in his mouth that would last him for life. then marta saw their faces grow businesslike and keen, as they gathered around the table, with lanstron at the head. they were oblivious of her presence, immured in a man's world of war. "your orders were obeyed. we have not passed a single white post yet!" said the vice-chief impatiently. "as the grays never expected to take the defensive, their fortresses are inferior. every hour we wait means more time for them to fortify, more time to recover from their demoralization. our dirigibles having command of the air--we had a wireless from one reporting all clear half-way to the gray capital--why, we shall know their concentrations while they are ignorant of ours. it's the nation's great opportunity to gain enough provinces to even the balance of population with the grays. with the unremitting offensive, blow on blow, using the spirit of our men to drive in mass attacks at the right points, the gray range is ours!" marta scanned the faces of the staff for some sign of dissent only to find nothing but the ardor of victory calling for more victory, which reflected the feeling of the coursing crowds in the capital. though lanny wished to stop the war, he was only a chip on the crest of a wave. public opinion, which had made him an idol, would discard him as soon as he ceased to be a hero in the likeness of its desires. she saw him aloof as the others, in preoccupation, bent over the map outlining the plan of attack that they had worked out while awaiting their chief's return from the charge. he was taking a paper from his pocket and looking from one to another of his colleagues studiously; and she was conscious of that determination in his smile which she had first seen when he rose from the wreck of his plane. "this is from partow: a message for you and the nation!" he announced, as he spread a few thin, typewritten pages out on the table. "i was under promise never to reveal its contents unless our army drove the grays back across the frontier. the original is in the staff vaults. i have carried this copy with me." at the mention in an arresting tone of that name of the dead chief, to which the day's events had given the prestige of one of the heroes of old, there was grave attention. "i think we have practically agreed that the two individuals who were invaluable to our cause were partow and miss galland," lanstron remarked tentatively. he waited for a reply. it was apparent that he was laying a foundation before he went any further. "certainly!" said the vice-chief. "and you!" put in another officer, which brought a chorus of assent. "no, not i--only these two!" lanstron replied. "or, i, too, if you prefer. it little matters. the thing is that i am under a promise to both, which i shall respect. he organized and labored for the same purpose that she played the spy. when we sent the troops forward in a counter-attack and pursuit to clear our soil of the grays; when i stopped them at the frontier--both were according to partow's plan. he had a plan and a dream, this wonderful old man who made us all seem primary pupils in the art of war." could this be that terrible partow, a stroke of whose pencil had made the galland house an inferno? marta wondered as lanstron read his message--the message out of the real heart of the man, throbbing with the power of his great brain. his plan was to hold the grays to stalemate; to force them to desist after they had battered their battalions to pieces against the brown fortifications. his dream was the thing that had happened--that an opportunity would come to pursue a broken machine in a bold stroke of the offensive. "i would want to be a hero of our people for only one aim, to be able to stop our army at the frontier," he had written. "then they might drive me forth heaped with obloquy, if they chose. i should like to see the grays demoralized, beaten, ready to sue for peace, the better to prove my point that we should ask only for what is ours and that our strength was only for the purpose of holding what is ours. then we should lay up no legacy of revenge in their hearts. they could never have cause to attack again. civilization would have advanced another step." lanstron continued to read to the amazed staff, for partow's message had looked far into the future. then there was a p.s., written after the war had begun, on the evening of the day that marta had gone from tea on the veranda with westerling to the telephone, in the impulse of her new purpose. "i begin to believe in that dream," he wrote. "i begin to believe that the chance for the offensive will come, now that my colleague, miss galland, in the name of peace has turned practical. there is nothing like mixing a little practice in your dreams while the world is still well this side of utopia, as the head on my old behemoth of a body well knows. she had the right idea with her school. the oath so completely expressed my ideas--the result of all my thinking--that i had a twinge of literary jealousy. my boy, if you do reach the frontier, in pursuit of a broken army, and you do not keep faith with my dream and with her ideals, then you will get a lesson that will last you forever at the foot of the gray range. but i do not think so badly as that of you or of my judgment of men." "lanny! lanny!" the dignity of a staff council could not restrain marta. her emotion must have action. she sprang to his side and seized his hand, her exultation mixed with penitence over the why she had wronged him and partow. their self-contained purpose had been the same as hers and they had worked with a soldier's fortitude, while she had worked with whims and impulses. she bent over him with gratitude and praise and a plea for forgiveness in her eyes, submerging the thing which he sought in them. he flushed boyishly in happy embarrassment, incapable of words for an instant; and silently the staff looked on. "and i agree with partow," lanstron went on, "that we cannot take the range. the grays still have numbers equal to ours. it is they, now, who will be singing 'god with us!' with their backs against the wall. with partow's goes my own appeal to the army and the nation; and i shall keep faith with partow, with miss galland, and with my own ideas, if the government orders the army to advance, by resigning as chief of staff--my work finished." westerling and his aide and valet, inquiring their way as strangers, found the new staff headquarters of the grays established in an army building, where bouchard had been assigned to trivial duties, back of the gray range. as their former chief entered a room in the disorder of maps and packing-cases, the staff-officers rose from their work to stand at salute like stone images, in respect to a field-marshal's rank. there was no word of greeting but a telling silence before turcas spoke. his voice had lost its parchment crinkle and become natural. the blue veins on his bulging temples were a little more pronounced, his thin features a little more pinched, but otherwise he was unchanged and he seemed equal to another strain as heavy as the one he had undergone. "we have a new government, a new premier," he said. "the old premier was killed by a shot from a crowd that he was addressing from the balcony of the palace. after this, the capital became quieter. as we get in touch with the divisions, we find the army in better shape than we had feared it would be. there is a recovery of spirit, owing to our being on our own soil." "yes," replied westerling, drowning in their stares and grasping at a straw. "only a panic, as i said. if--" his voice rising hoarsely and catching in rage. "we have a new government, a new premier!" turcas repeated, with firm, methodical politeness. westerling looking from one face to another with filmy eyes, lowered them before bouchard. "there's a room ready for your excellency up-stairs," turcas continued. "the orderly will show you the way." now westerling grasped the fact that he was no longer chief of staff. he drew himself up in a desperate attempt at dignity; the staff saluted again, and, uncertainly, he followed the orderly, with the aide and valet still in loyal attendance. meanwhile, the aerial scouts of the grays were puzzled by a moving cloud on the landscape several miles away. it filled the highway and overflowed into the fields, without military form: women and men of every age except the fighting age, marching together in a sinister militancy of purpose. "bring the children, too!" cried the leaders. "they've more right to be heard than any of us." from such a nucleus it seemed that the whole population of the land might be set in motion by a common passion. neither the coming of darkness nor a chill rain kept recruits from village and farmhouse from dropping their tasks and leaving meals unfinished to swell the ranks. what westerling had called the bovine public with a parrot's head had become a lion. "there's no use of giving any orders, to stop this flood," said an officer who had ridden fast to warn the gray staff. "the police simply watch it go by. soldiers ready to lay down their lives to hold the range give it godspeed when they learn what it wants. both are citizens before they are soldiers or policemen. the thing is as elemental as an earthquake or a tidal wave." "public opinion! unanimous public opinion! nothing can stop that!" exclaimed turcas in dry fatalism. "you will inform his excellency," he said to westerling's aide, "that they are coming for him--all the people are coming, and we are powerless. and--" even turcas's calmness failed him and his voice caught in a convulsive swallow. "i--i understand!" the aide said thickly, and went up-stairs. he had suffered worse than in seeing his chief beaten; but even in disillusion he was loyal. he was back immediately, and paused at the foot of the stairs stonily, in the attitude of one who listens for something; while the tramp of thousands of feet came pressing in upon all sides. as one great, high-pitched voice, the crowd shouted its merciless demand; and eyes eager with the hunt as those of soldiers in pursuit gleamed through the windows out of the darkness. bouchard, hawk-eyed, stern, was standing by the street door. his mediæval spirit revolted at the thought of any kind of a mob. for such demonstrations he had a single simple prescription--cold lead. "we cannot strike the overwhelming spirit which we would forge into the nation's defence," said turcas. the door was flung open and bouchard drew back abruptly at the sight; he drew back in fear of his own nature. if any one should so much as lay hands on him when he was in uniform, a sword thrust would resent the insult to his officer's honor; and even he did not want to strike grandfathers and children and mothers. two figures were in the doorway: a heavy-set market woman with a fringe of down on her lip and a cadaverous, tidily dressed old man, who might have been a superannuated schoolmaster, with a bronze cross won in the war of forty years ago on his breast and his eyes burning with the youthful fire of grandfather fragini's. "they got the premier in the capital. we've come for westerling! we want to know what he did with our sons! we want to know why he was beaten!" cried the market woman. "yes," said the veteran. "we want him to explain his lies. why did he keep the truth from us? we were ready to fight, but not to be treated like babies. this is the twentieth century!" "we want westerling! tell westerling to come out!" rose the impatient shouts behind the two figures in the doorway. "you are sure that he has one?" whispered turcas to westerling's aide. "yes," was the choking answer--"yes. it is better than that"--with a glance toward the mob. "i left my own on the table." "we can't save him! we shall have to let them--" turcas's voice was drowned by a great roar of cries, with no word except "westerling" distinguishable, that pierced every crack of the house. a wave of movement starting from the rear drove the veteran and the market woman and a dozen others through the doorway toward the stairs. then the sound of a shot was heard overhead. "the man you seek is dead!" said turcas, stepping in front of the crowd, his features unrelenting in authority. "now, go back to your work and leave us to ours." "i understand, sir," said the veteran. "we've no argument with you." "yes!" agreed the market woman. "but if you ever leave this range alive we shall have one. so, you stay!" looking at the bronze cross on the veteran's faded coat, the staff saluted; for the cross, though it were hung on rag's, wherever it went was entitled by custom to the salute of officers and "present arms" by sentries. as news of the shot travelled among the people the cries dropped into long-drawn breaths of thirst satiated. their mission was fulfilled. the tramp of their feet as they dispersed homeward mingled with the urging of officers to weary men and the rumbling of wagons and guns and the sound of pick and spade on the range, where torches flickered over the heads of the working parties. but no other shot after the one heard from westerling's room was fired. the grays were at grip with the fact of disaster. an angry, wounded animal that had failed of its kill was facing around at the mouth of its lair for its own life. "we're tired--we're all tired; but keep up--keep up!" urged the officers. "we have a new chief of staff and there will be no more purposeless sacrifices. it's their turn at the charge; ours to hold. we'll give them some of the medicine they've been giving us. god with us! our backs against the wall!" after lanstron's announcement to the brown staff of his decision not to cross the frontier, there was a restless movement in the chairs around the table, and the grimaces on most of the faces were those with which a practical man regards a utopian proposal. the vice-chief was drumming on the table edge and looking steadily at a point in front of his fingers. if lanstron resigned he became chief. "partow might have this dream before he won, but would he now?" asked the vice-chief. "no. he would go on!" "yes," said another officer. "the world will ridicule the suggestion; our people will overwhelm us with their anger. the grays will take it for a sign of weakness." "not if we put the situation rightly to them," answered lanstron. "not if we go to them as brave adversary to brave adversary, in a fair spirit." "we can--we shall take the range!" the vice-chief went on in a burst of rigid conviction when he saw that opinion was with him. "nothing can stop this army now!" he struck the table edge with his fist, his shoulders stiffening. "please--please, don't!" implored marta softly. "it sounds so like westerling!" the vice-chief started as if he had received a sharp pin-prick. his shoulders unconsciously relaxed. he began a fresh study of a certain point on the table top. lanstron, looking first at one and then at another, spoke again, his words as measured as they ever had been in military discussion and eloquent. he began outlining his own message which would go with partow's to the premier, to the nation, to every regiment of the browns, to the grays, to the world. he set forth why the browns, after tasting the courage of the grays, should realize that they could not take their range. partow had not taught him to put himself in other men's places in vain. the boy who had kept up his friendship with engine-drivers after he was an officer knew how to sink the plummet into human emotions. he reminded the brown soldiers that there had been a providential answer to the call of "god with us!" he reminded the people of the lives that would be lost to no end but to engender hatred; he begged the army and the people not to break faith with that principle of "not for theirs, but for ours," which had been their strength. "i should like you all to sign it--to make it simply the old form of 'the staff has the honor to report,'" he said finally. there was a hush as he finished--the hush of a deep impression when one man waits for another to speak. all were looking at him except the vice-chief, who was still staring at the table as if he had heard nothing. yet every word was etched on his mind. the man whose name was the symbol of victory to the soldiers, who would be more than ever a hero as the news of his charge with the african braves travelled along the lines, would go on record to his soldiers as saying that they could not take the gray range. this was a handicap that the vice-chief did not care to accept; and he knew how to turn a phrase as well as to make a soldierly decision. he looked up smilingly to marta. "i have decided that i had rather not be a westerling, miss galland," he said. "we'll make it unanimous. and you," he burst out to lanstron--"you legatee of old partow; i've always said that he was the biggest man of our time. he has proved it by catching the spirit of our time and incarnating it." vaguely, in the whirl of her joy, marta heard the chorus of assent as the officers sprang to their feet in the elation of being at one with their chief again. lanstron caught her arm, fearing that she was going to fall, but a burning question rose in her mind to steady her. "then my shame--my sending men to slaughter--my sacrifice was not in vain?" she exclaimed. misery crept into her eyes; she seemed to be seeing some horror that would always haunt her. these businesslike men of the council were touched by a fresh understanding of her and of the reason for her success, which had demanded something more than human art--something pure and fine and fearless underneath art. they sought to win one more victory that should kill her memory of what she had done. "miss galland," said the vice-chief, "westerling's fate, whatever it is, would have been the same. he could never have taken our range. he would have only more lives to answer for, and partow's dream could not have come true." "you think that--you--all of you?" she asked. "all! all!" they said together. "yes, but for you the losses on both sides would have been greater--hundreds of thousands greater," concluded the vice-chief. "and to-night i think you helped me to see right; you struck a light in my mind when i was about to forget the law of service." "you see, then, you did hasten the end, marta," said lanstron. "yes, i do see, lanny!" she whispered. she was weak now, with no spur to her energy except her happiness as she leaned on his arm. then he felt an impulsive pressure as she looked up at him. "the law of service, as you say!" she said, turning to the vice-chief. "isn't that the finest law of all? couldn't i help you with the appeal? perhaps i might put in it a thought to reach the women. they are a part of public opinion" "i was going to suggest it, but you seemed so weary that i hadn't the heart," said lanstron. "just the thing--the mothers, wives, and sweethearts!" declared the vice-chief. "i'm not a bit tired now!" marta assured them brightly. "i'm fresh for the fight again." "another thing," added lanstron, "we ought to have the backing of the corps and division commanders." "precisely," agreed the vice-chief. "we want to make sure of this thing. we'd look silly if the old premier ordered the army on and left us high and dry; and it would mean certain disaster. shall i get them on the telephone?" "yes," said lanstron. it was long after midnight when the collaborative composition of that famous despatch was finished. "now i'm really tired, lanny," said marta as she arose from the table. "i can think only of prayers--joyful little prayers of thanks rising to the stars." she slipped her arm through his. as they moved toward the door the chiefs of divisions, keeping to the etiquette that best expressed their soldierly respect, saluted her. "if this were told, few would believe it; nor would they believe many other things in the inner history of armies which are forever held secret," thought the vice-chief. outside, the stars were twinkling to acknowledge those little prayers of thanks, and the night was sweet and peaceful, while the army slept. xlvii the peace of wisdom the sea of people packed in the great square of the brown capital made a roar like the thunder of waves against a breakwater at sight of a white spot on a background of gray stone, which was the head of an eminent statesman. "it looks as if our government would last the week out," the premier chuckled as he returned to his colleagues at the cabinet table. as yet only the brief bulletins whose publication in the newspapers had aroused the public to a frenzy had been received. the cabinet, as eager for details as the press, had remained up, awaiting a fuller official account. "we have a long communication in preparation," the staff had telegraphed. "meanwhile, the following is submitted." "good heavens! it's not from the army! it's from the grave!" exclaimed the premier as he read the first paragraphs of partow's message. "of all the concealed dynamite ever!" he gasped as he grasped the full meaning of the document, that piece of news, as staggering as the victory itself, that had lain in the staff vaults for years. "well, we needn't give it out to the press; at least, not until after mature consideration," he declared when they had reached the end of partow's appeal. "now we'll hear what the staff has to say for itself after gratifying the wish of a dead man," he added as a messenger gave him another sheet. "the staff, in loyalty to its dead leader who made victory possible, and in loyalty to the principles of defence for which the army fought, begs to say to the nation--" it was four o'clock in the morning when this despatch concluded with "we heartily agree with the foregoing," and the cabinet read the names of all the general staff and the corps and division commanders. coursing crowds in the streets were still shouting hoarsely and sometimes drunkenly: "on to the gray capital! nothing can stop us now!" the premier tried to imagine what a sea of faces in the great square would look like in a rage. he was between the people in a passion for retribution and a headless army that was supposed to charge across the frontier at dawn. "the thing is sheer madness!" he cried. "it's insubordination! i'll have it suppressed! the army must go on to gratify public demand. i'll show the staff that they are not in the saddle. they'll obey orders!" he tried to get lanstron on the long distance. "sorry, but the chief has retired," answered the officer on duty sleepily. "in fact, all the rest of the staff have, with orders that they are not to be disturbed before ten." "tell them that the premier, the head of the government, their commander, is speaking!" "yes, sir. but the staff were up all last night and most of to-night, not to mention a pretty busy day. when they had finished their report to you, sir, they were utterly done up. yes, the orders not to disturb them are quite positive, and as a junior i could not do so except by their orders as superiors. the chief, before retiring, however, repeated to me, in case any inquiry came from you, sir, that there was nothing he could add to the staff's message to the nation and the army. it is to be given to the soldiers the first thing in the morning, and he will let you know how they regard it." "confound these machine minds that spring their surprises as fully executed plans!" exclaimed the premier. "it's true--par tow and the staff have covered everything--met every argument. there is nothing more for them to say," said the foreign minister. "but what about the indemnity?" demanded the finance minister. he was thinking of victory in the form of piles of gold in the treasury. this question, too, was answered. "war has never brought prosperity," partow had written. "its purpose is to destroy, and destruction can never be construction. the conclusion of a war has often assured a period of peace; and peace gave the impetus of prosperity attributed to war. a man is strong in what he achieves, not through the gifts he receives or the goods he steals. indemnity will not raise another blade of wheat in our land. to take it from a beaten man will foster in him the desire to beat his adversary in turn and recover the amount and more. then we shall have the apprehension of war always in the air, and soon another war and more destruction. remove the danger of a european cataclysm, and any sum extorted from the grays becomes paltry beside the wealth that peace will create. an indemnity makes the purpose of the courage of the grays in their assaults and of the browns in their resistance that of the burglar and the looter. there is no money value to a human life when it is your own; and our soldiers gave their lives. do not cheapen their service." "considering the part that we played at the hague," observed the foreign minister, "it would be rather inconsistent for us not to--" "there is only one thing to do. lanstron has got us!" replied the premier. "we must jump in at the head of the procession and receive the mud or the bouquets, as it happens." with partow's and the staff's appeals went an equally earnest one from the premier and his cabinet. naturally, the noisy element of the cities was the first to find words. it shouted in rising anger that lanstron had betrayed the nation. army officers whom partow had retired for leisurely habits said that he and lanstron had struck at their own calling. but the average man and woman, in a daze from the shock of the appeals after a night's celebration, were reading and wondering and asking their neighbors' opinions. if not in partow's then in the staff's message they found the mirror that set their own ethical professions staring at them. before they had made up their minds the correspondents at the front had set the wires singing to the evening editions; for lanstron had directed that they be given the ran of the army's lines at daybreak. they told of soldiers awakening after the debauch of yesterday's fighting, normal and rested, glowing with the security of possession of the frontier and responding to their leaders' sentiment; of officers of the type favored by partow who would bring the industry that commands respect to any calling, taking lanstron's views as worthy of their profession; of that irrepressible poet laureate of the soldiers, captain stransky, i.c. (iron cross), breaking forth in a new song to an old tune, expressing his brotherhood ideas in a "we-have-ours-let-them-keep-theirs" chorus that was spreading from regiment to regiment. this left the retired officers to grumble in their coiners that war was no longer a gentleman's vocation, and silenced the protests of their natural ally in the business of making war, the noisy element, which promptly adapted itself to a new fashion in the relation of nations. again the great square was packed and again a wave-like roar of cheers greeted the white speck of an eminent statesman's head. all the ideas that had been fomenting in the minds of a people for a generation became a living force of action to break through the precedents born of provincial passion with a new precedent; for the power of public opinion can be as swift in its revolutions as decisive victories at arms. the world at large, after rubbing its forehead and readjusting its eye-glasses and clearing its throat, exclaimed: "why not? isn't that what we have all been thinking and desiring? only nobody knew how or where to begin." the premier of the browns found himself talking over the long distance to the premier of the grays in as neighborly a fashion as if they had adjoining estates and were arranging a matter of community interest. "you have been so fine in waiving an indemnity," said the premier of the grays, "that turcas suggests we pay for all the damage done to property on your side by our invasion. i'm sure our people will rise to the suggestion. their mood has overwhelmed every preconceived notion of mine. in place of the old suspicion that a brown could do nothing except with a selfish motive is the desire to be as fair as the browns. and the practical way the people look at it makes me think that it will be enduring." "i think so, for the same reason," responded the premier of the browns. "they say it is good business. it means prosperity and progress for both countries." "after all, a soldier comes out the hero of the great peace movement," concluded the premier of the grays. "a soldier took the tricks with our own cards. old partow was the greatest statesman of us all." "no doubt of that!" agreed the premier of the browns. "it's a sentiment to which every premier of ours who ever tried to down him would have readily subscribed!" the every-day statesman smiles when he sees the people smile and grows angry when they grow angry. now and then appears an inscrutable genius who finds out what is brewing in their brains and brings it to a head. he is the epoch maker. such an one was that little corsican, who gave a stagnant pool the storm it needed, until he became overfed and mistook his ambition for a continuation of his youthful prescience. * * * * * marta had yet to bear the shock of westerling's death. after learning the manner of it she went to her room, where she spent a haunted, sleepless night. the morning found her still tortured by her visualization of the picture of him, irresolute as the mob pressed around the gray headquarters. "it is as if i had murdered him!" she said. "i let him make love to me--i let my hand remain in his once--but that was all, lanny. i--i couldn't have borne any more. yet that was enough--enough!" "but we know now, marta," lanstron pleaded, "that the premier of the grays held westerling to a compact that he should not return alive if he lost. he could not have won, even though you had not helped us against him. he would only have lost more lives and brought still greater indignation on his head. his fate was inevitable--and he was a soldier." but his reasoning only racked her with a shudder. "if he had only died fighting!" marta replied. "he died like a rat in a trap and i--i set the trap!" "no, destiny set it!" put in mrs. galland. lanstron dropped down beside marta's chair. "yes, destiny set it," he said, imploringly. "just as it set your part for you. and, marta," mrs. galland went on gently, with what marta had once called the wisdom of mothers, "lanny lives and lives for you. your destiny is life and to make the most of life, as you always have. isn't it, marta?" "yes," she breathed after a pause, in conviction, as she pressed her mother's hands. "yes, you have a gift of making things simple and clear." then she looked up to lanstron and the flame in her eyes, whose leaping, spontaneous passion he already knew, held something of the eternal, as her arms crept around his neck. "you are life, lanny! you are the destiny of to-day and to-morrow!" * * * * * though it was very late autumn now, such was the warmth of the sun that, with a wrap, mrs. galland was sitting on the veranda. she was content--too content to go to town. as she had said to marta, no doubt it would be a wonderful sight, but she had never cared for public celebrations since she had lost her husband. she could get all the joys of peace she wanted looking at the garden and the landscape; and it did not matter at all now if marta were twenty-seven, or even if she were thirty or thirty odd. for the last week the people of la tir had been returning to their homes, and with the early morning those from the country districts had come swarming in for the great day. faintly she heard the cheers of the crowds pouring toward the frontier--cheers for the gray premier and cheers for lanstron and for turcas as they gathered for a purpose which looked further ahead than the mere ratification of the very simple terms of peace that left the white posts where they were before the war. "i would rather meet you here than on your range," said lanstron to turcas. "you certainly find me in a more genial frame of mind than you would have if you had met me there. and i am very delighted that things have turned out as they have," replied turcas. as soldiers of a common type of efficiency, who understood each other, they might exchange ideas. marta in the family carriage, surrounded by her children, looked on. hugo mallin, who had suggested getting acquainted with the browns in a common manoeuvre, witnessed his dream come true in miniature. his sturdy sweetheart had become a heroine of the home town since the newspapers had published the whole story of her lover's insubordination, and how he had stood at the white posts rallying stragglers, which appealed to the sentiment of the moment. people pointed her out as an example of the loyalty of conviction. his father and mother, far from hiding their faces in shame, carried their heads high in parental distinction. there was nothing unfamiliar to the student of human nature in campaigns, which many historians overlook, so keen are they to get their dates and circumstantial details correct, in the way that the gray and the brown veterans fraternized in groups, crossing and recrossing the frontier line as they labored with each other's tongues. this frequently comes with peace, when the adversaries have been of the same metal and standards of civilization. the new thing was the theme of their talk. they had little to say of the campaign itself. they drew the curtain on the horrors for purposes of personal glory and raised it only to point a lesson that should prevent another war. no, they would never try killing again. that sort of business was buried as securely as westerling's ambition. partow's name kept recurring; one of the paragraphs of his message, showing how clearly he had foreseen the effect on sentiment, was frequently quoted: "we have had war's test; who wants it repeated? we have kept peace with force between these two brave, high-spirited peoples; why not have the peace of wisdom? former sacrifices of blood have been for the glory of victory of one country over another. why not consider this one a sacrifice in common for the glory of a victory in common? if the leaders of the great nations that boast their civilization cannot find a way to a permanent understanding among themselves, while they stand for the peace of the world, then the very civilization which produced the resolute, intelligent courage and the arms and organization that we have seen in being is a failure. surely, the brains that directed these great armies ought to be equal to some practical plan. meet the conditions of international distrust, if you will, by establishing a neutral zone ten miles broad along the frontier free of all defences. let the grays guard five miles of it on the brown side and the browns five miles on the gray side, as insurance against surprise or the ambitions of demagogues. what an example for those other nations beyond europe, as yet lacking your organization and progress, whom you must aid and direct! what a return to you in both moral and commercial profit! keep armed, in reason; keep strong, but only as an international police force." * * * * * the keen air had given mrs. galland the best appetite she had had for months. she was beginning to fear a late luncheon, when marta appeared at the garden gate with the man whose legions had followed in the footsteps of other winning armies through the pass. he was happier than the old baron, when plundering was at its best, or the roman commander with rome cheering him. mrs. galland's smile had the bliss of family paradise regained as she watched them in a swinging hand-clasp coming up the terrace steps. the picture they made might have seemed effeminate to the baron. yet we are not so sure of that. marta had always insisted that he was perfectly human, too, according to his lights. possibly the roman commander swung hands with a roman girl as soon as he could get away from the crowd around his triumphal car. "mother, it's a shame that you missed it!" marta called. "why, there are so many great things in the air that it makes me feel a conservative! they're actually discussing disarmament and an international peace pact for twenty years," she continued, "that nothing can break. partow's statue in our capital is to have not victory, but peace on the fourth face of the plinth. they're even talking of putting up a statue to him in the gray capital. why not? the grays have a statue of one of our great poets and we of one of their great scientists. and, to be as polite as they, we propose to honor one of their old generals who was almost as generous in victory as partow. what a session of the school next sunday! we're going to have the children from both la tir and south la tir!... the only trouble is that if lanny keeps on giving partow all the credit for the good work he will succeed in making everybody think that every time he winked after partow's death it was according to partow's directions for the conduct of the war!" "then i shall have the more time for you," replied lanstron, who, being a real soldier of his time, did not care for hero worship. it was entirely contrary to partow's teachings.