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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6351-0.txt b/6351-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b4253c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/6351-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6952 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Fleece, by Will Levington Comfort + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Red Fleece + +Author: Will Levington Comfort + + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6351] +This file was first posted on November 29, 2002 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +RED FLEECE + +By Will Levington Comfort + + +Author of “Midstream,” “Down Among Men,” “Fate Knocks At the Door,” + “Routledge Rides Alone,” Etc., Etc. + + +1915 + + +TO THE HOUR--WHEN TROOPS TURN HOME + + + + +CONTENTS + +I. THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + +II. THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +III. THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +IV. IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +V. THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +VI. THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +VII. THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + + + +I + +THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + + +Peter Mowbray first saw her at the corner of Palace Square nearest +the river. He was not in the least the kind of young man who appraises +passing women, very far from a starer. At the instant their eyes met, +his thoughts had been occupied with work matters and the trickery of +events. In fact, there was so much to do that he resented the intrusion, +found himself hoping in the first flash that she would show some flaw to +break the attraction. + +It may have been that her eyes were called to the passer-by just as his +had been, without warning or volition. In any event their eyes met full, +leisurely in that stirring silence before the consciousness of self, +time, place and convention rushes in. ... Though she seemed very poor, +there was something about her beyond reach in nobility. He was left with +the impression of the whitest skin, the blackest hair and the reddest +lips, but mainly of a gray-eyed girl--eyes that had become wider and +wider, and had filled with sudden amazement (doubtless at her own +answering look) before they turned away. + +Desolation was abroad in Warsaw after this encounter. Mowbray thought +of New York with loneliness, the zest gone from all present activity. +Presently with curious grip his thoughts returned to a certain luncheon +in New York with a tired literary man who had talked about women with +the air of a connoisseur. The pith of the writer's observations was +restored to his mind in this form: + +“If I were to marry again it would be to a Latin woman--French, Italian, +even Spanish--a close-to-nature woman born and bred in one of the +Mediterranean countries. Not a blue-blood, for that has to do with +decadence, but a woman of the people. They are passionate but pure, as +Poe would say. If they find a man of any value, he becomes their world. +They are strong natural mothers--mothering their children and their +husband, too,--and immune to common sicknesses. Given a little food, +they know enough to prepare it with art. If a man has a bit of a dream +left, such a woman will either make him forget it painlessly, or she +will make it come true.” + +There was no apparent relation, and none that proved afterward. What he +had seen at the corner of Palace Square nearest the Vistula was not the +face of a Latin woman, nor was any looseness of common birth evident in +it. The key might have had to do with the little hat she wore, just a +hat for wearing on the head, a protection against sun and rain, and with +the austerely simple black dress; but these weathered exteriors again +were effective in contrast to the vivid freshness of her natural +coloring. As for what remained of the literary man's picture of the +ideal woman to marry, it was the last word of decadence--the eminent +selfishness of a man willing to accept the luxury of a woman who asks +little to be happy. ... The next day at the same time and place Mowbray +was there, and saw her coming from afar. + +She seemed both afraid and angry, stopped abruptly and asked in Polish +what he wanted. He was startled. It was a hard moment. He explained with +difficulty that her language was as yet an inconvenient vehicle for him. + +“You are not Russian?” she said in French. + +He shook his head. She seemed to be relieved and he wondered why. + +“What do you want?” she asked, though not quite with the original +asperity. + +“It did not occur to me you would notice,” he said in the language she +had ventured. “I saw you yesterday. You made me think of New York. As +I was near to-day, I hoped to see you again---” + +“You are American?” She spoke now in English, and with a still softer +intonation. + +“Yes,--you speak English, too?” + +“I like it. It is---” she checked herself and asked with just a shade of +coldness, “Is there anything I can do for you?” + +It might be construed as a courtesy to a stranger from one who lived in +Warsaw. Peter liked it, a certain vista opening. However, there was no +answer within reach except the truth, and he plunged: + +“I should like to know you better.” + +The red lower lip disappeared beneath the other. Her gray eyes grew very +wide; something intrepid and exquisite in her manner as she searched +his face. Whatever she knew of the world, she dared still to trust her +intuition--this was something of the revelation he drew. + +“Why?” + +Many people were passing. He looked toward the quieter center of the +Square. + +“Will you walk with me there?” he asked. “It is not easy to explain this +sort of thing---” + +“No. I must go on. You may walk a little way.” + +“You are very good.... You see, I cannot tell just _why_--as you +asked. If I knew you well, I could tell you. Yesterday I was quite +unromantic---” + +She made it hard for him and did not let him see her smile. “You mean +you are romantic to-day?” + +Peter laughed. “What a trap--and I was trying so hard to tell you.” + +“You _were_ trying---” + +“I don't need to tell you. All there is to say is that I want you to be +my friend.” + +“I should have to think,” she answered. + +“Of course. ... Do you pass here every day?” + +“I should have to think,” she said. + +It was the third day afterward that she passed again. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +The first time that Boylan of the _Rhodes News Agency_ of New York saw +Peter Mowbray was in the office of Lonegan of _The States_, Mowbray's +chief in Warsaw. Lonegan had known Peter in New York and had wanted him +for his second many months before the fact was brought about. This +was the Boylan of the Schmedding Polar Failure, of various wars and +expeditions, a huge spectacle of a man, an old-timer, and very fond of +Lonegan, though as representative of _Rhodes'_ he was structurally the +competitor of _The States_ in this territory. + +“Young Mowbray may be all right,” Boylan observed, “but the curse of +the student is on him. I should say that he isn't gusty enough for hard +work--vest buttons too safe--” + +“You can't measure health by the pound,” Lonegan observed, regarding the +other's bulk with one eye shut. + +“I never heard of Mowbray spending much time in bed outside of the small +hours.” + +“How old is he?” + +“Twenty-six or seven.” + +“I suppose he put on his gear all in a year or two?” + +“There is that look about him, but he's safely over it. Some people +never stop, but I've had to look up at him from the same angle now and +then during the last five years.... It was just a little before that +he happened into--his route like mine--his cub-year in London, then +assistant in Antwerp, then in Dresden. He had Dresden alone for a year. +I've been angling for him some time----” + +“Yes,” Boylan remarked, “you need the right kind of help to stand up +with _Rhodes_ from this end----” + +“You do make it wildly exciting,” Lonegan answered gently. “We'll rock +Peter yet.” + +This chat took place in June. Ten weeks afterward Boylan came in with +the big news, and found Lonegan bending over the following cablegram, +almost the last that came through in the private cipher of _The States:_ + +Get Mowbray post with Russians. We are mailing influential matters. +Warsaw key-desk for northern campaigns. We are to be congratulated on +having Lonegan there. + +It was from the Old Man, who in certain cases ventured thus to be +expensively felicitous.... + +“I'm sorry, Lonegan,” Boylan said. “I thought you would be taking the +field---” + +“No, the Old Man's got the right eye for these affairs. I'm a desk man.” + +What Lonegan had swallowed to make his voice clear and steady, only he +knew, but his nerve was effective. “You've got to help me, Boylan,” + he said. “You know the military end. You've got to help me get him +attached. I know you'd do it for me, but I want you to do it for him--” + +A grunt from the big man, who disappeared. + +...Lonegan's lip curled. Again it was only Lonegan who knew why. He +read the cablegram carefully again, and felt his face as if speculating +whether he could wait until morning for a shave. There was routine +to do, and the developments of the day to file. Peter was on a mail +story.... It occurred to him presently that his second would be +interested in this eventuality from the Office. He called several places +by 'phone without locating the younger man. + +“He's with the woman,” Lonegan concluded. + +Peter had left her address somewhere, but it was not at hand; neither +was her house available to telephone. Lonegan took down the Warsaw +directory, and came finally to the street-number after this line: + +“_Bertha Solwicz, sempstress_.” + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +She, too, was almost a stranger in Warsaw, and lonely. Each had their +work, and many hours each day were required for it; still, after the +first fortnight, they managed to meet often. Peter's time was hers, for +he had the habit of leaving his feature-letter for the quiet hours of +the night. + +“I hate the name of Solwicz,” she told him the first time he came to her +house, “especially from you. And you must call me _Berthe_, not Bertha.” + In spite of her obvious lack of means, she had a few friends of rare +quality, and yet he did not meet them. On her table that first day, he +picked up a little book of poems, the leader of which was entitled _We +Are Free_. Peter had read it a few weeks before and given it a quality +of appreciation that was seldom called in these days. Just now he noted +that the volume was affectionately inscribed to her from the author, +Moritz Abel. She spoke of him and of the group of young master workmen +to which he belonged. Then she read the poem, as they stood together. It +was a moment of honor to the poet. Peter had turned pale, and the little +room was hushed about them, as if Warsaw were suddenly stilled. + +“You see what they are doing,” she said. “There is a new race of artists +in Russia. They have passed the emotions---” + +“This poem was due in the world,” Peter said. “But it is still an age +ahead of the crowd.” + +“That's what makes it so hard for them--for him. He does not like that. +He would like to talk to all men straight. Moritz Abel--the name will +not be forgotten. He is like the others of the new race. They are +terrible in their calm. They have passed the emotions. They are free. +Other artists in Europe or America repress the emotions. That is but the +beginning of the mastery. When they are as great as this group of young +men, they will show the spirit of the thing, not the emotion of it. +Emotions are red. This is pure white, don't you see?” + +For three days Warsaw had been upheaved in excitement. On the afternoon +that the messenger from Lonegan brought the news of the cablegram, +Berthe and Peter were planning an excursion into the country for the +next day. She watched him closely as he read, and was sensitive enough +to realize the importance of the message, before he spoke.... He found +her gray eyes upon him. She chose her own way to break the tension: + +“The country is heaven, no doubt about that. One must die to get there. +Also one must live just so. Even when I was little, something always +happened--just as we were planning to set out for the country.” + +He showed her the message, but had hardly heard her words. His discovery +of this slender solitary red-lipped girl and what it meant, was rarely +clear at this moment. She had awakened him plane by plane, awakened his +passion and his mercy and his intuition. + +“Tell me again what you said about the country. I was away for a +minute.” + +“It is hard to think of a little excursion to the fields--with such a +holiday ahead, as you are called upon.” + +“I wasn't thinking of that either, Berthe, but of you.” + +“Of course, you will go?” + +“Doubtless.” + +“I was only talking foolishly, about our little excursion. One's own +wants are so pitifully unimportant now.” + +“I had hardly expected personally to encounter a war,” he remarked and +added smilingly, “The fact is, I hadn't thought of meeting a woman like +you.” + +“I don't believe you're as cold-blooded as you try to seem, Peter.” + +“I have fought all my life to be cold-blooded.” + +She never forgot that. “I wonder why men do it?” + +“It's the cultivation, perhaps, of that which Americans love best of +all--” + +“What?” + +“Nerve.” + +“We of Poland dare to be emotional,” she said. + +“You are an older people. You know how.” + +“One needs only to be one's self.” + +Peter smiled. “Sometimes I dare actually to be honest with you. Even +Lonegan and I take no such liberties together.” + +“It isn't a matter of courage,” she said. “You would dare anything. I +know your quiet, deadly kind of courage. That's the first thing I felt +about you.” + +It was like Mowbray not to acknowledge that such a thing had been said. + +“I came to you asleep. I wonder if I should always have remained +asleep?” + +“Your words are pretty, Peter. It makes me sad that you are going away.” + +“You remember that company of soldiers that passed us yesterday as we +walked? I had seen many such groups before--great shocky-haired fellows +who ate and drank disgustingly. But yesterday you made me see that their +blood is redder than the Little Father's--that empires ripen and go to +seed only on a grander scale than turnips.” Her eyes were gleaming. + +“We who are so wise, who have mastered ourselves, should be very good to +the peasants--and not take what they have and kill them in wars.” + +“Did I lead you to believe in any way that I felt myself mastered?” he +asked quickly. + +She touched his arm. “I was talking of the Fatherland,” she answered. + +He had met this intensity of hers before. Her scorn was neither hot +nor cold, but electric. So often when words failed her, Peter fancied +himself lost in some superb wilderness... Her own gray tone was in the +room to-day--her gray eyes and black hair that made the shadows seem +gray; her face that no night could hide from him. Sometimes his glance +was held to her lips--as one turns to the firelight. Passion there--or +was it the higher thing, _compassion?_ There was bend and give to the +black cloth she wore, as to the inflections of her voice. She could +forget herself. That was the first and the inexhaustible charm. + +It is true that she was very poor. This room which had become his +sanctuary in Warsaw was in a humble house of a common quarter. She +laughed at this, and at her many hours of work each day, for which the +return was meager. There was the sweetest pathos to him in her little +purse, and her pride in these matters was a thing of royalty. + +“My father earned the right to be poor,” she once said. + +It seemed to him that her father was mentioned in the moments most +memorable... She was at the window now, her hand lifting the shade. The +light of the gray day shone through her fingers--a long, fragile hand +that trembled. + +“Shall we walk somewhere, or must you go to your office, Peter?” + +“I won't, just yet. Yes, let's go outside.” + +They felt they must climb, a bit of suffocation in their hearts. Until +to-day there had been invariable stimulus for Mowbray in the age of all +things, even in the dusty, narrow, lower streets, but his smiling, easy +countenance was a lie that he disliked now. It pinched him cruelly to +leave her, and there was small amelioration in anything that the war +might bring. She would give him sympathy and zeal and honor for the work +and through all the lonely days, but what a lack would be of that swift +directness of purpose, the deeper seeing, the glad capacity for higher +heroism which he had found only in her presence. They crossed the +riverward corner of the Square, where they had met. He tried to tell her +how she had seemed that first day. + +“I cannot understand,” she replied. “Especially that day when I first +saw you, I had nothing.” + +Now they ascended the terraces that commanded the Vistula. The rocky +turf of the footpath, smoothed by the tread of forgotten generations +(but still whispering to her of those who had passed on); the crumbling +masonry of the retaining walls, gray with the pallor of the years; and +afar the curving, dust-swept farmlands, which had mothered a thousand +harvests, now moved with strange planting of peasant-soldiers. +Mobilization business everywhere, drilling of the half-equipped, a +singing excitement of parting, recruiting--no time for the actual +misery. + +They stood in the very frown of the fortress at sunset. A column of raw +infantry came swinging out and started the descent. A moment afterward +the roar of a folk-song came up in a gust. It was as if the underworld +suddenly had been cratered. + +“When they sing like that, and I think of what they shall soon be called +upon to do--I can hardly endure it!” she whispered.... They stood with +backs against the wall, as the tail of the column moved past. “Look at +that weary one--so spent and sick--yet trying to sing--” + +They were in the silence again. Across the river, against the red +background, they watched another column of foot-soldiers moving like a +procession of ants erect; and beyond, on the dim plain, a field battery, +just replenished to war footing, was toiling with tired beasts and +untried pieces. Mowbray thought of the human meat being herded in +Austria for those great rakish guns, as the infantry below was being +trained for distant slaughter arenas. + +“Do speak, Peter,” she whispered. + +He turned to find her white face looking up to him and very close. They +were alone. + +“You won't mind if I think about myself this once?” he asked. + +“Please do.” + +“I only want to say that, if you'll stay where you are, I'll come back +from this stuff--I was going to say, dead or alive.” + +“Do you mean I am to stay in Warsaw?” she asked. + +“No--not that exactly. I mean if you will stay where you are in regard +to me----” + +Tears filled her eyes. He would have known it even if they had not shone +through the dusk, because his fingers felt the tremor in her arms. She +tried to speak, but finished, “How utterly silly words are!” + +The face of young Mowbray was strange with emotion, pale but +brilliant-eyed, his long features bending to her. She was utter +receptivity. Neither knew until afterward how rare and perfect was this +moment. + +“Anyway--we understand. We understand, Berthe.” + +“...As for Berthe,” she said slowly, as they walked back, “her heart +will stay where you have put it, Peter. That's out of her power to +change. But the rest--I can't tell, yet----” + +It was as if a finger had crossed Mowbray's face laterally under the +eyes and across his nostrils, leaving a gray welt. + +“I know you belong to the moderns,” he said, after a moment. “We men +belong to the ancients. We want a woman to wait and weep while we go off +to the wars.” + +“We understand,” she kept repeating.... “And now, before you go, come +home with me and let me make you a cup of tea--just a cup of tea--before +you go.” + +He went with her, and, when his tea-cup was finished, he happened to +look into the bottom. + +“What do you see?” she asked quickly, taking the cup. + +“M-m-m,” said Mowbray. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Peter and Lonegan were together at dinner three hours after the message +from _The States._ + +“It's a big chance, Mowbray. That's all I can say. I stay at the +wire--no heroics.” + +“You ought to see it all from here.” + +Lonegan smiled deprecatingly. “Boylan will help you get through. You +don't know him yet. Some time, perhaps, you will--two hundred and fifty +pounds of soul. He'll do all he can to get you the same chance he +has, because I asked him; and then he'll try to make _The States_ look +obsolete as a newspaper, wherein, of course, he'll fail. But he'll try. +If he takes to you, it won't make him try less, but he'd do your stuff +and his, if you fell sick. There isn't another Boylan--a great newspaper +man, too. _The States_ will watch closely, knowing that _Rhodes'_ will +get everything possible from Boylan's part of the front. The point +is--and I think he'll want it, too--you'd better work together on the +main line of stuff, as we do here. Your letters on the side should +be better than his, because you're a better writer. As for war stuff, +Boylan is the old master--Peking, Manchuria and the Balkans--that I +think of; also the Schmedding Polar Failure. That last _was_ war--a +spectacular expedition of the Germans-- + +“I might as well make this a lecture, now that I've started,” Lonegan +went on. “The war game isn't complex. All the bewildering technicalities +that bristle from a military officer's talk are just big-name stuff +designed to keep down the contempt of the crowd--the oldest professional +trick. Whenever the crowd gets to understand your terminology your game +is cooked. You know how it is in a drug-store, and you've seen the old +family doctor look wise.... + +“There's a lot of different explosives which they fire by mathematics, +and which you can learn in part from our homely encyclopedias, but the +main game will be fought out on the same principles that Attila fought +it and Genghis Khan--numbers, traps, unexpectedness, the same dull +old flanking activities, the raid of supplies and communications, the +bending back of wings, the crimp of a line by making a hole in one +part--and all that archaic rot. As I say, the game is extinct, so far +as our modern complicated intelligences go, and the men whose names +are biggest in the papers from now on are the same old beefy type +of rudiments whom a man wouldn't associate with in times of national +quiet.... I will end this by saying that the big story is the man--the +peasant, the trooper, the one blinded little dupe, who dies, or plunges, +or loses his legs in the name of the Fatherland--” + +“I see that,” said Peter; “but what really is interesting to me is this +peasant's blindness and the monkey other men make of him--” + +“I'm glad you spoke of that, for it is a thing to avoid. Interesting, +I grant, but not popular with our kind of press. We are not servants of +the minority or the elect. You'll find Boylan exploiting the army he's +with--just as another might have done under Napoleon. By the way, where +are you going to-night?” + +“I'm going to sit at the feet of the most genial anarchist at large. His +name is Fallows, an American, who has been ten years in Russia among the +peasants.” + +“Duke Fallows--I know of him. When did he come to town?” + +“Two days ago.” + +“Peter, how did you get next?” Lonegan looked a bit in awe at the other. + +“I was asked to one of his private audiences last night.” + +Peter knew that Lonegan had many things to ask by the quick tone in +which he spoke the first question. + +“You know what Fallows will do to you?” + +“Yes, if one lets go. He has learned how to use his power. He has +brought forth his young upon the bare rocks, as somebody said.” + +“He'd turn an angel into an anarchist.” + +“A man ought not to be afraid to listen if there's a chance for him to +be proved wrong--” + +“Correct, absolutely. I am merely thinking about our job.” + +“A man gets in the habit of thinking about his job--doesn't he?” + +“Did he tell you about the plowman of Liaoyang?” + +“No, but my companion did. Fallows must have seen that episode rather +clearly.” + +“Let's not get off the job business, Peter. As I was saying, the truth +isn't popular--” + +“That doesn't sound like Lonegan.” + +“No, and I don't like the feel of saying it, but it's very much to the +point--” + +“Possibly.” + +“Mowbray, we are taking our bread, and its cake, too, from a paper that +expects us to exploit the orthodox heroics. The pity and atrocious sham +of it all has its side. But the fact still remains its side does not +furnish the stuff that American newspapers pay men and cable tolls to +furnish.” + +“Won't you come to-night?” Peter asked laughing. “Perhaps we can both +reach the high point some day when we have earned the right to be poor.” + +“That's a higher point than I dream of, Peter. I can't help but think +what a nest you've got into. Of course, I mean with Fallows and his +kind--” + +“An eagle's nest.” + +“But the eaglets are starving.” + +“Heretofore the job has been served. Come along with me and meet Duke +Fallows again--” + +“No. I must go back to the wire for the present. Boylan would be +shocked, too. By the way, I've got a bid in for you with General +Kohlvihr. Boylan is to help me put it through, of course. The more +decorated they are the more they fall for Boylan. There's a chance that +you'll start south with a column within two days. So you'd better get at +that encyclopedia stuff--” + +“Yes, I'll attend to that.” + +Peter left him smiling, and turned his steps across the Square, into a +narrow street of the poor quarter, and on toward a little room and a low +lamp, where a woman's hands sewed magically as she waited. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Fallows met them in his small bleak room, turned the lamp low, and +opened the door of the diminutive wood-stove to let the firelight in the +room. The three sat around it.... Peter Mowbray felt strange and young +beside them. The woman seemed to belong to this world, and it was a +world at war with every existing power. All Peter's training resisted +stubbornly. Still, right or wrong, there was a nobility about their +stand. He did not need to be sure their vision was absolutely true, yet +the suspicion developed that they saw more clearly than he, and acted +more purely. Mowbray did not lack anything of valor, but he lacked the +fire somehow. He loved Berthe Solwicz, could have made every sacrifice +for her, but that was a concrete thing. + +Fallow's bony knees were close to the fire. He seemed both light +and deep, often turning to Peter with secret intentness, and openly +regarding the young woman with amazement and delight. Nearing fifty, +Fallows was tall, thin and tanned. The deep lines of his face were +those which make a man look homely to himself, but often interesting +to others. His soft, low-collared shirt was somewhat of a spectacle in +consideration of the angular and weathered neck. No rest could exist in +the room that contained such loneliness as burned from his eyes. It was +said that he had been rich, though everything about him was poor now. +One would suspect the articles in his pockets to be meager and of poor +quality--the things you might find in a peasant's coat. That which he +called home was a peasant's house in the Bosk hills--the house of the +plowman of Liaoyang, whose children he fathered. Annually, however, he +went abroad, telling the story of the underdog, usually making the big +circuit from the East to the West, and stopping at a certain little +cabin within hearing distance of the whistles of Manhattan, where his +first disciple worked in solitude mainly, and against the stream. Just +now Fallows was planning a different winter's work.... They talked of +the first fighting. + +“The startling thing to realize is that for the present we are allied +with England,” said Fallows. “I mean Russia. You see, I am Russian, now, +not the Russia of the Bear, but of the Man--” + +Mowbray and the woman exchanged glances, each thinking of the tea-cup +in the afternoon.... The exile showed traces of his ten years' training +among simple men. Rhetoric and dithyramb were gone from his speech and +habit of mind. The whole study and vision of the man was to make his +words plain. Thus he said slowly: + +“The peasants are children--children in mind and soul. We who have come +a little farther are responsible for them, as a father is responsible +for his children. So far we have wronged them, taught them to grasp +instead of to give, to look down instead of up. We have even stolen from +them the fruits of their looking down. The time is near at hand when +we shall have to pay for all this.... A true father would die for his +children. I know men who have done that, and there are men about us +here, even in Warsaw tonight, who are ready for that--” + +Fallows' voice was tender. He watched the face of the woman as he spoke. +She was looking hard into the fire. + +Fallows added: “There are fifty million men here in Russia--roughly +speaking. Very strong, very simple, possibly very brutal men, but brutal +as a fine dog is brutal, a simplicity about that. I do not idealize +them. I have lived among them. I know this: They might be led to +virtue, instead of to wickedness. My heart bleeds for them being led to +slaughter again. The hard thing is to make them see, but the reason for +that is simple, too. If they could see--they would not be children. They +must be led. Never in modern history have they been purely led. Words +cannot make them see; wars so far have not made them see. It may be that +the sufferings and heroisms of this war shall be great enough to make +them see....” + +“What would you have the peasants see first?” Peter asked. + +“Their real fathers--that men of wisdom and genius are the true fathers +of the Fatherland, not the groups of predatory men. True fathers would +die for their children. To me it has been blasphemy, when the nations of +the past have called themselves Fatherlands. I would have the peasants +fathered by men who realize that the peasants are the strength and salt +of the earth; men who realize that the plan of life is good--that the +plan of life is for concord and service each to the other--that the hate +of man for man is the deadly sin, the hell of the world--that the fields +and all the treasures of the mother earth are for those who serve and +aspire, and not for those who hold fast, look down and covet more.” + +Mowbray was interested in the fact that Fallows had passed the stage +of eloquence and scorn and burning hatred against evil in persons and +institutions. There was no hue and cry about his convictions. He seemed +to live in continual amazement at the slowness with which the world +moves--the slowness to a man who is ahead and trying to pull his people +along. Moreover there was that final wisdom which Fallows revealed +from time to time--momentary loss of the conviction that he himself was +immortally right. Fallows saw, indeed, that a man may be atrociously out +of plumb, even to the point of becoming a private and public nuisance, +when allowed to feed too long alone on the strong diet of his own +convictions.... An hour sped by. Fallows replenished the fire and turned +to Berthe Solwicz. + +“All evening you've had something in your mind to tell me and I've been +giving forth. You must forgive a man for so many words--when he has been +living with little children so long. What is it?” + +“Just a reading of a tea-cup to-day--but everything you said has its +meaning concerned in it.” + +“I'm almost as interested in tea-cups as in the stars,” said Fallows. + +“You know a toy-bear, such as the Germans make?” + +“Yes--” + +“Well, it would have been like that--if one were thinking of toys. +We thought of the Russian Bear. It was perfect--in the bottom of the +cup--standing up, walking like a man--huge paunch, thick paws held out +pathetically, legs stretched out, just as he would be, rocking, you +know--” + +Fallows bowed seriously. Mowbray turned his smile to the shadows. + +“Near him,” Berthe added, “was a Russian soldier--perfect--fur cap, +high boots, tightly belted, very natty--more perfect than we see in the +streets, as if drawn from ideal. He was stabbing the bear with a long +pole, leisurely--” + +“It was a rifle and bayonet,” said Peter. “We both saw it, but didn't +speak until now. He was churning the bayonet around in the great paunch +as if feeling for the vitals. The bear looked large and helpless.” + +Fallows' bronzed head had sunk upon his chest. His eyes, red with +firelight, seemed lost to all expression. “I was thinking it would +happen in Germany first,” he said. + +A moment afterward he added: “There's a time when a man wants to die for +what he believes, and another time when he's afraid he will die before +he gets a chance to make his life count.” + +Again he paused, and then looked up to Mowbray. “It's a good omen. +That's the _real_ war.... And was it your cup?” + +“Yes.” + +“You say that you are going out for the Galician service?” + +“Yes, possibly with Kohlvihr's column.” + +“You will see much service,” said Fallows. “That used to be our +dream--to see service. It will be easier seen with the Russians. They +are not so modern in method as the French or Germans, or even the +Japanese. Of course, war is the same. The nation at the end will win +on the fields, not in the skies. The sky fulfillment is reserved for a +better utility than war. But war belongs under the sea.... You will not +be suppressed so rigidly with the Russians. You will see the side of +the war which will have the most bearing on the future. I do not believe +France and Germany are in the future as Russia is--” + +“And England?” Peter asked quickly. + +“The key to that is the wealth of the Indies--as of yore.” + +“You mean if India remains loyal?” + +“If India remains under the yoke.” + +“But, if Britain should preserve her tenure in India with the Japanese +troops--” Peter suggested. + +Fallows shuddered. “As yet I can see no philosophy under heaven to cover +that.” + +“And you think Britain and Russia are enemies in spite of this +alliance?” + +“Enemies, temperamental and structural--enemies, past and future.” + +Peter recurred to this point: “You think that India would not remain +loyal if she had arms?” + +“I was in a little village of the Punjab two years ago,” Fallows +replied, “and there was a lad of sixteen there, wonderful in promise--a +mind, a spirit. They could not raise in the village enough money to send +him across the seas steerage for his education. A single rifle costs +nearly three pounds. It is hard for us to realize how poor India is.” + +Peter stood fast against this in his mind; his intellect would not +accept.... “Are you going to take the field again, Mr. Fallows?” + +“Not in a newspaper way. I shall nurse wounded soldiers. At least they +have accepted me.... These are fearful and amazing days. We have all +been in a kind of long feeding dream, like the insects, accumulating +energy and terrible power for these days. Such death as we shall see!” + +There was silence. + +“I wonder how they are taking it in America?” Fallows mused. + +“Doubtless as an opportunity for world-trade,” said Peter. + +“Oh, I hope not!” the exile said passionately. “There must be another +America.” + +Fallows placed his hands on Berthe's shoulders, looking down: “You make +me think of a young woman I once knew,” he said. “Not that you look like +her--but that you have the same zeal _for something_.... You are a very +true daughter of your father--” + +“You knew him?” she said huskily. + +“We all knew him--we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, his +courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a pure +and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is wonderful +for me to be here with you. And this man loves you.” + +It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment. +Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the +lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for an +instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave themselves. + +“I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name,” Berthe +said. “But I am going to tell him--before he goes.” + +“He is safe,” said Fallows. “I felt free with him--almost +immediately--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter +Mowbray. It is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of +the war for _The States_. You will see great things--best of all with +the Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang +every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. +I wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of +brotherhood is faring? God, how he took to that dream! He will be a +Voice--” + +They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. “I'll go out +with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night.” + +Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had +already said too much. + +“He seems to be burning up,” said Peter. + +Berthe did not answer. + +“He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly +full of power,” Peter added. “And yet he said so little of his own +part.” + +“He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh, +Peter, where do you keep your passion?” + +“You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?” + +“Yes.” + +“I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. +But you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must +have loved the world--” + +“But you love the world--” + +“No, I love you.” + +“Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!” + +Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed +a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows' +mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She +had always talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; +now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk. + +Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows personally +was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel martyrdoms +for others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not strictly a +conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for another, it +was not good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to be just, by +thinking of Fallows' life. + +Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not come +to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up everything in +life to make the world better as he saw it. He had written and traveled +and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to poverty, all for the good +of the under-dog. + +“It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it,” Peter mused. “He +sees it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He +isn't afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I take +things as I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought otherwise, +except for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked.” + +Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main +issue that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, stuffing +her ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He braced himself +now and faced it. “If it happened to another pair, I should say it was +the finish,” he thought. “I should say that no man and woman could pass +a rock like that.... I can't get to her point of view by thinking myself +there. I'm cold--that's the word. And she's superb. I'd rather be her +friend than lord of any other woman. That won't change. And she has +spoiled everything I thought I knew. Altogether--it's a game, bright +little story--and deep.” + +Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily. + +“I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going +with him?” + +“I'm ready,” said Peter. + +“Did you have a big time?” + +“Yes.” + +“What do you think of Fallows now?” + +“I'm strong for him.” + +“Peter--you look bushed.” + +“It drains a man to spend an evening in that company. A fellow has to +have a heavy lid--not to waste fire.” + +Lonegan was worried. “You don't mean to say you're getting fevers and +emotions.” + +“I'm threatened.” + +“Mowbray--you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your +fires--not even how well you bank 'em. It isn't in you.” + +“I wish it were,” said Peter. + +* * * + +For a long time after Lonegan left he plunged into his work, but there +was no sleep for him afterward. He lay very still, breathing easily, +as the fag-end of the night crawled by. At dawn he arose, dressed +noiselessly, and went out into the city. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +It was too early to go to Berthe, yet his steps led him to the street of +her house, and he had not passed it a second time before she opened the +blinds above, and called to him. He looked at her sorrowfully, and she +met his eyes. + +“Come in, Peter. I've been so sorry! If you can forgive me, we'll have +coffee together--” + +He followed her upstairs. The premonition came that he was to take away +the image of Berthe Solwicz at its highest--inimitably enticing to his +heart, the girlish and utterly feminine spirit that had captivated the +man in his breast. She did not seem to know that she was like the woman +of the first meeting, but to him all her grace of that day had returned, +as if to complete the circle of the episode; and all that he had loved +since was added. The one thing in his life that he was proud of, was +that he had chosen this woman from the crowd.... They were in her room. +With both hands she held him in his coat, so that he could not remove +it, begging him to forget the last of last night before they could be at +rest. + +“I don't know as I want to, Berthe,” he said. “It made me think. There +are two kinds of people in the world--the kind who give and the kind who +take. We represent each. I'm afraid the difference is intrinsic. There +would be no satisfaction in me trying to be some one else--even trying +to be like you. I am what I am--and must be that. But, Berthe, I can +hold the suspicion that I am your inferior, and be pleasant about it--” + +“Peter, Peter--you don't understand. I don't love myself--nor my way +better. I am poor and tortured, carrying about a legacy, or a dream. I +need you. I can tell you now--I never needed you so much as last night +when I sent you away. I need your brain and balance--your big heart. It +was never so dear to me.” + +This was too much for him. He sat down before her. All night he had been +trying to qualify for a lower place in her heart than his earlier dreams +had called for--any place rather than to be apart--for the stuff of +adoration was in Peter Mowbray. Half-sitting, half-kneeling, she took +her place on the rug before him. + +“But first I must tell you the story. I could not tell you at once; and +since then we have managed so well. But you must know before you go. I +am not Polish, not even in name. My father's mother was a Russian woman, +but his father was an Irishman, and the name--my name--is Wyndham. My +father's given name was 'Metz'--” + +Peter had caught it all before her last sentence. “Wyndham” had +been enough. He saw clearly the natural and excellent reason for the +tenderness of Duke Fallows toward the daughter of Metz Wyndham, and +recalled the tragic story of the power and fire of this prophet of the +people, who was executed by the Russian government in the midst of the +turmoil following Red Sunday--“Metz Wyndham, the notorious Red,” as he +was denoted in the subsidized press of Petersburg, though “Metz Wyndham, +the peasants' martyr,” was a whisper which seemed destined in the end to +silence all such uproar. + +“You have heard of him? You knew his story?” + +The upturned face shone with a different bloom for his eyes. “Yes,” he +answered. + +“...I was away from Russia for years--in London and Paris,” she said +quickly. “But at last I felt I could not stay longer. I wanted to come +back here--where the struggle is so tense and constant. He worked much +here in Warsaw. All of his kind come some time to Warsaw. And so the +name _Solwicz_, which I hate; and so the fear when I found you watching +me in the street a second time, and my relief to learn that you were not +Russian-” + +“Of course I understand,” said Peter. He put his hand upon her head. “I +was in awe of you before I knew,” he added, “and yet, I always saw that +in the most vital moments something of him would come out.... I keep +seeing you with him now--what a life for a young girl--what a builder, +those years, for a young girl--and how brave you are. Berthe, I have +it--you are spoiled for common people because you were brought up with +that kind of a man. How clearly I understand last night now!” + +“There's another side to that,” she said huskily. + +“Oh, I'm sorry--” + +The most consummate plotting could not have endeared him to her as those +three words. + +“Peter, you must see it--the other side. There was no rest with him. All +his brilliance, all his brilliant companions were one part, but there +was a steady pressure of tragedy about us--from outside. And there +was tragic pressure from him. He was subject to the most terrible +melancholia. He had enough vision to see the wrong everywhere. It was +not mania. There _is_ wrong everywhere, if one looks--in judges and +cities, in nations, wars, in the kind of amusements people plunge +into--wrong and coarseness and stupidity. He loved men but hated +institutions. Sometimes, he would see it all so clearly that the sense +of his own powerlessness would come. He would cry, 'One man can't do +anything. A man like me can't be heard--oh, I can't make myself heard! +It is as if I were shut in a tomb.' He would only have been happy +passing from one great crowd to another--harrowing, pleading, +electrifying men. He would rise--even alone with me--to the heights of +his power--and then fall into the valleys because no one could hear. +That was his cry, _'I can't make myself heard!_ Then often, when he was +waiting to speak, the power would come, and leave him drained when he +faced his people. He would tell me afterward, 'If I could only have +talked to them yesterday, or an hour before!' + +“Then the doubt of self would come to him--the fear that he was wrong +or insane. 'Berthe, it can't be that the crowds are wrong; that I am +right--against all the crowds. It must be that I am insane.' He would +suffer like one damned from that. Worse than all was the fear of his +own Ego. He was more afraid of that than any other lion in the way. 'It +isn't the cause, it's me--that wants to be heard. It's the accursed me +that I am striving for--in agony to relieve. I merely use the Cause. All +the time it is myself that I wish to make heard.' That would make him +suicidal. + +“I am only telling you these moods. He was a child, a playmate, the +loveliest companion a girl ever had--seeing the beauty and analogy in +all nature and outdoors--full of jest and delights. I just wanted to +show you the other side----” + +It was all of breathless interest. + +“There came a day,” she added, as Peter watched her raptly, “when he did +make himself heard, even as he dreamed....” + +Peter thought of his reading the story--a boy at school, and was struck +with the memory of its appeal to him in the light of the present. + +“...The sustaining of his friends was taken from us at the last. They +dared not come, of course. 'Berthe, little heart, it's all right,' he +would say. 'You will have to go on alone, but the way will be shown you. +You have the strength. You have been heaven and earth to me. I must go +and leave you, but that's only a temporary matter. It will be hard--but +it has been hard _with_ me.... This is all right. It's good for what +ails the world--but you are only a little girl! My God, I dare not think +of it....' + +“I remember the dawn and the cold rain and the stone buildings--and +then to find the world's relation to his daughter. That had been spared +before. He kept it from me, and there was such a sustaining from his +friends and power. Those most concerned are slowest to learn exactly +what the world thinks of them.... It did not come until afterward, and +then it almost killed me. I was clinging to a sorrow almost sacred, and +I found that the world saw only the shame and madness of my plight. +I suddenly saw it in the eyes of the people--how they drew apart from +me.... He had only wanted to make them better. He said that all evil was +the result of men hating one another. He did not hate men, but predatory +institutions, false fatherlands, and all slave-drivers. They hanged him +for that hatred, but what was more shocking was to find that the people +whom he loved and served were horrified at his daughter....” + +It did not detract from Peter's ardor that his intellect was away for an +instant in a rather skeptical study of Metz Wyndham's life. To Peter +had come glimpses of the magnificent selfishness of this prophet of the +people. Did all great men have such an ego? If their lives were +closely examined would they all reveal, in their intimate and familiar +relations, the most subtle and insidious forms of self-service? In fact, +was not the mighty _ego_ the source of their record-making in the world? +... Peter banished this rush of conjectures. Whatever the father, the +whole art of the life of Metz Wyndham's daughter was the loss of the +love of self. + +“I feel before you,” he said, “as I once felt in the vineyards beneath +Vesuvius.” + +She smiled at him. “There are several ways to take that.” + +“Just one that I mean--and no explanation.” + +“... Peter, our last day together--all shadowy background to be put +away--” + +“And breakfast to occupy the immediate fore.” + +He went out into the street to purchase certain essentials, found some +tall white flowers, and a copper vase to put them in. They were hungry, +after the long night, and their happiness was the exquisite moments +which they found between the darkenings. They would not permit the +parting altogether to pervade. Her face was lustrous white; her eyes +made him think of those gray days on the ocean, in which one can see +great distances. More of a girl than ever she seemed to him, with her +black hair combed loosely back and hanging in a pair of braids. The +flowers stood tall between them. + +“War weather like this makes one grow quickly,” he said. “To think how +easy and content we thought ourselves--even three days ago. Now, I want +to say, 'Come, Berthe--come with me....' I want to take you to some +quiet place, back in the States, in the country by the water. Yes, north +country--by some lake that would be frozen when we got there. That's +where the silence is, that winter silence. A cabin, a roaring fire--you +and I together, alone. It seems you would be safe there, and I could +begin to be satisfied--“. + +“Peter, Peter--don't make heavens to-day!” + +“It's your particular heaven. No other would ever have made me think of +_winter_--of something austere and silent for you to ignite.” + +“I wonder, shall it ever come to me--to have peace and abundance of +nature? I have always had the cities, and now it is more war again--the +opposite to nature--but I shall think every hour of that winter cabin. +That is my place,” she added. “Another would have made you think of the +South--or the seas. I shall think of your being there with me--every +day--no matter where I am---” + +Her words had grown vague to his ears. Her lips were so red that for the +time he saw them only. He arose and went to her around the tall flowers. + +“What did you say?” he asked, after a moment. + +“I don't know--oh, yes--perhaps, if we are very good in this war, and +do all we can to make orderly our little circle of things in the great +chaos--perhaps we may earn that winter cabin and the fireplace and the +stillness. To plan our garden in the winter days---” + +“I wish I hadn't spoken of it. It's almost unearthly far--in such a +time. But, Berthe, will you ever be satisfied with one who hasn't the +white fire of passion--as you have, in the cause of the peasants?” + +“Oh, that's what I wanted to tell you. We are to be separated. We are +grown up--a man and a woman. We dare speak to each other. At least, I +dare.... Peter, I couldn't love you if you were all that--all that---” + She hesitated. + +“All that you missed in me last night?” he suggested. + +“Yes, but I didn't miss it exactly. I was excited and overwrought. You +are splendid with me. It is when others are near, that you are--cold and +unemotional. I know it's your training--that thing you Americans have +from the English. You are that way with men. You are not so with me. +But, if you were like Fallows, or like my father, I could not love you. +I would not dare---” + +“Why?” + +“First, I could not--and then I would not dare. First, that which we +are, we do not love. We love another kind--for completion----” + +“Clearly said. That must be true,” he answered quickly. “And why would +you not dare?” + +“Because we should have a little baby, and it would suffer so in coming +years. Peter, the poise and the balance--the very qualities I need in +you, and which I love, the little baby would require as his gift from +his father.” + + + + +II + +THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +Chapter 1 + + +“Hai, you, Peter--wake up!” + +It was Boylan's voice, seemingly afar off, but coming closer. + +“Wake up.... I say, young man, what do you think of it by this time?” + +Thus Peter was awakened the seventh morning out--and in a place he had +not observed the previous night. It was as good a place as usual, if not +better, except for the smell of fish that had gone before. Clearly it +had been a fish shop, business suspended some time. There were certain +scaly trays on the sloping showboards to the street; scales glistened +among the cobwebs of the low ceilings; also the floor was of turf, and +doubtless very full of phosphor, an excellent base for rose-culture. +The place dwindled and darkened to the rear, from which the head +and shoulders of Samarc presently emerged, and a moment later Little +Spenski, his companion, sat up and rubbed his eyes. These two, +invariably together, were men of a rapid-fire battery, to meet their +pieces lower in the fields, and attached for the present, as were Boylan +and Mowbray, to the staff of General Kohlvihr's command. + +“Think of what?” Peter asked. + +Boylan disdained answer. He was strapping a pigskin legging over a +bulging calf, always a severe strain. He looked up presently, reached +across and touched his forefinger to Peter's chin then to his own, which +bristled black and gray. + +“Young man, you've got a secret,” he remarked darkly. + +Peter smiled. He kept his razors in the same case as his tooth-brush, +and the case had not been mislaid so far. He could shave in the dark. + +“You're either not of age, or your face is sterile,” said Boylan. + +“The floor of this fish shop isn't,” said Peter. + +“I've been with you the last forty-eight hours straight. No sign of life +in that time.” + +“You went out looking for fresh meat at sundown. You were gone---” + +“I was gone just five minutes, because the train wasn't up. You had tea +on when I came back.” + +“There was a bit too much hot water.” + +“Peter, that will do once more, but I've got a suspicion. No man living +can shave in the saddle--so you won't be able to spring that one. +Besides, you are willing to discuss the matter.” + +“Did you ask what town this is?” + +“No,” said Boylan; “I couldn't remember if they told me. New town every +night. The only thing to name a town is a battle. God, smell the wood +smoke--doesn't it make you keen?” + +“For what?” + +Boylan looked at him. “What are we out for?” + +“Apparently the column is out for blood, but I thought you might mean +breakfast.” + +“The column will get blood, right enough,” said Boylan, “whether it gets +breakfast or not. What's the news, I wonder?” + +“I've forgotten my relation to news.... Where are you going?” + +“To see if that beef-train is in. I suppose you'll have rigged up a +turkish bath and be in the cooling room by the time I get back.” + +Peter fed the horses and had tea and black bread served for two, by +the time Boylan called from a distance: “Put on the griddle, Peter--a +regular steak.... I stopped in the farrier's on the way back and had it +anviled a bit. That's what kept me,” he added. + +Peter tossed it in the pan. Their fire was in the turf at the door +of the fish shop. Boylan drew in close, having washed noisily, and +deposited the remaining provisions in the two saddle-bags. “We're fixed +for supper and breakfast,” he remarked, with a sigh. + +“You said that the army that would win this war must win through famine. +The Russians had better begin--” + +“I didn't say anything about Mr. B. B. Boylan--” + +“Mr. Big Belt Boylan,” Peter muttered, twisting his face away from the +heat and sizzling smoke steam. The name held. + +The huge Rhodes' man liked Peter more than the latter knew, and his +likings of this sort were deep and peculiar. Boylan was nearing fifty, a +man all in one piece--thick, ponderous, hard, scarred with _la viruela_, +a saber sweep, a green-blue arc in his throat where some dart or +arrow had torn its way in between vital columns. His head was bald and +wrinkled, but very large, his neck and jaw to match, his eyes a soft +blue that once had been his secret shame. Very often he had been called +into the public glare. + +“I was so hungry once,” Boylan said, “that I've been a slave to the fear +of it ever since.” He referred to the Polar Failure. “Once in Farrel's +Island--we were four,” he added. “We drew lots to find out which one of +us we must eat. That _was_ a winter.... All you fellows may begin famine +as soon as you like. You'll come a long way before you arrive at the +personal familiarity of the subject earned by this same little fat +boy.... Turn it again, Peter.” + +Samarc rushed past, speaking excitedly in French, and in the shadows +behind they saw the eyes of Spenski, sympathetic and wistful. + +“What did he say, Peter?” Boylan asked quickly. “Samarc's French is like +my Russian.” + +“He said his face had been fixed for tea--and toast with Spenski--until +we began to steam up the place. Now he's gone to the feed-wagons.” + +“Why, bless the ruffian, there's enough here for four.” + +“I told him that, but you know Samarc.” + +Little Spenski's voice now drawled from behind. + +“We're getting low, anyway. It was right for him to fill the bags this +morning, though very kind of you to offer--” + +“I don't like that, Spenski,” said Boylan. “Bull cheek for four was my +order. Why, you fellows--” + +Boylan was going to say how consistently generous with rations and +private provisions the two Warsaw men had been, but got tangled in +the language. Peter helped him. Boylan wouldn't have it otherwise, and +quartered the steak, serving Spenski and covering the fourth with a tin. +It was an excellent feast. For five days these two pair had cautiously, +timidly even, stood for each other in that reserved way that +much-weathered men integrate a memorable friendship.... Samarc returned. +They helped him cache his provisions and drew him into the quadrangle +around the fire. There was time for an extra pot of tea, and the dawn +rose superbly. That day in the column Spenski was called into the +personal escort of Kohlvihr, Boylan accompanying. Samarc and Peter rode +as usual with the forward infantry--just behind the van, headquarters +back a quarter of a mile. + +“Tell me about Spenski,” Peter asked. “He's an interesting chap. I heard +him talking to you about the stars last evening, before supper, pointing +out Venus and Jupiter.” + +“He'll grow on you,” said Samarc, their talk in French. “He did in my +case. We've been together six years in and out of the big instrument +shop in Warsaw--Bloom's. We make a camera, microscopes and even a +telescope now and then. I invented a rather profitable objective for the +Blooms, for which they gave me a position, and a small interest that has +kept me from wandering far from Warsaw. In the first days they told me +about Spenski--his remarkable workmanship--and pointed out the wiry, +red-headed little chap with the quick imperative smile you've seen. We +got on well together from the first. It has been no small thing for +me that he likes my ways. I got him in this service, by the way, and I +don't know whether I'm very proud of that. He's a lot more famous as a +workman now than six years ago.” + +“What is his work?” Peter asked. + +“A lens-maker. His art is one of the finest of the human eye--requires +genius to begin with. Spenski's craft on a glass in many cases doubles +the price of the instrument. No one knows better what kind of a workman +he is, nor can follow his particular finish with a keener or more +appreciative eye, than old Dr. Abbe himself. Spenski has letters from +that old master. + +“He knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things--like the star stuff. He'll +name for you scores of the vague, indefinite ones, not to speak of the +larger magnitudes, which he can call by color at any hour of the night. +It was this passion of his for the stars which showed him his work as a +boy. That started him fabricating glasses to see them better. He has +a supreme eye for light, circles and foci, and a brain that just plays +with heavy mathematics--the most abstruse calculations. Yet, you see, he +carries it all with the ease of a boy. I think men who come with a task +to do are like that. It's part of them. They don't feel the weight of +what they know, because it's all through them--not localized. You might +be with Spenski an hour or a week and never know that he was more than +just a mechanic--if you were just a mechanic.” + +“It's very interesting,” said Peter, as charmed with his companion as +with the man he talked about. + +“A little while ago Spenski found his girl, and I would have +withdrawn--for that is the high test,” Samarc resumed. “But Spenski +managed to keep us both without strain.... And then the war came +along. A blight fell upon all workmanship in an hour. I had been on the +military side of things from a boy, a matter of training and heredity. +Of course, I would go. Spenski looked around the shop when I told him +this. It was stricken, the machinery cranking down, the faces of the +men white and troubled. 'I'll go, too,' said he.... I reminded him of +her.... 'She wouldn't be interested in a chap who remained at home,' he +said.... I told him of the big plants in Switzerland and America, where +he could be of great value, but he was not tempted. 'I want to go if +they'll take me in your battery,' was his last word on the matter. + +“Of course I saw to that, but there's no work here, and there won't be, +that can bring out Spenski's real values. Think of using such a man +to feed the hopper of a rapid-fire piece.... But it's good to have him +along. Spenski's a hard habit to break.” + +That night, when Boylan and Mowbray were together again, but a little +apart from the others, Big Belt said: + +“Say, Peter, that little Spenski is a card. A good little chap, smart +and modest. I like him.” + +“I found Samarc worth cultivating, too,” said Peter. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Marching south along the Vistula with the old-fashioned army--no +airships, nothing that intensely puzzled Mowbray in this service--that +is, in the exteriors of it--nothing but earth poundage and earth power, +a game that had much to do with earth and not with heaven. Seven quiet +days of marching in splendid summer weather, the raw peasant soldiery +well fed and comfortable, becoming a unit, all outbreak of separate +consciousness anywhere more and more impossible, hardening to the +peculiar day's work. They were used to heavy work, but this was a +particular task that needed specific hardening of feet and lungs; also +the personal idea in each breast required numbing. The physical aim was +to make men light for heavy work; to give them a taste of the joy and +the true health of the field--before the entrainments, the haste and +the fighting; but the psychological purpose was to make each atom +forget itself, to weave it well into the fabric of the mass. Kohlvihr's +division had to be moved; very well, let the movement gather the values +of practice marching as well. + +A raw division, with a scattering of Poles and Finns mixed with the +straight Slav peasantry and regarded by the Russian war office, as Peter +Mowbray understood at once, a ticklish proposition. The cement for +this new service was “green” as yet; it had to set, required frequent +wettings of fine humor and affiliation. The marvel to Mowbray was that +the thousands fell for it. They had practically all left something +that was life and death to them--land, labor, women, children. Each +had established the beginnings at least of a personal connection in +the world, and this relation had to be rubbed out. What had they been +promised to take its place? _Freedom_, doubtless. But intrinsically they +were free men. + +Peter recalled what Fallows had said: that properly fathered this +peasantry might be led into a citizenship and virtue that would change +the world. Instead they were to be impregnated with every crime. With +such thoughts Peter felt the spirit of Berthe Wyndham awake in his mind. + +Seven days and not a breath from the outer world. The correspondents +were allowed to move in and out of Kohlvihr's headquarters; and, though +they paid richly for everything, were treated well, and regarded as +guests by the staff officers. Peter had met Kohlvihr in Warsaw before +the thought of war--a good-tempered, if dull and bibulous old man, he +had seemed in the midst of semi-civilian routine; but a different party +here afield. Peter recalled the saying of old sailors that you never +know a skipper until you ship under him. + +Moments of evening, in the sharp hazes of wood smoke, when the whole +army seemed nestling into itself, laughing, covering its nostalgia, +putting on its strength, Peter met in certain moments the advisability +of turning his back upon Boylan and Spenski and Samarc. The +extraordinary nature of Berthe Wyndham would flood home to him, as to +one to whom it belonged, very dear but very far.... He would smile when +he thought of _The States_ and the Old Man.... “He thinks I'm clutched +in the ripping drama and waiting for blood,” he muttered, “that I am +burning to stop the breath of the outer world with my story of gore and +conquest.... But I'm eating his bread. I won't betray. There must be a +wise way to feed the red melodramatic receptivity of the cities and at +the same time to tell the real story.” + +He stood in the midst of square miles of men and military engines. On +every road other Russian forces moved southward and to the southeast. +The railroads groaned with troops, for the most part in a better state +of preparation than Kohlvihr's division. Rumors reached the staff, as +they neared the Galician border, that the Austrian fields below were +already bleeding; finally word came, as they turned eastward, that they +were to entrain at Fransic and make a junction with the main Russian +columns preparing to invade Galicia from the northeast. + +On the night before they entered Fransic, Mowbray awoke, and saw a +figure sitting in the doorway of the little hut assigned them for +quarters. It was Spenski, his face upturned in the starlight. He sat so +still that Peter slipped out from the blankets (which covered Boylan as +well) and took his place beside the lens-maker. Spenski was facing +the east. The street of the little hill town lost itself in a sharp +declivity just ahead; the nearer huts were low. The whole east was naked +to the horizon and an indescribable glory of starlight. + +“Aren't they amazing?” Spenski whispered. “It must be nearly morning, +for those are the winter stars. I think they must have wakened me up. Do +you know them?” + +“Just the first magnitudes. They are more brilliant than I have ever +known.” + +Orion and a great kite of suns stood out with new and flashing power. + +“I never saw that huge _W_ before--” said Peter. + +“You don't mean Cassiopeia? Her chair isn't there, but over to the +north--” + +“No, no--_there_. Rigel, the upper right corner, down to the left, the +Dog-star; up to Betelguese, down to the left again to Procyon, and up to +the brightest of all--the stranger, not usually there--” + +Spenski clutched him. “I was watching the bigger configuration, and +didn't notice. Your stranger is the planet Saturn in transit between +Taurus and Orion. Saturn completes the _W_, and the _W_ stands for--” + +“War, possibly,” said Peter. + +There was a growl just now from Boylan: “Come on back to bed, you +star-gazers.” + +“Saturn is so far and moves so slowly,” the little man whispered, “that +the _W_ will not be deranged for many months.” + +The hurry call for Kohlvihr came as expected in Fransic. The first +sections of the divisions were entrained the next day--an end to summer +road-work.... A day and night of intolerable slowness in a vile coach, +and on the following noon the troop-train was halted, while a string +of Red Cross cars drew up to a siding to give the soldiers the right of +way; a momentary halt--the line of passing windows filled with cheering, +weeping nurses. + +Just one reposeful face--as both trains halted a second or two. It was +the face of one who seemed to understand the whole sorry story, already +to be contemplating the ruin ahead. Her hands were folded, the eyes +intent upon the distance rather than the immediate faces of men. Mowbray +could not articulate. Above all he wanted to meet her eyes, to put back +the light of the present in them, but it was neither sound nor gesture +that accomplished it; rather the storming intensity of anguish in his +mind. His train jerked, her eyes found him, her arms raised toward him, +lips parted. It became the one, above all, of the exquisite pictures in +his consciousness, and the reality passed so quickly--gone, and no word +between them. + +Thus her colors came to him again--the mystic trinity of white and gray +and black--all he had since known and loved added to the mystery of +their first meeting. It was like an awakening to the rack of thirst +after one has dreamed of a spring of gurgling water--the swift passing +of that face of tender beauty and fortitude, that fair brow, gray eyes +and black hair.... + +Boylan was looking deeply into his face. + +“Good God, man, you're a ghost. What is it, Peter?” + +“It struck me queer to see a trainload of girls down here in the field,” + said Peter quite steadily. + +“Well, if a trainload of strange women can do that to you--here's hoping +we never do Paris together.” + +Little Spenski opposite had seen the outstretched hands, and Peter saw +that he had seen. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +And now a rainy field. Two days of cold wind and rain after the +cattle-cars; a different tone and temper from the men, coughing instead +of laughter at night-fall. Another nameless village--Galician, now, for +the border had been crossed, and the stillest night Peter Mowbray had +so far known among the troops. It was a listening army--the far distance +breathing just the murmur of cannonading. + +He moved about within the cordon of head-quarter sentries, studying +the edges of the bivouac as the rain and the darkness fell. Kohlvihr's +division was but a tooth of the main army now; the whole region was +massed with Russians marching westward; but still the outfit from Warsaw +was enough, all that he could encompass of the mystery of numbers. +Others had met the enemy, but these were still virgin. They were +listening. + +Their faces looked white in the thickening dark, noses pinched and the +rest _beard_.... Hair--it was like some rapidly ripening harvest in +the command, different each day, making the faces harder and harder to +memorize. Mowbray had been disgusted at first--faces like changelings, +atrocious like chickens. But the beards were taking form now--all +gradations of yellow and red and black--many of that gray-yellow which +loses itself in the middle distance and becomes a blur. How he hated +hair like that! + +The next day dawned bright and cold. At ten Kohlvihr, in the midst of +the southern wing, brushed the tail of an Austrian force in its turning. +The engagement was sharp exhilaration to Peter; perhaps it was to +certain of the soldiers; yet it was the first. Its touch of blood +quivered through Kohlvihr's command not yet assimilated, stirred this +raw entity with deep inexplicable passion. + +The correspondents were riding with the staff; the point of the van was +moving below in plain sight when its baptism fell. Kohlvihr licked his +white lips, the upper lip uncontrollable like a deprived drunkard's. +Below a skirmish was spreading out, the commands trumpeting back their +messages. Mowbray turned. A little battery of mountain guns was racing +forward through the infantry column, the drivers yelling for _gangway_. +It was like a small town's fire department in action. Now the infantry +poured down the rocky slopes that bordered the old iron road. Peter +turned quite around in the saddle. The murmur in the air was queer--like +something wrong below in a ship at sea. Kohlvihr's face interested him, +the skirmish lines and their reinforcements, the voice of Boylan (though +his faculties were too occupied to catch that rush of humorous comment +in English); the mountain guns interested him, and the sudden racket of +Russian riflery below. + +Now one of the peasant soldiers was running up the slope from the van +toward the staff. He was bare-headed, shocky-haired and bearded, making +queer, high sounds like a squirrel as he ran--quite out of order +and amazed at himself. He would have been struck down by his nearest +neighbor ten days later, felled with the nearest officer's sword, but +there was funk and a bit of dismay in the heart of the raw division that +suffered the soldier to make his way to the staff. + +Lifting his legs lumberingly, he held fast to his left wrist, where a +bullet had started the blood. He held the wound high, like a trophy, +the blood spurting, crying about it.... This was sudden discovery of +something the army had started out to find, but had forgotten in the +length of days. This was the red fleece--its drips of red were in each +raw soul now. A little way farther and the staff awoke. An officer +spoke. The peasant was caught and booted quiet. Kohlvihr licked his lips +to keep them still. He perceived that Mowbray's eyes had fastened upon +his mouth. The lips opened again. The order came forth for the soldier +to be flogged.... It was their particular friend, Dabnitz, a lieutenant +of the staff, who was given the execution of this order. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +The four were much together for a few days after that, Samarc and +Spenski not yet assigned to their battery. They learned each other in +those few days as men often fail to learn the hearts of their immediate +associates during years. There was fighting--scattered, open, surprising +often to one out of touch with the points and the scouting. Different +towns every day, and a continual giving of territory on the part of the +Austrians. + +“This is not the main fighting at all,” said Boylan. “This is but the +edge of the game. It won't break into print. The big stuff is farther +on. These that we meet are the Austrian columns hurrying forward. This +territory is ours for the marching through. We'll catch it later--and +this will be forgotten.” + +Samarc had known these towns that the Russian column was passing +through, yet he had to ask the names, because of the destruction. +The Austrians would always destroy in haste before leaving, and more +leisurely the Russians would destroy. It seemed to affect Samarc, as +some landmark reopened from its ruin for his eyes. + +“It seems to say,” he told the lens-maker, “'I was this at one time, and +now I must go.'” Orders came for Samarc and Spenski, but they were not +to be remotely stationed, since their battery was assigned to Kohlvihr's +division--a different camp but the same field. Few words about the +separation, but each of the four understood.... Night and day, the dead +had been with them in the recent days--in such richness and variety +they could not escape, could not cover them, and something from the +dead entered their hearts. To Peter--so queerly were his thoughts +running--the memorable incident of their last night together had to do +with an ant colony. + +Supper was over, and they had tossed on a decayed log to keep up the +fire. A nest of ants was presently driven forth by the heat from the +soft heart of the wood. They found themselves hemmed in flame and turned +back, as Peter thought, to seek the treacherous shelter of the nest +again. It was not so; they were wiser than that, and marched forth in +scores once more, each carrying an egg in its jaws. Spenski swung the +end of the log out to the grass for them to make good their retiring. It +was all very sane and admirable. Peter respected them.... + +The dead were with them. They had not learned to forget. Spenski would +whimper in his sleep. The days did not fill him, wearied his body but +other faculties and potencies were restless at night. This man who could +grind a lens so that a line from the center of the earth to the center +of the sun would pass through it without chromatic aberration, was more +shocked than the other three by the cursory killing of the days, his +imagination intoxicated and sleep perverted. His companion who imagined +himself of coarser and heavier texture often placed his hand upon the +dreaming one. Spenski would start, open his eyes and say, “Thanks, +Samarc.” + +Continual rocking through the long days, and the rumbling of the earth +from the artillery forward. A mountain country of sharply cool nights, +of cool bright days--the scent of cedar and balsam, good water, steady +skirmishing--food just a bit scarce so that the peasants snapped and +bolted, showing sharp about the eyes. It was not hunger--just the lean +kind of fare. Peter often watched the halted columns at night as the +men sprang to the feeding. Supper fires burst forth at the drop of the +rifles. Not so raw now, the Warsaw contingent, a military eye would +remark--getting ripe, in fact. + +A week afterward, Boylan reported at supper that they would be permitted +to ride with the battery on the following day. In the meantime they had +not seen nor heard of the other pair. Fighting and marching from dawn to +nightfall usually; human nature refused effort after that. They were so +near dead at night that they laughed about it, and felt their faces +in embarrassment, sharp-boned and unfamiliar as the faces of the dead. +Mowbray's was still clean shaven. Young Dabnitz, the exquisite of the +staff, and a rather brilliant young Russian, was the only other who had +kept his razors in order. Perhaps a woman ruled his heart, as Berthe +Wyndham ruled Mowbray's. + +Big Belt had lost his last reservation about his companion. He gave +everything to Peter that he had given to Lonegan and something more--for +the field called a little more, and perhaps Peter called a little more. +The extent of Boylan's loyalty had nothing to do with words or matters +of conduct so far, but it was a huge affair, a suggestion of which came +to the younger man from time to time and humbled him. + +Twice during the first fortnight, Boylan had asked if this were +positively his first venture into the field with troops. “The reason I +ask,” he explained later, “is that you appear to have been on the job +before.” + +This would have been a matter interesting to the Old Man of _The +States_, according to Lonegan's story. + +“I miss the little guy,” said Boylan, referring to Spenski. They were +anticipating the next day with the battery. + +“I miss Samarc, too,” said Peter. + +Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their +hardest, for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment +but inflicting punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. +The face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy. He +marveled at what seemed the swift disintegration of an ancient worldly +establishment like Austria--going down unsung. It was not like a country +losing its identity, though that had to do with the facts; but rather +like a shadow passing, to be followed, not by sunlight, but by another +shadow of different contour and texture. + +“We put such store by names,” he muttered, as he watched the Austrian +infantry give way before them, “and yet, the world will get on with +other names just the same.” + +...There had been no chance for talk. They had merely pressed the hands +of their friends, something darkly melancholy about Samarc, as if his +eyes were in deep shadow, and something luminous in the eyes that shone +from the haggard face of Little Spenski. They looked forward to the +night, as men famished and athirst in a pit listen to the toil of +rescuers. Almost the last thing that Peter remembered was that the moon +came up before the sun had set. The rapid-fire battery was at work on +a hot smoky hill, the shrapnel and larger pieces still higher, and the +great masses of infantry moving below among the wind-driven hazes of the +valley, their long necklaces, of white puffs, showing and vanishing. + +Mowbray's ears were deadened to all sounds save from the immediate +machine-guns and the big hounds above; to his eyes the swaying strings +of infantry smoke-puffs in the valley were spectral and soundless. + +The Russians had taken the little town of Judenbach in the early +afternoon, but the Austrians gave them a stand two miles beyond, finding +solid position in a range of craggy hills. The Russians had not cared to +leave them there over night, but the dislodgment proved difficult. The +unlimbering of the batteries toward the end of the day on the shoulders +of a thickly-wooded mass (from which Peter watched the infantry and +the moonrise in daylight), was the final effort of the day to drive the +enemy farther afield from Judenbach. + +The two infantries were contending; gray Russian lines in the bottom +land and already advancing up the slopes. Day after day, smitten and +replenished--tillers of land becoming the dung of the land. Mowbray had +always pitied the infantry, and watched them now with unspeakable awe +and depression--moving up the slopes, lost in their white necklaces of +skirmish-fire, sprayed upon with steel vomit from the Austrian machines. + +Samarc's battery was idle. It was often so, Boylan reported, when the +enemy's duplicate pieces were busy. + +Now withering--those gray Russian lines. They diminished, gave way, a +thin ghostly pattern of the whole, falling back. An Austrian sortie of +yellow-brown men to finish the task. + +“That's _our_ cue,” Big Belt whispered. + +The officers were already finding the range and fall. Samarc's machine +was set, before his superior spoke. Peter saw what a week had done for +him. Samarc seemed old at the task, already to have grown old. Spenski +at the hopper--and the mutilating racket on. Between fire, Peter could +not hold in mind the inconceivable magnitude and velocity of these +sounds. His brain seemed to plow under, as it does the great events +of pain, the impress of hideous suffering which the proximity of the +machines caused. Yet at every firing the damnable things hurt him more. +Fast beyond count, as the threads break in a strip of canvas torn with +one movement--yet each crackling thread here meant projected steel. + +They saw their work on the Austrian infantry lines. Yet always more +infantry would come forth, and in the silence following the machines, +the gray Russian lines stole forward again. Such was the slow battle +vibration. + +A company of sappers was below, opening the wood of the slope, so that +the machine fire would not be impeded in case the Austrians drove back +the infantry beyond the hollows at the bottom of the valley. A hundred +yards down they were working like beavers among the trunks of cedar and +balsam, when a shrapnel broke among them. The Russian higher batteries +had been trying the same game among the Austrian emplacements, but could +not see results. + +All battery men near the two Americans knew well that the Austrians +would note _that_ explosion of their shrapnel, and would relate the +range to the higher positions above. That one shot showed the Russian +artillerymen that their position was untenable. It was not that the +Austrians could see the damage they inflicted in one company of sappers, +but that the shattering blow in plain sight from their position would +show the exact means to displace the higher pieces that devastated their +infantry. + +“We've got to get out of here,” Boylan whispered. Again as he spoke +the orders to retire came quietly as a bit of garrison gossip, and as +coldly. Horses came running down for the ammunition carts; every muscle +of man and beast had its work now. + +In thirty or forty seconds Austrian shrapnel would land higher. Peter +was tallying off the seconds, wondering if they would get clear.... At +this moment he noted that the moon had come up and that the sun was +not yet sunk. The two on the eastern and western rims of the world were +almost of a size and color, very huge and alike, except that one dazzled +the eyes--the difference between incandescence and reflection. The whole +dome was lost in florid haze. He almost laughed at what followed in +his mind, so strange is the caravan of pictures that hurries through in +action. It was the beauty above and ghastly waste of the infantry that +brought back to his brain the reason and decency of the ants in the +burning log--their order in contrast to this chaos.... + +The Austrians were workmen. Their searching shrapnel had been quite +enough. Samarc's battery had begun to move, when they landed in the +heart of it. All was changed about, and new. The silence was like a deep +excavation, and the smell of fresh ground was in the air. + +Peter did not see Boylan. He arose, half crawled up the torn ground to +the place where Spenski and Samarc had stood. They were some distance--a +saving distance for Mowbray--when he saw Samarc arise, his face sheeted +in red. Samarc was staring about for Spenski. Presently, Peter followed +the eyes of Samarc and saw the little man--half down, but looking up +toward his friend, the eyes wide open; also Spenski's mouth, and the +most extraordinary smile in the red beard. + +Peter crawled a step nearer. There was no voice yet. He was tranced +before this meeting of the companions, each of whom saw none but the +other. Spenski had been partly kneeling, but as Samarc approached, his +head bowed slowly down, and the smile was gone. + +“Come on--they'll do it again!” + +Peter heard the words--but did not know who spoke them--possibly Boylan +from behind, possibly _he_ had said it. He had not seen Samarc's lips +move. + +The voice was an offense in that silence. + +Now Peter saw none but Spenski, until Samarc reached him, lifted, +called. Peter saw the body raised from the ground to Samarc's arms--saw +the little man's body open upon his friend like a melon that has rotted +underneath. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +All went black for Peter. The slope rose up and took him. For an +eternity afterward he felt someone tugging at him--hands of terrible +strength that would not let him die, would not let him sleep. After that +a familiar voice began calling at intervals. + +“Hello,” said Peter at last. “What have I been doing?” + +“Not anything that you've pulled before. Is this an old habit?” + +“What?” + +“Passing out unhurt--lying like a log for an hour or two?” + +“No, it's a new one. Where are we?” + +“Judenbach. It's past supper time--” + +Peter sat up, wobbled. The terrible hands steadied him again. He knew +now what had lamed him. + +“Where is she?” he asked. + +“Huh?” + +“I was wondering what hit me?” + +“Now, you're getting glib again,” said Boylan. Peter's reserve had +interposed. His absence had something to do with her, but he could not +remember. “Where is she?” had got away from him as he crossed the border +back into the racking physical domain. He didn't like that. + +“Did I say anything?” + +“Nothing that will be used against you,” Boylan observed. “As for what +hit you--that's the mystery. Not a scratch in sight.... I was behind. +You were standing still as a sentry after that shrapnel. Presently you +bowled over--” + +“That shrapnel?” + +“Yep--” + +There was an instant of silence; the picture returned and wrung a groan +from Peter. All the energy of his life rebelled against _the fact_. +Boylan's hand tightened upon him. For the moment Mowbray was in a kind +of delirium. + +“The moon had just come up,” he said, “like another sun. The real sun +was still in the sky from our hill.” + +“I know. I was there. Cut it, Peter.” + +“Where is Samarc?” + +“In one of the hospital buildings, likely. I meant to find him as soon +as I could leave you--” + +“I'll go with you.” + +Big Belt fumbled in his saddled bags for a flask, brought it in one +hand, a cup of water in the other.... + +They were in the streets, very dark. Once they were caught in a swift +current of sheep driven in for the commissary. Judenbach sat on the +slope of a hill, a little city, its heart of stone, very ancient, its +“hoopskirts,” as Boylan said, made of woven-cane huts. Already the +stone buildings of the narrow main street were crowded with wounded. +The correspondents were not permitted far either way from headquarters. +Finally it was necessary to get Dabnitz of the staff to conduct them.... +It had all been a jumble of ambulances at nightfall from the field, the +lieutenant said. Russian soldiers were not ticketed. Many faces on the +cots were bandaged beyond recognition. The three gave up at midnight, +Peter gaining strength rather than losing it in the later hours. Orders +were that the streets be emptied of all but sentries. + +“No, nothing like that--” said Boylan, as Mowbray sank to the floor by +his blanket roll. “You haven't had supper--” + +“Don't, Boylan.... I say, what do they do with the dead?” + +Rain was pattering down; the smell of drugs reached them. + +“It _does_ make a difference when you know one of them--doesn't it?.... +God, man, we're cluttered with wounded. The dead are at peace--” + +“I wonder what stars he's watching to-night?” + +“Come, come. Peter--” + +“I know.... I know, Boylan. Only it shows me something. He was a great +workman. There are things in the world that can't be done because he's +gone. There are others like him. He had a girl. He had a friend. He had +us--” + +Boylan decided that talking was good. He listened and prepared soup. + +“And to-morrow they're at it again,” said Peter. + +“It won't look the same in the morning--” + +Peter did not answer. + +“Anyway, you didn't bring on the war, Peter--” + +“It makes a man cold with that kind of cold a supper-fire don't help.” + +“Peter, you've got me stopped with your moods--like a woman. Women were +always too profound for Mr. B. B. Boylan--” + +“Sorry. You've been a prince. I'll do better now. I'll get out of it. +Little shock--that's all. I think it wasn't so much physical. Something +changed all around. I've been taking things as I found them so long. +That helps to bring on a war--” + +Boylan glanced at him narrowly. + +Peter laughed. “I'm all right. Head's working.” + +Big Belt sighed. “I loved that little guy, too. God, I'd run east to +Asia and keep on running rather than meet his girl.” + +Peter drank hot soup and slept. Next morning it was like a hard problem +that one has slept upon and awakened with the process and answer +straight-going. They had not searched ten minutes (calling “Samarc” + softly among the cots where the faces were bandaged) before a hand came +up to them. It was Peter who took it; and as their hands met, the whole +fabric of the man on the cot broke into trembling. They understood. +Samarc had been lying there rigid with his tragedy. Peter's touch had +been enough to break the dam of his misery. + +“_I have ceased to kill,_” he said. + +The head was twice as big with bandages; yet under that effigy, so +terrible was the intensity of the moment, Peter became conscious of ruin +there, also of a sudden icy cold in the morning air. Samarc's powerful +hand still clutched his. The voice that had emerged from under the +cloths was still in his ears. It had seemed to come as water from a +pipe--loosely, the faucet gone. The hand was unhurt. + +“_...He came in the night. I did not speak--but my heart was fighting +against the guns. He was moving here and there. He turned to me, as if I +had suddenly cried out, 'What shall I do?'...'You can cease to kill,' he +said._” + +Boylan was watching Peter. His face turned gray. + +They received the intelligence of the words, as they came, although at +another time the mouthing would have been inarticulate as wind in one of +Judenbach's archaic street-lamps. + +“I'll stay with him, Boylan,” said Peter, choosing the hardest thing, +but Big Belt would not leave, though the Russian columns were moving +in the street--off to renew the battle among the hills. The two sat by +until Samarc slept. + +* * * + +They were in the street again, moving close to the walls, for the +cavalry was crowding the narrow highway. They crossed finally to a +stone-paved area at the side of Judenbach's main building. Their feet +were upon the stone flags of this court, when Dabnitz suddenly hurried +forward, with a gesture for them to stand back. + +“Just a moment, my friends,” he said. “A little formality, but very +necessary--” + +Peter lifted his eyes, perceived three men standing bare-headed against +the wall of head-quarters, twenty paces away. One of them exclaimed, his +voice calm but penetrating: + +“We are not spies. We do not care to turn our backs. We are not afraid +to die, for we have made our lives count--” + +It was the voice of a public speaker; the voice of a man making good +many words.... Dabnitz stepped between Boylan and Mowbray, stretching +out his arms before them. It was all in an instant. They saw Dabnitz's +apologetic smile--and a Russian platoon at their right, rifles +raised--then the ragged volley. + +Each of the three fell differently. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Boylan and Peter sat together in the ante-room of headquarters. They did +not speak. Peter was getting down to the quick. He thought many things +which a man never tells another man, and seldom tells a woman; yet they +were matters of truth and reason, no sentiment about them. He recalled +many incidents of early years in which his mother had tried to teach +him sensitiveness and mercy. Until now her effort seemed to have been +wasted. It had been more simple and appealing to him to follow his +father's picture of manhood. Possibly his mother had wearied of pitting +her will against his. He had grown up under his father's control and +ideal. As it looked to him now, he had become all that was obvious and +average and easy; while his mother's passion had been for him to become +one of the singular and precious and elect.... He would never have seen +this so clearly had it not been for Berthe Wyndham. She had given him a +kind of new birth, taken up the work wherein his mother had failed.... + +Dabnitz came in. The young staff-officer was handsome, soldierly, +black-eyed. His manner was one of enfolding cheerfulness. He had +proved fair and kindly, temperate in his tastes and delicate in his +appreciations of humor and natural effects. He could express himself +fluently in Russian, German, English and French, but was a caste-man to +the core, a militarist and autocrat. As such he proved rather appalling +to Peter Mowbray on this day. + +“Is General Kohlvihr out with the fronts?” Boylan asked. + +“He's in the field, but not at the front. We got the point yesterday, +you see. I'd rather be in the van every day than left to these matters +of clean-up--” + +Peter looked up at him. “Is there much of this to do?” + +“I'm afraid so. They work among the hospitals. You don't catch many of +them in the ranks--” + +“Perhaps they would rather tend the wounded than to make the wounds.” + +Dabnitz smiled cheerfully. “They're afraid of their hides. When a man +does a lot of talking, he is generally shy on action--” + +Peter saw the ease of the acceptance of this view on the part of the +others; saw how clearly it was the view of the military man. + +“And yet it was a clean-cut death of that talker and his two companions +you just executed--” + +“An exception now and then,” Dabnitz granted. + +“How do you catch them?” + +“We have a system at work for that purpose--everywhere, especially in +the hospitals. There isn't much temporizing when we get them.” + +Peter Mowbray's skull prickled with heat and his face was cold with +sweat. + +“What do they preach?” he managed to ask. + +“Sometimes for men to rise and go home; sometimes for them to cease to +kill, and sometimes to shoot down the officers. It isn't all that a man +has to do now to lead his men forward,” Dabnitz observed. “He must do +that, of course, but all the danger isn't in front. It doesn't follow +that a man has turned his back upon the enemy nowadays--if he happens to +be found with a wound in the back.” + +“Were these--these that you put out this morning--working in the +hospitals?” + +“Yes.” + +Peter turned away. + +“In a good many cases we bring a man to his feet again from a bad +wound--to find him not a soldier but a damned anarchist.” + +“It's expensive and cumbersome also to carry such a hospital system +afield,” Peter observed. + +Dabnitz did not catch the irony. “Yes, it would be cheaper and simpler +to put a hard-hit soldier out of his misery--” + +Boylan, watching Peter's face, suddenly arose, suggesting that they ride +out toward the fighting. ....When they were alone, he added: + +“I know you don't want the front to-day, but it was very clear that I'd +better get you out of there....Peter, did you ever kill a man?” + +“No.” The question did not seem wild to either of them--there by the +open court of Judenbach. + +“I knew a man who did. I saw him getting whiter and whiter like your +face--and looking into his victim's eyes in that queer surprised way you +looked at Dabnitz. It wasn't in the field; in a city bar-room. I didn't +look for what happened--but I knew something was coming. The fool went +on talking, talking. The other watched him, and when all the blood was +burned out of him....Great God, here I am talking blood--” + +“It's in the air,” said Peter. “It's hard to breathe!.... No, I won't +go down front to-day. I wish I could go back--back--oh, to the clean +Pole--no, to some little snowy woods in the States....Boylan, does it +suffocate you?” + +“It's different from anything I knew,” said Boylan. “It's so damned +businesslike. Something's come over the world. War was more like a +picnic before. I never saw it like this. I believe we've gone crazy.” + +They stood before the main building, just at the entrance of the stone +court--halted by the hideous outcry that reached them from another +building just a few doors below. It was as if a strong man were being +murdered by torture. The big cannons boomed up the narrow cobble-paved +road from the field. As far as they could see in either direction, the +street was crowded with soldiers, stepping aside for artillery going +south, and the stream of ambulances coming in from the front. Passing +them now from the street into the court was a cortege, little but +grim--a Cossack trooper leading two bare-headed men by a rope attached +to his saddle, a Cossack non-commissioned officer walking behind with +raised pistol. Both the prisoners were young, one a mere boy, yet he was +supporting the elder. Peter's eyes turned to the blank wall of the main +building where Dabnitz had been busy as they passed. To the right, +in the gloom from the walls, was a row of iron gratings, the windows +knocked out--darkness under the low stone lintels. + +Peter had not noticed before this dim square, within the square. His +mind dwelt upon it now in the peculiar way of the faculties, when +thoughts are too swift and too terrible to bear....It was like something +he had seen before, the dark little square. Yes, it was like part of a +recess yard he had known in an old school-building years ago.... + +He couldn't keep off the reality long. In every direction the murderous +army--no song, no laugh, no human nature, no love, no work, but death. +He was imprisoned. And somewhere near or far in the midst of such +a chaos, was Berthe Wyndham. Could she live in this?.... Peter was +suicidal, very close to that, a new thing to him. Queerly he realized +that death would be easy for himself, simple, acceptable. For there was +no escape. They would not let him go. There was no place that one could +go out of the army. Not even the dead go back.... It would not be fair +to her. She might live, and call to him afterward. He did not think she +could live, but there was that chance. He thought of his mother--quite +as a little boy would, his lip quivering.... He started at the touch of +Boylan's hand. + +“I'll tell you what we'll do,” Big Belt said. “We'll write, Peter. We'll +get out the machines to-day. We'll write a story--just as if we could +file it on a free cable. It will do us good. We'll tell the story--” + +“We'd have to eat it....Boylan, if I should tell this story on paper, +the Russians would burn it and me and the house in which it was +written....No. I must work better than that. Come back. I want +Dabnitz--” + +Boylan drew him face about. + +“You're not going to--” + +“No--no. I wasn't thinking of killing him. It wouldn't do any good. +One would have to kill all the officers and save enough energy for the +Little Father at the last. No, I want him to help me--” + +They found him at headquarters. + +“Lieutenant Dabnitz,” Peter said, his hand upon the Russian's shoulder, +speaking very quietly, “I feel like a fool doing nothing all day +long--and so much to do. I want you to take me over to that hospital +Samarc is in, and set me officially to work. Let me be orderly, +anything, to-day. I want to help, if you'll forgive me--” + +“Gladly, Mr. Mowbray. I'm sure they'll be very glad. Of course, they are +always short-handed in the hospitals.” + +“Thanks.” + +Boylan's heart gave a thump at the new light in Mowbray's eyes. + +“I'll go along, too,” he said. “I'm the daddy of them all, when it comes +to lifting.” + +A ragged platoon volley crashed from the court as they entered the +street. Peter's steps quickened. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Of course, they did not know it in _The States'_ office, neither the Old +Man nor his managing editor, but a way had been found to _rock_ Peter +Mowbray. Indeed he would have been rocked to pieces had he not found his +work that day in Judenbach. ....When no one was listening, he would talk +to the wounded. Peter discovered that there was a woman in him, as many +a field-man has discovered. In fact he came to believe that we are all +mixed men and women, and that it is the woman in us that suffers most. +He had a suspicion that there was a woman in Boylan, and had to smile +just there. He sank into the work, and saved himself. Samarc appeared to +be asleep. + +He would have laughed to have heard his own talk afterward. A man does +not remember what he says to a loved horse, or to a dog that looks up in +passing. Innocent as that, Peter's sayings to the wounded and dying. Had +there been spies about, the American would have been counted eminently +safe. He had to talk; his heart was so full; it was part of the action +that saved him. All the time there was in the background of his mind a +steady amazement at himself--something of his, aloof, watchful, that was +not exactly ready to accede to all this change and emotion, and yet was +not strong enough to prevent. + +Twice through the long forenoon he saw a little black-whiskered orderly, +eyes dark and wide and deep, his nose sensitive and finely shaped, his +shoulders unsoldierly. Once his cap fell as he went to lift a pan, and +Peter saw as noble a brow as ever dignified a man. He went to him and, +as he stood there, he found there was nothing to say. + +“Who are you?” the other asked. + +“That's what I was trying to think to ask you?” Peter said with a smile. +“I am Mowbray, an American correspondent--” + +“Why are you here?” He pointed to the cots. + +“I had to do something.” + +“The misery called to you?” + +“Perhaps. To be sure, I'd better say my own misery made me come.” + +They talked in French. + +“It is all the same. You are not a beast.” + +“I'm not sure,” said Peter. + +“That is good, too. I'm glad you have come. All morning I have watched +you....” + +“You did not answer me. Who are you?” + +“I am Moritz Abel.” + +He held a wash basin in one hand, a bit of linen in the other--this +man who had done such a poem that the glory of the future flashed back +through it, to sustain and to be held by men. It was a queer moment. +Facing each other, Mowbray thought of Spenski--as if the little +lens-maker stood behind the narrow shoulders of the poet.... Was it only +the little red-headed body that they had killed? Would the immortal +come back with a new story of the stars? Thus Peter found himself +thinking of Spenski, with this lover of new Russia before him. And would +the destroyers slay this one too?... Now his humanity came back in a +cloud, and he shuddered at the thought of Russia murdering the man who +wrote _We Are Free_.... Perhaps it was the woman in him that made him +say: + +“I hope _you_ live through the long night, Monsieur.” + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Moritz Abel stepped nearer. In the silence Peter grew embarrassed. +What he had said would sound without footing since the poet did not +understand the trend of his thoughts. He meant to, add what _the long +night_ signified, and wanted his saying really known for what it was--an +utterance of pure passion against the destruction of genius. The other +replied, making all explanation unnecessary: + +“I knew you for one of us. It is the long night, but it is a great honor +for us to be here and at work.” + +“Where are your companions?” + +The Russian smiled. “They are all about through the dark of the long +night. We may only signal in passing. In fact, I must go now--” + +The surgeon in charge had entered. Peter went to Samarc's cot, steeling +himself. “Samarc,” he whispered, without bending, “Samarc--” + +The wounded man stirred a little, moaned, but did not answer.... In the +far corner Boylan was moving cots (occupants and all) closer together +for the admission of more. His sleeves were rolled. Near him a little +woman, whose waist was no larger than the white revelation of Boylan's +forearm, was directing the way, the giant of the Polar Failure +struggling to please. Something of ease and uplift had come to Peter +from this, and from the passing of Moritz Abel. Silently battling with +Dabnitz, with Kohlvihr, with king's desire and the animal of men, was +this service-thing greater than all, greater than death.... A soldier +called and he went toward the voice. Presently Peter was jockeying him +into good humor with low talk. + +All day the battle tortured the southern distance--the cannonading +nearer, as the hours waned. The Austrians were holding their own or +better. It was the fiercest resistance which the Russian columns had as +yet encountered. All afternoon wounded were brought back. It became more +and more difficult to move among the cots in the building. So it was +with all Judenbach that was not in ruins. Twice through the afternoon +there were volleys in the court below; and when the two went forth for +food, they saw a soldier carrying baskets of dirt from the street, and +covering the stone flags close to the main building.... And from that +grim house a little down the street, came at intervals, shocking their +senses, the hideous outcry as of murder taking place.... Boylan went +down into the field an hour before sunset, Peter back to the hospital. + +“I'll see what I can find,” Big Belt remarked. “You're right to go back, +Peter. As for me, I can stand it better outdoors.” + +Crossing the street, it seemed to Peter that he had been in Judenbach +certain ages, a reckonable space of eternity--despite the lowering sun +which calmly informed him that at this time yesterday the Austrians had +found the range of Samarc's battery with a shrapnel or two. Many things +had come to him. He wished as never before for a free cable.... Boylan +came in at dark and drew him away from Samarc's cot. + +“I'll be back to-night,” Peter promised. + +“...There's been no break in the check to-day,” Big Belt reported. +“Kohlvihr's division, and the immediate forces surrounding, are part +of the great right wing, and this right is holding up the whole Russian +command. I heard Kohlvihr explaining to the Commander's aide that the +Austrians here had been reinforced; that they gave us Judenbach for +the taking yesterday, in order to fall back into the hills beyond. The +center and left, it appears, is clear, ready to fight on to Berlin or +Budapest, but the whole line is held up for this right wing. Kohlvihr +is desperate. There'll be a hard pull to get across the hills +to-morrow--all hands, Peter.” + +“This may be our last night in Judenbach then?” + +“If killing a division will start a hole across that range of hills, +it's our last night--” + +“I'll sit it out with Samarc,” Peter said. + +“Go to it, if you think best. You were a mighty sick woman this morning. +Something in yonder helped you. I'll see you through for another +treatment.” + +“Boylan, don't you stay up. You've roughed it to-day and been afield. +Don't let me spoil your sleep--with a big day ahead. It wasn't lack of +sleep that got my nerve this morning--” + +“Oh, I'll yap around till bedtime,” said the other. “What does Samarc +say?” + +“Something has come over him. Some one came to him last night and seemed +to drive a nail right into his thinking--pinned him.” + +“He's turned against the killing?” + +“Yes. And he'll be restless to-night, sleeping so much to-day.... At +least, he made the appearance of sleeping. I think he was shocked to +hear his voice.... His eyes are right enough. But below--” + +“What made you think he had the appearance of sleeping?” + +“It just occurred to me. He didn't want to take all my time. I whispered +his name several times--no answer. Once when I was leaving, his hand +reached up and touched my coat.” + +“Is he hurt badly?” + +“Not a thing in the body. It's between his throat and his eyes.... You +know I saw him last night after the shrapnel as he lifted--it was just a +sheet of blood. Afterward it was covered in cloth. I don't think he knew +until this morning, when he started to talk.” + +“He was all knit to the little man,” Boylan said. “As good a pair as I +ever met afield.... Oh, I say, eat something--” + +Peter smiled at the big fellow and turned to his soup and black bread. +He didn't say what he thought, but it had to do with his own field +companion this time. + + * * * + +...Midnight. Boylan had gone back to quarters. Peter's ward was low-lit +and still. ...The wounded man's hands waved before his bandage, as if to +detract attention from the windy blur of his utterance. Samarc wanted to +die. + +“You know it was because of me that he came--” he repeated. + +“But you mustn't suffer for that. Really, Samarc, a man couldn't have +been a better friend than you. Spenski would tell you so if he could. +These are times for men to _live_. I wanted to kill myself this morning. +You know I was behind you on the hill, too. That, and the tragedy all +about, and then they were murdering spies and martyring real Fatherland +men out in the court--as if there wasn't enough death afield. It was too +much for me. Old Boylan helped me, but if I hadn't come in to work, +I'd have shot my head off. Here--men dying hard and easy; men and women +serving; so much to do,--I got better. Death isn't everything. I'm not +a genius or a dreamer, man. I'm so slow at dreaming and brotherhood and +all that, that a woman once ran from me. But I saw to-day that death +isn't all. I don't know what else there is, but this is a sort of long +night, this war. A few of us are awake. If we are put to sleep--that's +all right--I mean knocked out, you know. But so long as we are not, +we've got to watch and root for the dawn. God, man, there is much to do. +We've got to make our lives count--” + +He was bending forward talking very low. He thought from the pressure of +Samarc's hands that he was gaining ground. It was queer and laughable to +himself--this line of talk that came to him. He knew so well the pangs +of that suicidal suffocation, that he could talk for the very life of +the other. He added: + +“A little black-whispered man looked up from his soap and towels this +morning. His hat fell off, and I saw he had come a long ways. He looked +at me again, and I spoke to him. Samarc, it was another of these little +whirlwinds of human force--a master workman like the man you loved. + +“It was Moritz Abel who wrote _We Are Free_.... + +“And there are others--like Spenski and Abel--some of them dead--some to +die to-morrow. Do you think the good God would let them die so easily if +it wasn't all right? But we mustn't die without making our lives count.” + +Peter's eyes were covered by slender hands. It was like passing a garden +of mignonette in the night, that fleeting perfume of the hands. + +“Oh, Peter, how sweet to see you and hear your voice!” + +It seemed that he became molten in her presence. A heavenly _adagio_ +after a prolonged movement of sin and shame and every dissonance. It +was as if she had come from a bath of peace to him; another inimitable +moment in the life of his romance. He turned to her, holding fast to the +hand that was stretched toward him. He cleared his voice. + +“Excuse me, Samarc,” he said. + + + + +III + +THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +Chapter 1 + + +They looked long into each other's faces. “You were wonderful as you +spoke of your friend. Did you know that, Peter?” + +He turned away deprecatingly. + +“Forgive me. Of course you didn't know.” + +“...And you meant to come all the time?” he asked at last. + +“Yes.” + +“I should have known it.... That day--that day across the siding--why, +Berthe, it was almost more than I could stand. I had just been thinking +of you.” + +“We were like two spirits who hadn't earned the right to be together,” + she said. + +“I'm afraid it's dangerous now,” he answered. “One mustn't have a whim, +other than to extinguish the enemy. The army is afraid of itself. All +day--” + +Though he checked himself, she knew his thought. + +“Yes, all day, they murdered white-browed men in the court below.” + +“Berthe--” + +“Yes.” + +“I want you to guard your life--as if it were mine--just that.” + +All surroundings were melting away from them. She had never seen him +like this.... Even Samarc could not hear their whispers. + +“You came like an angel, Berthe,--all I ever want of an angel. I tell +you I am proud.” + +“Of what, Peter?” + +“That I had sense enough to go a second time to the Square at Warsaw.” + +“I'm glad, too.... If we were only in the winter stillness--” + +They were silent. Samarc's hand came up to Peter, and drew him close. +It was clear that he could not bear the woman to hear his struggle for +speech. “Tell her about Spenski,” came to Peter's ears in the lipless +mouthing. + +Berthe saw that Peter was ghostly white, as he lifted his head. She +thought it had to do with what the wounded man said. + +Peter began at random, gathering his thoughts on the wing. Nothing hurt +him in quite the same way as that suggested havoc under the bandage. +He steadied himself, and talked of the little lens-maker. Strength came +from the joy he was giving Samarc.... It seemed that they were quite +alone. He told of the night of stars, of the little man's superb +sensitiveness.... She bent to Samarc at last. + +“You wanted him to tell me?” + +He nodded. There was something intensely pathetic in it all. Her eyes +were full of light. + +“The story thrills me,” she whispered. “Oh, this is very far from a +hopeless world. What I have seen to-day--even the fortitude of infamous +men--manhood, black and white--the war within the war. Don't you see, +all Russia is out here in the wilderness casting forth her demon? We +must not mind blood nor death--for the result means the life or death of +the world's soul!” + +Once she would have seemed very far and remotely high to Peter +Mowbray.... They had drawn a little apart from the cot. + +“What made you so white?” she asked. + +“It's my weakness. We rode together for days and quartered together. He +was so clean-cut. It's the way his words come. And he seems so utterly +bereft without the little man.” + +She pressed his hand in understanding. + +“Berthe, do you sleep? Do you take food? Are you well? Are they good to +you? Can you live through?” + +“Yes, and what of you?” + +“All is quite well with me. I can endure anything with the hope of +taking you home afterward.” + +“We must be ready to give up that, too. It is hard; it's our ordeal--but +if the end should appear, we must find strength to look it in the face. +These are the times for heroics. Every real emotion that I have ever +known is a lie--if those who love each other well enough to love the +world--do not pass on. Why, Peter, you said the same to him--speaking +of his friend and Moritz Abel, 'Do you think the good God would let such +men die so easily, if it weren't all right?'” + +“Did I say that?” + +She drew back her head, looking him through and through. + +“Peter, it's the child in you that I love. You're so much a man, and +they all think of you as a man, man--all your training to be a man--and +yet it's the child that a woman's heart sees and wants to preserve for +her own.” + +“Do you see much of Moritz Abel?” he asked. + +“Yes.... It was he who found you for me.” + +Peter was watching her red lips now. It was like that morning in her +room, the tall flowers between. He did not hear what she was saying. The +room was dim. Samarc's face was turned from them. One man in a near +cot flung his arms about his head wearily, but his eyes were toward the +wall.... He caught her in his arms and loved the beauty of earth in her +face. + +“...Peter, we must forget ourselves!” + +“I can't forget you. I want you as you are,” he repeated in tumult. +“I want you here in the world--as you are now! We'll stand for what we +can't help. There's no use fighting the end if it comes. The greatest +thing here to a man will be the greatest thing after he's dead--that's +clear enough. But I haven't had you here--only a few minutes. I want the +winter stillness _on earth_--in the woods--not in some paradise yet.” + +“Hush--I want it too. Oh, you can never know how much!... I had better +go now--” + +“Not until I know all about you. To-morrow is to be the big day of the +battle. All may be changed. If it's a Russian victory, this is our last +night in Judenbach--” + +“You will go out to the fronts?” + +“Yes, for a little, but I shall watch how the day fares, so I can hurry +back.” + +“To-day--we were just a stone's throw apart. I was in that building down +the street--the amputation cases.” + +“Not the house where those cries come from?” + +“Yes, we work there. Moritz Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, the singer, and +others.... This morning I thought I could not bear to live. It was as +you told him--about yourself. You see we had no anesthesia, except for +cases of life or death--among the officers.” + +“And you came to me from a day like that?” he asked unsteadily, his +passion blurred, even the beauty of it. The chance of her living had +suddenly darkened. + +“It was like coming home,” she whispered. “...In Warsaw before your +day--sometimes crossing the Square in the darkness--I used to think what +it would mean to come to a house of happiness, after a long cruel day. +It seemed too far from me; sometimes even farther than now. When I came +in here to-night, and heard your voice--I knew what it would mean to +come home. We must not ask too much. Many have never known what has been +given to us--in these few minutes.” + +“We must not ask too much,” he repeated. + +She saw that he had a vivid picture of her day in that house of +amputations, that the picture had stunned him. + +“But, Peter, I have seen such courage to-day. It was a revelation. All +that I had seen of isolated courage before in the world--all was there +to-day, and ten times more, there in the blood and torture. And +Poltneck sang to them--sang to the maimed and limbless--sang through the +probings--with the sound of the cannon in the distance and more wounded +coming in. He sang of home and Fatherland--even of the old Fatherland. +The many love the old still; it is only the few who love the dream of +the new.... We must not ask too much. The new spirit is being born into +the world. This war is greater than we dream of. In Warsaw I could see +only the evil, but here--under everything--is the humble and the heroic +in man. Hate and soldiery are just the surface. That which is beneath +will be above--” + +She was far from him now; the white flame in her face. He saw that he +could only go on through the days and work and wait and trust in the +God he had told Samarc to trust in. How easily--without an impress of +memory, he had said that; and how heroic to accomplish--for mere man. + +He did not answer--just looked at her. He saw her turn and smile. Moritz +Abel was standing there. + +“I cannot tell you--what it meant to me to see you two standing so,” + he said. “And this place of quiet--you two and your paradise!... Let me +see, it occurred to me to suggest--” + +He found himself reluctant to finish. He had spoken lightly as if to +propose that they would be more comfortable in another room--but his +thoughts concerned the volleys in the court. They knew it. + +“The staff knows me rather well,” said Mowbray. “I was counting on that, +but one cannot be sure--” + +“There has been no secret,” she said. “Will you come in the morning +before the columns go out?” + +“Yes, it will be early.” + +“I'll be watching. If not--he will be there to tell you why.” + +Peter turned to the poet. “Watch over her--won't you?” + +“You honor me, Mr. Mowbray. All that I can do--be very sure of.” + +She went to Samarc's cot and took his hand. Peter saw her face +differently, as she leaned. It was one of the mysteries that her +tenderness was the face of one woman, her sorrow another. + +“Good-by--good-night.” + +.... A little later Peter found himself with Samarc's hand in his. He +had been sitting by the cot watching the war within the war, head bowed +on his free hand. It was a struggle of white and black--of knights and +kings, plumes and horses, white and black.... Now the wounded man seemed +sending messages through his hand. The lamps were low. + +“It's been the day of days, Samarc,” Mowbray said. “You brought me +something that I needed very much. I wish I could do as much for you. +Let me know, won't you, if I can?... Yes, I'll be right here through the +night--” + +He heard the tread of soldiers in the hollow-sounding court +below--clanking accouterments, heavy steps. There was a halt, a voice, +and a long moment before he breathed. It was just a change of sentries, +perhaps. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Just a moment's talk in the street--twice interrupted by sentries, as +they moved the hundred yards from the courtyard of Judenbach to the +house of amputations. + +“...He was trying to lift a man from the hopelessness of death when I +stepped up quietly behind,” Berthe was saying. “He was wonderful about +it, because he had felt the same hopelessness. I wish you could have +heard him.” + +Moritz Abel said: “He is effective. He is intellect and heart--very +sound. His vision will come quickly. He does not wing--that is our +trouble. We are carried away. He is still within the comprehension of +the average man. We need him greatly. Also he needs us. What a man he +would be to steady us--to interpret for us. The new Fatherland must have +such men. It has been our destiny always to dream and to pass--another +generation to make our vision flesh--” + +“You mean such men as Peter Mowbray would be direct interpreters?” she +asked. + +“Exactly. We are poets and artists and singers. We are the fathers +of the new Fatherland in a sense, but we need among us lawgivers and +statesmen--men who love men straight and not through the arts--men who +have the same zeal for men that the arts give us when we are pure, but +who are conservers and constructors, men of great force and acumen and +kindness--” + +“Oh, I know so well what you mean,” she whispered. “If you could only +have heard him with the bandaged man--_'I am not a genius or a dreamer, +man. I am so slow at dreaming and brotherhood, and all that, that a +woman once ran away from me. But I saw to-day that death isn't all.'”_ + +“Yes, that is it,” Moritz Abel said. “That is the quality. And many +times among those who do not make claim nor talk of brotherhood, the +reality is beaming from their daily service. Yes, that is it. I hope to +know him better after the long night.” + +They had reached the place of blood and torture. + +“And now you must rest a little,” he told her. “You know he asked me to +take care of you. I like him for that. A man would see a great deal in +that, for he honored me.” + +“And me--” she whispered. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +It was not yet dawn. Peter heard the moaning of the men as they awoke +and turned in their bandages. Surgeon and assistants passed through; +two of the latter remained to start up the malingerers. Machine and +rapid-fire men especially were needed at the front, it was said. Four +thousand men had fallen in the past three days, and this was to be the +day of the most furious battle--Kohlvihr to drive a hole through the +hills, this day. An early incident revealed certain facts--personal--and +had a temporary numbing influence upon Mowbray. The day had risen and +Samarc awakened, when a strange orderly entered the ward, and came +leisurely to the cot where Peter sat: + +“What have you here?” + +“A shrapnel wound in the face.” + +The orderly looked under the cot for the uniform, as if to determine +Samarc's place and rank. + +“Where's the blouse?” he asked. + +“It was covered with blood,” said Peter. “They took it away.” + +“What branch of the service?” + +Peter was not sure--infantry possibly. He didn't care for the stranger's +manner, nor to have this particular gunner of the rapid-fire pieces +hurried to the field unhealed. The orderly bent suddenly, whispering. + +_“She told me to tell you that she wants to come, but that it isn't +safe--“_ + +...Moritz Abel looking for an interpreter would have been interested +now; also the Old Man of _The States_. The stranger had spoken +leisurely. Peter's temptation was conquered before he was half through. + +“Are you sure you were to give me some message?” he asked. + +“Yes.” + +“But I wasn't expecting anyone.” + +The other regarded him keenly. Peter was well trained for that. An +officer appeared in the doorway and beckoned the orderly. + +“It must have been a mistake,” the latter muttered. + +Peter was thinking fast. The fact remained that their meeting the night +before had been noted. He was leaving for the field shortly; the harm of +suspicion would fall upon her. + +“I promised to call a moment this morning at the amputation house--but +no one was to come for me,” he added. + +“I have made a mistake,” the orderly repeated. + +“...I wonder if I have?” Peter thought. + +Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to +speak. Peter invariably paled before this ordeal. Not through words +but sounds were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the +field. In the usual course there would be no coming back for him at +nightfall, because he had “ceased to kill--” + +“But must your officers know?” Peter whispered. + +...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they +knew Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer. + +“But why go?” + +...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required further +hospital care. He could not endure that. The bandages must never come +off.... He would rather be afield. + +Peter saw the grim finality of it. Samarc wasn't changed. He meant to +end it. It was not only Spenski, but the havoc under the cloths.... + +A young assistant surgeon at a near cot was rather too hastily laying +bare the lint from a severe shoulder wound. + +Exchange with Samarc had of course stopped. Peter, thinking deeply, +watched with but half attention until the assistant surgeon briskly +rebound the wound, and began tugging at the soldier to get on his feet. +The wounded one whimpered his weakness. + +“Get up!” + +The order was repeated. “Into your clothes, man. Scores are already in +the column with wounds worse than yours.” + +The man groaned, stirred, but fell back. Peter had seen the wound--not +a desperate one, but enough to lay a man up for a fortnight at home, +and this could not have been more than three days old. There wasn't much +chance of malingering. + +“Come, come!” the young officer urged angrily. + +The soldier tried to raise himself, but did not make good work of it. + +“I'll get you up, damn you--” + +A quick scream from the man on the cot. Peter did not know what the +doctor did, but he smelled acid. All was cloudy before his eyes. He was +a bit surprised a second after to feel the Russian's neck in his two +hands: + +“None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like +that,” he was saying. + +The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage was +done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray later. +His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, drawing on +his clothes. + +“A bit of bad judgment,” Peter said, not explaining whether it was his +or the young doctor's. + +The surgeon did not ask, but turned to the great muffled face. + +“This man was from one of the rapid-fire commands, I believe?” + +Peter was prevented from further glibness by a decisive nod from Samarc. + +“The Fatherland will need you to-day,” the surgeon said with a peculiar +significance. + +To Peter's trained ear the sounds from Samarc were dangerously like, +“Fatherland-hell.” + +“A shrapnel splinter struck him in the mouth,” he explained. “He says he +is ready to take the field.” + +Samarc spoke again. + +“His blouse is gone,” said Peter hastily. “I can manage for him.” + +“Has he a fever?” + +“I'm afraid so--a slight fever.” + +The surgeon turned to the other cot. “Let this fellow sleep another +day,” he said. + +The soldier lying there gave Peter a look almost uncanny in its +gratitude. + +“Sit down, Samarc. I'll get you a blouse,” the latter said and left the +ward. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt awoke early in his own quarters, and beat around under the +blankets for his friend. Peter was not there. Boylan remembered and sat +up. This was the day of the great battle, but there was to be +breakfast first. He recalled what was in the saddle-bags. This proved +unsatisfactory. Even that hinged on Peter, as every thought so far. ... +Boylan now reflected that he might have stayed longer in the ward last +night. There was just as much to hold him to the cot of Samarc as had +called Peter. Altogether, the day was not beginning in a way to suit. + +He sat in the center of a tired tangle of woolen blankets and buckled on +his leggings. His face pricked his chest as he bent forward. There was +a stabbing run of ideas that had to do with marble baths, tepid plunges +and fragrant steam. This collection he made haste to banish with matters +of the day, and the absence of Peter,--but the pictures were various and +persistent--exceptionally enticing baths from all his history recurring. +He stretched out his gray woolen shirt and brushed it hard with handfuls +of dried grass; he washed uncomfortably. It was like an ablution before +one is undressed--that pervasive beard affair--and a general chill and +dampness about clothes and boots that had not yet worked warm. The day +was alternate gray and red. Noise gained in the street. Big Belt stepped +forth. + +Just at this moment he saw Peter Mowbray disappear into that grim street +entrance from which the unspeakable human outcry had issued yesterday. +He followed, twisting into doorways to let provision wagons pass, +quickening his steps to cross between detachments of infantry. A certain +dead cavalry horse was powerful in the air. Boylan knew exactly where it +lay, for it had called attention these three days, an Austrian property, +saddle and all, a ghastly outpouring upon the turf. + +Boylan found himself stepping forward with a gladness that was answered +with sharp objection by his own nature, and which he would not have let +Peter Mowbray know for all Judenbach. He was disgusted with the weakness +that made a man friend such a profound institution in his breast. + +The hall-way was dark. Boylan heard low voices; something from them +prevailed to hush his entrance. In fact, at the turning he stood quite +still for possibly three seconds. Beyond in the shadows Peter stood with +a woman. Afterward Boylan recalled that there had been one poignant cry +of pain from above, as if born of the monotone of moaning in that house. + +They did not see him.... A little man appeared from the shadows, joined +the two, and handed Peter a Russian blouse such as is worn by hospital +stewards of the service. Peter thanked him; the other departed; the +two were once more alone.... The huge scarred head of the old war-wolf +withdrew jerkily; with stealth, he stepped back into the street. He did +not stop until he reached his own quarters. There he found that he had +not folded his blankets. In the midst of this work his hands stopped.... +He was as accustomed as any man can be to unremoved horse by this time. +It came steadily to his nostrils, mingled with the leathery smell of his +own field-outfit. Presently he looked at his watch, and snapped the +case shut with a crack. The strength of his fingers would have broken a +filbert. + +“Some men can find 'em anywhere,” he muttered. “And such a one! She was +a flame.... As for Mr. B. B.--it's dead horse all his days.” + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Ashamed of himself, Big Belt waited to see if Peter would turn in to +their quarters, as he approached carrying the hospital steward's blouse +across his arm. Boylan would not call. It was like a woman's way--to +learn if a man had forgotten her; still he would not call.... +Clean-shaven, very straight and full of life, Peter approached, smiling +at packers and soldiers, a smile for all the world. “Why not?” Boylan +thought. Peter did turn in, and came toward him, hand out. + +“Tomato ketchup with duck's eggs. Draw up a chair,” said Boylan. He +appeared just now to see the steward's blouse. + +“Samarc takes the field to-day. It's for him,” Peter explained.... “He's +going out to kill himself. Only one reservation--that he kill no one +else.” + +Boylan seemed staring at Peter's knees. + +“You're letting the ketchup burn,” Peter said mildly. + +“I suppose that's what he really means to do,” Big Belt observed, after +a moment. “And what are we to do about it?” + +“I thought I would stand by a little--not so as to be a nuisance, you +know--” + +“Naturally not. Of course.” + +They ate in silence--a thousand things to say. + +“I won't be very far from the staff,” said Peter, hurrying back to the +hospital. “Poor old Samarc has two wounds, you know--” + +* * * + +It wasn't a day to explain things--not a day to talk. Men afield can +never tell what they are doing; some devilish irony is in the air. They +laugh; they listen; they hope--only a jest comes. The most thrilling and +stupendous situations bring forth but a curse or a roar. Human throats +are inarticulate, afield; the reality that voices heroic utterance and +makes it memorable is not at work in man-fabric; splendid faces and +brave actions--but the words are the revealers of emptiness. For the +animal is awake and upstanding; the spirit that quickens reality is +apart. + +The battlefield opened to Mowbray's eyes that day with abnormal +clearness, as if he had brought rest and reflection to a problem that +long had harried him, He felt singularly light and full of ease--as one +does sometimes in the first hours of the day after a sleepless night. +The day was wild with west wind, a touch of south still clinging. The +east arrayed itself again and again in all the delicate blends of pink +and gray, watery yellow, rose, and azure; a different arrangement at +each glance, as if separate groups of maidens followed each around a +Roman bath. + +Samarc was given a seat in an ammunition wagon, with orders to join his +battery. Peter found his horse, already saddled by Boylan, and overtook +the wagon train as it left the town. In a halt for the way to clear, +Kohlvihr and his staff passed, Dabnitz and Boylan riding together. The +General sat soft and lumpy in the saddle, his eyes small and feverish, +his face hotly red. The staff passed on, all except Boylan believing +that the correspondent had fallen in behind. Riding with the wagons, +Peter frequently turned to the terrifying bandage above the steward's +blouse. When the light was right, he caught a glint of the eyes beneath. + +The way became steep for the wagons as they neared the emplacements. +Peter swung off and led his pony. Infantry was already engaged down in +the hollows; the reek of powder began to cut the air at intervals, but +the strong wind as often cleansed it away, and the scent of woods came +up startlingly, with the warmth of the sun upon the ground--the sweet +healing breath of drying cedar boughs. + +He was sorry now he had roughed it with the young doctor; that sort of +thing was very far from him. He had no memory of another episode like +it. On occasion, dropping into the queerest abstractions, he fancied +_her_ near.... It had been like a soldier leaving his lady for the +battle--the precious few minutes less than an hour ago. She had promised +to be with him. There had been no talk nor thought of the terrifying +day she faced in the hospital; everything had to do with his taking the +field. She would follow him with her thoughts. Perhaps he would find his +soul out there, she suggested, as he had never found it before. Peter +wondered now just what she meant by that. It was not his way to fall +back upon any such abstraction. + +He reflected how her presence always changed him, gave him strength of +a different sort, and directness of aim.... It was true that she seemed +near--on the other side from Samarc--a part of the mountain fragrance +that would not be overpowered in the gun-reek. He felt if he could turn +quickly enough he would catch the gleam of her colors. This was her +country. She was of the north and the cold lands; she belonged to the +purity of the cedars. + +He played with the thought that she was near; and from the thought, +because it was good, a glimpse of the future came to him--the peace +to come, when men would dwell again with their loves, and the dream of +superb affiliation would come true. All this madness of men would pass, +as the rising powder-reek would pass from these Galician hills, and +leave them their silence and their natural fragrance. + +The wagons had gone on. Samarc's battery might have been rubbed out for +all their ability to find it. All faces strange--gunners, range-finders, +and the cartridge hands. Peter felt a horror in his breast for the +immediate presence of the guns--as if he had reached the end of +toleration in the one day with them. Samarc felt this hate, too, his +ruling passion.... Any moment one of the rapid-firers might drum into +action. Their sense was one--that something would be uncoupled in their +minds. They turned, Peter laughing at his desire to run--as they found +another group of machines emplaced in a rocky shelter a little higher +than the spot where the shrapnel had struck three days before. + +No one called to them as they turned back. A small belated wagon train +rumbled by, but no one hailed them from the seats. They were free, +alone. Peter inhaled the scent of the forest, sharp again from the acrid +taint of the cool, hazy air. He loved the sweet mountain wind as never +before--almost as if he were to leave it all. There was little need of +exchange of words. Each understood mainly the thoughts of the other. Big +guns thundered at each other from the remoter hills. Again they saw an +infantry movement start forth below--the endless strings of infantry +along the broad lower slopes. They stopped to watch them. + +Creatures of the hollows, their business to rise and be swept +back--marching forth now--Kohlvihr's command. Peter's eyes filled and +his throat stopped at the spectacle of the gray lines. Surely something +was the matter with him, he thought. Was it pathological--loss of sleep, +or fatigue? Or was it something that Spenski and Abel, the field and +hospital; more than all was it something that Berthe Wyndham had given +him? In any event, it seemed as if those infantry lines marching out now +to the burning front were being torn from his own breast, every _moujik_ +precious. He wanted to be with them, not with the heinous guns. He +wished he could spare them, stop the continual sacrifice. Miles of gray +lines moving out now. ...His companion's tugging hand. + +It dawned upon Peter before many sounds that Samarc wanted to go alone. +He pointed the trail back around the hills toward Judenbach, where it +would meet the road Kohlvihr had taken, suggesting that Peter join the +staff. He, Samarc, would continue the search for his battery. As a rule +Mowbray was the last to continue in the presence of a man who wanted him +to go; and yet, he knew that Samarc hated the field pieces as much as +he, and that he did not mean to live through the day. He hesitated. The +final urging was pitiful--a sort of tumult from under the cloths. + +“Nothing doing, Samarc,” he said suddenly. “You and I for it--at least +a while yet. I say--do the hard thing. The little man would have it so. +We'll go down closer to the infantry stuff and forget ourselves.” + +...Yes, Samarc would do the hard thing. There was gratitude for which +Peter had no receptivity--gratitude for the friendship, the night's +watching. His hand was taken and carried to the other's breast, as only +a Russian could do--and down they went together. + +The infantry was their magnet as they made the down grade--miles of gray +lines. The lower land was trampled and dusty; the breeze lost itself in +the hollows. Just as an orchardist, discovering a certain parasite on +his trees, thinks of a specific poison, so they knew that this great +“forward” of the Russian foot-soldiers would start the Austrian machine +and rapid-fire batteries. + +They were moving now in front of a long line of new Russian works which +had appeared deserted. Boylan would have known better; Samarc should +have known. Peter had taken for granted that these had been emptied +by the huge advances already in movement. They were in the path of +Kohlvihr's reserves, it appeared, in the center of the line, when the +signal “forward” was sounded. The works suddenly blackened with men. +It was too much for the pony. Peter found a bridle with a broken throat +latch in his hand, as he watched the little beast tear down the front, +and heard the roar of laughter from the oncoming line. + +The new front seemed endless in the rolling land. They were instantly +enveloped. Out of the throng appeared one face that Peter had bowed to +once or twice before--a captain, now working his way toward them. He +glanced at the civilian insignia on Peter's sleeve, and said, with a +smile: + +“You've tricked us well this time, Mr. Mowbray. I hope you get back as +cheerfully. You'll have to go forward now--at least, until we stretch +out in skirmish. We're rather thick just here. Stay with my command--” + +“We thought we were back of you,” Peter said. “I assure you I didn't +plan this, but it's very kind of you.” + +The Captain glanced at Samarc and turned to the American as they urged +on. + +“Hurt badly?” + +“Just his face.” + +“Stay by--some of the soldiers might be rough--” + +They were carried forward in the resistless interference of great +numbers. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Peter had pitied the infantry formerly from a hill, having stood with +a battery as it sprayed the Austrian lines. He had watched the Austrian +machines pouring steel upon the Russians also. There had been emotion; +he had felt the shame of it powerfully on this very morning; but now he +reflected, with a touch of levity, that his pity had not been adequate. +At the present juncture he belonged to the sacrifice. The process was +reversed; the globe of his experience shortly to be made complete. He +would have the effects of light and darkness from the vantage of the +preying and the preyed upon. + +Peter had never been actually down among men before. He had watched men, +studied them sincerely, passed them in the street, reflected upon their +problems. At the same time, his personal impetus had always been away +from men, his a different purpose, a different aim. He was _one_ now, +one in the massed destiny of the command, one to obey. Only by falling +could he be free from this extraordinary authority of the army. + +Moreover, he felt that the motive energizing this authority was not of +the human but of the tiger. + +He might have thought of all this before, as he had thought of death +as one thing for the outsider and a different thing for the little +lens-maker he liked so well. But this was experience, not conjecture. He +was an atom of the charge. The army authority disrupted his moral sense. +It bound and gagged him. No imagination could have constricted his vital +and creative force as this adventure, in which he was caught up like a +chip and carried forward in a rush of animal power. Fear had no part +of his revulsion, but the break of his will. It was not like a man +drowning, in an insensible element; this that carried him _had_ a +consciousness and it was unclean. + +He saw that the rankers leaned on each other; that there was not yet in +the peasant faces about him a single separate individual relation to the +impending peril. These men might have, seen others fall by the hundreds, +but their faith was in the command, their law its law. Peter saw that +they were in a sense like men parading through city streets, who endure +the eyes of the crowds because they are part of a line. It was the +eternal illusion of numbers again--the elbow brush, the heat, the +breath, the muttering of men--this atmosphere that the military machine +breathed. Standing alone, most of them would have fallen from fear. + +He smelled the unwashed crowd. Under all the bronze that life in +the open had given the command was the lardy look of earth-born men, +close-to-the-ground men; these were the hordes that put on pounds and +size, the rudiment of a mind, the momentary ignition of soul perhaps +in moments such as now--and pass to the earth again. Yet the history of +Europe was to be written upon a surface like this; this, the soil of the +future. It was close to chaos, but as yet undefiled by man. This was the +newest product of earth, the new terrific fecundity of the North +that had alarmed lower Europe; these were the peasant millions as yet +unfathered, strong as yet only as bulls are strong, gregarians, almost +without memory; their terror, pain, passion, hope, genius not individual +yet, but in the solution of the crowds. + +Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle +to retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution +draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire of +a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps--but to +give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, +the crush ended. Entire figures of men could be seen, instead of necks, +beards, and shoulders. Samarc gripped his arm, the other hand pointing +to a little red-haired boy who ran, crouched, sped on again, halted to +look, in the true squirrel fashion of advance, which is the approved +procedure of skirmishers. He talked to himself, appeared lost in +absorption, reminded one continually of Spenski when his face was +averted--and was just one of the miles of infantry. + +Their faces looked cold now; a part of the gray tone so often observed. +The officers fought to stretch them out. Every line of fear that the +human mouth can express Peter saw. Now the drum of the Austrian pieces. +It was not as they had heard it in the heights, but like an encore at +first--as if some tremendous mass of men in a wooden gallery had started +a buffeting of feet. The valley muffled the volleys; the actual steel +was not heard until it neared like a rain torrent; indeed it found their +immediate lines before they heard the murderous cutting of the air. The +Austrian gunners were placed for enfilading, so that a fraction of point +gave them impaling force and a wide swath in the ranks. + +Peter saw the little red head cocked forward as if to listen to the +nearing gusts of steel. + +Now men were down and crying out. The fire was like that of a hostile +regiment concentrating its volley upon a little knot of soldiers--the +air was whipped, wild with throbbing missiles. Supernatural fear was +the answer from the very souls of men. Their prayer (in Mowbray's +conception) was not for life, but for cessation. Yet the machines held +them with infernal leisure as one holds the stream from a garden hose to +a spot of clay clinging to masonry. + +In all postures the soldiers met the gale, with every answering sound. +Then falling, rising, crawling, the remnant went back. It was not pain +nor death nor wounds that mattered--but the hurtling concussions in the +air, the plague of steel.... + +It stopped. Peter lay exhausted an instant. He felt no hurt. He was down +because one could not stand in that sweep of projectiles. He recalled +that he had seen the red head fall a moment before, and turned like a +sick man, his eyes rolling, to learn if it were a dream or not. Yes, +Redhead had fallen. Samarc was crawling toward him on his knees. Peter +writhed forward, too, but disliking the movement lest it bring the +guns upon them again. He forgot that. Redhead was muttering about _the +storm_. + +“Are you hard hit, boy?” Peter called. + +There were others about--a whole line of fallen, but they saw just this +one--his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was young like +the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much bewildered, the gray, +clayey hue upon him, but not at all uncouth. Samarc felt his spine, +turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now Redhead saw the effigy +that was Samarc. He had been watching Peter before. + +His mouth opened, eyes seemed to settle back into a red gleam of horror, +his face swung around into the dirt. Peter would have given his arm to +spare Samarc that. No sound from under the cloth--only a breath. Samarc +shouldered him, raised himself with the burden. + +There are pressures of will. One turns on a certain force to meet an +obstacle, and it is exhausted. There are other sources of power, but +one brushes death to summon them. Far ahead they saw the remnant making +cover. Now Peter noted that there was human need at every step. They lay +in all positions, squirmed their faces up to him and implored. The few +were still; the many writhed. He looked for a small one. He had never +lifted a man and was surprised when one came up and rolled as if by +magic across his back. It was so easy that he wanted to take others. + +“I will come back,” he called to the faces. + +He meant to come back as he said it. He wanted to bring them all in. +He had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc and +Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man changes in +a day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he been there. A +_moujik_ arose from his knees in front of them, as they staggered on. He +was stunned, bewildered, blinded, but he could hear. + +“Come on--we're going back,” Peter said. + +The other held out his hand gropingly. Peter placed the flap of his coat +in it, and the moujik stumblingly followed.... Another soldier on his +knees barred the way. + +“We're going back,” Peter said. “Come on. You can crawl--” + +The soldier set out eagerly to obey, as if it had been a great boon to +follow with his own strength. It was the mightiest episode of the day to +Peter Mowbray. “My God, how they obey _men_!” he said, with awe. “They +_could_ be led right--peasants who obey like that!” + +There was singing all about him--not of bullets, though this little +movement on the field drew a thin, uncertain long-range fire from some +intrenchment (apparently it was not enough to start a machine)--a low +singing as of wells of gladness reaching the surface. Peter was torn +with the agony of the field, yet thrilling with happiness--as if there +was liberation somewhere within. He turned to the crawling one who +inspired him: + +“We're all hurt, but we're going back to bed. Come on--you're doing +famously--” + +The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and the +Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about _the storm_.... It +was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as harmless as sandflies +after the horror of hornets they had known.... They were alone. They saw +the heaped rims of the Russian works ahead--five of them, alone, for, +queerly enough, they were as one. + +And now from ahead, from the concealed Russian lines, arose a roar such +as Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic force that filled +his eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought that the +end of the war must have come--so glad and so mighty was that shouting. + +Now a fragment of the line ran forth to bring the little party in, not +minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest they +start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of maimed +and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the command--even +the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an incoherent Boylan +took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. Kohlvihr and Dabnitz +stood there, the old man repeating: + +“Get the name of the hospital man.” + +Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat. + +“Hospital steward,--I have that,” he said a second time, “but what's the +name and the division?” + +“He can't speak,” said Peter. “I'll get his name later. He's been +wounded in the mouth.” + +Curiously enough in this turmoil it appeared for the first time why +Samarc had been allowed a free field practically--why he had not been +impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's +blouse that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things +were darkening about him. He smelled the cedars. Her colors seemed just +out of view.... She had been near. + +“Peter--are you hit?” It was Boylan's voice. + +“No, just bushed.” + +Now he heard Kohlvihr say: “Anything for you we can, Mr. Mowbray. As a +civilian, you are of course exempt from specific honors, but as soon as +I learn your companion's name I shall suggest that he be honored by the +Little Father.” + +“Why, you've put the whole line back into fighting trim!” Boylan +whispered. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Something of the activity now apparent to the blurred faculties of +Mowbray, as he sat in the clammy embrace of nausea and struggling for +breath, appealed to him as structurally wrong; almost inconceivably +abominable, in fact. He had no interest in his so-called achievement, +regarded it with a laugh, repeated that it was pure accident; but +such as it was, he objected to it being used to put the line back into +“fighting trim.” + +He was in the large sod-covered pit occupied by field headquarters. He +turned at the sound of breathing at his side. Samarc was sitting there. +Peter's hand went to his knee. Aides, messengers, and orderlies hastened +in and out. There were twenty men in the pit--Kohlvihr the center of +all. Big Belt was ministering--a flask, a momentary massage, a steady +run of comment, ruddy from the heart.... The activity came to him again. + +Kohlvihr was actually planning another infantry advance. + +Peter started to speak, but halted for further reflection, a bit +skeptical as to his own sanity. This was the third day of the battle; +this the day planned to drive a hole through the difficult Austrian +hills; the whole Russian army was dependent upon taking this Austrian +position; the weather was becoming colder, Berlin still afar off; the +Russian left and center pinned to the results of action here. + +So far mental processes seemed adequate, but this changed in no way his +attitude toward the atrocious activity in the brain of Kohlvihr of the +bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr might sally forth for his wounded; hundreds were dying +out there in the windy hollow. He, Peter Mowbray, had seen their +faces--their bodies to the end of sight. But Kohlvihr had no thought +of that; rather to meet the range of death machines again with another +horde of his skirmishers--and again--and again, until the end of the +day--until enough passed through to gain the opposite slopes in fighting +force, or until the Austrian ammunition was exhausted.... + +And Kohlvihr had never been out there. His cave was well back in the +shelter of the works--sheltered from ahead and from the sky, with +Judenbach behind.... Old Doltmir, the second in command, was saying: + +“It's a terrible price to pay, General--a terrible price. You will note +that they enfilade our lines as we reach the bottom land. You will +note that their machines cover the valley perfectly and that they are +practiced now--” + +There was balm in that, but acid covered it an instant later from +Kohlvihr, who swallowed a drink and turned with a snarl. + +“We have the price to pay--” + +Peter was thinking now of the front line that had cheered his coming in; +the men so ready to forget themselves for a little spectacle, and the +thrill that had come to his own breast from their shouting. _He loved +them and knew why._ And those men, their lives and deaths--were in +the hands of this red-eyed human rat who fouled the air.... No, Peter +thought, it wasn't the brandy that smelled. It's Kohlvihr and the +brandy. + +“Good God, Boylan,” he muttered in English, “can't you get him by the +throat?” + +Boylan's eyes were wild. He laughed softly, however, saying in Russian: +“Very good, Peter--you'd joke at your death--” + +And Big Belt's eyes roved to Dabnitz, who apparently had not heard +Peter's remark. + +...And now the tugging from Samarc that meant words! It seemed as if a +ghastly stillness prepared for that final rumble; certainly stillness +followed it. All eyes turned, even Kohlvihr's, to the effigy. But Peter +alone understood. + +“...Don't let them take off the bandages.” + +Samarc left his seat in the dark corner and walked evenly toward the +center where Kohlvihr stood, his aides about him--poor old Doltmir +standing apart and distressed. The moment had come for the order to be +given. Kohlvihr turned to a dispatch rider at the door--a door made of +cedar trunks. + +For the moment Peter was blocked between two desires, or paralyzed. The +huge face of Boylan close by mutely implored him to be silent. + +“Samarc,” he called. + +Samarc did not turn. Now Peter saw the red face of Kohlvihr in its gray +fringe suddenly lifted and enlarged. The effigy was close to it, but +not higher, and hands were tightening beneath it--Samarc's strong unhurt +hands. There had been one snarling scream. It was followed by a shot +from Dabnitz. The red face went down with the other to the clay floor. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +The roar of the battle followed as Peter staggered back alone to +Judenbach. He must have traversed a mile before there was a rational +activity of his faculties. The first mental picture was that of +the officers running along the works as the order for “advance as +skirmishers” was given. They were inspiring the men in the name of the +Little Father. + +“If only they hadn't said that,” Peter muttered pathetically. + +Then he recalled that Kohlvihr had been lifted practically unhurt from +the clay floor; that his order was carried out. The infantry had obeyed. +With all he knew, and all he had seen that day, the mystery of common +men deepened. Out of it all strangely stood forth in his mind now the +man who could not rise, but who crawled after him at a word.... +These men obeyed--that was the whole story. If they were given true +fathers!... Why, that _was_ the answer! + +Peter had come into this with all the fire of revelation. He had earned +it. Blood and courage, and the stress of death, had given it to him. Yet +it was worth it all. He would tell Berthe Wyndham.... + +He stopped short at the edge of the town. Never was there in his life +a moment of profounder humility. Berthe Wyndham had told him all this +before they left Warsaw--on the day that the message came from Lonegan. +All he had learned to-day through such rigor and jeopardy she had told +him; and she had understood it then with the same passion that he had it +now. + +Peter had only listened that day; he had lived it to-day. His heart +suddenly flooded with warmth for Fallows. Fallows had been through all +this--all the burning and zealotry of it, and had come forth into +the coldness and austerity of service. It was very wonderful. Peter +Mowbray's eyes smarted. They, and the service, had certainly crumpled +the old fronts of calm and the sterile pools of intellect. He loved the +peasants now, _and he knew why_.... He saw what a stick he had been, +but this didn't trouble him greatly. The new seeing was enough; he was +changed. His emotions presently concerned the fresh realizations so +dearly bought--in the past three days... three days. + +Not until now did he think of Samarc.... The reality had stood like a +black figure at the door of his brain throughout all the walk, but it +did not enter until now. No, Samarc would not come back to Judenbach. It +was finished as he had intended. He had ceased to kill. Even at the last +he had but used his hands, and in as righteous wrath as ever tortured +human fingers to terrible strength.... He, Mowbray, had not remained to +assure himself that the last command of his friend was obeyed. This +hurt him not a little.... He was in the main street... exertion, sorrow, +exaltation; now he was whipped again. He felt he had not done well at +the last. A teamster yelled to him to get out of the way. Peter stepped +back wearily to let a string of ambulances by. + +Across was that grim door of the house of amputations. He was not quite +ready to enter. He would get himself in hand better. He had not been +gone long--it was only mid-forenoon. He would go to his quarters and +clean up a little--perhaps rest a moment. His thoughts turned often to +Samarc, always with a pang. He wished the Big Belt were here. This last +reminded him of his saddle bags--razors and all gone with the pony. +Boylan would have the laugh at him now. + +He could not sit still in his quarters. Voices came to him from the +street, from the court--even from that grim place a little down the way. +He arose and went across to the familiar hospital ward.... Another was +in Samarc's place. A hand beckoned. It was from the cot of the soldier +for whom he had struggled with the young doctor. He went to it. There +was a message: + +_“They were talking of you as an enemy--“_ + +That was all. Peter did not care for particulars. His volition was +quickened. He had been sadly in need of that. Now he went direct to +the hallway, where he had left her in the morning, and on upstairs. The +rooms were crowded with wounded and medical officers, but no familiar +face--neither Berthe Wyndham nor Moritz Abel. + +Many eyes held him. He did not see the young doctor, but the surgeon who +had come to the other ward was there--that bland, quiet face, regarding +him curiously now. Peter asked nothing, and was free apparently to move +anywhere about the building. None of his own was there. His loneliness +was untellable. He could not have spoken to a stranger without a break +of tone.... + +He wished for Boylan again. + +Peter was in the street, moved along the walls as one very tired. He was +searching, but the thoughts grew so terrible that he could not keep his +eyes to outer activity. His steps led him to the Court of Executions. +Standing by the street gate, he dreaded to enter. He would not tolerate +this, yet it was more than life or death. He had a mental picture of +finding her there, her body shrinking into one of the stone corners--as +a maimed bird that has fallen lies still under its wings. + +His breath burst from him. He had been holding it as if under water. His +eyes traveled electrically now. + +There were dead in the court, but she was not there, nor Abel nor +Fallows. He looked through the row of gratings and under the arches. +There was a low stone lintel with a dim deserted hall beyond.... + +Just now a step behind him, heavy boots ringing on the stone flags. +Peter turned. A Russian soldier halted, raised his rifle, commanded him +to advance. + +Peter waved his hand in a gesture of obedience, but turned to glance in +the gloom under the lintel again. It was just _in the turning_ that +he had caught the gleam of her colors--not when he stared straight in. +Peter assured himself of this before giving himself up. + + + + +IV + +IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +Chapter 1 + + +The dead man in the hospital steward's coat had been carried forth from +the bomb-proof pit. + +Big Belt perceived that the day was working out according to its evil +beginnings.... After coming in from the infantry hollows as one risen +from the dead (and transfigured in the garish light of field bravery) +Peter Mowbray had left him again, now in the possession of strange +devils. + +Boylan was not ready to go back to Judenbach. It was almost noon. He was +watching the heart of the Russian invasion of Galicia, and from its +main lesion. This he knew quite as well as Dabnitz, or Doltmir, or the +half-insane Kohlvihr himself. The Austrians still held. Indeed, it was +not hard for them. The Russian west wing entire, and possibly part of +its center, would be called upon to flank this stoutly adhering force, +if Kohlvihr continued to fail. Such an action would greatly delay the +general forward movement of the Russian arms. + +“You will be without a command, General,” Doltmir suggested, at the +end of the second infantry throwback, following that in which Peter had +participated. “We are not disturbing them greatly in our advances. We +are chiefly effective in destroying their ammunition--” + +“Then we must continue that,” said Kohlvihr. + +“But the troops will not continue to charge. Our reserves are in. The +fresher men see the fate of the former advances. The hollows are in +plain sight from the forward rifle pits.” + +“The officers must drive them forward--” + +“Most of the lesser commanders are lying in the valley. The troops are +killing them as well as the enemy--” + +“Do you mean there is mutiny, sir?” + +“Not of a reckonable type. These men work in the midst of action. +Moreover, our troops are hard pressed. Our division has borne the brunt +for three days in almost unparalleled action.” + +“Would you advise me to leave them funking in the trenches?” Kohlvihr +demanded. + +“General, I would advise a report to the Commander of our failure in +four advances--that we can not get sufficient men across the valley to +charge the Austrian positions. Meanwhile I would order the wounded to +be brought in. After that, I would suggest food for the men in the +trenches.” + +“I do not care to report four failures without a fifth trial.” + +Doltmir turned back. + +Big Belt was thinking fast. In all his experience, he had never seen the +Inside stripped naked like this. Of course, he had observed the +strategy of small bodies of troops determined by a swift consultation of +officers; but this was an army in itself, or had been, and on the part +of Kohlvihr it was very clear that personal matters were powerfully to +the fore. Kohlvihr was enraged; Kohlvihr was ambitious. Big Belt was +aware that, given a free hand and a free cable, he could make Kohlvihr a +loathsome monster in the eyes of the world, this merely by a display of +the facts. + +Boylan's view was cleared a little as he thought of such a narrative. +His sense of the reception of the story showed him the commanding nature +of it. The thing might be done later. Peter's trouble was that he could +not forget it for the present. Thoughts of work put a new energy into +Boylan's thinking. These things now passing in the bomb-proof pit formed +the climax of a narrative that had been running from the Warsaw office +to the present hour.... For a moment in the story's grasp, Boylan did +not hear the voice of the invaluable Dabnitz: + +“...He is under suspicion, sir,” that young officer was saying to his +chief. “In fact, the whole hospital corps is rotten with revolutionists, +but the fact remains he can sing like an angel. I think if Poltneck were +brought here to the lines and made to sing the folk songs--” + +“Get him,” said Kohlvihr. “Is he under arrest?” + +“No; as yet merely under espionage. He was valuable in rather a unique +way in the hospitals yesterday.” + +“Bring him at once.” + +Kohlvihr sent an order for his troops to rest and have a bite in the +trenches. + +The sorry Doltmir stepped forward again: + +“Would it not be well to bring in our wounded from the field, sir?” + +“We will _have_ the field presently,” said Kohlvihr. “The sun is not +hot. The lines already have seen too much of their blood.” + +Big Belt remembered that. Moments were intense again when Poltneck was +brought in--a tall, angular, sandy-faced chap, with a wide mouth and +glistening teeth, a smile that quickened the pulse, somehow. Boylan +thought of the passions of women for such men. His shoulders were lean +and square. Yellow hair, long on top and cropped tight below the brim +of his hat, dropped a lock across his forehead, as he uncovered in the +bomb-proof pit. He had been shaven-recently. Boylan reflected that he +belonged to the hospital corps. There was a thrill about him not to be +missed. + +“Poltneck--he calls himself,” Dabnitz whispered. “Poltneck perhaps, but +I've seen him with the Imperial orchestra or I'm losing memory. I didn't +have a good look at him before--” + +Dabnitz was called by the General, who was seated with Doltmir over a +small collation with wine and bread. The lieutenant was requested to +arrange the inspiration for the men in the trenches. + +Boylan noted how much taller the singer was than even the tall Russian +officer--as the two stood together. + +“The men are very tired, Poltneck,” Dabnitz began. “Much has been +required of them, and much is still required. We want you to help us.” + +“Yes?” + +Poltneck had been looking about, interested as a kitten in a strange +house. He regarded Kohlvihr and the rest, the trace of a smile around +his mouth. The smile was still there as he turned quickly to Dabnitz +with the single questioning word, not contemptuous in itself, but Boylan +imagined it morally so. The voice furnished a second and very real +thrill. + +“We thought you would sing for your fellow soldiers. You are from the +peasantry, I am told?” + +“Yes, from the people.” + +“We thought you would understand,” Dabnitz added. “There is an operatic +tenor in the command--one Chautonville. We might have sent for him, but +our thought was to reach the soldiers directly. It is a great honor.” + +“Is it? How and where do you want me to sing?” + +“An advance is to be ordered immediately. We will send an escort with +you along the trenches--just before the order is given. I heard you +singing yesterday. I am sure the men will answer with zeal.” + +Poltneck seemed to wilt. Boylan was caught with the others thinking it +was the mention of the trenches that frightened this hospital soldier. +Yet the smile had not changed when Boylan's eye roved to that. It was +not more contemptuous, nor less; but something about it was unsteadying. +Dabnitz already had used many more words than he expected. + +“I am not used to crowds,” Poltneck objected weakly. “I am just a simple +man. Already I am without voice. I beg of you to send for Chautonville +of the opera.” + +Dabnitz was puzzled. + +“That is out of the question. Chautonville is back in the city. Within +twenty minutes the order for advance will be given. Come, Poltneck; you +will do very well when you see your soldiers--” + +Boylan reflected swiftly at this point that the smile might be neither +deep nor portentous--a single accomplishment, some stray refinement +perhaps that had leaked back somehow to the people. + +“No, no. I am afraid. I belong back among the wounded. I am very good +there. This is not my place--” + +“Will you require men to assist you to the trenches? Already I have +talked too long.” + +“Yesterday I was an anesthetic,” Poltneck wailed. “To-day I am to be a +stimulant.” + +Kohlvihr now came forward. “It is time,” he said. + +“General,” said Dabnitz, “we have to deal with an unusual peasant, I am +afraid.” + +“It would not do for me to encroach upon the work of professionals,” the +singer explained in dilemma. + +“You see he is humorous,” Dabnitz observed. + +“We sent for you to sing to the soldiers. Will you do that?” the General +asked, from puffing cheeks. + +Poltneck looked down at him with sudden steadiness. “On the way home,” + he said. + +“You refuse--then?” + +“I would prefer that you wound them first.” + +“At least, he has declared himself,” said Dabnitz. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +They did not murder him then and there. Boylan was glad of that. His +sack was already full of blood.... It was all too big. Something would +happen to spoil the telling. No man ever got out with such a story.... +He was a little ashamed to find himself thinking of his newspaper story +so soon after the singer was led forth--the man who would sing for the +wounded, but who would not sing men to their death. Come to think--there +was a prostitution about it. Certainly Poltneck had a point of view. And +he was a hair-raiser of quality... everything about him. + +Boylan thought of writing the Poltneck incident, and became hopeless +again. The Russians would be idiots to let him out alive. He did not +expect it. The only chance was that they couldn't see themselves. +Perhaps Kohlvihr thought he was a hero to-day. Doubtless he did.... One +thing was sure, he, Boylan, must sit tight with his enthusiasm for the +Russian force; must play it harder than ever--must play it for Peter +Mowbray, too. + +“You fellows certainly have your troubles--front and back,” he said to +Dabnitz. “But I say, Lieutenant, you couldn't ask troops to go forward +better--you couldn't ask more of the Japanese in the business of +charges--” + +“I wasn't out in that service,” Dabnitz observed. + +“Grand little bunch of celibates afield, those Japanese--religious about +these matters of using up hostile ammunition. Fact is, I never saw +white troops go out to a finish four times in one day--as yours did +to-day--out over their own dead, too--” + +He was becoming genial; his heart quaking for Peter, as he thought +suddenly of the words aimed at Kohlvihr's throat, and of Peter's +association at the last with the man in the steward's blouse. ...Dabnitz +was unvaryingly courteous. + +The advance was on again. Boylan went forth to see the repulse. The +main lines on either side had loosened to fill the gaps of Kohlvihr's +division, the much-torn outfits braced by the fresher infantrymen. On +they went, a last time, over the strewn land. + +Boylan saw it all again; heard the drum of the batteries when the troops +reached the hollow of the valley; saw them change like figures on a +blurred screen; perceived the antics and the general settling--and +turned away.... + +It was like the swoop of a carrion bird an instant afterward--and the +deafening strike. The Austrians had varied a little. A shrapnel +battery had been emplaced among the rapid-fire pieces during the recent +interval. A hundred yards down the works to the east landed the first +finger of a hand that groped for headquarters. Boylan watched for the +second shell--one eye, and as little besides as possible, above the +rim of the trench now deserted. It was the same tension and tallying of +seconds that Peter had known on the afternoon that the moon rose before +the setting sun. Big Belt ducked at the second scream. The explosion was +nearer and a little back. He returned to field headquarters just as a +third shrapnel shivered the land still nearer the bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr's face was gray as the fringe of his hair. He looked little and +aged. + +“My compliments to the commander,” he was dictating, “...report that +after five advances we find enemy's front impregnable to infantry. +Headquarters now under shrapnel fire. We are forced to withdraw toward +Judenbach--” + +The dispatch rider was standing by. The dirt sprinkled down on their +heads through the wooden buttresses as another shrapnel broke outside. + +“But the wounded, General. The field is alive with wounded--” came from +Doltmir. + +“I can't send troops out there again--” The voice was thick and hoarse +with repression. “We'll get them at nightfall.... Gentlemen, we may now +withdraw.” + +Boylan was one of the last to leave. He saw the aged legs disappear up +the earth-rise as the rear door opened. The legs jerked and twitched +spasmodically, as if taking an invisible spanking. + +Boylan was actually afraid of his thoughts, lest they be read in his +face--the shocking personal business on Kohlvihr's part. “A little +shrapnel or two sends him quaking home, and _they_ went out five times +for him into the very steam of hell.” + +His brain kept repeating this in spite of him, so that he did not try to +overtake the staff. + +And _they_--the poor last fragment of them--were piling back toward +Judenbach, leaving their wounded behind. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Goylan was back in Judenbach. It was four in the afternoon. He had +searched everywhere for Peter Mowbray. The whole war zone was getting +blacker and blacker to his sight. He had even gone to the Grim House +to look for the white-fire creature who had taken his companion to her +breast, figuratively speaking; but neither she, nor the weak-shouldered +little chap who had brought the hospital steward's blouse, was there. +There remained Dabnitz, who more than any other was aware generally of +what passed. Big Belt returned to headquarters and waited. Darkness was +thickening before the Lieutenant came in. + +“Where's Mowbray?” + +Dabnitz came close and looked at the other sorrowfully. + +“How long have you known Mr. Mowbray?” + +Boylan tried to think. His faculties were at large. According to facts +he had known Peter (and not at all intimately) during a mere ten weeks +before the column left Warsaw. Facts, however, hadn't anything to do +with the reality. Peter Mowbray was his own property. He said as much, +his voice going back on him. + +“Mr. Boylan, I have seldom been more hard hit. He was my friend, too. A +more charming and accomplished young American would be hard to find, +but we who are out for service, a life and death matter for our country, +must not let these things enter. Mr. Mowbray is affiliated in various +ways with our enemies--not the Austrians, but enemies more subtle and +insidious.” + +“For God's sake--Dabnitz!” + +“I thought it would hurt you.” + +“You might just as well say it of me.” + +“Not at all. Your record stands. It was well known to us when you were +accepted to accompany our column. You will recall that it was your +estimate of Mr. Mowbray's superior that decided us to accept the younger +man--” + +“I have been with Mowbray night and day. He is a newspaper man, brain +and soul--one of the coolest and most effective I have ever met. He has +been for years in Paris and Berlin, before Warsaw.” + +“I am sorry. You did not know that he caught a young surgeon by the +throat this morning, when the former was very properly stimulating a +malingerer?” + +“I did not. But a personal matter ought not to weigh against a man's +life--” + +“You did not know that he was seen in somewhat extended conversation +yesterday and last evening with one of the most dangerous of our recent +discoveries among the revolutionists?” + +“I did not.” + +“Or that a woman came to him last night, in the heart of the night--and +talked long--and was called for by the same revolutionist; that Mr. +Mowbray went to her a little after daybreak this morning--” + +“Ah, Dabnitz--a little romance! All night he was serving in the +hospital. I went out to find him this morning, and saw him turn into +the amputation house. Following, I saw him standing there.... He had +probably never seen her until last night. You know how some young +fellows are. They--you turn around--and they are in an affair--” + +“But the two were overheard to speak of days in Warsaw together. It is +not such a little affair.” + +“I know nothing of it, but is such a thing fatal?” + +“She is under arrest with the other revolutionist that I mentioned--a +case against her that is hardly breakable--” + +Boylan sat down, + +“Of course you are aware--of the remark he made this morning in the +field headquarters? I saw how gallantly you tried to cover it. It was +that remark, by the way, which nearly cost the life of our General. The +hospital steward, took up the action as you know--” + +“Dabnitz, I was shocked as you. Peter was beside himself. He had come +in from the field--the actuality of it. He forgot where he was. The +unparalleled energy of the General to win the day, you know--and Peter +had just come in from the hollows where the men lay--” + +“My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--” + +For the first time, Big Belt felt the iron personality of the other. +There was something commercial in the manner of the last, a kind of +ushering out one who would not do. There are men who remain as aloof +as the peaks of Phyrges, though their words and intonations come down +running softly out of a smile. Boylan looked away, and then, with an +inner groan, turned back. + +“I tell you it is a mistake. The boy is as sound as--” + +He couldn't finish. There were exceptions to everything he thought of. +“I want to see him,” he added. + +“I'll try to manage that for you, a little later.” + +* * * + +It was darkening. In the front room of the house, Kohlvihr sat bung-eyed +by a telegraph instrument. The further strategy from Judenbach was +still in the dark to Boylan. He wished the heavens would fall. As +never before, he had the sense that he had pinned his life and faith to +matters of no account; not that Peter Mowbray belonged to these matters, +but that he, too, was meshed in them.... A shot from somewhere below +in the town. Boylan shivered. There was shooting from time to time for +various butchering reasons, but this particular shot was all Big Belt +needed to finish the picture. + +“Why, they'll shoot the lad,” he muttered. + +The sentence remained in his brain in lit letters. + +The States of America couldn't help him; even Mother Nature had turned +her face from this war.... “My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--” something +crippling in that. + +Dabnitz returned, bringing a pair of saddle bags. + +“They're Mr. Mowbray's,” he said. “His horse got loose and tangled +himself in a battery. One of the men brought in the bags.” + +“Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Boylan. + +Dabnitz started to the door when Boylan called, “Oh, I say, did you look +through 'em?” + +The Russian smiled deprecatingly. + +“Of course, I needn't have asked that, but I wanted you to. I'll gamble +you didn't find anything--” + +“A little book of poems by a man we're familiar with. A woman's name +on the front page--a woman we're familiar with. Nothing startling, Mr. +Boylan.” + +Dabnitz was gone, the bags lying on the floor. Big Belt opened the +nearest flap. On top was a case containing a tooth brush and a pair of +razors. + +“Peter will want these,” he muttered. + + + + +V + +THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter walked ahead unbound. He could not keep his mind on the journey +with the sentry. His thoughts winged from Lonegan at Warsaw, to _The +States'_ office and home, as if carrying the message of his own end.... +Boylan might finally break out with the details.... The personal part +ended suddenly, like an essential formality, leaving him a sorrow for +Boylan and his mother especially. His full faculties now opened to +Berthe Wyndham. + +He was ordered to turn twice to the left. They had left the little stone +court, entering the main street, and back again into the first side +street for a short distance to a narrow stairway, between low mercantile +houses now used for hospitals. Up the creaking way; the sentry within +answered the sentry without and opened the door. A long narrow room with +a single square of light from the roof, and Moritz Abel came forward. + +“I'm sorry,” the poet said. “I had hoped--” + +“Yes, we had hoped,” Peter replied with a smile. + +Duke Fallows appeared from the shadows and hastily pressed his hand. +Abel had turned toward the square of light, as if there were still +another. + +She came forward like a wraith--into the light--and still toward him, +her lips parted, her eyes intent upon him. The sentry who had brought +him turned, clattered down the stairs. The door was shut by the other +sentry. Her lips moved, but there was nothing that he heard. With one +hand still in his, she turned and led him back under the daylight to the +shadows.... He heard Moritz Abel's voice repeating that he had been a +poor protector. Fallows spoke.... + +There was much to it, hardly like a human episode--the silence so far as +words between them, the tragedy in each soul that the other must go; the +tearing readjustments to the end of all work in the world, and the swift +reversion of the mind to its innumerable broken ends of activity; and +above all, the deep joy of their being together in this last intense +weariness.... She wore her white veiled cap and apron; having followed +the summons from her work. There was a chair in the shadows, and she +pressed him down in her old way, and took her own place before him (as +in her own house) half-sitting, half-kneeling. + +“Peter, I could not believe--until I touched you. I was praying just +here, that you would not come--” + +“I am very grateful to be here,” he said. + +“I was so lonely. I was afraid of death. Fallows talked to me and Moritz +Abel--but it did not do. I was thinking of you at the battle, as if you +were a thousand miles away--as if I were waiting, as a mother for you, +waiting for tidings with a babe in her arms--” + +She paused and he said, “Tell me,” knowing that she must speak on. + +“...It was just like that. I prayed that you would live--that you would +not be brought here--that the time would pass swiftly. We have been here +hours. They came for us soon after you went. We were all together in +that place--all at our work. They led us here through the streets. It +seemed very far. Something caught in the throat when the soldiers looked +at me. I know what my father felt when he kept saying, 'It's all right. +Yes, this is all right.' I know just how the surprise and the amazement +affected him from time to time, and made him say that.... Then we +were here. I wanted this darker chair. They came--I mean our good +friends--Fallows came and talked to me, and Moritz Abel, but it wasn't +what I seemed to need. Ah, Peter, I'm talking in circles--” + +Something warned him that she was going to break, but he could not speak +quickly enough. The human frightened little girl that he had never seen +before in Berthe Wyndham, was so utterly revealing to his heart that +he was held in enchantment. She seemed so frail and tender, as she said +plaintively: + +“We must be very dear to each other--” + +There were tears in her eyes now, and her breast rose and fell with +emotion, as poignant to Mowbray as if it were his own. + +“I did pray for them not to bring you here,” she added. “If I had not +left Warsaw, you would not be here now--” + +“Listen--oh, Berthe, don't say that. Please, listen--” + +The current was turned on in his brain, thoughts revolving faster and +faster: + +“It would all have been a mere military movement if you had not come. I +would not have understood Spenski, nor the real Samarc, nor Kohlvihr as +he is, nor the charges of infantry. The coming of Moritz Abel, words I +have heard, the street, the singing, the field, the future--why, it's +all different because you came. I am not dismayed by this. I have had +a great life here. If this is our last day--the matter is lifted out of +our hands. And dear Berthe, what do you think it means to me--this last +hour together?” + +“What does it mean, Peter?' + +“I look into your face, and know that I've found something the world +tried to make me believe wasn't here. Everything I did as a boy and man +tried to show me that there isn't anything uncommon in a man finding a +woman. My mother knew differently, but every time she wanted to tell me +something happened. Another voice broke in, or perhaps she saw I wasn't +attentive or ready. But I know now--and it didn't come to me until here +in Judenbach--” + +“She must have known,” Berthe whispered. + +Fallows drew near. He seemed calm but very weary. “May I bring up my +chair for a little while?” he asked as an old nurse might. + +“Please do,” they said. + +“Thank you,” Fallows answered, and returned with his wooden chair. “If +you change the subject I shall have to go.” + +“I was just saying that I had found something in the world that my +mother knew all the time,” Peter explained. + +“Oh, I say, this is important. Moritz must come in,” Fallows told them. + +They nodded laughingly. + +“Moritz,” he called. “Here's a little boy and girl telling stories--very +important stories. You must hear.... We're all one, Peter Mowbray.” + +They drew closer together. Berthe was watching Peter intensely, knowing +that it was his test, very far from his way. Then she remembered the +death-room, and that all things are changed by that. She sat very still, +trying to give him strength to go on. “I've always used my head,” he +said, “always explained why, and made diagrams. The one time I didn't +use my head--well, the best thing happened in my experience.” + +Peter was in for it, and weathered gracefully. + +“You'll forgive me,” he said, when they asked to know. “I was thinking +of meeting Berthe Wyndham. I saw her one day passing through the Square +in Warsaw near the river corner. Well, it all came about, because I went +there again the next day at the same time--” + +He was a little breathless, but the glad and eager sincerity of his +listeners helped him, and he wanted more than all to lift Berthe if he +could. + +“I could not help thinking of that when I recalled another little matter +yesterday--in Judenbach. Once when we were little, my brother Paul and +I quarreled. My mother and I were alone afterward. I told her of the +tragedy. Everything seemed lost since I had lost Paul. She said, 'Some +time you will find your real playmate, if you are good and search very +hard.' I suppose she has forgotten. I forgot for years. But it came +to me here.... You see I never suffered before, never was tested, +everything came smoothly, everything covered up--” + +“You are good to let us listen,” Fallows said quietly. He was staring at +the ceiling. + +“Here in Judenbach the relations of all other days began to match up. +It was as if the whole war was to show _me_, each department carried on +clearly. I didn't know a man could stand so much. Day before yesterday +morning, I wanted to quit. I had a kind of madness from it all--an ache +that wouldn't break or bleed, and was driving the life out of me. I +found the way out by going into the hospital. I had to forget myself or +go under.... When it seemed all over to-day, and the sentry was marching +me here (you see I had gone back to the house of amputations and +couldn't find any of you, and then to the Court of Execution, and you +were not there), it was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be +described, when I found you here--” + +Fallows straightened his head and blinked. + +“'It was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be described,'” he +repeated. “We know that. This is too fine.” + +Peter laughed. He was thinking of what Lonegan had said on the night he +came back from Berthe's door, after she had asked him not to come +in.... “Peter, you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your +fires--not even how well you bank 'em.” + +They seemed to require further talk from him. He did not want the two +men, sorry they had drawn up their chairs. His heart was very tender +to them--Fallows and Abel, and the woman who had changed him. They +were before him now as messengers from the benignant empire of the +future--strange strong souls gathered together now in waiting at the end +of a road.... He told them of the bomb-proof pit, the naked animalism of +Kohlvihr, the infantry advances and of Samarc. Presently his heart was +light again, the pent forces of expression springing gladly into use. + +“...The laughable thing about it,” he finished, “--the thing that held +me speechless as Samarc left my side there in the dark corner of the +pit--was that just a few minutes before Kohlvihr had promised to see +that the Little Father decorated him. He had almost reached the General +when my throat worked, and I called, 'Samarc.' It was as if he didn't +hear me. Nothing would have stopped him. It was his idea, yet I think he +meant only to stop the order of another infantry advance. He had ceased +to kill, you know....” + +Peter ended it hastily. They were all interested to know why Samarc was +to have been decorated. This opened the earlier part of the day, and his +strange wandering with Samarc among the hills--the magic of the hospital +steward's coat, the scent of the cedars, and Peter's persistent sense of +Berthe's nearness. + +“Actually, I had to stop and think,” he explained. “Each time I +fell into an abstraction, it struck me that she was there. It seems +yesterday, too--” + +“I was just here,” Berthe said. “It was soon after we came. We were all +quiet at first--in different corners--” + +“Slipping away in that loneliness,” Fallows suggested. + +“As for me,” said Moritz Abel, “I had to make peace with myself. We have +been very busy the last few days. I have discovered that I am a bit of a +coward at heart--and I missed having something to do--” + +They smiled at him. “Perhaps I was out there,” Berthe said. “Perhaps I +was only sitting here--” + +It was a queer matter that the three men, each of whom would have given +his life to save the woman's, to all appearances accepted the fact of +her as one of them in courage and control. It was Abel who mentioned +the singer, Poltneck, whom Peter had not met. He had been left in the +hospital when the others were taken; yet he had been one in all their +interests and the most reckless and outspoken of all in his hatred of +slaughter. They did not understand, but hoped he would be saved. + +“He's a magician,” Abel said. “He sang to them yesterday--as they bore +the knife. He seemed to hold them in the everlasting arms. It was worth +living to witness that, but I'm afraid Poltneck will come to us. He's +got the fury. Hearing that we are gone, he will start something--if +only to join us. Then there will be no one to escape with the story. It +troubles me.... If Mr. Mowbray were only free. Doesn't it seem that our +brothers should hear the story?” + +His voice broke a little. His brow was wet. + +Fallows came back from the ceiling, and said: + +“Moritz, my boy, all is well with us. That which is true is immortal.” + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Abel reflected. + +“Yes,” he said presently, “but we have not fulfilled our purpose.... You +know, we set out in high courage to start the army back home again--and +now, here we are.” + +“A man named Columbus set out to discover a short passage to India and +found a New World. Really my son--these are not our affairs. We have +done what we could.... Once I wanted the world to answer abruptly to +my service--to speak up sharp. But I have made terms--hard terms we all +must make. This is it--to do our part the best we can, and keep off the +results. They are God's concern, Moritz.” + +“I dare say.” + +“When I was younger,” Fallows went on, “I wanted to make a circle of +light around the world. I thought they must see it, as I did. And often +I left my friends discussing my failure. But once I came home and looked +into the eyes of a little boy--a little peasant child named Jan. I saw +that his love for me had awakened his soul.... Man, these matters are +managed with a finer art than we dream of. The work is the thing.” + Peter swung into the larger current. They had all been cold. Fallows was +burning for them. The ice and the agony were melting from each heart. + +“We think all is going wrong. We sit and breathe our failures often +when the celestial answer is in the air. If we were not so obtuse and +fleshly, we could see the quickening of light about us. We have had our +hours here. We have breathed the open. A very huge army is about us, and +we are thrust aside. It would seem that we and our little story are lost +in the great brute noise. Why, Moritz, these things that we have thought +and dreamed will rise again in the midst of a world that has forgotten +the tread of armies.” + +They heard a voice in the street--a running step upon the stair. Queerly +it happened in that instant of waiting, that Peter heard the sound of +dropping water beyond the partition--drip, drip, drip, upon a tinny +surface. Berthe had risen, and followed Fallows and Abel to the door. +A moment later Poltneck, the singer, was with them, and the sentry +who brought him took his post with the other at the entrance. He freed +himself from them, and strode alone to the front of the room, where he +sat, face covered in his hands, weaving his head to and fro. + +“You do not well to welcome me,” he groaned at last. “I should have been +in a cell alone--not here among friends. You see in me the most abject +failure--a mere music-monger who forgot his greater work.” + +“Tell us--” + +He did not answer at once. They led him back into the shadows where +Peter and Berthe had been; gathered closely about, so their voices would +not carry. + +“We were hoping not to see you,” said Abel, “yet sending our dearest +thoughts. What you have done is good, and we will not be denied a song. +Speak, Poltneck--” + +“I was all right till you went. I was thinking of everything--but then +I became blind. The work in the hospitals palled. I did not do what I +could. They saw I was different, and watched closely. That made me mad. +I am a fool to temper and pride. All I have is something that I did not +earn--something thrust upon me that makes sounds. The rest is emptiness. +In fact there must be emptiness where sounds come from--” + +“We know better than that,” said Fallows. “Tell us and we will judge.” + +Poltneck straightened up and met the eyes of Peter. “This is the +correspondent?” he asked. + +“He came up from the field this morning and in looking for us--fell +under suspicion,” Berthe explained. + +The long hard arm stretched out to Peter, who still was somewhat at sea, +as Boylan had been, and afraid that he detected a taint of the dramatic. + +“I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit,” Poltneck declared. “In +fact, I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps two +hours or more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when they +sent for me. I thought it a summons, of course, such, as you--” + +He glanced at the faces about him, and continued: + +“But instead of leading me in the direction you had taken, the sentry +bade me mount a horse at the door, and we rode rapidly down to the edge +of the valley, to Kohlvihr's headquarters--a pestilential place sunken +in the ground and covered with sods. There they broke it to me what was +wanted--” + +His listeners began to understand. + +“Yes, I was to sing to the lines,” Poltneck added. “It appears they had +been driven back several times, leaving their dead and wounded in such +numbers on the field--officers and men--that there was some hesitation +about the expediency of trying it again. Not, however, in the bomb-proof +pit. Kohlvihr was of a single mind, determined to make his reputation as +man-indomitable at the expense of his division. A patchy old rodent of a +man-- + +“I was to be used to sing the men forward. Great God, they didn't see +the difference from singing to wounded men, to men under the knife +without sleep, to dying men and to homesick bivouacs--from this that +they asked. It is my devil. I played with them. I made them think I was +afraid. I made them think I was simple. One of them told me of the tenor +Chautonville with the army. I played to that. It was very petty of me to +get caught in this cleverness, because that's how I fell--” + +“You didn't sing the lines into a new advance?” Fallows asked. His face +looked lined and gray as he leaned forward. + +“No, I didn't do that. But I made them wait to find out. I was so +occupied with repartee and acting that I failed to seize the real chance +of all the world. I told them I had been tried out as an anesthetic, but +was not sure of myself in an opposite capacity. I begged them to send +for the member of imperial orchestra stars--” + +Poltneck's self-scorn was vitriolic as he now spoke. + +“I told them I was a poor simple man afraid of great numbers, abased +even before wounded, but that if they would wound the men first I would +try. It was this that betrayed me--the joy of astonishing. Oh, they were +without humor. It goes with the army--to be without humor. Really, +you would have been dumfounded at the brittleness of mind which I +encountered in the bomb-proof pit.... Of course, it had to come. It +dawned on them--what I meant, and what the real state of my scorn +was--at least, in part. And I was taken away, very pleased with myself +and joyous--” + +“I do not see where you failed. Where, where?” Berthe asked. + +It was Fallows who understood first--even before Abel and Peter, who was +not so imbued with the specific passion of the revolutionist. + +“I was here--back in the city when it came to me what I might have done. +And so clearly the cause of the failure was shown to me,” Poltneck said, +with a humility that touched Peter deeply, for his first thought had +vanished before the fact that Poltneck neither in the action nor the +narrative had once thought of his own life or death. + +“I should have gone out to the lines and met the men face to face. Oh, +it is hard--hard that I did not think of it, for I could have sung them +home, instead of on into the valley. We might have been marching back +now--all the lines crumbling--the bomb-proof pit squashed!” + +The final stroke fell upon him this instant. None of the others had +thought of it. + +“And these--doors! Living God, we could have opened these doors!” + +Their hands went out to him. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +A basket of food was sent in during the early afternoon. They gathered +about, making a place for the woman under the light. Abel was brighter, +his eyes full of tenderness. Poltneck had not long been able to hold out +in his misery against the philosophy of Fallows, who said as they broke +the bread: + +“We have spoken our testimony, and the big adventure is ahead. It's +against the law to look back. We are honored men. I am proud to be here, +proud of a service that requires no herald. In all my dreaming in +the little cabin in the Bosks I could think of no rarer thing than +this--five together, a singer, a poet, a peasant, and two lovers. It's +like a pastoral--but the dark suffering army is about us. ... Listen to +the fighting. ... But there will be an end to fighting? ... Our Poltneck +may already have sung the song to turn the armies back. Be very sure, he +would have thought of his _coup_ in time to-day, had the hour struck for +that. Sing to us now, my son. Your soul will come home to you. Sing to +us--_The Lord Is Mindful of His Own_--” + +It was started as one would answer a question--food in his hand, and +his eyes turned upward--a song of the Germans, too, the music of +Mendelssohn. + +... It became very clear to the five that the plan was good, that +nothing mattered but the inner life, and that the soul breathes deeply +and comes into its own immortal health, by man's thought and service to +his brother. They saw it again--that goodly rock of things. The light +was shining above. Their eyes filled with tears, and their hands touched +each others' like children in a strange hush and shadow. ... + +They heard a ragged volley of platoon fire from the distant court, but +it did not hold their thoughts from the song nor change a note. The huge +sandy head was turned upward, and the hand with its bit of broken bread +moved to and fro. ... + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Boylan went back to headquarters again, but his nerve was breaking. He +did not feel at one with the staff this afternoon, rather as a stranger +who wanted something which the great brute force was unwilling to give. +He was full of fears and disorders, as if all the eyes of men were +searching his secret places. He told the sentry that he would like to +see Lieutenant Dabnitz, and gave his name, much as a trooper would. +He sat cold and breathing hard for many minutes--an outsider, as never +before. Dabnitz came at last. Big Belt arose and clutched his arms. + +“Lieutenant,” he said. “I'll spend my life to prove you wrong about +Peter Mowbray. I'll get the United States of America to thank you and +General Kohlvihr, and the army for your kindness--if you spare him. I +don't care to go to him--unless I can take him word. My God, Lieutenant, +you mustn't shoot that boy! We've ridden together, all three. There's +so much death without that. He's innocent as a babe of any revolutionary +principle. I'll give America the greatest Russian story that--” + +“My dear Boylan, believe me, you are wrong. They are deep as hell +against us. You need not trouble, for they are happy as children at a +birthday party--with Poltneck singing and all joined hands--” + +Boylan's knees bent to the seat. + +“But we will not disturb them for the time. We will let you know,” + said Dabnitz. “It would be a shame to interrupt such a pleasant party. +Judenbach will be our headquarters for one more night.” + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Moritz Abel was saying: + +“... There is one perfect story in the world. It will bear the deepest +scrutiny of mind or matter or soul. Physically it is exact; mentally it +balances; spiritually it is the ultimate lesson. You will find in it all +that you need to know about Christianity, for it is the soul of that; +the one thing that was not in the world before the Christ came. You +will learn in it who is your Father; who your Brother is, and who your +Neighbor. + +“It will impart to you the clear eye for shams and material offices +and for the peril of fancied chosen peoples. From it you will draw the +cosmic simplicity of good actions, and a fresh and kindling hatred for +the human animal of grotesque desire. + +“Children grasp it with thrilling comprehension; it silences the +critical faculty of the intellectuals and animates the saint to tears of +ecstasy, even to martyrdoms. It expresses the dream of peace alike for +nations and men. It is a globe. You can go it blind, and win--following +the spirit of the Good Samaritan.” + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +The light was gray that came down through the skylight. Abel and +Poltneck and Fallows sat on the floor in the front end, because there +were not chairs for all. Back in the shadows sat Berthe and Peter. + +“...I think we will be a little bewildered,” she was saying, “as one +awakening from a dream, as one awakening in the sunlight. One stirs, you +know, and shuts the eyes again. The reality dawns slowly--if the house +is quiet.... It will be very quiet. We have been used to the cannonading +so long, and the cries in the night. It will take us a moment to realize +that it is all over. I think I see just how it will be then. I will have +that sense of the glad unknown--that something long anticipated is about +to happen. You know how it comes to one upon awakening, when something +perfect is to happen--the presence of it, before one remembers just what +it is?” + +Peter nodded in the shadow. + +“And then I will remember. It will be you. I will really open my +eyes--and you will be there!” + +Something of her fire came to him. + +“You are sure it will be like that--afterward?” he repeated. + +Her voice and lips trembled. “You ask just like a little child, Peter. +It is the little child in you that strikes the heart. Don't you really +believe in the _afterward?”_ + +“Yes, but I can't see it quite clearly, you know, as you do.” + +“You don't think it is all wayward and stupidly arranged as the army +would like to do it--do you?” + +They laughed softly together, but she wanted him to see it, as she did, +“Because,” she said, “if you do, we will be together more quickly. I +would have to go and find you, if you didn't come----” + +“I should want to come,” said Peter. + +He followed her eyes beyond the twilight from the roof, to the face of +Fallows, seen indistinctly in the shadows. It was like the figure of a +Hindu holy man sitting there so low, his hands raised palms upward, his +voice just audible. + +“Listen,” she said, her hand falling upon Peter's. + +“It isn't so much their death that is the great wrong to the soldiers by +the Fatherland. A man may do worse than die, at any time. It's the death +of hate the Fatherland inspires--the fighting death--the going-down with +blood-madness and hatred for the men of another country--not enemies at +all, no harm exchanged whatsoever between them. It is such deaths that +make the world hard to breathe in--the death of preying animals. But +all that is passing. These battles had to come at the last to hurry it +away....” + +“That's what I wanted to say, Peter,” Berthe whispered eagerly.... +“Fallows is greater than any,--an inspirer. He will go out with his +dream for men, strong and bright. Do you think that is the same as dying +the fighting death--with a curse and a passion for the death of men whom +you have never seen face to face?” + +“It's quite all right, you know,” said Peter. “I'm keen enough to see +it through, but it's a closed door yet. However, there's something +deathless about a woman like you--yes, I'm sure of that----” + +Her hands pressed his swiftly. “Then you may be very sure, there's +something deathless in the man she loves.... Listen, Fallows is talking +about your country now:” + +“... Russia is the invader, but America is the temple of the new spirit. +America must reanimate the world after this war. I believe she is being +born again now.... She was bred right. There is always that to fall back +upon. She was founded upon the principles of liberty and service to the +distressed. No other nation can say that. But America must lose the love +of self, must cease to be a national soul and become the nucleus of the +world soul of the future. Otherwise all that was holy in her conception +is dead, and the passion of her prophets is without avail. + +“There is a time for the development of the national soul, but ahead on +the road is the world soul, the true Fatherland. The precious whisper is +abroad that more sins have been committed in the name of patriotism than +any other. The time will come when this little orbit and its slaying +delusions will be well back among the provincialisms; not a bad word in +itself, rather a lost meaning through abuse. + +“Over a century ago the inspired Fichte addressed the Germans in a +series of documents charged with the most exalted enthusiasm for the +future of his people, on the basis of such a Fatherland that the only +living answer could be the superb affiliation of men. For years and +decades the gleam of that spiritual ignition endured there. Carlyle, not +a countryman, saw it and made it blaze with the fuel of his genius. It +seems dead to Prussia now, but that gleam shall never die. Some strong +youth on the road to Damascus shall be struck to the ground by its +radiance and arise to carry the light to the Gentiles. + +“There must be such a voice in America now. I seem to feel the new +genius of America, not yet in its prime, hardly articulate as yet, but +rapidly maturing in these days of unparalleled suffering. They will +interpret the New Age. They will meet the New Russia face to face. I +think they are watching for us now. The bond is thicker than blood. +They will see the future of Europe written upon these millions, now +the invaders from the cold lands of poverty. I think they will hold the +spirit until we come. + +“All that was true of Germany when Fichte addressed his countrymen is +true of America in this hour. All the physical and spiritual pressures +of the European disruption are turned upon the temple of America to +drive out the money-changers and make it the house of God.” + +Fallows' voice softened. He was talking of America with the passion of +an exile. He loved the thoughts of her good, as he loved the peasants +about him. The room was still. + +“It is a time for heroics,” he added. “America is emancipating her +genius, not only from herself, but from the thrall of the old world's +decadence. Do you think there is nothing fateful in the destructive +energy that is rubbing out ancient landmarks? Rather it would seem that +the old and the unclean has played its part, and may not be used in the +new spiritual experiment. I want to hear America's new song--the song of +the New Age--the unspoiled workmen at their task. They will sing as they +lift.... Yes, we shall hear the song of the New Age. Since the pilgrims +sang together, no such thrilling harmony shall move that western land. +They shall be singing it for Russia when we come.” + +“It makes me so ashamed,” Berthe whispered after a moment, “when I think +of my weakness to-day, when you came. But, Peter, oh, I didn't want you +to come----” + +“I wouldn't be ashamed,” he said. “It gave me something from you that +I couldn't have had without it. There was plenty to hold a man in +wonder--your zeal to do for others, and the exaltations, but to-day you +were down in my valley, in the earth bottoms, just seeing in the human +light, your wings tired. It was the best moment of the pilgrimage, +Berthe--the deepest.” + +Peter had wanted to tell her that. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Big Belt stood before a man of his own size--Lornievitch, the Commander +of commanders, Himself. + +It was night. Boylan had plunged into a new vat of power, and persuaded +Dabnitz to furnish an escort from Judenbach, four miles to the east to +the main headquarters of the Galician army. + +Rows of sleepy stenographers in the outer room of a broad shepherd's +house in a little hill village--a web of wires on the low ceiling, +lanterns, candles, field 'phones and telegraph tickers, none altogether +subsided; as much routine as in the management of a state--the center of +this monster battle-line--to say nothing of the spectacular. + +The two men now filled a small inner room. Lornievitch spoke English--an +English much to the caller's liking. Perhaps it was the bond of bulk +between them. + +“Well, and so you are Boylan of the _Rhodes?_--what is it, Mr. Boylan? +We are very busy.” + +“I have a young friend of _The States”_ he began and talked for three +minutes--talked until Lornievitch squirmed and his aides hurried forward +ready to assist. + +“And what does Kohlvihr say?” + +“I had to speak to him through an interpreter. I could not get the +answer I wanted. He has had a terrible day. The life of one American is +too small for discussion there--” + +“And you have come here to me. Meanwhile, on the wire is the young man's +case--a love affair with a revolutionist--and a sort of be-damned to the +Russian army. You are a strong man, doubtless a brave one--” + +Boylan was fighting for Peter's life as he would not have fought for +his own; and yet he warmed to the commander--fibers all through him +warming--something of man-business about this office that made the +headquarters at Judenbach look sinister and den-like. It was just his +hope in all likelihood. + +“But Mr. Boylan,” Lornievitch added, “what would you do in my case? +There's big action, front, side, within. They have a case against the +others--and he is one of them.” + +“He may be one in a momentary infatuation--” + +“Nonsense, Boylan--this is no time for girls!” + +“I grant you that, sir. But he is not a revolutionist. I've slept and +ridden with him night and day. His paper wouldn't pay for cigarettes +to do other than tell the story from the army end. If he's gone _loco,_ +I'll take him home under my arm--” + +“I say, Boylan, what do you want of him this way? He's a newspaper +competitor--” + +“Mowbray got to me. Didn't try to, but he's there. Took the field as +if it had been his work always. He's a friend, clever, courageous, a +gentleman always, clean cut, a laugh, a hand--and a boy over it all. +I didn't know--until I found him in danger. I couldn't feel worse if I +were his old woman--I am twice his age, damn near--” + +“You're invincible, Boylan. I'll tell you this: I feel better. That's +worth something. Things look black here in the valleys. Something human +I needed, in your coming. Go back now. Nothing will be done until +the morning. We've had to shoot Austrian spies all day. Caught 'em +red-handed. I feel red-handed, too. Go back, and before to-morrow +morning I'll get an order over to straighten him out from the +others--before final action is taken. Maybe I'll look him over myself. +Good night.... Oh, I say, Mr. Boylan--” + +“Yes, General.” + +“Oh, it doesn't matter. I was just thinking I'd like to have one friend +like young what's-his-name of _The States_ has--” + +“Mowbray--Mowbray--don't forget the name, General--” + +“Good-night.” + +“Good-night.” + +Boylan put his soul in it. He loved the Russians. It was far this side +of midnight, but he smelled the dawn. + +Back in his own quarters, as he yawned largely at the flickering shadows +of the freshly-lit candle, he noted Peter's saddle bags on the floor, +and considered that it might be well to get them over to-night. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Peter walked the room, a changing star or two in the windy skylight; a +candle in the center by the stair-door where the sentry stood; Berthe +watching him steadily from her chair. The others at the far end looked +up occasionally. They were talking low-toned. Poltneck had been singing +folk-songs--pure spirit of the boat and cradle, of the march and the +marriage and the harvest, of the cruel winter and the pregnant warmth +again; songs that had come up from the soil and stream and the simple +heart of man, older than Mother Moscow, old beyond any human name to +attach to them. True and anonymous, these songs. The lips that first +sung them never knew that they had breathed the basic gospel which does +not die, but moves from house to house around the world. Indeed, the +melodies were born of the land and the sky, like the mist that rises +from the earth when the yellow sun comes up from the south, and the +“green noise” of spring breaks the iron cold. + +The moment had come when Peter could not sit still. Berthe was never so +dear, but he could not stay. He held the three men in true full comrade +spirit, but he could not sit with them now. He had nothing to fear; all +was quite well. + +He was thinking of America, that she was “bred right”; that some change +might be upon her now, something akin to his own transformation. Was +there a bond thicker than blood between America and the New Russia? Word +had reached the field that Russia had put away her greatest devil in a +day. A nation is to be reckoned with that makes her changes thus at a +sweep. Had Russia not freed fifty million slaves at one stroke of the +pen--that great emancipation of Alexander? And Russia now held the +Earth's mighty energy of fecundity--an ultimate significance here; for +this guest invariably comes before a people has reached its meridian, +and not afterward.... His companions of the death cell were touching +the truth; this dark suffering army was the Europe of the future--the +Russian voice that would challenge America to answer brother to brother. + +The folk songs were singing in his soul, and the lines of Abel's _We Are +Free,_ the friendships of Spenski and Samarc, of these in the room, and +the love of Berthe Wyndham. + +All had prevailed. The culmination was now. He thought of the actuality +of to-morrow, but without terror, or blankness. It would seem that he +were leaving all this; that America, Russia, friendship, the love of +woman, were no longer his portion; yet he seemed closer than ever to +them. It was as Fallows said, “These things are immortal.” Perhaps this +very room, and this, the greatest of his days in the world, would be +pictured by some one to come, as clearly and as magically as he saw +it all now; by some young workman of the reconstruction, after the red +horse of war was driven back forever. + +He was sustained. The sense came clearly that nothing men might do could +cause him harm. He felt even that his mother would some time know how +well he had come to understand her at the last. Everything was answered +by the mystic future. It was all there; all would be told. + +“Why, to-morrow,” he exclaimed aloud suddenly, “why, to-morrow, we will +laugh at today.” + +They were about him. They seemed to understand all that had brought +his words, as if they had followed his thoughts to the same apostrophe. +...He was laughing in the midst of them. + +“I think it must have been the singing and all,” he said breathlessly. +“It got away from me. It has all been too fine to-day. I don't see--I +really don't--how I managed to earn it all.” + +A step upon the stair, slow and heavy, a step that Peter Mowbray knew. +The companion sentry had remained below at the street door, and now +called to his fellow of the guard to open. ...Peter was abashed before +his friend like a child that had disobeyed, and come to believe that he +knew better than the father. It was Big Belt at midnight. + +“I brought your shaving-tackle,” he said. “Hello, Peter.” + +The face in the thin ray looked like polished metal. + +“Come in.” Peter had him by the hand, which was easily pulled across the +threshold, but the body didn't move. + +“No, I won't come in--” + +“Boylan, come in!... I want you to meet--” + +“No. I'll see you in the morning.... For God's sake, don't look so +happy, and keep your mouth shut.... Good-night.” + +A curtain had fallen before the glowing future. Peter couldn't raise +it again. He tried to restore his laugh and light-heartedness for the +others, but it was a mockery. The world had come in all its chaos and +mad fatigue. All that he had said was without meaning. The singing was +over. Berthe gave him her hand as he returned to the dark corner. She +did not speak, for a moment, and then only to say: + +“How sensitive we are!” + +All the weariness that he had ever known came upon him, gathering +together for descent, pressing out vitality, leaving him cold and +undone. + +“You are very tired,” she whispered. “Perhaps we can rest a little. The +three are resting.” Then a little later, like a child half-asleep, she +added, “I love you.” + +It was her good-night. + +Throughout that short night he dreamed of cedar boughs and pungent +autumn air; flurries of snow falling from wide pine branches. There was +gray in the skylight when he awoke. Berthe was near, her cheek against +his saddle bags, which he had placed for her the last thing. Very white +and small her face looked as she slept, her hands folded under her +chin.... Peter watched, his eyes becoming accustomed to the faint light. +The white cap lay near, a different and imperfect white compared to her +flesh; and the soft deep night of her hair seemed to him of sufficient +loveliness for any world. A girl asleep--and such a faith had they +known. There was a beauty about it all that rebuked the actuality of the +place and the town and the soldiery. + +Misery began deep in his heart, welled up to his throat, blurring +his eyes, resolving his whole nature almost past resistance; that a +love-woman still without her chance, without her child, so fair and +unafraid, who had asked so little for herself and so much for the +world--should be brought to the shame and the shot of fools. A flutter +of eyes. Mowbray gripped his self-control with every ounce of force. He +would hold her in his power of will while she met the issue of the day, +and its first cruel thought. Her brow contracted a little, as if through +some passing pain.... The dawn of a smile that pursed her lips to speak +his name, met his kiss instead. He held her face between his hands, +smiling at her, while the realization came. + +_“Dear Peter--it's the day of our journey--“_ + +He brushed the lather in gratefully with cold water. The touch of the +razor gave him a queer pang such as he had never met before. + +“You're just a boy,” Berthe remarked.... “It must make one feel clean. +It has been years since I was present--” + +The others were now awake. They made merry over the shaving, all taking +turns, even Fallows, the last and the longest. Indeed he had scarcely +finished before their first test came. It was like a whip--that step +upon the stair, but only a sentry with tea and bread. + + + + +Chapter 9 + + +A gray dawn, an east wind with a driving mist, a miserable day afield in +every promise, and Big Belt had missed none of these portents since +the full darkness. With the first relief of the morning-guard at +headquarters, he was there. Dabnitz appeared and smiled grimly. The wire +was already busy; Kohlvihr came in unsteadily, the old fume about him +that made Boylan lick his lips. His own nerves had been badly wrenched. +He could have relished a stimulant, but he hadn't thought of it alone. + +“You're looking for word from the Commander?” Dabnitz asked. + +“Yes.” + +“So are we. It's up to him to-day. We're a mere wisp of what we were--” + +Boylan simulated interest. There was but one idea in his world, however. + +“By the way,” Dabnitz added. “The Commander asked for full particulars +this morning at three. They were sent to him--Mr. Mowbray's case--” + +Boylan jerked up his chin. Of late, his woolen collar had apparently +shrunk. + +“You haven't heard yet?” + +“Not yet. We're waiting--” + +“Nothing will be done until you hear?” + +“Not in Mowbray's case. The others--the others have had tea.... They are +very quiet this morning--no singing.” + +Boylan hated him for that, a momentary but scarring hatred.... The field +telephone began. Presently it occupied the steady swift attention of a +stenographer whose pages were put on the machine and handed in strips to +the staff members, like a last-minute news story to compositors. +...One of the hardest things Boylan ever did was to speak to Dabnitz as +follows: “I'd better be there if you take the others and leave--leave +Peter Mowbray. He's impulsive. You wouldn't want a scene--you know--” + +“Wait a minute--I think your matter is on the wire,” Dabnitz said, +drawing back to the telegraph. + +“Yes,” he nodded, and a moment later handed Big Belt this message: + +“My compliments to Mr. Boylan and assurances of excellent regard. I have +found the favor he asks, however, altogether out of my power to grant.” + +Boylan's jaw dropped; his mouth filled with saliva. Dabnitz said +something, “...desperately sorry... couldn't possibly have ended another +way.” + +“Come, come--this won't do,” Big Belt muttered queerly. He was not +answering Dabnitz, but commanding himself.... He swallowed again and +turned: + +“You will have charge of the affair?” + +“Yes, doubtless. It will be very short--” + +“I will wait for you below. Of course, I'll want to be there, you +know--” + +“I didn't know,” Dabnitz sighed. + +Boylan was standing below. He heard distant firing through the rain in +the direction of the field.... Lornievitch had doubtless begun a flank +movement. Kohlvihr would lick his wounds in Judenbach for another day. + +Dabnitz appeared from the stairway, a paper in his hand. He dispatched a +sentry to the barracks for a platoon, and stood waiting impatiently for +its coming. Big Belt, in the door of his quarters a few paces distant, +swallowed again.... It might delay matters.... The black fact was that +it would not do more.... + +“Oh, I say, Lieutenant, come here a moment, please. I want to show you +something--” + +Boylan led the Russian in, and turned. The place was empty. Dabnitz +regarded him wearily--then with sudden amazement. + +It was a kind of bear reaching. He was pulled down, his face smothered +in a woolen shirt that covered a breast like cushioned stone. The +building must have fallen. The hands were neither rough nor swift, but +they pawed him with a kind of power that turned him to vapor. There +was one finger upon his backbone at the neck that shut off the life +currents.... Dabnitz opened his eyes presently--a choking wad of paper +in his mouth. The mammoth looked down upon him and said: + +“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I had to have a chance to think.” + +At this instant Boylan saw the paper that the Russian had carried. It +had fluttered to the floor, Kohlvihr's signature in plain view. The +weights that beset the American had now to do with the uselessness of it +all. He had rendered the momentary order and its bearer ineffectual; he +might possibly divert the platoon. But the great one-eyed system was +all about, knowing its single task of destruction. It would turn back to +that piece by piece--until the task was done. Yet while he lived, Boylan +could not let it go on, in this specific instance. He was fighting the +Russian army now; that die was cast; the one thing to do was to keep +Peter Mowbray alive as long as possible. He went about further details +without hope, however. + +Dabnitz was carefully bound and lifted to the corner in the midst of +saddles and kit. An extra strip was fastened around his chin to prevent +the ejection of the gag. Big Belt spoke steadily and softly as he +worked: + +“You're a good soldier. You play your game to the seeds. I have no +objection to you. When it's all over I'll think of you--as a corking +field man. You've been good to us, too--everything you could do to make +us comfortable and to help us see the wheels go round.... Only this one +little thing. Perhaps you think I take it too seriously--this Mowbray +thing. Perhaps I do. That's my funeral.... Wow, and I was merely +speaking figuratively!... In any event I'm not a nihilist. I've only got +Mowbray on the brain.... I've hurt you as little as possible. I won't +leave you here long, my boy. I wasn't rough with you. You must have seen +that--” + +Dabnitz's eyes rolled. + +“Well, you see I couldn't have a whole lot of noise. There's the true +official timbre in your voice, Lieutenant.... Now you're snug, and the +platoon is served in the street.... Look what's here! I'm a careless +hand--six-shooter and belt. You'll rest more comfortably with 'em off. +And a bit of a sword? I'll take that, too. ...I won't be long, Dabnitz.” + +He went forth carrying the paper. “Lieutenant was called to another +task,” he said haltingly to the enlisted officer in charge. “Hold your +men here, until I come--” + +The firing was intense valleyward. Boylan felt the need of thinking +further and dashed into the headquarters' stairway. There were excited +voices above, and he made haste to see. Kohlvihr was wild-eyed in the +center of the upper room--the telegraph ticking nervously, half of his +staff bending with extraordinary intensity over the birth of a certain +message.... What they wanted came over the 'phone. + +Boylan saw four Russian officers rush to the 'phone from the telegraph +table.... Something had happened. He backed out. + +“It's all off,” he told the soldier. “Go back to barracks. The enemy has +broken through--” + +He wasn't sure of the last, but tore the paper and crumpled the pieces. +The platoon reversed and vanished. At the far end of the street a +cavalry squad was galloping forward, behind a single dispatch rider. +Already the news was known in headquarters and the staff officers burst +forth with orders for retreat--retreat to the eastward. It was no +secret now. The enemy was crossing the valley that Kohlvihr had found +impassable. + +Big Belt felt the life brimming up in his heart. Then he thought of +Dabnitz, and went to him, shutting the door behind. + +“Do you _get_ what's on, Lieutenant? Wink once--if you do.” + +Dabnitz shook his head. + +“It's the enemy breaking through. Judenbach is to be abandoned _pronto_. +Listen--” + +The cavalry was in the street, carrying abroad the order for retreat.... +They heard it plainly now, even the details. Hospitals not to be +emptied, guns and ammunition not readily to be transported, must be +destroyed. The final hell was started in the town. + +“Dabnitz, I don't want you among the captured on my account. Just forget +that order! The platoon has gone back. The staff is blocked and jammed +with greater things. Will you forget it? Wink twice--” + +There was no hesitation. + +“Good. The sentries must be called off--that stair-door left open. I'll +join them--and bother you no more. We'll not leave the room while the +town changes hands. They'll never even ask you if that little job is +done. Will you go with me now and do this? Wink twice--” + +It was done emphatically; a beseeching for haste. + +“Dabnitz, I trust you. I'll entertain you in America some time--all +Washington and New York.... You'll do exactly what I ask--no more, no +less? Good God, man, it wouldn't do any good to kill 'em now. They're +out of hand forever. Perhaps the Austrians will do it, anyway. Wink +twice--” + +“Good.” The gag was jerked free, and the various bindings. + +“Now, come with me. I'll detain you but a second or two--” + +Dabnitz walked at his side to the stair entrance of the skylight prison. +He spoke to the sentry below. The officer of the guard was called; the +sentry summoned from above, the door left open. + +“Wait,” Boylan said finally to Dabnitz. “Here's your gun, Lieutenant. +I'm obliged to you. You'll know better some day what I mean by that--” + +“Keep them under cover,” Dabnitz said hoarsely. “I'll kill you or any of +the others that I see in the street.” + +“You'd be quite right.” + +Dabnitz turned away. Big Belt deliberated. He did not quite trust the +Russian. He had covered him with his little pocket gun, as he handed +back the arms. Still Boylan couldn't have caused him to fall prisoner. +His hope now was that the Lieutenant would find such a rush and turmoil +that he would be compelled to forget the incident. ...He heard their +voices at the upper door of the stairway. + +“Is that you, Boylan?” + +“Yep.” + +“Good-morning. What's up?” It was Peter. + +“I haven't quite settled in my mind. You're not to come down. We haven't +decorated the Christmas tree. I'm sentry here--” + +The side street was deserted. The main highway was a throng, strange in +its new direction of northward, for the bulk of energy had heretofore +moved toward the valley. The sappers were at their work of destruction. +The town rocked with explosions, but the main consideration to Big +Belt was that moments passed without bringing further fighting to him, +personally. + +“Maybe he means to stick after all,” he muttered. “He must see that I +was square with him--” + +Then Big Belt smiled grimly, as if he had heard his own words. + +He watched with a kind of ferocity until the passing of the staff made +him duck back into the doorway.... Kohlvihr sitting like a potato-bag, +the brave but melancholy Doltmir--finally Dabnitz. The latter passed the +little side-street without a turn of the head. After many moments Boylan +ventured to the corner. Rifle shots from the southern border, and the +smell of fire, were matters of critical interest. The main highway +was all but emptied of Russians. One little party of artillerymen was +struggling to save a big gun half-horsed. Three ambulances hurried by +filled with wounded officers--but the cries of the thousands of +wounded enlisted men went up from the hospitals which the Russians were +abandoning. The lower half of the town was in a final ruin that blocked +the streets. + +But beyond as the wind cleared the smoke an instant (or the rain held +it low to the earth), Big Belt saw a column of troops. Its single +peculiarity struck him with queer emotion. He returned to the +stair-door. A long-repressed volume came forth from his lungs, as he +trudged wearily upward. + + + + +VI + +THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter turned back from the upper door, since nothing further in the way +of news was to be had from Boylan. The first face that he saw within was +Fallows', and over it, as his own glance sped quickly, there passed +a look as from some poignant burden. It was the look of a man who had +thought the fight won, and now perceived that it must be resumed again. +Poltneck was just behind. Peter would like to have preserved in picture +the singer's realization that the chance was life instead of death--the +blend of animal and angel which is so thrillingly human, as it was +expressed upon that countenance. Abel was smiling, something of a child +in the smile, a tremulousness around the lips; and Berthe came forward +under the rain-blurred skylight--gladness, animation, a touch of the +great tension lingering, but something else that he had not seen before +in their prison hours. He went to her. + +“What does it mean?” she whispered. + +“It means that the door is open, the sentries gone. Big Belt is below +and the town wild with some new trouble--” + +“The Austrians must have broken through,” said Fallows. + +“We are to stay until he gives us word,” Peter added. + +Berthe was leading him back to the shadows. + +“Peter, does it mean that?” + +He saw the dark low-glowing jewel in her eyes--the earth-shine, all the +sweetness of earth in it. So close to death, it had not been ignited +before in the skylight prison, but it was there for him now, and he +loved her bewilderingly. + +“I think we may almost dare to hope,” he whispered. + +“The still snowy woods--only a brave bird or two remaining--the short +brilliant days and early nightfall--our talks that will never come to an +end--” + +Something of her longing frightened him--the danger of its intensity. + +“I think we may almost dare to hope,” he repeated. + +“Peter, I think--I think you are braver than any--” + +“Nonsense.” + +“But you did not _see_ ahead! To you, it was a closed door yesterday and +last night. Fallows wants to go. He's weary. Abel and Poltneck are old +rebels with visions. They have thought much of such hours as we have +known here. But you--I saw it the first day in Warsaw--the deadly +courage. You had built no dream. You asked no future. You faced +it--light or black.” + +“Berthe--I almost broke this morning--when I looked at you sleeping--and +last night after Boylan came.... I think I would have fought them in +the street! It seemed--blasphemous for them to kill you--those dim +fellows--” + +“...Peter--” + +She had seemed to lose her way, the light gone from her eyes, her lips +cold.... A sprinkle of water, and she was smiling again in his arms. + +“It's strong--too strong,” she murmured vaguely. + +The heavy step that Peter knew was upon the stairs. He listened. Yes, it +was alone. Boylan appeared in the doorway. + +“Go to him,” Berthe whispered. + +Peter obeyed. There was a gladness for him in the touch of the big hand. + +“Tell us, Boylan,” he said. + +“They've gone.” + +“The Russians?” + +“Yes.” + +Abel had propped a chair behind Big Belt, who sank into it eagerly. + +“The Austrians have broken through?” Poltneck said. + +“I'm not quite sure about that,” Boylan answered. “The column I saw +from the main road a minute ago--coming up from the valley--looked like +_helmets_ to me.” + +“Berthe, what did you mean by _'strong--too strong'?”_ + +Peter had stepped back to her for a moment. + +“Did I say that?” she whispered smiling. + +“Yes.” + +“I can't think of anything--but my love for you. It must have been +that.” + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +For an hour in the skylight prison, they had waited for the step upon +the stairs. When it came Fallows had an inspiration, and said softly: + +“Sing to 'em, Poltneck--The Lord Is Mindful of His Own--!” + +As before, the song was on the wing at the word.... Throughout the hour +the Germans had flooded into the little city, the main column moving +rapidly on in pursuit of the Russians, a comparatively small force +remaining to garrison. As Boylan had pointed out, the new enemy must +have appeared in tremendous numbers thus to dare such a drive through +the Russian east wing. Lornievitch was at the head of a mighty force to +the east; it was but the tip of the right wing that the Germans had cut +off. + +An old ranker had halted at the door, his platoon behind crowding the +stairway. He was small and scarred, serious and decorous. Peter felt +that the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man conscious +of moving through the days of his life's stateliest fulfillment. Boylan +was nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck stood smiling, singing +as he had never sung for the Little Father. It is a fact that the old +ranker waited for the end of the stanza. + +“Who are you?” + +Peter talked: “Four of the hospital service from Warsaw, and two +American correspondents, until to-day with the Russian army--” + +The platoon-officer ordered his men at rest and sent for his Captain. + +“Prisoners, you may sing,” he said. + +They heard the voices of the gathering in the street as Poltneck sang +on, and presently the clatter of a sword in the stairway. A young +officer, not the Captain, appeared. There was a quick appeal in the +veteran's deference and his whisper. The old head bowed affectionately, +too, as to a son of finer blood than he. + +“Two American correspondents,--these two,” he reported. “The others are +of the hospital service of the enemy.” + +Poltneck had finished. + +“Why are you here?” the officer asked. + +“They were at work all night,” said Peter, “and were here for a little +rest. The change this morning was effected before they were aware. We +were helping. + +“You were helping?” the officer repeated. + +“There has been much to do in the hospitals. We have been in +Judenbach--this is the fourth day.” + +“We will look at your passports--yours and this gentleman's--” + +The papers were produced. It was almost like a hand that came to Peter +at this instant, though Berthe had not moved--the premonition that they +were to be separated. He had planned nothing for this moment although it +had been inevitable. There was a certain guilelessness about their whole +presence together in the skylight prison, although Peter had tortured +the facts a little--to avoid complication of making known their +revolutionary parts. He had become so identified with his new friends, +in the past three whelming days, that he had forgotten for the moment +the great difference in his position as an American correspondent and +noncombatant from Berthe's and the others. + +Boylan had never forgotten. He had cursed his own slowness as a +linguist, when Peter had taken the part of answering the German officer. +He was afraid of Peter's answers, but that fear was passing now. In +fact, Peter had answered surprisingly well, and his companion was +breathing easily, as a man should in a state of mental health. + +It was not until this moment--the German officer examining his +passports, the ranker studying the insignia upon his sleeve--that Peter +met the disaster of the future. It suddenly appeared to him--that life +apart from _these_ was bleak and a nothingness. To be caught in the +great war-machine again, even with the superb loyalty of Boylan at his +hand, had the grimness of death to his soul. Already he felt the new +mastery of Judenbach, the hard insensitiveness of it--the stone and iron +of its nature, the ineffable cruelty of its meaning and morale.... + +“These seem to be very complete and satisfactory,” the young officer +reported presently. “I shall furnish an escort to accompany you and +Mr.--” + +“Boylan,” said the voice of the Rhodes' Agency. + +“--to our Colonel Ulrich in charge of the garrison. These papers will go +with you of course.” + +Peter cleared his voice and said steadily: “We have long given up any +hope of getting anything out as newspaper men. I, for one, would be very +glad of employment in the hospitals with my friends here. There has been +work for many more hands than could be spared--” + +“We appreciate your sacrifice,” said the officer, “perhaps _we_ are not +so short-handed for the care of wounded. We have already brought in men +not dead whom the Russian orderlies missed on the field yesterday. I +believe the abandoned hospitals in Judenbach will not suffer for the +change of flags.” + +Peter had noted Boylan's face as the German spoke. It was slightly +upturned and like bronze in its hardness, reminding him of the night +before in the candle-light. It weakened him.... He glanced about the +room as the officer finished. Everywhere he saw their silent urge to +accept. Fallows came forward. + +“Some time again, dear friend--we will work together. All is well with +us--” + +Abel seemed to smile; Poltneck gripped his hand, neither venturing to +speak, nor did the moment require it, for they had all gone down to the +gates of understanding together.... Berthe's hands were in his. + +Boylan had arisen. + +“Your escort is ready,” the German said. + +Peter turned from them, but Berthe's face was placed for all to see.... +A little warmth, the mild pleasure of untried friendship, the good +wish of one fellow-worker to another in passing--this was all that the +watchers saw. Even Peter in his great passion could draw no further +message from that white upturned face. But her hidden hands, held in +his, gave him the very respiration of her soul. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Big Belt was alone with his friend again, but Peter seemed merely the +body of a man, not much use. They were kept very close by the Germans, +and told frankly that they were to be sent as soon as possible to the +big prison-hospital at Sondreig. Even German correspondents were not +permitted afield. Judenbach was retained, but the Americans were drawn +forth by the exigencies of service with Colonel Ulrich's force, and on +the afternoon of the third day following the German entry, they looked +back upon the little hill-town a last time. Though there had not been +sound nor sight of Berthe nor the group around her, during the three +days, Peter was different afield, as if he missed a certain personal +identification with that obscure Galician settlement where so much had +happened. He moved about as if there were something dead inside. His +world had turned insane. + +Those were the terrible days of November, and the two Americans were +forgotten at length--as a pair of buttons on the German uniform, +forgotten because they served and were not in the way. All that had +_not_ to do with Berthe Wyndham was black as the Prussian night to +Mowbray's brain, but Big Belt was always by. He could not have managed +except for that. There were days in which it appeared as if half the +world were down and bleeding; the other half trying to lift, pulling at +the edges of the fallen, as one half-stupefied would pull at a fallen +body in a burning house. + +At night through the silences between the cannon, sometimes over the +hills through the cold rains, came to Peter Mowbray's ears the sounds +of church-bells. Boylan did not always hear them. The German officers +declared that there were no such sounds. Boylan's sack was filled with +blood. + +“If I ever get out of here,” he said, “I'll write one story--one battle +till I die--and I'll call it 'Vintage Fourteen'.” + +For he was sick of the spilled wine of men. And other armies were +fighting in the vineyards of France--as were these in the piney hills +of the ancient shepherd kings; and what a fertilizing it was for the +manhandled lands of Europe--potash and phosphor and nitrogen in the +perfect solution of the human blood. + +More and more Boylan saw that Peter was queer. + +“I can't think,” the latter would say. “I feel like a man dying, under +a mountain of dead. Mostly I don't want to live. I don't want to die. I +believe that it's all one and that this is the end of the world.” + +Peter could work, however. Day and night when they would let him, and +mostly the Germans accepted his services gratefully now, he tugged at +the dead and the dying in the field and in the field hospitals. And with +the lanterns at night, often under fire, often so long that Boylan could +not rest, but would wait at the hospital-division like a mother for a +dissipated son. + +“They call this the great German fighting machine,” Peter whispered to +Boylan one night, “but we're inside. We can't call it that. It's the +most pitiful and devitalized thing that ever ran up and down the earth. +And it doesn't mean anything. It's all waste--like a great body killing +itself piece by piece--all waste and death.” + +He tried to make death easy for a soldier here and there, but there was +so much. His clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the smoke +fell, he watched the sun shining upon the pine-clad hills. That moment +the thought held him that the pine trees were immortal, and men just the +dung of the earth. + +...One night Boylan asked as they lay down: + +“Who are you?” + +“Peter Mowbray.” + +“Yep, and I'm Boylan. You're at liberty to correct if wrong. Are we ever +going to die or get out?” + +“I don't know.... Boylan, you've been good to me. We're two to make +one--eye to eye--” + +“You're making a noise like breaking down again. Don't, Peter. I've gone +on a bluff all my life. I'm a rotten sentimentalist at heart--soft +as smashed grapes. It's my devil. If you break down, I'll show him to +you--” + +“It wouldn't hurt you to bellow like a girl.” + +“Maybe not, but I'd shoot my head off first.” + +“Did you see the old leprous peasant to-day? He was hump-backed, and he +had no lips, but teeth like a dog. He pulled at a soldier's stirrup +as we came into town. The soldier was afraid and shot him through the +mouth--” + +“Shut up, Peter, or you'll get me. I've shown you more now than any +living soul knows--” + +“You ought to show it to a woman. A man isn't right until a woman knows +him in and out.” + +“For the love of God--go to sleep!” + +They sank into restless death-ridden dreaming; and so it was many +nights, until the dawn that they fronted a swift river, black from its +snowy banks, saw the rising pine hills opposite and were swept possibly +by mistake into the center of comprehensible action--a picture lifted +from the hundred-mile ruck. + +A little town, so far nameless, sat with a shivering look on the slope, +about a half mile up from the river. A Russian quick-fire gun or two was +emplaced in that vicinity, and two batteries of bigger bores (that +the correspondents knew of) were higher on either side. Infantry +intrenchments that looked like mole tracks from the distance corrugated +the slopes in lateral lines, and roads came down to the two bridges that +spanned the swift stream, less than a mile apart. + +The morning was spent in artillery dueling. The Russians seemed partly +silenced at noon. At no time was their attack cocky and confident. The +Germans determined to cross in the early afternoon. This movement was +not answered by excessive firing. German cavalry and small guns on the +east bridge, a heavy field of helmets took the west. Boylan and +Mowbray rode with the artillery. Even as the German forces combined for +position, the firing of the Russians was not spiteful. There seemed +a note of complaint and hysteria. There was no tension in the German +command; it was too weathered for that. + +Now the cavalry went into action and guns moved away farther to the east +for higher emplacement. + +“They're going to charge the horses up into the town. They haven't much +respect for the infantry trenches,” said Boylan. + +At that instant Peter's mind opened a clearer series of pictures of +Berthe Wyndham than he had known for days. Palace Square near the river +corner; her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; across +the siding after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and all the +wonderful films of the skylight prison--the dearest of all as she slept. +He could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich with these +pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how she looked. It +had been easier to remember something which Peter designated secretly as +her soul. + +Suddenly the turf rocked under his feet and his body was bent in the +terrific concussion from behind. They turned and saw the middle +stone abutment of the nearer bridge lifted from the stream--the whole +background sky black with dust and rock. Then, just as he thought of it, +the west bridge went. He spoke before Boylan, and rather unerringly, as +one does at times coming up from a dream. + +“They've trapped what they think they can handle--and fired the bridges +by wire.” + +Boylan said: “I can't call it German stupidity, because it didn't +occur to me that the bridges were mined.... It's to be another leisure +spraying. We're in the slaughter-pen.... God, man, look at the horses!” + +It had been too late to call back the cavalry. Peter's eyes followed +Boylan's sweeping arm. The horsemen were in skirmish on the slope, just +breaking out into charge. The town above and the emplacements adjoining +which had kept their secret so well, were now in a blur of sulphur and +action directed upon the cavalry charge. The whole line went down in the +deluge--suddenly vanished under the hideous blat of the machines--whole +rows rubbed into the earth--a few beasts rising empty, shaking +themselves and tumbling back, no riders. Peter turned to the infantry in +formation on the western slopes. The Russian fire was not lax now, not +discouraged in the least, nor hysterical. It was cold-blooded murder in +gluttonous quantity. + +The Americans forgot themselves. Cavalry gone--they turned to the west +and saw the poor men-beasts in rout. Even the infantry comprehended the +trick, and felt something superhuman behind it. They rushed back toward +the river--swift, ugly with white patches and unfordable, requiring a +good swimmer.... The eyes of Boylan turned back to the Horse. He had +always loved the cavalry, ridden with the cavalry always by preference. +Peter was watching the river--the hands up from the center of the +river.... + +They were alone, and now the Russian machines were on the German +batteries not yet emplaced, none unlimbered. It was as if the wind +carried them the spray from the sweeping fountains, turned from the +horse to put out the guns. Peter was hit and down--hit again and the +night slowly settled upon him, bringing the bells. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt talked to himself in that blizzard of fire. + +“He's hit--hit twice--but we can't go back to the Russians. They'll +finish the lad. Dabnitz promised. The Germans can't rescue us, because +the bridges are down. I've got to get him across the river--” + +He knelt and swung the burden across his back. The firing was thinner, +and the weight hurried his great legs down to the water.... Personally +he would have waited for recapture. How he would have laughed at +Lornievitch in that case. But this that he bore was under sentence of +death in that camp. He regarded the river now, propping up his head +under the burden. It was a swift devil of a stream, black from its +winter borders and cold. He moved toward the broken bridge, hundreds of +soldiers doing the same. But none of them bore a burden. + +Now he was on the steep and slidy bank-the roar of the current in his +ears, the roar of the guns behind. The stone abutments of the bridge +still stood, but the huge beams of the upper frame-work were sprawled in +the stream, the ends visible. A string of soldiers crawled along, +toward the center of the current. There was a place in which they +disappeared.... He took his position in the waiting line and heard +the cries wrung from the throats of those in the crossing--from the +paralyzing cold. Only a few succeeded. Boylan saw this, as he +awaited his turn. A steady grim procession on this side, whispering, +crowding--but a thin and straggling output on the far bank. Scenes +enacting in the center of the current shook his heart--faces and arms +against the black water, the struggles and the cries of men as they were +whipped away. + +Big Belt was in; no crawl for him. He walked the ten-inch beam with his +burden, as it sank deeper and deeper toward the center. The ice of the +water bit and tore at him. It was like a burn, too, but the paralysis +was not that of fire. The chill wrestled with his consciousness, as +he reached the depth of his waist; the current was bewildering in its +pressures--like a woman clinging to his limbs, betraying him to an +enemy. A mysterious force, this of a running river, for the body of man +is not built for it, and man's mind is slow to learn the necessity of +slow movements. The temptation to hasten is like the tug of demons. +There is much to break the nerve--and yet nerve must remain king of +every action. + +Boylan may have learned the trick in other wanderings. His own weight +and the weight of his burden helped his feet in the rapid runs of white +water. He made his way deeper and deeper upon the slanting ten-inch +piece, holding his consciousness steady against the penetrating stab of +the cold as it rose higher and higher, against the dizzying swirl of +the stream, and against the fact that the timber might be broken at the +center. ...The man before him seemed to go to his knees, reaching down +with his hands. Then the white-topped rush took him.... One must stand; +one must have weight to stand. The beam sunk to the center now-the water +to his heart; the man behind urging.... One soldier ahead crawled forth +where three had been. + +Boylan's fears were equalized now by the sudden dread of the man behind. +If he slipped he would catch at Peter's body. + +“Go slow--that's the trick!” he called. “Feel for your footing each +time. It's there. I tell you it's there, man! We rise in a moment +more--” + +He felt the jointure with his feet--some renewal or stoppage of the +timber. He halted, yelling at the man behind: + +“Wait--something different! I'll get you through--” + +It was the slight turn of the top timbers as they had reached the apex. + +“It's the top of the bridge,” he yelled above the boom of the current, +“--a turn like the peak of a low roof. A slight turn to the right. Now +the climb--” + +He put it in Russian somehow, making the words clear. His intensity was +almost madness to keep the other's hands off. + +A shiver passed through his burden. The water had whipped Peter's limbs. +An added call for steadiness, but a gladness about it, too, since he was +not carrying the dead.... Upgrade now. The soldier behind had passed the +turn safely and was following. + +...It seemed that he had walked hours, A thousand or more German +soldiers were lost even as he. Their faces in the dusk passed him--to +and fro--hoarse questions. The gray chill dusk was all about, quite +different from anything Big Belt had known. His clothing had warmed to +him from great exertion. There was a line that caked and dampened again +down his left thigh, like an artillery stripe, from Peter's wounds. +Night came on, finding him without a command--a strange sort of +abandonment, and a certain fear of being overtaken by a Russian party. +The character of his fatigue brought back ancient memories, when he had +looked death face to face and was afraid. + +“Who are you?” someone piped sharply in German. + +He had moved long through the dark toward a moving file of lights. + +“Two American correspondents.” + +“What's that you carry?” + +“The other one.” + +Peter heard this. It seemed that terrible hands had been tugging at his +flesh for hours; yet he could not move, and lay upon a bed that swung +and swayed and stumbled. + +“Two American correspondents,” the voice repeated.... “Search....” + +Then Peter looked into the dazzle of a flashlight, and the familiar +voice said: + +“Yes, he's hard hit and heavy as hell.... Passports in hip pocket-handle +him gently. ... Thanks, I'll take care of this man--unless you have a +stretcher--” + +“To whom were you formerly assigned?” + +“To Colonel Ulrich. We were across the river when that trap was sprung +this afternoon--” + +“Just about wiped you fellows out, didn't they?... Passports right +enough as far as I can see. Stay here, I'll try to get a conduct. +I'm afraid there isn't any Colonel Ulrich--at least I am of that +opinion....” + +Peter was let down. It puzzled him a long time because the ground was +still. The big hands eased. His familiar was beside him, however, wet +and panting. Now Peter seemed to remember that he had messages to carry. + +“There's no other way--I've got to get through the lines--” + +“Quite right,” Boylan answered. + +“I don't want to fail. She wouldn't look twice at a man who failed--” + +“Hell, child, sit still. She'd look twice if you failed a thousand +times.... Hai, don't tear open a man's bridle arm. What is it?” + +“He was hump-backed--no lips--teeth like a dog--and the trooper shot him +through the mouth--” + +“I know, but he's dead. His back is straight now--don't look any worse +now than ten thousand others....” + +For a long time all was bewilderment. He had been lifted and lost +consciousness again in the wrenching of the hands. Then slowly he came +back and eternity began as before, his bed swaying and straining. The +familiar voice was near, the German ahead. Sentry after sentry was +passed, and each time deadly waiting.... In snatches he understood that +the voice always near was Boylan's, but as often forgot it again. Once +he realized that Boylan was carrying him, but he could not hold it in +mind.... Now he was sure that it was Boylan. He wished he could die from +the cold. He recalled that the cold climbs to a man's heart and then +lets him out in comfortable dreams. + +“Hai, you!” he heard in the familiar tones. “I can't go any further. +Send a stretcher or a wagon. Tell 'em two American correspondents +are sitting out here--one with a bullet or two through his chest of +drawers--” + +The bed was sinking now.... Then he was dragged across the big man's +lap, and the voice was saying: + +“I never knew it to fail. The man who wins a woman gets the steel, when +it's anywhere in the air, but bullets fly wide and knives curve about a +lonely maverick who has lost all his heart winnings.” + +They found Boylan so, his jaw clenched, the huge scarred head bare and +covered with night dew, but ready to talk. Across his legs, Mowbray lay, +and still breathed. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Some unique thing, Big Belt, that rock of a man, had found in Peter +Mowbray. For seven days and nights, though broken with incredible +fatigues (a yellow line of bone color showing across his face under the +eyes), Boylan sat by in cars and ambulances until they reached Sondreig, +the city of the women-folk, and a regular civilized bed. What he gave +to Peter was clear; what he took from a man down, a woman's property at +best, is harder to tell. Perhaps in the great strains and pressures of +the campaigns, he had seen Peter inside, the mechanism and light effects +appertaining, and found it true. It may be that Big Belt had never been +quite sure that a man-soul could be true, and having found one, was +ready to go the limit. This is only a hazard. + +Peter didn't know. He was a lump--one little red lamp burning in that +long house of a man--flickering at that, its color bad, its shadow +monstrous. Everyone but Boylan declared he would die from that wound in +his chest; and Boylan was right. + +The Germans were good. They gave him a little room over an apothecary +shop at the edge of the city, off one of the bullet-wards, so that +the American would suffer from no lack that the hospital routine could +furnish, and still not be denied the ministration of his friend. There +were reasons, from the German standpoint, why it was well for Mowbray to +have every chance for life. The Russian _coup_ of the destroyed bridges, +that lesser disaster, would some time be told. Boylan might be persuaded +to tell the story to America without adjectives. This was not a very +humane way to regard large kindness from saddened and maddened men, and +Boylan did not linger over it. + +The Order in Sondreig soothed. It was like a fine _morale_ shown by +troops in a pinch. The city was one spacious hospital, but orderly, the +horizon smokeless, the distance free from the crash of guns. In fact, it +seemed that the city must have prepared itself for a thousand years--as +if waiting for its messiah. There was a glad quiet in the thronging +streets that seemed to say, “It has come....” + +When he found that Peter would live--all the pathological vortices +past--Big Belt turned with strange joy to exterior activities. Of +course, months would be required to make his companion a man again. +There might remain a crimp in him that would last always, but Boylan was +aware that a man's weakness may be made his strength, and that a life +habit of care which comes from cushioning a wound often results in +extraordinary development of the parts of strength. + +The sight of women and children brought him gusts of emotion. In one +evening hour, he followed a middle-aged woman who was leading a child +through the faintly-lit streets; trailed the pair for a square or two +through the soft snow, a sort of miracle in the picture to him, a heaven +of gentleness and order. This was his first grand reaction from the +field of strife--at least, from this campaign--and he was struck as +never before with the main fact--how little a man really needs to +live his life in brightness and calm. Such a sense of the emptiness of +war-fields surged home to him that he was left a heretic in relation to +all that had called him before. It did not occur to Boylan that this +was wisdom; rather the pith of the emotion was to the effect that he was +getting old. + +The child's thin voice reached him in questionings, and the steady low +tones of the woman. A man could ask little more of the world than to +lead a child thus.... Perhaps they were poor. Boylan would have liked +to fix that. It had to do with the whole inner ideal of the man to be a +fixer of such things--to come home to a house of little ones in quantity +and many women--a broad house of aunts, sisters and old women, a long +broad table of all ages, the many problems resting on him--and one woman +looking straight across.... She would know everything, and yet would +advise with him--quiet discussions of policy regarding this one or that +one, and the interposition of food.... + +He was perspiring. Always after a war or expedition he had perceived +such matters more or less clearly, but not quite as now. Never before +had he constructed his secret heaven with such durable substance.... He +actually believed that the field would never call to him again. It had +become like the fear of hunger that he had learned once for all. No more +of that--no more of war. He had given everything to the field, and lost +his broad board in the world-house. At least, he could find a door-step +somewhere. + +They were gone. He thought of his companion--the sense of summons that +he seemed to have known always. He turned and walked back. The snow fell +softly; the street lights were pleasant and warming with this bit of +peace in the world, this little circle of life with men and women and +children together.... As he neared the apothecary shop, his thoughts +became rounder and rounder with what he had missed. He had taken the +arc and lost the globe--a sorry old specimen of a man, if the truth were +told, a career behind him designed to arouse the wildness of boys, but +without appeal and very much to be discouraged by real men. Finally it +occurred to him of the whole races of men who had _what he lacked_, yet +were restless for the harshness and crudity of the earth. + +“If they only knew what they have,” he muttered. “I suppose they forget. +Just as I forget between wars what hell is like.... I suppose they do +forget, and read a man's stuff by their fires (ordering the kids to be +quiet)... thinking that this war-man writing from the field is a great +and lucky guy. I suppose they stop and think how things might have been +different with them--had _they_ taken to the open when the old call +came.... _Ordering the kids to be quiet_--Good God--” + +Whether it was the audacity of fatherhood that called this last into the +world, or the face of the woman who had passed him--is not known. Enough +that Big Belt forgot all his dreams. ...That white-skinned, wonder-eyed +girl, the fire creature, twice seen in the bitter shadows of Judenbach! + +She had looked into his face, as if she scarcely dared to trust her +eyes, as if she, too, were not sure; and yet it had come over him like +death that she was here for her own.... He tried to make himself believe +that it was an illusion, just one of the queer jolts that come to a man +when his thoughts are far off. But actualities rubbed this out. She +was a prisoner of the Germans; probably had proved invaluable in the +hospital service and had earned certain privileges; but it wouldn't do +to let Peter fall into her clutches again; that meant revolution and +death. They would make a dupe of him as before. It had nothing to do +with peace and the outer world; it meant-- + +Boylan saw that he wanted Peter for his own. He wiped the sweat from +under his hat.... He couldn't keep them apart; she would think out +a way; a man can't wrestle with a woman.... The world was bleak and +wide-open to disruption again. He climbed the stairs. + +The wounded man was not awake. Boylan had objected from the first to his +manner of breathing--too much in the throat, hardly a man-sized volume +of air, the breathing of one who hadn't proper lung-room; but this was +an old matter. He reflected on the various fatigues Mowbray had met with +a smile, and the vitality which had finally pulled him loose from the +cold clutch itself; standing him in stead through a journey so grisly +that Boylan had not had the detachment so far to contemplate it from +first to last. So he had been forced seriously to grant exceptions to +the rule of chest inches and vitality. The soft winter air blew in from +the slightly opened casement. + +Peter's face was wan and boyish--different to Boylan as a result of his +encounter in the street. He saw Peter now with the eyes of a man who +must give up.... She was here in Sondreig. He would not help her, but if +she came, there would be no fight.... It had been his fault. Boylan had +sensed the danger of giving too much--from the beginning.... One woman +brings a man into the world, sees him properly a man, and another woman +takes him away.... Just how Big Belt broke into this particular picture +must be suggested rather than explained. He was very close to mothers +that night. He could understand fathers, too. + +...They would never know what he had done. The Russians had not +understood, except Lornievitch, in part, and he was far away; the +Germans would never piece the fragments together, and Peter himself had +been mainly unconscious. Peter had not been told even of the Dabnitz +episode.... They might have pulled together for years if it hadn't been +for the woman, but there was bound to be a woman. Mowbray was like that. + +Big Belt yawned over it all, drew his cot close, so he could hear +Peter's call, lit a fresh candle, and wished he had remembered to smoke +outside. Presently, however, he was breathing forth the full volume of a +man. + +Sitting by the civilized bed early the next afternoon he heard a voice +below that clenched his jaw much as it had been that night outside the +German camp before the stretcher was brought. She had found them. She +did not speak first, but looked in.... Seeing the face upon the bed, she +could not ask, nor speak, but crossed the room. It would have been just +the same so far--had Boylan not been there. In fact, he had withdrawn +from the place by his companion.... She knelt an instant. Now she arose +and faced the friend. + +“He will live.” + +Peter was still afar off. + +“Yes, ma'am--I think he will.” + +She came to him now. “I saw you last night,” she whispered. “I saw you +come here. I could not come until now.” + +“Humph--” or something of the sort was heard from Boylan. + +Berthe appeared to draw a certain truth from the situation. Perhaps she +saw _the woman_ in Boylan--the mysterious, draggled creature which he +designated his devil on occasion. The old war-wolf gave her credit for +no such penetration. Still she kept herself second, advised, assisted +for a few moments, but would not let Boylan go. + +“He's knit to you. He might die if you go,” she said. + +Something about her choked him. He had been with men so continually. + +“And then I can't stay,” she whispered. “But I am so thankful to have +found you--that nothing else matters.... You see, we are prisoners. They +have trusted certain of us to work; still we have no names, no way of +hearing, no mails, or anything. It's a good miracle that I found you.” + +Presently she said again: “You don't think I understand, but I do. You +have stood by him. He would not have been here but for you. He is living +because of you. I see that. I see that he has been very close.... You +may hate me as you wish, but you cannot help taking what I give you.” + +“You're an all-right young woman,” Big Belt managed to remark. “I +knew something of that.” Then, in a panic, he added: “He'll know you +to-night. He's cool now. He'll pull through. He'll know you to-night, +and then I go.” + +“Not until he sees you.... Besides, I am a prisoner. I cannot come and +go as I would. I may not be able to come to-night--they may say _no_.” + “He'll have all that he needs until you come,” Boylan said. + +She did come that night. Peter had returned, but voyaged again +meanwhile. In the morning she came again.... Boylan ordered her to sit +down in the far corner. He went to the bed, for Peter was stirring, and +presently opened his eyes with reason and organization in them. + +“Hello,” he said. + +“Hello, boy.” + +Peter looked beyond him and around the room. + +“Go to sleep,” said Boylan. + +“I won't.” + +“All right.” + +Big Belt stepped aside. Peter managed to get a knuckle up to rub his +eyes. + +“He's back with us,” Boylan whispered. + +“Don't go,” she pleaded. + +“Don't be a fool,” said Boylan. + +She was there beside him, bending lower and lower. It was against nature +for them not to forget the exterior world for a moment, and Boylan was +on the stairs.... + +He saw Sondreig with eyes that seemed to have dropped their scales. It +was early in the morning, and a light snow had freshened everything. An +old woman was sitting at the locked entrance of what had been a dairy +shop, weeping for her only son. Boylan stopped. + +She was very poor and weak. + +“Come, mother,” he said, lifting her. + +She looked into his face in a way that roweled the man. + +“Come on,” he said softly. “We'll have some breakfast. And you'll tell +me about it. I belong to the widows and the fatherless, too.” + +So they rocked away together. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +He was sleeping again. Berthe went to the window. Even in her happiness +she was afraid, for she was remaining longer than her leave.... The +window faced the south, and the apothecary shop was on the edge of town. +The day was like a pearl--snowy distance, a soft-toned sky and the low +shine of the sun. Deep down in the west, like an island, was a thick +brush of cedars, preserving their green across the miles, and calling to +her with something of the native wonder of old Mother Earth; and to the +right, east of south, was the huge blurred stockade where King Cholera +was so far imprisoned with the bait of fresh lives each day. + +The old Mother was in her winter bloom, so pure and deep-eyed, so calm +and above sorrow in her distance and coloring, that it became to Berthe +a moment not to be forgotten--such a moment as would make a woman +homesick in heaven. + +...If the big man would only come back. They might be angry for her +staying. It would be so easy to lose all that she had won from the +Germans. They had come to rely upon her more and more, realizing the +character of her service, and forgetting its origin in Judenbach. She +did not want to disappoint them. With Peter Mowbray here in good hands +and climbing back to life--no woman in the midst of war could ask +more.... At the bedside again, she pondered the recent weeks to this +hour. Without words, without heaviness, he had come along, fitting so +blithely into the new places, bringing his laugh and his skepticism of +self always, asking for no sign nor reward of the future, building no +dream of heaven, but standing true to the tasks of earth. Greatly more, +and differently, she loved him now, and the distance held the green of +cedars. + +...An officer came to her from the bullet-ward. + +“You are to stay until Mr. Boylan, the correspondent, comes,” he said. + +“But will they know? They were good to let me come.” + +“Colonel Hartz has signed the order. Word has been sent to the +entrainment wards. You were attached there, I believe?” + +“Yes.” + +“Let us know in case of any need here.” + +“Yes. Thank you.” + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +A most satisfying adventure, so that Big Belt added many things to the +matters which could not be related. The old mother had told him of her +son (as they sat together in the little room she called home) and Boylan +had seen in him a singular hero, and made the mother see it. Presently +he strode forth to the shops and returned with many packages of food +affairs, and a cart of fuel following. The prodigious prices which these +things commanded in Sondreig appealed to him as a trifle; in fact, the +simplicity of life on these direct terms of living first hand, struck +him as the eternally right way.... Then she cooked for him, very intent +and eager in the great joy of it, agitated by his praise. In fact, he +went to great lengths of breakfasting to show his appreciation; until, +perceiving what he had done, he strode forth again with replenished +understanding and restocked the cupboard by means of the cart.... Yes, +he would come to-morrow.... Yes, by all means, while he was in Sondreig. + +Even if he had not thought of the white-fire creature being held in +the room above the apothecary shop for his return, Boylan had found it +necessary to leave the old mother, since she could not be made to eat +with him there. She would have cooked for him until she fell by the +fire, but as for her sharing the repast, she begged him to have peace, +that time was plentiful for that.... He was thinking it all out once +more, a most delectable incident, as he walked swiftly through the snow +toward the apothecary shop, when his shoulder was plucked by a passerby, +and he turned, stiffening a bit at the roughness of it. A black-bearded +man of much rank peered into his face, crying out: + +“Boylan, by the One God!” + +“Herr Hartz--by the same!” Big Belt exclaimed. + +And now they embraced--a mighty affair, a memorable spectacle of +pounding, of disengagement, of renewed embrace--so that soldiers and +hospital men circled wide in passing, and the little street was hushed +with the exceeding joy. + +“Come and live with me, Boylan. I will not take no for an answer. +Come at once, and let us a table between us have, to prevent further +inderrupption of travvic--” + +At no time would the cause of this majestic effusion have been +made clear to an outsider, though it was plain that the American +correspondent and the German officer of rank shared it alike. The truth: +these two, and two others somewhere in the world, were the surviving +four of a complement of over thirty men who had made up the original +outfit now known as the Schmedding Polar Failure. Colonel Hartz, +detached from his cavalry command for service in the prison-hospital +at Sondreig, was second in command here as he had been to Schmedding in +that former ill-starred expedition. + +The table was between them. + +“But first,” said Boylan, “there is a little business in which you can +help. My friend, Mowbray... is just coming back to life from Russian +wounds. I could not leave him without being assured of his care. There +is one little nurse from the entrainment wards--it is a good story, +which I will tell in good time--competent to care for him. She is there +now, but I have already stayed longer than her leave granted. She must +be set at rest, and word sent also to her own post--” + +“So much words for a little thing--dictate and I write. Then tell me of +yourself, which is more imbortant--” + +It happened, even after the messages were sent, that Boylan spoke very +little of himself. He was grappling with a certain final disposal. His +talk was colored with desire. In fact, within an hour he had reached the +critical part of his narrative, and was becoming more glib momentarily +as the way out cleared: + +“...You see, they met in Warsaw, where I was stationed before the war. +She did not tell him what was in her mind. He parted from her--as any +other married man taking the field. We were together with Kohlvihr's +column, of which I will tell you later.... Now what do you think?” + +Herr Hartz snorted. He did not care to think. + +“She didn't stay in Warsaw,” Boylan went on, with great intensity. “No, +my friend, she joined the hospital corps, and followed him afield--” + +“The Russians take anyone for the hosbittles,” the other remarked +impatiently. + +“Exactly; and my friend Mowbray found her nursing sick soldiers in +Judenbach. It happened that they were together when the city changed +hands. By the way, there was much of interest in those days of which I +will tell you later.... This is the point. She was a Polish prisoner--he +an American non-combatant. I advised them to say nothing for the present +that they were married. It was very ticklish to change hands anyway, and +would have complicated the position of each one. So they were separated. +He was with me day by day until he was wounded. He moved in a dream +without her--a good boy, Colonel--and a good girl--but war. I say, we +learned something about men, you and I--long ago---” + +Herr Hartz now beamed. + +“We learned it,” he breathed. + +“They make only a few on the pattern of Mowbray.... Last night I saw her +in the street here at Sondreig.... So you see why I arranged for her to +take my place at his side--but you can arrange the rest--” + +“For God's sake, what do you want? You talk and talk about such +people and women and love stories--when we have so much to say about +ourselves--” + +“Be patient. We have all time,” said Big Belt. “I only want them +together--a true married pair. Then they will be off my hands. You can +make Headquarters forget she is Polish--that is all. Some little place +apart--for them to be together while he heals--” + +“Such a lot of talk for small things. It shall be done, Boylan, with a +paper. I will send them to the country and monobolize you myself. This +is a big war--yes?” + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +A last time he climbed to the floor above the apothecary shop. If only +she wouldn't act up. A serious thing, this he had done. Big Belt felt +that he had rushed matters, possibly treading upon a host of delicate +and incomprehensible affairs. But, when he had found in Colonel Hartz a +man to make action of his words, he had plunged.... + +Peter was asleep. The woman came forward noiselessly, offering her +hand. By her face he knew that all was well with the patient. Boylan had +stiffened to resist the pang of Peter's passing from his life. This +had so far prevented his voice from softening to the woman. It was now +evening. + +“I've done what seemed best,” he began abruptly in a whisper. “It +appears to have accomplished what I set out after, but it's likely a +ruffian's way--” + +Her gray eyes widened, her face blanched. + +Big Belt cleared his throat. Whispering was difficult. + +“I met an old friend who made possible your remaining here. He's to send +you into the country--as soon as the young fellow is able to be moved. +You are to take care of him there. You see, my friend happened to +be second in command here at Sondreig, and he thinks he can make +all concerned forget that you were picked up from the opposition in +Judenbach--” + +“Can make Sondreig forget that?” she whispered. + +“We are very old friends. We were out together in a former service--” + +“And we are to be sent into the country--as soon as Peter is able?” + +“Yes.” + +“But what is the terrible part?” + +“There might have been a better way, but I didn't think of it--” + +“Oh, what, Mr. Boylan?” + +“I told him that you two were married--” + +“Yes.” + +“I say, I told him that you two were married--” + +“Yes--and then?” + +Big Belt backed from her, and sat down. + +“There isn't any _then_,” he said. “That's it.... That you were married +in Warsaw, and followed him to the field--without his knowing.” + +“Is that all?” + +“Yes, ma'am.” + +“Oh, you frightened me.” + +...Boylan was on the stairs. He halted, turned back. She came to him +eagerly. + +“But _were_ you married?” he asked. + +“No. But it's such a little thing compared to what might have +happened--to keep us apart. I mean what might have happened here.... Oh, +God bless you!” + +He twisted his chin away from his collar, drew it clear with his hand, +cleared his throat to speak, and vanished. + + + + +VII + +THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + +It wasn't an open fire, but a little iron stove that got so red that +it trembled, and at intervals could hardly contain the puttering of the +pine; and there was a one-armed soldier, who spent the long forenoons +cutting carefully and piling, until there was a rustic wainscot half +around the room, the drying breath of which was the purest fragrance in +the world.... They petted the soldier until an officer came down. + +It was the hunting forest of a certain Count, and the hut they lived in +was but the lodge of one of his keepers; but it was far enough from the +great mansion (where wounded officers of royal blood and toppling rank +healed or died in much the same fashion as other men) to afford the +silence and solitude they had dreamed of. And all about them the great +trees pondered between the winds--pine and balsam, cedar and fir. It had +looked like a bit of an island from the Sondreig window, but proved +a true forest when they reached there--an enchanted one to Berthe and +Mowbray. + +Twice Boylan came down for a day, bringing Moritz Abel the second time; +but the Colonel, whose authority had done so much for them, required +much of Big Belt, and there was a woman (some mystery about this) who +would keep dinner waiting, he said. So both times he had started back +while there remained light in the sky. And Peter had become thoughtful. + +“Why, there are whole days I can't account for,” he muttered. “He must +have had me strapped to him for days at a time.” + +He had asked for Poltneck, of whom she had seen the last in Judenbach. +The Germans had loved his singing and made very much of him; and Peter +had asked for Moritz Abel before the latter came for the day. Berthe +had answered freely, but of Duke Fallows she had not spoken in a way +to satisfy his questions. In fact, it was not until the day that Peter +first crossed the little room alone that she seemed ready to speak. That +afternoon he had called her from the window. + +“Where is Fallows, Berthe?” + +“Not far from here,” she said. “Not as far as Sondreig from here--a +place you have never seen, but I watched it every day from the window +of the apothecary shop until you were moved. He offered himself at once +when he heard--the cholera quarantine.... But he left a message for you +to carry, Peter--gave it to me for you. + +“I saw him for a few brief moments after he had volunteered. He talked +of you and that other American boy of the other war. He said that the +night he separated from that other--just after the battle of Liaoyang, +the Russians in full retreat, he had written his story of the +battle--the story of the Ploughman, and intrusted it to his friend to +carry to America. He wants you to carry his story of this service--asked +me to give it to you when you were better--to take to America with +yours. 'Just a picture,' he said. 'It may be all wrong, but I see it so +to-night, and I would like to have it come out in America some time.' + +“He is very dear to us, Peter--that old burning exile. Some time we +may understand his love for America.... It was hard to let him go. +They fight day and night in the Stockade. They are trying to spare +Sondreig.... I wish you might have been with him that last night before +he went. It was before I found you--before I saw the big man in the +street.... He was glad to go. There was no sense of sacrifice in it. His +whole sense was of our sorrow and the world's sorrow. But it would have +been good for him if you had been there--because you are of his country. +He said it again and again: 'She must see it. It is her immortal +opportunity,' meaning America--” + +“Is his story so we can see it?” Peter asked. + +“Yes.” + +She took from her breast a little chamois, in which was wrapped two +pages of tough tissue, spread them out, drew her chair close to him, and +read this picture Fallows had made, and his message to America: + +..._It is the long night of Europe. France sits in dust upon the ground, +staring toward the End. Mother England has called for her sons, and +some have not answered. She turns her frost-rimed glass from the +grim horizons to the grimmer skies, and always in the movement of the +darkened shadows is written the word, “Disaster.” ...Smileless Germany, +stricken as never a nation was stricken before, save by the wrath of +God, still holds to the fatal enchantment of a fatherland of the ground, +while the changes in the Prussian boundaries are marked in fire and the +blood of her children.... Russia is looking southward, furious to open +her casements upon the perilous seas--gloomy millions of the tundras, +mighty millions of the ice-ringing plains--looking southward, marching +southward, to-day marking time, to-morrow a league, but southward as a +ship in passage. Russia, the young, holy genii battling with demons in +her breast, everything to win and only the fruits of her world-shocking +fecundity to lose--southward to slaughter through the long night_. + +...A call to America through the long night--the voice calling for her +to put on her splendid, her initial magic. The voice from the vision of +sorrow-illumined men in frozen bivouacs, crying to America to hold fast +to the dream of her Founders, lest the vessel of the future be drained +of vital essence, indeed--to hold fast until we come ...crying for +America to answer, not with rapacious intellect, not the answer of a +militant body, but an answer from the soul of the New World, with its +original vitality in the Fatherhood of God. + +...Repeating through the long night that the patience of Nature is +exhausted with the hate of man for man; that the hatred of nation for +nation is a lost experiment; that the bitter romance of the predatory +is a story finished in hell; that the passion for self and boundary is +done, that Compassion for neighbor and nation is the art of the future; +crying the end of the national soul and the stroke of the hour for the +birth of the world-soul; crying to America, the only temple, the sole +house of nativity, to put on again her youthful magic, to ignite afresh +the Gleam of her Founders, to arise to her superb and heroic destiny. +They sat in silence until the tap at the door. It was the one-armed +soldier, who came in, regarded the stove critically inside and out, +judiciously chose one knot of pine, inserted it with grave care, and, +departing, inquired if there was anything further he could do. + +“No,” said Peter. + +And Berthe asked: “Is there anything we can do for you?” + +He bowed his head in the doorway, and they saw beyond him the winding +aisles of the forest--green and white, the dusk creeping in. + +THE END + + + +_A brief expression of the critical Reception of_ + +DOWN AMONG MEN + + _Outlook_: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive genius, equipped +with a remarkably flexible use of English and impelled by the passion of +a mystic--the author of Down Among Men has written a striking novel. + +_The Dial_: Seems to us the most exalted and appealing story Mr. Comfort +has thus far written. + +_The Argonaut_: A novel of extraordinary power. It is good as _Routledge +Rides Alone_. It could hardly be better. + +_London Post_: Alive with incident, bounding with physical energy, +dramatic in coloring, and modern in every phrase. He has a message +delivered with vigor, inspired with tense passion. + +_Atlantic Monthly_: There is so much real fire in it--the fire of youth +that has seen and suffered--so much vitality and passion that one grows +chary of petty comments. The writer offers us the cup of life, and there +is blood in the cup. + +_Chicago Record-Herald_: An almost perfect tale of courage and +adventure. + +_Chicago Tribune_: Contains some of the most remarkable scenes that have +appeared in recent American fiction. + +_New York Times_: Few richer novels than this of Mr. Comfort's have been +published in many a long day. + +_New York Globe_: We can say in all sincerity that we know of no +recent bit of descriptive writing that can match this for sustained, +breathless, dramatic interest. + +_Springfield Republican: Down Among Men_ is perhaps the most ambitious +American novel that has come out during the past year. + + + +MIDSTREAM + +...A hint from the first-year's recognition of a book that was made to +remain in American literature: + +_Boston Transcript_: If it be extravagance, let it be so, to say +that Comfort's account of his childhood has seldom been rivaled in +literature. It amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels that +will suggest themselves in our letters are the great ones that occur in +_Huckleberry Finn_.... This man Comfort's gamut is long and he has +raced its full length. One wonders whether the interest, the skill, the +general worth of it, the things it has to report of all life, as well as +the one life, do not entitle _Midstream_ to the very long life that is +enjoyed only by the very best of books. + +_San Francisco Argonaut_: Read the book. It is autobiography in its +perfection. It shows more of the realities of the human being, more of +god and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind. + +_Springfield Republican_: It is difficult to think of any other young +American who has so courageously reversed the process of writing for the +“market” and so flatly insisted upon being taken, if at all, on his own +terms of life and art. And now comes his frank and amazing revelation, +_Midstream_, in which he captures and carries the reader on to a story +of regeneration. He has come far; the question is, how much farther will +he go? + +Mary Fanton Roberts in The _Craftsman_: Beside the stature of this book, +the ordinary novel and biography are curiously dwarfed. You read it with +a poignant interest and close it with wonder, reverence and gratitude. +There is something strangely touching about words so candid, and +a draught of philosophy that has been pressed from such wild and +bitter-sweet fruit. The message it contains is one to sink deep, +penetrating and enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. This man's +words are incandescent. Many of us feel that he is breathing into +a language, grown trite from hackneyed usage, the inspiration of a +quickened life. + +Ida Gilbert Myers in _Washington Star_: Courage backs this revelation. +The gift of self-searching animates it. Honesty sustains it. And Mr. +Comfort's rare power to seize and deliver his vision inspires it. It is +a tremendous thing--the greatest thing that this writer has yet done. + +George Soule in _The Little Review_: Here is a man's life laid +absolutely bare. A direct, big thing, so simple that almost no one +has done it before--this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who are made +uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything, to whom reserve is more +important than truth--these will not read _Midstream_ through, but +others will emerge from the book with a sense of the absolute nobility +of Mr. Comfort's frankness. + +Edwin Markham in _Hearst's Magazine_: Will Levington Comfort, a novelist +of distinction, has given us a book alive with human interest, with +passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his despotism over +words. He has been a wandering foot--familiar with many strands; he has +known shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to serene heights. +He tells it all without vaunt, relating his experience to the large +meanings of life for all men, to the mystic currents behind life, out of +which we come, to whose great deep we return. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Fleece, by Will Levington Comfort + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + +***** This file should be named 6351-0.txt or 6351-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/6351/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Red Fleece + +Author: Will Levington Comfort + + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6351] +This file was first posted on November 29, 2002 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + + + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + RED FLEECE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Will Levington Comfort + </h2> + <h4> + Author of “Midstream,” “Down Among Men,” “Fate Knocks At the Door,” + “Routledge Rides Alone,” Etc., Etc. <br /> <br /> 1915 + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO THE HOUR—WHEN TROOPS TURN HOME + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. — THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> II. — THE COURT OF EXECUTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> III. — THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> IV. — IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> V. — THE SKYLIGHT PRISON </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> Chapter 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> Chapter 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> Chapter 9 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> VI. — THE FIELD OF HELMETS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> Chapter 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> Chapter 2 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> Chapter 3 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> Chapter 4 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> Chapter 5 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> Chapter 6 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> Chapter 7 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> Chapter 8 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> VII. — THE GREEN OF CEDARS </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. — THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + Peter Mowbray first saw her at the corner of Palace Square nearest the + river. He was not in the least the kind of young man who appraises passing + women, very far from a starer. At the instant their eyes met, his thoughts + had been occupied with work matters and the trickery of events. In fact, + there was so much to do that he resented the intrusion, found himself + hoping in the first flash that she would show some flaw to break the + attraction. + </p> + <p> + It may have been that her eyes were called to the passer-by just as his + had been, without warning or volition. In any event their eyes met full, + leisurely in that stirring silence before the consciousness of self, time, + place and convention rushes in. ... Though she seemed very poor, there was + something about her beyond reach in nobility. He was left with the + impression of the whitest skin, the blackest hair and the reddest lips, + but mainly of a gray-eyed girl—eyes that had become wider and wider, + and had filled with sudden amazement (doubtless at her own answering look) + before they turned away. + </p> + <p> + Desolation was abroad in Warsaw after this encounter. Mowbray thought of + New York with loneliness, the zest gone from all present activity. + Presently with curious grip his thoughts returned to a certain luncheon in + New York with a tired literary man who had talked about women with the air + of a connoisseur. The pith of the writer's observations was restored to + his mind in this form: + </p> + <p> + “If I were to marry again it would be to a Latin woman—French, + Italian, even Spanish—a close-to-nature woman born and bred in one + of the Mediterranean countries. Not a blue-blood, for that has to do with + decadence, but a woman of the people. They are passionate but pure, as Poe + would say. If they find a man of any value, he becomes their world. They + are strong natural mothers—mothering their children and their + husband, too,—and immune to common sicknesses. Given a little food, + they know enough to prepare it with art. If a man has a bit of a dream + left, such a woman will either make him forget it painlessly, or she will + make it come true.” + </p> + <p> + There was no apparent relation, and none that proved afterward. What he + had seen at the corner of Palace Square nearest the Vistula was not the + face of a Latin woman, nor was any looseness of common birth evident in + it. The key might have had to do with the little hat she wore, just a hat + for wearing on the head, a protection against sun and rain, and with the + austerely simple black dress; but these weathered exteriors again were + effective in contrast to the vivid freshness of her natural coloring. As + for what remained of the literary man's picture of the ideal woman to + marry, it was the last word of decadence—the eminent selfishness of + a man willing to accept the luxury of a woman who asks little to be happy. + ... The next day at the same time and place Mowbray was there, and saw her + coming from afar. + </p> + <p> + She seemed both afraid and angry, stopped abruptly and asked in Polish + what he wanted. He was startled. It was a hard moment. He explained with + difficulty that her language was as yet an inconvenient vehicle for him. + </p> + <p> + “You are not Russian?” she said in French. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. She seemed to be relieved and he wondered why. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she asked, though not quite with the original + asperity. + </p> + <p> + “It did not occur to me you would notice,” he said in the language she had + ventured. “I saw you yesterday. You made me think of New York. As I was + near to-day, I hoped to see you again—-” + </p> + <p> + “You are American?” She spoke now in English, and with a still softer + intonation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,—you speak English, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I like it. It is—-” she checked herself and asked with just a shade + of coldness, “Is there anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + It might be construed as a courtesy to a stranger from one who lived in + Warsaw. Peter liked it, a certain vista opening. However, there was no + answer within reach except the truth, and he plunged: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know you better.” + </p> + <p> + The red lower lip disappeared beneath the other. Her gray eyes grew very + wide; something intrepid and exquisite in her manner as she searched his + face. Whatever she knew of the world, she dared still to trust her + intuition—this was something of the revelation he drew. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + Many people were passing. He looked toward the quieter center of the + Square. + </p> + <p> + “Will you walk with me there?” he asked. “It is not easy to explain this + sort of thing—-” + </p> + <p> + “No. I must go on. You may walk a little way.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good.... You see, I cannot tell just <i>why</i>—as you + asked. If I knew you well, I could tell you. Yesterday I was quite + unromantic—-” + </p> + <p> + She made it hard for him and did not let him see her smile. “You mean you + are romantic to-day?” + </p> + <p> + Peter laughed. “What a trap—and I was trying so hard to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>were</i> trying—-” + </p> + <p> + “I don't need to tell you. All there is to say is that I want you to be my + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have to think,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. ... Do you pass here every day?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have to think,” she said. + </p> + <p> + It was the third day afterward that she passed again. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + The first time that Boylan of the <i>Rhodes News Agency</i> of New York + saw Peter Mowbray was in the office of Lonegan of <i>The States</i>, + Mowbray's chief in Warsaw. Lonegan had known Peter in New York and had + wanted him for his second many months before the fact was brought about. + This was the Boylan of the Schmedding Polar Failure, of various wars and + expeditions, a huge spectacle of a man, an old-timer, and very fond of + Lonegan, though as representative of <i>Rhodes''</i> he was structurally + the competitor of <i>The States</i> in this territory. + </p> + <p> + “Young Mowbray may be all right,” Boylan observed, “but the curse of the + student is on him. I should say that he isn't gusty enough for hard work—vest + buttons too safe—” + </p> + <p> + “You can't measure health by the pound,” Lonegan observed, regarding the + other's bulk with one eye shut. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of Mowbray spending much time in bed outside of the small + hours.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-six or seven.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he put on his gear all in a year or two?” + </p> + <p> + “There is that look about him, but he's safely over it. Some people never + stop, but I've had to look up at him from the same angle now and then + during the last five years.... It was just a little before that he + happened into—his route like mine—his cub-year in London, then + assistant in Antwerp, then in Dresden. He had Dresden alone for a year. + I've been angling for him some time——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Boylan remarked, “you need the right kind of help to stand up with + <i>Rhodes</i> from this end——” + </p> + <p> + “You do make it wildly exciting,” Lonegan answered gently. “We'll rock + Peter yet.” + </p> + <p> + This chat took place in June. Ten weeks afterward Boylan came in with the + big news, and found Lonegan bending over the following cablegram, almost + the last that came through in the private cipher of <i>The States:</i> + </p> + <p> + Get Mowbray post with Russians. We are mailing influential matters. Warsaw + key-desk for northern campaigns. We are to be congratulated on having + Lonegan there. + </p> + <p> + It was from the Old Man, who in certain cases ventured thus to be + expensively felicitous.... + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Lonegan,” Boylan said. “I thought you would be taking the + field—-” + </p> + <p> + “No, the Old Man's got the right eye for these affairs. I'm a desk man.” + </p> + <p> + What Lonegan had swallowed to make his voice clear and steady, only he + knew, but his nerve was effective. “You've got to help me, Boylan,” he + said. “You know the military end. You've got to help me get him attached. + I know you'd do it for me, but I want you to do it for him—” + </p> + <p> + A grunt from the big man, who disappeared. + </p> + <p> + ...Lonegan's lip curled. Again it was only Lonegan who knew why. He read + the cablegram carefully again, and felt his face as if speculating whether + he could wait until morning for a shave. There was routine to do, and the + developments of the day to file. Peter was on a mail story.... It occurred + to him presently that his second would be interested in this eventuality + from the Office. He called several places by 'phone without locating the + younger man. + </p> + <p> + “He's with the woman,” Lonegan concluded. + </p> + <p> + Peter had left her address somewhere, but it was not at hand; neither was + her house available to telephone. Lonegan took down the Warsaw directory, + and came finally to the street-number after this line: + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bertha Solwicz, sempstress</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + She, too, was almost a stranger in Warsaw, and lonely. Each had their + work, and many hours each day were required for it; still, after the first + fortnight, they managed to meet often. Peter's time was hers, for he had + the habit of leaving his feature-letter for the quiet hours of the night. + </p> + <p> + “I hate the name of Solwicz,” she told him the first time he came to her + house, “especially from you. And you must call me <i>Berthe</i>, not + Bertha.” In spite of her obvious lack of means, she had a few friends of + rare quality, and yet he did not meet them. On her table that first day, + he picked up a little book of poems, the leader of which was entitled <i>We + Are Free</i>. Peter had read it a few weeks before and given it a quality + of appreciation that was seldom called in these days. Just now he noted + that the volume was affectionately inscribed to her from the author, + Moritz Abel. She spoke of him and of the group of young master workmen to + which he belonged. Then she read the poem, as they stood together. It was + a moment of honor to the poet. Peter had turned pale, and the little room + was hushed about them, as if Warsaw were suddenly stilled. + </p> + <p> + “You see what they are doing,” she said. “There is a new race of artists + in Russia. They have passed the emotions—-” + </p> + <p> + “This poem was due in the world,” Peter said. “But it is still an age + ahead of the crowd.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what makes it so hard for them—for him. He does not like + that. He would like to talk to all men straight. Moritz Abel—the + name will not be forgotten. He is like the others of the new race. They + are terrible in their calm. They have passed the emotions. They are free. + Other artists in Europe or America repress the emotions. That is but the + beginning of the mastery. When they are as great as this group of young + men, they will show the spirit of the thing, not the emotion of it. + Emotions are red. This is pure white, don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + For three days Warsaw had been upheaved in excitement. On the afternoon + that the messenger from Lonegan brought the news of the cablegram, Berthe + and Peter were planning an excursion into the country for the next day. + She watched him closely as he read, and was sensitive enough to realize + the importance of the message, before he spoke.... He found her gray eyes + upon him. She chose her own way to break the tension: + </p> + <p> + “The country is heaven, no doubt about that. One must die to get there. + Also one must live just so. Even when I was little, something always + happened—just as we were planning to set out for the country.” + </p> + <p> + He showed her the message, but had hardly heard her words. His discovery + of this slender solitary red-lipped girl and what it meant, was rarely + clear at this moment. She had awakened him plane by plane, awakened his + passion and his mercy and his intuition. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me again what you said about the country. I was away for a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hard to think of a little excursion to the fields—with such a + holiday ahead, as you are called upon.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't thinking of that either, Berthe, but of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, you will go?” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only talking foolishly, about our little excursion. One's own wants + are so pitifully unimportant now.” + </p> + <p> + “I had hardly expected personally to encounter a war,” he remarked and + added smilingly, “The fact is, I hadn't thought of meeting a woman like + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe you're as cold-blooded as you try to seem, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “I have fought all my life to be cold-blooded.” + </p> + <p> + She never forgot that. “I wonder why men do it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's the cultivation, perhaps, of that which Americans love best of all—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Nerve.” + </p> + <p> + “We of Poland dare to be emotional,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You are an older people. You know how.” + </p> + <p> + “One needs only to be one's self.” + </p> + <p> + Peter smiled. “Sometimes I dare actually to be honest with you. Even + Lonegan and I take no such liberties together.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a matter of courage,” she said. “You would dare anything. I know + your quiet, deadly kind of courage. That's the first thing I felt about + you.” + </p> + <p> + It was like Mowbray not to acknowledge that such a thing had been said. + </p> + <p> + “I came to you asleep. I wonder if I should always have remained asleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Your words are pretty, Peter. It makes me sad that you are going away.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember that company of soldiers that passed us yesterday as we + walked? I had seen many such groups before—great shocky-haired + fellows who ate and drank disgustingly. But yesterday you made me see that + their blood is redder than the Little Father's—that empires ripen + and go to seed only on a grander scale than turnips.” Her eyes were + gleaming. + </p> + <p> + “We who are so wise, who have mastered ourselves, should be very good to + the peasants—and not take what they have and kill them in wars.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I lead you to believe in any way that I felt myself mastered?” he + asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + She touched his arm. “I was talking of the Fatherland,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He had met this intensity of hers before. Her scorn was neither hot nor + cold, but electric. So often when words failed her, Peter fancied himself + lost in some superb wilderness... Her own gray tone was in the room to-day—her + gray eyes and black hair that made the shadows seem gray; her face that no + night could hide from him. Sometimes his glance was held to her lips—as + one turns to the firelight. Passion there—or was it the higher + thing, <i>compassion?</i> There was bend and give to the black cloth she + wore, as to the inflections of her voice. She could forget herself. That + was the first and the inexhaustible charm. + </p> + <p> + It is true that she was very poor. This room which had become his + sanctuary in Warsaw was in a humble house of a common quarter. She laughed + at this, and at her many hours of work each day, for which the return was + meager. There was the sweetest pathos to him in her little purse, and her + pride in these matters was a thing of royalty. + </p> + <p> + “My father earned the right to be poor,” she once said. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to him that her father was mentioned in the moments most + memorable... She was at the window now, her hand lifting the shade. The + light of the gray day shone through her fingers—a long, fragile hand + that trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we walk somewhere, or must you go to your office, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't, just yet. Yes, let's go outside.” + </p> + <p> + They felt they must climb, a bit of suffocation in their hearts. Until + to-day there had been invariable stimulus for Mowbray in the age of all + things, even in the dusty, narrow, lower streets, but his smiling, easy + countenance was a lie that he disliked now. It pinched him cruelly to + leave her, and there was small amelioration in anything that the war might + bring. She would give him sympathy and zeal and honor for the work and + through all the lonely days, but what a lack would be of that swift + directness of purpose, the deeper seeing, the glad capacity for higher + heroism which he had found only in her presence. They crossed the + riverward corner of the Square, where they had met. He tried to tell her + how she had seemed that first day. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot understand,” she replied. “Especially that day when I first saw + you, I had nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Now they ascended the terraces that commanded the Vistula. The rocky turf + of the footpath, smoothed by the tread of forgotten generations (but still + whispering to her of those who had passed on); the crumbling masonry of + the retaining walls, gray with the pallor of the years; and afar the + curving, dust-swept farmlands, which had mothered a thousand harvests, now + moved with strange planting of peasant-soldiers. Mobilization business + everywhere, drilling of the half-equipped, a singing excitement of + parting, recruiting—no time for the actual misery. + </p> + <p> + They stood in the very frown of the fortress at sunset. A column of raw + infantry came swinging out and started the descent. A moment afterward the + roar of a folk-song came up in a gust. It was as if the underworld + suddenly had been cratered. + </p> + <p> + “When they sing like that, and I think of what they shall soon be called + upon to do—I can hardly endure it!” she whispered.... They stood + with backs against the wall, as the tail of the column moved past. “Look + at that weary one—so spent and sick—yet trying to sing—” + </p> + <p> + They were in the silence again. Across the river, against the red + background, they watched another column of foot-soldiers moving like a + procession of ants erect; and beyond, on the dim plain, a field battery, + just replenished to war footing, was toiling with tired beasts and untried + pieces. Mowbray thought of the human meat being herded in Austria for + those great rakish guns, as the infantry below was being trained for + distant slaughter arenas. + </p> + <p> + “Do speak, Peter,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + He turned to find her white face looking up to him and very close. They + were alone. + </p> + <p> + “You won't mind if I think about myself this once?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Please do.” + </p> + <p> + “I only want to say that, if you'll stay where you are, I'll come back + from this stuff—I was going to say, dead or alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean I am to stay in Warsaw?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No—not that exactly. I mean if you will stay where you are in + regard to me——” + </p> + <p> + Tears filled her eyes. He would have known it even if they had not shone + through the dusk, because his fingers felt the tremor in her arms. She + tried to speak, but finished, “How utterly silly words are!” + </p> + <p> + The face of young Mowbray was strange with emotion, pale but + brilliant-eyed, his long features bending to her. She was utter + receptivity. Neither knew until afterward how rare and perfect was this + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway—we understand. We understand, Berthe.” + </p> + <p> + “...As for Berthe,” she said slowly, as they walked back, “her heart will + stay where you have put it, Peter. That's out of her power to change. But + the rest—I can't tell, yet——” + </p> + <p> + It was as if a finger had crossed Mowbray's face laterally under the eyes + and across his nostrils, leaving a gray welt. + </p> + <p> + “I know you belong to the moderns,” he said, after a moment. “We men + belong to the ancients. We want a woman to wait and weep while we go off + to the wars.” + </p> + <p> + “We understand,” she kept repeating.... “And now, before you go, come home + with me and let me make you a cup of tea—just a cup of tea—before + you go.” + </p> + <p> + He went with her, and, when his tea-cup was finished, he happened to look + into the bottom. + </p> + <p> + “What do you see?” she asked quickly, taking the cup. + </p> + <p> + “M-m-m,” said Mowbray. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + Peter and Lonegan were together at dinner three hours after the message + from <i>The States.</i> + </p> + <p> + “It's a big chance, Mowbray. That's all I can say. I stay at the wire—no + heroics.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to see it all from here.” + </p> + <p> + Lonegan smiled deprecatingly. “Boylan will help you get through. You don't + know him yet. Some time, perhaps, you will—two hundred and fifty + pounds of soul. He'll do all he can to get you the same chance he has, + because I asked him; and then he'll try to make <i>The States</i> look + obsolete as a newspaper, wherein, of course, he'll fail. But he'll try. If + he takes to you, it won't make him try less, but he'd do your stuff and + his, if you fell sick. There isn't another Boylan—a great newspaper + man, too. <i>The States</i> will watch closely, knowing that <i>Rhodes''</i> + will get everything possible from Boylan's part of the front. The point is—and + I think he'll want it, too—you'd better work together on the main + line of stuff, as we do here. Your letters on the side should be better + than his, because you're a better writer. As for war stuff, Boylan is the + old master—Peking, Manchuria and the Balkans—that I think of; + also the Schmedding Polar Failure. That last <i>was</i> war—a + spectacular expedition of the Germans— + </p> + <p> + “I might as well make this a lecture, now that I've started,” Lonegan went + on. “The war game isn't complex. All the bewildering technicalities that + bristle from a military officer's talk are just big-name stuff designed to + keep down the contempt of the crowd—the oldest professional trick. + Whenever the crowd gets to understand your terminology your game is + cooked. You know how it is in a drug-store, and you've seen the old family + doctor look wise.... + </p> + <p> + “There's a lot of different explosives which they fire by mathematics, and + which you can learn in part from our homely encyclopedias, but the main + game will be fought out on the same principles that Attila fought it and + Genghis Khan—numbers, traps, unexpectedness, the same dull old + flanking activities, the raid of supplies and communications, the bending + back of wings, the crimp of a line by making a hole in one part—and + all that archaic rot. As I say, the game is extinct, so far as our modern + complicated intelligences go, and the men whose names are biggest in the + papers from now on are the same old beefy type of rudiments whom a man + wouldn't associate with in times of national quiet.... I will end this by + saying that the big story is the man—the peasant, the trooper, the + one blinded little dupe, who dies, or plunges, or loses his legs in the + name of the Fatherland—” + </p> + <p> + “I see that,” said Peter; “but what really is interesting to me is this + peasant's blindness and the monkey other men make of him—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you spoke of that, for it is a thing to avoid. Interesting, I + grant, but not popular with our kind of press. We are not servants of the + minority or the elect. You'll find Boylan exploiting the army he's with—just + as another might have done under Napoleon. By the way, where are you going + to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to sit at the feet of the most genial anarchist at large. His + name is Fallows, an American, who has been ten years in Russia among the + peasants.” + </p> + <p> + “Duke Fallows—I know of him. When did he come to town?” + </p> + <p> + “Two days ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, how did you get next?” Lonegan looked a bit in awe at the other. + </p> + <p> + “I was asked to one of his private audiences last night.” + </p> + <p> + Peter knew that Lonegan had many things to ask by the quick tone in which + he spoke the first question. + </p> + <p> + “You know what Fallows will do to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if one lets go. He has learned how to use his power. He has brought + forth his young upon the bare rocks, as somebody said.” + </p> + <p> + “He'd turn an angel into an anarchist.” + </p> + <p> + “A man ought not to be afraid to listen if there's a chance for him to be + proved wrong—” + </p> + <p> + “Correct, absolutely. I am merely thinking about our job.” + </p> + <p> + “A man gets in the habit of thinking about his job—doesn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you about the plowman of Liaoyang?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but my companion did. Fallows must have seen that episode rather + clearly.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's not get off the job business, Peter. As I was saying, the truth + isn't popular—” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't sound like Lonegan.” + </p> + <p> + “No, and I don't like the feel of saying it, but it's very much to the + point—” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly.” + </p> + <p> + “Mowbray, we are taking our bread, and its cake, too, from a paper that + expects us to exploit the orthodox heroics. The pity and atrocious sham of + it all has its side. But the fact still remains its side does not furnish + the stuff that American newspapers pay men and cable tolls to furnish.” + </p> + <p> + “Won't you come to-night?” Peter asked laughing. “Perhaps we can both + reach the high point some day when we have earned the right to be poor.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a higher point than I dream of, Peter. I can't help but think what + a nest you've got into. Of course, I mean with Fallows and his kind—” + </p> + <p> + “An eagle's nest.” + </p> + <p> + “But the eaglets are starving.” + </p> + <p> + “Heretofore the job has been served. Come along with me and meet Duke + Fallows again—” + </p> + <p> + “No. I must go back to the wire for the present. Boylan would be shocked, + too. By the way, I've got a bid in for you with General Kohlvihr. Boylan + is to help me put it through, of course. The more decorated they are the + more they fall for Boylan. There's a chance that you'll start south with a + column within two days. So you'd better get at that encyclopedia stuff—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'll attend to that.” + </p> + <p> + Peter left him smiling, and turned his steps across the Square, into a + narrow street of the poor quarter, and on toward a little room and a low + lamp, where a woman's hands sewed magically as she waited. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + Fallows met them in his small bleak room, turned the lamp low, and opened + the door of the diminutive wood-stove to let the firelight in the room. + The three sat around it.... Peter Mowbray felt strange and young beside + them. The woman seemed to belong to this world, and it was a world at war + with every existing power. All Peter's training resisted stubbornly. + Still, right or wrong, there was a nobility about their stand. He did not + need to be sure their vision was absolutely true, yet the suspicion + developed that they saw more clearly than he, and acted more purely. + Mowbray did not lack anything of valor, but he lacked the fire somehow. He + loved Berthe Solwicz, could have made every sacrifice for her, but that + was a concrete thing. + </p> + <p> + Fallow's bony knees were close to the fire. He seemed both light and deep, + often turning to Peter with secret intentness, and openly regarding the + young woman with amazement and delight. Nearing fifty, Fallows was tall, + thin and tanned. The deep lines of his face were those which make a man + look homely to himself, but often interesting to others. His soft, + low-collared shirt was somewhat of a spectacle in consideration of the + angular and weathered neck. No rest could exist in the room that contained + such loneliness as burned from his eyes. It was said that he had been + rich, though everything about him was poor now. One would suspect the + articles in his pockets to be meager and of poor quality—the things + you might find in a peasant's coat. That which he called home was a + peasant's house in the Bosk hills—the house of the plowman of + Liaoyang, whose children he fathered. Annually, however, he went abroad, + telling the story of the underdog, usually making the big circuit from the + East to the West, and stopping at a certain little cabin within hearing + distance of the whistles of Manhattan, where his first disciple worked in + solitude mainly, and against the stream. Just now Fallows was planning a + different winter's work.... They talked of the first fighting. + </p> + <p> + “The startling thing to realize is that for the present we are allied with + England,” said Fallows. “I mean Russia. You see, I am Russian, now, not + the Russia of the Bear, but of the Man—” + </p> + <p> + Mowbray and the woman exchanged glances, each thinking of the tea-cup in + the afternoon.... The exile showed traces of his ten years' training among + simple men. Rhetoric and dithyramb were gone from his speech and habit of + mind. The whole study and vision of the man was to make his words plain. + Thus he said slowly: + </p> + <p> + “The peasants are children—children in mind and soul. We who have + come a little farther are responsible for them, as a father is responsible + for his children. So far we have wronged them, taught them to grasp + instead of to give, to look down instead of up. We have even stolen from + them the fruits of their looking down. The time is near at hand when we + shall have to pay for all this.... A true father would die for his + children. I know men who have done that, and there are men about us here, + even in Warsaw tonight, who are ready for that—” + </p> + <p> + Fallows' voice was tender. He watched the face of the woman as he spoke. + She was looking hard into the fire. + </p> + <p> + Fallows added: “There are fifty million men here in Russia—roughly + speaking. Very strong, very simple, possibly very brutal men, but brutal + as a fine dog is brutal, a simplicity about that. I do not idealize them. + I have lived among them. I know this: They might be led to virtue, instead + of to wickedness. My heart bleeds for them being led to slaughter again. + The hard thing is to make them see, but the reason for that is simple, + too. If they could see—they would not be children. They must be led. + Never in modern history have they been purely led. Words cannot make them + see; wars so far have not made them see. It may be that the sufferings and + heroisms of this war shall be great enough to make them see....” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have the peasants see first?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “Their real fathers—that men of wisdom and genius are the true + fathers of the Fatherland, not the groups of predatory men. True fathers + would die for their children. To me it has been blasphemy, when the + nations of the past have called themselves Fatherlands. I would have the + peasants fathered by men who realize that the peasants are the strength + and salt of the earth; men who realize that the plan of life is good—that + the plan of life is for concord and service each to the other—that + the hate of man for man is the deadly sin, the hell of the world—that + the fields and all the treasures of the mother earth are for those who + serve and aspire, and not for those who hold fast, look down and covet + more.” + </p> + <p> + Mowbray was interested in the fact that Fallows had passed the stage of + eloquence and scorn and burning hatred against evil in persons and + institutions. There was no hue and cry about his convictions. He seemed to + live in continual amazement at the slowness with which the world moves—the + slowness to a man who is ahead and trying to pull his people along. + Moreover there was that final wisdom which Fallows revealed from time to + time—momentary loss of the conviction that he himself was immortally + right. Fallows saw, indeed, that a man may be atrociously out of plumb, + even to the point of becoming a private and public nuisance, when allowed + to feed too long alone on the strong diet of his own convictions.... An + hour sped by. Fallows replenished the fire and turned to Berthe Solwicz. + </p> + <p> + “All evening you've had something in your mind to tell me and I've been + giving forth. You must forgive a man for so many words—when he has + been living with little children so long. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just a reading of a tea-cup to-day—but everything you said has its + meaning concerned in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm almost as interested in tea-cups as in the stars,” said Fallows. + </p> + <p> + “You know a toy-bear, such as the Germans make?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it would have been like that—if one were thinking of toys. We + thought of the Russian Bear. It was perfect—in the bottom of the cup—standing + up, walking like a man—huge paunch, thick paws held out + pathetically, legs stretched out, just as he would be, rocking, you know—” + </p> + <p> + Fallows bowed seriously. Mowbray turned his smile to the shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Near him,” Berthe added, “was a Russian soldier—perfect—fur + cap, high boots, tightly belted, very natty—more perfect than we see + in the streets, as if drawn from ideal. He was stabbing the bear with a + long pole, leisurely—” + </p> + <p> + “It was a rifle and bayonet,” said Peter. “We both saw it, but didn't + speak until now. He was churning the bayonet around in the great paunch as + if feeling for the vitals. The bear looked large and helpless.” + </p> + <p> + Fallows' bronzed head had sunk upon his chest. His eyes, red with + firelight, seemed lost to all expression. “I was thinking it would happen + in Germany first,” he said. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterward he added: “There's a time when a man wants to die for + what he believes, and another time when he's afraid he will die before he + gets a chance to make his life count.” + </p> + <p> + Again he paused, and then looked up to Mowbray. “It's a good omen. That's + the <i>real</i> war.... And was it your cup?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that you are going out for the Galician service?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, possibly with Kohlvihr's column.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see much service,” said Fallows. “That used to be our dream—to + see service. It will be easier seen with the Russians. They are not so + modern in method as the French or Germans, or even the Japanese. Of + course, war is the same. The nation at the end will win on the fields, not + in the skies. The sky fulfillment is reserved for a better utility than + war. But war belongs under the sea.... You will not be suppressed so + rigidly with the Russians. You will see the side of the war which will + have the most bearing on the future. I do not believe France and Germany + are in the future as Russia is—” + </p> + <p> + “And England?” Peter asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “The key to that is the wealth of the Indies—as of yore.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean if India remains loyal?” + </p> + <p> + “If India remains under the yoke.” + </p> + <p> + “But, if Britain should preserve her tenure in India with the Japanese + troops—” Peter suggested. + </p> + <p> + Fallows shuddered. “As yet I can see no philosophy under heaven to cover + that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think Britain and Russia are enemies in spite of this alliance?” + </p> + <p> + “Enemies, temperamental and structural—enemies, past and future.” + </p> + <p> + Peter recurred to this point: “You think that India would not remain loyal + if she had arms?” + </p> + <p> + “I was in a little village of the Punjab two years ago,” Fallows replied, + “and there was a lad of sixteen there, wonderful in promise—a mind, + a spirit. They could not raise in the village enough money to send him + across the seas steerage for his education. A single rifle costs nearly + three pounds. It is hard for us to realize how poor India is.” + </p> + <p> + Peter stood fast against this in his mind; his intellect would not + accept.... “Are you going to take the field again, Mr. Fallows?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in a newspaper way. I shall nurse wounded soldiers. At least they + have accepted me.... These are fearful and amazing days. We have all been + in a kind of long feeding dream, like the insects, accumulating energy and + terrible power for these days. Such death as we shall see!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder how they are taking it in America?” Fallows mused. + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless as an opportunity for world-trade,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope not!” the exile said passionately. “There must be another + America.” + </p> + <p> + Fallows placed his hands on Berthe's shoulders, looking down: “You make me + think of a young woman I once knew,” he said. “Not that you look like her—but + that you have the same zeal <i>for something</i>.... You are a very true + daughter of your father—” + </p> + <p> + “You knew him?” she said huskily. + </p> + <p> + “We all knew him—we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, + his courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a pure + and durable thing—his courage would have died with him. It is + wonderful for me to be here with you. And this man loves you.” + </p> + <p> + It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment. + Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the + lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for an + instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave themselves. + </p> + <p> + “I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name,” Berthe said. + “But I am going to tell him—before he goes.” + </p> + <p> + “He is safe,” said Fallows. “I felt free with him—almost immediately—and + that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It is a good + name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for <i>The States</i>. + You will see great things—best of all with the Russian columns. + There will be an Austerlitz every day—a Liaoyang every day. I was in + Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I wonder if he will come + out this time—to find how his dream of brotherhood is faring? God, + how he took to that dream! He will be a Voice—” + </p> + <p> + They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. “I'll go out + with you—just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had + already said too much. + </p> + <p> + “He seems to be burning up,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Berthe did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain—so shockingly + full of power,” Peter added. “And yet he said so little of his own part.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't, Peter. He's like you—when moments are biggest.... Oh, + Peter, where do you keep your passion?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. But + you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must have + loved the world—” + </p> + <p> + “But you love the world—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, Peter—come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!” + </p> + <p> + Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed a + bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows' mind, + the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She had always + talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; now he disliked + the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk. + </p> + <p> + Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows personally + was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel martyrdoms for + others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not strictly a + conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for another, it was not + good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to be just, by thinking of + Fallows' life. + </p> + <p> + Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not come + to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up everything in + life to make the world better as he saw it. He had written and traveled + and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to poverty, all for the good of + the under-dog. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it,” Peter mused. “He sees + it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He isn't + afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I take things + as I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought otherwise, except + for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked.” + </p> + <p> + Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main issue + that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, stuffing her + ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He braced himself now and + faced it. “If it happened to another pair, I should say it was the + finish,” he thought. “I should say that no man and woman could pass a rock + like that.... I can't get to her point of view by thinking myself there. + I'm cold—that's the word. And she's superb. I'd rather be her friend + than lord of any other woman. That won't change. And she has spoiled + everything I thought I knew. Altogether—it's a game, bright little + story—and deep.” + </p> + <p> + Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily. + </p> + <p> + “I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going with + him?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm ready,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Did you have a big time?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of Fallows now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm strong for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter—you look bushed.” + </p> + <p> + “It drains a man to spend an evening in that company. A fellow has to have + a heavy lid—not to waste fire.” + </p> + <p> + Lonegan was worried. “You don't mean to say you're getting fevers and + emotions.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm threatened.” + </p> + <p> + “Mowbray—you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your + fires—not even how well you bank 'em. It isn't in you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it were,” said Peter. + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + For a long time after Lonegan left he plunged into his work, but there was + no sleep for him afterward. He lay very still, breathing easily, as the + fag-end of the night crawled by. At dawn he arose, dressed noiselessly, + and went out into the city. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + It was too early to go to Berthe, yet his steps led him to the street of + her house, and he had not passed it a second time before she opened the + blinds above, and called to him. He looked at her sorrowfully, and she met + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Peter. I've been so sorry! If you can forgive me, we'll have + coffee together—” + </p> + <p> + He followed her upstairs. The premonition came that he was to take away + the image of Berthe Solwicz at its highest—inimitably enticing to + his heart, the girlish and utterly feminine spirit that had captivated the + man in his breast. She did not seem to know that she was like the woman of + the first meeting, but to him all her grace of that day had returned, as + if to complete the circle of the episode; and all that he had loved since + was added. The one thing in his life that he was proud of, was that he had + chosen this woman from the crowd.... They were in her room. With both + hands she held him in his coat, so that he could not remove it, begging + him to forget the last of last night before they could be at rest. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I want to, Berthe,” he said. “It made me think. There are + two kinds of people in the world—the kind who give and the kind who + take. We represent each. I'm afraid the difference is intrinsic. There + would be no satisfaction in me trying to be some one else—even + trying to be like you. I am what I am—and must be that. But, Berthe, + I can hold the suspicion that I am your inferior, and be pleasant about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, Peter—you don't understand. I don't love myself—nor my + way better. I am poor and tortured, carrying about a legacy, or a dream. I + need you. I can tell you now—I never needed you so much as last + night when I sent you away. I need your brain and balance—your big + heart. It was never so dear to me.” + </p> + <p> + This was too much for him. He sat down before her. All night he had been + trying to qualify for a lower place in her heart than his earlier dreams + had called for—any place rather than to be apart—for the stuff + of adoration was in Peter Mowbray. Half-sitting, half-kneeling, she took + her place on the rug before him. + </p> + <p> + “But first I must tell you the story. I could not tell you at once; and + since then we have managed so well. But you must know before you go. I am + not Polish, not even in name. My father's mother was a Russian woman, but + his father was an Irishman, and the name—my name—is Wyndham. + My father's given name was 'Metz'—” + </p> + <p> + Peter had caught it all before her last sentence. “Wyndham” had been + enough. He saw clearly the natural and excellent reason for the tenderness + of Duke Fallows toward the daughter of Metz Wyndham, and recalled the + tragic story of the power and fire of this prophet of the people, who was + executed by the Russian government in the midst of the turmoil following + Red Sunday—“Metz Wyndham, the notorious Red,” as he was denoted in + the subsidized press of Petersburg, though “Metz Wyndham, the peasants' + martyr,” was a whisper which seemed destined in the end to silence all + such uproar. + </p> + <p> + “You have heard of him? You knew his story?” + </p> + <p> + The upturned face shone with a different bloom for his eyes. “Yes,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “...I was away from Russia for years—in London and Paris,” she said + quickly. “But at last I felt I could not stay longer. I wanted to come + back here—where the struggle is so tense and constant. He worked + much here in Warsaw. All of his kind come some time to Warsaw. And so the + name <i>Solwicz</i>, which I hate; and so the fear when I found you + watching me in the street a second time, and my relief to learn that you + were not Russian-” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I understand,” said Peter. He put his hand upon her head. “I + was in awe of you before I knew,” he added, “and yet, I always saw that in + the most vital moments something of him would come out.... I keep seeing + you with him now—what a life for a young girl—what a builder, + those years, for a young girl—and how brave you are. Berthe, I have + it—you are spoiled for common people because you were brought up + with that kind of a man. How clearly I understand last night now!” + </p> + <p> + “There's another side to that,” she said huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + The most consummate plotting could not have endeared him to her as those + three words. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, you must see it—the other side. There was no rest with him. + All his brilliance, all his brilliant companions were one part, but there + was a steady pressure of tragedy about us—from outside. And there + was tragic pressure from him. He was subject to the most terrible + melancholia. He had enough vision to see the wrong everywhere. It was not + mania. There <i>is</i> wrong everywhere, if one looks—in judges and + cities, in nations, wars, in the kind of amusements people plunge into—wrong + and coarseness and stupidity. He loved men but hated institutions. + Sometimes, he would see it all so clearly that the sense of his own + powerlessness would come. He would cry, 'One man can't do anything. A man + like me can't be heard—oh, I can't make myself heard! It is as if I + were shut in a tomb.' He would only have been happy passing from one great + crowd to another—harrowing, pleading, electrifying men. He would + rise—even alone with me—to the heights of his power—and + then fall into the valleys because no one could hear. That was his cry, <i>'I + can't make myself heard!</i> Then often, when he was waiting to speak, the + power would come, and leave him drained when he faced his people. He would + tell me afterward, 'If I could only have talked to them yesterday, or an + hour before!' + </p> + <p> + “Then the doubt of self would come to him—the fear that he was wrong + or insane. 'Berthe, it can't be that the crowds are wrong; that I am right—against + all the crowds. It must be that I am insane.' He would suffer like one + damned from that. Worse than all was the fear of his own Ego. He was more + afraid of that than any other lion in the way. 'It isn't the cause, it's + me—that wants to be heard. It's the accursed me that I am striving + for—in agony to relieve. I merely use the Cause. All the time it is + myself that I wish to make heard.' That would make him suicidal. + </p> + <p> + “I am only telling you these moods. He was a child, a playmate, the + loveliest companion a girl ever had—seeing the beauty and analogy in + all nature and outdoors—full of jest and delights. I just wanted to + show you the other side——” + </p> + <p> + It was all of breathless interest. + </p> + <p> + “There came a day,” she added, as Peter watched her raptly, “when he did + make himself heard, even as he dreamed....” + </p> + <p> + Peter thought of his reading the story—a boy at school, and was + struck with the memory of its appeal to him in the light of the present. + </p> + <p> + “...The sustaining of his friends was taken from us at the last. They + dared not come, of course. 'Berthe, little heart, it's all right,' he + would say. 'You will have to go on alone, but the way will be shown you. + You have the strength. You have been heaven and earth to me. I must go and + leave you, but that's only a temporary matter. It will be hard—but + it has been hard <i>with</i> me.... This is all right. It's good for what + ails the world—but you are only a little girl! My God, I dare not + think of it....' + </p> + <p> + “I remember the dawn and the cold rain and the stone buildings—and + then to find the world's relation to his daughter. That had been spared + before. He kept it from me, and there was such a sustaining from his + friends and power. Those most concerned are slowest to learn exactly what + the world thinks of them.... It did not come until afterward, and then it + almost killed me. I was clinging to a sorrow almost sacred, and I found + that the world saw only the shame and madness of my plight. I suddenly saw + it in the eyes of the people—how they drew apart from me.... He had + only wanted to make them better. He said that all evil was the result of + men hating one another. He did not hate men, but predatory institutions, + false fatherlands, and all slave-drivers. They hanged him for that hatred, + but what was more shocking was to find that the people whom he loved and + served were horrified at his daughter....” + </p> + <p> + It did not detract from Peter's ardor that his intellect was away for an + instant in a rather skeptical study of Metz Wyndham's life. To Peter had + come glimpses of the magnificent selfishness of this prophet of the + people. Did all great men have such an ego? If their lives were closely + examined would they all reveal, in their intimate and familiar relations, + the most subtle and insidious forms of self-service? In fact, was not the + mighty <i>ego</i> the source of their record-making in the world? ... + Peter banished this rush of conjectures. Whatever the father, the whole + art of the life of Metz Wyndham's daughter was the loss of the love of + self. + </p> + <p> + “I feel before you,” he said, “as I once felt in the vineyards beneath + Vesuvius.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him. “There are several ways to take that.” + </p> + <p> + “Just one that I mean—and no explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “... Peter, our last day together—all shadowy background to be put + away—” + </p> + <p> + “And breakfast to occupy the immediate fore.” + </p> + <p> + He went out into the street to purchase certain essentials, found some + tall white flowers, and a copper vase to put them in. They were hungry, + after the long night, and their happiness was the exquisite moments which + they found between the darkenings. They would not permit the parting + altogether to pervade. Her face was lustrous white; her eyes made him + think of those gray days on the ocean, in which one can see great + distances. More of a girl than ever she seemed to him, with her black hair + combed loosely back and hanging in a pair of braids. The flowers stood + tall between them. + </p> + <p> + “War weather like this makes one grow quickly,” he said. “To think how + easy and content we thought ourselves—even three days ago. Now, I + want to say, 'Come, Berthe—come with me....' I want to take you to + some quiet place, back in the States, in the country by the water. Yes, + north country—by some lake that would be frozen when we got there. + That's where the silence is, that winter silence. A cabin, a roaring fire—you + and I together, alone. It seems you would be safe there, and I could begin + to be satisfied—“. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, Peter—don't make heavens to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “It's your particular heaven. No other would ever have made me think of <i>winter</i>—of + something austere and silent for you to ignite.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder, shall it ever come to me—to have peace and abundance of + nature? I have always had the cities, and now it is more war again—the + opposite to nature—but I shall think every hour of that winter + cabin. That is my place,” she added. “Another would have made you think of + the South—or the seas. I shall think of your being there with me—every + day—no matter where I am—-” + </p> + <p> + Her words had grown vague to his ears. Her lips were so red that for the + time he saw them only. He arose and went to her around the tall flowers. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” he asked, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—oh, yes—perhaps, if we are very good in this + war, and do all we can to make orderly our little circle of things in the + great chaos—perhaps we may earn that winter cabin and the fireplace + and the stillness. To plan our garden in the winter days—-” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I hadn't spoken of it. It's almost unearthly far—in such a + time. But, Berthe, will you ever be satisfied with one who hasn't the + white fire of passion—as you have, in the cause of the peasants?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's what I wanted to tell you. We are to be separated. We are + grown up—a man and a woman. We dare speak to each other. At least, I + dare.... Peter, I couldn't love you if you were all that—all that—-” + She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “All that you missed in me last night?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I didn't miss it exactly. I was excited and overwrought. You are + splendid with me. It is when others are near, that you are—cold and + unemotional. I know it's your training—that thing you Americans have + from the English. You are that way with men. You are not so with me. But, + if you were like Fallows, or like my father, I could not love you. I would + not dare—-” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “First, I could not—and then I would not dare. First, that which we + are, we do not love. We love another kind—for completion——” + </p> + <p> + “Clearly said. That must be true,” he answered quickly. “And why would you + not dare?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we should have a little baby, and it would suffer so in coming + years. Peter, the poise and the balance—the very qualities I need in + you, and which I love, the little baby would require as his gift from his + father.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. — THE COURT OF EXECUTION + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + “Hai, you, Peter—wake up!” + </p> + <p> + It was Boylan's voice, seemingly afar off, but coming closer. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up.... I say, young man, what do you think of it by this time?” + </p> + <p> + Thus Peter was awakened the seventh morning out—and in a place he + had not observed the previous night. It was as good a place as usual, if + not better, except for the smell of fish that had gone before. Clearly it + had been a fish shop, business suspended some time. There were certain + scaly trays on the sloping showboards to the street; scales glistened + among the cobwebs of the low ceilings; also the floor was of turf, and + doubtless very full of phosphor, an excellent base for rose-culture. The + place dwindled and darkened to the rear, from which the head and shoulders + of Samarc presently emerged, and a moment later Little Spenski, his + companion, sat up and rubbed his eyes. These two, invariably together, + were men of a rapid-fire battery, to meet their pieces lower in the + fields, and attached for the present, as were Boylan and Mowbray, to the + staff of General Kohlvihr's command. + </p> + <p> + “Think of what?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + Boylan disdained answer. He was strapping a pigskin legging over a bulging + calf, always a severe strain. He looked up presently, reached across and + touched his forefinger to Peter's chin then to his own, which bristled + black and gray. + </p> + <p> + “Young man, you've got a secret,” he remarked darkly. + </p> + <p> + Peter smiled. He kept his razors in the same case as his tooth-brush, and + the case had not been mislaid so far. He could shave in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “You're either not of age, or your face is sterile,” said Boylan. + </p> + <p> + “The floor of this fish shop isn't,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I've been with you the last forty-eight hours straight. No sign of life + in that time.” + </p> + <p> + “You went out looking for fresh meat at sundown. You were gone—-” + </p> + <p> + “I was gone just five minutes, because the train wasn't up. You had tea on + when I came back.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a bit too much hot water.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, that will do once more, but I've got a suspicion. No man living + can shave in the saddle—so you won't be able to spring that one. + Besides, you are willing to discuss the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ask what town this is?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Boylan; “I couldn't remember if they told me. New town every + night. The only thing to name a town is a battle. God, smell the wood + smoke—doesn't it make you keen?” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” + </p> + <p> + Boylan looked at him. “What are we out for?” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently the column is out for blood, but I thought you might mean + breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “The column will get blood, right enough,” said Boylan, “whether it gets + breakfast or not. What's the news, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “I've forgotten my relation to news.... Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To see if that beef-train is in. I suppose you'll have rigged up a + turkish bath and be in the cooling room by the time I get back.” + </p> + <p> + Peter fed the horses and had tea and black bread served for two, by the + time Boylan called from a distance: “Put on the griddle, Peter—a + regular steak.... I stopped in the farrier's on the way back and had it + anviled a bit. That's what kept me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Peter tossed it in the pan. Their fire was in the turf at the door of the + fish shop. Boylan drew in close, having washed noisily, and deposited the + remaining provisions in the two saddle-bags. “We're fixed for supper and + breakfast,” he remarked, with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “You said that the army that would win this war must win through famine. + The Russians had better begin—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say anything about Mr. B. B. Boylan—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Big Belt Boylan,” Peter muttered, twisting his face away from the + heat and sizzling smoke steam. The name held. + </p> + <p> + The huge Rhodes' man liked Peter more than the latter knew, and his + likings of this sort were deep and peculiar. Boylan was nearing fifty, a + man all in one piece—thick, ponderous, hard, scarred with <i>la + viruela</i>, a saber sweep, a green-blue arc in his throat where some dart + or arrow had torn its way in between vital columns. His head was bald and + wrinkled, but very large, his neck and jaw to match, his eyes a soft blue + that once had been his secret shame. Very often he had been called into + the public glare. + </p> + <p> + “I was so hungry once,” Boylan said, “that I've been a slave to the fear + of it ever since.” He referred to the Polar Failure. “Once in Farrel's + Island—we were four,” he added. “We drew lots to find out which one + of us we must eat. That <i>was</i> a winter.... All you fellows may begin + famine as soon as you like. You'll come a long way before you arrive at + the personal familiarity of the subject earned by this same little fat + boy.... Turn it again, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + Samarc rushed past, speaking excitedly in French, and in the shadows + behind they saw the eyes of Spenski, sympathetic and wistful. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say, Peter?” Boylan asked quickly. “Samarc's French is like + my Russian.” + </p> + <p> + “He said his face had been fixed for tea—and toast with Spenski—until + we began to steam up the place. Now he's gone to the feed-wagons.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless the ruffian, there's enough here for four.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that, but you know Samarc.” + </p> + <p> + Little Spenski's voice now drawled from behind. + </p> + <p> + “We're getting low, anyway. It was right for him to fill the bags this + morning, though very kind of you to offer—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that, Spenski,” said Boylan. “Bull cheek for four was my + order. Why, you fellows—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan was going to say how consistently generous with rations and private + provisions the two Warsaw men had been, but got tangled in the language. + Peter helped him. Boylan wouldn't have it otherwise, and quartered the + steak, serving Spenski and covering the fourth with a tin. It was an + excellent feast. For five days these two pair had cautiously, timidly + even, stood for each other in that reserved way that much-weathered men + integrate a memorable friendship.... Samarc returned. They helped him + cache his provisions and drew him into the quadrangle around the fire. + There was time for an extra pot of tea, and the dawn rose superbly. That + day in the column Spenski was called into the personal escort of Kohlvihr, + Boylan accompanying. Samarc and Peter rode as usual with the forward + infantry—just behind the van, headquarters back a quarter of a mile. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about Spenski,” Peter asked. “He's an interesting chap. I heard + him talking to you about the stars last evening, before supper, pointing + out Venus and Jupiter.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll grow on you,” said Samarc, their talk in French. “He did in my + case. We've been together six years in and out of the big instrument shop + in Warsaw—Bloom's. We make a camera, microscopes and even a + telescope now and then. I invented a rather profitable objective for the + Blooms, for which they gave me a position, and a small interest that has + kept me from wandering far from Warsaw. In the first days they told me + about Spenski—his remarkable workmanship—and pointed out the + wiry, red-headed little chap with the quick imperative smile you've seen. + We got on well together from the first. It has been no small thing for me + that he likes my ways. I got him in this service, by the way, and I don't + know whether I'm very proud of that. He's a lot more famous as a workman + now than six years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What is his work?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “A lens-maker. His art is one of the finest of the human eye—requires + genius to begin with. Spenski's craft on a glass in many cases doubles the + price of the instrument. No one knows better what kind of a workman he is, + nor can follow his particular finish with a keener or more appreciative + eye, than old Dr. Abbe himself. Spenski has letters from that old master. + </p> + <p> + “He knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things—like the star stuff. + He'll name for you scores of the vague, indefinite ones, not to speak of + the larger magnitudes, which he can call by color at any hour of the + night. It was this passion of his for the stars which showed him his work + as a boy. That started him fabricating glasses to see them better. He has + a supreme eye for light, circles and foci, and a brain that just plays + with heavy mathematics—the most abstruse calculations. Yet, you see, + he carries it all with the ease of a boy. I think men who come with a task + to do are like that. It's part of them. They don't feel the weight of what + they know, because it's all through them—not localized. You might be + with Spenski an hour or a week and never know that he was more than just a + mechanic—if you were just a mechanic.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very interesting,” said Peter, as charmed with his companion as with + the man he talked about. + </p> + <p> + “A little while ago Spenski found his girl, and I would have withdrawn—for + that is the high test,” Samarc resumed. “But Spenski managed to keep us + both without strain.... And then the war came along. A blight fell upon + all workmanship in an hour. I had been on the military side of things from + a boy, a matter of training and heredity. Of course, I would go. Spenski + looked around the shop when I told him this. It was stricken, the + machinery cranking down, the faces of the men white and troubled. 'I'll + go, too,' said he.... I reminded him of her.... 'She wouldn't be + interested in a chap who remained at home,' he said.... I told him of the + big plants in Switzerland and America, where he could be of great value, + but he was not tempted. 'I want to go if they'll take me in your battery,' + was his last word on the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I saw to that, but there's no work here, and there won't be, + that can bring out Spenski's real values. Think of using such a man to + feed the hopper of a rapid-fire piece.... But it's good to have him along. + Spenski's a hard habit to break.” + </p> + <p> + That night, when Boylan and Mowbray were together again, but a little + apart from the others, Big Belt said: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Peter, that little Spenski is a card. A good little chap, smart and + modest. I like him.” + </p> + <p> + “I found Samarc worth cultivating, too,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + Marching south along the Vistula with the old-fashioned army—no + airships, nothing that intensely puzzled Mowbray in this service—that + is, in the exteriors of it—nothing but earth poundage and earth + power, a game that had much to do with earth and not with heaven. Seven + quiet days of marching in splendid summer weather, the raw peasant + soldiery well fed and comfortable, becoming a unit, all outbreak of + separate consciousness anywhere more and more impossible, hardening to the + peculiar day's work. They were used to heavy work, but this was a + particular task that needed specific hardening of feet and lungs; also the + personal idea in each breast required numbing. The physical aim was to + make men light for heavy work; to give them a taste of the joy and the + true health of the field—before the entrainments, the haste and the + fighting; but the psychological purpose was to make each atom forget + itself, to weave it well into the fabric of the mass. Kohlvihr's division + had to be moved; very well, let the movement gather the values of practice + marching as well. + </p> + <p> + A raw division, with a scattering of Poles and Finns mixed with the + straight Slav peasantry and regarded by the Russian war office, as Peter + Mowbray understood at once, a ticklish proposition. The cement for this + new service was “green” as yet; it had to set, required frequent wettings + of fine humor and affiliation. The marvel to Mowbray was that the + thousands fell for it. They had practically all left something that was + life and death to them—land, labor, women, children. Each had + established the beginnings at least of a personal connection in the world, + and this relation had to be rubbed out. What had they been promised to + take its place? <i>Freedom</i>, doubtless. But intrinsically they were + free men. + </p> + <p> + Peter recalled what Fallows had said: that properly fathered this + peasantry might be led into a citizenship and virtue that would change the + world. Instead they were to be impregnated with every crime. With such + thoughts Peter felt the spirit of Berthe Wyndham awake in his mind. + </p> + <p> + Seven days and not a breath from the outer world. The correspondents were + allowed to move in and out of Kohlvihr's headquarters; and, though they + paid richly for everything, were treated well, and regarded as guests by + the staff officers. Peter had met Kohlvihr in Warsaw before the thought of + war—a good-tempered, if dull and bibulous old man, he had seemed in + the midst of semi-civilian routine; but a different party here afield. + Peter recalled the saying of old sailors that you never know a skipper + until you ship under him. + </p> + <p> + Moments of evening, in the sharp hazes of wood smoke, when the whole army + seemed nestling into itself, laughing, covering its nostalgia, putting on + its strength, Peter met in certain moments the advisability of turning his + back upon Boylan and Spenski and Samarc. The extraordinary nature of + Berthe Wyndham would flood home to him, as to one to whom it belonged, + very dear but very far.... He would smile when he thought of <i>The States</i> + and the Old Man.... “He thinks I'm clutched in the ripping drama and + waiting for blood,” he muttered, “that I am burning to stop the breath of + the outer world with my story of gore and conquest.... But I'm eating his + bread. I won't betray. There must be a wise way to feed the red + melodramatic receptivity of the cities and at the same time to tell the + real story.” + </p> + <p> + He stood in the midst of square miles of men and military engines. On + every road other Russian forces moved southward and to the southeast. The + railroads groaned with troops, for the most part in a better state of + preparation than Kohlvihr's division. Rumors reached the staff, as they + neared the Galician border, that the Austrian fields below were already + bleeding; finally word came, as they turned eastward, that they were to + entrain at Fransic and make a junction with the main Russian columns + preparing to invade Galicia from the northeast. + </p> + <p> + On the night before they entered Fransic, Mowbray awoke, and saw a figure + sitting in the doorway of the little hut assigned them for quarters. It + was Spenski, his face upturned in the starlight. He sat so still that + Peter slipped out from the blankets (which covered Boylan as well) and + took his place beside the lens-maker. Spenski was facing the east. The + street of the little hill town lost itself in a sharp declivity just + ahead; the nearer huts were low. The whole east was naked to the horizon + and an indescribable glory of starlight. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't they amazing?” Spenski whispered. “It must be nearly morning, for + those are the winter stars. I think they must have wakened me up. Do you + know them?” + </p> + <p> + “Just the first magnitudes. They are more brilliant than I have ever + known.” + </p> + <p> + Orion and a great kite of suns stood out with new and flashing power. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw that huge <i>W</i> before—” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean Cassiopeia? Her chair isn't there, but over to the north—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—<i>there</i>. Rigel, the upper right corner, down to the + left, the Dog-star; up to Betelguese, down to the left again to Procyon, + and up to the brightest of all—the stranger, not usually there—” + </p> + <p> + Spenski clutched him. “I was watching the bigger configuration, and didn't + notice. Your stranger is the planet Saturn in transit between Taurus and + Orion. Saturn completes the <i>W</i>, and the <i>W</i> stands for—” + </p> + <p> + “War, possibly,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + There was a growl just now from Boylan: “Come on back to bed, you + star-gazers.” + </p> + <p> + “Saturn is so far and moves so slowly,” the little man whispered, “that + the <i>W</i> will not be deranged for many months.” + </p> + <p> + The hurry call for Kohlvihr came as expected in Fransic. The first + sections of the divisions were entrained the next day—an end to + summer road-work.... A day and night of intolerable slowness in a vile + coach, and on the following noon the troop-train was halted, while a + string of Red Cross cars drew up to a siding to give the soldiers the + right of way; a momentary halt—the line of passing windows filled + with cheering, weeping nurses. + </p> + <p> + Just one reposeful face—as both trains halted a second or two. It + was the face of one who seemed to understand the whole sorry story, + already to be contemplating the ruin ahead. Her hands were folded, the + eyes intent upon the distance rather than the immediate faces of men. + Mowbray could not articulate. Above all he wanted to meet her eyes, to put + back the light of the present in them, but it was neither sound nor + gesture that accomplished it; rather the storming intensity of anguish in + his mind. His train jerked, her eyes found him, her arms raised toward + him, lips parted. It became the one, above all, of the exquisite pictures + in his consciousness, and the reality passed so quickly—gone, and no + word between them. + </p> + <p> + Thus her colors came to him again—the mystic trinity of white and + gray and black—all he had since known and loved added to the mystery + of their first meeting. It was like an awakening to the rack of thirst + after one has dreamed of a spring of gurgling water—the swift + passing of that face of tender beauty and fortitude, that fair brow, gray + eyes and black hair.... + </p> + <p> + Boylan was looking deeply into his face. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, man, you're a ghost. What is it, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “It struck me queer to see a trainload of girls down here in the field,” + said Peter quite steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if a trainload of strange women can do that to you—here's + hoping we never do Paris together.” + </p> + <p> + Little Spenski opposite had seen the outstretched hands, and Peter saw + that he had seen. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + And now a rainy field. Two days of cold wind and rain after the + cattle-cars; a different tone and temper from the men, coughing instead of + laughter at night-fall. Another nameless village—Galician, now, for + the border had been crossed, and the stillest night Peter Mowbray had so + far known among the troops. It was a listening army—the far distance + breathing just the murmur of cannonading. + </p> + <p> + He moved about within the cordon of head-quarter sentries, studying the + edges of the bivouac as the rain and the darkness fell. Kohlvihr's + division was but a tooth of the main army now; the whole region was massed + with Russians marching westward; but still the outfit from Warsaw was + enough, all that he could encompass of the mystery of numbers. Others had + met the enemy, but these were still virgin. They were listening. + </p> + <p> + Their faces looked white in the thickening dark, noses pinched and the + rest <i>beard</i>.... Hair—it was like some rapidly ripening harvest + in the command, different each day, making the faces harder and harder to + memorize. Mowbray had been disgusted at first—faces like + changelings, atrocious like chickens. But the beards were taking form now—all + gradations of yellow and red and black—many of that gray-yellow + which loses itself in the middle distance and becomes a blur. How he hated + hair like that! + </p> + <p> + The next day dawned bright and cold. At ten Kohlvihr, in the midst of the + southern wing, brushed the tail of an Austrian force in its turning. The + engagement was sharp exhilaration to Peter; perhaps it was to certain of + the soldiers; yet it was the first. Its touch of blood quivered through + Kohlvihr's command not yet assimilated, stirred this raw entity with deep + inexplicable passion. + </p> + <p> + The correspondents were riding with the staff; the point of the van was + moving below in plain sight when its baptism fell. Kohlvihr licked his + white lips, the upper lip uncontrollable like a deprived drunkard's. Below + a skirmish was spreading out, the commands trumpeting back their messages. + Mowbray turned. A little battery of mountain guns was racing forward + through the infantry column, the drivers yelling for <i>gangway</i>. It + was like a small town's fire department in action. Now the infantry poured + down the rocky slopes that bordered the old iron road. Peter turned quite + around in the saddle. The murmur in the air was queer—like something + wrong below in a ship at sea. Kohlvihr's face interested him, the skirmish + lines and their reinforcements, the voice of Boylan (though his faculties + were too occupied to catch that rush of humorous comment in English); the + mountain guns interested him, and the sudden racket of Russian riflery + below. + </p> + <p> + Now one of the peasant soldiers was running up the slope from the van + toward the staff. He was bare-headed, shocky-haired and bearded, making + queer, high sounds like a squirrel as he ran—quite out of order and + amazed at himself. He would have been struck down by his nearest neighbor + ten days later, felled with the nearest officer's sword, but there was + funk and a bit of dismay in the heart of the raw division that suffered + the soldier to make his way to the staff. + </p> + <p> + Lifting his legs lumberingly, he held fast to his left wrist, where a + bullet had started the blood. He held the wound high, like a trophy, the + blood spurting, crying about it.... This was sudden discovery of something + the army had started out to find, but had forgotten in the length of days. + This was the red fleece—its drips of red were in each raw soul now. + A little way farther and the staff awoke. An officer spoke. The peasant + was caught and booted quiet. Kohlvihr licked his lips to keep them still. + He perceived that Mowbray's eyes had fastened upon his mouth. The lips + opened again. The order came forth for the soldier to be flogged.... It + was their particular friend, Dabnitz, a lieutenant of the staff, who was + given the execution of this order. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + The four were much together for a few days after that, Samarc and Spenski + not yet assigned to their battery. They learned each other in those few + days as men often fail to learn the hearts of their immediate associates + during years. There was fighting—scattered, open, surprising often + to one out of touch with the points and the scouting. Different towns + every day, and a continual giving of territory on the part of the + Austrians. + </p> + <p> + “This is not the main fighting at all,” said Boylan. “This is but the edge + of the game. It won't break into print. The big stuff is farther on. These + that we meet are the Austrian columns hurrying forward. This territory is + ours for the marching through. We'll catch it later—and this will be + forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + Samarc had known these towns that the Russian column was passing through, + yet he had to ask the names, because of the destruction. The Austrians + would always destroy in haste before leaving, and more leisurely the + Russians would destroy. It seemed to affect Samarc, as some landmark + reopened from its ruin for his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to say,” he told the lens-maker, “'I was this at one time, and + now I must go.'” Orders came for Samarc and Spenski, but they were not to + be remotely stationed, since their battery was assigned to Kohlvihr's + division—a different camp but the same field. Few words about the + separation, but each of the four understood.... Night and day, the dead + had been with them in the recent days—in such richness and variety + they could not escape, could not cover them, and something from the dead + entered their hearts. To Peter—so queerly were his thoughts running—the + memorable incident of their last night together had to do with an ant + colony. + </p> + <p> + Supper was over, and they had tossed on a decayed log to keep up the fire. + A nest of ants was presently driven forth by the heat from the soft heart + of the wood. They found themselves hemmed in flame and turned back, as + Peter thought, to seek the treacherous shelter of the nest again. It was + not so; they were wiser than that, and marched forth in scores once more, + each carrying an egg in its jaws. Spenski swung the end of the log out to + the grass for them to make good their retiring. It was all very sane and + admirable. Peter respected them.... + </p> + <p> + The dead were with them. They had not learned to forget. Spenski would + whimper in his sleep. The days did not fill him, wearied his body but + other faculties and potencies were restless at night. This man who could + grind a lens so that a line from the center of the earth to the center of + the sun would pass through it without chromatic aberration, was more + shocked than the other three by the cursory killing of the days, his + imagination intoxicated and sleep perverted. His companion who imagined + himself of coarser and heavier texture often placed his hand upon the + dreaming one. Spenski would start, open his eyes and say, “Thanks, + Samarc.” + </p> + <p> + Continual rocking through the long days, and the rumbling of the earth + from the artillery forward. A mountain country of sharply cool nights, of + cool bright days—the scent of cedar and balsam, good water, steady + skirmishing—food just a bit scarce so that the peasants snapped and + bolted, showing sharp about the eyes. It was not hunger—just the + lean kind of fare. Peter often watched the halted columns at night as the + men sprang to the feeding. Supper fires burst forth at the drop of the + rifles. Not so raw now, the Warsaw contingent, a military eye would remark—getting + ripe, in fact. + </p> + <p> + A week afterward, Boylan reported at supper that they would be permitted + to ride with the battery on the following day. In the meantime they had + not seen nor heard of the other pair. Fighting and marching from dawn to + nightfall usually; human nature refused effort after that. They were so + near dead at night that they laughed about it, and felt their faces in + embarrassment, sharp-boned and unfamiliar as the faces of the dead. + Mowbray's was still clean shaven. Young Dabnitz, the exquisite of the + staff, and a rather brilliant young Russian, was the only other who had + kept his razors in order. Perhaps a woman ruled his heart, as Berthe + Wyndham ruled Mowbray's. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt had lost his last reservation about his companion. He gave + everything to Peter that he had given to Lonegan and something more—for + the field called a little more, and perhaps Peter called a little more. + The extent of Boylan's loyalty had nothing to do with words or matters of + conduct so far, but it was a huge affair, a suggestion of which came to + the younger man from time to time and humbled him. + </p> + <p> + Twice during the first fortnight, Boylan had asked if this were positively + his first venture into the field with troops. “The reason I ask,” he + explained later, “is that you appear to have been on the job before.” + </p> + <p> + This would have been a matter interesting to the Old Man of <i>The States</i>, + according to Lonegan's story. + </p> + <p> + “I miss the little guy,” said Boylan, referring to Spenski. They were + anticipating the next day with the battery. + </p> + <p> + “I miss Samarc, too,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their hardest, + for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment but + inflicting punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. The + face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy. He marveled + at what seemed the swift disintegration of an ancient worldly + establishment like Austria—going down unsung. It was not like a + country losing its identity, though that had to do with the facts; but + rather like a shadow passing, to be followed, not by sunlight, but by + another shadow of different contour and texture. + </p> + <p> + “We put such store by names,” he muttered, as he watched the Austrian + infantry give way before them, “and yet, the world will get on with other + names just the same.” + </p> + <p> + ...There had been no chance for talk. They had merely pressed the hands of + their friends, something darkly melancholy about Samarc, as if his eyes + were in deep shadow, and something luminous in the eyes that shone from + the haggard face of Little Spenski. They looked forward to the night, as + men famished and athirst in a pit listen to the toil of rescuers. Almost + the last thing that Peter remembered was that the moon came up before the + sun had set. The rapid-fire battery was at work on a hot smoky hill, the + shrapnel and larger pieces still higher, and the great masses of infantry + moving below among the wind-driven hazes of the valley, their long + necklaces, of white puffs, showing and vanishing. + </p> + <p> + Mowbray's ears were deadened to all sounds save from the immediate + machine-guns and the big hounds above; to his eyes the swaying strings of + infantry smoke-puffs in the valley were spectral and soundless. + </p> + <p> + The Russians had taken the little town of Judenbach in the early + afternoon, but the Austrians gave them a stand two miles beyond, finding + solid position in a range of craggy hills. The Russians had not cared to + leave them there over night, but the dislodgment proved difficult. The + unlimbering of the batteries toward the end of the day on the shoulders of + a thickly-wooded mass (from which Peter watched the infantry and the + moonrise in daylight), was the final effort of the day to drive the enemy + farther afield from Judenbach. + </p> + <p> + The two infantries were contending; gray Russian lines in the bottom land + and already advancing up the slopes. Day after day, smitten and + replenished—tillers of land becoming the dung of the land. Mowbray + had always pitied the infantry, and watched them now with unspeakable awe + and depression—moving up the slopes, lost in their white necklaces + of skirmish-fire, sprayed upon with steel vomit from the Austrian + machines. + </p> + <p> + Samarc's battery was idle. It was often so, Boylan reported, when the + enemy's duplicate pieces were busy. + </p> + <p> + Now withering—those gray Russian lines. They diminished, gave way, a + thin ghostly pattern of the whole, falling back. An Austrian sortie of + yellow-brown men to finish the task. + </p> + <p> + “That's <i>our</i> cue,” Big Belt whispered. + </p> + <p> + The officers were already finding the range and fall. Samarc's machine was + set, before his superior spoke. Peter saw what a week had done for him. + Samarc seemed old at the task, already to have grown old. Spenski at the + hopper—and the mutilating racket on. Between fire, Peter could not + hold in mind the inconceivable magnitude and velocity of these sounds. His + brain seemed to plow under, as it does the great events of pain, the + impress of hideous suffering which the proximity of the machines caused. + Yet at every firing the damnable things hurt him more. Fast beyond count, + as the threads break in a strip of canvas torn with one movement—yet + each crackling thread here meant projected steel. + </p> + <p> + They saw their work on the Austrian infantry lines. Yet always more + infantry would come forth, and in the silence following the machines, the + gray Russian lines stole forward again. Such was the slow battle + vibration. + </p> + <p> + A company of sappers was below, opening the wood of the slope, so that the + machine fire would not be impeded in case the Austrians drove back the + infantry beyond the hollows at the bottom of the valley. A hundred yards + down they were working like beavers among the trunks of cedar and balsam, + when a shrapnel broke among them. The Russian higher batteries had been + trying the same game among the Austrian emplacements, but could not see + results. + </p> + <p> + All battery men near the two Americans knew well that the Austrians would + note <i>that</i> explosion of their shrapnel, and would relate the range + to the higher positions above. That one shot showed the Russian + artillerymen that their position was untenable. It was not that the + Austrians could see the damage they inflicted in one company of sappers, + but that the shattering blow in plain sight from their position would show + the exact means to displace the higher pieces that devastated their + infantry. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get out of here,” Boylan whispered. Again as he spoke the + orders to retire came quietly as a bit of garrison gossip, and as coldly. + Horses came running down for the ammunition carts; every muscle of man and + beast had its work now. + </p> + <p> + In thirty or forty seconds Austrian shrapnel would land higher. Peter was + tallying off the seconds, wondering if they would get clear.... At this + moment he noted that the moon had come up and that the sun was not yet + sunk. The two on the eastern and western rims of the world were almost of + a size and color, very huge and alike, except that one dazzled the eyes—the + difference between incandescence and reflection. The whole dome was lost + in florid haze. He almost laughed at what followed in his mind, so strange + is the caravan of pictures that hurries through in action. It was the + beauty above and ghastly waste of the infantry that brought back to his + brain the reason and decency of the ants in the burning log—their + order in contrast to this chaos.... + </p> + <p> + The Austrians were workmen. Their searching shrapnel had been quite + enough. Samarc's battery had begun to move, when they landed in the heart + of it. All was changed about, and new. The silence was like a deep + excavation, and the smell of fresh ground was in the air. + </p> + <p> + Peter did not see Boylan. He arose, half crawled up the torn ground to the + place where Spenski and Samarc had stood. They were some distance—a + saving distance for Mowbray—when he saw Samarc arise, his face + sheeted in red. Samarc was staring about for Spenski. Presently, Peter + followed the eyes of Samarc and saw the little man—half down, but + looking up toward his friend, the eyes wide open; also Spenski's mouth, + and the most extraordinary smile in the red beard. + </p> + <p> + Peter crawled a step nearer. There was no voice yet. He was tranced before + this meeting of the companions, each of whom saw none but the other. + Spenski had been partly kneeling, but as Samarc approached, his head bowed + slowly down, and the smile was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Come on—they'll do it again!” + </p> + <p> + Peter heard the words—but did not know who spoke them—possibly + Boylan from behind, possibly <i>he</i> had said it. He had not seen + Samarc's lips move. + </p> + <p> + The voice was an offense in that silence. + </p> + <p> + Now Peter saw none but Spenski, until Samarc reached him, lifted, called. + Peter saw the body raised from the ground to Samarc's arms—saw the + little man's body open upon his friend like a melon that has rotted + underneath. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + All went black for Peter. The slope rose up and took him. For an eternity + afterward he felt someone tugging at him—hands of terrible strength + that would not let him die, would not let him sleep. After that a familiar + voice began calling at intervals. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” said Peter at last. “What have I been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Not anything that you've pulled before. Is this an old habit?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Passing out unhurt—lying like a log for an hour or two?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's a new one. Where are we?” + </p> + <p> + “Judenbach. It's past supper time—” + </p> + <p> + Peter sat up, wobbled. The terrible hands steadied him again. He knew now + what had lamed him. + </p> + <p> + “Where is she?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Huh?” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering what hit me?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, you're getting glib again,” said Boylan. Peter's reserve had + interposed. His absence had something to do with her, but he could not + remember. “Where is she?” had got away from him as he crossed the border + back into the racking physical domain. He didn't like that. + </p> + <p> + “Did I say anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that will be used against you,” Boylan observed. “As for what hit + you—that's the mystery. Not a scratch in sight.... I was behind. You + were standing still as a sentry after that shrapnel. Presently you bowled + over—” + </p> + <p> + “That shrapnel?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep—” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant of silence; the picture returned and wrung a groan + from Peter. All the energy of his life rebelled against <i>the fact</i>. + Boylan's hand tightened upon him. For the moment Mowbray was in a kind of + delirium. + </p> + <p> + “The moon had just come up,” he said, “like another sun. The real sun was + still in the sky from our hill.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I was there. Cut it, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Samarc?” + </p> + <p> + “In one of the hospital buildings, likely. I meant to find him as soon as + I could leave you—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Big Belt fumbled in his saddled bags for a flask, brought it in one hand, + a cup of water in the other.... + </p> + <p> + They were in the streets, very dark. Once they were caught in a swift + current of sheep driven in for the commissary. Judenbach sat on the slope + of a hill, a little city, its heart of stone, very ancient, its + “hoopskirts,” as Boylan said, made of woven-cane huts. Already the stone + buildings of the narrow main street were crowded with wounded. The + correspondents were not permitted far either way from headquarters. + Finally it was necessary to get Dabnitz of the staff to conduct them.... + It had all been a jumble of ambulances at nightfall from the field, the + lieutenant said. Russian soldiers were not ticketed. Many faces on the + cots were bandaged beyond recognition. The three gave up at midnight, + Peter gaining strength rather than losing it in the later hours. Orders + were that the streets be emptied of all but sentries. + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing like that—” said Boylan, as Mowbray sank to the floor + by his blanket roll. “You haven't had supper—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Boylan.... I say, what do they do with the dead?” + </p> + <p> + Rain was pattering down; the smell of drugs reached them. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>does</i> make a difference when you know one of them—doesn't + it?.... God, man, we're cluttered with wounded. The dead are at peace—” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what stars he's watching to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come. Peter—” + </p> + <p> + “I know.... I know, Boylan. Only it shows me something. He was a great + workman. There are things in the world that can't be done because he's + gone. There are others like him. He had a girl. He had a friend. He had us—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan decided that talking was good. He listened and prepared soup. + </p> + <p> + “And to-morrow they're at it again,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “It won't look the same in the morning—” + </p> + <p> + Peter did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Anyway, you didn't bring on the war, Peter—” + </p> + <p> + “It makes a man cold with that kind of cold a supper-fire don't help.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter, you've got me stopped with your moods—like a woman. Women + were always too profound for Mr. B. B. Boylan—” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry. You've been a prince. I'll do better now. I'll get out of it. + Little shock—that's all. I think it wasn't so much physical. + Something changed all around. I've been taking things as I found them so + long. That helps to bring on a war—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan glanced at him narrowly. + </p> + <p> + Peter laughed. “I'm all right. Head's working.” + </p> + <p> + Big Belt sighed. “I loved that little guy, too. God, I'd run east to Asia + and keep on running rather than meet his girl.” + </p> + <p> + Peter drank hot soup and slept. Next morning it was like a hard problem + that one has slept upon and awakened with the process and answer + straight-going. They had not searched ten minutes (calling “Samarc” softly + among the cots where the faces were bandaged) before a hand came up to + them. It was Peter who took it; and as their hands met, the whole fabric + of the man on the cot broke into trembling. They understood. Samarc had + been lying there rigid with his tragedy. Peter's touch had been enough to + break the dam of his misery. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I have ceased to kill,</i>” he said. + </p> + <p> + The head was twice as big with bandages; yet under that effigy, so + terrible was the intensity of the moment, Peter became conscious of ruin + there, also of a sudden icy cold in the morning air. Samarc's powerful + hand still clutched his. The voice that had emerged from under the cloths + was still in his ears. It had seemed to come as water from a pipe—loosely, + the faucet gone. The hand was unhurt. + </p> + <p> + “<i>...He came in the night. I did not speak—but my heart was + fighting against the guns. He was moving here and there. He turned to me, + as if I had suddenly cried out, 'What shall I do?'...'You can cease to + kill,' he said.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Boylan was watching Peter. His face turned gray. + </p> + <p> + They received the intelligence of the words, as they came, although at + another time the mouthing would have been inarticulate as wind in one of + Judenbach's archaic street-lamps. + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay with him, Boylan,” said Peter, choosing the hardest thing, but + Big Belt would not leave, though the Russian columns were moving in the + street—off to renew the battle among the hills. The two sat by until + Samarc slept. + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + They were in the street again, moving close to the walls, for the cavalry + was crowding the narrow highway. They crossed finally to a stone-paved + area at the side of Judenbach's main building. Their feet were upon the + stone flags of this court, when Dabnitz suddenly hurried forward, with a + gesture for them to stand back. + </p> + <p> + “Just a moment, my friends,” he said. “A little formality, but very + necessary—” + </p> + <p> + Peter lifted his eyes, perceived three men standing bare-headed against + the wall of head-quarters, twenty paces away. One of them exclaimed, his + voice calm but penetrating: + </p> + <p> + “We are not spies. We do not care to turn our backs. We are not afraid to + die, for we have made our lives count—” + </p> + <p> + It was the voice of a public speaker; the voice of a man making good many + words.... Dabnitz stepped between Boylan and Mowbray, stretching out his + arms before them. It was all in an instant. They saw Dabnitz's apologetic + smile—and a Russian platoon at their right, rifles raised—then + the ragged volley. + </p> + <p> + Each of the three fell differently. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> + <p> + Boylan and Peter sat together in the ante-room of headquarters. They did + not speak. Peter was getting down to the quick. He thought many things + which a man never tells another man, and seldom tells a woman; yet they + were matters of truth and reason, no sentiment about them. He recalled + many incidents of early years in which his mother had tried to teach him + sensitiveness and mercy. Until now her effort seemed to have been wasted. + It had been more simple and appealing to him to follow his father's + picture of manhood. Possibly his mother had wearied of pitting her will + against his. He had grown up under his father's control and ideal. As it + looked to him now, he had become all that was obvious and average and + easy; while his mother's passion had been for him to become one of the + singular and precious and elect.... He would never have seen this so + clearly had it not been for Berthe Wyndham. She had given him a kind of + new birth, taken up the work wherein his mother had failed.... + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz came in. The young staff-officer was handsome, soldierly, + black-eyed. His manner was one of enfolding cheerfulness. He had proved + fair and kindly, temperate in his tastes and delicate in his appreciations + of humor and natural effects. He could express himself fluently in + Russian, German, English and French, but was a caste-man to the core, a + militarist and autocrat. As such he proved rather appalling to Peter + Mowbray on this day. + </p> + <p> + “Is General Kohlvihr out with the fronts?” Boylan asked. + </p> + <p> + “He's in the field, but not at the front. We got the point yesterday, you + see. I'd rather be in the van every day than left to these matters of + clean-up—” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked up at him. “Is there much of this to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so. They work among the hospitals. You don't catch many of + them in the ranks—” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they would rather tend the wounded than to make the wounds.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz smiled cheerfully. “They're afraid of their hides. When a man does + a lot of talking, he is generally shy on action—” + </p> + <p> + Peter saw the ease of the acceptance of this view on the part of the + others; saw how clearly it was the view of the military man. + </p> + <p> + “And yet it was a clean-cut death of that talker and his two companions + you just executed—” + </p> + <p> + “An exception now and then,” Dabnitz granted. + </p> + <p> + “How do you catch them?” + </p> + <p> + “We have a system at work for that purpose—everywhere, especially in + the hospitals. There isn't much temporizing when we get them.” + </p> + <p> + Peter Mowbray's skull prickled with heat and his face was cold with sweat. + </p> + <p> + “What do they preach?” he managed to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes for men to rise and go home; sometimes for them to cease to + kill, and sometimes to shoot down the officers. It isn't all that a man + has to do now to lead his men forward,” Dabnitz observed. “He must do + that, of course, but all the danger isn't in front. It doesn't follow that + a man has turned his back upon the enemy nowadays—if he happens to + be found with a wound in the back.” + </p> + <p> + “Were these—these that you put out this morning—working in the + hospitals?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Peter turned away. + </p> + <p> + “In a good many cases we bring a man to his feet again from a bad wound—to + find him not a soldier but a damned anarchist.” + </p> + <p> + “It's expensive and cumbersome also to carry such a hospital system + afield,” Peter observed. + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz did not catch the irony. “Yes, it would be cheaper and simpler to + put a hard-hit soldier out of his misery—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan, watching Peter's face, suddenly arose, suggesting that they ride + out toward the fighting. ....When they were alone, he added: + </p> + <p> + “I know you don't want the front to-day, but it was very clear that I'd + better get you out of there....Peter, did you ever kill a man?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” The question did not seem wild to either of them—there by the + open court of Judenbach. + </p> + <p> + “I knew a man who did. I saw him getting whiter and whiter like your face—and + looking into his victim's eyes in that queer surprised way you looked at + Dabnitz. It wasn't in the field; in a city bar-room. I didn't look for + what happened—but I knew something was coming. The fool went on + talking, talking. The other watched him, and when all the blood was burned + out of him....Great God, here I am talking blood—” + </p> + <p> + “It's in the air,” said Peter. “It's hard to breathe!.... No, I won't go + down front to-day. I wish I could go back—back—oh, to the + clean Pole—no, to some little snowy woods in the States....Boylan, + does it suffocate you?” + </p> + <p> + “It's different from anything I knew,” said Boylan. “It's so damned + businesslike. Something's come over the world. War was more like a picnic + before. I never saw it like this. I believe we've gone crazy.” + </p> + <p> + They stood before the main building, just at the entrance of the stone + court—halted by the hideous outcry that reached them from another + building just a few doors below. It was as if a strong man were being + murdered by torture. The big cannons boomed up the narrow cobble-paved + road from the field. As far as they could see in either direction, the + street was crowded with soldiers, stepping aside for artillery going + south, and the stream of ambulances coming in from the front. Passing them + now from the street into the court was a cortege, little but grim—a + Cossack trooper leading two bare-headed men by a rope attached to his + saddle, a Cossack non-commissioned officer walking behind with raised + pistol. Both the prisoners were young, one a mere boy, yet he was + supporting the elder. Peter's eyes turned to the blank wall of the main + building where Dabnitz had been busy as they passed. To the right, in the + gloom from the walls, was a row of iron gratings, the windows knocked out—darkness + under the low stone lintels. + </p> + <p> + Peter had not noticed before this dim square, within the square. His mind + dwelt upon it now in the peculiar way of the faculties, when thoughts are + too swift and too terrible to bear....It was like something he had seen + before, the dark little square. Yes, it was like part of a recess yard he + had known in an old school-building years ago.... + </p> + <p> + He couldn't keep off the reality long. In every direction the murderous + army—no song, no laugh, no human nature, no love, no work, but + death. He was imprisoned. And somewhere near or far in the midst of such a + chaos, was Berthe Wyndham. Could she live in this?.... Peter was suicidal, + very close to that, a new thing to him. Queerly he realized that death + would be easy for himself, simple, acceptable. For there was no escape. + They would not let him go. There was no place that one could go out of the + army. Not even the dead go back.... It would not be fair to her. She might + live, and call to him afterward. He did not think she could live, but + there was that chance. He thought of his mother—quite as a little + boy would, his lip quivering.... He started at the touch of Boylan's hand. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what we'll do,” Big Belt said. “We'll write, Peter. We'll + get out the machines to-day. We'll write a story—just as if we could + file it on a free cable. It will do us good. We'll tell the story—” + </p> + <p> + “We'd have to eat it....Boylan, if I should tell this story on paper, the + Russians would burn it and me and the house in which it was written....No. + I must work better than that. Come back. I want Dabnitz—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan drew him face about. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to—” + </p> + <p> + “No—no. I wasn't thinking of killing him. It wouldn't do any good. + One would have to kill all the officers and save enough energy for the + Little Father at the last. No, I want him to help me—” + </p> + <p> + They found him at headquarters. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant Dabnitz,” Peter said, his hand upon the Russian's shoulder, + speaking very quietly, “I feel like a fool doing nothing all day long—and + so much to do. I want you to take me over to that hospital Samarc is in, + and set me officially to work. Let me be orderly, anything, to-day. I want + to help, if you'll forgive me—” + </p> + <p> + “Gladly, Mr. Mowbray. I'm sure they'll be very glad. Of course, they are + always short-handed in the hospitals.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan's heart gave a thump at the new light in Mowbray's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go along, too,” he said. “I'm the daddy of them all, when it comes + to lifting.” + </p> + <p> + A ragged platoon volley crashed from the court as they entered the street. + Peter's steps quickened. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + Of course, they did not know it in <i>The States''</i> office, neither the + Old Man nor his managing editor, but a way had been found to <i>rock</i> + Peter Mowbray. Indeed he would have been rocked to pieces had he not found + his work that day in Judenbach. ....When no one was listening, he would + talk to the wounded. Peter discovered that there was a woman in him, as + many a field-man has discovered. In fact he came to believe that we are + all mixed men and women, and that it is the woman in us that suffers most. + He had a suspicion that there was a woman in Boylan, and had to smile just + there. He sank into the work, and saved himself. Samarc appeared to be + asleep. + </p> + <p> + He would have laughed to have heard his own talk afterward. A man does not + remember what he says to a loved horse, or to a dog that looks up in + passing. Innocent as that, Peter's sayings to the wounded and dying. Had + there been spies about, the American would have been counted eminently + safe. He had to talk; his heart was so full; it was part of the action + that saved him. All the time there was in the background of his mind a + steady amazement at himself—something of his, aloof, watchful, that + was not exactly ready to accede to all this change and emotion, and yet + was not strong enough to prevent. + </p> + <p> + Twice through the long forenoon he saw a little black-whiskered orderly, + eyes dark and wide and deep, his nose sensitive and finely shaped, his + shoulders unsoldierly. Once his cap fell as he went to lift a pan, and + Peter saw as noble a brow as ever dignified a man. He went to him and, as + he stood there, he found there was nothing to say. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” the other asked. + </p> + <p> + “That's what I was trying to think to ask you?” Peter said with a smile. + “I am Mowbray, an American correspondent—” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you here?” He pointed to the cots. + </p> + <p> + “I had to do something.” + </p> + <p> + “The misery called to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps. To be sure, I'd better say my own misery made me come.” + </p> + <p> + They talked in French. + </p> + <p> + “It is all the same. You are not a beast.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That is good, too. I'm glad you have come. All morning I have watched + you....” + </p> + <p> + “You did not answer me. Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am Moritz Abel.” + </p> + <p> + He held a wash basin in one hand, a bit of linen in the other—this + man who had done such a poem that the glory of the future flashed back + through it, to sustain and to be held by men. It was a queer moment. + Facing each other, Mowbray thought of Spenski—as if the little + lens-maker stood behind the narrow shoulders of the poet.... Was it only + the little red-headed body that they had killed? Would the immortal come + back with a new story of the stars? Thus Peter found himself thinking of + Spenski, with this lover of new Russia before him. And would the + destroyers slay this one too?... Now his humanity came back in a cloud, + and he shuddered at the thought of Russia murdering the man who wrote <i>We + Are Free</i>.... Perhaps it was the woman in him that made him say: + </p> + <p> + “I hope <i>you</i> live through the long night, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> + <p> + Moritz Abel stepped nearer. In the silence Peter grew embarrassed. What he + had said would sound without footing since the poet did not understand the + trend of his thoughts. He meant to, add what <i>the long night</i> + signified, and wanted his saying really known for what it was—an + utterance of pure passion against the destruction of genius. The other + replied, making all explanation unnecessary: + </p> + <p> + “I knew you for one of us. It is the long night, but it is a great honor + for us to be here and at work.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are your companions?” + </p> + <p> + The Russian smiled. “They are all about through the dark of the long + night. We may only signal in passing. In fact, I must go now—” + </p> + <p> + The surgeon in charge had entered. Peter went to Samarc's cot, steeling + himself. “Samarc,” he whispered, without bending, “Samarc—” + </p> + <p> + The wounded man stirred a little, moaned, but did not answer.... In the + far corner Boylan was moving cots (occupants and all) closer together for + the admission of more. His sleeves were rolled. Near him a little woman, + whose waist was no larger than the white revelation of Boylan's forearm, + was directing the way, the giant of the Polar Failure struggling to + please. Something of ease and uplift had come to Peter from this, and from + the passing of Moritz Abel. Silently battling with Dabnitz, with Kohlvihr, + with king's desire and the animal of men, was this service-thing greater + than all, greater than death.... A soldier called and he went toward the + voice. Presently Peter was jockeying him into good humor with low talk. + </p> + <p> + All day the battle tortured the southern distance—the cannonading + nearer, as the hours waned. The Austrians were holding their own or + better. It was the fiercest resistance which the Russian columns had as + yet encountered. All afternoon wounded were brought back. It became more + and more difficult to move among the cots in the building. So it was with + all Judenbach that was not in ruins. Twice through the afternoon there + were volleys in the court below; and when the two went forth for food, + they saw a soldier carrying baskets of dirt from the street, and covering + the stone flags close to the main building.... And from that grim house a + little down the street, came at intervals, shocking their senses, the + hideous outcry as of murder taking place.... Boylan went down into the + field an hour before sunset, Peter back to the hospital. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see what I can find,” Big Belt remarked. “You're right to go back, + Peter. As for me, I can stand it better outdoors.” + </p> + <p> + Crossing the street, it seemed to Peter that he had been in Judenbach + certain ages, a reckonable space of eternity—despite the lowering + sun which calmly informed him that at this time yesterday the Austrians + had found the range of Samarc's battery with a shrapnel or two. Many + things had come to him. He wished as never before for a free cable.... + Boylan came in at dark and drew him away from Samarc's cot. + </p> + <p> + “I'll be back to-night,” Peter promised. + </p> + <p> + “...There's been no break in the check to-day,” Big Belt reported. + “Kohlvihr's division, and the immediate forces surrounding, are part of + the great right wing, and this right is holding up the whole Russian + command. I heard Kohlvihr explaining to the Commander's aide that the + Austrians here had been reinforced; that they gave us Judenbach for the + taking yesterday, in order to fall back into the hills beyond. The center + and left, it appears, is clear, ready to fight on to Berlin or Budapest, + but the whole line is held up for this right wing. Kohlvihr is desperate. + There'll be a hard pull to get across the hills to-morrow—all hands, + Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “This may be our last night in Judenbach then?” + </p> + <p> + “If killing a division will start a hole across that range of hills, it's + our last night—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll sit it out with Samarc,” Peter said. + </p> + <p> + “Go to it, if you think best. You were a mighty sick woman this morning. + Something in yonder helped you. I'll see you through for another + treatment.” + </p> + <p> + “Boylan, don't you stay up. You've roughed it to-day and been afield. + Don't let me spoil your sleep—with a big day ahead. It wasn't lack + of sleep that got my nerve this morning—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll yap around till bedtime,” said the other. “What does Samarc + say?” + </p> + <p> + “Something has come over him. Some one came to him last night and seemed + to drive a nail right into his thinking—pinned him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's turned against the killing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And he'll be restless to-night, sleeping so much to-day.... At + least, he made the appearance of sleeping. I think he was shocked to hear + his voice.... His eyes are right enough. But below—” + </p> + <p> + “What made you think he had the appearance of sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + “It just occurred to me. He didn't want to take all my time. I whispered + his name several times—no answer. Once when I was leaving, his hand + reached up and touched my coat.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he hurt badly?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing in the body. It's between his throat and his eyes.... You + know I saw him last night after the shrapnel as he lifted—it was + just a sheet of blood. Afterward it was covered in cloth. I don't think he + knew until this morning, when he started to talk.” + </p> + <p> + “He was all knit to the little man,” Boylan said. “As good a pair as I + ever met afield.... Oh, I say, eat something—” + </p> + <p> + Peter smiled at the big fellow and turned to his soup and black bread. He + didn't say what he thought, but it had to do with his own field companion + this time. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * * * +</pre> + <p> + ...Midnight. Boylan had gone back to quarters. Peter's ward was low-lit + and still. ...The wounded man's hands waved before his bandage, as if to + detract attention from the windy blur of his utterance. Samarc wanted to + die. + </p> + <p> + “You know it was because of me that he came—” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “But you mustn't suffer for that. Really, Samarc, a man couldn't have been + a better friend than you. Spenski would tell you so if he could. These are + times for men to <i>live</i>. I wanted to kill myself this morning. You + know I was behind you on the hill, too. That, and the tragedy all about, + and then they were murdering spies and martyring real Fatherland men out + in the court—as if there wasn't enough death afield. It was too much + for me. Old Boylan helped me, but if I hadn't come in to work, I'd have + shot my head off. Here—men dying hard and easy; men and women + serving; so much to do,—I got better. Death isn't everything. I'm + not a genius or a dreamer, man. I'm so slow at dreaming and brotherhood + and all that, that a woman once ran from me. But I saw to-day that death + isn't all. I don't know what else there is, but this is a sort of long + night, this war. A few of us are awake. If we are put to sleep—that's + all right—I mean knocked out, you know. But so long as we are not, + we've got to watch and root for the dawn. God, man, there is much to do. + We've got to make our lives count—” + </p> + <p> + He was bending forward talking very low. He thought from the pressure of + Samarc's hands that he was gaining ground. It was queer and laughable to + himself—this line of talk that came to him. He knew so well the + pangs of that suicidal suffocation, that he could talk for the very life + of the other. He added: + </p> + <p> + “A little black-whispered man looked up from his soap and towels this + morning. His hat fell off, and I saw he had come a long ways. He looked at + me again, and I spoke to him. Samarc, it was another of these little + whirlwinds of human force—a master workman like the man you loved. + </p> + <p> + “It was Moritz Abel who wrote <i>We Are Free</i>.... + </p> + <p> + “And there are others—like Spenski and Abel—some of them dead—some + to die to-morrow. Do you think the good God would let them die so easily + if it wasn't all right? But we mustn't die without making our lives + count.” + </p> + <p> + Peter's eyes were covered by slender hands. It was like passing a garden + of mignonette in the night, that fleeting perfume of the hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, how sweet to see you and hear your voice!” + </p> + <p> + It seemed that he became molten in her presence. A heavenly <i>adagio</i> + after a prolonged movement of sin and shame and every dissonance. It was + as if she had come from a bath of peace to him; another inimitable moment + in the life of his romance. He turned to her, holding fast to the hand + that was stretched toward him. He cleared his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Samarc,” he said. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. — THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + They looked long into each other's faces. “You were wonderful as you spoke + of your friend. Did you know that, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + He turned away deprecatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me. Of course you didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “...And you meant to come all the time?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have known it.... That day—that day across the siding—why, + Berthe, it was almost more than I could stand. I had just been thinking of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “We were like two spirits who hadn't earned the right to be together,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it's dangerous now,” he answered. “One mustn't have a whim, + other than to extinguish the enemy. The army is afraid of itself. All day—” + </p> + <p> + Though he checked himself, she knew his thought. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all day, they murdered white-browed men in the court below.” + </p> + <p> + “Berthe—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to guard your life—as if it were mine—just that.” + </p> + <p> + All surroundings were melting away from them. She had never seen him like + this.... Even Samarc could not hear their whispers. + </p> + <p> + “You came like an angel, Berthe,—all I ever want of an angel. I tell + you I am proud.” + </p> + <p> + “Of what, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “That I had sense enough to go a second time to the Square at Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad, too.... If we were only in the winter stillness—” + </p> + <p> + They were silent. Samarc's hand came up to Peter, and drew him close. It + was clear that he could not bear the woman to hear his struggle for + speech. “Tell her about Spenski,” came to Peter's ears in the lipless + mouthing. + </p> + <p> + Berthe saw that Peter was ghostly white, as he lifted his head. She + thought it had to do with what the wounded man said. + </p> + <p> + Peter began at random, gathering his thoughts on the wing. Nothing hurt + him in quite the same way as that suggested havoc under the bandage. He + steadied himself, and talked of the little lens-maker. Strength came from + the joy he was giving Samarc.... It seemed that they were quite alone. He + told of the night of stars, of the little man's superb sensitiveness.... + She bent to Samarc at last. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted him to tell me?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. There was something intensely pathetic in it all. Her eyes were + full of light. + </p> + <p> + “The story thrills me,” she whispered. “Oh, this is very far from a + hopeless world. What I have seen to-day—even the fortitude of + infamous men—manhood, black and white—the war within the war. + Don't you see, all Russia is out here in the wilderness casting forth her + demon? We must not mind blood nor death—for the result means the + life or death of the world's soul!” + </p> + <p> + Once she would have seemed very far and remotely high to Peter Mowbray.... + They had drawn a little apart from the cot. + </p> + <p> + “What made you so white?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's my weakness. We rode together for days and quartered together. He + was so clean-cut. It's the way his words come. And he seems so utterly + bereft without the little man.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his hand in understanding. + </p> + <p> + “Berthe, do you sleep? Do you take food? Are you well? Are they good to + you? Can you live through?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and what of you?” + </p> + <p> + “All is quite well with me. I can endure anything with the hope of taking + you home afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “We must be ready to give up that, too. It is hard; it's our ordeal—but + if the end should appear, we must find strength to look it in the face. + These are the times for heroics. Every real emotion that I have ever known + is a lie—if those who love each other well enough to love the world—do + not pass on. Why, Peter, you said the same to him—speaking of his + friend and Moritz Abel, 'Do you think the good God would let such men die + so easily, if it weren't all right?'” + </p> + <p> + “Did I say that?” + </p> + <p> + She drew back her head, looking him through and through. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, it's the child in you that I love. You're so much a man, and they + all think of you as a man, man—all your training to be a man—and + yet it's the child that a woman's heart sees and wants to preserve for her + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you see much of Moritz Abel?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.... It was he who found you for me.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was watching her red lips now. It was like that morning in her room, + the tall flowers between. He did not hear what she was saying. The room + was dim. Samarc's face was turned from them. One man in a near cot flung + his arms about his head wearily, but his eyes were toward the wall.... He + caught her in his arms and loved the beauty of earth in her face. + </p> + <p> + “...Peter, we must forget ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't forget you. I want you as you are,” he repeated in tumult. “I + want you here in the world—as you are now! We'll stand for what we + can't help. There's no use fighting the end if it comes. The greatest + thing here to a man will be the greatest thing after he's dead—that's + clear enough. But I haven't had you here—only a few minutes. I want + the winter stillness <i>on earth</i>—in the woods—not in some + paradise yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush—I want it too. Oh, you can never know how much!... I had + better go now—” + </p> + <p> + “Not until I know all about you. To-morrow is to be the big day of the + battle. All may be changed. If it's a Russian victory, this is our last + night in Judenbach—” + </p> + <p> + “You will go out to the fronts?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for a little, but I shall watch how the day fares, so I can hurry + back.” + </p> + <p> + “To-day—we were just a stone's throw apart. I was in that building + down the street—the amputation cases.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the house where those cries come from?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we work there. Moritz Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, the singer, and + others.... This morning I thought I could not bear to live. It was as you + told him—about yourself. You see we had no anesthesia, except for + cases of life or death—among the officers.” + </p> + <p> + “And you came to me from a day like that?” he asked unsteadily, his + passion blurred, even the beauty of it. The chance of her living had + suddenly darkened. + </p> + <p> + “It was like coming home,” she whispered. “...In Warsaw before your day—sometimes + crossing the Square in the darkness—I used to think what it would + mean to come to a house of happiness, after a long cruel day. It seemed + too far from me; sometimes even farther than now. When I came in here + to-night, and heard your voice—I knew what it would mean to come + home. We must not ask too much. Many have never known what has been given + to us—in these few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “We must not ask too much,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She saw that he had a vivid picture of her day in that house of + amputations, that the picture had stunned him. + </p> + <p> + “But, Peter, I have seen such courage to-day. It was a revelation. All + that I had seen of isolated courage before in the world—all was + there to-day, and ten times more, there in the blood and torture. And + Poltneck sang to them—sang to the maimed and limbless—sang + through the probings—with the sound of the cannon in the distance + and more wounded coming in. He sang of home and Fatherland—even of + the old Fatherland. The many love the old still; it is only the few who + love the dream of the new.... We must not ask too much. The new spirit is + being born into the world. This war is greater than we dream of. In Warsaw + I could see only the evil, but here—under everything—is the + humble and the heroic in man. Hate and soldiery are just the surface. That + which is beneath will be above—” + </p> + <p> + She was far from him now; the white flame in her face. He saw that he + could only go on through the days and work and wait and trust in the God + he had told Samarc to trust in. How easily—without an impress of + memory, he had said that; and how heroic to accomplish—for mere man. + </p> + <p> + He did not answer—just looked at her. He saw her turn and smile. + Moritz Abel was standing there. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you—what it meant to me to see you two standing so,” + he said. “And this place of quiet—you two and your paradise!... Let + me see, it occurred to me to suggest—” + </p> + <p> + He found himself reluctant to finish. He had spoken lightly as if to + propose that they would be more comfortable in another room—but his + thoughts concerned the volleys in the court. They knew it. + </p> + <p> + “The staff knows me rather well,” said Mowbray. “I was counting on that, + but one cannot be sure—” + </p> + <p> + “There has been no secret,” she said. “Will you come in the morning before + the columns go out?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it will be early.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be watching. If not—he will be there to tell you why.” + </p> + <p> + Peter turned to the poet. “Watch over her—won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “You honor me, Mr. Mowbray. All that I can do—be very sure of.” + </p> + <p> + She went to Samarc's cot and took his hand. Peter saw her face + differently, as she leaned. It was one of the mysteries that her + tenderness was the face of one woman, her sorrow another. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by—good-night.” + </p> + <p> + .... A little later Peter found himself with Samarc's hand in his. He had + been sitting by the cot watching the war within the war, head bowed on his + free hand. It was a struggle of white and black—of knights and + kings, plumes and horses, white and black.... Now the wounded man seemed + sending messages through his hand. The lamps were low. + </p> + <p> + “It's been the day of days, Samarc,” Mowbray said. “You brought me + something that I needed very much. I wish I could do as much for you. Let + me know, won't you, if I can?... Yes, I'll be right here through the night—” + </p> + <p> + He heard the tread of soldiers in the hollow-sounding court below—clanking + accouterments, heavy steps. There was a halt, a voice, and a long moment + before he breathed. It was just a change of sentries, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + Just a moment's talk in the street—twice interrupted by sentries, as + they moved the hundred yards from the courtyard of Judenbach to the house + of amputations. + </p> + <p> + “...He was trying to lift a man from the hopelessness of death when I + stepped up quietly behind,” Berthe was saying. “He was wonderful about it, + because he had felt the same hopelessness. I wish you could have heard + him.” + </p> + <p> + Moritz Abel said: “He is effective. He is intellect and heart—very + sound. His vision will come quickly. He does not wing—that is our + trouble. We are carried away. He is still within the comprehension of the + average man. We need him greatly. Also he needs us. What a man he would be + to steady us—to interpret for us. The new Fatherland must have such + men. It has been our destiny always to dream and to pass—another + generation to make our vision flesh—” + </p> + <p> + “You mean such men as Peter Mowbray would be direct interpreters?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. We are poets and artists and singers. We are the fathers of the + new Fatherland in a sense, but we need among us lawgivers and statesmen—men + who love men straight and not through the arts—men who have the same + zeal for men that the arts give us when we are pure, but who are + conservers and constructors, men of great force and acumen and kindness—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know so well what you mean,” she whispered. “If you could only have + heard him with the bandaged man—<i>'I am not a genius or a dreamer, + man. I am so slow at dreaming and brotherhood, and all that, that a woman + once ran away from me. But I saw to-day that death isn't all.'”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is it,” Moritz Abel said. “That is the quality. And many times + among those who do not make claim nor talk of brotherhood, the reality is + beaming from their daily service. Yes, that is it. I hope to know him + better after the long night.” + </p> + <p> + They had reached the place of blood and torture. + </p> + <p> + “And now you must rest a little,” he told her. “You know he asked me to + take care of you. I like him for that. A man would see a great deal in + that, for he honored me.” + </p> + <p> + “And me—” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + It was not yet dawn. Peter heard the moaning of the men as they awoke and + turned in their bandages. Surgeon and assistants passed through; two of + the latter remained to start up the malingerers. Machine and rapid-fire + men especially were needed at the front, it was said. Four thousand men + had fallen in the past three days, and this was to be the day of the most + furious battle—Kohlvihr to drive a hole through the hills, this day. + An early incident revealed certain facts—personal—and had a + temporary numbing influence upon Mowbray. The day had risen and Samarc + awakened, when a strange orderly entered the ward, and came leisurely to + the cot where Peter sat: + </p> + <p> + “What have you here?” + </p> + <p> + “A shrapnel wound in the face.” + </p> + <p> + The orderly looked under the cot for the uniform, as if to determine + Samarc's place and rank. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the blouse?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was covered with blood,” said Peter. “They took it away.” + </p> + <p> + “What branch of the service?” + </p> + <p> + Peter was not sure—infantry possibly. He didn't care for the + stranger's manner, nor to have this particular gunner of the rapid-fire + pieces hurried to the field unhealed. The orderly bent suddenly, + whispering. + </p> + <p> + <i>“She told me to tell you that she wants to come, but that it isn't safe—”</i> + </p> + <p> + ...Moritz Abel looking for an interpreter would have been interested now; + also the Old Man of <i>The States</i>. The stranger had spoken leisurely. + Peter's temptation was conquered before he was half through. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you were to give me some message?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But I wasn't expecting anyone.” + </p> + <p> + The other regarded him keenly. Peter was well trained for that. An officer + appeared in the doorway and beckoned the orderly. + </p> + <p> + “It must have been a mistake,” the latter muttered. + </p> + <p> + Peter was thinking fast. The fact remained that their meeting the night + before had been noted. He was leaving for the field shortly; the harm of + suspicion would fall upon her. + </p> + <p> + “I promised to call a moment this morning at the amputation house—but + no one was to come for me,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I have made a mistake,” the orderly repeated. + </p> + <p> + “...I wonder if I have?” Peter thought. + </p> + <p> + Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to speak. + Peter invariably paled before this ordeal. Not through words but sounds + were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the field. In the + usual course there would be no coming back for him at nightfall, because + he had “ceased to kill—” + </p> + <p> + “But must your officers know?” Peter whispered. + </p> + <p> + ...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they knew + Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer. + </p> + <p> + “But why go?” + </p> + <p> + ...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required further + hospital care. He could not endure that. The bandages must never come + off.... He would rather be afield. + </p> + <p> + Peter saw the grim finality of it. Samarc wasn't changed. He meant to end + it. It was not only Spenski, but the havoc under the cloths.... + </p> + <p> + A young assistant surgeon at a near cot was rather too hastily laying bare + the lint from a severe shoulder wound. + </p> + <p> + Exchange with Samarc had of course stopped. Peter, thinking deeply, + watched with but half attention until the assistant surgeon briskly + rebound the wound, and began tugging at the soldier to get on his feet. + The wounded one whimpered his weakness. + </p> + <p> + “Get up!” + </p> + <p> + The order was repeated. “Into your clothes, man. Scores are already in the + column with wounds worse than yours.” + </p> + <p> + The man groaned, stirred, but fell back. Peter had seen the wound—not + a desperate one, but enough to lay a man up for a fortnight at home, and + this could not have been more than three days old. There wasn't much + chance of malingering. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” the young officer urged angrily. + </p> + <p> + The soldier tried to raise himself, but did not make good work of it. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get you up, damn you—” + </p> + <p> + A quick scream from the man on the cot. Peter did not know what the doctor + did, but he smelled acid. All was cloudy before his eyes. He was a bit + surprised a second after to feel the Russian's neck in his two hands: + </p> + <p> + “None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like that,” + he was saying. + </p> + <p> + The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage was + done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray later. + His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, drawing on his + clothes. + </p> + <p> + “A bit of bad judgment,” Peter said, not explaining whether it was his or + the young doctor's. + </p> + <p> + The surgeon did not ask, but turned to the great muffled face. + </p> + <p> + “This man was from one of the rapid-fire commands, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + Peter was prevented from further glibness by a decisive nod from Samarc. + </p> + <p> + “The Fatherland will need you to-day,” the surgeon said with a peculiar + significance. + </p> + <p> + To Peter's trained ear the sounds from Samarc were dangerously like, + “Fatherland-hell.” + </p> + <p> + “A shrapnel splinter struck him in the mouth,” he explained. “He says he + is ready to take the field.” + </p> + <p> + Samarc spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “His blouse is gone,” said Peter hastily. “I can manage for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he a fever?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so—a slight fever.” + </p> + <p> + The surgeon turned to the other cot. “Let this fellow sleep another day,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + The soldier lying there gave Peter a look almost uncanny in its gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Samarc. I'll get you a blouse,” the latter said and left the + ward. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + Big Belt awoke early in his own quarters, and beat around under the + blankets for his friend. Peter was not there. Boylan remembered and sat + up. This was the day of the great battle, but there was to be breakfast + first. He recalled what was in the saddle-bags. This proved + unsatisfactory. Even that hinged on Peter, as every thought so far. ... + Boylan now reflected that he might have stayed longer in the ward last + night. There was just as much to hold him to the cot of Samarc as had + called Peter. Altogether, the day was not beginning in a way to suit. + </p> + <p> + He sat in the center of a tired tangle of woolen blankets and buckled on + his leggings. His face pricked his chest as he bent forward. There was a + stabbing run of ideas that had to do with marble baths, tepid plunges and + fragrant steam. This collection he made haste to banish with matters of + the day, and the absence of Peter,—but the pictures were various and + persistent—exceptionally enticing baths from all his history + recurring. He stretched out his gray woolen shirt and brushed it hard with + handfuls of dried grass; he washed uncomfortably. It was like an ablution + before one is undressed—that pervasive beard affair—and a + general chill and dampness about clothes and boots that had not yet worked + warm. The day was alternate gray and red. Noise gained in the street. Big + Belt stepped forth. + </p> + <p> + Just at this moment he saw Peter Mowbray disappear into that grim street + entrance from which the unspeakable human outcry had issued yesterday. He + followed, twisting into doorways to let provision wagons pass, quickening + his steps to cross between detachments of infantry. A certain dead cavalry + horse was powerful in the air. Boylan knew exactly where it lay, for it + had called attention these three days, an Austrian property, saddle and + all, a ghastly outpouring upon the turf. + </p> + <p> + Boylan found himself stepping forward with a gladness that was answered + with sharp objection by his own nature, and which he would not have let + Peter Mowbray know for all Judenbach. He was disgusted with the weakness + that made a man friend such a profound institution in his breast. + </p> + <p> + The hall-way was dark. Boylan heard low voices; something from them + prevailed to hush his entrance. In fact, at the turning he stood quite + still for possibly three seconds. Beyond in the shadows Peter stood with a + woman. Afterward Boylan recalled that there had been one poignant cry of + pain from above, as if born of the monotone of moaning in that house. + </p> + <p> + They did not see him.... A little man appeared from the shadows, joined + the two, and handed Peter a Russian blouse such as is worn by hospital + stewards of the service. Peter thanked him; the other departed; the two + were once more alone.... The huge scarred head of the old war-wolf + withdrew jerkily; with stealth, he stepped back into the street. He did + not stop until he reached his own quarters. There he found that he had not + folded his blankets. In the midst of this work his hands stopped.... He + was as accustomed as any man can be to unremoved horse by this time. It + came steadily to his nostrils, mingled with the leathery smell of his own + field-outfit. Presently he looked at his watch, and snapped the case shut + with a crack. The strength of his fingers would have broken a filbert. + </p> + <p> + “Some men can find 'em anywhere,” he muttered. “And such a one! She was a + flame.... As for Mr. B. B.—it's dead horse all his days.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + Ashamed of himself, Big Belt waited to see if Peter would turn in to their + quarters, as he approached carrying the hospital steward's blouse across + his arm. Boylan would not call. It was like a woman's way—to learn + if a man had forgotten her; still he would not call.... Clean-shaven, very + straight and full of life, Peter approached, smiling at packers and + soldiers, a smile for all the world. “Why not?” Boylan thought. Peter did + turn in, and came toward him, hand out. + </p> + <p> + “Tomato ketchup with duck's eggs. Draw up a chair,” said Boylan. He + appeared just now to see the steward's blouse. + </p> + <p> + “Samarc takes the field to-day. It's for him,” Peter explained.... “He's + going out to kill himself. Only one reservation—that he kill no one + else.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan seemed staring at Peter's knees. + </p> + <p> + “You're letting the ketchup burn,” Peter said mildly. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that's what he really means to do,” Big Belt observed, after a + moment. “And what are we to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I would stand by a little—not so as to be a nuisance, you + know—” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally not. Of course.” + </p> + <p> + They ate in silence—a thousand things to say. + </p> + <p> + “I won't be very far from the staff,” said Peter, hurrying back to the + hospital. “Poor old Samarc has two wounds, you know—” + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + It wasn't a day to explain things—not a day to talk. Men afield can + never tell what they are doing; some devilish irony is in the air. They + laugh; they listen; they hope—only a jest comes. The most thrilling + and stupendous situations bring forth but a curse or a roar. Human throats + are inarticulate, afield; the reality that voices heroic utterance and + makes it memorable is not at work in man-fabric; splendid faces and brave + actions—but the words are the revealers of emptiness. For the animal + is awake and upstanding; the spirit that quickens reality is apart. + </p> + <p> + The battlefield opened to Mowbray's eyes that day with abnormal clearness, + as if he had brought rest and reflection to a problem that long had + harried him, He felt singularly light and full of ease—as one does + sometimes in the first hours of the day after a sleepless night. The day + was wild with west wind, a touch of south still clinging. The east arrayed + itself again and again in all the delicate blends of pink and gray, watery + yellow, rose, and azure; a different arrangement at each glance, as if + separate groups of maidens followed each around a Roman bath. + </p> + <p> + Samarc was given a seat in an ammunition wagon, with orders to join his + battery. Peter found his horse, already saddled by Boylan, and overtook + the wagon train as it left the town. In a halt for the way to clear, + Kohlvihr and his staff passed, Dabnitz and Boylan riding together. The + General sat soft and lumpy in the saddle, his eyes small and feverish, his + face hotly red. The staff passed on, all except Boylan believing that the + correspondent had fallen in behind. Riding with the wagons, Peter + frequently turned to the terrifying bandage above the steward's blouse. + When the light was right, he caught a glint of the eyes beneath. + </p> + <p> + The way became steep for the wagons as they neared the emplacements. Peter + swung off and led his pony. Infantry was already engaged down in the + hollows; the reek of powder began to cut the air at intervals, but the + strong wind as often cleansed it away, and the scent of woods came up + startlingly, with the warmth of the sun upon the ground—the sweet + healing breath of drying cedar boughs. + </p> + <p> + He was sorry now he had roughed it with the young doctor; that sort of + thing was very far from him. He had no memory of another episode like it. + On occasion, dropping into the queerest abstractions, he fancied <i>her</i> + near.... It had been like a soldier leaving his lady for the battle—the + precious few minutes less than an hour ago. She had promised to be with + him. There had been no talk nor thought of the terrifying day she faced in + the hospital; everything had to do with his taking the field. She would + follow him with her thoughts. Perhaps he would find his soul out there, + she suggested, as he had never found it before. Peter wondered now just + what she meant by that. It was not his way to fall back upon any such + abstraction. + </p> + <p> + He reflected how her presence always changed him, gave him strength of a + different sort, and directness of aim.... It was true that she seemed near—on + the other side from Samarc—a part of the mountain fragrance that + would not be overpowered in the gun-reek. He felt if he could turn quickly + enough he would catch the gleam of her colors. This was her country. She + was of the north and the cold lands; she belonged to the purity of the + cedars. + </p> + <p> + He played with the thought that she was near; and from the thought, + because it was good, a glimpse of the future came to him—the peace + to come, when men would dwell again with their loves, and the dream of + superb affiliation would come true. All this madness of men would pass, as + the rising powder-reek would pass from these Galician hills, and leave + them their silence and their natural fragrance. + </p> + <p> + The wagons had gone on. Samarc's battery might have been rubbed out for + all their ability to find it. All faces strange—gunners, + range-finders, and the cartridge hands. Peter felt a horror in his breast + for the immediate presence of the guns—as if he had reached the end + of toleration in the one day with them. Samarc felt this hate, too, his + ruling passion.... Any moment one of the rapid-firers might drum into + action. Their sense was one—that something would be uncoupled in + their minds. They turned, Peter laughing at his desire to run—as + they found another group of machines emplaced in a rocky shelter a little + higher than the spot where the shrapnel had struck three days before. + </p> + <p> + No one called to them as they turned back. A small belated wagon train + rumbled by, but no one hailed them from the seats. They were free, alone. + Peter inhaled the scent of the forest, sharp again from the acrid taint of + the cool, hazy air. He loved the sweet mountain wind as never before—almost + as if he were to leave it all. There was little need of exchange of words. + Each understood mainly the thoughts of the other. Big guns thundered at + each other from the remoter hills. Again they saw an infantry movement + start forth below—the endless strings of infantry along the broad + lower slopes. They stopped to watch them. + </p> + <p> + Creatures of the hollows, their business to rise and be swept back—marching + forth now—Kohlvihr's command. Peter's eyes filled and his throat + stopped at the spectacle of the gray lines. Surely something was the + matter with him, he thought. Was it pathological—loss of sleep, or + fatigue? Or was it something that Spenski and Abel, the field and + hospital; more than all was it something that Berthe Wyndham had given + him? In any event, it seemed as if those infantry lines marching out now + to the burning front were being torn from his own breast, every <i>moujik</i> + precious. He wanted to be with them, not with the heinous guns. He wished + he could spare them, stop the continual sacrifice. Miles of gray lines + moving out now. ...His companion's tugging hand. + </p> + <p> + It dawned upon Peter before many sounds that Samarc wanted to go alone. He + pointed the trail back around the hills toward Judenbach, where it would + meet the road Kohlvihr had taken, suggesting that Peter join the staff. + He, Samarc, would continue the search for his battery. As a rule Mowbray + was the last to continue in the presence of a man who wanted him to go; + and yet, he knew that Samarc hated the field pieces as much as he, and + that he did not mean to live through the day. He hesitated. The final + urging was pitiful—a sort of tumult from under the cloths. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing doing, Samarc,” he said suddenly. “You and I for it—at + least a while yet. I say—do the hard thing. The little man would + have it so. We'll go down closer to the infantry stuff and forget + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + ...Yes, Samarc would do the hard thing. There was gratitude for which + Peter had no receptivity—gratitude for the friendship, the night's + watching. His hand was taken and carried to the other's breast, as only a + Russian could do—and down they went together. + </p> + <p> + The infantry was their magnet as they made the down grade—miles of + gray lines. The lower land was trampled and dusty; the breeze lost itself + in the hollows. Just as an orchardist, discovering a certain parasite on + his trees, thinks of a specific poison, so they knew that this great + “forward” of the Russian foot-soldiers would start the Austrian machine + and rapid-fire batteries. + </p> + <p> + They were moving now in front of a long line of new Russian works which + had appeared deserted. Boylan would have known better; Samarc should have + known. Peter had taken for granted that these had been emptied by the huge + advances already in movement. They were in the path of Kohlvihr's + reserves, it appeared, in the center of the line, when the signal + “forward” was sounded. The works suddenly blackened with men. It was too + much for the pony. Peter found a bridle with a broken throat latch in his + hand, as he watched the little beast tear down the front, and heard the + roar of laughter from the oncoming line. + </p> + <p> + The new front seemed endless in the rolling land. They were instantly + enveloped. Out of the throng appeared one face that Peter had bowed to + once or twice before—a captain, now working his way toward them. He + glanced at the civilian insignia on Peter's sleeve, and said, with a + smile: + </p> + <p> + “You've tricked us well this time, Mr. Mowbray. I hope you get back as + cheerfully. You'll have to go forward now—at least, until we stretch + out in skirmish. We're rather thick just here. Stay with my command—” + </p> + <p> + “We thought we were back of you,” Peter said. “I assure you I didn't plan + this, but it's very kind of you.” + </p> + <p> + The Captain glanced at Samarc and turned to the American as they urged on. + </p> + <p> + “Hurt badly?” + </p> + <p> + “Just his face.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay by—some of the soldiers might be rough—” + </p> + <p> + They were carried forward in the resistless interference of great numbers. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> + <p> + Peter had pitied the infantry formerly from a hill, having stood with a + battery as it sprayed the Austrian lines. He had watched the Austrian + machines pouring steel upon the Russians also. There had been emotion; he + had felt the shame of it powerfully on this very morning; but now he + reflected, with a touch of levity, that his pity had not been adequate. At + the present juncture he belonged to the sacrifice. The process was + reversed; the globe of his experience shortly to be made complete. He + would have the effects of light and darkness from the vantage of the + preying and the preyed upon. + </p> + <p> + Peter had never been actually down among men before. He had watched men, + studied them sincerely, passed them in the street, reflected upon their + problems. At the same time, his personal impetus had always been away from + men, his a different purpose, a different aim. He was <i>one</i> now, one + in the massed destiny of the command, one to obey. Only by falling could + he be free from this extraordinary authority of the army. + </p> + <p> + Moreover, he felt that the motive energizing this authority was not of the + human but of the tiger. + </p> + <p> + He might have thought of all this before, as he had thought of death as + one thing for the outsider and a different thing for the little lens-maker + he liked so well. But this was experience, not conjecture. He was an atom + of the charge. The army authority disrupted his moral sense. It bound and + gagged him. No imagination could have constricted his vital and creative + force as this adventure, in which he was caught up like a chip and carried + forward in a rush of animal power. Fear had no part of his revulsion, but + the break of his will. It was not like a man drowning, in an insensible + element; this that carried him <i>had</i> a consciousness and it was + unclean. + </p> + <p> + He saw that the rankers leaned on each other; that there was not yet in + the peasant faces about him a single separate individual relation to the + impending peril. These men might have, seen others fall by the hundreds, + but their faith was in the command, their law its law. Peter saw that they + were in a sense like men parading through city streets, who endure the + eyes of the crowds because they are part of a line. It was the eternal + illusion of numbers again—the elbow brush, the heat, the breath, the + muttering of men—this atmosphere that the military machine breathed. + Standing alone, most of them would have fallen from fear. + </p> + <p> + He smelled the unwashed crowd. Under all the bronze that life in the open + had given the command was the lardy look of earth-born men, + close-to-the-ground men; these were the hordes that put on pounds and + size, the rudiment of a mind, the momentary ignition of soul perhaps in + moments such as now—and pass to the earth again. Yet the history of + Europe was to be written upon a surface like this; this, the soil of the + future. It was close to chaos, but as yet undefiled by man. This was the + newest product of earth, the new terrific fecundity of the North that had + alarmed lower Europe; these were the peasant millions as yet unfathered, + strong as yet only as bulls are strong, gregarians, almost without memory; + their terror, pain, passion, hope, genius not individual yet, but in the + solution of the crowds. + </p> + <p> + Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle to + retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution + draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire of a + group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps—but to + give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, the + crush ended. Entire figures of men could be seen, instead of necks, + beards, and shoulders. Samarc gripped his arm, the other hand pointing to + a little red-haired boy who ran, crouched, sped on again, halted to look, + in the true squirrel fashion of advance, which is the approved procedure + of skirmishers. He talked to himself, appeared lost in absorption, + reminded one continually of Spenski when his face was averted—and + was just one of the miles of infantry. + </p> + <p> + Their faces looked cold now; a part of the gray tone so often observed. + The officers fought to stretch them out. Every line of fear that the human + mouth can express Peter saw. Now the drum of the Austrian pieces. It was + not as they had heard it in the heights, but like an encore at first—as + if some tremendous mass of men in a wooden gallery had started a buffeting + of feet. The valley muffled the volleys; the actual steel was not heard + until it neared like a rain torrent; indeed it found their immediate lines + before they heard the murderous cutting of the air. The Austrian gunners + were placed for enfilading, so that a fraction of point gave them impaling + force and a wide swath in the ranks. + </p> + <p> + Peter saw the little red head cocked forward as if to listen to the + nearing gusts of steel. + </p> + <p> + Now men were down and crying out. The fire was like that of a hostile + regiment concentrating its volley upon a little knot of soldiers—the + air was whipped, wild with throbbing missiles. Supernatural fear was the + answer from the very souls of men. Their prayer (in Mowbray's conception) + was not for life, but for cessation. Yet the machines held them with + infernal leisure as one holds the stream from a garden hose to a spot of + clay clinging to masonry. + </p> + <p> + In all postures the soldiers met the gale, with every answering sound. + Then falling, rising, crawling, the remnant went back. It was not pain nor + death nor wounds that mattered—but the hurtling concussions in the + air, the plague of steel.... + </p> + <p> + It stopped. Peter lay exhausted an instant. He felt no hurt. He was down + because one could not stand in that sweep of projectiles. He recalled that + he had seen the red head fall a moment before, and turned like a sick man, + his eyes rolling, to learn if it were a dream or not. Yes, Redhead had + fallen. Samarc was crawling toward him on his knees. Peter writhed + forward, too, but disliking the movement lest it bring the guns upon them + again. He forgot that. Redhead was muttering about <i>the storm</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hard hit, boy?” Peter called. + </p> + <p> + There were others about—a whole line of fallen, but they saw just + this one—his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was + young like the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much bewildered, + the gray, clayey hue upon him, but not at all uncouth. Samarc felt his + spine, turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now Redhead saw the + effigy that was Samarc. He had been watching Peter before. + </p> + <p> + His mouth opened, eyes seemed to settle back into a red gleam of horror, + his face swung around into the dirt. Peter would have given his arm to + spare Samarc that. No sound from under the cloth—only a breath. + Samarc shouldered him, raised himself with the burden. + </p> + <p> + There are pressures of will. One turns on a certain force to meet an + obstacle, and it is exhausted. There are other sources of power, but one + brushes death to summon them. Far ahead they saw the remnant making cover. + Now Peter noted that there was human need at every step. They lay in all + positions, squirmed their faces up to him and implored. The few were + still; the many writhed. He looked for a small one. He had never lifted a + man and was surprised when one came up and rolled as if by magic across + his back. It was so easy that he wanted to take others. + </p> + <p> + “I will come back,” he called to the faces. + </p> + <p> + He meant to come back as he said it. He wanted to bring them all in. He + had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc and + Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man changes in a + day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he been there. A <i>moujik</i> + arose from his knees in front of them, as they staggered on. He was + stunned, bewildered, blinded, but he could hear. + </p> + <p> + “Come on—we're going back,” Peter said. + </p> + <p> + The other held out his hand gropingly. Peter placed the flap of his coat + in it, and the moujik stumblingly followed.... Another soldier on his + knees barred the way. + </p> + <p> + “We're going back,” Peter said. “Come on. You can crawl—” + </p> + <p> + The soldier set out eagerly to obey, as if it had been a great boon to + follow with his own strength. It was the mightiest episode of the day to + Peter Mowbray. “My God, how they obey <i>men</i>!” he said, with awe. + “They <i>could</i> be led right—peasants who obey like that!” + </p> + <p> + There was singing all about him—not of bullets, though this little + movement on the field drew a thin, uncertain long-range fire from some + intrenchment (apparently it was not enough to start a machine)—a low + singing as of wells of gladness reaching the surface. Peter was torn with + the agony of the field, yet thrilling with happiness—as if there was + liberation somewhere within. He turned to the crawling one who inspired + him: + </p> + <p> + “We're all hurt, but we're going back to bed. Come on—you're doing + famously—” + </p> + <p> + The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and the + Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about <i>the storm</i>.... It + was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as harmless as sandflies after + the horror of hornets they had known.... They were alone. They saw the + heaped rims of the Russian works ahead—five of them, alone, for, + queerly enough, they were as one. + </p> + <p> + And now from ahead, from the concealed Russian lines, arose a roar such as + Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic force that filled his + eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought that the end of + the war must have come—so glad and so mighty was that shouting. + </p> + <p> + Now a fragment of the line ran forth to bring the little party in, not + minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest they + start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of maimed + and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the command—even + the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an incoherent Boylan + took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. Kohlvihr and Dabnitz stood + there, the old man repeating: + </p> + <p> + “Get the name of the hospital man.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat. + </p> + <p> + “Hospital steward,—I have that,” he said a second time, “but what's + the name and the division?” + </p> + <p> + “He can't speak,” said Peter. “I'll get his name later. He's been wounded + in the mouth.” + </p> + <p> + Curiously enough in this turmoil it appeared for the first time why Samarc + had been allowed a free field practically—why he had not been + impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's blouse + that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things were + darkening about him. He smelled the cedars. Her colors seemed just out of + view.... She had been near. + </p> + <p> + “Peter—are you hit?” It was Boylan's voice. + </p> + <p> + “No, just bushed.” + </p> + <p> + Now he heard Kohlvihr say: “Anything for you we can, Mr. Mowbray. As a + civilian, you are of course exempt from specific honors, but as soon as I + learn your companion's name I shall suggest that he be honored by the + Little Father.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you've put the whole line back into fighting trim!” Boylan + whispered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + Something of the activity now apparent to the blurred faculties of + Mowbray, as he sat in the clammy embrace of nausea and struggling for + breath, appealed to him as structurally wrong; almost inconceivably + abominable, in fact. He had no interest in his so-called achievement, + regarded it with a laugh, repeated that it was pure accident; but such as + it was, he objected to it being used to put the line back into “fighting + trim.” + </p> + <p> + He was in the large sod-covered pit occupied by field headquarters. He + turned at the sound of breathing at his side. Samarc was sitting there. + Peter's hand went to his knee. Aides, messengers, and orderlies hastened + in and out. There were twenty men in the pit—Kohlvihr the center of + all. Big Belt was ministering—a flask, a momentary massage, a steady + run of comment, ruddy from the heart.... The activity came to him again. + </p> + <p> + Kohlvihr was actually planning another infantry advance. + </p> + <p> + Peter started to speak, but halted for further reflection, a bit skeptical + as to his own sanity. This was the third day of the battle; this the day + planned to drive a hole through the difficult Austrian hills; the whole + Russian army was dependent upon taking this Austrian position; the weather + was becoming colder, Berlin still afar off; the Russian left and center + pinned to the results of action here. + </p> + <p> + So far mental processes seemed adequate, but this changed in no way his + attitude toward the atrocious activity in the brain of Kohlvihr of the + bomb-proof pit. + </p> + <p> + Kohlvihr might sally forth for his wounded; hundreds were dying out there + in the windy hollow. He, Peter Mowbray, had seen their faces—their + bodies to the end of sight. But Kohlvihr had no thought of that; rather to + meet the range of death machines again with another horde of his + skirmishers—and again—and again, until the end of the day—until + enough passed through to gain the opposite slopes in fighting force, or + until the Austrian ammunition was exhausted.... + </p> + <p> + And Kohlvihr had never been out there. His cave was well back in the + shelter of the works—sheltered from ahead and from the sky, with + Judenbach behind.... Old Doltmir, the second in command, was saying: + </p> + <p> + “It's a terrible price to pay, General—a terrible price. You will + note that they enfilade our lines as we reach the bottom land. You will + note that their machines cover the valley perfectly and that they are + practiced now—” + </p> + <p> + There was balm in that, but acid covered it an instant later from + Kohlvihr, who swallowed a drink and turned with a snarl. + </p> + <p> + “We have the price to pay—” + </p> + <p> + Peter was thinking now of the front line that had cheered his coming in; + the men so ready to forget themselves for a little spectacle, and the + thrill that had come to his own breast from their shouting. <i>He loved + them and knew why.</i> And those men, their lives and deaths—were in + the hands of this red-eyed human rat who fouled the air.... No, Peter + thought, it wasn't the brandy that smelled. It's Kohlvihr and the brandy. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, Boylan,” he muttered in English, “can't you get him by the + throat?” + </p> + <p> + Boylan's eyes were wild. He laughed softly, however, saying in Russian: + “Very good, Peter—you'd joke at your death—” + </p> + <p> + And Big Belt's eyes roved to Dabnitz, who apparently had not heard Peter's + remark. + </p> + <p> + ...And now the tugging from Samarc that meant words! It seemed as if a + ghastly stillness prepared for that final rumble; certainly stillness + followed it. All eyes turned, even Kohlvihr's, to the effigy. But Peter + alone understood. + </p> + <p> + “...Don't let them take off the bandages.” + </p> + <p> + Samarc left his seat in the dark corner and walked evenly toward the + center where Kohlvihr stood, his aides about him—poor old Doltmir + standing apart and distressed. The moment had come for the order to be + given. Kohlvihr turned to a dispatch rider at the door—a door made + of cedar trunks. + </p> + <p> + For the moment Peter was blocked between two desires, or paralyzed. The + huge face of Boylan close by mutely implored him to be silent. + </p> + <p> + “Samarc,” he called. + </p> + <p> + Samarc did not turn. Now Peter saw the red face of Kohlvihr in its gray + fringe suddenly lifted and enlarged. The effigy was close to it, but not + higher, and hands were tightening beneath it—Samarc's strong unhurt + hands. There had been one snarling scream. It was followed by a shot from + Dabnitz. The red face went down with the other to the clay floor. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> + <p> + The roar of the battle followed as Peter staggered back alone to + Judenbach. He must have traversed a mile before there was a rational + activity of his faculties. The first mental picture was that of the + officers running along the works as the order for “advance as skirmishers” + was given. They were inspiring the men in the name of the Little Father. + </p> + <p> + “If only they hadn't said that,” Peter muttered pathetically. + </p> + <p> + Then he recalled that Kohlvihr had been lifted practically unhurt from the + clay floor; that his order was carried out. The infantry had obeyed. With + all he knew, and all he had seen that day, the mystery of common men + deepened. Out of it all strangely stood forth in his mind now the man who + could not rise, but who crawled after him at a word.... These men obeyed—that + was the whole story. If they were given true fathers!... Why, that <i>was</i> + the answer! + </p> + <p> + Peter had come into this with all the fire of revelation. He had earned + it. Blood and courage, and the stress of death, had given it to him. Yet + it was worth it all. He would tell Berthe Wyndham.... + </p> + <p> + He stopped short at the edge of the town. Never was there in his life a + moment of profounder humility. Berthe Wyndham had told him all this before + they left Warsaw—on the day that the message came from Lonegan. All + he had learned to-day through such rigor and jeopardy she had told him; + and she had understood it then with the same passion that he had it now. + </p> + <p> + Peter had only listened that day; he had lived it to-day. His heart + suddenly flooded with warmth for Fallows. Fallows had been through all + this—all the burning and zealotry of it, and had come forth into the + coldness and austerity of service. It was very wonderful. Peter Mowbray's + eyes smarted. They, and the service, had certainly crumpled the old fronts + of calm and the sterile pools of intellect. He loved the peasants now, <i>and + he knew why</i>.... He saw what a stick he had been, but this didn't + trouble him greatly. The new seeing was enough; he was changed. His + emotions presently concerned the fresh realizations so dearly bought—in + the past three days... three days. + </p> + <p> + Not until now did he think of Samarc.... The reality had stood like a + black figure at the door of his brain throughout all the walk, but it did + not enter until now. No, Samarc would not come back to Judenbach. It was + finished as he had intended. He had ceased to kill. Even at the last he + had but used his hands, and in as righteous wrath as ever tortured human + fingers to terrible strength.... He, Mowbray, had not remained to assure + himself that the last command of his friend was obeyed. This hurt him not + a little.... He was in the main street... exertion, sorrow, exaltation; + now he was whipped again. He felt he had not done well at the last. A + teamster yelled to him to get out of the way. Peter stepped back wearily + to let a string of ambulances by. + </p> + <p> + Across was that grim door of the house of amputations. He was not quite + ready to enter. He would get himself in hand better. He had not been gone + long—it was only mid-forenoon. He would go to his quarters and clean + up a little—perhaps rest a moment. His thoughts turned often to + Samarc, always with a pang. He wished the Big Belt were here. This last + reminded him of his saddle bags—razors and all gone with the pony. + Boylan would have the laugh at him now. + </p> + <p> + He could not sit still in his quarters. Voices came to him from the + street, from the court—even from that grim place a little down the + way. He arose and went across to the familiar hospital ward.... Another + was in Samarc's place. A hand beckoned. It was from the cot of the soldier + for whom he had struggled with the young doctor. He went to it. There was + a message: + </p> + <p> + <i>“They were talking of you as an enemy—”</i> + </p> + <p> + That was all. Peter did not care for particulars. His volition was + quickened. He had been sadly in need of that. Now he went direct to the + hallway, where he had left her in the morning, and on upstairs. The rooms + were crowded with wounded and medical officers, but no familiar face—neither + Berthe Wyndham nor Moritz Abel. + </p> + <p> + Many eyes held him. He did not see the young doctor, but the surgeon who + had come to the other ward was there—that bland, quiet face, + regarding him curiously now. Peter asked nothing, and was free apparently + to move anywhere about the building. None of his own was there. His + loneliness was untellable. He could not have spoken to a stranger without + a break of tone.... + </p> + <p> + He wished for Boylan again. + </p> + <p> + Peter was in the street, moved along the walls as one very tired. He was + searching, but the thoughts grew so terrible that he could not keep his + eyes to outer activity. His steps led him to the Court of Executions. + Standing by the street gate, he dreaded to enter. He would not tolerate + this, yet it was more than life or death. He had a mental picture of + finding her there, her body shrinking into one of the stone corners—as + a maimed bird that has fallen lies still under its wings. + </p> + <p> + His breath burst from him. He had been holding it as if under water. His + eyes traveled electrically now. + </p> + <p> + There were dead in the court, but she was not there, nor Abel nor Fallows. + He looked through the row of gratings and under the arches. There was a + low stone lintel with a dim deserted hall beyond.... + </p> + <p> + Just now a step behind him, heavy boots ringing on the stone flags. Peter + turned. A Russian soldier halted, raised his rifle, commanded him to + advance. + </p> + <p> + Peter waved his hand in a gesture of obedience, but turned to glance in + the gloom under the lintel again. It was just <i>in the turning</i> that + he had caught the gleam of her colors—not when he stared straight + in. Peter assured himself of this before giving himself up. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. — IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + The dead man in the hospital steward's coat had been carried forth from + the bomb-proof pit. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt perceived that the day was working out according to its evil + beginnings.... After coming in from the infantry hollows as one risen from + the dead (and transfigured in the garish light of field bravery) Peter + Mowbray had left him again, now in the possession of strange devils. + </p> + <p> + Boylan was not ready to go back to Judenbach. It was almost noon. He was + watching the heart of the Russian invasion of Galicia, and from its main + lesion. This he knew quite as well as Dabnitz, or Doltmir, or the + half-insane Kohlvihr himself. The Austrians still held. Indeed, it was not + hard for them. The Russian west wing entire, and possibly part of its + center, would be called upon to flank this stoutly adhering force, if + Kohlvihr continued to fail. Such an action would greatly delay the general + forward movement of the Russian arms. + </p> + <p> + “You will be without a command, General,” Doltmir suggested, at the end of + the second infantry throwback, following that in which Peter had + participated. “We are not disturbing them greatly in our advances. We are + chiefly effective in destroying their ammunition—” + </p> + <p> + “Then we must continue that,” said Kohlvihr. + </p> + <p> + “But the troops will not continue to charge. Our reserves are in. The + fresher men see the fate of the former advances. The hollows are in plain + sight from the forward rifle pits.” + </p> + <p> + “The officers must drive them forward—” + </p> + <p> + “Most of the lesser commanders are lying in the valley. The troops are + killing them as well as the enemy—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean there is mutiny, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Not of a reckonable type. These men work in the midst of action. + Moreover, our troops are hard pressed. Our division has borne the brunt + for three days in almost unparalleled action.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you advise me to leave them funking in the trenches?” Kohlvihr + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “General, I would advise a report to the Commander of our failure in four + advances—that we can not get sufficient men across the valley to + charge the Austrian positions. Meanwhile I would order the wounded to be + brought in. After that, I would suggest food for the men in the trenches.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care to report four failures without a fifth trial.” + </p> + <p> + Doltmir turned back. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt was thinking fast. In all his experience, he had never seen the + Inside stripped naked like this. Of course, he had observed the strategy + of small bodies of troops determined by a swift consultation of officers; + but this was an army in itself, or had been, and on the part of Kohlvihr + it was very clear that personal matters were powerfully to the fore. + Kohlvihr was enraged; Kohlvihr was ambitious. Big Belt was aware that, + given a free hand and a free cable, he could make Kohlvihr a loathsome + monster in the eyes of the world, this merely by a display of the facts. + </p> + <p> + Boylan's view was cleared a little as he thought of such a narrative. His + sense of the reception of the story showed him the commanding nature of + it. The thing might be done later. Peter's trouble was that he could not + forget it for the present. Thoughts of work put a new energy into Boylan's + thinking. These things now passing in the bomb-proof pit formed the climax + of a narrative that had been running from the Warsaw office to the present + hour.... For a moment in the story's grasp, Boylan did not hear the voice + of the invaluable Dabnitz: + </p> + <p> + “...He is under suspicion, sir,” that young officer was saying to his + chief. “In fact, the whole hospital corps is rotten with revolutionists, + but the fact remains he can sing like an angel. I think if Poltneck were + brought here to the lines and made to sing the folk songs—” + </p> + <p> + “Get him,” said Kohlvihr. “Is he under arrest?” + </p> + <p> + “No; as yet merely under espionage. He was valuable in rather a unique way + in the hospitals yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him at once.” + </p> + <p> + Kohlvihr sent an order for his troops to rest and have a bite in the + trenches. + </p> + <p> + The sorry Doltmir stepped forward again: + </p> + <p> + “Would it not be well to bring in our wounded from the field, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “We will <i>have</i> the field presently,” said Kohlvihr. “The sun is not + hot. The lines already have seen too much of their blood.” + </p> + <p> + Big Belt remembered that. Moments were intense again when Poltneck was + brought in—a tall, angular, sandy-faced chap, with a wide mouth and + glistening teeth, a smile that quickened the pulse, somehow. Boylan + thought of the passions of women for such men. His shoulders were lean and + square. Yellow hair, long on top and cropped tight below the brim of his + hat, dropped a lock across his forehead, as he uncovered in the bomb-proof + pit. He had been shaven-recently. Boylan reflected that he belonged to the + hospital corps. There was a thrill about him not to be missed. + </p> + <p> + “Poltneck—he calls himself,” Dabnitz whispered. “Poltneck perhaps, + but I've seen him with the Imperial orchestra or I'm losing memory. I + didn't have a good look at him before—” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz was called by the General, who was seated with Doltmir over a + small collation with wine and bread. The lieutenant was requested to + arrange the inspiration for the men in the trenches. + </p> + <p> + Boylan noted how much taller the singer was than even the tall Russian + officer—as the two stood together. + </p> + <p> + “The men are very tired, Poltneck,” Dabnitz began. “Much has been required + of them, and much is still required. We want you to help us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + Poltneck had been looking about, interested as a kitten in a strange + house. He regarded Kohlvihr and the rest, the trace of a smile around his + mouth. The smile was still there as he turned quickly to Dabnitz with the + single questioning word, not contemptuous in itself, but Boylan imagined + it morally so. The voice furnished a second and very real thrill. + </p> + <p> + “We thought you would sing for your fellow soldiers. You are from the + peasantry, I am told?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, from the people.” + </p> + <p> + “We thought you would understand,” Dabnitz added. “There is an operatic + tenor in the command—one Chautonville. We might have sent for him, + but our thought was to reach the soldiers directly. It is a great honor.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? How and where do you want me to sing?” + </p> + <p> + “An advance is to be ordered immediately. We will send an escort with you + along the trenches—just before the order is given. I heard you + singing yesterday. I am sure the men will answer with zeal.” + </p> + <p> + Poltneck seemed to wilt. Boylan was caught with the others thinking it was + the mention of the trenches that frightened this hospital soldier. Yet the + smile had not changed when Boylan's eye roved to that. It was not more + contemptuous, nor less; but something about it was unsteadying. Dabnitz + already had used many more words than he expected. + </p> + <p> + “I am not used to crowds,” Poltneck objected weakly. “I am just a simple + man. Already I am without voice. I beg of you to send for Chautonville of + the opera.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz was puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “That is out of the question. Chautonville is back in the city. Within + twenty minutes the order for advance will be given. Come, Poltneck; you + will do very well when you see your soldiers—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan reflected swiftly at this point that the smile might be neither + deep nor portentous—a single accomplishment, some stray refinement + perhaps that had leaked back somehow to the people. + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I am afraid. I belong back among the wounded. I am very good + there. This is not my place—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you require men to assist you to the trenches? Already I have talked + too long.” + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday I was an anesthetic,” Poltneck wailed. “To-day I am to be a + stimulant.” + </p> + <p> + Kohlvihr now came forward. “It is time,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “General,” said Dabnitz, “we have to deal with an unusual peasant, I am + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “It would not do for me to encroach upon the work of professionals,” the + singer explained in dilemma. + </p> + <p> + “You see he is humorous,” Dabnitz observed. + </p> + <p> + “We sent for you to sing to the soldiers. Will you do that?” the General + asked, from puffing cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Poltneck looked down at him with sudden steadiness. “On the way home,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “You refuse—then?” + </p> + <p> + “I would prefer that you wound them first.” + </p> + <p> + “At least, he has declared himself,” said Dabnitz. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + They did not murder him then and there. Boylan was glad of that. His sack + was already full of blood.... It was all too big. Something would happen + to spoil the telling. No man ever got out with such a story.... He was a + little ashamed to find himself thinking of his newspaper story so soon + after the singer was led forth—the man who would sing for the + wounded, but who would not sing men to their death. Come to think—there + was a prostitution about it. Certainly Poltneck had a point of view. And + he was a hair-raiser of quality... everything about him. + </p> + <p> + Boylan thought of writing the Poltneck incident, and became hopeless + again. The Russians would be idiots to let him out alive. He did not + expect it. The only chance was that they couldn't see themselves. Perhaps + Kohlvihr thought he was a hero to-day. Doubtless he did.... One thing was + sure, he, Boylan, must sit tight with his enthusiasm for the Russian + force; must play it harder than ever—must play it for Peter Mowbray, + too. + </p> + <p> + “You fellows certainly have your troubles—front and back,” he said + to Dabnitz. “But I say, Lieutenant, you couldn't ask troops to go forward + better—you couldn't ask more of the Japanese in the business of + charges—” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't out in that service,” Dabnitz observed. + </p> + <p> + “Grand little bunch of celibates afield, those Japanese—religious + about these matters of using up hostile ammunition. Fact is, I never saw + white troops go out to a finish four times in one day—as yours did + to-day—out over their own dead, too—” + </p> + <p> + He was becoming genial; his heart quaking for Peter, as he thought + suddenly of the words aimed at Kohlvihr's throat, and of Peter's + association at the last with the man in the steward's blouse. ...Dabnitz + was unvaryingly courteous. + </p> + <p> + The advance was on again. Boylan went forth to see the repulse. The main + lines on either side had loosened to fill the gaps of Kohlvihr's division, + the much-torn outfits braced by the fresher infantrymen. On they went, a + last time, over the strewn land. + </p> + <p> + Boylan saw it all again; heard the drum of the batteries when the troops + reached the hollow of the valley; saw them change like figures on a + blurred screen; perceived the antics and the general settling—and + turned away.... + </p> + <p> + It was like the swoop of a carrion bird an instant afterward—and the + deafening strike. The Austrians had varied a little. A shrapnel battery + had been emplaced among the rapid-fire pieces during the recent interval. + A hundred yards down the works to the east landed the first finger of a + hand that groped for headquarters. Boylan watched for the second shell—one + eye, and as little besides as possible, above the rim of the trench now + deserted. It was the same tension and tallying of seconds that Peter had + known on the afternoon that the moon rose before the setting sun. Big Belt + ducked at the second scream. The explosion was nearer and a little back. + He returned to field headquarters just as a third shrapnel shivered the + land still nearer the bomb-proof pit. + </p> + <p> + Kohlvihr's face was gray as the fringe of his hair. He looked little and + aged. + </p> + <p> + “My compliments to the commander,” he was dictating, “...report that after + five advances we find enemy's front impregnable to infantry. Headquarters + now under shrapnel fire. We are forced to withdraw toward Judenbach—” + </p> + <p> + The dispatch rider was standing by. The dirt sprinkled down on their heads + through the wooden buttresses as another shrapnel broke outside. + </p> + <p> + “But the wounded, General. The field is alive with wounded—” came + from Doltmir. + </p> + <p> + “I can't send troops out there again—” The voice was thick and + hoarse with repression. “We'll get them at nightfall.... Gentlemen, we may + now withdraw.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan was one of the last to leave. He saw the aged legs disappear up the + earth-rise as the rear door opened. The legs jerked and twitched + spasmodically, as if taking an invisible spanking. + </p> + <p> + Boylan was actually afraid of his thoughts, lest they be read in his face—the + shocking personal business on Kohlvihr's part. “A little shrapnel or two + sends him quaking home, and <i>they</i> went out five times for him into + the very steam of hell.” + </p> + <p> + His brain kept repeating this in spite of him, so that he did not try to + overtake the staff. + </p> + <p> + And <i>they</i>—the poor last fragment of them—were piling + back toward Judenbach, leaving their wounded behind. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + Goylan was back in Judenbach. It was four in the afternoon. He had + searched everywhere for Peter Mowbray. The whole war zone was getting + blacker and blacker to his sight. He had even gone to the Grim House to + look for the white-fire creature who had taken his companion to her + breast, figuratively speaking; but neither she, nor the weak-shouldered + little chap who had brought the hospital steward's blouse, was there. + There remained Dabnitz, who more than any other was aware generally of + what passed. Big Belt returned to headquarters and waited. Darkness was + thickening before the Lieutenant came in. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mowbray?” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz came close and looked at the other sorrowfully. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known Mr. Mowbray?” + </p> + <p> + Boylan tried to think. His faculties were at large. According to facts he + had known Peter (and not at all intimately) during a mere ten weeks before + the column left Warsaw. Facts, however, hadn't anything to do with the + reality. Peter Mowbray was his own property. He said as much, his voice + going back on him. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Boylan, I have seldom been more hard hit. He was my friend, too. A + more charming and accomplished young American would be hard to find, but + we who are out for service, a life and death matter for our country, must + not let these things enter. Mr. Mowbray is affiliated in various ways with + our enemies—not the Austrians, but enemies more subtle and + insidious.” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake—Dabnitz!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it would hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + “You might just as well say it of me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. Your record stands. It was well known to us when you were + accepted to accompany our column. You will recall that it was your + estimate of Mr. Mowbray's superior that decided us to accept the younger + man—” + </p> + <p> + “I have been with Mowbray night and day. He is a newspaper man, brain and + soul—one of the coolest and most effective I have ever met. He has + been for years in Paris and Berlin, before Warsaw.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry. You did not know that he caught a young surgeon by the throat + this morning, when the former was very properly stimulating a malingerer?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not. But a personal matter ought not to weigh against a man's life—” + </p> + <p> + “You did not know that he was seen in somewhat extended conversation + yesterday and last evening with one of the most dangerous of our recent + discoveries among the revolutionists?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not.” + </p> + <p> + “Or that a woman came to him last night, in the heart of the night—and + talked long—and was called for by the same revolutionist; that Mr. + Mowbray went to her a little after daybreak this morning—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Dabnitz—a little romance! All night he was serving in the + hospital. I went out to find him this morning, and saw him turn into the + amputation house. Following, I saw him standing there.... He had probably + never seen her until last night. You know how some young fellows are. They—you + turn around—and they are in an affair—” + </p> + <p> + “But the two were overheard to speak of days in Warsaw together. It is not + such a little affair.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing of it, but is such a thing fatal?” + </p> + <p> + “She is under arrest with the other revolutionist that I mentioned—a + case against her that is hardly breakable—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan sat down, + </p> + <p> + “Of course you are aware—of the remark he made this morning in the + field headquarters? I saw how gallantly you tried to cover it. It was that + remark, by the way, which nearly cost the life of our General. The + hospital steward, took up the action as you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Dabnitz, I was shocked as you. Peter was beside himself. He had come in + from the field—the actuality of it. He forgot where he was. The + unparalleled energy of the General to win the day, you know—and + Peter had just come in from the hollows where the men lay—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Boylan, I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + For the first time, Big Belt felt the iron personality of the other. There + was something commercial in the manner of the last, a kind of ushering out + one who would not do. There are men who remain as aloof as the peaks of + Phyrges, though their words and intonations come down running softly out + of a smile. Boylan looked away, and then, with an inner groan, turned + back. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it is a mistake. The boy is as sound as—” + </p> + <p> + He couldn't finish. There were exceptions to everything he thought of. “I + want to see him,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try to manage that for you, a little later.” + </p> + <h3> + * * * + </h3> + <p> + It was darkening. In the front room of the house, Kohlvihr sat bung-eyed + by a telegraph instrument. The further strategy from Judenbach was still + in the dark to Boylan. He wished the heavens would fall. As never before, + he had the sense that he had pinned his life and faith to matters of no + account; not that Peter Mowbray belonged to these matters, but that he, + too, was meshed in them.... A shot from somewhere below in the town. + Boylan shivered. There was shooting from time to time for various + butchering reasons, but this particular shot was all Big Belt needed to + finish the picture. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they'll shoot the lad,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + The sentence remained in his brain in lit letters. + </p> + <p> + The States of America couldn't help him; even Mother Nature had turned her + face from this war.... “My dear Boylan, I'm sorry—” something + crippling in that. + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz returned, bringing a pair of saddle bags. + </p> + <p> + “They're Mr. Mowbray's,” he said. “His horse got loose and tangled himself + in a battery. One of the men brought in the bags.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Lieutenant,” said Boylan. + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz started to the door when Boylan called, “Oh, I say, did you look + through 'em?” + </p> + <p> + The Russian smiled deprecatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I needn't have asked that, but I wanted you to. I'll gamble + you didn't find anything—” + </p> + <p> + “A little book of poems by a man we're familiar with. A woman's name on + the front page—a woman we're familiar with. Nothing startling, Mr. + Boylan.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz was gone, the bags lying on the floor. Big Belt opened the nearest + flap. On top was a case containing a tooth brush and a pair of razors. + </p> + <p> + “Peter will want these,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. — THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + Peter walked ahead unbound. He could not keep his mind on the journey with + the sentry. His thoughts winged from Lonegan at Warsaw, to <i>The States''</i> + office and home, as if carrying the message of his own end.... Boylan + might finally break out with the details.... The personal part ended + suddenly, like an essential formality, leaving him a sorrow for Boylan and + his mother especially. His full faculties now opened to Berthe Wyndham. + </p> + <p> + He was ordered to turn twice to the left. They had left the little stone + court, entering the main street, and back again into the first side street + for a short distance to a narrow stairway, between low mercantile houses + now used for hospitals. Up the creaking way; the sentry within answered + the sentry without and opened the door. A long narrow room with a single + square of light from the roof, and Moritz Abel came forward. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” the poet said. “I had hoped—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we had hoped,” Peter replied with a smile. + </p> + <p> + Duke Fallows appeared from the shadows and hastily pressed his hand. Abel + had turned toward the square of light, as if there were still another. + </p> + <p> + She came forward like a wraith—into the light—and still toward + him, her lips parted, her eyes intent upon him. The sentry who had brought + him turned, clattered down the stairs. The door was shut by the other + sentry. Her lips moved, but there was nothing that he heard. With one hand + still in his, she turned and led him back under the daylight to the + shadows.... He heard Moritz Abel's voice repeating that he had been a poor + protector. Fallows spoke.... + </p> + <p> + There was much to it, hardly like a human episode—the silence so far + as words between them, the tragedy in each soul that the other must go; + the tearing readjustments to the end of all work in the world, and the + swift reversion of the mind to its innumerable broken ends of activity; + and above all, the deep joy of their being together in this last intense + weariness.... She wore her white veiled cap and apron; having followed the + summons from her work. There was a chair in the shadows, and she pressed + him down in her old way, and took her own place before him (as in her own + house) half-sitting, half-kneeling. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, I could not believe—until I touched you. I was praying just + here, that you would not come—” + </p> + <p> + “I am very grateful to be here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I was so lonely. I was afraid of death. Fallows talked to me and Moritz + Abel—but it did not do. I was thinking of you at the battle, as if + you were a thousand miles away—as if I were waiting, as a mother for + you, waiting for tidings with a babe in her arms—” + </p> + <p> + She paused and he said, “Tell me,” knowing that she must speak on. + </p> + <p> + “...It was just like that. I prayed that you would live—that you + would not be brought here—that the time would pass swiftly. We have + been here hours. They came for us soon after you went. We were all + together in that place—all at our work. They led us here through the + streets. It seemed very far. Something caught in the throat when the + soldiers looked at me. I know what my father felt when he kept saying, + 'It's all right. Yes, this is all right.' I know just how the surprise and + the amazement affected him from time to time, and made him say that.... + Then we were here. I wanted this darker chair. They came—I mean our + good friends—Fallows came and talked to me, and Moritz Abel, but it + wasn't what I seemed to need. Ah, Peter, I'm talking in circles—” + </p> + <p> + Something warned him that she was going to break, but he could not speak + quickly enough. The human frightened little girl that he had never seen + before in Berthe Wyndham, was so utterly revealing to his heart that he + was held in enchantment. She seemed so frail and tender, as she said + plaintively: + </p> + <p> + “We must be very dear to each other—” + </p> + <p> + There were tears in her eyes now, and her breast rose and fell with + emotion, as poignant to Mowbray as if it were his own. + </p> + <p> + “I did pray for them not to bring you here,” she added. “If I had not left + Warsaw, you would not be here now—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen—oh, Berthe, don't say that. Please, listen—” + </p> + <p> + The current was turned on in his brain, thoughts revolving faster and + faster: + </p> + <p> + “It would all have been a mere military movement if you had not come. I + would not have understood Spenski, nor the real Samarc, nor Kohlvihr as he + is, nor the charges of infantry. The coming of Moritz Abel, words I have + heard, the street, the singing, the field, the future—why, it's all + different because you came. I am not dismayed by this. I have had a great + life here. If this is our last day—the matter is lifted out of our + hands. And dear Berthe, what do you think it means to me—this last + hour together?” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean, Peter?' + </p> + <p> + “I look into your face, and know that I've found something the world tried + to make me believe wasn't here. Everything I did as a boy and man tried to + show me that there isn't anything uncommon in a man finding a woman. My + mother knew differently, but every time she wanted to tell me something + happened. Another voice broke in, or perhaps she saw I wasn't attentive or + ready. But I know now—and it didn't come to me until here in + Judenbach—” + </p> + <p> + “She must have known,” Berthe whispered. + </p> + <p> + Fallows drew near. He seemed calm but very weary. “May I bring up my chair + for a little while?” he asked as an old nurse might. + </p> + <p> + “Please do,” they said. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” Fallows answered, and returned with his wooden chair. “If you + change the subject I shall have to go.” + </p> + <p> + “I was just saying that I had found something in the world that my mother + knew all the time,” Peter explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, this is important. Moritz must come in,” Fallows told them. + </p> + <p> + They nodded laughingly. + </p> + <p> + “Moritz,” he called. “Here's a little boy and girl telling stories—very + important stories. You must hear.... We're all one, Peter Mowbray.” + </p> + <p> + They drew closer together. Berthe was watching Peter intensely, knowing + that it was his test, very far from his way. Then she remembered the + death-room, and that all things are changed by that. She sat very still, + trying to give him strength to go on. “I've always used my head,” he said, + “always explained why, and made diagrams. The one time I didn't use my + head—well, the best thing happened in my experience.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was in for it, and weathered gracefully. + </p> + <p> + “You'll forgive me,” he said, when they asked to know. “I was thinking of + meeting Berthe Wyndham. I saw her one day passing through the Square in + Warsaw near the river corner. Well, it all came about, because I went + there again the next day at the same time—” + </p> + <p> + He was a little breathless, but the glad and eager sincerity of his + listeners helped him, and he wanted more than all to lift Berthe if he + could. + </p> + <p> + “I could not help thinking of that when I recalled another little matter + yesterday—in Judenbach. Once when we were little, my brother Paul + and I quarreled. My mother and I were alone afterward. I told her of the + tragedy. Everything seemed lost since I had lost Paul. She said, 'Some + time you will find your real playmate, if you are good and search very + hard.' I suppose she has forgotten. I forgot for years. But it came to me + here.... You see I never suffered before, never was tested, everything + came smoothly, everything covered up—” + </p> + <p> + “You are good to let us listen,” Fallows said quietly. He was staring at + the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Here in Judenbach the relations of all other days began to match up. It + was as if the whole war was to show <i>me</i>, each department carried on + clearly. I didn't know a man could stand so much. Day before yesterday + morning, I wanted to quit. I had a kind of madness from it all—an + ache that wouldn't break or bleed, and was driving the life out of me. I + found the way out by going into the hospital. I had to forget myself or go + under.... When it seemed all over to-day, and the sentry was marching me + here (you see I had gone back to the house of amputations and couldn't + find any of you, and then to the Court of Execution, and you were not + there), it was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be described, when + I found you here—” + </p> + <p> + Fallows straightened his head and blinked. + </p> + <p> + “'It was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be described,'” he + repeated. “We know that. This is too fine.” + </p> + <p> + Peter laughed. He was thinking of what Lonegan had said on the night he + came back from Berthe's door, after she had asked him not to come in.... + “Peter, you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your fires—not + even how well you bank 'em.” + </p> + <p> + They seemed to require further talk from him. He did not want the two men, + sorry they had drawn up their chairs. His heart was very tender to them—Fallows + and Abel, and the woman who had changed him. They were before him now as + messengers from the benignant empire of the future—strange strong + souls gathered together now in waiting at the end of a road.... He told + them of the bomb-proof pit, the naked animalism of Kohlvihr, the infantry + advances and of Samarc. Presently his heart was light again, the pent + forces of expression springing gladly into use. + </p> + <p> + “...The laughable thing about it,” he finished, “—the thing that + held me speechless as Samarc left my side there in the dark corner of the + pit—was that just a few minutes before Kohlvihr had promised to see + that the Little Father decorated him. He had almost reached the General + when my throat worked, and I called, 'Samarc.' It was as if he didn't hear + me. Nothing would have stopped him. It was his idea, yet I think he meant + only to stop the order of another infantry advance. He had ceased to kill, + you know....” + </p> + <p> + Peter ended it hastily. They were all interested to know why Samarc was to + have been decorated. This opened the earlier part of the day, and his + strange wandering with Samarc among the hills—the magic of the + hospital steward's coat, the scent of the cedars, and Peter's persistent + sense of Berthe's nearness. + </p> + <p> + “Actually, I had to stop and think,” he explained. “Each time I fell into + an abstraction, it struck me that she was there. It seems yesterday, too—” + </p> + <p> + “I was just here,” Berthe said. “It was soon after we came. We were all + quiet at first—in different corners—” + </p> + <p> + “Slipping away in that loneliness,” Fallows suggested. + </p> + <p> + “As for me,” said Moritz Abel, “I had to make peace with myself. We have + been very busy the last few days. I have discovered that I am a bit of a + coward at heart—and I missed having something to do—” + </p> + <p> + They smiled at him. “Perhaps I was out there,” Berthe said. “Perhaps I was + only sitting here—” + </p> + <p> + It was a queer matter that the three men, each of whom would have given + his life to save the woman's, to all appearances accepted the fact of her + as one of them in courage and control. It was Abel who mentioned the + singer, Poltneck, whom Peter had not met. He had been left in the hospital + when the others were taken; yet he had been one in all their interests and + the most reckless and outspoken of all in his hatred of slaughter. They + did not understand, but hoped he would be saved. + </p> + <p> + “He's a magician,” Abel said. “He sang to them yesterday—as they + bore the knife. He seemed to hold them in the everlasting arms. It was + worth living to witness that, but I'm afraid Poltneck will come to us. + He's got the fury. Hearing that we are gone, he will start something—if + only to join us. Then there will be no one to escape with the story. It + troubles me.... If Mr. Mowbray were only free. Doesn't it seem that our + brothers should hear the story?” + </p> + <p> + His voice broke a little. His brow was wet. + </p> + <p> + Fallows came back from the ceiling, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Moritz, my boy, all is well with us. That which is true is immortal.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + Abel reflected. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said presently, “but we have not fulfilled our purpose.... You + know, we set out in high courage to start the army back home again—and + now, here we are.” + </p> + <p> + “A man named Columbus set out to discover a short passage to India and + found a New World. Really my son—these are not our affairs. We have + done what we could.... Once I wanted the world to answer abruptly to my + service—to speak up sharp. But I have made terms—hard terms we + all must make. This is it—to do our part the best we can, and keep + off the results. They are God's concern, Moritz.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “When I was younger,” Fallows went on, “I wanted to make a circle of light + around the world. I thought they must see it, as I did. And often I left + my friends discussing my failure. But once I came home and looked into the + eyes of a little boy—a little peasant child named Jan. I saw that + his love for me had awakened his soul.... Man, these matters are managed + with a finer art than we dream of. The work is the thing.” Peter swung + into the larger current. They had all been cold. Fallows was burning for + them. The ice and the agony were melting from each heart. + </p> + <p> + “We think all is going wrong. We sit and breathe our failures often when + the celestial answer is in the air. If we were not so obtuse and fleshly, + we could see the quickening of light about us. We have had our hours here. + We have breathed the open. A very huge army is about us, and we are thrust + aside. It would seem that we and our little story are lost in the great + brute noise. Why, Moritz, these things that we have thought and dreamed + will rise again in the midst of a world that has forgotten the tread of + armies.” + </p> + <p> + They heard a voice in the street—a running step upon the stair. + Queerly it happened in that instant of waiting, that Peter heard the sound + of dropping water beyond the partition—drip, drip, drip, upon a + tinny surface. Berthe had risen, and followed Fallows and Abel to the + door. A moment later Poltneck, the singer, was with them, and the sentry + who brought him took his post with the other at the entrance. He freed + himself from them, and strode alone to the front of the room, where he + sat, face covered in his hands, weaving his head to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “You do not well to welcome me,” he groaned at last. “I should have been + in a cell alone—not here among friends. You see in me the most + abject failure—a mere music-monger who forgot his greater work.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell us—” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer at once. They led him back into the shadows where Peter + and Berthe had been; gathered closely about, so their voices would not + carry. + </p> + <p> + “We were hoping not to see you,” said Abel, “yet sending our dearest + thoughts. What you have done is good, and we will not be denied a song. + Speak, Poltneck—” + </p> + <p> + “I was all right till you went. I was thinking of everything—but + then I became blind. The work in the hospitals palled. I did not do what I + could. They saw I was different, and watched closely. That made me mad. I + am a fool to temper and pride. All I have is something that I did not earn—something + thrust upon me that makes sounds. The rest is emptiness. In fact there + must be emptiness where sounds come from—” + </p> + <p> + “We know better than that,” said Fallows. “Tell us and we will judge.” + </p> + <p> + Poltneck straightened up and met the eyes of Peter. “This is the + correspondent?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He came up from the field this morning and in looking for us—fell + under suspicion,” Berthe explained. + </p> + <p> + The long hard arm stretched out to Peter, who still was somewhat at sea, + as Boylan had been, and afraid that he detected a taint of the dramatic. + </p> + <p> + “I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit,” Poltneck declared. “In fact, + I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps two hours or + more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when they sent for me. I + thought it a summons, of course, such, as you—” + </p> + <p> + He glanced at the faces about him, and continued: + </p> + <p> + “But instead of leading me in the direction you had taken, the sentry bade + me mount a horse at the door, and we rode rapidly down to the edge of the + valley, to Kohlvihr's headquarters—a pestilential place sunken in + the ground and covered with sods. There they broke it to me what was + wanted—” + </p> + <p> + His listeners began to understand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was to sing to the lines,” Poltneck added. “It appears they had + been driven back several times, leaving their dead and wounded in such + numbers on the field—officers and men—that there was some + hesitation about the expediency of trying it again. Not, however, in the + bomb-proof pit. Kohlvihr was of a single mind, determined to make his + reputation as man-indomitable at the expense of his division. A patchy old + rodent of a man— + </p> + <p> + “I was to be used to sing the men forward. Great God, they didn't see the + difference from singing to wounded men, to men under the knife without + sleep, to dying men and to homesick bivouacs—from this that they + asked. It is my devil. I played with them. I made them think I was afraid. + I made them think I was simple. One of them told me of the tenor + Chautonville with the army. I played to that. It was very petty of me to + get caught in this cleverness, because that's how I fell—” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't sing the lines into a new advance?” Fallows asked. His face + looked lined and gray as he leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't do that. But I made them wait to find out. I was so occupied + with repartee and acting that I failed to seize the real chance of all the + world. I told them I had been tried out as an anesthetic, but was not sure + of myself in an opposite capacity. I begged them to send for the member of + imperial orchestra stars—” + </p> + <p> + Poltneck's self-scorn was vitriolic as he now spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I told them I was a poor simple man afraid of great numbers, abased even + before wounded, but that if they would wound the men first I would try. It + was this that betrayed me—the joy of astonishing. Oh, they were + without humor. It goes with the army—to be without humor. Really, + you would have been dumfounded at the brittleness of mind which I + encountered in the bomb-proof pit.... Of course, it had to come. It dawned + on them—what I meant, and what the real state of my scorn was—at + least, in part. And I was taken away, very pleased with myself and joyous—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not see where you failed. Where, where?” Berthe asked. + </p> + <p> + It was Fallows who understood first—even before Abel and Peter, who + was not so imbued with the specific passion of the revolutionist. + </p> + <p> + “I was here—back in the city when it came to me what I might have + done. And so clearly the cause of the failure was shown to me,” Poltneck + said, with a humility that touched Peter deeply, for his first thought had + vanished before the fact that Poltneck neither in the action nor the + narrative had once thought of his own life or death. + </p> + <p> + “I should have gone out to the lines and met the men face to face. Oh, it + is hard—hard that I did not think of it, for I could have sung them + home, instead of on into the valley. We might have been marching back now—all + the lines crumbling—the bomb-proof pit squashed!” + </p> + <p> + The final stroke fell upon him this instant. None of the others had + thought of it. + </p> + <p> + “And these—doors! Living God, we could have opened these doors!” + </p> + <p> + Their hands went out to him. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + A basket of food was sent in during the early afternoon. They gathered + about, making a place for the woman under the light. Abel was brighter, + his eyes full of tenderness. Poltneck had not long been able to hold out + in his misery against the philosophy of Fallows, who said as they broke + the bread: + </p> + <p> + “We have spoken our testimony, and the big adventure is ahead. It's + against the law to look back. We are honored men. I am proud to be here, + proud of a service that requires no herald. In all my dreaming in the + little cabin in the Bosks I could think of no rarer thing than this—five + together, a singer, a poet, a peasant, and two lovers. It's like a + pastoral—but the dark suffering army is about us. ... Listen to the + fighting. ... But there will be an end to fighting? ... Our Poltneck may + already have sung the song to turn the armies back. Be very sure, he would + have thought of his <i>coup</i> in time to-day, had the hour struck for + that. Sing to us now, my son. Your soul will come home to you. Sing to us—<i>The + Lord Is Mindful of His Own</i>—” + </p> + <p> + It was started as one would answer a question—food in his hand, and + his eyes turned upward—a song of the Germans, too, the music of + Mendelssohn. + </p> + <p> + ... It became very clear to the five that the plan was good, that nothing + mattered but the inner life, and that the soul breathes deeply and comes + into its own immortal health, by man's thought and service to his brother. + They saw it again—that goodly rock of things. The light was shining + above. Their eyes filled with tears, and their hands touched each others' + like children in a strange hush and shadow. ... + </p> + <p> + They heard a ragged volley of platoon fire from the distant court, but it + did not hold their thoughts from the song nor change a note. The huge + sandy head was turned upward, and the hand with its bit of broken bread + moved to and fro. ... + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + Boylan went back to headquarters again, but his nerve was breaking. He did + not feel at one with the staff this afternoon, rather as a stranger who + wanted something which the great brute force was unwilling to give. He was + full of fears and disorders, as if all the eyes of men were searching his + secret places. He told the sentry that he would like to see Lieutenant + Dabnitz, and gave his name, much as a trooper would. He sat cold and + breathing hard for many minutes—an outsider, as never before. + Dabnitz came at last. Big Belt arose and clutched his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Lieutenant,” he said. “I'll spend my life to prove you wrong about Peter + Mowbray. I'll get the United States of America to thank you and General + Kohlvihr, and the army for your kindness—if you spare him. I don't + care to go to him—unless I can take him word. My God, Lieutenant, + you mustn't shoot that boy! We've ridden together, all three. There's so + much death without that. He's innocent as a babe of any revolutionary + principle. I'll give America the greatest Russian story that—” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Boylan, believe me, you are wrong. They are deep as hell against + us. You need not trouble, for they are happy as children at a birthday + party—with Poltneck singing and all joined hands—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan's knees bent to the seat. + </p> + <p> + “But we will not disturb them for the time. We will let you know,” said + Dabnitz. “It would be a shame to interrupt such a pleasant party. + Judenbach will be our headquarters for one more night.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + Moritz Abel was saying: + </p> + <p> + “... There is one perfect story in the world. It will bear the deepest + scrutiny of mind or matter or soul. Physically it is exact; mentally it + balances; spiritually it is the ultimate lesson. You will find in it all + that you need to know about Christianity, for it is the soul of that; the + one thing that was not in the world before the Christ came. You will learn + in it who is your Father; who your Brother is, and who your Neighbor. + </p> + <p> + “It will impart to you the clear eye for shams and material offices and + for the peril of fancied chosen peoples. From it you will draw the cosmic + simplicity of good actions, and a fresh and kindling hatred for the human + animal of grotesque desire. + </p> + <p> + “Children grasp it with thrilling comprehension; it silences the critical + faculty of the intellectuals and animates the saint to tears of ecstasy, + even to martyrdoms. It expresses the dream of peace alike for nations and + men. It is a globe. You can go it blind, and win—following the + spirit of the Good Samaritan.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> + <p> + The light was gray that came down through the skylight. Abel and Poltneck + and Fallows sat on the floor in the front end, because there were not + chairs for all. Back in the shadows sat Berthe and Peter. + </p> + <p> + “...I think we will be a little bewildered,” she was saying, “as one + awakening from a dream, as one awakening in the sunlight. One stirs, you + know, and shuts the eyes again. The reality dawns slowly—if the + house is quiet.... It will be very quiet. We have been used to the + cannonading so long, and the cries in the night. It will take us a moment + to realize that it is all over. I think I see just how it will be then. I + will have that sense of the glad unknown—that something long + anticipated is about to happen. You know how it comes to one upon + awakening, when something perfect is to happen—the presence of it, + before one remembers just what it is?” + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded in the shadow. + </p> + <p> + “And then I will remember. It will be you. I will really open my eyes—and + you will be there!” + </p> + <p> + Something of her fire came to him. + </p> + <p> + “You are sure it will be like that—afterward?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + Her voice and lips trembled. “You ask just like a little child, Peter. It + is the little child in you that strikes the heart. Don't you really + believe in the <i>afterward?”</i> + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I can't see it quite clearly, you know, as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think it is all wayward and stupidly arranged as the army would + like to do it—do you?” + </p> + <p> + They laughed softly together, but she wanted him to see it, as she did, + “Because,” she said, “if you do, we will be together more quickly. I would + have to go and find you, if you didn't come——” + </p> + <p> + “I should want to come,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + He followed her eyes beyond the twilight from the roof, to the face of + Fallows, seen indistinctly in the shadows. It was like the figure of a + Hindu holy man sitting there so low, his hands raised palms upward, his + voice just audible. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” she said, her hand falling upon Peter's. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't so much their death that is the great wrong to the soldiers by + the Fatherland. A man may do worse than die, at any time. It's the death + of hate the Fatherland inspires—the fighting death—the + going-down with blood-madness and hatred for the men of another country—not + enemies at all, no harm exchanged whatsoever between them. It is such + deaths that make the world hard to breathe in—the death of preying + animals. But all that is passing. These battles had to come at the last to + hurry it away....” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I wanted to say, Peter,” Berthe whispered eagerly.... + “Fallows is greater than any,—an inspirer. He will go out with his + dream for men, strong and bright. Do you think that is the same as dying + the fighting death—with a curse and a passion for the death of men + whom you have never seen face to face?” + </p> + <p> + “It's quite all right, you know,” said Peter. “I'm keen enough to see it + through, but it's a closed door yet. However, there's something deathless + about a woman like you—yes, I'm sure of that——” + </p> + <p> + Her hands pressed his swiftly. “Then you may be very sure, there's + something deathless in the man she loves.... Listen, Fallows is talking + about your country now:” + </p> + <p> + “... Russia is the invader, but America is the temple of the new spirit. + America must reanimate the world after this war. I believe she is being + born again now.... She was bred right. There is always that to fall back + upon. She was founded upon the principles of liberty and service to the + distressed. No other nation can say that. But America must lose the love + of self, must cease to be a national soul and become the nucleus of the + world soul of the future. Otherwise all that was holy in her conception is + dead, and the passion of her prophets is without avail. + </p> + <p> + “There is a time for the development of the national soul, but ahead on + the road is the world soul, the true Fatherland. The precious whisper is + abroad that more sins have been committed in the name of patriotism than + any other. The time will come when this little orbit and its slaying + delusions will be well back among the provincialisms; not a bad word in + itself, rather a lost meaning through abuse. + </p> + <p> + “Over a century ago the inspired Fichte addressed the Germans in a series + of documents charged with the most exalted enthusiasm for the future of + his people, on the basis of such a Fatherland that the only living answer + could be the superb affiliation of men. For years and decades the gleam of + that spiritual ignition endured there. Carlyle, not a countryman, saw it + and made it blaze with the fuel of his genius. It seems dead to Prussia + now, but that gleam shall never die. Some strong youth on the road to + Damascus shall be struck to the ground by its radiance and arise to carry + the light to the Gentiles. + </p> + <p> + “There must be such a voice in America now. I seem to feel the new genius + of America, not yet in its prime, hardly articulate as yet, but rapidly + maturing in these days of unparalleled suffering. They will interpret the + New Age. They will meet the New Russia face to face. I think they are + watching for us now. The bond is thicker than blood. They will see the + future of Europe written upon these millions, now the invaders from the + cold lands of poverty. I think they will hold the spirit until we come. + </p> + <p> + “All that was true of Germany when Fichte addressed his countrymen is true + of America in this hour. All the physical and spiritual pressures of the + European disruption are turned upon the temple of America to drive out the + money-changers and make it the house of God.” + </p> + <p> + Fallows' voice softened. He was talking of America with the passion of an + exile. He loved the thoughts of her good, as he loved the peasants about + him. The room was still. + </p> + <p> + “It is a time for heroics,” he added. “America is emancipating her genius, + not only from herself, but from the thrall of the old world's decadence. + Do you think there is nothing fateful in the destructive energy that is + rubbing out ancient landmarks? Rather it would seem that the old and the + unclean has played its part, and may not be used in the new spiritual + experiment. I want to hear America's new song—the song of the New + Age—the unspoiled workmen at their task. They will sing as they + lift.... Yes, we shall hear the song of the New Age. Since the pilgrims + sang together, no such thrilling harmony shall move that western land. + They shall be singing it for Russia when we come.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes me so ashamed,” Berthe whispered after a moment, “when I think + of my weakness to-day, when you came. But, Peter, oh, I didn't want you to + come——” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't be ashamed,” he said. “It gave me something from you that I + couldn't have had without it. There was plenty to hold a man in wonder—your + zeal to do for others, and the exaltations, but to-day you were down in my + valley, in the earth bottoms, just seeing in the human light, your wings + tired. It was the best moment of the pilgrimage, Berthe—the + deepest.” + </p> + <p> + Peter had wanted to tell her that. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + Big Belt stood before a man of his own size—Lornievitch, the + Commander of commanders, Himself. + </p> + <p> + It was night. Boylan had plunged into a new vat of power, and persuaded + Dabnitz to furnish an escort from Judenbach, four miles to the east to the + main headquarters of the Galician army. + </p> + <p> + Rows of sleepy stenographers in the outer room of a broad shepherd's house + in a little hill village—a web of wires on the low ceiling, + lanterns, candles, field 'phones and telegraph tickers, none altogether + subsided; as much routine as in the management of a state—the center + of this monster battle-line—to say nothing of the spectacular. + </p> + <p> + The two men now filled a small inner room. Lornievitch spoke English—an + English much to the caller's liking. Perhaps it was the bond of bulk + between them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and so you are Boylan of the <i>Rhodes?</i>—what is it, Mr. + Boylan? We are very busy.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a young friend of <i>The States”</i> he began and talked for three + minutes—talked until Lornievitch squirmed and his aides hurried + forward ready to assist. + </p> + <p> + “And what does Kohlvihr say?” + </p> + <p> + “I had to speak to him through an interpreter. I could not get the answer + I wanted. He has had a terrible day. The life of one American is too small + for discussion there—” + </p> + <p> + “And you have come here to me. Meanwhile, on the wire is the young man's + case—a love affair with a revolutionist—and a sort of + be-damned to the Russian army. You are a strong man, doubtless a brave one—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan was fighting for Peter's life as he would not have fought for his + own; and yet he warmed to the commander—fibers all through him + warming—something of man-business about this office that made the + headquarters at Judenbach look sinister and den-like. It was just his hope + in all likelihood. + </p> + <p> + “But Mr. Boylan,” Lornievitch added, “what would you do in my case? + There's big action, front, side, within. They have a case against the + others—and he is one of them.” + </p> + <p> + “He may be one in a momentary infatuation—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Boylan—this is no time for girls!” + </p> + <p> + “I grant you that, sir. But he is not a revolutionist. I've slept and + ridden with him night and day. His paper wouldn't pay for cigarettes to do + other than tell the story from the army end. If he's gone <i>loco,</i> + I'll take him home under my arm—” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Boylan, what do you want of him this way? He's a newspaper + competitor—” + </p> + <p> + “Mowbray got to me. Didn't try to, but he's there. Took the field as if it + had been his work always. He's a friend, clever, courageous, a gentleman + always, clean cut, a laugh, a hand—and a boy over it all. I didn't + know—until I found him in danger. I couldn't feel worse if I were + his old woman—I am twice his age, damn near—” + </p> + <p> + “You're invincible, Boylan. I'll tell you this: I feel better. That's + worth something. Things look black here in the valleys. Something human I + needed, in your coming. Go back now. Nothing will be done until the + morning. We've had to shoot Austrian spies all day. Caught 'em red-handed. + I feel red-handed, too. Go back, and before to-morrow morning I'll get an + order over to straighten him out from the others—before final action + is taken. Maybe I'll look him over myself. Good night.... Oh, I say, Mr. + Boylan—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, General.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it doesn't matter. I was just thinking I'd like to have one friend + like young what's-his-name of <i>The States</i> has—” + </p> + <p> + “Mowbray—Mowbray—don't forget the name, General—” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan put his soul in it. He loved the Russians. It was far this side of + midnight, but he smelled the dawn. + </p> + <p> + Back in his own quarters, as he yawned largely at the flickering shadows + of the freshly-lit candle, he noted Peter's saddle bags on the floor, and + considered that it might be well to get them over to-night. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> + <p> + Peter walked the room, a changing star or two in the windy skylight; a + candle in the center by the stair-door where the sentry stood; Berthe + watching him steadily from her chair. The others at the far end looked up + occasionally. They were talking low-toned. Poltneck had been singing + folk-songs—pure spirit of the boat and cradle, of the march and the + marriage and the harvest, of the cruel winter and the pregnant warmth + again; songs that had come up from the soil and stream and the simple + heart of man, older than Mother Moscow, old beyond any human name to + attach to them. True and anonymous, these songs. The lips that first sung + them never knew that they had breathed the basic gospel which does not + die, but moves from house to house around the world. Indeed, the melodies + were born of the land and the sky, like the mist that rises from the earth + when the yellow sun comes up from the south, and the “green noise” of + spring breaks the iron cold. + </p> + <p> + The moment had come when Peter could not sit still. Berthe was never so + dear, but he could not stay. He held the three men in true full comrade + spirit, but he could not sit with them now. He had nothing to fear; all + was quite well. + </p> + <p> + He was thinking of America, that she was “bred right”; that some change + might be upon her now, something akin to his own transformation. Was there + a bond thicker than blood between America and the New Russia? Word had + reached the field that Russia had put away her greatest devil in a day. A + nation is to be reckoned with that makes her changes thus at a sweep. Had + Russia not freed fifty million slaves at one stroke of the pen—that + great emancipation of Alexander? And Russia now held the Earth's mighty + energy of fecundity—an ultimate significance here; for this guest + invariably comes before a people has reached its meridian, and not + afterward.... His companions of the death cell were touching the truth; + this dark suffering army was the Europe of the future—the Russian + voice that would challenge America to answer brother to brother. + </p> + <p> + The folk songs were singing in his soul, and the lines of Abel's <i>We Are + Free,</i> the friendships of Spenski and Samarc, of these in the room, and + the love of Berthe Wyndham. + </p> + <p> + All had prevailed. The culmination was now. He thought of the actuality of + to-morrow, but without terror, or blankness. It would seem that he were + leaving all this; that America, Russia, friendship, the love of woman, + were no longer his portion; yet he seemed closer than ever to them. It was + as Fallows said, “These things are immortal.” Perhaps this very room, and + this, the greatest of his days in the world, would be pictured by some one + to come, as clearly and as magically as he saw it all now; by some young + workman of the reconstruction, after the red horse of war was driven back + forever. + </p> + <p> + He was sustained. The sense came clearly that nothing men might do could + cause him harm. He felt even that his mother would some time know how well + he had come to understand her at the last. Everything was answered by the + mystic future. It was all there; all would be told. + </p> + <p> + “Why, to-morrow,” he exclaimed aloud suddenly, “why, to-morrow, we will + laugh at today.” + </p> + <p> + They were about him. They seemed to understand all that had brought his + words, as if they had followed his thoughts to the same apostrophe. ...He + was laughing in the midst of them. + </p> + <p> + “I think it must have been the singing and all,” he said breathlessly. “It + got away from me. It has all been too fine to-day. I don't see—I + really don't—how I managed to earn it all.” + </p> + <p> + A step upon the stair, slow and heavy, a step that Peter Mowbray knew. The + companion sentry had remained below at the street door, and now called to + his fellow of the guard to open. ...Peter was abashed before his friend + like a child that had disobeyed, and come to believe that he knew better + than the father. It was Big Belt at midnight. + </p> + <p> + “I brought your shaving-tackle,” he said. “Hello, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + The face in the thin ray looked like polished metal. + </p> + <p> + “Come in.” Peter had him by the hand, which was easily pulled across the + threshold, but the body didn't move. + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't come in—” + </p> + <p> + “Boylan, come in!... I want you to meet—” + </p> + <p> + “No. I'll see you in the morning.... For God's sake, don't look so happy, + and keep your mouth shut.... Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + A curtain had fallen before the glowing future. Peter couldn't raise it + again. He tried to restore his laugh and light-heartedness for the others, + but it was a mockery. The world had come in all its chaos and mad fatigue. + All that he had said was without meaning. The singing was over. Berthe + gave him her hand as he returned to the dark corner. She did not speak, + for a moment, and then only to say: + </p> + <p> + “How sensitive we are!” + </p> + <p> + All the weariness that he had ever known came upon him, gathering together + for descent, pressing out vitality, leaving him cold and undone. + </p> + <p> + “You are very tired,” she whispered. “Perhaps we can rest a little. The + three are resting.” Then a little later, like a child half-asleep, she + added, “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + It was her good-night. + </p> + <p> + Throughout that short night he dreamed of cedar boughs and pungent autumn + air; flurries of snow falling from wide pine branches. There was gray in + the skylight when he awoke. Berthe was near, her cheek against his saddle + bags, which he had placed for her the last thing. Very white and small her + face looked as she slept, her hands folded under her chin.... Peter + watched, his eyes becoming accustomed to the faint light. The white cap + lay near, a different and imperfect white compared to her flesh; and the + soft deep night of her hair seemed to him of sufficient loveliness for any + world. A girl asleep—and such a faith had they known. There was a + beauty about it all that rebuked the actuality of the place and the town + and the soldiery. + </p> + <p> + Misery began deep in his heart, welled up to his throat, blurring his + eyes, resolving his whole nature almost past resistance; that a love-woman + still without her chance, without her child, so fair and unafraid, who had + asked so little for herself and so much for the world—should be + brought to the shame and the shot of fools. A flutter of eyes. Mowbray + gripped his self-control with every ounce of force. He would hold her in + his power of will while she met the issue of the day, and its first cruel + thought. Her brow contracted a little, as if through some passing pain.... + The dawn of a smile that pursed her lips to speak his name, met his kiss + instead. He held her face between his hands, smiling at her, while the + realization came. + </p> + <p> + <i>“Dear Peter—it's the day of our journey—”</i> + </p> + <p> + He brushed the lather in gratefully with cold water. The touch of the + razor gave him a queer pang such as he had never met before. + </p> + <p> + “You're just a boy,” Berthe remarked.... “It must make one feel clean. It + has been years since I was present—” + </p> + <p> + The others were now awake. They made merry over the shaving, all taking + turns, even Fallows, the last and the longest. Indeed he had scarcely + finished before their first test came. It was like a whip—that step + upon the stair, but only a sentry with tea and bread. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 9 + </h2> + <p> + A gray dawn, an east wind with a driving mist, a miserable day afield in + every promise, and Big Belt had missed none of these portents since the + full darkness. With the first relief of the morning-guard at headquarters, + he was there. Dabnitz appeared and smiled grimly. The wire was already + busy; Kohlvihr came in unsteadily, the old fume about him that made Boylan + lick his lips. His own nerves had been badly wrenched. He could have + relished a stimulant, but he hadn't thought of it alone. + </p> + <p> + “You're looking for word from the Commander?” Dabnitz asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So are we. It's up to him to-day. We're a mere wisp of what we were—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan simulated interest. There was but one idea in his world, however. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” Dabnitz added. “The Commander asked for full particulars + this morning at three. They were sent to him—Mr. Mowbray's case—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan jerked up his chin. Of late, his woolen collar had apparently + shrunk. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't heard yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. We're waiting—” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing will be done until you hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in Mowbray's case. The others—the others have had tea.... They + are very quiet this morning—no singing.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan hated him for that, a momentary but scarring hatred.... The field + telephone began. Presently it occupied the steady swift attention of a + stenographer whose pages were put on the machine and handed in strips to + the staff members, like a last-minute news story to compositors. ...One of + the hardest things Boylan ever did was to speak to Dabnitz as follows: + “I'd better be there if you take the others and leave—leave Peter + Mowbray. He's impulsive. You wouldn't want a scene—you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute—I think your matter is on the wire,” Dabnitz said, + drawing back to the telegraph. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he nodded, and a moment later handed Big Belt this message: + </p> + <p> + “My compliments to Mr. Boylan and assurances of excellent regard. I have + found the favor he asks, however, altogether out of my power to grant.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan's jaw dropped; his mouth filled with saliva. Dabnitz said + something, “...desperately sorry... couldn't possibly have ended another + way.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come—this won't do,” Big Belt muttered queerly. He was not + answering Dabnitz, but commanding himself.... He swallowed again and + turned: + </p> + <p> + “You will have charge of the affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doubtless. It will be very short—” + </p> + <p> + “I will wait for you below. Of course, I'll want to be there, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know,” Dabnitz sighed. + </p> + <p> + Boylan was standing below. He heard distant firing through the rain in the + direction of the field.... Lornievitch had doubtless begun a flank + movement. Kohlvihr would lick his wounds in Judenbach for another day. + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz appeared from the stairway, a paper in his hand. He dispatched a + sentry to the barracks for a platoon, and stood waiting impatiently for + its coming. Big Belt, in the door of his quarters a few paces distant, + swallowed again.... It might delay matters.... The black fact was that it + would not do more.... + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, Lieutenant, come here a moment, please. I want to show you + something—” + </p> + <p> + Boylan led the Russian in, and turned. The place was empty. Dabnitz + regarded him wearily—then with sudden amazement. + </p> + <p> + It was a kind of bear reaching. He was pulled down, his face smothered in + a woolen shirt that covered a breast like cushioned stone. The building + must have fallen. The hands were neither rough nor swift, but they pawed + him with a kind of power that turned him to vapor. There was one finger + upon his backbone at the neck that shut off the life currents.... Dabnitz + opened his eyes presently—a choking wad of paper in his mouth. The + mammoth looked down upon him and said: + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I had to have a chance to think.” + </p> + <p> + At this instant Boylan saw the paper that the Russian had carried. It had + fluttered to the floor, Kohlvihr's signature in plain view. The weights + that beset the American had now to do with the uselessness of it all. He + had rendered the momentary order and its bearer ineffectual; he might + possibly divert the platoon. But the great one-eyed system was all about, + knowing its single task of destruction. It would turn back to that piece + by piece—until the task was done. Yet while he lived, Boylan could + not let it go on, in this specific instance. He was fighting the Russian + army now; that die was cast; the one thing to do was to keep Peter Mowbray + alive as long as possible. He went about further details without hope, + however. + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz was carefully bound and lifted to the corner in the midst of + saddles and kit. An extra strip was fastened around his chin to prevent + the ejection of the gag. Big Belt spoke steadily and softly as he worked: + </p> + <p> + “You're a good soldier. You play your game to the seeds. I have no + objection to you. When it's all over I'll think of you—as a corking + field man. You've been good to us, too—everything you could do to + make us comfortable and to help us see the wheels go round.... Only this + one little thing. Perhaps you think I take it too seriously—this + Mowbray thing. Perhaps I do. That's my funeral.... Wow, and I was merely + speaking figuratively!... In any event I'm not a nihilist. I've only got + Mowbray on the brain.... I've hurt you as little as possible. I won't + leave you here long, my boy. I wasn't rough with you. You must have seen + that—” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz's eyes rolled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see I couldn't have a whole lot of noise. There's the true + official timbre in your voice, Lieutenant.... Now you're snug, and the + platoon is served in the street.... Look what's here! I'm a careless hand—six-shooter + and belt. You'll rest more comfortably with 'em off. And a bit of a sword? + I'll take that, too. ...I won't be long, Dabnitz.” + </p> + <p> + He went forth carrying the paper. “Lieutenant was called to another task,” + he said haltingly to the enlisted officer in charge. “Hold your men here, + until I come—” + </p> + <p> + The firing was intense valleyward. Boylan felt the need of thinking + further and dashed into the headquarters' stairway. There were excited + voices above, and he made haste to see. Kohlvihr was wild-eyed in the + center of the upper room—the telegraph ticking nervously, half of + his staff bending with extraordinary intensity over the birth of a certain + message.... What they wanted came over the 'phone. + </p> + <p> + Boylan saw four Russian officers rush to the 'phone from the telegraph + table.... Something had happened. He backed out. + </p> + <p> + “It's all off,” he told the soldier. “Go back to barracks. The enemy has + broken through—” + </p> + <p> + He wasn't sure of the last, but tore the paper and crumpled the pieces. + The platoon reversed and vanished. At the far end of the street a cavalry + squad was galloping forward, behind a single dispatch rider. Already the + news was known in headquarters and the staff officers burst forth with + orders for retreat—retreat to the eastward. It was no secret now. + The enemy was crossing the valley that Kohlvihr had found impassable. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt felt the life brimming up in his heart. Then he thought of + Dabnitz, and went to him, shutting the door behind. + </p> + <p> + “Do you <i>get</i> what's on, Lieutenant? Wink once—if you do.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's the enemy breaking through. Judenbach is to be abandoned <i>pronto</i>. + Listen—” + </p> + <p> + The cavalry was in the street, carrying abroad the order for retreat.... + They heard it plainly now, even the details. Hospitals not to be emptied, + guns and ammunition not readily to be transported, must be destroyed. The + final hell was started in the town. + </p> + <p> + “Dabnitz, I don't want you among the captured on my account. Just forget + that order! The platoon has gone back. The staff is blocked and jammed + with greater things. Will you forget it? Wink twice—” + </p> + <p> + There was no hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Good. The sentries must be called off—that stair-door left open. + I'll join them—and bother you no more. We'll not leave the room + while the town changes hands. They'll never even ask you if that little + job is done. Will you go with me now and do this? Wink twice—” + </p> + <p> + It was done emphatically; a beseeching for haste. + </p> + <p> + “Dabnitz, I trust you. I'll entertain you in America some time—all + Washington and New York.... You'll do exactly what I ask—no more, no + less? Good God, man, it wouldn't do any good to kill 'em now. They're out + of hand forever. Perhaps the Austrians will do it, anyway. Wink twice—” + </p> + <p> + “Good.” The gag was jerked free, and the various bindings. + </p> + <p> + “Now, come with me. I'll detain you but a second or two—” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz walked at his side to the stair entrance of the skylight prison. + He spoke to the sentry below. The officer of the guard was called; the + sentry summoned from above, the door left open. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” Boylan said finally to Dabnitz. “Here's your gun, Lieutenant. I'm + obliged to you. You'll know better some day what I mean by that—” + </p> + <p> + “Keep them under cover,” Dabnitz said hoarsely. “I'll kill you or any of + the others that I see in the street.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd be quite right.” + </p> + <p> + Dabnitz turned away. Big Belt deliberated. He did not quite trust the + Russian. He had covered him with his little pocket gun, as he handed back + the arms. Still Boylan couldn't have caused him to fall prisoner. His hope + now was that the Lieutenant would find such a rush and turmoil that he + would be compelled to forget the incident. ...He heard their voices at the + upper door of the stairway. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, Boylan?” + </p> + <p> + “Yep.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning. What's up?” It was Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't quite settled in my mind. You're not to come down. We haven't + decorated the Christmas tree. I'm sentry here—” + </p> + <p> + The side street was deserted. The main highway was a throng, strange in + its new direction of northward, for the bulk of energy had heretofore + moved toward the valley. The sappers were at their work of destruction. + The town rocked with explosions, but the main consideration to Big Belt + was that moments passed without bringing further fighting to him, + personally. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he means to stick after all,” he muttered. “He must see that I was + square with him—” + </p> + <p> + Then Big Belt smiled grimly, as if he had heard his own words. + </p> + <p> + He watched with a kind of ferocity until the passing of the staff made him + duck back into the doorway.... Kohlvihr sitting like a potato-bag, the + brave but melancholy Doltmir—finally Dabnitz. The latter passed the + little side-street without a turn of the head. After many moments Boylan + ventured to the corner. Rifle shots from the southern border, and the + smell of fire, were matters of critical interest. The main highway was all + but emptied of Russians. One little party of artillerymen was struggling + to save a big gun half-horsed. Three ambulances hurried by filled with + wounded officers—but the cries of the thousands of wounded enlisted + men went up from the hospitals which the Russians were abandoning. The + lower half of the town was in a final ruin that blocked the streets. + </p> + <p> + But beyond as the wind cleared the smoke an instant (or the rain held it + low to the earth), Big Belt saw a column of troops. Its single peculiarity + struck him with queer emotion. He returned to the stair-door. A + long-repressed volume came forth from his lungs, as he trudged wearily + upward. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. — THE FIELD OF HELMETS + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1 + </h2> + <p> + Peter turned back from the upper door, since nothing further in the way of + news was to be had from Boylan. The first face that he saw within was + Fallows', and over it, as his own glance sped quickly, there passed a look + as from some poignant burden. It was the look of a man who had thought the + fight won, and now perceived that it must be resumed again. Poltneck was + just behind. Peter would like to have preserved in picture the singer's + realization that the chance was life instead of death—the blend of + animal and angel which is so thrillingly human, as it was expressed upon + that countenance. Abel was smiling, something of a child in the smile, a + tremulousness around the lips; and Berthe came forward under the + rain-blurred skylight—gladness, animation, a touch of the great + tension lingering, but something else that he had not seen before in their + prison hours. He went to her. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “It means that the door is open, the sentries gone. Big Belt is below and + the town wild with some new trouble—” + </p> + <p> + “The Austrians must have broken through,” said Fallows. + </p> + <p> + “We are to stay until he gives us word,” Peter added. + </p> + <p> + Berthe was leading him back to the shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, does it mean that?” + </p> + <p> + He saw the dark low-glowing jewel in her eyes—the earth-shine, all + the sweetness of earth in it. So close to death, it had not been ignited + before in the skylight prison, but it was there for him now, and he loved + her bewilderingly. + </p> + <p> + “I think we may almost dare to hope,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “The still snowy woods—only a brave bird or two remaining—the + short brilliant days and early nightfall—our talks that will never + come to an end—” + </p> + <p> + Something of her longing frightened him—the danger of its intensity. + </p> + <p> + “I think we may almost dare to hope,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, I think—I think you are braver than any—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did not <i>see</i> ahead! To you, it was a closed door yesterday + and last night. Fallows wants to go. He's weary. Abel and Poltneck are old + rebels with visions. They have thought much of such hours as we have known + here. But you—I saw it the first day in Warsaw—the deadly + courage. You had built no dream. You asked no future. You faced it—light + or black.” + </p> + <p> + “Berthe—I almost broke this morning—when I looked at you + sleeping—and last night after Boylan came.... I think I would have + fought them in the street! It seemed—blasphemous for them to kill + you—those dim fellows—” + </p> + <p> + “...Peter—” + </p> + <p> + She had seemed to lose her way, the light gone from her eyes, her lips + cold.... A sprinkle of water, and she was smiling again in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “It's strong—too strong,” she murmured vaguely. + </p> + <p> + The heavy step that Peter knew was upon the stairs. He listened. Yes, it + was alone. Boylan appeared in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Go to him,” Berthe whispered. + </p> + <p> + Peter obeyed. There was a gladness for him in the touch of the big hand. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us, Boylan,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “They've gone.” + </p> + <p> + “The Russians?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Abel had propped a chair behind Big Belt, who sank into it eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “The Austrians have broken through?” Poltneck said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not quite sure about that,” Boylan answered. “The column I saw from + the main road a minute ago—coming up from the valley—looked + like <i>helmets</i> to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Berthe, what did you mean by <i>'strong—too strong'?”</i> + </p> + <p> + Peter had stepped back to her for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Did I say that?” she whispered smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't think of anything—but my love for you. It must have been + that.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2 + </h2> + <p> + For an hour in the skylight prison, they had waited for the step upon the + stairs. When it came Fallows had an inspiration, and said softly: + </p> + <p> + “Sing to 'em, Poltneck—The Lord Is Mindful of His Own—!” + </p> + <p> + As before, the song was on the wing at the word.... Throughout the hour + the Germans had flooded into the little city, the main column moving + rapidly on in pursuit of the Russians, a comparatively small force + remaining to garrison. As Boylan had pointed out, the new enemy must have + appeared in tremendous numbers thus to dare such a drive through the + Russian east wing. Lornievitch was at the head of a mighty force to the + east; it was but the tip of the right wing that the Germans had cut off. + </p> + <p> + An old ranker had halted at the door, his platoon behind crowding the + stairway. He was small and scarred, serious and decorous. Peter felt that + the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man conscious of + moving through the days of his life's stateliest fulfillment. Boylan was + nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck stood smiling, singing as he + had never sung for the Little Father. It is a fact that the old ranker + waited for the end of the stanza. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + Peter talked: “Four of the hospital service from Warsaw, and two American + correspondents, until to-day with the Russian army—” + </p> + <p> + The platoon-officer ordered his men at rest and sent for his Captain. + </p> + <p> + “Prisoners, you may sing,” he said. + </p> + <p> + They heard the voices of the gathering in the street as Poltneck sang on, + and presently the clatter of a sword in the stairway. A young officer, not + the Captain, appeared. There was a quick appeal in the veteran's deference + and his whisper. The old head bowed affectionately, too, as to a son of + finer blood than he. + </p> + <p> + “Two American correspondents,—these two,” he reported. “The others + are of the hospital service of the enemy.” + </p> + <p> + Poltneck had finished. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you here?” the officer asked. + </p> + <p> + “They were at work all night,” said Peter, “and were here for a little + rest. The change this morning was effected before they were aware. We were + helping. + </p> + <p> + “You were helping?” the officer repeated. + </p> + <p> + “There has been much to do in the hospitals. We have been in Judenbach—this + is the fourth day.” + </p> + <p> + “We will look at your passports—yours and this gentleman's—” + </p> + <p> + The papers were produced. It was almost like a hand that came to Peter at + this instant, though Berthe had not moved—the premonition that they + were to be separated. He had planned nothing for this moment although it + had been inevitable. There was a certain guilelessness about their whole + presence together in the skylight prison, although Peter had tortured the + facts a little—to avoid complication of making known their + revolutionary parts. He had become so identified with his new friends, in + the past three whelming days, that he had forgotten for the moment the + great difference in his position as an American correspondent and + noncombatant from Berthe's and the others. + </p> + <p> + Boylan had never forgotten. He had cursed his own slowness as a linguist, + when Peter had taken the part of answering the German officer. He was + afraid of Peter's answers, but that fear was passing now. In fact, Peter + had answered surprisingly well, and his companion was breathing easily, as + a man should in a state of mental health. + </p> + <p> + It was not until this moment—the German officer examining his + passports, the ranker studying the insignia upon his sleeve—that + Peter met the disaster of the future. It suddenly appeared to him—that + life apart from <i>these</i> was bleak and a nothingness. To be caught in + the great war-machine again, even with the superb loyalty of Boylan at his + hand, had the grimness of death to his soul. Already he felt the new + mastery of Judenbach, the hard insensitiveness of it—the stone and + iron of its nature, the ineffable cruelty of its meaning and morale.... + </p> + <p> + “These seem to be very complete and satisfactory,” the young officer + reported presently. “I shall furnish an escort to accompany you and Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Boylan,” said the voice of the Rhodes' Agency. + </p> + <p> + “—to our Colonel Ulrich in charge of the garrison. These papers will + go with you of course.” + </p> + <p> + Peter cleared his voice and said steadily: “We have long given up any hope + of getting anything out as newspaper men. I, for one, would be very glad + of employment in the hospitals with my friends here. There has been work + for many more hands than could be spared—” + </p> + <p> + “We appreciate your sacrifice,” said the officer, “perhaps <i>we</i> are + not so short-handed for the care of wounded. We have already brought in + men not dead whom the Russian orderlies missed on the field yesterday. I + believe the abandoned hospitals in Judenbach will not suffer for the + change of flags.” + </p> + <p> + Peter had noted Boylan's face as the German spoke. It was slightly + upturned and like bronze in its hardness, reminding him of the night + before in the candle-light. It weakened him.... He glanced about the room + as the officer finished. Everywhere he saw their silent urge to accept. + Fallows came forward. + </p> + <p> + “Some time again, dear friend—we will work together. All is well + with us—” + </p> + <p> + Abel seemed to smile; Poltneck gripped his hand, neither venturing to + speak, nor did the moment require it, for they had all gone down to the + gates of understanding together.... Berthe's hands were in his. + </p> + <p> + Boylan had arisen. + </p> + <p> + “Your escort is ready,” the German said. + </p> + <p> + Peter turned from them, but Berthe's face was placed for all to see.... A + little warmth, the mild pleasure of untried friendship, the good wish of + one fellow-worker to another in passing—this was all that the + watchers saw. Even Peter in his great passion could draw no further + message from that white upturned face. But her hidden hands, held in his, + gave him the very respiration of her soul. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3 + </h2> + <p> + Big Belt was alone with his friend again, but Peter seemed merely the body + of a man, not much use. They were kept very close by the Germans, and told + frankly that they were to be sent as soon as possible to the big + prison-hospital at Sondreig. Even German correspondents were not permitted + afield. Judenbach was retained, but the Americans were drawn forth by the + exigencies of service with Colonel Ulrich's force, and on the afternoon of + the third day following the German entry, they looked back upon the little + hill-town a last time. Though there had not been sound nor sight of Berthe + nor the group around her, during the three days, Peter was different + afield, as if he missed a certain personal identification with that + obscure Galician settlement where so much had happened. He moved about as + if there were something dead inside. His world had turned insane. + </p> + <p> + Those were the terrible days of November, and the two Americans were + forgotten at length—as a pair of buttons on the German uniform, + forgotten because they served and were not in the way. All that had <i>not</i> + to do with Berthe Wyndham was black as the Prussian night to Mowbray's + brain, but Big Belt was always by. He could not have managed except for + that. There were days in which it appeared as if half the world were down + and bleeding; the other half trying to lift, pulling at the edges of the + fallen, as one half-stupefied would pull at a fallen body in a burning + house. + </p> + <p> + At night through the silences between the cannon, sometimes over the hills + through the cold rains, came to Peter Mowbray's ears the sounds of + church-bells. Boylan did not always hear them. The German officers + declared that there were no such sounds. Boylan's sack was filled with + blood. + </p> + <p> + “If I ever get out of here,” he said, “I'll write one story—one + battle till I die—and I'll call it 'Vintage Fourteen'.” + </p> + <p> + For he was sick of the spilled wine of men. And other armies were fighting + in the vineyards of France—as were these in the piney hills of the + ancient shepherd kings; and what a fertilizing it was for the manhandled + lands of Europe—potash and phosphor and nitrogen in the perfect + solution of the human blood. + </p> + <p> + More and more Boylan saw that Peter was queer. + </p> + <p> + “I can't think,” the latter would say. “I feel like a man dying, under a + mountain of dead. Mostly I don't want to live. I don't want to die. I + believe that it's all one and that this is the end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + Peter could work, however. Day and night when they would let him, and + mostly the Germans accepted his services gratefully now, he tugged at the + dead and the dying in the field and in the field hospitals. And with the + lanterns at night, often under fire, often so long that Boylan could not + rest, but would wait at the hospital-division like a mother for a + dissipated son. + </p> + <p> + “They call this the great German fighting machine,” Peter whispered to + Boylan one night, “but we're inside. We can't call it that. It's the most + pitiful and devitalized thing that ever ran up and down the earth. And it + doesn't mean anything. It's all waste—like a great body killing + itself piece by piece—all waste and death.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to make death easy for a soldier here and there, but there was so + much. His clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the smoke + fell, he watched the sun shining upon the pine-clad hills. That moment the + thought held him that the pine trees were immortal, and men just the dung + of the earth. + </p> + <p> + ...One night Boylan asked as they lay down: + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Peter Mowbray.” + </p> + <p> + “Yep, and I'm Boylan. You're at liberty to correct if wrong. Are we ever + going to die or get out?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.... Boylan, you've been good to me. We're two to make one—eye + to eye—” + </p> + <p> + “You're making a noise like breaking down again. Don't, Peter. I've gone + on a bluff all my life. I'm a rotten sentimentalist at heart—soft as + smashed grapes. It's my devil. If you break down, I'll show him to you—” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't hurt you to bellow like a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not, but I'd shoot my head off first.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see the old leprous peasant to-day? He was hump-backed, and he + had no lips, but teeth like a dog. He pulled at a soldier's stirrup as we + came into town. The soldier was afraid and shot him through the mouth—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Peter, or you'll get me. I've shown you more now than any living + soul knows—” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to show it to a woman. A man isn't right until a woman knows + him in and out.” + </p> + <p> + “For the love of God—go to sleep!” + </p> + <p> + They sank into restless death-ridden dreaming; and so it was many nights, + until the dawn that they fronted a swift river, black from its snowy + banks, saw the rising pine hills opposite and were swept possibly by + mistake into the center of comprehensible action—a picture lifted + from the hundred-mile ruck. + </p> + <p> + A little town, so far nameless, sat with a shivering look on the slope, + about a half mile up from the river. A Russian quick-fire gun or two was + emplaced in that vicinity, and two batteries of bigger bores (that the + correspondents knew of) were higher on either side. Infantry intrenchments + that looked like mole tracks from the distance corrugated the slopes in + lateral lines, and roads came down to the two bridges that spanned the + swift stream, less than a mile apart. + </p> + <p> + The morning was spent in artillery dueling. The Russians seemed partly + silenced at noon. At no time was their attack cocky and confident. The + Germans determined to cross in the early afternoon. This movement was not + answered by excessive firing. German cavalry and small guns on the east + bridge, a heavy field of helmets took the west. Boylan and Mowbray rode + with the artillery. Even as the German forces combined for position, the + firing of the Russians was not spiteful. There seemed a note of complaint + and hysteria. There was no tension in the German command; it was too + weathered for that. + </p> + <p> + Now the cavalry went into action and guns moved away farther to the east + for higher emplacement. + </p> + <p> + “They're going to charge the horses up into the town. They haven't much + respect for the infantry trenches,” said Boylan. + </p> + <p> + At that instant Peter's mind opened a clearer series of pictures of Berthe + Wyndham than he had known for days. Palace Square near the river corner; + her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; across the siding + after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and all the wonderful + films of the skylight prison—the dearest of all as she slept. He + could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich with these + pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how she looked. It + had been easier to remember something which Peter designated secretly as + her soul. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the turf rocked under his feet and his body was bent in the + terrific concussion from behind. They turned and saw the middle stone + abutment of the nearer bridge lifted from the stream—the whole + background sky black with dust and rock. Then, just as he thought of it, + the west bridge went. He spoke before Boylan, and rather unerringly, as + one does at times coming up from a dream. + </p> + <p> + “They've trapped what they think they can handle—and fired the + bridges by wire.” + </p> + <p> + Boylan said: “I can't call it German stupidity, because it didn't occur to + me that the bridges were mined.... It's to be another leisure spraying. + We're in the slaughter-pen.... God, man, look at the horses!” + </p> + <p> + It had been too late to call back the cavalry. Peter's eyes followed + Boylan's sweeping arm. The horsemen were in skirmish on the slope, just + breaking out into charge. The town above and the emplacements adjoining + which had kept their secret so well, were now in a blur of sulphur and + action directed upon the cavalry charge. The whole line went down in the + deluge—suddenly vanished under the hideous blat of the machines—whole + rows rubbed into the earth—a few beasts rising empty, shaking + themselves and tumbling back, no riders. Peter turned to the infantry in + formation on the western slopes. The Russian fire was not lax now, not + discouraged in the least, nor hysterical. It was cold-blooded murder in + gluttonous quantity. + </p> + <p> + The Americans forgot themselves. Cavalry gone—they turned to the + west and saw the poor men-beasts in rout. Even the infantry comprehended + the trick, and felt something superhuman behind it. They rushed back + toward the river—swift, ugly with white patches and unfordable, + requiring a good swimmer.... The eyes of Boylan turned back to the Horse. + He had always loved the cavalry, ridden with the cavalry always by + preference. Peter was watching the river—the hands up from the + center of the river.... + </p> + <p> + They were alone, and now the Russian machines were on the German batteries + not yet emplaced, none unlimbered. It was as if the wind carried them the + spray from the sweeping fountains, turned from the horse to put out the + guns. Peter was hit and down—hit again and the night slowly settled + upon him, bringing the bells. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4 + </h2> + <p> + Big Belt talked to himself in that blizzard of fire. + </p> + <p> + “He's hit—hit twice—but we can't go back to the Russians. + They'll finish the lad. Dabnitz promised. The Germans can't rescue us, + because the bridges are down. I've got to get him across the river—” + </p> + <p> + He knelt and swung the burden across his back. The firing was thinner, and + the weight hurried his great legs down to the water.... Personally he + would have waited for recapture. How he would have laughed at Lornievitch + in that case. But this that he bore was under sentence of death in that + camp. He regarded the river now, propping up his head under the burden. It + was a swift devil of a stream, black from its winter borders and cold. He + moved toward the broken bridge, hundreds of soldiers doing the same. But + none of them bore a burden. + </p> + <p> + Now he was on the steep and slidy bank-the roar of the current in his + ears, the roar of the guns behind. The stone abutments of the bridge still + stood, but the huge beams of the upper frame-work were sprawled in the + stream, the ends visible. A string of soldiers crawled along, toward the + center of the current. There was a place in which they disappeared.... He + took his position in the waiting line and heard the cries wrung from the + throats of those in the crossing—from the paralyzing cold. Only a + few succeeded. Boylan saw this, as he awaited his turn. A steady grim + procession on this side, whispering, crowding—but a thin and + straggling output on the far bank. Scenes enacting in the center of the + current shook his heart—faces and arms against the black water, the + struggles and the cries of men as they were whipped away. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt was in; no crawl for him. He walked the ten-inch beam with his + burden, as it sank deeper and deeper toward the center. The ice of the + water bit and tore at him. It was like a burn, too, but the paralysis was + not that of fire. The chill wrestled with his consciousness, as he reached + the depth of his waist; the current was bewildering in its pressures—like + a woman clinging to his limbs, betraying him to an enemy. A mysterious + force, this of a running river, for the body of man is not built for it, + and man's mind is slow to learn the necessity of slow movements. The + temptation to hasten is like the tug of demons. There is much to break the + nerve—and yet nerve must remain king of every action. + </p> + <p> + Boylan may have learned the trick in other wanderings. His own weight and + the weight of his burden helped his feet in the rapid runs of white water. + He made his way deeper and deeper upon the slanting ten-inch piece, + holding his consciousness steady against the penetrating stab of the cold + as it rose higher and higher, against the dizzying swirl of the stream, + and against the fact that the timber might be broken at the center. ...The + man before him seemed to go to his knees, reaching down with his hands. + Then the white-topped rush took him.... One must stand; one must have + weight to stand. The beam sunk to the center now-the water to his heart; + the man behind urging.... One soldier ahead crawled forth where three had + been. + </p> + <p> + Boylan's fears were equalized now by the sudden dread of the man behind. + If he slipped he would catch at Peter's body. + </p> + <p> + “Go slow—that's the trick!” he called. “Feel for your footing each + time. It's there. I tell you it's there, man! We rise in a moment more—” + </p> + <p> + He felt the jointure with his feet—some renewal or stoppage of the + timber. He halted, yelling at the man behind: + </p> + <p> + “Wait—something different! I'll get you through—” + </p> + <p> + It was the slight turn of the top timbers as they had reached the apex. + </p> + <p> + “It's the top of the bridge,” he yelled above the boom of the current, “—a + turn like the peak of a low roof. A slight turn to the right. Now the + climb—” + </p> + <p> + He put it in Russian somehow, making the words clear. His intensity was + almost madness to keep the other's hands off. + </p> + <p> + A shiver passed through his burden. The water had whipped Peter's limbs. + An added call for steadiness, but a gladness about it, too, since he was + not carrying the dead.... Upgrade now. The soldier behind had passed the + turn safely and was following. + </p> + <p> + ...It seemed that he had walked hours, A thousand or more German soldiers + were lost even as he. Their faces in the dusk passed him—to and fro—hoarse + questions. The gray chill dusk was all about, quite different from + anything Big Belt had known. His clothing had warmed to him from great + exertion. There was a line that caked and dampened again down his left + thigh, like an artillery stripe, from Peter's wounds. Night came on, + finding him without a command—a strange sort of abandonment, and a + certain fear of being overtaken by a Russian party. The character of his + fatigue brought back ancient memories, when he had looked death face to + face and was afraid. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” someone piped sharply in German. + </p> + <p> + He had moved long through the dark toward a moving file of lights. + </p> + <p> + “Two American correspondents.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that you carry?” + </p> + <p> + “The other one.” + </p> + <p> + Peter heard this. It seemed that terrible hands had been tugging at his + flesh for hours; yet he could not move, and lay upon a bed that swung and + swayed and stumbled. + </p> + <p> + “Two American correspondents,” the voice repeated.... “Search....” + </p> + <p> + Then Peter looked into the dazzle of a flashlight, and the familiar voice + said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's hard hit and heavy as hell.... Passports in hip pocket-handle + him gently. ... Thanks, I'll take care of this man—unless you have a + stretcher—” + </p> + <p> + “To whom were you formerly assigned?” + </p> + <p> + “To Colonel Ulrich. We were across the river when that trap was sprung + this afternoon—” + </p> + <p> + “Just about wiped you fellows out, didn't they?... Passports right enough + as far as I can see. Stay here, I'll try to get a conduct. I'm afraid + there isn't any Colonel Ulrich—at least I am of that opinion....” + </p> + <p> + Peter was let down. It puzzled him a long time because the ground was + still. The big hands eased. His familiar was beside him, however, wet and + panting. Now Peter seemed to remember that he had messages to carry. + </p> + <p> + “There's no other way—I've got to get through the lines—” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” Boylan answered. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to fail. She wouldn't look twice at a man who failed—” + </p> + <p> + “Hell, child, sit still. She'd look twice if you failed a thousand + times.... Hai, don't tear open a man's bridle arm. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “He was hump-backed—no lips—teeth like a dog—and the + trooper shot him through the mouth—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but he's dead. His back is straight now—don't look any + worse now than ten thousand others....” + </p> + <p> + For a long time all was bewilderment. He had been lifted and lost + consciousness again in the wrenching of the hands. Then slowly he came + back and eternity began as before, his bed swaying and straining. The + familiar voice was near, the German ahead. Sentry after sentry was passed, + and each time deadly waiting.... In snatches he understood that the voice + always near was Boylan's, but as often forgot it again. Once he realized + that Boylan was carrying him, but he could not hold it in mind.... Now he + was sure that it was Boylan. He wished he could die from the cold. He + recalled that the cold climbs to a man's heart and then lets him out in + comfortable dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Hai, you!” he heard in the familiar tones. “I can't go any further. Send + a stretcher or a wagon. Tell 'em two American correspondents are sitting + out here—one with a bullet or two through his chest of drawers—” + </p> + <p> + The bed was sinking now.... Then he was dragged across the big man's lap, + and the voice was saying: + </p> + <p> + “I never knew it to fail. The man who wins a woman gets the steel, when + it's anywhere in the air, but bullets fly wide and knives curve about a + lonely maverick who has lost all his heart winnings.” + </p> + <p> + They found Boylan so, his jaw clenched, the huge scarred head bare and + covered with night dew, but ready to talk. Across his legs, Mowbray lay, + and still breathed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5 + </h2> + <p> + Some unique thing, Big Belt, that rock of a man, had found in Peter + Mowbray. For seven days and nights, though broken with incredible fatigues + (a yellow line of bone color showing across his face under the eyes), + Boylan sat by in cars and ambulances until they reached Sondreig, the city + of the women-folk, and a regular civilized bed. What he gave to Peter was + clear; what he took from a man down, a woman's property at best, is harder + to tell. Perhaps in the great strains and pressures of the campaigns, he + had seen Peter inside, the mechanism and light effects appertaining, and + found it true. It may be that Big Belt had never been quite sure that a + man-soul could be true, and having found one, was ready to go the limit. + This is only a hazard. + </p> + <p> + Peter didn't know. He was a lump—one little red lamp burning in that + long house of a man—flickering at that, its color bad, its shadow + monstrous. Everyone but Boylan declared he would die from that wound in + his chest; and Boylan was right. + </p> + <p> + The Germans were good. They gave him a little room over an apothecary shop + at the edge of the city, off one of the bullet-wards, so that the American + would suffer from no lack that the hospital routine could furnish, and + still not be denied the ministration of his friend. There were reasons, + from the German standpoint, why it was well for Mowbray to have every + chance for life. The Russian <i>coup</i> of the destroyed bridges, that + lesser disaster, would some time be told. Boylan might be persuaded to + tell the story to America without adjectives. This was not a very humane + way to regard large kindness from saddened and maddened men, and Boylan + did not linger over it. + </p> + <p> + The Order in Sondreig soothed. It was like a fine <i>morale</i> shown by + troops in a pinch. The city was one spacious hospital, but orderly, the + horizon smokeless, the distance free from the crash of guns. In fact, it + seemed that the city must have prepared itself for a thousand years—as + if waiting for its messiah. There was a glad quiet in the thronging + streets that seemed to say, “It has come....” + </p> + <p> + When he found that Peter would live—all the pathological vortices + past—Big Belt turned with strange joy to exterior activities. Of + course, months would be required to make his companion a man again. There + might remain a crimp in him that would last always, but Boylan was aware + that a man's weakness may be made his strength, and that a life habit of + care which comes from cushioning a wound often results in extraordinary + development of the parts of strength. + </p> + <p> + The sight of women and children brought him gusts of emotion. In one + evening hour, he followed a middle-aged woman who was leading a child + through the faintly-lit streets; trailed the pair for a square or two + through the soft snow, a sort of miracle in the picture to him, a heaven + of gentleness and order. This was his first grand reaction from the field + of strife—at least, from this campaign—and he was struck as + never before with the main fact—how little a man really needs to + live his life in brightness and calm. Such a sense of the emptiness of + war-fields surged home to him that he was left a heretic in relation to + all that had called him before. It did not occur to Boylan that this was + wisdom; rather the pith of the emotion was to the effect that he was + getting old. + </p> + <p> + The child's thin voice reached him in questionings, and the steady low + tones of the woman. A man could ask little more of the world than to lead + a child thus.... Perhaps they were poor. Boylan would have liked to fix + that. It had to do with the whole inner ideal of the man to be a fixer of + such things—to come home to a house of little ones in quantity and + many women—a broad house of aunts, sisters and old women, a long + broad table of all ages, the many problems resting on him—and one + woman looking straight across.... She would know everything, and yet would + advise with him—quiet discussions of policy regarding this one or + that one, and the interposition of food.... + </p> + <p> + He was perspiring. Always after a war or expedition he had perceived such + matters more or less clearly, but not quite as now. Never before had he + constructed his secret heaven with such durable substance.... He actually + believed that the field would never call to him again. It had become like + the fear of hunger that he had learned once for all. No more of that—no + more of war. He had given everything to the field, and lost his broad + board in the world-house. At least, he could find a door-step somewhere. + </p> + <p> + They were gone. He thought of his companion—the sense of summons + that he seemed to have known always. He turned and walked back. The snow + fell softly; the street lights were pleasant and warming with this bit of + peace in the world, this little circle of life with men and women and + children together.... As he neared the apothecary shop, his thoughts + became rounder and rounder with what he had missed. He had taken the arc + and lost the globe—a sorry old specimen of a man, if the truth were + told, a career behind him designed to arouse the wildness of boys, but + without appeal and very much to be discouraged by real men. Finally it + occurred to him of the whole races of men who had <i>what he lacked</i>, + yet were restless for the harshness and crudity of the earth. + </p> + <p> + “If they only knew what they have,” he muttered. “I suppose they forget. + Just as I forget between wars what hell is like.... I suppose they do + forget, and read a man's stuff by their fires (ordering the kids to be + quiet)... thinking that this war-man writing from the field is a great and + lucky guy. I suppose they stop and think how things might have been + different with them—had <i>they</i> taken to the open when the old + call came.... <i>Ordering the kids to be quiet</i>—Good God—” + </p> + <p> + Whether it was the audacity of fatherhood that called this last into the + world, or the face of the woman who had passed him—is not known. + Enough that Big Belt forgot all his dreams. ...That white-skinned, + wonder-eyed girl, the fire creature, twice seen in the bitter shadows of + Judenbach! + </p> + <p> + She had looked into his face, as if she scarcely dared to trust her eyes, + as if she, too, were not sure; and yet it had come over him like death + that she was here for her own.... He tried to make himself believe that it + was an illusion, just one of the queer jolts that come to a man when his + thoughts are far off. But actualities rubbed this out. She was a prisoner + of the Germans; probably had proved invaluable in the hospital service and + had earned certain privileges; but it wouldn't do to let Peter fall into + her clutches again; that meant revolution and death. They would make a + dupe of him as before. It had nothing to do with peace and the outer + world; it meant— + </p> + <p> + Boylan saw that he wanted Peter for his own. He wiped the sweat from under + his hat.... He couldn't keep them apart; she would think out a way; a man + can't wrestle with a woman.... The world was bleak and wide-open to + disruption again. He climbed the stairs. + </p> + <p> + The wounded man was not awake. Boylan had objected from the first to his + manner of breathing—too much in the throat, hardly a man-sized + volume of air, the breathing of one who hadn't proper lung-room; but this + was an old matter. He reflected on the various fatigues Mowbray had met + with a smile, and the vitality which had finally pulled him loose from the + cold clutch itself; standing him in stead through a journey so grisly that + Boylan had not had the detachment so far to contemplate it from first to + last. So he had been forced seriously to grant exceptions to the rule of + chest inches and vitality. The soft winter air blew in from the slightly + opened casement. + </p> + <p> + Peter's face was wan and boyish—different to Boylan as a result of + his encounter in the street. He saw Peter now with the eyes of a man who + must give up.... She was here in Sondreig. He would not help her, but if + she came, there would be no fight.... It had been his fault. Boylan had + sensed the danger of giving too much—from the beginning.... One + woman brings a man into the world, sees him properly a man, and another + woman takes him away.... Just how Big Belt broke into this particular + picture must be suggested rather than explained. He was very close to + mothers that night. He could understand fathers, too. + </p> + <p> + ...They would never know what he had done. The Russians had not + understood, except Lornievitch, in part, and he was far away; the Germans + would never piece the fragments together, and Peter himself had been + mainly unconscious. Peter had not been told even of the Dabnitz + episode.... They might have pulled together for years if it hadn't been + for the woman, but there was bound to be a woman. Mowbray was like that. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt yawned over it all, drew his cot close, so he could hear Peter's + call, lit a fresh candle, and wished he had remembered to smoke outside. + Presently, however, he was breathing forth the full volume of a man. + </p> + <p> + Sitting by the civilized bed early the next afternoon he heard a voice + below that clenched his jaw much as it had been that night outside the + German camp before the stretcher was brought. She had found them. She did + not speak first, but looked in.... Seeing the face upon the bed, she could + not ask, nor speak, but crossed the room. It would have been just the same + so far—had Boylan not been there. In fact, he had withdrawn from the + place by his companion.... She knelt an instant. Now she arose and faced + the friend. + </p> + <p> + “He will live.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was still afar off. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am—I think he will.” + </p> + <p> + She came to him now. “I saw you last night,” she whispered. “I saw you + come here. I could not come until now.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph—” or something of the sort was heard from Boylan. + </p> + <p> + Berthe appeared to draw a certain truth from the situation. Perhaps she + saw <i>the woman</i> in Boylan—the mysterious, draggled creature + which he designated his devil on occasion. The old war-wolf gave her + credit for no such penetration. Still she kept herself second, advised, + assisted for a few moments, but would not let Boylan go. + </p> + <p> + “He's knit to you. He might die if you go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Something about her choked him. He had been with men so continually. + </p> + <p> + “And then I can't stay,” she whispered. “But I am so thankful to have + found you—that nothing else matters.... You see, we are prisoners. + They have trusted certain of us to work; still we have no names, no way of + hearing, no mails, or anything. It's a good miracle that I found you.” + </p> + <p> + Presently she said again: “You don't think I understand, but I do. You + have stood by him. He would not have been here but for you. He is living + because of you. I see that. I see that he has been very close.... You may + hate me as you wish, but you cannot help taking what I give you.” + </p> + <p> + “You're an all-right young woman,” Big Belt managed to remark. “I knew + something of that.” Then, in a panic, he added: “He'll know you to-night. + He's cool now. He'll pull through. He'll know you to-night, and then I + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Not until he sees you.... Besides, I am a prisoner. I cannot come and go + as I would. I may not be able to come to-night—they may say <i>no</i>.” + “He'll have all that he needs until you come,” Boylan said. + </p> + <p> + She did come that night. Peter had returned, but voyaged again meanwhile. + In the morning she came again.... Boylan ordered her to sit down in the + far corner. He went to the bed, for Peter was stirring, and presently + opened his eyes with reason and organization in them. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, boy.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked beyond him and around the room. + </p> + <p> + “Go to sleep,” said Boylan. + </p> + <p> + “I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + Big Belt stepped aside. Peter managed to get a knuckle up to rub his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He's back with us,” Boylan whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool,” said Boylan. + </p> + <p> + She was there beside him, bending lower and lower. It was against nature + for them not to forget the exterior world for a moment, and Boylan was on + the stairs.... + </p> + <p> + He saw Sondreig with eyes that seemed to have dropped their scales. It was + early in the morning, and a light snow had freshened everything. An old + woman was sitting at the locked entrance of what had been a dairy shop, + weeping for her only son. Boylan stopped. + </p> + <p> + She was very poor and weak. + </p> + <p> + “Come, mother,” he said, lifting her. + </p> + <p> + She looked into his face in a way that roweled the man. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” he said softly. “We'll have some breakfast. And you'll tell me + about it. I belong to the widows and the fatherless, too.” + </p> + <p> + So they rocked away together. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6 + </h2> + <p> + He was sleeping again. Berthe went to the window. Even in her happiness + she was afraid, for she was remaining longer than her leave.... The window + faced the south, and the apothecary shop was on the edge of town. The day + was like a pearl—snowy distance, a soft-toned sky and the low shine + of the sun. Deep down in the west, like an island, was a thick brush of + cedars, preserving their green across the miles, and calling to her with + something of the native wonder of old Mother Earth; and to the right, east + of south, was the huge blurred stockade where King Cholera was so far + imprisoned with the bait of fresh lives each day. + </p> + <p> + The old Mother was in her winter bloom, so pure and deep-eyed, so calm and + above sorrow in her distance and coloring, that it became to Berthe a + moment not to be forgotten—such a moment as would make a woman + homesick in heaven. + </p> + <p> + ...If the big man would only come back. They might be angry for her + staying. It would be so easy to lose all that she had won from the + Germans. They had come to rely upon her more and more, realizing the + character of her service, and forgetting its origin in Judenbach. She did + not want to disappoint them. With Peter Mowbray here in good hands and + climbing back to life—no woman in the midst of war could ask + more.... At the bedside again, she pondered the recent weeks to this hour. + Without words, without heaviness, he had come along, fitting so blithely + into the new places, bringing his laugh and his skepticism of self always, + asking for no sign nor reward of the future, building no dream of heaven, + but standing true to the tasks of earth. Greatly more, and differently, + she loved him now, and the distance held the green of cedars. + </p> + <p> + ...An officer came to her from the bullet-ward. + </p> + <p> + “You are to stay until Mr. Boylan, the correspondent, comes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But will they know? They were good to let me come.” + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Hartz has signed the order. Word has been sent to the entrainment + wards. You were attached there, I believe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us know in case of any need here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7 + </h2> + <p> + A most satisfying adventure, so that Big Belt added many things to the + matters which could not be related. The old mother had told him of her son + (as they sat together in the little room she called home) and Boylan had + seen in him a singular hero, and made the mother see it. Presently he + strode forth to the shops and returned with many packages of food affairs, + and a cart of fuel following. The prodigious prices which these things + commanded in Sondreig appealed to him as a trifle; in fact, the simplicity + of life on these direct terms of living first hand, struck him as the + eternally right way.... Then she cooked for him, very intent and eager in + the great joy of it, agitated by his praise. In fact, he went to great + lengths of breakfasting to show his appreciation; until, perceiving what + he had done, he strode forth again with replenished understanding and + restocked the cupboard by means of the cart.... Yes, he would come + to-morrow.... Yes, by all means, while he was in Sondreig. + </p> + <p> + Even if he had not thought of the white-fire creature being held in the + room above the apothecary shop for his return, Boylan had found it + necessary to leave the old mother, since she could not be made to eat with + him there. She would have cooked for him until she fell by the fire, but + as for her sharing the repast, she begged him to have peace, that time was + plentiful for that.... He was thinking it all out once more, a most + delectable incident, as he walked swiftly through the snow toward the + apothecary shop, when his shoulder was plucked by a passerby, and he + turned, stiffening a bit at the roughness of it. A black-bearded man of + much rank peered into his face, crying out: + </p> + <p> + “Boylan, by the One God!” + </p> + <p> + “Herr Hartz—by the same!” Big Belt exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + And now they embraced—a mighty affair, a memorable spectacle of + pounding, of disengagement, of renewed embrace—so that soldiers and + hospital men circled wide in passing, and the little street was hushed + with the exceeding joy. + </p> + <p> + “Come and live with me, Boylan. I will not take no for an answer. Come at + once, and let us a table between us have, to prevent further inderrupption + of travvic—” + </p> + <p> + At no time would the cause of this majestic effusion have been made clear + to an outsider, though it was plain that the American correspondent and + the German officer of rank shared it alike. The truth: these two, and two + others somewhere in the world, were the surviving four of a complement of + over thirty men who had made up the original outfit now known as the + Schmedding Polar Failure. Colonel Hartz, detached from his cavalry command + for service in the prison-hospital at Sondreig, was second in command here + as he had been to Schmedding in that former ill-starred expedition. + </p> + <p> + The table was between them. + </p> + <p> + “But first,” said Boylan, “there is a little business in which you can + help. My friend, Mowbray... is just coming back to life from Russian + wounds. I could not leave him without being assured of his care. There is + one little nurse from the entrainment wards—it is a good story, + which I will tell in good time—competent to care for him. She is + there now, but I have already stayed longer than her leave granted. She + must be set at rest, and word sent also to her own post—” + </p> + <p> + “So much words for a little thing—dictate and I write. Then tell me + of yourself, which is more imbortant—” + </p> + <p> + It happened, even after the messages were sent, that Boylan spoke very + little of himself. He was grappling with a certain final disposal. His + talk was colored with desire. In fact, within an hour he had reached the + critical part of his narrative, and was becoming more glib momentarily as + the way out cleared: + </p> + <p> + “...You see, they met in Warsaw, where I was stationed before the war. She + did not tell him what was in her mind. He parted from her—as any + other married man taking the field. We were together with Kohlvihr's + column, of which I will tell you later.... Now what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Herr Hartz snorted. He did not care to think. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't stay in Warsaw,” Boylan went on, with great intensity. “No, my + friend, she joined the hospital corps, and followed him afield—” + </p> + <p> + “The Russians take anyone for the hosbittles,” the other remarked + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly; and my friend Mowbray found her nursing sick soldiers in + Judenbach. It happened that they were together when the city changed + hands. By the way, there was much of interest in those days of which I + will tell you later.... This is the point. She was a Polish prisoner—he + an American non-combatant. I advised them to say nothing for the present + that they were married. It was very ticklish to change hands anyway, and + would have complicated the position of each one. So they were separated. + He was with me day by day until he was wounded. He moved in a dream + without her—a good boy, Colonel—and a good girl—but war. + I say, we learned something about men, you and I—long ago—-” + </p> + <p> + Herr Hartz now beamed. + </p> + <p> + “We learned it,” he breathed. + </p> + <p> + “They make only a few on the pattern of Mowbray.... Last night I saw her + in the street here at Sondreig.... So you see why I arranged for her to + take my place at his side—but you can arrange the rest—” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake, what do you want? You talk and talk about such people and + women and love stories—when we have so much to say about ourselves—” + </p> + <p> + “Be patient. We have all time,” said Big Belt. “I only want them together—a + true married pair. Then they will be off my hands. You can make + Headquarters forget she is Polish—that is all. Some little place + apart—for them to be together while he heals—” + </p> + <p> + “Such a lot of talk for small things. It shall be done, Boylan, with a + paper. I will send them to the country and monobolize you myself. This is + a big war—yes?” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8 + </h2> + <p> + A last time he climbed to the floor above the apothecary shop. If only she + wouldn't act up. A serious thing, this he had done. Big Belt felt that he + had rushed matters, possibly treading upon a host of delicate and + incomprehensible affairs. But, when he had found in Colonel Hartz a man to + make action of his words, he had plunged.... + </p> + <p> + Peter was asleep. The woman came forward noiselessly, offering her hand. + By her face he knew that all was well with the patient. Boylan had + stiffened to resist the pang of Peter's passing from his life. This had so + far prevented his voice from softening to the woman. It was now evening. + </p> + <p> + “I've done what seemed best,” he began abruptly in a whisper. “It appears + to have accomplished what I set out after, but it's likely a ruffian's way—” + </p> + <p> + Her gray eyes widened, her face blanched. + </p> + <p> + Big Belt cleared his throat. Whispering was difficult. + </p> + <p> + “I met an old friend who made possible your remaining here. He's to send + you into the country—as soon as the young fellow is able to be + moved. You are to take care of him there. You see, my friend happened to + be second in command here at Sondreig, and he thinks he can make all + concerned forget that you were picked up from the opposition in Judenbach—” + </p> + <p> + “Can make Sondreig forget that?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “We are very old friends. We were out together in a former service—” + </p> + <p> + “And we are to be sent into the country—as soon as Peter is able?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is the terrible part?” + </p> + <p> + “There might have been a better way, but I didn't think of it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what, Mr. Boylan?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that you two were married—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, I told him that you two were married—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and then?” + </p> + <p> + Big Belt backed from her, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't any <i>then</i>,” he said. “That's it.... That you were + married in Warsaw, and followed him to the field—without his + knowing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you frightened me.” + </p> + <p> + ...Boylan was on the stairs. He halted, turned back. She came to him + eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “But <i>were</i> you married?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. But it's such a little thing compared to what might have happened—to + keep us apart. I mean what might have happened here.... Oh, God bless + you!” + </p> + <p> + He twisted his chin away from his collar, drew it clear with his hand, + cleared his throat to speak, and vanished. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. — THE GREEN OF CEDARS + </h2> + <p> + It wasn't an open fire, but a little iron stove that got so red that it + trembled, and at intervals could hardly contain the puttering of the pine; + and there was a one-armed soldier, who spent the long forenoons cutting + carefully and piling, until there was a rustic wainscot half around the + room, the drying breath of which was the purest fragrance in the world.... + They petted the soldier until an officer came down. + </p> + <p> + It was the hunting forest of a certain Count, and the hut they lived in + was but the lodge of one of his keepers; but it was far enough from the + great mansion (where wounded officers of royal blood and toppling rank + healed or died in much the same fashion as other men) to afford the + silence and solitude they had dreamed of. And all about them the great + trees pondered between the winds—pine and balsam, cedar and fir. It + had looked like a bit of an island from the Sondreig window, but proved a + true forest when they reached there—an enchanted one to Berthe and + Mowbray. + </p> + <p> + Twice Boylan came down for a day, bringing Moritz Abel the second time; + but the Colonel, whose authority had done so much for them, required much + of Big Belt, and there was a woman (some mystery about this) who would + keep dinner waiting, he said. So both times he had started back while + there remained light in the sky. And Peter had become thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “Why, there are whole days I can't account for,” he muttered. “He must + have had me strapped to him for days at a time.” + </p> + <p> + He had asked for Poltneck, of whom she had seen the last in Judenbach. The + Germans had loved his singing and made very much of him; and Peter had + asked for Moritz Abel before the latter came for the day. Berthe had + answered freely, but of Duke Fallows she had not spoken in a way to + satisfy his questions. In fact, it was not until the day that Peter first + crossed the little room alone that she seemed ready to speak. That + afternoon he had called her from the window. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Fallows, Berthe?” + </p> + <p> + “Not far from here,” she said. “Not as far as Sondreig from here—a + place you have never seen, but I watched it every day from the window of + the apothecary shop until you were moved. He offered himself at once when + he heard—the cholera quarantine.... But he left a message for you to + carry, Peter—gave it to me for you. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him for a few brief moments after he had volunteered. He talked of + you and that other American boy of the other war. He said that the night + he separated from that other—just after the battle of Liaoyang, the + Russians in full retreat, he had written his story of the battle—the + story of the Ploughman, and intrusted it to his friend to carry to + America. He wants you to carry his story of this service—asked me to + give it to you when you were better—to take to America with yours. + 'Just a picture,' he said. 'It may be all wrong, but I see it so to-night, + and I would like to have it come out in America some time.' + </p> + <p> + “He is very dear to us, Peter—that old burning exile. Some time we + may understand his love for America.... It was hard to let him go. They + fight day and night in the Stockade. They are trying to spare Sondreig.... + I wish you might have been with him that last night before he went. It was + before I found you—before I saw the big man in the street.... He was + glad to go. There was no sense of sacrifice in it. His whole sense was of + our sorrow and the world's sorrow. But it would have been good for him if + you had been there—because you are of his country. He said it again + and again: 'She must see it. It is her immortal opportunity,' meaning + America—” + </p> + <p> + “Is his story so we can see it?” Peter asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + She took from her breast a little chamois, in which was wrapped two pages + of tough tissue, spread them out, drew her chair close to him, and read + this picture Fallows had made, and his message to America: + </p> + <p> + ...<i>It is the long night of Europe. France sits in dust upon the ground, + staring toward the End. Mother England has called for her sons, and some + have not answered. She turns her frost-rimed glass from the grim horizons + to the grimmer skies, and always in the movement of the darkened shadows + is written the word, “Disaster.” ...Smileless Germany, stricken as never a + nation was stricken before, save by the wrath of God, still holds to the + fatal enchantment of a fatherland of the ground, while the changes in the + Prussian boundaries are marked in fire and the blood of her children.... + Russia is looking southward, furious to open her casements upon the + perilous seas—gloomy millions of the tundras, mighty millions of the + ice-ringing plains—looking southward, marching southward, to-day + marking time, to-morrow a league, but southward as a ship in passage. + Russia, the young, holy genii battling with demons in her breast, + everything to win and only the fruits of her world-shocking fecundity to + lose—southward to slaughter through the long night</i>. + </p> + <p> + ...A call to America through the long night—the voice calling for + her to put on her splendid, her initial magic. The voice from the vision + of sorrow-illumined men in frozen bivouacs, crying to America to hold fast + to the dream of her Founders, lest the vessel of the future be drained of + vital essence, indeed—to hold fast until we come ...crying for + America to answer, not with rapacious intellect, not the answer of a + militant body, but an answer from the soul of the New World, with its + original vitality in the Fatherhood of God. + </p> + <p> + ...Repeating through the long night that the patience of Nature is + exhausted with the hate of man for man; that the hatred of nation for + nation is a lost experiment; that the bitter romance of the predatory is a + story finished in hell; that the passion for self and boundary is done, + that Compassion for neighbor and nation is the art of the future; crying + the end of the national soul and the stroke of the hour for the birth of + the world-soul; crying to America, the only temple, the sole house of + nativity, to put on again her youthful magic, to ignite afresh the Gleam + of her Founders, to arise to her superb and heroic destiny. They sat in + silence until the tap at the door. It was the one-armed soldier, who came + in, regarded the stove critically inside and out, judiciously chose one + knot of pine, inserted it with grave care, and, departing, inquired if + there was anything further he could do. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + And Berthe asked: “Is there anything we can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + He bowed his head in the doorway, and they saw beyond him the winding + aisles of the forest—green and white, the dusk creeping in. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <p> + <i>A brief expression of the critical Reception of</i> + </p> + <h3> + DOWN AMONG MEN + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + <i>Outlook</i>: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive genius, equipped +with a remarkably flexible use of English and impelled by the passion of +a mystic—the author of Down Among Men has written a striking novel. +</pre> + <p> + <i>The Dial</i>: Seems to us the most exalted and appealing story Mr. + Comfort has thus far written. + </p> + <p> + <i>The Argonaut</i>: A novel of extraordinary power. It is good as <i>Routledge + Rides Alone</i>. It could hardly be better. + </p> + <p> + <i>London Post</i>: Alive with incident, bounding with physical energy, + dramatic in coloring, and modern in every phrase. He has a message + delivered with vigor, inspired with tense passion. + </p> + <p> + <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>: There is so much real fire in it—the fire + of youth that has seen and suffered—so much vitality and passion + that one grows chary of petty comments. The writer offers us the cup of + life, and there is blood in the cup. + </p> + <p> + <i>Chicago Record-Herald</i>: An almost perfect tale of courage and + adventure. + </p> + <p> + <i>Chicago Tribune</i>: Contains some of the most remarkable scenes that + have appeared in recent American fiction. + </p> + <p> + <i>New York Times</i>: Few richer novels than this of Mr. Comfort's have + been published in many a long day. + </p> + <p> + <i>New York Globe</i>: We can say in all sincerity that we know of no + recent bit of descriptive writing that can match this for sustained, + breathless, dramatic interest. + </p> + <p> + <i>Springfield Republican: Down Among Men</i> is perhaps the most + ambitious American novel that has come out during the past year. + </p> + <h3> + MIDSTREAM + </h3> + <p> + ...A hint from the first-year's recognition of a book that was made to + remain in American literature: + </p> + <p> + <i>Boston Transcript</i>: If it be extravagance, let it be so, to say that + Comfort's account of his childhood has seldom been rivaled in literature. + It amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels that will suggest + themselves in our letters are the great ones that occur in <i>Huckleberry + Finn</i>.... This man Comfort's gamut is long and he has raced its full + length. One wonders whether the interest, the skill, the general worth of + it, the things it has to report of all life, as well as the one life, do + not entitle <i>Midstream</i> to the very long life that is enjoyed only by + the very best of books. + </p> + <p> + <i>San Francisco Argonaut</i>: Read the book. It is autobiography in its + perfection. It shows more of the realities of the human being, more of god + and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind. + </p> + <p> + <i>Springfield Republican</i>: It is difficult to think of any other young + American who has so courageously reversed the process of writing for the + “market” and so flatly insisted upon being taken, if at all, on his own + terms of life and art. And now comes his frank and amazing revelation, <i>Midstream</i>, + in which he captures and carries the reader on to a story of regeneration. + He has come far; the question is, how much farther will he go? + </p> + <p> + Mary Fanton Roberts in The <i>Craftsman</i>: Beside the stature of this + book, the ordinary novel and biography are curiously dwarfed. You read it + with a poignant interest and close it with wonder, reverence and + gratitude. There is something strangely touching about words so candid, + and a draught of philosophy that has been pressed from such wild and + bitter-sweet fruit. The message it contains is one to sink deep, + penetrating and enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. This man's + words are incandescent. Many of us feel that he is breathing into a + language, grown trite from hackneyed usage, the inspiration of a quickened + life. + </p> + <p> + Ida Gilbert Myers in <i>Washington Star</i>: Courage backs this + revelation. The gift of self-searching animates it. Honesty sustains it. + And Mr. Comfort's rare power to seize and deliver his vision inspires it. + It is a tremendous thing—the greatest thing that this writer has yet + done. + </p> + <p> + George Soule in <i>The Little Review</i>: Here is a man's life laid + absolutely bare. A direct, big thing, so simple that almost no one has + done it before—this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who are made + uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything, to whom reserve is more + important than truth—these will not read <i>Midstream</i> through, + but others will emerge from the book with a sense of the absolute nobility + of Mr. Comfort's frankness. + </p> + <p> + Edwin Markham in <i>Hearst's Magazine</i>: Will Levington Comfort, a + novelist of distinction, has given us a book alive with human interest, + with passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his despotism over + words. He has been a wandering foot—familiar with many strands; he + has known shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to serene heights. He + tells it all without vaunt, relating his experience to the large meanings + of life for all men, to the mystic currents behind life, out of which we + come, to whose great deep we return. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Fleece, by Will Levington Comfort + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + +***** This file should be named 6351-h.htm or 6351-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/6351/ + + +Text file produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Red Fleece + +Author: Will Levington Comfort + + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6351] +This file was first posted on November 29, 2002 +Last Updated: July 3, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + +RED FLEECE + +By Will Levington Comfort + + +Author of "Midstream," "Down Among Men," "Fate Knocks At the Door," +"Routledge Rides Alone," Etc., Etc. + + +1915 + + +TO THE HOUR--WHEN TROOPS TURN HOME + + + + +CONTENTS + +I. THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + +II. THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +III. THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +IV. IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +V. THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +VI. THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +VII. THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + + + +I + +THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + + +Peter Mowbray first saw her at the corner of Palace Square nearest +the river. He was not in the least the kind of young man who appraises +passing women, very far from a starer. At the instant their eyes met, +his thoughts had been occupied with work matters and the trickery of +events. In fact, there was so much to do that he resented the intrusion, +found himself hoping in the first flash that she would show some flaw to +break the attraction. + +It may have been that her eyes were called to the passer-by just as his +had been, without warning or volition. In any event their eyes met full, +leisurely in that stirring silence before the consciousness of self, +time, place and convention rushes in. ... Though she seemed very poor, +there was something about her beyond reach in nobility. He was left with +the impression of the whitest skin, the blackest hair and the reddest +lips, but mainly of a gray-eyed girl--eyes that had become wider and +wider, and had filled with sudden amazement (doubtless at her own +answering look) before they turned away. + +Desolation was abroad in Warsaw after this encounter. Mowbray thought +of New York with loneliness, the zest gone from all present activity. +Presently with curious grip his thoughts returned to a certain luncheon +in New York with a tired literary man who had talked about women with +the air of a connoisseur. The pith of the writer's observations was +restored to his mind in this form: + +"If I were to marry again it would be to a Latin woman--French, Italian, +even Spanish--a close-to-nature woman born and bred in one of the +Mediterranean countries. Not a blue-blood, for that has to do with +decadence, but a woman of the people. They are passionate but pure, as +Poe would say. If they find a man of any value, he becomes their world. +They are strong natural mothers--mothering their children and their +husband, too,--and immune to common sicknesses. Given a little food, +they know enough to prepare it with art. If a man has a bit of a dream +left, such a woman will either make him forget it painlessly, or she +will make it come true." + +There was no apparent relation, and none that proved afterward. What he +had seen at the corner of Palace Square nearest the Vistula was not the +face of a Latin woman, nor was any looseness of common birth evident in +it. The key might have had to do with the little hat she wore, just a +hat for wearing on the head, a protection against sun and rain, and with +the austerely simple black dress; but these weathered exteriors again +were effective in contrast to the vivid freshness of her natural +coloring. As for what remained of the literary man's picture of the +ideal woman to marry, it was the last word of decadence--the eminent +selfishness of a man willing to accept the luxury of a woman who asks +little to be happy. ... The next day at the same time and place Mowbray +was there, and saw her coming from afar. + +She seemed both afraid and angry, stopped abruptly and asked in Polish +what he wanted. He was startled. It was a hard moment. He explained with +difficulty that her language was as yet an inconvenient vehicle for him. + +"You are not Russian?" she said in French. + +He shook his head. She seemed to be relieved and he wondered why. + +"What do you want?" she asked, though not quite with the original +asperity. + +"It did not occur to me you would notice," he said in the language she +had ventured. "I saw you yesterday. You made me think of New York. As +I was near to-day, I hoped to see you again---" + +"You are American?" She spoke now in English, and with a still softer +intonation. + +"Yes,--you speak English, too?" + +"I like it. It is---" she checked herself and asked with just a shade of +coldness, "Is there anything I can do for you?" + +It might be construed as a courtesy to a stranger from one who lived in +Warsaw. Peter liked it, a certain vista opening. However, there was no +answer within reach except the truth, and he plunged: + +"I should like to know you better." + +The red lower lip disappeared beneath the other. Her gray eyes grew very +wide; something intrepid and exquisite in her manner as she searched +his face. Whatever she knew of the world, she dared still to trust her +intuition--this was something of the revelation he drew. + +"Why?" + +Many people were passing. He looked toward the quieter center of the +Square. + +"Will you walk with me there?" he asked. "It is not easy to explain this +sort of thing---" + +"No. I must go on. You may walk a little way." + +"You are very good.... You see, I cannot tell just _why_--as you +asked. If I knew you well, I could tell you. Yesterday I was quite +unromantic---" + +She made it hard for him and did not let him see her smile. "You mean +you are romantic to-day?" + +Peter laughed. "What a trap--and I was trying so hard to tell you." + +"You _were_ trying---" + +"I don't need to tell you. All there is to say is that I want you to be +my friend." + +"I should have to think," she answered. + +"Of course. ... Do you pass here every day?" + +"I should have to think," she said. + +It was the third day afterward that she passed again. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +The first time that Boylan of the _Rhodes News Agency_ of New York saw +Peter Mowbray was in the office of Lonegan of _The States_, Mowbray's +chief in Warsaw. Lonegan had known Peter in New York and had wanted him +for his second many months before the fact was brought about. This +was the Boylan of the Schmedding Polar Failure, of various wars and +expeditions, a huge spectacle of a man, an old-timer, and very fond of +Lonegan, though as representative of _Rhodes'_ he was structurally the +competitor of _The States_ in this territory. + +"Young Mowbray may be all right," Boylan observed, "but the curse of +the student is on him. I should say that he isn't gusty enough for hard +work--vest buttons too safe--" + +"You can't measure health by the pound," Lonegan observed, regarding the +other's bulk with one eye shut. + +"I never heard of Mowbray spending much time in bed outside of the small +hours." + +"How old is he?" + +"Twenty-six or seven." + +"I suppose he put on his gear all in a year or two?" + +"There is that look about him, but he's safely over it. Some people +never stop, but I've had to look up at him from the same angle now and +then during the last five years.... It was just a little before that +he happened into--his route like mine--his cub-year in London, then +assistant in Antwerp, then in Dresden. He had Dresden alone for a year. +I've been angling for him some time----" + +"Yes," Boylan remarked, "you need the right kind of help to stand up +with _Rhodes_ from this end----" + +"You do make it wildly exciting," Lonegan answered gently. "We'll rock +Peter yet." + +This chat took place in June. Ten weeks afterward Boylan came in with +the big news, and found Lonegan bending over the following cablegram, +almost the last that came through in the private cipher of _The States:_ + +Get Mowbray post with Russians. We are mailing influential matters. +Warsaw key-desk for northern campaigns. We are to be congratulated on +having Lonegan there. + +It was from the Old Man, who in certain cases ventured thus to be +expensively felicitous.... + +"I'm sorry, Lonegan," Boylan said. "I thought you would be taking the +field---" + +"No, the Old Man's got the right eye for these affairs. I'm a desk man." + +What Lonegan had swallowed to make his voice clear and steady, only he +knew, but his nerve was effective. "You've got to help me, Boylan," +he said. "You know the military end. You've got to help me get him +attached. I know you'd do it for me, but I want you to do it for him--" + +A grunt from the big man, who disappeared. + +...Lonegan's lip curled. Again it was only Lonegan who knew why. He +read the cablegram carefully again, and felt his face as if speculating +whether he could wait until morning for a shave. There was routine +to do, and the developments of the day to file. Peter was on a mail +story.... It occurred to him presently that his second would be +interested in this eventuality from the Office. He called several places +by 'phone without locating the younger man. + +"He's with the woman," Lonegan concluded. + +Peter had left her address somewhere, but it was not at hand; neither +was her house available to telephone. Lonegan took down the Warsaw +directory, and came finally to the street-number after this line: + +"_Bertha Solwicz, sempstress_." + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +She, too, was almost a stranger in Warsaw, and lonely. Each had their +work, and many hours each day were required for it; still, after the +first fortnight, they managed to meet often. Peter's time was hers, for +he had the habit of leaving his feature-letter for the quiet hours of +the night. + +"I hate the name of Solwicz," she told him the first time he came to her +house, "especially from you. And you must call me _Berthe_, not Bertha." +In spite of her obvious lack of means, she had a few friends of rare +quality, and yet he did not meet them. On her table that first day, he +picked up a little book of poems, the leader of which was entitled _We +Are Free_. Peter had read it a few weeks before and given it a quality +of appreciation that was seldom called in these days. Just now he noted +that the volume was affectionately inscribed to her from the author, +Moritz Abel. She spoke of him and of the group of young master workmen +to which he belonged. Then she read the poem, as they stood together. It +was a moment of honor to the poet. Peter had turned pale, and the little +room was hushed about them, as if Warsaw were suddenly stilled. + +"You see what they are doing," she said. "There is a new race of artists +in Russia. They have passed the emotions---" + +"This poem was due in the world," Peter said. "But it is still an age +ahead of the crowd." + +"That's what makes it so hard for them--for him. He does not like that. +He would like to talk to all men straight. Moritz Abel--the name will +not be forgotten. He is like the others of the new race. They are +terrible in their calm. They have passed the emotions. They are free. +Other artists in Europe or America repress the emotions. That is but the +beginning of the mastery. When they are as great as this group of young +men, they will show the spirit of the thing, not the emotion of it. +Emotions are red. This is pure white, don't you see?" + +For three days Warsaw had been upheaved in excitement. On the afternoon +that the messenger from Lonegan brought the news of the cablegram, +Berthe and Peter were planning an excursion into the country for the +next day. She watched him closely as he read, and was sensitive enough +to realize the importance of the message, before he spoke.... He found +her gray eyes upon him. She chose her own way to break the tension: + +"The country is heaven, no doubt about that. One must die to get there. +Also one must live just so. Even when I was little, something always +happened--just as we were planning to set out for the country." + +He showed her the message, but had hardly heard her words. His discovery +of this slender solitary red-lipped girl and what it meant, was rarely +clear at this moment. She had awakened him plane by plane, awakened his +passion and his mercy and his intuition. + +"Tell me again what you said about the country. I was away for a +minute." + +"It is hard to think of a little excursion to the fields--with such a +holiday ahead, as you are called upon." + +"I wasn't thinking of that either, Berthe, but of you." + +"Of course, you will go?" + +"Doubtless." + +"I was only talking foolishly, about our little excursion. One's own +wants are so pitifully unimportant now." + +"I had hardly expected personally to encounter a war," he remarked and +added smilingly, "The fact is, I hadn't thought of meeting a woman like +you." + +"I don't believe you're as cold-blooded as you try to seem, Peter." + +"I have fought all my life to be cold-blooded." + +She never forgot that. "I wonder why men do it?" + +"It's the cultivation, perhaps, of that which Americans love best of +all--" + +"What?" + +"Nerve." + +"We of Poland dare to be emotional," she said. + +"You are an older people. You know how." + +"One needs only to be one's self." + +Peter smiled. "Sometimes I dare actually to be honest with you. Even +Lonegan and I take no such liberties together." + +"It isn't a matter of courage," she said. "You would dare anything. I +know your quiet, deadly kind of courage. That's the first thing I felt +about you." + +It was like Mowbray not to acknowledge that such a thing had been said. + +"I came to you asleep. I wonder if I should always have remained +asleep?" + +"Your words are pretty, Peter. It makes me sad that you are going away." + +"You remember that company of soldiers that passed us yesterday as we +walked? I had seen many such groups before--great shocky-haired fellows +who ate and drank disgustingly. But yesterday you made me see that their +blood is redder than the Little Father's--that empires ripen and go to +seed only on a grander scale than turnips." Her eyes were gleaming. + +"We who are so wise, who have mastered ourselves, should be very good to +the peasants--and not take what they have and kill them in wars." + +"Did I lead you to believe in any way that I felt myself mastered?" he +asked quickly. + +She touched his arm. "I was talking of the Fatherland," she answered. + +He had met this intensity of hers before. Her scorn was neither hot +nor cold, but electric. So often when words failed her, Peter fancied +himself lost in some superb wilderness... Her own gray tone was in the +room to-day--her gray eyes and black hair that made the shadows seem +gray; her face that no night could hide from him. Sometimes his glance +was held to her lips--as one turns to the firelight. Passion there--or +was it the higher thing, _compassion?_ There was bend and give to the +black cloth she wore, as to the inflections of her voice. She could +forget herself. That was the first and the inexhaustible charm. + +It is true that she was very poor. This room which had become his +sanctuary in Warsaw was in a humble house of a common quarter. She +laughed at this, and at her many hours of work each day, for which the +return was meager. There was the sweetest pathos to him in her little +purse, and her pride in these matters was a thing of royalty. + +"My father earned the right to be poor," she once said. + +It seemed to him that her father was mentioned in the moments most +memorable... She was at the window now, her hand lifting the shade. The +light of the gray day shone through her fingers--a long, fragile hand +that trembled. + +"Shall we walk somewhere, or must you go to your office, Peter?" + +"I won't, just yet. Yes, let's go outside." + +They felt they must climb, a bit of suffocation in their hearts. Until +to-day there had been invariable stimulus for Mowbray in the age of all +things, even in the dusty, narrow, lower streets, but his smiling, easy +countenance was a lie that he disliked now. It pinched him cruelly to +leave her, and there was small amelioration in anything that the war +might bring. She would give him sympathy and zeal and honor for the work +and through all the lonely days, but what a lack would be of that swift +directness of purpose, the deeper seeing, the glad capacity for higher +heroism which he had found only in her presence. They crossed the +riverward corner of the Square, where they had met. He tried to tell her +how she had seemed that first day. + +"I cannot understand," she replied. "Especially that day when I first +saw you, I had nothing." + +Now they ascended the terraces that commanded the Vistula. The rocky +turf of the footpath, smoothed by the tread of forgotten generations +(but still whispering to her of those who had passed on); the crumbling +masonry of the retaining walls, gray with the pallor of the years; and +afar the curving, dust-swept farmlands, which had mothered a thousand +harvests, now moved with strange planting of peasant-soldiers. +Mobilization business everywhere, drilling of the half-equipped, a +singing excitement of parting, recruiting--no time for the actual +misery. + +They stood in the very frown of the fortress at sunset. A column of raw +infantry came swinging out and started the descent. A moment afterward +the roar of a folk-song came up in a gust. It was as if the underworld +suddenly had been cratered. + +"When they sing like that, and I think of what they shall soon be called +upon to do--I can hardly endure it!" she whispered.... They stood with +backs against the wall, as the tail of the column moved past. "Look at +that weary one--so spent and sick--yet trying to sing--" + +They were in the silence again. Across the river, against the red +background, they watched another column of foot-soldiers moving like a +procession of ants erect; and beyond, on the dim plain, a field battery, +just replenished to war footing, was toiling with tired beasts and +untried pieces. Mowbray thought of the human meat being herded in +Austria for those great rakish guns, as the infantry below was being +trained for distant slaughter arenas. + +"Do speak, Peter," she whispered. + +He turned to find her white face looking up to him and very close. They +were alone. + +"You won't mind if I think about myself this once?" he asked. + +"Please do." + +"I only want to say that, if you'll stay where you are, I'll come back +from this stuff--I was going to say, dead or alive." + +"Do you mean I am to stay in Warsaw?" she asked. + +"No--not that exactly. I mean if you will stay where you are in regard +to me----" + +Tears filled her eyes. He would have known it even if they had not shone +through the dusk, because his fingers felt the tremor in her arms. She +tried to speak, but finished, "How utterly silly words are!" + +The face of young Mowbray was strange with emotion, pale but +brilliant-eyed, his long features bending to her. She was utter +receptivity. Neither knew until afterward how rare and perfect was this +moment. + +"Anyway--we understand. We understand, Berthe." + +"...As for Berthe," she said slowly, as they walked back, "her heart +will stay where you have put it, Peter. That's out of her power to +change. But the rest--I can't tell, yet----" + +It was as if a finger had crossed Mowbray's face laterally under the +eyes and across his nostrils, leaving a gray welt. + +"I know you belong to the moderns," he said, after a moment. "We men +belong to the ancients. We want a woman to wait and weep while we go off +to the wars." + +"We understand," she kept repeating.... "And now, before you go, come +home with me and let me make you a cup of tea--just a cup of tea--before +you go." + +He went with her, and, when his tea-cup was finished, he happened to +look into the bottom. + +"What do you see?" she asked quickly, taking the cup. + +"M-m-m," said Mowbray. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Peter and Lonegan were together at dinner three hours after the message +from _The States._ + +"It's a big chance, Mowbray. That's all I can say. I stay at the +wire--no heroics." + +"You ought to see it all from here." + +Lonegan smiled deprecatingly. "Boylan will help you get through. You +don't know him yet. Some time, perhaps, you will--two hundred and fifty +pounds of soul. He'll do all he can to get you the same chance he +has, because I asked him; and then he'll try to make _The States_ look +obsolete as a newspaper, wherein, of course, he'll fail. But he'll try. +If he takes to you, it won't make him try less, but he'd do your stuff +and his, if you fell sick. There isn't another Boylan--a great newspaper +man, too. _The States_ will watch closely, knowing that _Rhodes'_ will +get everything possible from Boylan's part of the front. The point +is--and I think he'll want it, too--you'd better work together on the +main line of stuff, as we do here. Your letters on the side should +be better than his, because you're a better writer. As for war stuff, +Boylan is the old master--Peking, Manchuria and the Balkans--that I +think of; also the Schmedding Polar Failure. That last _was_ war--a +spectacular expedition of the Germans-- + +"I might as well make this a lecture, now that I've started," Lonegan +went on. "The war game isn't complex. All the bewildering technicalities +that bristle from a military officer's talk are just big-name stuff +designed to keep down the contempt of the crowd--the oldest professional +trick. Whenever the crowd gets to understand your terminology your game +is cooked. You know how it is in a drug-store, and you've seen the old +family doctor look wise.... + +"There's a lot of different explosives which they fire by mathematics, +and which you can learn in part from our homely encyclopedias, but the +main game will be fought out on the same principles that Attila fought +it and Genghis Khan--numbers, traps, unexpectedness, the same dull +old flanking activities, the raid of supplies and communications, the +bending back of wings, the crimp of a line by making a hole in one +part--and all that archaic rot. As I say, the game is extinct, so far +as our modern complicated intelligences go, and the men whose names +are biggest in the papers from now on are the same old beefy type +of rudiments whom a man wouldn't associate with in times of national +quiet.... I will end this by saying that the big story is the man--the +peasant, the trooper, the one blinded little dupe, who dies, or plunges, +or loses his legs in the name of the Fatherland--" + +"I see that," said Peter; "but what really is interesting to me is this +peasant's blindness and the monkey other men make of him--" + +"I'm glad you spoke of that, for it is a thing to avoid. Interesting, +I grant, but not popular with our kind of press. We are not servants of +the minority or the elect. You'll find Boylan exploiting the army he's +with--just as another might have done under Napoleon. By the way, where +are you going to-night?" + +"I'm going to sit at the feet of the most genial anarchist at large. His +name is Fallows, an American, who has been ten years in Russia among the +peasants." + +"Duke Fallows--I know of him. When did he come to town?" + +"Two days ago." + +"Peter, how did you get next?" Lonegan looked a bit in awe at the other. + +"I was asked to one of his private audiences last night." + +Peter knew that Lonegan had many things to ask by the quick tone in +which he spoke the first question. + +"You know what Fallows will do to you?" + +"Yes, if one lets go. He has learned how to use his power. He has +brought forth his young upon the bare rocks, as somebody said." + +"He'd turn an angel into an anarchist." + +"A man ought not to be afraid to listen if there's a chance for him to +be proved wrong--" + +"Correct, absolutely. I am merely thinking about our job." + +"A man gets in the habit of thinking about his job--doesn't he?" + +"Did he tell you about the plowman of Liaoyang?" + +"No, but my companion did. Fallows must have seen that episode rather +clearly." + +"Let's not get off the job business, Peter. As I was saying, the truth +isn't popular--" + +"That doesn't sound like Lonegan." + +"No, and I don't like the feel of saying it, but it's very much to the +point--" + +"Possibly." + +"Mowbray, we are taking our bread, and its cake, too, from a paper that +expects us to exploit the orthodox heroics. The pity and atrocious sham +of it all has its side. But the fact still remains its side does not +furnish the stuff that American newspapers pay men and cable tolls to +furnish." + +"Won't you come to-night?" Peter asked laughing. "Perhaps we can both +reach the high point some day when we have earned the right to be poor." + +"That's a higher point than I dream of, Peter. I can't help but think +what a nest you've got into. Of course, I mean with Fallows and his +kind--" + +"An eagle's nest." + +"But the eaglets are starving." + +"Heretofore the job has been served. Come along with me and meet Duke +Fallows again--" + +"No. I must go back to the wire for the present. Boylan would be +shocked, too. By the way, I've got a bid in for you with General +Kohlvihr. Boylan is to help me put it through, of course. The more +decorated they are the more they fall for Boylan. There's a chance that +you'll start south with a column within two days. So you'd better get at +that encyclopedia stuff--" + +"Yes, I'll attend to that." + +Peter left him smiling, and turned his steps across the Square, into a +narrow street of the poor quarter, and on toward a little room and a low +lamp, where a woman's hands sewed magically as she waited. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Fallows met them in his small bleak room, turned the lamp low, and +opened the door of the diminutive wood-stove to let the firelight in the +room. The three sat around it.... Peter Mowbray felt strange and young +beside them. The woman seemed to belong to this world, and it was a +world at war with every existing power. All Peter's training resisted +stubbornly. Still, right or wrong, there was a nobility about their +stand. He did not need to be sure their vision was absolutely true, yet +the suspicion developed that they saw more clearly than he, and acted +more purely. Mowbray did not lack anything of valor, but he lacked the +fire somehow. He loved Berthe Solwicz, could have made every sacrifice +for her, but that was a concrete thing. + +Fallow's bony knees were close to the fire. He seemed both light +and deep, often turning to Peter with secret intentness, and openly +regarding the young woman with amazement and delight. Nearing fifty, +Fallows was tall, thin and tanned. The deep lines of his face were +those which make a man look homely to himself, but often interesting +to others. His soft, low-collared shirt was somewhat of a spectacle in +consideration of the angular and weathered neck. No rest could exist in +the room that contained such loneliness as burned from his eyes. It was +said that he had been rich, though everything about him was poor now. +One would suspect the articles in his pockets to be meager and of poor +quality--the things you might find in a peasant's coat. That which he +called home was a peasant's house in the Bosk hills--the house of the +plowman of Liaoyang, whose children he fathered. Annually, however, he +went abroad, telling the story of the underdog, usually making the big +circuit from the East to the West, and stopping at a certain little +cabin within hearing distance of the whistles of Manhattan, where his +first disciple worked in solitude mainly, and against the stream. Just +now Fallows was planning a different winter's work.... They talked of +the first fighting. + +"The startling thing to realize is that for the present we are allied +with England," said Fallows. "I mean Russia. You see, I am Russian, now, +not the Russia of the Bear, but of the Man--" + +Mowbray and the woman exchanged glances, each thinking of the tea-cup +in the afternoon.... The exile showed traces of his ten years' training +among simple men. Rhetoric and dithyramb were gone from his speech and +habit of mind. The whole study and vision of the man was to make his +words plain. Thus he said slowly: + +"The peasants are children--children in mind and soul. We who have come +a little farther are responsible for them, as a father is responsible +for his children. So far we have wronged them, taught them to grasp +instead of to give, to look down instead of up. We have even stolen from +them the fruits of their looking down. The time is near at hand when +we shall have to pay for all this.... A true father would die for his +children. I know men who have done that, and there are men about us +here, even in Warsaw tonight, who are ready for that--" + +Fallows' voice was tender. He watched the face of the woman as he spoke. +She was looking hard into the fire. + +Fallows added: "There are fifty million men here in Russia--roughly +speaking. Very strong, very simple, possibly very brutal men, but brutal +as a fine dog is brutal, a simplicity about that. I do not idealize +them. I have lived among them. I know this: They might be led to +virtue, instead of to wickedness. My heart bleeds for them being led to +slaughter again. The hard thing is to make them see, but the reason for +that is simple, too. If they could see--they would not be children. They +must be led. Never in modern history have they been purely led. Words +cannot make them see; wars so far have not made them see. It may be that +the sufferings and heroisms of this war shall be great enough to make +them see...." + +"What would you have the peasants see first?" Peter asked. + +"Their real fathers--that men of wisdom and genius are the true fathers +of the Fatherland, not the groups of predatory men. True fathers would +die for their children. To me it has been blasphemy, when the nations of +the past have called themselves Fatherlands. I would have the peasants +fathered by men who realize that the peasants are the strength and salt +of the earth; men who realize that the plan of life is good--that the +plan of life is for concord and service each to the other--that the hate +of man for man is the deadly sin, the hell of the world--that the fields +and all the treasures of the mother earth are for those who serve and +aspire, and not for those who hold fast, look down and covet more." + +Mowbray was interested in the fact that Fallows had passed the stage +of eloquence and scorn and burning hatred against evil in persons and +institutions. There was no hue and cry about his convictions. He seemed +to live in continual amazement at the slowness with which the world +moves--the slowness to a man who is ahead and trying to pull his people +along. Moreover there was that final wisdom which Fallows revealed +from time to time--momentary loss of the conviction that he himself was +immortally right. Fallows saw, indeed, that a man may be atrociously out +of plumb, even to the point of becoming a private and public nuisance, +when allowed to feed too long alone on the strong diet of his own +convictions.... An hour sped by. Fallows replenished the fire and turned +to Berthe Solwicz. + +"All evening you've had something in your mind to tell me and I've been +giving forth. You must forgive a man for so many words--when he has been +living with little children so long. What is it?" + +"Just a reading of a tea-cup to-day--but everything you said has its +meaning concerned in it." + +"I'm almost as interested in tea-cups as in the stars," said Fallows. + +"You know a toy-bear, such as the Germans make?" + +"Yes--" + +"Well, it would have been like that--if one were thinking of toys. +We thought of the Russian Bear. It was perfect--in the bottom of the +cup--standing up, walking like a man--huge paunch, thick paws held out +pathetically, legs stretched out, just as he would be, rocking, you +know--" + +Fallows bowed seriously. Mowbray turned his smile to the shadows. + +"Near him," Berthe added, "was a Russian soldier--perfect--fur cap, +high boots, tightly belted, very natty--more perfect than we see in the +streets, as if drawn from ideal. He was stabbing the bear with a long +pole, leisurely--" + +"It was a rifle and bayonet," said Peter. "We both saw it, but didn't +speak until now. He was churning the bayonet around in the great paunch +as if feeling for the vitals. The bear looked large and helpless." + +Fallows' bronzed head had sunk upon his chest. His eyes, red with +firelight, seemed lost to all expression. "I was thinking it would +happen in Germany first," he said. + +A moment afterward he added: "There's a time when a man wants to die for +what he believes, and another time when he's afraid he will die before +he gets a chance to make his life count." + +Again he paused, and then looked up to Mowbray. "It's a good omen. +That's the _real_ war.... And was it your cup?" + +"Yes." + +"You say that you are going out for the Galician service?" + +"Yes, possibly with Kohlvihr's column." + +"You will see much service," said Fallows. "That used to be our +dream--to see service. It will be easier seen with the Russians. They +are not so modern in method as the French or Germans, or even the +Japanese. Of course, war is the same. The nation at the end will win +on the fields, not in the skies. The sky fulfillment is reserved for a +better utility than war. But war belongs under the sea.... You will not +be suppressed so rigidly with the Russians. You will see the side of +the war which will have the most bearing on the future. I do not believe +France and Germany are in the future as Russia is--" + +"And England?" Peter asked quickly. + +"The key to that is the wealth of the Indies--as of yore." + +"You mean if India remains loyal?" + +"If India remains under the yoke." + +"But, if Britain should preserve her tenure in India with the Japanese +troops--" Peter suggested. + +Fallows shuddered. "As yet I can see no philosophy under heaven to cover +that." + +"And you think Britain and Russia are enemies in spite of this +alliance?" + +"Enemies, temperamental and structural--enemies, past and future." + +Peter recurred to this point: "You think that India would not remain +loyal if she had arms?" + +"I was in a little village of the Punjab two years ago," Fallows +replied, "and there was a lad of sixteen there, wonderful in promise--a +mind, a spirit. They could not raise in the village enough money to send +him across the seas steerage for his education. A single rifle costs +nearly three pounds. It is hard for us to realize how poor India is." + +Peter stood fast against this in his mind; his intellect would not +accept.... "Are you going to take the field again, Mr. Fallows?" + +"Not in a newspaper way. I shall nurse wounded soldiers. At least they +have accepted me.... These are fearful and amazing days. We have all +been in a kind of long feeding dream, like the insects, accumulating +energy and terrible power for these days. Such death as we shall see!" + +There was silence. + +"I wonder how they are taking it in America?" Fallows mused. + +"Doubtless as an opportunity for world-trade," said Peter. + +"Oh, I hope not!" the exile said passionately. "There must be another +America." + +Fallows placed his hands on Berthe's shoulders, looking down: "You make +me think of a young woman I once knew," he said. "Not that you look like +her--but that you have the same zeal _for something_.... You are a very +true daughter of your father--" + +"You knew him?" she said huskily. + +"We all knew him--we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, his +courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a pure +and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is wonderful +for me to be here with you. And this man loves you." + +It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment. +Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the +lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for an +instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave themselves. + +"I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name," Berthe +said. "But I am going to tell him--before he goes." + +"He is safe," said Fallows. "I felt free with him--almost +immediately--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter +Mowbray. It is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of +the war for _The States_. You will see great things--best of all with +the Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang +every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. +I wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of +brotherhood is faring? God, how he took to that dream! He will be a +Voice--" + +They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. "I'll go out +with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night." + +Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had +already said too much. + +"He seems to be burning up," said Peter. + +Berthe did not answer. + +"He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly +full of power," Peter added. "And yet he said so little of his own +part." + +"He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh, +Peter, where do you keep your passion?" + +"You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?" + +"Yes." + +"I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. +But you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father must +have loved the world--" + +"But you love the world--" + +"No, I love you." + +"Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!" + +Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed +a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows' +mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She +had always talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; +now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk. + +Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows personally +was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel martyrdoms +for others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not strictly a +conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for another, it +was not good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to be just, by +thinking of Fallows' life. + +Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not come +to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up everything in +life to make the world better as he saw it. He had written and traveled +and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to poverty, all for the good +of the under-dog. + +"It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it," Peter mused. "He +sees it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He +isn't afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I take +things as I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought otherwise, +except for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked." + +Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main +issue that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, stuffing +her ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He braced himself +now and faced it. "If it happened to another pair, I should say it was +the finish," he thought. "I should say that no man and woman could pass +a rock like that.... I can't get to her point of view by thinking myself +there. I'm cold--that's the word. And she's superb. I'd rather be her +friend than lord of any other woman. That won't change. And she has +spoiled everything I thought I knew. Altogether--it's a game, bright +little story--and deep." + +Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily. + +"I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going +with him?" + +"I'm ready," said Peter. + +"Did you have a big time?" + +"Yes." + +"What do you think of Fallows now?" + +"I'm strong for him." + +"Peter--you look bushed." + +"It drains a man to spend an evening in that company. A fellow has to +have a heavy lid--not to waste fire." + +Lonegan was worried. "You don't mean to say you're getting fevers and +emotions." + +"I'm threatened." + +"Mowbray--you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your +fires--not even how well you bank 'em. It isn't in you." + +"I wish it were," said Peter. + +* * * + +For a long time after Lonegan left he plunged into his work, but there +was no sleep for him afterward. He lay very still, breathing easily, +as the fag-end of the night crawled by. At dawn he arose, dressed +noiselessly, and went out into the city. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +It was too early to go to Berthe, yet his steps led him to the street of +her house, and he had not passed it a second time before she opened the +blinds above, and called to him. He looked at her sorrowfully, and she +met his eyes. + +"Come in, Peter. I've been so sorry! If you can forgive me, we'll have +coffee together--" + +He followed her upstairs. The premonition came that he was to take away +the image of Berthe Solwicz at its highest--inimitably enticing to his +heart, the girlish and utterly feminine spirit that had captivated the +man in his breast. She did not seem to know that she was like the woman +of the first meeting, but to him all her grace of that day had returned, +as if to complete the circle of the episode; and all that he had loved +since was added. The one thing in his life that he was proud of, was +that he had chosen this woman from the crowd.... They were in her room. +With both hands she held him in his coat, so that he could not remove +it, begging him to forget the last of last night before they could be at +rest. + +"I don't know as I want to, Berthe," he said. "It made me think. There +are two kinds of people in the world--the kind who give and the kind who +take. We represent each. I'm afraid the difference is intrinsic. There +would be no satisfaction in me trying to be some one else--even trying +to be like you. I am what I am--and must be that. But, Berthe, I can +hold the suspicion that I am your inferior, and be pleasant about it--" + +"Peter, Peter--you don't understand. I don't love myself--nor my way +better. I am poor and tortured, carrying about a legacy, or a dream. I +need you. I can tell you now--I never needed you so much as last night +when I sent you away. I need your brain and balance--your big heart. It +was never so dear to me." + +This was too much for him. He sat down before her. All night he had been +trying to qualify for a lower place in her heart than his earlier dreams +had called for--any place rather than to be apart--for the stuff of +adoration was in Peter Mowbray. Half-sitting, half-kneeling, she took +her place on the rug before him. + +"But first I must tell you the story. I could not tell you at once; and +since then we have managed so well. But you must know before you go. I +am not Polish, not even in name. My father's mother was a Russian woman, +but his father was an Irishman, and the name--my name--is Wyndham. My +father's given name was 'Metz'--" + +Peter had caught it all before her last sentence. "Wyndham" had +been enough. He saw clearly the natural and excellent reason for the +tenderness of Duke Fallows toward the daughter of Metz Wyndham, and +recalled the tragic story of the power and fire of this prophet of the +people, who was executed by the Russian government in the midst of the +turmoil following Red Sunday--"Metz Wyndham, the notorious Red," as he +was denoted in the subsidized press of Petersburg, though "Metz Wyndham, +the peasants' martyr," was a whisper which seemed destined in the end to +silence all such uproar. + +"You have heard of him? You knew his story?" + +The upturned face shone with a different bloom for his eyes. "Yes," he +answered. + +"...I was away from Russia for years--in London and Paris," she said +quickly. "But at last I felt I could not stay longer. I wanted to come +back here--where the struggle is so tense and constant. He worked much +here in Warsaw. All of his kind come some time to Warsaw. And so the +name _Solwicz_, which I hate; and so the fear when I found you watching +me in the street a second time, and my relief to learn that you were not +Russian-" + +"Of course I understand," said Peter. He put his hand upon her head. "I +was in awe of you before I knew," he added, "and yet, I always saw that +in the most vital moments something of him would come out.... I keep +seeing you with him now--what a life for a young girl--what a builder, +those years, for a young girl--and how brave you are. Berthe, I have +it--you are spoiled for common people because you were brought up with +that kind of a man. How clearly I understand last night now!" + +"There's another side to that," she said huskily. + +"Oh, I'm sorry--" + +The most consummate plotting could not have endeared him to her as those +three words. + +"Peter, you must see it--the other side. There was no rest with him. All +his brilliance, all his brilliant companions were one part, but there +was a steady pressure of tragedy about us--from outside. And there +was tragic pressure from him. He was subject to the most terrible +melancholia. He had enough vision to see the wrong everywhere. It was +not mania. There _is_ wrong everywhere, if one looks--in judges and +cities, in nations, wars, in the kind of amusements people plunge +into--wrong and coarseness and stupidity. He loved men but hated +institutions. Sometimes, he would see it all so clearly that the sense +of his own powerlessness would come. He would cry, 'One man can't do +anything. A man like me can't be heard--oh, I can't make myself heard! +It is as if I were shut in a tomb.' He would only have been happy +passing from one great crowd to another--harrowing, pleading, +electrifying men. He would rise--even alone with me--to the heights of +his power--and then fall into the valleys because no one could hear. +That was his cry, _'I can't make myself heard!_ Then often, when he was +waiting to speak, the power would come, and leave him drained when he +faced his people. He would tell me afterward, 'If I could only have +talked to them yesterday, or an hour before!' + +"Then the doubt of self would come to him--the fear that he was wrong +or insane. 'Berthe, it can't be that the crowds are wrong; that I am +right--against all the crowds. It must be that I am insane.' He would +suffer like one damned from that. Worse than all was the fear of his +own Ego. He was more afraid of that than any other lion in the way. 'It +isn't the cause, it's me--that wants to be heard. It's the accursed me +that I am striving for--in agony to relieve. I merely use the Cause. All +the time it is myself that I wish to make heard.' That would make him +suicidal. + +"I am only telling you these moods. He was a child, a playmate, the +loveliest companion a girl ever had--seeing the beauty and analogy in +all nature and outdoors--full of jest and delights. I just wanted to +show you the other side----" + +It was all of breathless interest. + +"There came a day," she added, as Peter watched her raptly, "when he did +make himself heard, even as he dreamed...." + +Peter thought of his reading the story--a boy at school, and was struck +with the memory of its appeal to him in the light of the present. + +"...The sustaining of his friends was taken from us at the last. They +dared not come, of course. 'Berthe, little heart, it's all right,' he +would say. 'You will have to go on alone, but the way will be shown you. +You have the strength. You have been heaven and earth to me. I must go +and leave you, but that's only a temporary matter. It will be hard--but +it has been hard _with_ me.... This is all right. It's good for what +ails the world--but you are only a little girl! My God, I dare not think +of it....' + +"I remember the dawn and the cold rain and the stone buildings--and +then to find the world's relation to his daughter. That had been spared +before. He kept it from me, and there was such a sustaining from his +friends and power. Those most concerned are slowest to learn exactly +what the world thinks of them.... It did not come until afterward, and +then it almost killed me. I was clinging to a sorrow almost sacred, and +I found that the world saw only the shame and madness of my plight. +I suddenly saw it in the eyes of the people--how they drew apart from +me.... He had only wanted to make them better. He said that all evil was +the result of men hating one another. He did not hate men, but predatory +institutions, false fatherlands, and all slave-drivers. They hanged him +for that hatred, but what was more shocking was to find that the people +whom he loved and served were horrified at his daughter...." + +It did not detract from Peter's ardor that his intellect was away for an +instant in a rather skeptical study of Metz Wyndham's life. To Peter +had come glimpses of the magnificent selfishness of this prophet of the +people. Did all great men have such an ego? If their lives were +closely examined would they all reveal, in their intimate and familiar +relations, the most subtle and insidious forms of self-service? In fact, +was not the mighty _ego_ the source of their record-making in the world? +... Peter banished this rush of conjectures. Whatever the father, the +whole art of the life of Metz Wyndham's daughter was the loss of the +love of self. + +"I feel before you," he said, "as I once felt in the vineyards beneath +Vesuvius." + +She smiled at him. "There are several ways to take that." + +"Just one that I mean--and no explanation." + +"... Peter, our last day together--all shadowy background to be put +away--" + +"And breakfast to occupy the immediate fore." + +He went out into the street to purchase certain essentials, found some +tall white flowers, and a copper vase to put them in. They were hungry, +after the long night, and their happiness was the exquisite moments +which they found between the darkenings. They would not permit the +parting altogether to pervade. Her face was lustrous white; her eyes +made him think of those gray days on the ocean, in which one can see +great distances. More of a girl than ever she seemed to him, with her +black hair combed loosely back and hanging in a pair of braids. The +flowers stood tall between them. + +"War weather like this makes one grow quickly," he said. "To think how +easy and content we thought ourselves--even three days ago. Now, I want +to say, 'Come, Berthe--come with me....' I want to take you to some +quiet place, back in the States, in the country by the water. Yes, north +country--by some lake that would be frozen when we got there. That's +where the silence is, that winter silence. A cabin, a roaring fire--you +and I together, alone. It seems you would be safe there, and I could +begin to be satisfied--". + +"Peter, Peter--don't make heavens to-day!" + +"It's your particular heaven. No other would ever have made me think of +_winter_--of something austere and silent for you to ignite." + +"I wonder, shall it ever come to me--to have peace and abundance of +nature? I have always had the cities, and now it is more war again--the +opposite to nature--but I shall think every hour of that winter cabin. +That is my place," she added. "Another would have made you think of the +South--or the seas. I shall think of your being there with me--every +day--no matter where I am---" + +Her words had grown vague to his ears. Her lips were so red that for the +time he saw them only. He arose and went to her around the tall flowers. + +"What did you say?" he asked, after a moment. + +"I don't know--oh, yes--perhaps, if we are very good in this war, and +do all we can to make orderly our little circle of things in the great +chaos--perhaps we may earn that winter cabin and the fireplace and the +stillness. To plan our garden in the winter days---" + +"I wish I hadn't spoken of it. It's almost unearthly far--in such a +time. But, Berthe, will you ever be satisfied with one who hasn't the +white fire of passion--as you have, in the cause of the peasants?" + +"Oh, that's what I wanted to tell you. We are to be separated. We are +grown up--a man and a woman. We dare speak to each other. At least, I +dare.... Peter, I couldn't love you if you were all that--all that---" +She hesitated. + +"All that you missed in me last night?" he suggested. + +"Yes, but I didn't miss it exactly. I was excited and overwrought. You +are splendid with me. It is when others are near, that you are--cold and +unemotional. I know it's your training--that thing you Americans have +from the English. You are that way with men. You are not so with me. +But, if you were like Fallows, or like my father, I could not love you. +I would not dare---" + +"Why?" + +"First, I could not--and then I would not dare. First, that which we +are, we do not love. We love another kind--for completion----" + +"Clearly said. That must be true," he answered quickly. "And why would +you not dare?" + +"Because we should have a little baby, and it would suffer so in coming +years. Peter, the poise and the balance--the very qualities I need in +you, and which I love, the little baby would require as his gift from +his father." + + + + +II + +THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +Chapter 1 + + +"Hai, you, Peter--wake up!" + +It was Boylan's voice, seemingly afar off, but coming closer. + +"Wake up.... I say, young man, what do you think of it by this time?" + +Thus Peter was awakened the seventh morning out--and in a place he had +not observed the previous night. It was as good a place as usual, if not +better, except for the smell of fish that had gone before. Clearly it +had been a fish shop, business suspended some time. There were certain +scaly trays on the sloping showboards to the street; scales glistened +among the cobwebs of the low ceilings; also the floor was of turf, and +doubtless very full of phosphor, an excellent base for rose-culture. +The place dwindled and darkened to the rear, from which the head +and shoulders of Samarc presently emerged, and a moment later Little +Spenski, his companion, sat up and rubbed his eyes. These two, +invariably together, were men of a rapid-fire battery, to meet their +pieces lower in the fields, and attached for the present, as were Boylan +and Mowbray, to the staff of General Kohlvihr's command. + +"Think of what?" Peter asked. + +Boylan disdained answer. He was strapping a pigskin legging over a +bulging calf, always a severe strain. He looked up presently, reached +across and touched his forefinger to Peter's chin then to his own, which +bristled black and gray. + +"Young man, you've got a secret," he remarked darkly. + +Peter smiled. He kept his razors in the same case as his tooth-brush, +and the case had not been mislaid so far. He could shave in the dark. + +"You're either not of age, or your face is sterile," said Boylan. + +"The floor of this fish shop isn't," said Peter. + +"I've been with you the last forty-eight hours straight. No sign of life +in that time." + +"You went out looking for fresh meat at sundown. You were gone---" + +"I was gone just five minutes, because the train wasn't up. You had tea +on when I came back." + +"There was a bit too much hot water." + +"Peter, that will do once more, but I've got a suspicion. No man living +can shave in the saddle--so you won't be able to spring that one. +Besides, you are willing to discuss the matter." + +"Did you ask what town this is?" + +"No," said Boylan; "I couldn't remember if they told me. New town every +night. The only thing to name a town is a battle. God, smell the wood +smoke--doesn't it make you keen?" + +"For what?" + +Boylan looked at him. "What are we out for?" + +"Apparently the column is out for blood, but I thought you might mean +breakfast." + +"The column will get blood, right enough," said Boylan, "whether it gets +breakfast or not. What's the news, I wonder?" + +"I've forgotten my relation to news.... Where are you going?" + +"To see if that beef-train is in. I suppose you'll have rigged up a +turkish bath and be in the cooling room by the time I get back." + +Peter fed the horses and had tea and black bread served for two, by +the time Boylan called from a distance: "Put on the griddle, Peter--a +regular steak.... I stopped in the farrier's on the way back and had it +anviled a bit. That's what kept me," he added. + +Peter tossed it in the pan. Their fire was in the turf at the door +of the fish shop. Boylan drew in close, having washed noisily, and +deposited the remaining provisions in the two saddle-bags. "We're fixed +for supper and breakfast," he remarked, with a sigh. + +"You said that the army that would win this war must win through famine. +The Russians had better begin--" + +"I didn't say anything about Mr. B. B. Boylan--" + +"Mr. Big Belt Boylan," Peter muttered, twisting his face away from the +heat and sizzling smoke steam. The name held. + +The huge Rhodes' man liked Peter more than the latter knew, and his +likings of this sort were deep and peculiar. Boylan was nearing fifty, a +man all in one piece--thick, ponderous, hard, scarred with _la viruela_, +a saber sweep, a green-blue arc in his throat where some dart or +arrow had torn its way in between vital columns. His head was bald and +wrinkled, but very large, his neck and jaw to match, his eyes a soft +blue that once had been his secret shame. Very often he had been called +into the public glare. + +"I was so hungry once," Boylan said, "that I've been a slave to the fear +of it ever since." He referred to the Polar Failure. "Once in Farrel's +Island--we were four," he added. "We drew lots to find out which one of +us we must eat. That _was_ a winter.... All you fellows may begin famine +as soon as you like. You'll come a long way before you arrive at the +personal familiarity of the subject earned by this same little fat +boy.... Turn it again, Peter." + +Samarc rushed past, speaking excitedly in French, and in the shadows +behind they saw the eyes of Spenski, sympathetic and wistful. + +"What did he say, Peter?" Boylan asked quickly. "Samarc's French is like +my Russian." + +"He said his face had been fixed for tea--and toast with Spenski--until +we began to steam up the place. Now he's gone to the feed-wagons." + +"Why, bless the ruffian, there's enough here for four." + +"I told him that, but you know Samarc." + +Little Spenski's voice now drawled from behind. + +"We're getting low, anyway. It was right for him to fill the bags this +morning, though very kind of you to offer--" + +"I don't like that, Spenski," said Boylan. "Bull cheek for four was my +order. Why, you fellows--" + +Boylan was going to say how consistently generous with rations and +private provisions the two Warsaw men had been, but got tangled in +the language. Peter helped him. Boylan wouldn't have it otherwise, and +quartered the steak, serving Spenski and covering the fourth with a tin. +It was an excellent feast. For five days these two pair had cautiously, +timidly even, stood for each other in that reserved way that +much-weathered men integrate a memorable friendship.... Samarc returned. +They helped him cache his provisions and drew him into the quadrangle +around the fire. There was time for an extra pot of tea, and the dawn +rose superbly. That day in the column Spenski was called into the +personal escort of Kohlvihr, Boylan accompanying. Samarc and Peter rode +as usual with the forward infantry--just behind the van, headquarters +back a quarter of a mile. + +"Tell me about Spenski," Peter asked. "He's an interesting chap. I heard +him talking to you about the stars last evening, before supper, pointing +out Venus and Jupiter." + +"He'll grow on you," said Samarc, their talk in French. "He did in my +case. We've been together six years in and out of the big instrument +shop in Warsaw--Bloom's. We make a camera, microscopes and even a +telescope now and then. I invented a rather profitable objective for the +Blooms, for which they gave me a position, and a small interest that has +kept me from wandering far from Warsaw. In the first days they told me +about Spenski--his remarkable workmanship--and pointed out the wiry, +red-headed little chap with the quick imperative smile you've seen. We +got on well together from the first. It has been no small thing for +me that he likes my ways. I got him in this service, by the way, and I +don't know whether I'm very proud of that. He's a lot more famous as a +workman now than six years ago." + +"What is his work?" Peter asked. + +"A lens-maker. His art is one of the finest of the human eye--requires +genius to begin with. Spenski's craft on a glass in many cases doubles +the price of the instrument. No one knows better what kind of a workman +he is, nor can follow his particular finish with a keener or more +appreciative eye, than old Dr. Abbe himself. Spenski has letters from +that old master. + +"He knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things--like the star stuff. He'll +name for you scores of the vague, indefinite ones, not to speak of the +larger magnitudes, which he can call by color at any hour of the night. +It was this passion of his for the stars which showed him his work as a +boy. That started him fabricating glasses to see them better. He has +a supreme eye for light, circles and foci, and a brain that just plays +with heavy mathematics--the most abstruse calculations. Yet, you see, he +carries it all with the ease of a boy. I think men who come with a task +to do are like that. It's part of them. They don't feel the weight of +what they know, because it's all through them--not localized. You might +be with Spenski an hour or a week and never know that he was more than +just a mechanic--if you were just a mechanic." + +"It's very interesting," said Peter, as charmed with his companion as +with the man he talked about. + +"A little while ago Spenski found his girl, and I would have +withdrawn--for that is the high test," Samarc resumed. "But Spenski +managed to keep us both without strain.... And then the war came +along. A blight fell upon all workmanship in an hour. I had been on the +military side of things from a boy, a matter of training and heredity. +Of course, I would go. Spenski looked around the shop when I told him +this. It was stricken, the machinery cranking down, the faces of the +men white and troubled. 'I'll go, too,' said he.... I reminded him of +her.... 'She wouldn't be interested in a chap who remained at home,' he +said.... I told him of the big plants in Switzerland and America, where +he could be of great value, but he was not tempted. 'I want to go if +they'll take me in your battery,' was his last word on the matter. + +"Of course I saw to that, but there's no work here, and there won't be, +that can bring out Spenski's real values. Think of using such a man +to feed the hopper of a rapid-fire piece.... But it's good to have him +along. Spenski's a hard habit to break." + +That night, when Boylan and Mowbray were together again, but a little +apart from the others, Big Belt said: + +"Say, Peter, that little Spenski is a card. A good little chap, smart +and modest. I like him." + +"I found Samarc worth cultivating, too," said Peter. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Marching south along the Vistula with the old-fashioned army--no +airships, nothing that intensely puzzled Mowbray in this service--that +is, in the exteriors of it--nothing but earth poundage and earth power, +a game that had much to do with earth and not with heaven. Seven quiet +days of marching in splendid summer weather, the raw peasant soldiery +well fed and comfortable, becoming a unit, all outbreak of separate +consciousness anywhere more and more impossible, hardening to the +peculiar day's work. They were used to heavy work, but this was a +particular task that needed specific hardening of feet and lungs; also +the personal idea in each breast required numbing. The physical aim was +to make men light for heavy work; to give them a taste of the joy and +the true health of the field--before the entrainments, the haste and +the fighting; but the psychological purpose was to make each atom +forget itself, to weave it well into the fabric of the mass. Kohlvihr's +division had to be moved; very well, let the movement gather the values +of practice marching as well. + +A raw division, with a scattering of Poles and Finns mixed with the +straight Slav peasantry and regarded by the Russian war office, as Peter +Mowbray understood at once, a ticklish proposition. The cement for +this new service was "green" as yet; it had to set, required frequent +wettings of fine humor and affiliation. The marvel to Mowbray was that +the thousands fell for it. They had practically all left something +that was life and death to them--land, labor, women, children. Each +had established the beginnings at least of a personal connection in +the world, and this relation had to be rubbed out. What had they been +promised to take its place? _Freedom_, doubtless. But intrinsically they +were free men. + +Peter recalled what Fallows had said: that properly fathered this +peasantry might be led into a citizenship and virtue that would change +the world. Instead they were to be impregnated with every crime. With +such thoughts Peter felt the spirit of Berthe Wyndham awake in his mind. + +Seven days and not a breath from the outer world. The correspondents +were allowed to move in and out of Kohlvihr's headquarters; and, though +they paid richly for everything, were treated well, and regarded as +guests by the staff officers. Peter had met Kohlvihr in Warsaw before +the thought of war--a good-tempered, if dull and bibulous old man, he +had seemed in the midst of semi-civilian routine; but a different party +here afield. Peter recalled the saying of old sailors that you never +know a skipper until you ship under him. + +Moments of evening, in the sharp hazes of wood smoke, when the whole +army seemed nestling into itself, laughing, covering its nostalgia, +putting on its strength, Peter met in certain moments the advisability +of turning his back upon Boylan and Spenski and Samarc. The +extraordinary nature of Berthe Wyndham would flood home to him, as to +one to whom it belonged, very dear but very far.... He would smile when +he thought of _The States_ and the Old Man.... "He thinks I'm clutched +in the ripping drama and waiting for blood," he muttered, "that I am +burning to stop the breath of the outer world with my story of gore and +conquest.... But I'm eating his bread. I won't betray. There must be a +wise way to feed the red melodramatic receptivity of the cities and at +the same time to tell the real story." + +He stood in the midst of square miles of men and military engines. On +every road other Russian forces moved southward and to the southeast. +The railroads groaned with troops, for the most part in a better state +of preparation than Kohlvihr's division. Rumors reached the staff, as +they neared the Galician border, that the Austrian fields below were +already bleeding; finally word came, as they turned eastward, that they +were to entrain at Fransic and make a junction with the main Russian +columns preparing to invade Galicia from the northeast. + +On the night before they entered Fransic, Mowbray awoke, and saw a +figure sitting in the doorway of the little hut assigned them for +quarters. It was Spenski, his face upturned in the starlight. He sat so +still that Peter slipped out from the blankets (which covered Boylan as +well) and took his place beside the lens-maker. Spenski was facing +the east. The street of the little hill town lost itself in a sharp +declivity just ahead; the nearer huts were low. The whole east was naked +to the horizon and an indescribable glory of starlight. + +"Aren't they amazing?" Spenski whispered. "It must be nearly morning, +for those are the winter stars. I think they must have wakened me up. Do +you know them?" + +"Just the first magnitudes. They are more brilliant than I have ever +known." + +Orion and a great kite of suns stood out with new and flashing power. + +"I never saw that huge _W_ before--" said Peter. + +"You don't mean Cassiopeia? Her chair isn't there, but over to the +north--" + +"No, no--_there_. Rigel, the upper right corner, down to the left, the +Dog-star; up to Betelguese, down to the left again to Procyon, and up to +the brightest of all--the stranger, not usually there--" + +Spenski clutched him. "I was watching the bigger configuration, and +didn't notice. Your stranger is the planet Saturn in transit between +Taurus and Orion. Saturn completes the _W_, and the _W_ stands for--" + +"War, possibly," said Peter. + +There was a growl just now from Boylan: "Come on back to bed, you +star-gazers." + +"Saturn is so far and moves so slowly," the little man whispered, "that +the _W_ will not be deranged for many months." + +The hurry call for Kohlvihr came as expected in Fransic. The first +sections of the divisions were entrained the next day--an end to summer +road-work.... A day and night of intolerable slowness in a vile coach, +and on the following noon the troop-train was halted, while a string +of Red Cross cars drew up to a siding to give the soldiers the right of +way; a momentary halt--the line of passing windows filled with cheering, +weeping nurses. + +Just one reposeful face--as both trains halted a second or two. It was +the face of one who seemed to understand the whole sorry story, already +to be contemplating the ruin ahead. Her hands were folded, the eyes +intent upon the distance rather than the immediate faces of men. Mowbray +could not articulate. Above all he wanted to meet her eyes, to put back +the light of the present in them, but it was neither sound nor gesture +that accomplished it; rather the storming intensity of anguish in his +mind. His train jerked, her eyes found him, her arms raised toward him, +lips parted. It became the one, above all, of the exquisite pictures in +his consciousness, and the reality passed so quickly--gone, and no word +between them. + +Thus her colors came to him again--the mystic trinity of white and gray +and black--all he had since known and loved added to the mystery of +their first meeting. It was like an awakening to the rack of thirst +after one has dreamed of a spring of gurgling water--the swift passing +of that face of tender beauty and fortitude, that fair brow, gray eyes +and black hair.... + +Boylan was looking deeply into his face. + +"Good God, man, you're a ghost. What is it, Peter?" + +"It struck me queer to see a trainload of girls down here in the field," +said Peter quite steadily. + +"Well, if a trainload of strange women can do that to you--here's hoping +we never do Paris together." + +Little Spenski opposite had seen the outstretched hands, and Peter saw +that he had seen. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +And now a rainy field. Two days of cold wind and rain after the +cattle-cars; a different tone and temper from the men, coughing instead +of laughter at night-fall. Another nameless village--Galician, now, for +the border had been crossed, and the stillest night Peter Mowbray had +so far known among the troops. It was a listening army--the far distance +breathing just the murmur of cannonading. + +He moved about within the cordon of head-quarter sentries, studying +the edges of the bivouac as the rain and the darkness fell. Kohlvihr's +division was but a tooth of the main army now; the whole region was +massed with Russians marching westward; but still the outfit from Warsaw +was enough, all that he could encompass of the mystery of numbers. +Others had met the enemy, but these were still virgin. They were +listening. + +Their faces looked white in the thickening dark, noses pinched and the +rest _beard_.... Hair--it was like some rapidly ripening harvest in +the command, different each day, making the faces harder and harder to +memorize. Mowbray had been disgusted at first--faces like changelings, +atrocious like chickens. But the beards were taking form now--all +gradations of yellow and red and black--many of that gray-yellow which +loses itself in the middle distance and becomes a blur. How he hated +hair like that! + +The next day dawned bright and cold. At ten Kohlvihr, in the midst of +the southern wing, brushed the tail of an Austrian force in its turning. +The engagement was sharp exhilaration to Peter; perhaps it was to +certain of the soldiers; yet it was the first. Its touch of blood +quivered through Kohlvihr's command not yet assimilated, stirred this +raw entity with deep inexplicable passion. + +The correspondents were riding with the staff; the point of the van was +moving below in plain sight when its baptism fell. Kohlvihr licked his +white lips, the upper lip uncontrollable like a deprived drunkard's. +Below a skirmish was spreading out, the commands trumpeting back their +messages. Mowbray turned. A little battery of mountain guns was racing +forward through the infantry column, the drivers yelling for _gangway_. +It was like a small town's fire department in action. Now the infantry +poured down the rocky slopes that bordered the old iron road. Peter +turned quite around in the saddle. The murmur in the air was queer--like +something wrong below in a ship at sea. Kohlvihr's face interested him, +the skirmish lines and their reinforcements, the voice of Boylan (though +his faculties were too occupied to catch that rush of humorous comment +in English); the mountain guns interested him, and the sudden racket of +Russian riflery below. + +Now one of the peasant soldiers was running up the slope from the van +toward the staff. He was bare-headed, shocky-haired and bearded, making +queer, high sounds like a squirrel as he ran--quite out of order +and amazed at himself. He would have been struck down by his nearest +neighbor ten days later, felled with the nearest officer's sword, but +there was funk and a bit of dismay in the heart of the raw division that +suffered the soldier to make his way to the staff. + +Lifting his legs lumberingly, he held fast to his left wrist, where a +bullet had started the blood. He held the wound high, like a trophy, +the blood spurting, crying about it.... This was sudden discovery of +something the army had started out to find, but had forgotten in the +length of days. This was the red fleece--its drips of red were in each +raw soul now. A little way farther and the staff awoke. An officer +spoke. The peasant was caught and booted quiet. Kohlvihr licked his lips +to keep them still. He perceived that Mowbray's eyes had fastened upon +his mouth. The lips opened again. The order came forth for the soldier +to be flogged.... It was their particular friend, Dabnitz, a lieutenant +of the staff, who was given the execution of this order. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +The four were much together for a few days after that, Samarc and +Spenski not yet assigned to their battery. They learned each other in +those few days as men often fail to learn the hearts of their immediate +associates during years. There was fighting--scattered, open, surprising +often to one out of touch with the points and the scouting. Different +towns every day, and a continual giving of territory on the part of the +Austrians. + +"This is not the main fighting at all," said Boylan. "This is but the +edge of the game. It won't break into print. The big stuff is farther +on. These that we meet are the Austrian columns hurrying forward. This +territory is ours for the marching through. We'll catch it later--and +this will be forgotten." + +Samarc had known these towns that the Russian column was passing +through, yet he had to ask the names, because of the destruction. +The Austrians would always destroy in haste before leaving, and more +leisurely the Russians would destroy. It seemed to affect Samarc, as +some landmark reopened from its ruin for his eyes. + +"It seems to say," he told the lens-maker, "'I was this at one time, and +now I must go.'" Orders came for Samarc and Spenski, but they were not +to be remotely stationed, since their battery was assigned to Kohlvihr's +division--a different camp but the same field. Few words about the +separation, but each of the four understood.... Night and day, the dead +had been with them in the recent days--in such richness and variety +they could not escape, could not cover them, and something from the +dead entered their hearts. To Peter--so queerly were his thoughts +running--the memorable incident of their last night together had to do +with an ant colony. + +Supper was over, and they had tossed on a decayed log to keep up the +fire. A nest of ants was presently driven forth by the heat from the +soft heart of the wood. They found themselves hemmed in flame and turned +back, as Peter thought, to seek the treacherous shelter of the nest +again. It was not so; they were wiser than that, and marched forth in +scores once more, each carrying an egg in its jaws. Spenski swung the +end of the log out to the grass for them to make good their retiring. It +was all very sane and admirable. Peter respected them.... + +The dead were with them. They had not learned to forget. Spenski would +whimper in his sleep. The days did not fill him, wearied his body but +other faculties and potencies were restless at night. This man who could +grind a lens so that a line from the center of the earth to the center +of the sun would pass through it without chromatic aberration, was more +shocked than the other three by the cursory killing of the days, his +imagination intoxicated and sleep perverted. His companion who imagined +himself of coarser and heavier texture often placed his hand upon the +dreaming one. Spenski would start, open his eyes and say, "Thanks, +Samarc." + +Continual rocking through the long days, and the rumbling of the earth +from the artillery forward. A mountain country of sharply cool nights, +of cool bright days--the scent of cedar and balsam, good water, steady +skirmishing--food just a bit scarce so that the peasants snapped and +bolted, showing sharp about the eyes. It was not hunger--just the lean +kind of fare. Peter often watched the halted columns at night as the +men sprang to the feeding. Supper fires burst forth at the drop of the +rifles. Not so raw now, the Warsaw contingent, a military eye would +remark--getting ripe, in fact. + +A week afterward, Boylan reported at supper that they would be permitted +to ride with the battery on the following day. In the meantime they had +not seen nor heard of the other pair. Fighting and marching from dawn to +nightfall usually; human nature refused effort after that. They were so +near dead at night that they laughed about it, and felt their faces +in embarrassment, sharp-boned and unfamiliar as the faces of the dead. +Mowbray's was still clean shaven. Young Dabnitz, the exquisite of the +staff, and a rather brilliant young Russian, was the only other who had +kept his razors in order. Perhaps a woman ruled his heart, as Berthe +Wyndham ruled Mowbray's. + +Big Belt had lost his last reservation about his companion. He gave +everything to Peter that he had given to Lonegan and something more--for +the field called a little more, and perhaps Peter called a little more. +The extent of Boylan's loyalty had nothing to do with words or matters +of conduct so far, but it was a huge affair, a suggestion of which came +to the younger man from time to time and humbled him. + +Twice during the first fortnight, Boylan had asked if this were +positively his first venture into the field with troops. "The reason I +ask," he explained later, "is that you appear to have been on the job +before." + +This would have been a matter interesting to the Old Man of _The +States_, according to Lonegan's story. + +"I miss the little guy," said Boylan, referring to Spenski. They were +anticipating the next day with the battery. + +"I miss Samarc, too," said Peter. + +Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their +hardest, for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment +but inflicting punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. +The face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy. He +marveled at what seemed the swift disintegration of an ancient worldly +establishment like Austria--going down unsung. It was not like a country +losing its identity, though that had to do with the facts; but rather +like a shadow passing, to be followed, not by sunlight, but by another +shadow of different contour and texture. + +"We put such store by names," he muttered, as he watched the Austrian +infantry give way before them, "and yet, the world will get on with +other names just the same." + +...There had been no chance for talk. They had merely pressed the hands +of their friends, something darkly melancholy about Samarc, as if his +eyes were in deep shadow, and something luminous in the eyes that shone +from the haggard face of Little Spenski. They looked forward to the +night, as men famished and athirst in a pit listen to the toil of +rescuers. Almost the last thing that Peter remembered was that the moon +came up before the sun had set. The rapid-fire battery was at work on +a hot smoky hill, the shrapnel and larger pieces still higher, and the +great masses of infantry moving below among the wind-driven hazes of the +valley, their long necklaces, of white puffs, showing and vanishing. + +Mowbray's ears were deadened to all sounds save from the immediate +machine-guns and the big hounds above; to his eyes the swaying strings +of infantry smoke-puffs in the valley were spectral and soundless. + +The Russians had taken the little town of Judenbach in the early +afternoon, but the Austrians gave them a stand two miles beyond, finding +solid position in a range of craggy hills. The Russians had not cared to +leave them there over night, but the dislodgment proved difficult. The +unlimbering of the batteries toward the end of the day on the shoulders +of a thickly-wooded mass (from which Peter watched the infantry and +the moonrise in daylight), was the final effort of the day to drive the +enemy farther afield from Judenbach. + +The two infantries were contending; gray Russian lines in the bottom +land and already advancing up the slopes. Day after day, smitten and +replenished--tillers of land becoming the dung of the land. Mowbray had +always pitied the infantry, and watched them now with unspeakable awe +and depression--moving up the slopes, lost in their white necklaces of +skirmish-fire, sprayed upon with steel vomit from the Austrian machines. + +Samarc's battery was idle. It was often so, Boylan reported, when the +enemy's duplicate pieces were busy. + +Now withering--those gray Russian lines. They diminished, gave way, a +thin ghostly pattern of the whole, falling back. An Austrian sortie of +yellow-brown men to finish the task. + +"That's _our_ cue," Big Belt whispered. + +The officers were already finding the range and fall. Samarc's machine +was set, before his superior spoke. Peter saw what a week had done for +him. Samarc seemed old at the task, already to have grown old. Spenski +at the hopper--and the mutilating racket on. Between fire, Peter could +not hold in mind the inconceivable magnitude and velocity of these +sounds. His brain seemed to plow under, as it does the great events +of pain, the impress of hideous suffering which the proximity of the +machines caused. Yet at every firing the damnable things hurt him more. +Fast beyond count, as the threads break in a strip of canvas torn with +one movement--yet each crackling thread here meant projected steel. + +They saw their work on the Austrian infantry lines. Yet always more +infantry would come forth, and in the silence following the machines, +the gray Russian lines stole forward again. Such was the slow battle +vibration. + +A company of sappers was below, opening the wood of the slope, so that +the machine fire would not be impeded in case the Austrians drove back +the infantry beyond the hollows at the bottom of the valley. A hundred +yards down they were working like beavers among the trunks of cedar and +balsam, when a shrapnel broke among them. The Russian higher batteries +had been trying the same game among the Austrian emplacements, but could +not see results. + +All battery men near the two Americans knew well that the Austrians +would note _that_ explosion of their shrapnel, and would relate the +range to the higher positions above. That one shot showed the Russian +artillerymen that their position was untenable. It was not that the +Austrians could see the damage they inflicted in one company of sappers, +but that the shattering blow in plain sight from their position would +show the exact means to displace the higher pieces that devastated their +infantry. + +"We've got to get out of here," Boylan whispered. Again as he spoke +the orders to retire came quietly as a bit of garrison gossip, and as +coldly. Horses came running down for the ammunition carts; every muscle +of man and beast had its work now. + +In thirty or forty seconds Austrian shrapnel would land higher. Peter +was tallying off the seconds, wondering if they would get clear.... At +this moment he noted that the moon had come up and that the sun was +not yet sunk. The two on the eastern and western rims of the world were +almost of a size and color, very huge and alike, except that one dazzled +the eyes--the difference between incandescence and reflection. The whole +dome was lost in florid haze. He almost laughed at what followed in +his mind, so strange is the caravan of pictures that hurries through in +action. It was the beauty above and ghastly waste of the infantry that +brought back to his brain the reason and decency of the ants in the +burning log--their order in contrast to this chaos.... + +The Austrians were workmen. Their searching shrapnel had been quite +enough. Samarc's battery had begun to move, when they landed in the +heart of it. All was changed about, and new. The silence was like a deep +excavation, and the smell of fresh ground was in the air. + +Peter did not see Boylan. He arose, half crawled up the torn ground to +the place where Spenski and Samarc had stood. They were some distance--a +saving distance for Mowbray--when he saw Samarc arise, his face sheeted +in red. Samarc was staring about for Spenski. Presently, Peter followed +the eyes of Samarc and saw the little man--half down, but looking up +toward his friend, the eyes wide open; also Spenski's mouth, and the +most extraordinary smile in the red beard. + +Peter crawled a step nearer. There was no voice yet. He was tranced +before this meeting of the companions, each of whom saw none but the +other. Spenski had been partly kneeling, but as Samarc approached, his +head bowed slowly down, and the smile was gone. + +"Come on--they'll do it again!" + +Peter heard the words--but did not know who spoke them--possibly Boylan +from behind, possibly _he_ had said it. He had not seen Samarc's lips +move. + +The voice was an offense in that silence. + +Now Peter saw none but Spenski, until Samarc reached him, lifted, +called. Peter saw the body raised from the ground to Samarc's arms--saw +the little man's body open upon his friend like a melon that has rotted +underneath. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +All went black for Peter. The slope rose up and took him. For an +eternity afterward he felt someone tugging at him--hands of terrible +strength that would not let him die, would not let him sleep. After that +a familiar voice began calling at intervals. + +"Hello," said Peter at last. "What have I been doing?" + +"Not anything that you've pulled before. Is this an old habit?" + +"What?" + +"Passing out unhurt--lying like a log for an hour or two?" + +"No, it's a new one. Where are we?" + +"Judenbach. It's past supper time--" + +Peter sat up, wobbled. The terrible hands steadied him again. He knew +now what had lamed him. + +"Where is she?" he asked. + +"Huh?" + +"I was wondering what hit me?" + +"Now, you're getting glib again," said Boylan. Peter's reserve had +interposed. His absence had something to do with her, but he could not +remember. "Where is she?" had got away from him as he crossed the border +back into the racking physical domain. He didn't like that. + +"Did I say anything?" + +"Nothing that will be used against you," Boylan observed. "As for what +hit you--that's the mystery. Not a scratch in sight.... I was behind. +You were standing still as a sentry after that shrapnel. Presently you +bowled over--" + +"That shrapnel?" + +"Yep--" + +There was an instant of silence; the picture returned and wrung a groan +from Peter. All the energy of his life rebelled against _the fact_. +Boylan's hand tightened upon him. For the moment Mowbray was in a kind +of delirium. + +"The moon had just come up," he said, "like another sun. The real sun +was still in the sky from our hill." + +"I know. I was there. Cut it, Peter." + +"Where is Samarc?" + +"In one of the hospital buildings, likely. I meant to find him as soon +as I could leave you--" + +"I'll go with you." + +Big Belt fumbled in his saddled bags for a flask, brought it in one +hand, a cup of water in the other.... + +They were in the streets, very dark. Once they were caught in a swift +current of sheep driven in for the commissary. Judenbach sat on the +slope of a hill, a little city, its heart of stone, very ancient, its +"hoopskirts," as Boylan said, made of woven-cane huts. Already the +stone buildings of the narrow main street were crowded with wounded. +The correspondents were not permitted far either way from headquarters. +Finally it was necessary to get Dabnitz of the staff to conduct them.... +It had all been a jumble of ambulances at nightfall from the field, the +lieutenant said. Russian soldiers were not ticketed. Many faces on the +cots were bandaged beyond recognition. The three gave up at midnight, +Peter gaining strength rather than losing it in the later hours. Orders +were that the streets be emptied of all but sentries. + +"No, nothing like that--" said Boylan, as Mowbray sank to the floor by +his blanket roll. "You haven't had supper--" + +"Don't, Boylan.... I say, what do they do with the dead?" + +Rain was pattering down; the smell of drugs reached them. + +"It _does_ make a difference when you know one of them--doesn't it?.... +God, man, we're cluttered with wounded. The dead are at peace--" + +"I wonder what stars he's watching to-night?" + +"Come, come. Peter--" + +"I know.... I know, Boylan. Only it shows me something. He was a great +workman. There are things in the world that can't be done because he's +gone. There are others like him. He had a girl. He had a friend. He had +us--" + +Boylan decided that talking was good. He listened and prepared soup. + +"And to-morrow they're at it again," said Peter. + +"It won't look the same in the morning--" + +Peter did not answer. + +"Anyway, you didn't bring on the war, Peter--" + +"It makes a man cold with that kind of cold a supper-fire don't help." + +"Peter, you've got me stopped with your moods--like a woman. Women were +always too profound for Mr. B. B. Boylan--" + +"Sorry. You've been a prince. I'll do better now. I'll get out of it. +Little shock--that's all. I think it wasn't so much physical. Something +changed all around. I've been taking things as I found them so long. +That helps to bring on a war--" + +Boylan glanced at him narrowly. + +Peter laughed. "I'm all right. Head's working." + +Big Belt sighed. "I loved that little guy, too. God, I'd run east to +Asia and keep on running rather than meet his girl." + +Peter drank hot soup and slept. Next morning it was like a hard problem +that one has slept upon and awakened with the process and answer +straight-going. They had not searched ten minutes (calling "Samarc" +softly among the cots where the faces were bandaged) before a hand came +up to them. It was Peter who took it; and as their hands met, the whole +fabric of the man on the cot broke into trembling. They understood. +Samarc had been lying there rigid with his tragedy. Peter's touch had +been enough to break the dam of his misery. + +"_I have ceased to kill,_" he said. + +The head was twice as big with bandages; yet under that effigy, so +terrible was the intensity of the moment, Peter became conscious of ruin +there, also of a sudden icy cold in the morning air. Samarc's powerful +hand still clutched his. The voice that had emerged from under the +cloths was still in his ears. It had seemed to come as water from a +pipe--loosely, the faucet gone. The hand was unhurt. + +"_...He came in the night. I did not speak--but my heart was fighting +against the guns. He was moving here and there. He turned to me, as if I +had suddenly cried out, 'What shall I do?'...'You can cease to kill,' he +said._" + +Boylan was watching Peter. His face turned gray. + +They received the intelligence of the words, as they came, although at +another time the mouthing would have been inarticulate as wind in one of +Judenbach's archaic street-lamps. + +"I'll stay with him, Boylan," said Peter, choosing the hardest thing, +but Big Belt would not leave, though the Russian columns were moving +in the street--off to renew the battle among the hills. The two sat by +until Samarc slept. + +* * * + +They were in the street again, moving close to the walls, for the +cavalry was crowding the narrow highway. They crossed finally to a +stone-paved area at the side of Judenbach's main building. Their feet +were upon the stone flags of this court, when Dabnitz suddenly hurried +forward, with a gesture for them to stand back. + +"Just a moment, my friends," he said. "A little formality, but very +necessary--" + +Peter lifted his eyes, perceived three men standing bare-headed against +the wall of head-quarters, twenty paces away. One of them exclaimed, his +voice calm but penetrating: + +"We are not spies. We do not care to turn our backs. We are not afraid +to die, for we have made our lives count--" + +It was the voice of a public speaker; the voice of a man making good +many words.... Dabnitz stepped between Boylan and Mowbray, stretching +out his arms before them. It was all in an instant. They saw Dabnitz's +apologetic smile--and a Russian platoon at their right, rifles +raised--then the ragged volley. + +Each of the three fell differently. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Boylan and Peter sat together in the ante-room of headquarters. They did +not speak. Peter was getting down to the quick. He thought many things +which a man never tells another man, and seldom tells a woman; yet they +were matters of truth and reason, no sentiment about them. He recalled +many incidents of early years in which his mother had tried to teach +him sensitiveness and mercy. Until now her effort seemed to have been +wasted. It had been more simple and appealing to him to follow his +father's picture of manhood. Possibly his mother had wearied of pitting +her will against his. He had grown up under his father's control and +ideal. As it looked to him now, he had become all that was obvious and +average and easy; while his mother's passion had been for him to become +one of the singular and precious and elect.... He would never have seen +this so clearly had it not been for Berthe Wyndham. She had given him a +kind of new birth, taken up the work wherein his mother had failed.... + +Dabnitz came in. The young staff-officer was handsome, soldierly, +black-eyed. His manner was one of enfolding cheerfulness. He had +proved fair and kindly, temperate in his tastes and delicate in his +appreciations of humor and natural effects. He could express himself +fluently in Russian, German, English and French, but was a caste-man to +the core, a militarist and autocrat. As such he proved rather appalling +to Peter Mowbray on this day. + +"Is General Kohlvihr out with the fronts?" Boylan asked. + +"He's in the field, but not at the front. We got the point yesterday, +you see. I'd rather be in the van every day than left to these matters +of clean-up--" + +Peter looked up at him. "Is there much of this to do?" + +"I'm afraid so. They work among the hospitals. You don't catch many of +them in the ranks--" + +"Perhaps they would rather tend the wounded than to make the wounds." + +Dabnitz smiled cheerfully. "They're afraid of their hides. When a man +does a lot of talking, he is generally shy on action--" + +Peter saw the ease of the acceptance of this view on the part of the +others; saw how clearly it was the view of the military man. + +"And yet it was a clean-cut death of that talker and his two companions +you just executed--" + +"An exception now and then," Dabnitz granted. + +"How do you catch them?" + +"We have a system at work for that purpose--everywhere, especially in +the hospitals. There isn't much temporizing when we get them." + +Peter Mowbray's skull prickled with heat and his face was cold with +sweat. + +"What do they preach?" he managed to ask. + +"Sometimes for men to rise and go home; sometimes for them to cease to +kill, and sometimes to shoot down the officers. It isn't all that a man +has to do now to lead his men forward," Dabnitz observed. "He must do +that, of course, but all the danger isn't in front. It doesn't follow +that a man has turned his back upon the enemy nowadays--if he happens to +be found with a wound in the back." + +"Were these--these that you put out this morning--working in the +hospitals?" + +"Yes." + +Peter turned away. + +"In a good many cases we bring a man to his feet again from a bad +wound--to find him not a soldier but a damned anarchist." + +"It's expensive and cumbersome also to carry such a hospital system +afield," Peter observed. + +Dabnitz did not catch the irony. "Yes, it would be cheaper and simpler +to put a hard-hit soldier out of his misery--" + +Boylan, watching Peter's face, suddenly arose, suggesting that they ride +out toward the fighting. ....When they were alone, he added: + +"I know you don't want the front to-day, but it was very clear that I'd +better get you out of there....Peter, did you ever kill a man?" + +"No." The question did not seem wild to either of them--there by the +open court of Judenbach. + +"I knew a man who did. I saw him getting whiter and whiter like your +face--and looking into his victim's eyes in that queer surprised way you +looked at Dabnitz. It wasn't in the field; in a city bar-room. I didn't +look for what happened--but I knew something was coming. The fool went +on talking, talking. The other watched him, and when all the blood was +burned out of him....Great God, here I am talking blood--" + +"It's in the air," said Peter. "It's hard to breathe!.... No, I won't +go down front to-day. I wish I could go back--back--oh, to the clean +Pole--no, to some little snowy woods in the States....Boylan, does it +suffocate you?" + +"It's different from anything I knew," said Boylan. "It's so damned +businesslike. Something's come over the world. War was more like a +picnic before. I never saw it like this. I believe we've gone crazy." + +They stood before the main building, just at the entrance of the stone +court--halted by the hideous outcry that reached them from another +building just a few doors below. It was as if a strong man were being +murdered by torture. The big cannons boomed up the narrow cobble-paved +road from the field. As far as they could see in either direction, the +street was crowded with soldiers, stepping aside for artillery going +south, and the stream of ambulances coming in from the front. Passing +them now from the street into the court was a cortege, little but +grim--a Cossack trooper leading two bare-headed men by a rope attached +to his saddle, a Cossack non-commissioned officer walking behind with +raised pistol. Both the prisoners were young, one a mere boy, yet he was +supporting the elder. Peter's eyes turned to the blank wall of the main +building where Dabnitz had been busy as they passed. To the right, +in the gloom from the walls, was a row of iron gratings, the windows +knocked out--darkness under the low stone lintels. + +Peter had not noticed before this dim square, within the square. His +mind dwelt upon it now in the peculiar way of the faculties, when +thoughts are too swift and too terrible to bear....It was like something +he had seen before, the dark little square. Yes, it was like part of a +recess yard he had known in an old school-building years ago.... + +He couldn't keep off the reality long. In every direction the murderous +army--no song, no laugh, no human nature, no love, no work, but death. +He was imprisoned. And somewhere near or far in the midst of such +a chaos, was Berthe Wyndham. Could she live in this?.... Peter was +suicidal, very close to that, a new thing to him. Queerly he realized +that death would be easy for himself, simple, acceptable. For there was +no escape. They would not let him go. There was no place that one could +go out of the army. Not even the dead go back.... It would not be fair +to her. She might live, and call to him afterward. He did not think she +could live, but there was that chance. He thought of his mother--quite +as a little boy would, his lip quivering.... He started at the touch of +Boylan's hand. + +"I'll tell you what we'll do," Big Belt said. "We'll write, Peter. We'll +get out the machines to-day. We'll write a story--just as if we could +file it on a free cable. It will do us good. We'll tell the story--" + +"We'd have to eat it....Boylan, if I should tell this story on paper, +the Russians would burn it and me and the house in which it was +written....No. I must work better than that. Come back. I want +Dabnitz--" + +Boylan drew him face about. + +"You're not going to--" + +"No--no. I wasn't thinking of killing him. It wouldn't do any good. +One would have to kill all the officers and save enough energy for the +Little Father at the last. No, I want him to help me--" + +They found him at headquarters. + +"Lieutenant Dabnitz," Peter said, his hand upon the Russian's shoulder, +speaking very quietly, "I feel like a fool doing nothing all day +long--and so much to do. I want you to take me over to that hospital +Samarc is in, and set me officially to work. Let me be orderly, +anything, to-day. I want to help, if you'll forgive me--" + +"Gladly, Mr. Mowbray. I'm sure they'll be very glad. Of course, they are +always short-handed in the hospitals." + +"Thanks." + +Boylan's heart gave a thump at the new light in Mowbray's eyes. + +"I'll go along, too," he said. "I'm the daddy of them all, when it comes +to lifting." + +A ragged platoon volley crashed from the court as they entered the +street. Peter's steps quickened. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Of course, they did not know it in _The States'_ office, neither the Old +Man nor his managing editor, but a way had been found to _rock_ Peter +Mowbray. Indeed he would have been rocked to pieces had he not found his +work that day in Judenbach. ....When no one was listening, he would talk +to the wounded. Peter discovered that there was a woman in him, as many +a field-man has discovered. In fact he came to believe that we are all +mixed men and women, and that it is the woman in us that suffers most. +He had a suspicion that there was a woman in Boylan, and had to smile +just there. He sank into the work, and saved himself. Samarc appeared to +be asleep. + +He would have laughed to have heard his own talk afterward. A man does +not remember what he says to a loved horse, or to a dog that looks up in +passing. Innocent as that, Peter's sayings to the wounded and dying. Had +there been spies about, the American would have been counted eminently +safe. He had to talk; his heart was so full; it was part of the action +that saved him. All the time there was in the background of his mind a +steady amazement at himself--something of his, aloof, watchful, that was +not exactly ready to accede to all this change and emotion, and yet was +not strong enough to prevent. + +Twice through the long forenoon he saw a little black-whiskered orderly, +eyes dark and wide and deep, his nose sensitive and finely shaped, his +shoulders unsoldierly. Once his cap fell as he went to lift a pan, and +Peter saw as noble a brow as ever dignified a man. He went to him and, +as he stood there, he found there was nothing to say. + +"Who are you?" the other asked. + +"That's what I was trying to think to ask you?" Peter said with a smile. +"I am Mowbray, an American correspondent--" + +"Why are you here?" He pointed to the cots. + +"I had to do something." + +"The misery called to you?" + +"Perhaps. To be sure, I'd better say my own misery made me come." + +They talked in French. + +"It is all the same. You are not a beast." + +"I'm not sure," said Peter. + +"That is good, too. I'm glad you have come. All morning I have watched +you...." + +"You did not answer me. Who are you?" + +"I am Moritz Abel." + +He held a wash basin in one hand, a bit of linen in the other--this +man who had done such a poem that the glory of the future flashed back +through it, to sustain and to be held by men. It was a queer moment. +Facing each other, Mowbray thought of Spenski--as if the little +lens-maker stood behind the narrow shoulders of the poet.... Was it only +the little red-headed body that they had killed? Would the immortal +come back with a new story of the stars? Thus Peter found himself +thinking of Spenski, with this lover of new Russia before him. And would +the destroyers slay this one too?... Now his humanity came back in a +cloud, and he shuddered at the thought of Russia murdering the man who +wrote _We Are Free_.... Perhaps it was the woman in him that made him +say: + +"I hope _you_ live through the long night, Monsieur." + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Moritz Abel stepped nearer. In the silence Peter grew embarrassed. +What he had said would sound without footing since the poet did not +understand the trend of his thoughts. He meant to, add what _the long +night_ signified, and wanted his saying really known for what it was--an +utterance of pure passion against the destruction of genius. The other +replied, making all explanation unnecessary: + +"I knew you for one of us. It is the long night, but it is a great honor +for us to be here and at work." + +"Where are your companions?" + +The Russian smiled. "They are all about through the dark of the long +night. We may only signal in passing. In fact, I must go now--" + +The surgeon in charge had entered. Peter went to Samarc's cot, steeling +himself. "Samarc," he whispered, without bending, "Samarc--" + +The wounded man stirred a little, moaned, but did not answer.... In the +far corner Boylan was moving cots (occupants and all) closer together +for the admission of more. His sleeves were rolled. Near him a little +woman, whose waist was no larger than the white revelation of Boylan's +forearm, was directing the way, the giant of the Polar Failure +struggling to please. Something of ease and uplift had come to Peter +from this, and from the passing of Moritz Abel. Silently battling with +Dabnitz, with Kohlvihr, with king's desire and the animal of men, was +this service-thing greater than all, greater than death.... A soldier +called and he went toward the voice. Presently Peter was jockeying him +into good humor with low talk. + +All day the battle tortured the southern distance--the cannonading +nearer, as the hours waned. The Austrians were holding their own or +better. It was the fiercest resistance which the Russian columns had as +yet encountered. All afternoon wounded were brought back. It became more +and more difficult to move among the cots in the building. So it was +with all Judenbach that was not in ruins. Twice through the afternoon +there were volleys in the court below; and when the two went forth for +food, they saw a soldier carrying baskets of dirt from the street, and +covering the stone flags close to the main building.... And from that +grim house a little down the street, came at intervals, shocking their +senses, the hideous outcry as of murder taking place.... Boylan went +down into the field an hour before sunset, Peter back to the hospital. + +"I'll see what I can find," Big Belt remarked. "You're right to go back, +Peter. As for me, I can stand it better outdoors." + +Crossing the street, it seemed to Peter that he had been in Judenbach +certain ages, a reckonable space of eternity--despite the lowering sun +which calmly informed him that at this time yesterday the Austrians had +found the range of Samarc's battery with a shrapnel or two. Many things +had come to him. He wished as never before for a free cable.... Boylan +came in at dark and drew him away from Samarc's cot. + +"I'll be back to-night," Peter promised. + +"...There's been no break in the check to-day," Big Belt reported. +"Kohlvihr's division, and the immediate forces surrounding, are part +of the great right wing, and this right is holding up the whole Russian +command. I heard Kohlvihr explaining to the Commander's aide that the +Austrians here had been reinforced; that they gave us Judenbach for +the taking yesterday, in order to fall back into the hills beyond. The +center and left, it appears, is clear, ready to fight on to Berlin or +Budapest, but the whole line is held up for this right wing. Kohlvihr +is desperate. There'll be a hard pull to get across the hills +to-morrow--all hands, Peter." + +"This may be our last night in Judenbach then?" + +"If killing a division will start a hole across that range of hills, +it's our last night--" + +"I'll sit it out with Samarc," Peter said. + +"Go to it, if you think best. You were a mighty sick woman this morning. +Something in yonder helped you. I'll see you through for another +treatment." + +"Boylan, don't you stay up. You've roughed it to-day and been afield. +Don't let me spoil your sleep--with a big day ahead. It wasn't lack of +sleep that got my nerve this morning--" + +"Oh, I'll yap around till bedtime," said the other. "What does Samarc +say?" + +"Something has come over him. Some one came to him last night and seemed +to drive a nail right into his thinking--pinned him." + +"He's turned against the killing?" + +"Yes. And he'll be restless to-night, sleeping so much to-day.... At +least, he made the appearance of sleeping. I think he was shocked to +hear his voice.... His eyes are right enough. But below--" + +"What made you think he had the appearance of sleeping?" + +"It just occurred to me. He didn't want to take all my time. I whispered +his name several times--no answer. Once when I was leaving, his hand +reached up and touched my coat." + +"Is he hurt badly?" + +"Not a thing in the body. It's between his throat and his eyes.... You +know I saw him last night after the shrapnel as he lifted--it was just a +sheet of blood. Afterward it was covered in cloth. I don't think he knew +until this morning, when he started to talk." + +"He was all knit to the little man," Boylan said. "As good a pair as I +ever met afield.... Oh, I say, eat something--" + +Peter smiled at the big fellow and turned to his soup and black bread. +He didn't say what he thought, but it had to do with his own field +companion this time. + + * * * + +...Midnight. Boylan had gone back to quarters. Peter's ward was low-lit +and still. ...The wounded man's hands waved before his bandage, as if to +detract attention from the windy blur of his utterance. Samarc wanted to +die. + +"You know it was because of me that he came--" he repeated. + +"But you mustn't suffer for that. Really, Samarc, a man couldn't have +been a better friend than you. Spenski would tell you so if he could. +These are times for men to _live_. I wanted to kill myself this morning. +You know I was behind you on the hill, too. That, and the tragedy all +about, and then they were murdering spies and martyring real Fatherland +men out in the court--as if there wasn't enough death afield. It was too +much for me. Old Boylan helped me, but if I hadn't come in to work, +I'd have shot my head off. Here--men dying hard and easy; men and women +serving; so much to do,--I got better. Death isn't everything. I'm not +a genius or a dreamer, man. I'm so slow at dreaming and brotherhood and +all that, that a woman once ran from me. But I saw to-day that death +isn't all. I don't know what else there is, but this is a sort of long +night, this war. A few of us are awake. If we are put to sleep--that's +all right--I mean knocked out, you know. But so long as we are not, +we've got to watch and root for the dawn. God, man, there is much to do. +We've got to make our lives count--" + +He was bending forward talking very low. He thought from the pressure of +Samarc's hands that he was gaining ground. It was queer and laughable to +himself--this line of talk that came to him. He knew so well the pangs +of that suicidal suffocation, that he could talk for the very life of +the other. He added: + +"A little black-whispered man looked up from his soap and towels this +morning. His hat fell off, and I saw he had come a long ways. He looked +at me again, and I spoke to him. Samarc, it was another of these little +whirlwinds of human force--a master workman like the man you loved. + +"It was Moritz Abel who wrote _We Are Free_.... + +"And there are others--like Spenski and Abel--some of them dead--some to +die to-morrow. Do you think the good God would let them die so easily if +it wasn't all right? But we mustn't die without making our lives count." + +Peter's eyes were covered by slender hands. It was like passing a garden +of mignonette in the night, that fleeting perfume of the hands. + +"Oh, Peter, how sweet to see you and hear your voice!" + +It seemed that he became molten in her presence. A heavenly _adagio_ +after a prolonged movement of sin and shame and every dissonance. It +was as if she had come from a bath of peace to him; another inimitable +moment in the life of his romance. He turned to her, holding fast to the +hand that was stretched toward him. He cleared his voice. + +"Excuse me, Samarc," he said. + + + + +III + +THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +Chapter 1 + + +They looked long into each other's faces. "You were wonderful as you +spoke of your friend. Did you know that, Peter?" + +He turned away deprecatingly. + +"Forgive me. Of course you didn't know." + +"...And you meant to come all the time?" he asked at last. + +"Yes." + +"I should have known it.... That day--that day across the siding--why, +Berthe, it was almost more than I could stand. I had just been thinking +of you." + +"We were like two spirits who hadn't earned the right to be together," +she said. + +"I'm afraid it's dangerous now," he answered. "One mustn't have a whim, +other than to extinguish the enemy. The army is afraid of itself. All +day--" + +Though he checked himself, she knew his thought. + +"Yes, all day, they murdered white-browed men in the court below." + +"Berthe--" + +"Yes." + +"I want you to guard your life--as if it were mine--just that." + +All surroundings were melting away from them. She had never seen him +like this.... Even Samarc could not hear their whispers. + +"You came like an angel, Berthe,--all I ever want of an angel. I tell +you I am proud." + +"Of what, Peter?" + +"That I had sense enough to go a second time to the Square at Warsaw." + +"I'm glad, too.... If we were only in the winter stillness--" + +They were silent. Samarc's hand came up to Peter, and drew him close. +It was clear that he could not bear the woman to hear his struggle for +speech. "Tell her about Spenski," came to Peter's ears in the lipless +mouthing. + +Berthe saw that Peter was ghostly white, as he lifted his head. She +thought it had to do with what the wounded man said. + +Peter began at random, gathering his thoughts on the wing. Nothing hurt +him in quite the same way as that suggested havoc under the bandage. +He steadied himself, and talked of the little lens-maker. Strength came +from the joy he was giving Samarc.... It seemed that they were quite +alone. He told of the night of stars, of the little man's superb +sensitiveness.... She bent to Samarc at last. + +"You wanted him to tell me?" + +He nodded. There was something intensely pathetic in it all. Her eyes +were full of light. + +"The story thrills me," she whispered. "Oh, this is very far from a +hopeless world. What I have seen to-day--even the fortitude of infamous +men--manhood, black and white--the war within the war. Don't you see, +all Russia is out here in the wilderness casting forth her demon? We +must not mind blood nor death--for the result means the life or death of +the world's soul!" + +Once she would have seemed very far and remotely high to Peter +Mowbray.... They had drawn a little apart from the cot. + +"What made you so white?" she asked. + +"It's my weakness. We rode together for days and quartered together. He +was so clean-cut. It's the way his words come. And he seems so utterly +bereft without the little man." + +She pressed his hand in understanding. + +"Berthe, do you sleep? Do you take food? Are you well? Are they good to +you? Can you live through?" + +"Yes, and what of you?" + +"All is quite well with me. I can endure anything with the hope of +taking you home afterward." + +"We must be ready to give up that, too. It is hard; it's our ordeal--but +if the end should appear, we must find strength to look it in the face. +These are the times for heroics. Every real emotion that I have ever +known is a lie--if those who love each other well enough to love the +world--do not pass on. Why, Peter, you said the same to him--speaking +of his friend and Moritz Abel, 'Do you think the good God would let such +men die so easily, if it weren't all right?'" + +"Did I say that?" + +She drew back her head, looking him through and through. + +"Peter, it's the child in you that I love. You're so much a man, and +they all think of you as a man, man--all your training to be a man--and +yet it's the child that a woman's heart sees and wants to preserve for +her own." + +"Do you see much of Moritz Abel?" he asked. + +"Yes.... It was he who found you for me." + +Peter was watching her red lips now. It was like that morning in her +room, the tall flowers between. He did not hear what she was saying. The +room was dim. Samarc's face was turned from them. One man in a near +cot flung his arms about his head wearily, but his eyes were toward the +wall.... He caught her in his arms and loved the beauty of earth in her +face. + +"...Peter, we must forget ourselves!" + +"I can't forget you. I want you as you are," he repeated in tumult. +"I want you here in the world--as you are now! We'll stand for what we +can't help. There's no use fighting the end if it comes. The greatest +thing here to a man will be the greatest thing after he's dead--that's +clear enough. But I haven't had you here--only a few minutes. I want the +winter stillness _on earth_--in the woods--not in some paradise yet." + +"Hush--I want it too. Oh, you can never know how much!... I had better +go now--" + +"Not until I know all about you. To-morrow is to be the big day of the +battle. All may be changed. If it's a Russian victory, this is our last +night in Judenbach--" + +"You will go out to the fronts?" + +"Yes, for a little, but I shall watch how the day fares, so I can hurry +back." + +"To-day--we were just a stone's throw apart. I was in that building down +the street--the amputation cases." + +"Not the house where those cries come from?" + +"Yes, we work there. Moritz Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, the singer, and +others.... This morning I thought I could not bear to live. It was as +you told him--about yourself. You see we had no anesthesia, except for +cases of life or death--among the officers." + +"And you came to me from a day like that?" he asked unsteadily, his +passion blurred, even the beauty of it. The chance of her living had +suddenly darkened. + +"It was like coming home," she whispered. "...In Warsaw before your +day--sometimes crossing the Square in the darkness--I used to think what +it would mean to come to a house of happiness, after a long cruel day. +It seemed too far from me; sometimes even farther than now. When I came +in here to-night, and heard your voice--I knew what it would mean to +come home. We must not ask too much. Many have never known what has been +given to us--in these few minutes." + +"We must not ask too much," he repeated. + +She saw that he had a vivid picture of her day in that house of +amputations, that the picture had stunned him. + +"But, Peter, I have seen such courage to-day. It was a revelation. All +that I had seen of isolated courage before in the world--all was there +to-day, and ten times more, there in the blood and torture. And +Poltneck sang to them--sang to the maimed and limbless--sang through the +probings--with the sound of the cannon in the distance and more wounded +coming in. He sang of home and Fatherland--even of the old Fatherland. +The many love the old still; it is only the few who love the dream of +the new.... We must not ask too much. The new spirit is being born into +the world. This war is greater than we dream of. In Warsaw I could see +only the evil, but here--under everything--is the humble and the heroic +in man. Hate and soldiery are just the surface. That which is beneath +will be above--" + +She was far from him now; the white flame in her face. He saw that he +could only go on through the days and work and wait and trust in the +God he had told Samarc to trust in. How easily--without an impress of +memory, he had said that; and how heroic to accomplish--for mere man. + +He did not answer--just looked at her. He saw her turn and smile. Moritz +Abel was standing there. + +"I cannot tell you--what it meant to me to see you two standing so," +he said. "And this place of quiet--you two and your paradise!... Let me +see, it occurred to me to suggest--" + +He found himself reluctant to finish. He had spoken lightly as if to +propose that they would be more comfortable in another room--but his +thoughts concerned the volleys in the court. They knew it. + +"The staff knows me rather well," said Mowbray. "I was counting on that, +but one cannot be sure--" + +"There has been no secret," she said. "Will you come in the morning +before the columns go out?" + +"Yes, it will be early." + +"I'll be watching. If not--he will be there to tell you why." + +Peter turned to the poet. "Watch over her--won't you?" + +"You honor me, Mr. Mowbray. All that I can do--be very sure of." + +She went to Samarc's cot and took his hand. Peter saw her face +differently, as she leaned. It was one of the mysteries that her +tenderness was the face of one woman, her sorrow another. + +"Good-by--good-night." + +.... A little later Peter found himself with Samarc's hand in his. He +had been sitting by the cot watching the war within the war, head bowed +on his free hand. It was a struggle of white and black--of knights and +kings, plumes and horses, white and black.... Now the wounded man seemed +sending messages through his hand. The lamps were low. + +"It's been the day of days, Samarc," Mowbray said. "You brought me +something that I needed very much. I wish I could do as much for you. +Let me know, won't you, if I can?... Yes, I'll be right here through the +night--" + +He heard the tread of soldiers in the hollow-sounding court +below--clanking accouterments, heavy steps. There was a halt, a voice, +and a long moment before he breathed. It was just a change of sentries, +perhaps. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Just a moment's talk in the street--twice interrupted by sentries, as +they moved the hundred yards from the courtyard of Judenbach to the +house of amputations. + +"...He was trying to lift a man from the hopelessness of death when I +stepped up quietly behind," Berthe was saying. "He was wonderful about +it, because he had felt the same hopelessness. I wish you could have +heard him." + +Moritz Abel said: "He is effective. He is intellect and heart--very +sound. His vision will come quickly. He does not wing--that is our +trouble. We are carried away. He is still within the comprehension of +the average man. We need him greatly. Also he needs us. What a man he +would be to steady us--to interpret for us. The new Fatherland must have +such men. It has been our destiny always to dream and to pass--another +generation to make our vision flesh--" + +"You mean such men as Peter Mowbray would be direct interpreters?" she +asked. + +"Exactly. We are poets and artists and singers. We are the fathers +of the new Fatherland in a sense, but we need among us lawgivers and +statesmen--men who love men straight and not through the arts--men who +have the same zeal for men that the arts give us when we are pure, but +who are conservers and constructors, men of great force and acumen and +kindness--" + +"Oh, I know so well what you mean," she whispered. "If you could only +have heard him with the bandaged man--_'I am not a genius or a dreamer, +man. I am so slow at dreaming and brotherhood, and all that, that a +woman once ran away from me. But I saw to-day that death isn't all.'"_ + +"Yes, that is it," Moritz Abel said. "That is the quality. And many +times among those who do not make claim nor talk of brotherhood, the +reality is beaming from their daily service. Yes, that is it. I hope to +know him better after the long night." + +They had reached the place of blood and torture. + +"And now you must rest a little," he told her. "You know he asked me to +take care of you. I like him for that. A man would see a great deal in +that, for he honored me." + +"And me--" she whispered. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +It was not yet dawn. Peter heard the moaning of the men as they awoke +and turned in their bandages. Surgeon and assistants passed through; +two of the latter remained to start up the malingerers. Machine and +rapid-fire men especially were needed at the front, it was said. Four +thousand men had fallen in the past three days, and this was to be the +day of the most furious battle--Kohlvihr to drive a hole through the +hills, this day. An early incident revealed certain facts--personal--and +had a temporary numbing influence upon Mowbray. The day had risen and +Samarc awakened, when a strange orderly entered the ward, and came +leisurely to the cot where Peter sat: + +"What have you here?" + +"A shrapnel wound in the face." + +The orderly looked under the cot for the uniform, as if to determine +Samarc's place and rank. + +"Where's the blouse?" he asked. + +"It was covered with blood," said Peter. "They took it away." + +"What branch of the service?" + +Peter was not sure--infantry possibly. He didn't care for the stranger's +manner, nor to have this particular gunner of the rapid-fire pieces +hurried to the field unhealed. The orderly bent suddenly, whispering. + +_"She told me to tell you that she wants to come, but that it isn't +safe--"_ + +...Moritz Abel looking for an interpreter would have been interested +now; also the Old Man of _The States_. The stranger had spoken +leisurely. Peter's temptation was conquered before he was half through. + +"Are you sure you were to give me some message?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"But I wasn't expecting anyone." + +The other regarded him keenly. Peter was well trained for that. An +officer appeared in the doorway and beckoned the orderly. + +"It must have been a mistake," the latter muttered. + +Peter was thinking fast. The fact remained that their meeting the night +before had been noted. He was leaving for the field shortly; the harm of +suspicion would fall upon her. + +"I promised to call a moment this morning at the amputation house--but +no one was to come for me," he added. + +"I have made a mistake," the orderly repeated. + +"...I wonder if I have?" Peter thought. + +Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to +speak. Peter invariably paled before this ordeal. Not through words +but sounds were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the +field. In the usual course there would be no coming back for him at +nightfall, because he had "ceased to kill--" + +"But must your officers know?" Peter whispered. + +...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they +knew Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer. + +"But why go?" + +...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required further +hospital care. He could not endure that. The bandages must never come +off.... He would rather be afield. + +Peter saw the grim finality of it. Samarc wasn't changed. He meant to +end it. It was not only Spenski, but the havoc under the cloths.... + +A young assistant surgeon at a near cot was rather too hastily laying +bare the lint from a severe shoulder wound. + +Exchange with Samarc had of course stopped. Peter, thinking deeply, +watched with but half attention until the assistant surgeon briskly +rebound the wound, and began tugging at the soldier to get on his feet. +The wounded one whimpered his weakness. + +"Get up!" + +The order was repeated. "Into your clothes, man. Scores are already in +the column with wounds worse than yours." + +The man groaned, stirred, but fell back. Peter had seen the wound--not +a desperate one, but enough to lay a man up for a fortnight at home, +and this could not have been more than three days old. There wasn't much +chance of malingering. + +"Come, come!" the young officer urged angrily. + +The soldier tried to raise himself, but did not make good work of it. + +"I'll get you up, damn you--" + +A quick scream from the man on the cot. Peter did not know what the +doctor did, but he smelled acid. All was cloudy before his eyes. He was +a bit surprised a second after to feel the Russian's neck in his two +hands: + +"None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like +that," he was saying. + +The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage was +done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray later. +His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, drawing on +his clothes. + +"A bit of bad judgment," Peter said, not explaining whether it was his +or the young doctor's. + +The surgeon did not ask, but turned to the great muffled face. + +"This man was from one of the rapid-fire commands, I believe?" + +Peter was prevented from further glibness by a decisive nod from Samarc. + +"The Fatherland will need you to-day," the surgeon said with a peculiar +significance. + +To Peter's trained ear the sounds from Samarc were dangerously like, +"Fatherland-hell." + +"A shrapnel splinter struck him in the mouth," he explained. "He says he +is ready to take the field." + +Samarc spoke again. + +"His blouse is gone," said Peter hastily. "I can manage for him." + +"Has he a fever?" + +"I'm afraid so--a slight fever." + +The surgeon turned to the other cot. "Let this fellow sleep another +day," he said. + +The soldier lying there gave Peter a look almost uncanny in its +gratitude. + +"Sit down, Samarc. I'll get you a blouse," the latter said and left the +ward. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt awoke early in his own quarters, and beat around under the +blankets for his friend. Peter was not there. Boylan remembered and sat +up. This was the day of the great battle, but there was to be +breakfast first. He recalled what was in the saddle-bags. This proved +unsatisfactory. Even that hinged on Peter, as every thought so far. ... +Boylan now reflected that he might have stayed longer in the ward last +night. There was just as much to hold him to the cot of Samarc as had +called Peter. Altogether, the day was not beginning in a way to suit. + +He sat in the center of a tired tangle of woolen blankets and buckled on +his leggings. His face pricked his chest as he bent forward. There was +a stabbing run of ideas that had to do with marble baths, tepid plunges +and fragrant steam. This collection he made haste to banish with matters +of the day, and the absence of Peter,--but the pictures were various and +persistent--exceptionally enticing baths from all his history recurring. +He stretched out his gray woolen shirt and brushed it hard with handfuls +of dried grass; he washed uncomfortably. It was like an ablution before +one is undressed--that pervasive beard affair--and a general chill and +dampness about clothes and boots that had not yet worked warm. The day +was alternate gray and red. Noise gained in the street. Big Belt stepped +forth. + +Just at this moment he saw Peter Mowbray disappear into that grim street +entrance from which the unspeakable human outcry had issued yesterday. +He followed, twisting into doorways to let provision wagons pass, +quickening his steps to cross between detachments of infantry. A certain +dead cavalry horse was powerful in the air. Boylan knew exactly where it +lay, for it had called attention these three days, an Austrian property, +saddle and all, a ghastly outpouring upon the turf. + +Boylan found himself stepping forward with a gladness that was answered +with sharp objection by his own nature, and which he would not have let +Peter Mowbray know for all Judenbach. He was disgusted with the weakness +that made a man friend such a profound institution in his breast. + +The hall-way was dark. Boylan heard low voices; something from them +prevailed to hush his entrance. In fact, at the turning he stood quite +still for possibly three seconds. Beyond in the shadows Peter stood with +a woman. Afterward Boylan recalled that there had been one poignant cry +of pain from above, as if born of the monotone of moaning in that house. + +They did not see him.... A little man appeared from the shadows, joined +the two, and handed Peter a Russian blouse such as is worn by hospital +stewards of the service. Peter thanked him; the other departed; the +two were once more alone.... The huge scarred head of the old war-wolf +withdrew jerkily; with stealth, he stepped back into the street. He did +not stop until he reached his own quarters. There he found that he had +not folded his blankets. In the midst of this work his hands stopped.... +He was as accustomed as any man can be to unremoved horse by this time. +It came steadily to his nostrils, mingled with the leathery smell of his +own field-outfit. Presently he looked at his watch, and snapped the +case shut with a crack. The strength of his fingers would have broken a +filbert. + +"Some men can find 'em anywhere," he muttered. "And such a one! She was +a flame.... As for Mr. B. B.--it's dead horse all his days." + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Ashamed of himself, Big Belt waited to see if Peter would turn in to +their quarters, as he approached carrying the hospital steward's blouse +across his arm. Boylan would not call. It was like a woman's way--to +learn if a man had forgotten her; still he would not call.... +Clean-shaven, very straight and full of life, Peter approached, smiling +at packers and soldiers, a smile for all the world. "Why not?" Boylan +thought. Peter did turn in, and came toward him, hand out. + +"Tomato ketchup with duck's eggs. Draw up a chair," said Boylan. He +appeared just now to see the steward's blouse. + +"Samarc takes the field to-day. It's for him," Peter explained.... "He's +going out to kill himself. Only one reservation--that he kill no one +else." + +Boylan seemed staring at Peter's knees. + +"You're letting the ketchup burn," Peter said mildly. + +"I suppose that's what he really means to do," Big Belt observed, after +a moment. "And what are we to do about it?" + +"I thought I would stand by a little--not so as to be a nuisance, you +know--" + +"Naturally not. Of course." + +They ate in silence--a thousand things to say. + +"I won't be very far from the staff," said Peter, hurrying back to the +hospital. "Poor old Samarc has two wounds, you know--" + +* * * + +It wasn't a day to explain things--not a day to talk. Men afield can +never tell what they are doing; some devilish irony is in the air. They +laugh; they listen; they hope--only a jest comes. The most thrilling and +stupendous situations bring forth but a curse or a roar. Human throats +are inarticulate, afield; the reality that voices heroic utterance and +makes it memorable is not at work in man-fabric; splendid faces and +brave actions--but the words are the revealers of emptiness. For the +animal is awake and upstanding; the spirit that quickens reality is +apart. + +The battlefield opened to Mowbray's eyes that day with abnormal +clearness, as if he had brought rest and reflection to a problem that +long had harried him, He felt singularly light and full of ease--as one +does sometimes in the first hours of the day after a sleepless night. +The day was wild with west wind, a touch of south still clinging. The +east arrayed itself again and again in all the delicate blends of pink +and gray, watery yellow, rose, and azure; a different arrangement at +each glance, as if separate groups of maidens followed each around a +Roman bath. + +Samarc was given a seat in an ammunition wagon, with orders to join his +battery. Peter found his horse, already saddled by Boylan, and overtook +the wagon train as it left the town. In a halt for the way to clear, +Kohlvihr and his staff passed, Dabnitz and Boylan riding together. The +General sat soft and lumpy in the saddle, his eyes small and feverish, +his face hotly red. The staff passed on, all except Boylan believing +that the correspondent had fallen in behind. Riding with the wagons, +Peter frequently turned to the terrifying bandage above the steward's +blouse. When the light was right, he caught a glint of the eyes beneath. + +The way became steep for the wagons as they neared the emplacements. +Peter swung off and led his pony. Infantry was already engaged down in +the hollows; the reek of powder began to cut the air at intervals, but +the strong wind as often cleansed it away, and the scent of woods came +up startlingly, with the warmth of the sun upon the ground--the sweet +healing breath of drying cedar boughs. + +He was sorry now he had roughed it with the young doctor; that sort of +thing was very far from him. He had no memory of another episode like +it. On occasion, dropping into the queerest abstractions, he fancied +_her_ near.... It had been like a soldier leaving his lady for the +battle--the precious few minutes less than an hour ago. She had promised +to be with him. There had been no talk nor thought of the terrifying +day she faced in the hospital; everything had to do with his taking the +field. She would follow him with her thoughts. Perhaps he would find his +soul out there, she suggested, as he had never found it before. Peter +wondered now just what she meant by that. It was not his way to fall +back upon any such abstraction. + +He reflected how her presence always changed him, gave him strength of +a different sort, and directness of aim.... It was true that she seemed +near--on the other side from Samarc--a part of the mountain fragrance +that would not be overpowered in the gun-reek. He felt if he could turn +quickly enough he would catch the gleam of her colors. This was her +country. She was of the north and the cold lands; she belonged to the +purity of the cedars. + +He played with the thought that she was near; and from the thought, +because it was good, a glimpse of the future came to him--the peace +to come, when men would dwell again with their loves, and the dream of +superb affiliation would come true. All this madness of men would pass, +as the rising powder-reek would pass from these Galician hills, and +leave them their silence and their natural fragrance. + +The wagons had gone on. Samarc's battery might have been rubbed out for +all their ability to find it. All faces strange--gunners, range-finders, +and the cartridge hands. Peter felt a horror in his breast for the +immediate presence of the guns--as if he had reached the end of +toleration in the one day with them. Samarc felt this hate, too, his +ruling passion.... Any moment one of the rapid-firers might drum into +action. Their sense was one--that something would be uncoupled in their +minds. They turned, Peter laughing at his desire to run--as they found +another group of machines emplaced in a rocky shelter a little higher +than the spot where the shrapnel had struck three days before. + +No one called to them as they turned back. A small belated wagon train +rumbled by, but no one hailed them from the seats. They were free, +alone. Peter inhaled the scent of the forest, sharp again from the acrid +taint of the cool, hazy air. He loved the sweet mountain wind as never +before--almost as if he were to leave it all. There was little need of +exchange of words. Each understood mainly the thoughts of the other. Big +guns thundered at each other from the remoter hills. Again they saw an +infantry movement start forth below--the endless strings of infantry +along the broad lower slopes. They stopped to watch them. + +Creatures of the hollows, their business to rise and be swept +back--marching forth now--Kohlvihr's command. Peter's eyes filled and +his throat stopped at the spectacle of the gray lines. Surely something +was the matter with him, he thought. Was it pathological--loss of sleep, +or fatigue? Or was it something that Spenski and Abel, the field and +hospital; more than all was it something that Berthe Wyndham had given +him? In any event, it seemed as if those infantry lines marching out now +to the burning front were being torn from his own breast, every _moujik_ +precious. He wanted to be with them, not with the heinous guns. He +wished he could spare them, stop the continual sacrifice. Miles of gray +lines moving out now. ...His companion's tugging hand. + +It dawned upon Peter before many sounds that Samarc wanted to go alone. +He pointed the trail back around the hills toward Judenbach, where it +would meet the road Kohlvihr had taken, suggesting that Peter join the +staff. He, Samarc, would continue the search for his battery. As a rule +Mowbray was the last to continue in the presence of a man who wanted him +to go; and yet, he knew that Samarc hated the field pieces as much as +he, and that he did not mean to live through the day. He hesitated. The +final urging was pitiful--a sort of tumult from under the cloths. + +"Nothing doing, Samarc," he said suddenly. "You and I for it--at least +a while yet. I say--do the hard thing. The little man would have it so. +We'll go down closer to the infantry stuff and forget ourselves." + +...Yes, Samarc would do the hard thing. There was gratitude for which +Peter had no receptivity--gratitude for the friendship, the night's +watching. His hand was taken and carried to the other's breast, as only +a Russian could do--and down they went together. + +The infantry was their magnet as they made the down grade--miles of gray +lines. The lower land was trampled and dusty; the breeze lost itself in +the hollows. Just as an orchardist, discovering a certain parasite on +his trees, thinks of a specific poison, so they knew that this great +"forward" of the Russian foot-soldiers would start the Austrian machine +and rapid-fire batteries. + +They were moving now in front of a long line of new Russian works which +had appeared deserted. Boylan would have known better; Samarc should +have known. Peter had taken for granted that these had been emptied +by the huge advances already in movement. They were in the path of +Kohlvihr's reserves, it appeared, in the center of the line, when the +signal "forward" was sounded. The works suddenly blackened with men. +It was too much for the pony. Peter found a bridle with a broken throat +latch in his hand, as he watched the little beast tear down the front, +and heard the roar of laughter from the oncoming line. + +The new front seemed endless in the rolling land. They were instantly +enveloped. Out of the throng appeared one face that Peter had bowed to +once or twice before--a captain, now working his way toward them. He +glanced at the civilian insignia on Peter's sleeve, and said, with a +smile: + +"You've tricked us well this time, Mr. Mowbray. I hope you get back as +cheerfully. You'll have to go forward now--at least, until we stretch +out in skirmish. We're rather thick just here. Stay with my command--" + +"We thought we were back of you," Peter said. "I assure you I didn't +plan this, but it's very kind of you." + +The Captain glanced at Samarc and turned to the American as they urged +on. + +"Hurt badly?" + +"Just his face." + +"Stay by--some of the soldiers might be rough--" + +They were carried forward in the resistless interference of great +numbers. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Peter had pitied the infantry formerly from a hill, having stood with +a battery as it sprayed the Austrian lines. He had watched the Austrian +machines pouring steel upon the Russians also. There had been emotion; +he had felt the shame of it powerfully on this very morning; but now he +reflected, with a touch of levity, that his pity had not been adequate. +At the present juncture he belonged to the sacrifice. The process was +reversed; the globe of his experience shortly to be made complete. He +would have the effects of light and darkness from the vantage of the +preying and the preyed upon. + +Peter had never been actually down among men before. He had watched men, +studied them sincerely, passed them in the street, reflected upon their +problems. At the same time, his personal impetus had always been away +from men, his a different purpose, a different aim. He was _one_ now, +one in the massed destiny of the command, one to obey. Only by falling +could he be free from this extraordinary authority of the army. + +Moreover, he felt that the motive energizing this authority was not of +the human but of the tiger. + +He might have thought of all this before, as he had thought of death +as one thing for the outsider and a different thing for the little +lens-maker he liked so well. But this was experience, not conjecture. He +was an atom of the charge. The army authority disrupted his moral sense. +It bound and gagged him. No imagination could have constricted his vital +and creative force as this adventure, in which he was caught up like a +chip and carried forward in a rush of animal power. Fear had no part +of his revulsion, but the break of his will. It was not like a man +drowning, in an insensible element; this that carried him _had_ a +consciousness and it was unclean. + +He saw that the rankers leaned on each other; that there was not yet in +the peasant faces about him a single separate individual relation to the +impending peril. These men might have, seen others fall by the hundreds, +but their faith was in the command, their law its law. Peter saw that +they were in a sense like men parading through city streets, who endure +the eyes of the crowds because they are part of a line. It was the +eternal illusion of numbers again--the elbow brush, the heat, the +breath, the muttering of men--this atmosphere that the military machine +breathed. Standing alone, most of them would have fallen from fear. + +He smelled the unwashed crowd. Under all the bronze that life in +the open had given the command was the lardy look of earth-born men, +close-to-the-ground men; these were the hordes that put on pounds and +size, the rudiment of a mind, the momentary ignition of soul perhaps +in moments such as now--and pass to the earth again. Yet the history of +Europe was to be written upon a surface like this; this, the soil of the +future. It was close to chaos, but as yet undefiled by man. This was the +newest product of earth, the new terrific fecundity of the North +that had alarmed lower Europe; these were the peasant millions as yet +unfathered, strong as yet only as bulls are strong, gregarians, almost +without memory; their terror, pain, passion, hope, genius not individual +yet, but in the solution of the crowds. + +Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle +to retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution +draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire of +a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps--but to +give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as skirmishers, +the crush ended. Entire figures of men could be seen, instead of necks, +beards, and shoulders. Samarc gripped his arm, the other hand pointing +to a little red-haired boy who ran, crouched, sped on again, halted to +look, in the true squirrel fashion of advance, which is the approved +procedure of skirmishers. He talked to himself, appeared lost in +absorption, reminded one continually of Spenski when his face was +averted--and was just one of the miles of infantry. + +Their faces looked cold now; a part of the gray tone so often observed. +The officers fought to stretch them out. Every line of fear that the +human mouth can express Peter saw. Now the drum of the Austrian pieces. +It was not as they had heard it in the heights, but like an encore at +first--as if some tremendous mass of men in a wooden gallery had started +a buffeting of feet. The valley muffled the volleys; the actual steel +was not heard until it neared like a rain torrent; indeed it found their +immediate lines before they heard the murderous cutting of the air. The +Austrian gunners were placed for enfilading, so that a fraction of point +gave them impaling force and a wide swath in the ranks. + +Peter saw the little red head cocked forward as if to listen to the +nearing gusts of steel. + +Now men were down and crying out. The fire was like that of a hostile +regiment concentrating its volley upon a little knot of soldiers--the +air was whipped, wild with throbbing missiles. Supernatural fear was +the answer from the very souls of men. Their prayer (in Mowbray's +conception) was not for life, but for cessation. Yet the machines held +them with infernal leisure as one holds the stream from a garden hose to +a spot of clay clinging to masonry. + +In all postures the soldiers met the gale, with every answering sound. +Then falling, rising, crawling, the remnant went back. It was not pain +nor death nor wounds that mattered--but the hurtling concussions in the +air, the plague of steel.... + +It stopped. Peter lay exhausted an instant. He felt no hurt. He was down +because one could not stand in that sweep of projectiles. He recalled +that he had seen the red head fall a moment before, and turned like a +sick man, his eyes rolling, to learn if it were a dream or not. Yes, +Redhead had fallen. Samarc was crawling toward him on his knees. Peter +writhed forward, too, but disliking the movement lest it bring the +guns upon them again. He forgot that. Redhead was muttering about _the +storm_. + +"Are you hard hit, boy?" Peter called. + +There were others about--a whole line of fallen, but they saw just this +one--his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was young like +the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much bewildered, the gray, +clayey hue upon him, but not at all uncouth. Samarc felt his spine, +turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now Redhead saw the effigy +that was Samarc. He had been watching Peter before. + +His mouth opened, eyes seemed to settle back into a red gleam of horror, +his face swung around into the dirt. Peter would have given his arm to +spare Samarc that. No sound from under the cloth--only a breath. Samarc +shouldered him, raised himself with the burden. + +There are pressures of will. One turns on a certain force to meet an +obstacle, and it is exhausted. There are other sources of power, but +one brushes death to summon them. Far ahead they saw the remnant making +cover. Now Peter noted that there was human need at every step. They lay +in all positions, squirmed their faces up to him and implored. The few +were still; the many writhed. He looked for a small one. He had never +lifted a man and was surprised when one came up and rolled as if by +magic across his back. It was so easy that he wanted to take others. + +"I will come back," he called to the faces. + +He meant to come back as he said it. He wanted to bring them all in. +He had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc and +Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man changes in +a day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he been there. A +_moujik_ arose from his knees in front of them, as they staggered on. He +was stunned, bewildered, blinded, but he could hear. + +"Come on--we're going back," Peter said. + +The other held out his hand gropingly. Peter placed the flap of his coat +in it, and the moujik stumblingly followed.... Another soldier on his +knees barred the way. + +"We're going back," Peter said. "Come on. You can crawl--" + +The soldier set out eagerly to obey, as if it had been a great boon to +follow with his own strength. It was the mightiest episode of the day to +Peter Mowbray. "My God, how they obey _men_!" he said, with awe. "They +_could_ be led right--peasants who obey like that!" + +There was singing all about him--not of bullets, though this little +movement on the field drew a thin, uncertain long-range fire from some +intrenchment (apparently it was not enough to start a machine)--a low +singing as of wells of gladness reaching the surface. Peter was torn +with the agony of the field, yet thrilling with happiness--as if there +was liberation somewhere within. He turned to the crawling one who +inspired him: + +"We're all hurt, but we're going back to bed. Come on--you're doing +famously--" + +The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and the +Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about _the storm_.... It +was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as harmless as sandflies +after the horror of hornets they had known.... They were alone. They saw +the heaped rims of the Russian works ahead--five of them, alone, for, +queerly enough, they were as one. + +And now from ahead, from the concealed Russian lines, arose a roar such +as Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic force that filled +his eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought that the +end of the war must have come--so glad and so mighty was that shouting. + +Now a fragment of the line ran forth to bring the little party in, not +minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest they +start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of maimed +and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the command--even +the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an incoherent Boylan +took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. Kohlvihr and Dabnitz +stood there, the old man repeating: + +"Get the name of the hospital man." + +Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat. + +"Hospital steward,--I have that," he said a second time, "but what's the +name and the division?" + +"He can't speak," said Peter. "I'll get his name later. He's been +wounded in the mouth." + +Curiously enough in this turmoil it appeared for the first time why +Samarc had been allowed a free field practically--why he had not been +impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's +blouse that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things +were darkening about him. He smelled the cedars. Her colors seemed just +out of view.... She had been near. + +"Peter--are you hit?" It was Boylan's voice. + +"No, just bushed." + +Now he heard Kohlvihr say: "Anything for you we can, Mr. Mowbray. As a +civilian, you are of course exempt from specific honors, but as soon as +I learn your companion's name I shall suggest that he be honored by the +Little Father." + +"Why, you've put the whole line back into fighting trim!" Boylan +whispered. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Something of the activity now apparent to the blurred faculties of +Mowbray, as he sat in the clammy embrace of nausea and struggling for +breath, appealed to him as structurally wrong; almost inconceivably +abominable, in fact. He had no interest in his so-called achievement, +regarded it with a laugh, repeated that it was pure accident; but +such as it was, he objected to it being used to put the line back into +"fighting trim." + +He was in the large sod-covered pit occupied by field headquarters. He +turned at the sound of breathing at his side. Samarc was sitting there. +Peter's hand went to his knee. Aides, messengers, and orderlies hastened +in and out. There were twenty men in the pit--Kohlvihr the center of +all. Big Belt was ministering--a flask, a momentary massage, a steady +run of comment, ruddy from the heart.... The activity came to him again. + +Kohlvihr was actually planning another infantry advance. + +Peter started to speak, but halted for further reflection, a bit +skeptical as to his own sanity. This was the third day of the battle; +this the day planned to drive a hole through the difficult Austrian +hills; the whole Russian army was dependent upon taking this Austrian +position; the weather was becoming colder, Berlin still afar off; the +Russian left and center pinned to the results of action here. + +So far mental processes seemed adequate, but this changed in no way his +attitude toward the atrocious activity in the brain of Kohlvihr of the +bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr might sally forth for his wounded; hundreds were dying +out there in the windy hollow. He, Peter Mowbray, had seen their +faces--their bodies to the end of sight. But Kohlvihr had no thought +of that; rather to meet the range of death machines again with another +horde of his skirmishers--and again--and again, until the end of the +day--until enough passed through to gain the opposite slopes in fighting +force, or until the Austrian ammunition was exhausted.... + +And Kohlvihr had never been out there. His cave was well back in the +shelter of the works--sheltered from ahead and from the sky, with +Judenbach behind.... Old Doltmir, the second in command, was saying: + +"It's a terrible price to pay, General--a terrible price. You will note +that they enfilade our lines as we reach the bottom land. You will +note that their machines cover the valley perfectly and that they are +practiced now--" + +There was balm in that, but acid covered it an instant later from +Kohlvihr, who swallowed a drink and turned with a snarl. + +"We have the price to pay--" + +Peter was thinking now of the front line that had cheered his coming in; +the men so ready to forget themselves for a little spectacle, and the +thrill that had come to his own breast from their shouting. _He loved +them and knew why._ And those men, their lives and deaths--were in +the hands of this red-eyed human rat who fouled the air.... No, Peter +thought, it wasn't the brandy that smelled. It's Kohlvihr and the +brandy. + +"Good God, Boylan," he muttered in English, "can't you get him by the +throat?" + +Boylan's eyes were wild. He laughed softly, however, saying in Russian: +"Very good, Peter--you'd joke at your death--" + +And Big Belt's eyes roved to Dabnitz, who apparently had not heard +Peter's remark. + +...And now the tugging from Samarc that meant words! It seemed as if a +ghastly stillness prepared for that final rumble; certainly stillness +followed it. All eyes turned, even Kohlvihr's, to the effigy. But Peter +alone understood. + +"...Don't let them take off the bandages." + +Samarc left his seat in the dark corner and walked evenly toward the +center where Kohlvihr stood, his aides about him--poor old Doltmir +standing apart and distressed. The moment had come for the order to be +given. Kohlvihr turned to a dispatch rider at the door--a door made of +cedar trunks. + +For the moment Peter was blocked between two desires, or paralyzed. The +huge face of Boylan close by mutely implored him to be silent. + +"Samarc," he called. + +Samarc did not turn. Now Peter saw the red face of Kohlvihr in its gray +fringe suddenly lifted and enlarged. The effigy was close to it, but +not higher, and hands were tightening beneath it--Samarc's strong unhurt +hands. There had been one snarling scream. It was followed by a shot +from Dabnitz. The red face went down with the other to the clay floor. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +The roar of the battle followed as Peter staggered back alone to +Judenbach. He must have traversed a mile before there was a rational +activity of his faculties. The first mental picture was that of +the officers running along the works as the order for "advance as +skirmishers" was given. They were inspiring the men in the name of the +Little Father. + +"If only they hadn't said that," Peter muttered pathetically. + +Then he recalled that Kohlvihr had been lifted practically unhurt from +the clay floor; that his order was carried out. The infantry had obeyed. +With all he knew, and all he had seen that day, the mystery of common +men deepened. Out of it all strangely stood forth in his mind now the +man who could not rise, but who crawled after him at a word.... +These men obeyed--that was the whole story. If they were given true +fathers!... Why, that _was_ the answer! + +Peter had come into this with all the fire of revelation. He had earned +it. Blood and courage, and the stress of death, had given it to him. Yet +it was worth it all. He would tell Berthe Wyndham.... + +He stopped short at the edge of the town. Never was there in his life +a moment of profounder humility. Berthe Wyndham had told him all this +before they left Warsaw--on the day that the message came from Lonegan. +All he had learned to-day through such rigor and jeopardy she had told +him; and she had understood it then with the same passion that he had it +now. + +Peter had only listened that day; he had lived it to-day. His heart +suddenly flooded with warmth for Fallows. Fallows had been through all +this--all the burning and zealotry of it, and had come forth into +the coldness and austerity of service. It was very wonderful. Peter +Mowbray's eyes smarted. They, and the service, had certainly crumpled +the old fronts of calm and the sterile pools of intellect. He loved the +peasants now, _and he knew why_.... He saw what a stick he had been, +but this didn't trouble him greatly. The new seeing was enough; he was +changed. His emotions presently concerned the fresh realizations so +dearly bought--in the past three days... three days. + +Not until now did he think of Samarc.... The reality had stood like a +black figure at the door of his brain throughout all the walk, but it +did not enter until now. No, Samarc would not come back to Judenbach. It +was finished as he had intended. He had ceased to kill. Even at the last +he had but used his hands, and in as righteous wrath as ever tortured +human fingers to terrible strength.... He, Mowbray, had not remained to +assure himself that the last command of his friend was obeyed. This +hurt him not a little.... He was in the main street... exertion, sorrow, +exaltation; now he was whipped again. He felt he had not done well at +the last. A teamster yelled to him to get out of the way. Peter stepped +back wearily to let a string of ambulances by. + +Across was that grim door of the house of amputations. He was not quite +ready to enter. He would get himself in hand better. He had not been +gone long--it was only mid-forenoon. He would go to his quarters and +clean up a little--perhaps rest a moment. His thoughts turned often to +Samarc, always with a pang. He wished the Big Belt were here. This last +reminded him of his saddle bags--razors and all gone with the pony. +Boylan would have the laugh at him now. + +He could not sit still in his quarters. Voices came to him from the +street, from the court--even from that grim place a little down the way. +He arose and went across to the familiar hospital ward.... Another was +in Samarc's place. A hand beckoned. It was from the cot of the soldier +for whom he had struggled with the young doctor. He went to it. There +was a message: + +_"They were talking of you as an enemy--"_ + +That was all. Peter did not care for particulars. His volition was +quickened. He had been sadly in need of that. Now he went direct to +the hallway, where he had left her in the morning, and on upstairs. The +rooms were crowded with wounded and medical officers, but no familiar +face--neither Berthe Wyndham nor Moritz Abel. + +Many eyes held him. He did not see the young doctor, but the surgeon who +had come to the other ward was there--that bland, quiet face, regarding +him curiously now. Peter asked nothing, and was free apparently to move +anywhere about the building. None of his own was there. His loneliness +was untellable. He could not have spoken to a stranger without a break +of tone.... + +He wished for Boylan again. + +Peter was in the street, moved along the walls as one very tired. He was +searching, but the thoughts grew so terrible that he could not keep his +eyes to outer activity. His steps led him to the Court of Executions. +Standing by the street gate, he dreaded to enter. He would not tolerate +this, yet it was more than life or death. He had a mental picture of +finding her there, her body shrinking into one of the stone corners--as +a maimed bird that has fallen lies still under its wings. + +His breath burst from him. He had been holding it as if under water. His +eyes traveled electrically now. + +There were dead in the court, but she was not there, nor Abel nor +Fallows. He looked through the row of gratings and under the arches. +There was a low stone lintel with a dim deserted hall beyond.... + +Just now a step behind him, heavy boots ringing on the stone flags. +Peter turned. A Russian soldier halted, raised his rifle, commanded him +to advance. + +Peter waved his hand in a gesture of obedience, but turned to glance in +the gloom under the lintel again. It was just _in the turning_ that +he had caught the gleam of her colors--not when he stared straight in. +Peter assured himself of this before giving himself up. + + + + +IV + +IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +Chapter 1 + + +The dead man in the hospital steward's coat had been carried forth from +the bomb-proof pit. + +Big Belt perceived that the day was working out according to its evil +beginnings.... After coming in from the infantry hollows as one risen +from the dead (and transfigured in the garish light of field bravery) +Peter Mowbray had left him again, now in the possession of strange +devils. + +Boylan was not ready to go back to Judenbach. It was almost noon. He was +watching the heart of the Russian invasion of Galicia, and from its +main lesion. This he knew quite as well as Dabnitz, or Doltmir, or the +half-insane Kohlvihr himself. The Austrians still held. Indeed, it was +not hard for them. The Russian west wing entire, and possibly part of +its center, would be called upon to flank this stoutly adhering force, +if Kohlvihr continued to fail. Such an action would greatly delay the +general forward movement of the Russian arms. + +"You will be without a command, General," Doltmir suggested, at the +end of the second infantry throwback, following that in which Peter had +participated. "We are not disturbing them greatly in our advances. We +are chiefly effective in destroying their ammunition--" + +"Then we must continue that," said Kohlvihr. + +"But the troops will not continue to charge. Our reserves are in. The +fresher men see the fate of the former advances. The hollows are in +plain sight from the forward rifle pits." + +"The officers must drive them forward--" + +"Most of the lesser commanders are lying in the valley. The troops are +killing them as well as the enemy--" + +"Do you mean there is mutiny, sir?" + +"Not of a reckonable type. These men work in the midst of action. +Moreover, our troops are hard pressed. Our division has borne the brunt +for three days in almost unparalleled action." + +"Would you advise me to leave them funking in the trenches?" Kohlvihr +demanded. + +"General, I would advise a report to the Commander of our failure in +four advances--that we can not get sufficient men across the valley to +charge the Austrian positions. Meanwhile I would order the wounded to +be brought in. After that, I would suggest food for the men in the +trenches." + +"I do not care to report four failures without a fifth trial." + +Doltmir turned back. + +Big Belt was thinking fast. In all his experience, he had never seen the +Inside stripped naked like this. Of course, he had observed the +strategy of small bodies of troops determined by a swift consultation of +officers; but this was an army in itself, or had been, and on the part +of Kohlvihr it was very clear that personal matters were powerfully to +the fore. Kohlvihr was enraged; Kohlvihr was ambitious. Big Belt was +aware that, given a free hand and a free cable, he could make Kohlvihr a +loathsome monster in the eyes of the world, this merely by a display of +the facts. + +Boylan's view was cleared a little as he thought of such a narrative. +His sense of the reception of the story showed him the commanding nature +of it. The thing might be done later. Peter's trouble was that he could +not forget it for the present. Thoughts of work put a new energy into +Boylan's thinking. These things now passing in the bomb-proof pit formed +the climax of a narrative that had been running from the Warsaw office +to the present hour.... For a moment in the story's grasp, Boylan did +not hear the voice of the invaluable Dabnitz: + +"...He is under suspicion, sir," that young officer was saying to his +chief. "In fact, the whole hospital corps is rotten with revolutionists, +but the fact remains he can sing like an angel. I think if Poltneck were +brought here to the lines and made to sing the folk songs--" + +"Get him," said Kohlvihr. "Is he under arrest?" + +"No; as yet merely under espionage. He was valuable in rather a unique +way in the hospitals yesterday." + +"Bring him at once." + +Kohlvihr sent an order for his troops to rest and have a bite in the +trenches. + +The sorry Doltmir stepped forward again: + +"Would it not be well to bring in our wounded from the field, sir?" + +"We will _have_ the field presently," said Kohlvihr. "The sun is not +hot. The lines already have seen too much of their blood." + +Big Belt remembered that. Moments were intense again when Poltneck was +brought in--a tall, angular, sandy-faced chap, with a wide mouth and +glistening teeth, a smile that quickened the pulse, somehow. Boylan +thought of the passions of women for such men. His shoulders were lean +and square. Yellow hair, long on top and cropped tight below the brim +of his hat, dropped a lock across his forehead, as he uncovered in the +bomb-proof pit. He had been shaven-recently. Boylan reflected that he +belonged to the hospital corps. There was a thrill about him not to be +missed. + +"Poltneck--he calls himself," Dabnitz whispered. "Poltneck perhaps, but +I've seen him with the Imperial orchestra or I'm losing memory. I didn't +have a good look at him before--" + +Dabnitz was called by the General, who was seated with Doltmir over a +small collation with wine and bread. The lieutenant was requested to +arrange the inspiration for the men in the trenches. + +Boylan noted how much taller the singer was than even the tall Russian +officer--as the two stood together. + +"The men are very tired, Poltneck," Dabnitz began. "Much has been +required of them, and much is still required. We want you to help us." + +"Yes?" + +Poltneck had been looking about, interested as a kitten in a strange +house. He regarded Kohlvihr and the rest, the trace of a smile around +his mouth. The smile was still there as he turned quickly to Dabnitz +with the single questioning word, not contemptuous in itself, but Boylan +imagined it morally so. The voice furnished a second and very real +thrill. + +"We thought you would sing for your fellow soldiers. You are from the +peasantry, I am told?" + +"Yes, from the people." + +"We thought you would understand," Dabnitz added. "There is an operatic +tenor in the command--one Chautonville. We might have sent for him, but +our thought was to reach the soldiers directly. It is a great honor." + +"Is it? How and where do you want me to sing?" + +"An advance is to be ordered immediately. We will send an escort with +you along the trenches--just before the order is given. I heard you +singing yesterday. I am sure the men will answer with zeal." + +Poltneck seemed to wilt. Boylan was caught with the others thinking it +was the mention of the trenches that frightened this hospital soldier. +Yet the smile had not changed when Boylan's eye roved to that. It was +not more contemptuous, nor less; but something about it was unsteadying. +Dabnitz already had used many more words than he expected. + +"I am not used to crowds," Poltneck objected weakly. "I am just a simple +man. Already I am without voice. I beg of you to send for Chautonville +of the opera." + +Dabnitz was puzzled. + +"That is out of the question. Chautonville is back in the city. Within +twenty minutes the order for advance will be given. Come, Poltneck; you +will do very well when you see your soldiers--" + +Boylan reflected swiftly at this point that the smile might be neither +deep nor portentous--a single accomplishment, some stray refinement +perhaps that had leaked back somehow to the people. + +"No, no. I am afraid. I belong back among the wounded. I am very good +there. This is not my place--" + +"Will you require men to assist you to the trenches? Already I have +talked too long." + +"Yesterday I was an anesthetic," Poltneck wailed. "To-day I am to be a +stimulant." + +Kohlvihr now came forward. "It is time," he said. + +"General," said Dabnitz, "we have to deal with an unusual peasant, I am +afraid." + +"It would not do for me to encroach upon the work of professionals," the +singer explained in dilemma. + +"You see he is humorous," Dabnitz observed. + +"We sent for you to sing to the soldiers. Will you do that?" the General +asked, from puffing cheeks. + +Poltneck looked down at him with sudden steadiness. "On the way home," +he said. + +"You refuse--then?" + +"I would prefer that you wound them first." + +"At least, he has declared himself," said Dabnitz. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +They did not murder him then and there. Boylan was glad of that. His +sack was already full of blood.... It was all too big. Something would +happen to spoil the telling. No man ever got out with such a story.... +He was a little ashamed to find himself thinking of his newspaper story +so soon after the singer was led forth--the man who would sing for the +wounded, but who would not sing men to their death. Come to think--there +was a prostitution about it. Certainly Poltneck had a point of view. And +he was a hair-raiser of quality... everything about him. + +Boylan thought of writing the Poltneck incident, and became hopeless +again. The Russians would be idiots to let him out alive. He did not +expect it. The only chance was that they couldn't see themselves. +Perhaps Kohlvihr thought he was a hero to-day. Doubtless he did.... One +thing was sure, he, Boylan, must sit tight with his enthusiasm for the +Russian force; must play it harder than ever--must play it for Peter +Mowbray, too. + +"You fellows certainly have your troubles--front and back," he said to +Dabnitz. "But I say, Lieutenant, you couldn't ask troops to go forward +better--you couldn't ask more of the Japanese in the business of +charges--" + +"I wasn't out in that service," Dabnitz observed. + +"Grand little bunch of celibates afield, those Japanese--religious about +these matters of using up hostile ammunition. Fact is, I never saw +white troops go out to a finish four times in one day--as yours did +to-day--out over their own dead, too--" + +He was becoming genial; his heart quaking for Peter, as he thought +suddenly of the words aimed at Kohlvihr's throat, and of Peter's +association at the last with the man in the steward's blouse. ...Dabnitz +was unvaryingly courteous. + +The advance was on again. Boylan went forth to see the repulse. The +main lines on either side had loosened to fill the gaps of Kohlvihr's +division, the much-torn outfits braced by the fresher infantrymen. On +they went, a last time, over the strewn land. + +Boylan saw it all again; heard the drum of the batteries when the troops +reached the hollow of the valley; saw them change like figures on a +blurred screen; perceived the antics and the general settling--and +turned away.... + +It was like the swoop of a carrion bird an instant afterward--and the +deafening strike. The Austrians had varied a little. A shrapnel +battery had been emplaced among the rapid-fire pieces during the recent +interval. A hundred yards down the works to the east landed the first +finger of a hand that groped for headquarters. Boylan watched for the +second shell--one eye, and as little besides as possible, above the +rim of the trench now deserted. It was the same tension and tallying of +seconds that Peter had known on the afternoon that the moon rose before +the setting sun. Big Belt ducked at the second scream. The explosion was +nearer and a little back. He returned to field headquarters just as a +third shrapnel shivered the land still nearer the bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr's face was gray as the fringe of his hair. He looked little and +aged. + +"My compliments to the commander," he was dictating, "...report that +after five advances we find enemy's front impregnable to infantry. +Headquarters now under shrapnel fire. We are forced to withdraw toward +Judenbach--" + +The dispatch rider was standing by. The dirt sprinkled down on their +heads through the wooden buttresses as another shrapnel broke outside. + +"But the wounded, General. The field is alive with wounded--" came from +Doltmir. + +"I can't send troops out there again--" The voice was thick and hoarse +with repression. "We'll get them at nightfall.... Gentlemen, we may now +withdraw." + +Boylan was one of the last to leave. He saw the aged legs disappear up +the earth-rise as the rear door opened. The legs jerked and twitched +spasmodically, as if taking an invisible spanking. + +Boylan was actually afraid of his thoughts, lest they be read in his +face--the shocking personal business on Kohlvihr's part. "A little +shrapnel or two sends him quaking home, and _they_ went out five times +for him into the very steam of hell." + +His brain kept repeating this in spite of him, so that he did not try to +overtake the staff. + +And _they_--the poor last fragment of them--were piling back toward +Judenbach, leaving their wounded behind. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Goylan was back in Judenbach. It was four in the afternoon. He had +searched everywhere for Peter Mowbray. The whole war zone was getting +blacker and blacker to his sight. He had even gone to the Grim House +to look for the white-fire creature who had taken his companion to her +breast, figuratively speaking; but neither she, nor the weak-shouldered +little chap who had brought the hospital steward's blouse, was there. +There remained Dabnitz, who more than any other was aware generally of +what passed. Big Belt returned to headquarters and waited. Darkness was +thickening before the Lieutenant came in. + +"Where's Mowbray?" + +Dabnitz came close and looked at the other sorrowfully. + +"How long have you known Mr. Mowbray?" + +Boylan tried to think. His faculties were at large. According to facts +he had known Peter (and not at all intimately) during a mere ten weeks +before the column left Warsaw. Facts, however, hadn't anything to do +with the reality. Peter Mowbray was his own property. He said as much, +his voice going back on him. + +"Mr. Boylan, I have seldom been more hard hit. He was my friend, too. A +more charming and accomplished young American would be hard to find, +but we who are out for service, a life and death matter for our country, +must not let these things enter. Mr. Mowbray is affiliated in various +ways with our enemies--not the Austrians, but enemies more subtle and +insidious." + +"For God's sake--Dabnitz!" + +"I thought it would hurt you." + +"You might just as well say it of me." + +"Not at all. Your record stands. It was well known to us when you were +accepted to accompany our column. You will recall that it was your +estimate of Mr. Mowbray's superior that decided us to accept the younger +man--" + +"I have been with Mowbray night and day. He is a newspaper man, brain +and soul--one of the coolest and most effective I have ever met. He has +been for years in Paris and Berlin, before Warsaw." + +"I am sorry. You did not know that he caught a young surgeon by the +throat this morning, when the former was very properly stimulating a +malingerer?" + +"I did not. But a personal matter ought not to weigh against a man's +life--" + +"You did not know that he was seen in somewhat extended conversation +yesterday and last evening with one of the most dangerous of our recent +discoveries among the revolutionists?" + +"I did not." + +"Or that a woman came to him last night, in the heart of the night--and +talked long--and was called for by the same revolutionist; that Mr. +Mowbray went to her a little after daybreak this morning--" + +"Ah, Dabnitz--a little romance! All night he was serving in the +hospital. I went out to find him this morning, and saw him turn into +the amputation house. Following, I saw him standing there.... He had +probably never seen her until last night. You know how some young +fellows are. They--you turn around--and they are in an affair--" + +"But the two were overheard to speak of days in Warsaw together. It is +not such a little affair." + +"I know nothing of it, but is such a thing fatal?" + +"She is under arrest with the other revolutionist that I mentioned--a +case against her that is hardly breakable--" + +Boylan sat down, + +"Of course you are aware--of the remark he made this morning in the +field headquarters? I saw how gallantly you tried to cover it. It was +that remark, by the way, which nearly cost the life of our General. The +hospital steward, took up the action as you know--" + +"Dabnitz, I was shocked as you. Peter was beside himself. He had come +in from the field--the actuality of it. He forgot where he was. The +unparalleled energy of the General to win the day, you know--and Peter +had just come in from the hollows where the men lay--" + +"My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--" + +For the first time, Big Belt felt the iron personality of the other. +There was something commercial in the manner of the last, a kind of +ushering out one who would not do. There are men who remain as aloof +as the peaks of Phyrges, though their words and intonations come down +running softly out of a smile. Boylan looked away, and then, with an +inner groan, turned back. + +"I tell you it is a mistake. The boy is as sound as--" + +He couldn't finish. There were exceptions to everything he thought of. +"I want to see him," he added. + +"I'll try to manage that for you, a little later." + +* * * + +It was darkening. In the front room of the house, Kohlvihr sat bung-eyed +by a telegraph instrument. The further strategy from Judenbach was +still in the dark to Boylan. He wished the heavens would fall. As +never before, he had the sense that he had pinned his life and faith to +matters of no account; not that Peter Mowbray belonged to these matters, +but that he, too, was meshed in them.... A shot from somewhere below +in the town. Boylan shivered. There was shooting from time to time for +various butchering reasons, but this particular shot was all Big Belt +needed to finish the picture. + +"Why, they'll shoot the lad," he muttered. + +The sentence remained in his brain in lit letters. + +The States of America couldn't help him; even Mother Nature had turned +her face from this war.... "My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--" something +crippling in that. + +Dabnitz returned, bringing a pair of saddle bags. + +"They're Mr. Mowbray's," he said. "His horse got loose and tangled +himself in a battery. One of the men brought in the bags." + +"Thanks, Lieutenant," said Boylan. + +Dabnitz started to the door when Boylan called, "Oh, I say, did you look +through 'em?" + +The Russian smiled deprecatingly. + +"Of course, I needn't have asked that, but I wanted you to. I'll gamble +you didn't find anything--" + +"A little book of poems by a man we're familiar with. A woman's name +on the front page--a woman we're familiar with. Nothing startling, Mr. +Boylan." + +Dabnitz was gone, the bags lying on the floor. Big Belt opened the +nearest flap. On top was a case containing a tooth brush and a pair of +razors. + +"Peter will want these," he muttered. + + + + +V + +THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter walked ahead unbound. He could not keep his mind on the journey +with the sentry. His thoughts winged from Lonegan at Warsaw, to _The +States'_ office and home, as if carrying the message of his own end.... +Boylan might finally break out with the details.... The personal part +ended suddenly, like an essential formality, leaving him a sorrow for +Boylan and his mother especially. His full faculties now opened to +Berthe Wyndham. + +He was ordered to turn twice to the left. They had left the little stone +court, entering the main street, and back again into the first side +street for a short distance to a narrow stairway, between low mercantile +houses now used for hospitals. Up the creaking way; the sentry within +answered the sentry without and opened the door. A long narrow room with +a single square of light from the roof, and Moritz Abel came forward. + +"I'm sorry," the poet said. "I had hoped--" + +"Yes, we had hoped," Peter replied with a smile. + +Duke Fallows appeared from the shadows and hastily pressed his hand. +Abel had turned toward the square of light, as if there were still +another. + +She came forward like a wraith--into the light--and still toward him, +her lips parted, her eyes intent upon him. The sentry who had brought +him turned, clattered down the stairs. The door was shut by the other +sentry. Her lips moved, but there was nothing that he heard. With one +hand still in his, she turned and led him back under the daylight to the +shadows.... He heard Moritz Abel's voice repeating that he had been a +poor protector. Fallows spoke.... + +There was much to it, hardly like a human episode--the silence so far as +words between them, the tragedy in each soul that the other must go; the +tearing readjustments to the end of all work in the world, and the swift +reversion of the mind to its innumerable broken ends of activity; and +above all, the deep joy of their being together in this last intense +weariness.... She wore her white veiled cap and apron; having followed +the summons from her work. There was a chair in the shadows, and she +pressed him down in her old way, and took her own place before him (as +in her own house) half-sitting, half-kneeling. + +"Peter, I could not believe--until I touched you. I was praying just +here, that you would not come--" + +"I am very grateful to be here," he said. + +"I was so lonely. I was afraid of death. Fallows talked to me and Moritz +Abel--but it did not do. I was thinking of you at the battle, as if you +were a thousand miles away--as if I were waiting, as a mother for you, +waiting for tidings with a babe in her arms--" + +She paused and he said, "Tell me," knowing that she must speak on. + +"...It was just like that. I prayed that you would live--that you would +not be brought here--that the time would pass swiftly. We have been here +hours. They came for us soon after you went. We were all together in +that place--all at our work. They led us here through the streets. It +seemed very far. Something caught in the throat when the soldiers looked +at me. I know what my father felt when he kept saying, 'It's all right. +Yes, this is all right.' I know just how the surprise and the amazement +affected him from time to time, and made him say that.... Then we +were here. I wanted this darker chair. They came--I mean our good +friends--Fallows came and talked to me, and Moritz Abel, but it wasn't +what I seemed to need. Ah, Peter, I'm talking in circles--" + +Something warned him that she was going to break, but he could not speak +quickly enough. The human frightened little girl that he had never seen +before in Berthe Wyndham, was so utterly revealing to his heart that +he was held in enchantment. She seemed so frail and tender, as she said +plaintively: + +"We must be very dear to each other--" + +There were tears in her eyes now, and her breast rose and fell with +emotion, as poignant to Mowbray as if it were his own. + +"I did pray for them not to bring you here," she added. "If I had not +left Warsaw, you would not be here now--" + +"Listen--oh, Berthe, don't say that. Please, listen--" + +The current was turned on in his brain, thoughts revolving faster and +faster: + +"It would all have been a mere military movement if you had not come. I +would not have understood Spenski, nor the real Samarc, nor Kohlvihr as +he is, nor the charges of infantry. The coming of Moritz Abel, words I +have heard, the street, the singing, the field, the future--why, it's +all different because you came. I am not dismayed by this. I have had +a great life here. If this is our last day--the matter is lifted out of +our hands. And dear Berthe, what do you think it means to me--this last +hour together?" + +"What does it mean, Peter?' + +"I look into your face, and know that I've found something the world +tried to make me believe wasn't here. Everything I did as a boy and man +tried to show me that there isn't anything uncommon in a man finding a +woman. My mother knew differently, but every time she wanted to tell me +something happened. Another voice broke in, or perhaps she saw I wasn't +attentive or ready. But I know now--and it didn't come to me until here +in Judenbach--" + +"She must have known," Berthe whispered. + +Fallows drew near. He seemed calm but very weary. "May I bring up my +chair for a little while?" he asked as an old nurse might. + +"Please do," they said. + +"Thank you," Fallows answered, and returned with his wooden chair. "If +you change the subject I shall have to go." + +"I was just saying that I had found something in the world that my +mother knew all the time," Peter explained. + +"Oh, I say, this is important. Moritz must come in," Fallows told them. + +They nodded laughingly. + +"Moritz," he called. "Here's a little boy and girl telling stories--very +important stories. You must hear.... We're all one, Peter Mowbray." + +They drew closer together. Berthe was watching Peter intensely, knowing +that it was his test, very far from his way. Then she remembered the +death-room, and that all things are changed by that. She sat very still, +trying to give him strength to go on. "I've always used my head," he +said, "always explained why, and made diagrams. The one time I didn't +use my head--well, the best thing happened in my experience." + +Peter was in for it, and weathered gracefully. + +"You'll forgive me," he said, when they asked to know. "I was thinking +of meeting Berthe Wyndham. I saw her one day passing through the Square +in Warsaw near the river corner. Well, it all came about, because I went +there again the next day at the same time--" + +He was a little breathless, but the glad and eager sincerity of his +listeners helped him, and he wanted more than all to lift Berthe if he +could. + +"I could not help thinking of that when I recalled another little matter +yesterday--in Judenbach. Once when we were little, my brother Paul and +I quarreled. My mother and I were alone afterward. I told her of the +tragedy. Everything seemed lost since I had lost Paul. She said, 'Some +time you will find your real playmate, if you are good and search very +hard.' I suppose she has forgotten. I forgot for years. But it came +to me here.... You see I never suffered before, never was tested, +everything came smoothly, everything covered up--" + +"You are good to let us listen," Fallows said quietly. He was staring at +the ceiling. + +"Here in Judenbach the relations of all other days began to match up. +It was as if the whole war was to show _me_, each department carried on +clearly. I didn't know a man could stand so much. Day before yesterday +morning, I wanted to quit. I had a kind of madness from it all--an ache +that wouldn't break or bleed, and was driving the life out of me. I +found the way out by going into the hospital. I had to forget myself or +go under.... When it seemed all over to-day, and the sentry was marching +me here (you see I had gone back to the house of amputations and +couldn't find any of you, and then to the Court of Execution, and you +were not there), it was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be +described, when I found you here--" + +Fallows straightened his head and blinked. + +"'It was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be described,'" he +repeated. "We know that. This is too fine." + +Peter laughed. He was thinking of what Lonegan had said on the night he +came back from Berthe's door, after she had asked him not to come +in.... "Peter, you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your +fires--not even how well you bank 'em." + +They seemed to require further talk from him. He did not want the two +men, sorry they had drawn up their chairs. His heart was very tender +to them--Fallows and Abel, and the woman who had changed him. They +were before him now as messengers from the benignant empire of the +future--strange strong souls gathered together now in waiting at the end +of a road.... He told them of the bomb-proof pit, the naked animalism of +Kohlvihr, the infantry advances and of Samarc. Presently his heart was +light again, the pent forces of expression springing gladly into use. + +"...The laughable thing about it," he finished, "--the thing that held +me speechless as Samarc left my side there in the dark corner of the +pit--was that just a few minutes before Kohlvihr had promised to see +that the Little Father decorated him. He had almost reached the General +when my throat worked, and I called, 'Samarc.' It was as if he didn't +hear me. Nothing would have stopped him. It was his idea, yet I think he +meant only to stop the order of another infantry advance. He had ceased +to kill, you know...." + +Peter ended it hastily. They were all interested to know why Samarc was +to have been decorated. This opened the earlier part of the day, and his +strange wandering with Samarc among the hills--the magic of the hospital +steward's coat, the scent of the cedars, and Peter's persistent sense of +Berthe's nearness. + +"Actually, I had to stop and think," he explained. "Each time I +fell into an abstraction, it struck me that she was there. It seems +yesterday, too--" + +"I was just here," Berthe said. "It was soon after we came. We were all +quiet at first--in different corners--" + +"Slipping away in that loneliness," Fallows suggested. + +"As for me," said Moritz Abel, "I had to make peace with myself. We have +been very busy the last few days. I have discovered that I am a bit of a +coward at heart--and I missed having something to do--" + +They smiled at him. "Perhaps I was out there," Berthe said. "Perhaps I +was only sitting here--" + +It was a queer matter that the three men, each of whom would have given +his life to save the woman's, to all appearances accepted the fact of +her as one of them in courage and control. It was Abel who mentioned +the singer, Poltneck, whom Peter had not met. He had been left in the +hospital when the others were taken; yet he had been one in all their +interests and the most reckless and outspoken of all in his hatred of +slaughter. They did not understand, but hoped he would be saved. + +"He's a magician," Abel said. "He sang to them yesterday--as they bore +the knife. He seemed to hold them in the everlasting arms. It was worth +living to witness that, but I'm afraid Poltneck will come to us. He's +got the fury. Hearing that we are gone, he will start something--if +only to join us. Then there will be no one to escape with the story. It +troubles me.... If Mr. Mowbray were only free. Doesn't it seem that our +brothers should hear the story?" + +His voice broke a little. His brow was wet. + +Fallows came back from the ceiling, and said: + +"Moritz, my boy, all is well with us. That which is true is immortal." + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Abel reflected. + +"Yes," he said presently, "but we have not fulfilled our purpose.... You +know, we set out in high courage to start the army back home again--and +now, here we are." + +"A man named Columbus set out to discover a short passage to India and +found a New World. Really my son--these are not our affairs. We have +done what we could.... Once I wanted the world to answer abruptly to +my service--to speak up sharp. But I have made terms--hard terms we all +must make. This is it--to do our part the best we can, and keep off the +results. They are God's concern, Moritz." + +"I dare say." + +"When I was younger," Fallows went on, "I wanted to make a circle of +light around the world. I thought they must see it, as I did. And often +I left my friends discussing my failure. But once I came home and looked +into the eyes of a little boy--a little peasant child named Jan. I saw +that his love for me had awakened his soul.... Man, these matters are +managed with a finer art than we dream of. The work is the thing." +Peter swung into the larger current. They had all been cold. Fallows was +burning for them. The ice and the agony were melting from each heart. + +"We think all is going wrong. We sit and breathe our failures often +when the celestial answer is in the air. If we were not so obtuse and +fleshly, we could see the quickening of light about us. We have had our +hours here. We have breathed the open. A very huge army is about us, and +we are thrust aside. It would seem that we and our little story are lost +in the great brute noise. Why, Moritz, these things that we have thought +and dreamed will rise again in the midst of a world that has forgotten +the tread of armies." + +They heard a voice in the street--a running step upon the stair. Queerly +it happened in that instant of waiting, that Peter heard the sound of +dropping water beyond the partition--drip, drip, drip, upon a tinny +surface. Berthe had risen, and followed Fallows and Abel to the door. +A moment later Poltneck, the singer, was with them, and the sentry +who brought him took his post with the other at the entrance. He freed +himself from them, and strode alone to the front of the room, where he +sat, face covered in his hands, weaving his head to and fro. + +"You do not well to welcome me," he groaned at last. "I should have been +in a cell alone--not here among friends. You see in me the most abject +failure--a mere music-monger who forgot his greater work." + +"Tell us--" + +He did not answer at once. They led him back into the shadows where +Peter and Berthe had been; gathered closely about, so their voices would +not carry. + +"We were hoping not to see you," said Abel, "yet sending our dearest +thoughts. What you have done is good, and we will not be denied a song. +Speak, Poltneck--" + +"I was all right till you went. I was thinking of everything--but then +I became blind. The work in the hospitals palled. I did not do what I +could. They saw I was different, and watched closely. That made me mad. +I am a fool to temper and pride. All I have is something that I did not +earn--something thrust upon me that makes sounds. The rest is emptiness. +In fact there must be emptiness where sounds come from--" + +"We know better than that," said Fallows. "Tell us and we will judge." + +Poltneck straightened up and met the eyes of Peter. "This is the +correspondent?" he asked. + +"He came up from the field this morning and in looking for us--fell +under suspicion," Berthe explained. + +The long hard arm stretched out to Peter, who still was somewhat at sea, +as Boylan had been, and afraid that he detected a taint of the dramatic. + +"I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit," Poltneck declared. "In +fact, I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps two +hours or more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when they +sent for me. I thought it a summons, of course, such, as you--" + +He glanced at the faces about him, and continued: + +"But instead of leading me in the direction you had taken, the sentry +bade me mount a horse at the door, and we rode rapidly down to the edge +of the valley, to Kohlvihr's headquarters--a pestilential place sunken +in the ground and covered with sods. There they broke it to me what was +wanted--" + +His listeners began to understand. + +"Yes, I was to sing to the lines," Poltneck added. "It appears they had +been driven back several times, leaving their dead and wounded in such +numbers on the field--officers and men--that there was some hesitation +about the expediency of trying it again. Not, however, in the bomb-proof +pit. Kohlvihr was of a single mind, determined to make his reputation as +man-indomitable at the expense of his division. A patchy old rodent of a +man-- + +"I was to be used to sing the men forward. Great God, they didn't see +the difference from singing to wounded men, to men under the knife +without sleep, to dying men and to homesick bivouacs--from this that +they asked. It is my devil. I played with them. I made them think I was +afraid. I made them think I was simple. One of them told me of the tenor +Chautonville with the army. I played to that. It was very petty of me to +get caught in this cleverness, because that's how I fell--" + +"You didn't sing the lines into a new advance?" Fallows asked. His face +looked lined and gray as he leaned forward. + +"No, I didn't do that. But I made them wait to find out. I was so +occupied with repartee and acting that I failed to seize the real chance +of all the world. I told them I had been tried out as an anesthetic, but +was not sure of myself in an opposite capacity. I begged them to send +for the member of imperial orchestra stars--" + +Poltneck's self-scorn was vitriolic as he now spoke. + +"I told them I was a poor simple man afraid of great numbers, abased +even before wounded, but that if they would wound the men first I would +try. It was this that betrayed me--the joy of astonishing. Oh, they were +without humor. It goes with the army--to be without humor. Really, +you would have been dumfounded at the brittleness of mind which I +encountered in the bomb-proof pit.... Of course, it had to come. It +dawned on them--what I meant, and what the real state of my scorn +was--at least, in part. And I was taken away, very pleased with myself +and joyous--" + +"I do not see where you failed. Where, where?" Berthe asked. + +It was Fallows who understood first--even before Abel and Peter, who was +not so imbued with the specific passion of the revolutionist. + +"I was here--back in the city when it came to me what I might have done. +And so clearly the cause of the failure was shown to me," Poltneck said, +with a humility that touched Peter deeply, for his first thought had +vanished before the fact that Poltneck neither in the action nor the +narrative had once thought of his own life or death. + +"I should have gone out to the lines and met the men face to face. Oh, +it is hard--hard that I did not think of it, for I could have sung them +home, instead of on into the valley. We might have been marching back +now--all the lines crumbling--the bomb-proof pit squashed!" + +The final stroke fell upon him this instant. None of the others had +thought of it. + +"And these--doors! Living God, we could have opened these doors!" + +Their hands went out to him. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +A basket of food was sent in during the early afternoon. They gathered +about, making a place for the woman under the light. Abel was brighter, +his eyes full of tenderness. Poltneck had not long been able to hold out +in his misery against the philosophy of Fallows, who said as they broke +the bread: + +"We have spoken our testimony, and the big adventure is ahead. It's +against the law to look back. We are honored men. I am proud to be here, +proud of a service that requires no herald. In all my dreaming in +the little cabin in the Bosks I could think of no rarer thing than +this--five together, a singer, a poet, a peasant, and two lovers. It's +like a pastoral--but the dark suffering army is about us. ... Listen to +the fighting. ... But there will be an end to fighting? ... Our Poltneck +may already have sung the song to turn the armies back. Be very sure, he +would have thought of his _coup_ in time to-day, had the hour struck for +that. Sing to us now, my son. Your soul will come home to you. Sing to +us--_The Lord Is Mindful of His Own_--" + +It was started as one would answer a question--food in his hand, and +his eyes turned upward--a song of the Germans, too, the music of +Mendelssohn. + +... It became very clear to the five that the plan was good, that +nothing mattered but the inner life, and that the soul breathes deeply +and comes into its own immortal health, by man's thought and service to +his brother. They saw it again--that goodly rock of things. The light +was shining above. Their eyes filled with tears, and their hands touched +each others' like children in a strange hush and shadow. ... + +They heard a ragged volley of platoon fire from the distant court, but +it did not hold their thoughts from the song nor change a note. The huge +sandy head was turned upward, and the hand with its bit of broken bread +moved to and fro. ... + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Boylan went back to headquarters again, but his nerve was breaking. He +did not feel at one with the staff this afternoon, rather as a stranger +who wanted something which the great brute force was unwilling to give. +He was full of fears and disorders, as if all the eyes of men were +searching his secret places. He told the sentry that he would like to +see Lieutenant Dabnitz, and gave his name, much as a trooper would. +He sat cold and breathing hard for many minutes--an outsider, as never +before. Dabnitz came at last. Big Belt arose and clutched his arms. + +"Lieutenant," he said. "I'll spend my life to prove you wrong about +Peter Mowbray. I'll get the United States of America to thank you and +General Kohlvihr, and the army for your kindness--if you spare him. I +don't care to go to him--unless I can take him word. My God, Lieutenant, +you mustn't shoot that boy! We've ridden together, all three. There's +so much death without that. He's innocent as a babe of any revolutionary +principle. I'll give America the greatest Russian story that--" + +"My dear Boylan, believe me, you are wrong. They are deep as hell +against us. You need not trouble, for they are happy as children at a +birthday party--with Poltneck singing and all joined hands--" + +Boylan's knees bent to the seat. + +"But we will not disturb them for the time. We will let you know," +said Dabnitz. "It would be a shame to interrupt such a pleasant party. +Judenbach will be our headquarters for one more night." + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Moritz Abel was saying: + +"... There is one perfect story in the world. It will bear the deepest +scrutiny of mind or matter or soul. Physically it is exact; mentally it +balances; spiritually it is the ultimate lesson. You will find in it all +that you need to know about Christianity, for it is the soul of that; +the one thing that was not in the world before the Christ came. You +will learn in it who is your Father; who your Brother is, and who your +Neighbor. + +"It will impart to you the clear eye for shams and material offices +and for the peril of fancied chosen peoples. From it you will draw the +cosmic simplicity of good actions, and a fresh and kindling hatred for +the human animal of grotesque desire. + +"Children grasp it with thrilling comprehension; it silences the +critical faculty of the intellectuals and animates the saint to tears of +ecstasy, even to martyrdoms. It expresses the dream of peace alike for +nations and men. It is a globe. You can go it blind, and win--following +the spirit of the Good Samaritan." + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +The light was gray that came down through the skylight. Abel and +Poltneck and Fallows sat on the floor in the front end, because there +were not chairs for all. Back in the shadows sat Berthe and Peter. + +"...I think we will be a little bewildered," she was saying, "as one +awakening from a dream, as one awakening in the sunlight. One stirs, you +know, and shuts the eyes again. The reality dawns slowly--if the house +is quiet.... It will be very quiet. We have been used to the cannonading +so long, and the cries in the night. It will take us a moment to realize +that it is all over. I think I see just how it will be then. I will have +that sense of the glad unknown--that something long anticipated is about +to happen. You know how it comes to one upon awakening, when something +perfect is to happen--the presence of it, before one remembers just what +it is?" + +Peter nodded in the shadow. + +"And then I will remember. It will be you. I will really open my +eyes--and you will be there!" + +Something of her fire came to him. + +"You are sure it will be like that--afterward?" he repeated. + +Her voice and lips trembled. "You ask just like a little child, Peter. +It is the little child in you that strikes the heart. Don't you really +believe in the _afterward?"_ + +"Yes, but I can't see it quite clearly, you know, as you do." + +"You don't think it is all wayward and stupidly arranged as the army +would like to do it--do you?" + +They laughed softly together, but she wanted him to see it, as she did, +"Because," she said, "if you do, we will be together more quickly. I +would have to go and find you, if you didn't come----" + +"I should want to come," said Peter. + +He followed her eyes beyond the twilight from the roof, to the face of +Fallows, seen indistinctly in the shadows. It was like the figure of a +Hindu holy man sitting there so low, his hands raised palms upward, his +voice just audible. + +"Listen," she said, her hand falling upon Peter's. + +"It isn't so much their death that is the great wrong to the soldiers by +the Fatherland. A man may do worse than die, at any time. It's the death +of hate the Fatherland inspires--the fighting death--the going-down with +blood-madness and hatred for the men of another country--not enemies at +all, no harm exchanged whatsoever between them. It is such deaths that +make the world hard to breathe in--the death of preying animals. But +all that is passing. These battles had to come at the last to hurry it +away...." + +"That's what I wanted to say, Peter," Berthe whispered eagerly.... +"Fallows is greater than any,--an inspirer. He will go out with his +dream for men, strong and bright. Do you think that is the same as dying +the fighting death--with a curse and a passion for the death of men whom +you have never seen face to face?" + +"It's quite all right, you know," said Peter. "I'm keen enough to see +it through, but it's a closed door yet. However, there's something +deathless about a woman like you--yes, I'm sure of that----" + +Her hands pressed his swiftly. "Then you may be very sure, there's +something deathless in the man she loves.... Listen, Fallows is talking +about your country now:" + +"... Russia is the invader, but America is the temple of the new spirit. +America must reanimate the world after this war. I believe she is being +born again now.... She was bred right. There is always that to fall back +upon. She was founded upon the principles of liberty and service to the +distressed. No other nation can say that. But America must lose the love +of self, must cease to be a national soul and become the nucleus of the +world soul of the future. Otherwise all that was holy in her conception +is dead, and the passion of her prophets is without avail. + +"There is a time for the development of the national soul, but ahead on +the road is the world soul, the true Fatherland. The precious whisper is +abroad that more sins have been committed in the name of patriotism than +any other. The time will come when this little orbit and its slaying +delusions will be well back among the provincialisms; not a bad word in +itself, rather a lost meaning through abuse. + +"Over a century ago the inspired Fichte addressed the Germans in a +series of documents charged with the most exalted enthusiasm for the +future of his people, on the basis of such a Fatherland that the only +living answer could be the superb affiliation of men. For years and +decades the gleam of that spiritual ignition endured there. Carlyle, not +a countryman, saw it and made it blaze with the fuel of his genius. It +seems dead to Prussia now, but that gleam shall never die. Some strong +youth on the road to Damascus shall be struck to the ground by its +radiance and arise to carry the light to the Gentiles. + +"There must be such a voice in America now. I seem to feel the new +genius of America, not yet in its prime, hardly articulate as yet, but +rapidly maturing in these days of unparalleled suffering. They will +interpret the New Age. They will meet the New Russia face to face. I +think they are watching for us now. The bond is thicker than blood. +They will see the future of Europe written upon these millions, now +the invaders from the cold lands of poverty. I think they will hold the +spirit until we come. + +"All that was true of Germany when Fichte addressed his countrymen is +true of America in this hour. All the physical and spiritual pressures +of the European disruption are turned upon the temple of America to +drive out the money-changers and make it the house of God." + +Fallows' voice softened. He was talking of America with the passion of +an exile. He loved the thoughts of her good, as he loved the peasants +about him. The room was still. + +"It is a time for heroics," he added. "America is emancipating her +genius, not only from herself, but from the thrall of the old world's +decadence. Do you think there is nothing fateful in the destructive +energy that is rubbing out ancient landmarks? Rather it would seem that +the old and the unclean has played its part, and may not be used in the +new spiritual experiment. I want to hear America's new song--the song of +the New Age--the unspoiled workmen at their task. They will sing as they +lift.... Yes, we shall hear the song of the New Age. Since the pilgrims +sang together, no such thrilling harmony shall move that western land. +They shall be singing it for Russia when we come." + +"It makes me so ashamed," Berthe whispered after a moment, "when I think +of my weakness to-day, when you came. But, Peter, oh, I didn't want you +to come----" + +"I wouldn't be ashamed," he said. "It gave me something from you that +I couldn't have had without it. There was plenty to hold a man in +wonder--your zeal to do for others, and the exaltations, but to-day you +were down in my valley, in the earth bottoms, just seeing in the human +light, your wings tired. It was the best moment of the pilgrimage, +Berthe--the deepest." + +Peter had wanted to tell her that. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Big Belt stood before a man of his own size--Lornievitch, the Commander +of commanders, Himself. + +It was night. Boylan had plunged into a new vat of power, and persuaded +Dabnitz to furnish an escort from Judenbach, four miles to the east to +the main headquarters of the Galician army. + +Rows of sleepy stenographers in the outer room of a broad shepherd's +house in a little hill village--a web of wires on the low ceiling, +lanterns, candles, field 'phones and telegraph tickers, none altogether +subsided; as much routine as in the management of a state--the center of +this monster battle-line--to say nothing of the spectacular. + +The two men now filled a small inner room. Lornievitch spoke English--an +English much to the caller's liking. Perhaps it was the bond of bulk +between them. + +"Well, and so you are Boylan of the _Rhodes?_--what is it, Mr. Boylan? +We are very busy." + +"I have a young friend of _The States"_ he began and talked for three +minutes--talked until Lornievitch squirmed and his aides hurried forward +ready to assist. + +"And what does Kohlvihr say?" + +"I had to speak to him through an interpreter. I could not get the +answer I wanted. He has had a terrible day. The life of one American is +too small for discussion there--" + +"And you have come here to me. Meanwhile, on the wire is the young man's +case--a love affair with a revolutionist--and a sort of be-damned to the +Russian army. You are a strong man, doubtless a brave one--" + +Boylan was fighting for Peter's life as he would not have fought for +his own; and yet he warmed to the commander--fibers all through him +warming--something of man-business about this office that made the +headquarters at Judenbach look sinister and den-like. It was just his +hope in all likelihood. + +"But Mr. Boylan," Lornievitch added, "what would you do in my case? +There's big action, front, side, within. They have a case against the +others--and he is one of them." + +"He may be one in a momentary infatuation--" + +"Nonsense, Boylan--this is no time for girls!" + +"I grant you that, sir. But he is not a revolutionist. I've slept and +ridden with him night and day. His paper wouldn't pay for cigarettes +to do other than tell the story from the army end. If he's gone _loco,_ +I'll take him home under my arm--" + +"I say, Boylan, what do you want of him this way? He's a newspaper +competitor--" + +"Mowbray got to me. Didn't try to, but he's there. Took the field as +if it had been his work always. He's a friend, clever, courageous, a +gentleman always, clean cut, a laugh, a hand--and a boy over it all. +I didn't know--until I found him in danger. I couldn't feel worse if I +were his old woman--I am twice his age, damn near--" + +"You're invincible, Boylan. I'll tell you this: I feel better. That's +worth something. Things look black here in the valleys. Something human +I needed, in your coming. Go back now. Nothing will be done until +the morning. We've had to shoot Austrian spies all day. Caught 'em +red-handed. I feel red-handed, too. Go back, and before to-morrow +morning I'll get an order over to straighten him out from the +others--before final action is taken. Maybe I'll look him over myself. +Good night.... Oh, I say, Mr. Boylan--" + +"Yes, General." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter. I was just thinking I'd like to have one friend +like young what's-his-name of _The States_ has--" + +"Mowbray--Mowbray--don't forget the name, General--" + +"Good-night." + +"Good-night." + +Boylan put his soul in it. He loved the Russians. It was far this side +of midnight, but he smelled the dawn. + +Back in his own quarters, as he yawned largely at the flickering shadows +of the freshly-lit candle, he noted Peter's saddle bags on the floor, +and considered that it might be well to get them over to-night. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Peter walked the room, a changing star or two in the windy skylight; a +candle in the center by the stair-door where the sentry stood; Berthe +watching him steadily from her chair. The others at the far end looked +up occasionally. They were talking low-toned. Poltneck had been singing +folk-songs--pure spirit of the boat and cradle, of the march and the +marriage and the harvest, of the cruel winter and the pregnant warmth +again; songs that had come up from the soil and stream and the simple +heart of man, older than Mother Moscow, old beyond any human name to +attach to them. True and anonymous, these songs. The lips that first +sung them never knew that they had breathed the basic gospel which does +not die, but moves from house to house around the world. Indeed, the +melodies were born of the land and the sky, like the mist that rises +from the earth when the yellow sun comes up from the south, and the +"green noise" of spring breaks the iron cold. + +The moment had come when Peter could not sit still. Berthe was never so +dear, but he could not stay. He held the three men in true full comrade +spirit, but he could not sit with them now. He had nothing to fear; all +was quite well. + +He was thinking of America, that she was "bred right"; that some change +might be upon her now, something akin to his own transformation. Was +there a bond thicker than blood between America and the New Russia? Word +had reached the field that Russia had put away her greatest devil in a +day. A nation is to be reckoned with that makes her changes thus at a +sweep. Had Russia not freed fifty million slaves at one stroke of the +pen--that great emancipation of Alexander? And Russia now held the +Earth's mighty energy of fecundity--an ultimate significance here; for +this guest invariably comes before a people has reached its meridian, +and not afterward.... His companions of the death cell were touching +the truth; this dark suffering army was the Europe of the future--the +Russian voice that would challenge America to answer brother to brother. + +The folk songs were singing in his soul, and the lines of Abel's _We Are +Free,_ the friendships of Spenski and Samarc, of these in the room, and +the love of Berthe Wyndham. + +All had prevailed. The culmination was now. He thought of the actuality +of to-morrow, but without terror, or blankness. It would seem that he +were leaving all this; that America, Russia, friendship, the love of +woman, were no longer his portion; yet he seemed closer than ever to +them. It was as Fallows said, "These things are immortal." Perhaps this +very room, and this, the greatest of his days in the world, would be +pictured by some one to come, as clearly and as magically as he saw +it all now; by some young workman of the reconstruction, after the red +horse of war was driven back forever. + +He was sustained. The sense came clearly that nothing men might do could +cause him harm. He felt even that his mother would some time know how +well he had come to understand her at the last. Everything was answered +by the mystic future. It was all there; all would be told. + +"Why, to-morrow," he exclaimed aloud suddenly, "why, to-morrow, we will +laugh at today." + +They were about him. They seemed to understand all that had brought +his words, as if they had followed his thoughts to the same apostrophe. +...He was laughing in the midst of them. + +"I think it must have been the singing and all," he said breathlessly. +"It got away from me. It has all been too fine to-day. I don't see--I +really don't--how I managed to earn it all." + +A step upon the stair, slow and heavy, a step that Peter Mowbray knew. +The companion sentry had remained below at the street door, and now +called to his fellow of the guard to open. ...Peter was abashed before +his friend like a child that had disobeyed, and come to believe that he +knew better than the father. It was Big Belt at midnight. + +"I brought your shaving-tackle," he said. "Hello, Peter." + +The face in the thin ray looked like polished metal. + +"Come in." Peter had him by the hand, which was easily pulled across the +threshold, but the body didn't move. + +"No, I won't come in--" + +"Boylan, come in!... I want you to meet--" + +"No. I'll see you in the morning.... For God's sake, don't look so +happy, and keep your mouth shut.... Good-night." + +A curtain had fallen before the glowing future. Peter couldn't raise +it again. He tried to restore his laugh and light-heartedness for the +others, but it was a mockery. The world had come in all its chaos and +mad fatigue. All that he had said was without meaning. The singing was +over. Berthe gave him her hand as he returned to the dark corner. She +did not speak, for a moment, and then only to say: + +"How sensitive we are!" + +All the weariness that he had ever known came upon him, gathering +together for descent, pressing out vitality, leaving him cold and +undone. + +"You are very tired," she whispered. "Perhaps we can rest a little. The +three are resting." Then a little later, like a child half-asleep, she +added, "I love you." + +It was her good-night. + +Throughout that short night he dreamed of cedar boughs and pungent +autumn air; flurries of snow falling from wide pine branches. There was +gray in the skylight when he awoke. Berthe was near, her cheek against +his saddle bags, which he had placed for her the last thing. Very white +and small her face looked as she slept, her hands folded under her +chin.... Peter watched, his eyes becoming accustomed to the faint light. +The white cap lay near, a different and imperfect white compared to her +flesh; and the soft deep night of her hair seemed to him of sufficient +loveliness for any world. A girl asleep--and such a faith had they +known. There was a beauty about it all that rebuked the actuality of the +place and the town and the soldiery. + +Misery began deep in his heart, welled up to his throat, blurring +his eyes, resolving his whole nature almost past resistance; that a +love-woman still without her chance, without her child, so fair and +unafraid, who had asked so little for herself and so much for the +world--should be brought to the shame and the shot of fools. A flutter +of eyes. Mowbray gripped his self-control with every ounce of force. He +would hold her in his power of will while she met the issue of the day, +and its first cruel thought. Her brow contracted a little, as if through +some passing pain.... The dawn of a smile that pursed her lips to speak +his name, met his kiss instead. He held her face between his hands, +smiling at her, while the realization came. + +_"Dear Peter--it's the day of our journey--"_ + +He brushed the lather in gratefully with cold water. The touch of the +razor gave him a queer pang such as he had never met before. + +"You're just a boy," Berthe remarked.... "It must make one feel clean. +It has been years since I was present--" + +The others were now awake. They made merry over the shaving, all taking +turns, even Fallows, the last and the longest. Indeed he had scarcely +finished before their first test came. It was like a whip--that step +upon the stair, but only a sentry with tea and bread. + + + + +Chapter 9 + + +A gray dawn, an east wind with a driving mist, a miserable day afield in +every promise, and Big Belt had missed none of these portents since +the full darkness. With the first relief of the morning-guard at +headquarters, he was there. Dabnitz appeared and smiled grimly. The wire +was already busy; Kohlvihr came in unsteadily, the old fume about him +that made Boylan lick his lips. His own nerves had been badly wrenched. +He could have relished a stimulant, but he hadn't thought of it alone. + +"You're looking for word from the Commander?" Dabnitz asked. + +"Yes." + +"So are we. It's up to him to-day. We're a mere wisp of what we were--" + +Boylan simulated interest. There was but one idea in his world, however. + +"By the way," Dabnitz added. "The Commander asked for full particulars +this morning at three. They were sent to him--Mr. Mowbray's case--" + +Boylan jerked up his chin. Of late, his woolen collar had apparently +shrunk. + +"You haven't heard yet?" + +"Not yet. We're waiting--" + +"Nothing will be done until you hear?" + +"Not in Mowbray's case. The others--the others have had tea.... They are +very quiet this morning--no singing." + +Boylan hated him for that, a momentary but scarring hatred.... The field +telephone began. Presently it occupied the steady swift attention of a +stenographer whose pages were put on the machine and handed in strips to +the staff members, like a last-minute news story to compositors. +...One of the hardest things Boylan ever did was to speak to Dabnitz as +follows: "I'd better be there if you take the others and leave--leave +Peter Mowbray. He's impulsive. You wouldn't want a scene--you know--" + +"Wait a minute--I think your matter is on the wire," Dabnitz said, +drawing back to the telegraph. + +"Yes," he nodded, and a moment later handed Big Belt this message: + +"My compliments to Mr. Boylan and assurances of excellent regard. I have +found the favor he asks, however, altogether out of my power to grant." + +Boylan's jaw dropped; his mouth filled with saliva. Dabnitz said +something, "...desperately sorry... couldn't possibly have ended another +way." + +"Come, come--this won't do," Big Belt muttered queerly. He was not +answering Dabnitz, but commanding himself.... He swallowed again and +turned: + +"You will have charge of the affair?" + +"Yes, doubtless. It will be very short--" + +"I will wait for you below. Of course, I'll want to be there, you +know--" + +"I didn't know," Dabnitz sighed. + +Boylan was standing below. He heard distant firing through the rain in +the direction of the field.... Lornievitch had doubtless begun a flank +movement. Kohlvihr would lick his wounds in Judenbach for another day. + +Dabnitz appeared from the stairway, a paper in his hand. He dispatched a +sentry to the barracks for a platoon, and stood waiting impatiently for +its coming. Big Belt, in the door of his quarters a few paces distant, +swallowed again.... It might delay matters.... The black fact was that +it would not do more.... + +"Oh, I say, Lieutenant, come here a moment, please. I want to show you +something--" + +Boylan led the Russian in, and turned. The place was empty. Dabnitz +regarded him wearily--then with sudden amazement. + +It was a kind of bear reaching. He was pulled down, his face smothered +in a woolen shirt that covered a breast like cushioned stone. The +building must have fallen. The hands were neither rough nor swift, but +they pawed him with a kind of power that turned him to vapor. There +was one finger upon his backbone at the neck that shut off the life +currents.... Dabnitz opened his eyes presently--a choking wad of paper +in his mouth. The mammoth looked down upon him and said: + +"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I had to have a chance to think." + +At this instant Boylan saw the paper that the Russian had carried. It +had fluttered to the floor, Kohlvihr's signature in plain view. The +weights that beset the American had now to do with the uselessness of it +all. He had rendered the momentary order and its bearer ineffectual; he +might possibly divert the platoon. But the great one-eyed system was +all about, knowing its single task of destruction. It would turn back to +that piece by piece--until the task was done. Yet while he lived, Boylan +could not let it go on, in this specific instance. He was fighting the +Russian army now; that die was cast; the one thing to do was to keep +Peter Mowbray alive as long as possible. He went about further details +without hope, however. + +Dabnitz was carefully bound and lifted to the corner in the midst of +saddles and kit. An extra strip was fastened around his chin to prevent +the ejection of the gag. Big Belt spoke steadily and softly as he +worked: + +"You're a good soldier. You play your game to the seeds. I have no +objection to you. When it's all over I'll think of you--as a corking +field man. You've been good to us, too--everything you could do to make +us comfortable and to help us see the wheels go round.... Only this one +little thing. Perhaps you think I take it too seriously--this Mowbray +thing. Perhaps I do. That's my funeral.... Wow, and I was merely +speaking figuratively!... In any event I'm not a nihilist. I've only got +Mowbray on the brain.... I've hurt you as little as possible. I won't +leave you here long, my boy. I wasn't rough with you. You must have seen +that--" + +Dabnitz's eyes rolled. + +"Well, you see I couldn't have a whole lot of noise. There's the true +official timbre in your voice, Lieutenant.... Now you're snug, and the +platoon is served in the street.... Look what's here! I'm a careless +hand--six-shooter and belt. You'll rest more comfortably with 'em off. +And a bit of a sword? I'll take that, too. ...I won't be long, Dabnitz." + +He went forth carrying the paper. "Lieutenant was called to another +task," he said haltingly to the enlisted officer in charge. "Hold your +men here, until I come--" + +The firing was intense valleyward. Boylan felt the need of thinking +further and dashed into the headquarters' stairway. There were excited +voices above, and he made haste to see. Kohlvihr was wild-eyed in the +center of the upper room--the telegraph ticking nervously, half of his +staff bending with extraordinary intensity over the birth of a certain +message.... What they wanted came over the 'phone. + +Boylan saw four Russian officers rush to the 'phone from the telegraph +table.... Something had happened. He backed out. + +"It's all off," he told the soldier. "Go back to barracks. The enemy has +broken through--" + +He wasn't sure of the last, but tore the paper and crumpled the pieces. +The platoon reversed and vanished. At the far end of the street a +cavalry squad was galloping forward, behind a single dispatch rider. +Already the news was known in headquarters and the staff officers burst +forth with orders for retreat--retreat to the eastward. It was no +secret now. The enemy was crossing the valley that Kohlvihr had found +impassable. + +Big Belt felt the life brimming up in his heart. Then he thought of +Dabnitz, and went to him, shutting the door behind. + +"Do you _get_ what's on, Lieutenant? Wink once--if you do." + +Dabnitz shook his head. + +"It's the enemy breaking through. Judenbach is to be abandoned _pronto_. +Listen--" + +The cavalry was in the street, carrying abroad the order for retreat.... +They heard it plainly now, even the details. Hospitals not to be +emptied, guns and ammunition not readily to be transported, must be +destroyed. The final hell was started in the town. + +"Dabnitz, I don't want you among the captured on my account. Just forget +that order! The platoon has gone back. The staff is blocked and jammed +with greater things. Will you forget it? Wink twice--" + +There was no hesitation. + +"Good. The sentries must be called off--that stair-door left open. I'll +join them--and bother you no more. We'll not leave the room while the +town changes hands. They'll never even ask you if that little job is +done. Will you go with me now and do this? Wink twice--" + +It was done emphatically; a beseeching for haste. + +"Dabnitz, I trust you. I'll entertain you in America some time--all +Washington and New York.... You'll do exactly what I ask--no more, no +less? Good God, man, it wouldn't do any good to kill 'em now. They're +out of hand forever. Perhaps the Austrians will do it, anyway. Wink +twice--" + +"Good." The gag was jerked free, and the various bindings. + +"Now, come with me. I'll detain you but a second or two--" + +Dabnitz walked at his side to the stair entrance of the skylight prison. +He spoke to the sentry below. The officer of the guard was called; the +sentry summoned from above, the door left open. + +"Wait," Boylan said finally to Dabnitz. "Here's your gun, Lieutenant. +I'm obliged to you. You'll know better some day what I mean by that--" + +"Keep them under cover," Dabnitz said hoarsely. "I'll kill you or any of +the others that I see in the street." + +"You'd be quite right." + +Dabnitz turned away. Big Belt deliberated. He did not quite trust the +Russian. He had covered him with his little pocket gun, as he handed +back the arms. Still Boylan couldn't have caused him to fall prisoner. +His hope now was that the Lieutenant would find such a rush and turmoil +that he would be compelled to forget the incident. ...He heard their +voices at the upper door of the stairway. + +"Is that you, Boylan?" + +"Yep." + +"Good-morning. What's up?" It was Peter. + +"I haven't quite settled in my mind. You're not to come down. We haven't +decorated the Christmas tree. I'm sentry here--" + +The side street was deserted. The main highway was a throng, strange in +its new direction of northward, for the bulk of energy had heretofore +moved toward the valley. The sappers were at their work of destruction. +The town rocked with explosions, but the main consideration to Big +Belt was that moments passed without bringing further fighting to him, +personally. + +"Maybe he means to stick after all," he muttered. "He must see that I +was square with him--" + +Then Big Belt smiled grimly, as if he had heard his own words. + +He watched with a kind of ferocity until the passing of the staff made +him duck back into the doorway.... Kohlvihr sitting like a potato-bag, +the brave but melancholy Doltmir--finally Dabnitz. The latter passed the +little side-street without a turn of the head. After many moments Boylan +ventured to the corner. Rifle shots from the southern border, and the +smell of fire, were matters of critical interest. The main highway +was all but emptied of Russians. One little party of artillerymen was +struggling to save a big gun half-horsed. Three ambulances hurried by +filled with wounded officers--but the cries of the thousands of +wounded enlisted men went up from the hospitals which the Russians were +abandoning. The lower half of the town was in a final ruin that blocked +the streets. + +But beyond as the wind cleared the smoke an instant (or the rain held +it low to the earth), Big Belt saw a column of troops. Its single +peculiarity struck him with queer emotion. He returned to the +stair-door. A long-repressed volume came forth from his lungs, as he +trudged wearily upward. + + + + +VI + +THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter turned back from the upper door, since nothing further in the way +of news was to be had from Boylan. The first face that he saw within was +Fallows', and over it, as his own glance sped quickly, there passed +a look as from some poignant burden. It was the look of a man who had +thought the fight won, and now perceived that it must be resumed again. +Poltneck was just behind. Peter would like to have preserved in picture +the singer's realization that the chance was life instead of death--the +blend of animal and angel which is so thrillingly human, as it was +expressed upon that countenance. Abel was smiling, something of a child +in the smile, a tremulousness around the lips; and Berthe came forward +under the rain-blurred skylight--gladness, animation, a touch of the +great tension lingering, but something else that he had not seen before +in their prison hours. He went to her. + +"What does it mean?" she whispered. + +"It means that the door is open, the sentries gone. Big Belt is below +and the town wild with some new trouble--" + +"The Austrians must have broken through," said Fallows. + +"We are to stay until he gives us word," Peter added. + +Berthe was leading him back to the shadows. + +"Peter, does it mean that?" + +He saw the dark low-glowing jewel in her eyes--the earth-shine, all the +sweetness of earth in it. So close to death, it had not been ignited +before in the skylight prison, but it was there for him now, and he +loved her bewilderingly. + +"I think we may almost dare to hope," he whispered. + +"The still snowy woods--only a brave bird or two remaining--the short +brilliant days and early nightfall--our talks that will never come to an +end--" + +Something of her longing frightened him--the danger of its intensity. + +"I think we may almost dare to hope," he repeated. + +"Peter, I think--I think you are braver than any--" + +"Nonsense." + +"But you did not _see_ ahead! To you, it was a closed door yesterday and +last night. Fallows wants to go. He's weary. Abel and Poltneck are old +rebels with visions. They have thought much of such hours as we have +known here. But you--I saw it the first day in Warsaw--the deadly +courage. You had built no dream. You asked no future. You faced +it--light or black." + +"Berthe--I almost broke this morning--when I looked at you sleeping--and +last night after Boylan came.... I think I would have fought them in +the street! It seemed--blasphemous for them to kill you--those dim +fellows--" + +"...Peter--" + +She had seemed to lose her way, the light gone from her eyes, her lips +cold.... A sprinkle of water, and she was smiling again in his arms. + +"It's strong--too strong," she murmured vaguely. + +The heavy step that Peter knew was upon the stairs. He listened. Yes, it +was alone. Boylan appeared in the doorway. + +"Go to him," Berthe whispered. + +Peter obeyed. There was a gladness for him in the touch of the big hand. + +"Tell us, Boylan," he said. + +"They've gone." + +"The Russians?" + +"Yes." + +Abel had propped a chair behind Big Belt, who sank into it eagerly. + +"The Austrians have broken through?" Poltneck said. + +"I'm not quite sure about that," Boylan answered. "The column I saw +from the main road a minute ago--coming up from the valley--looked like +_helmets_ to me." + +"Berthe, what did you mean by _'strong--too strong'?"_ + +Peter had stepped back to her for a moment. + +"Did I say that?" she whispered smiling. + +"Yes." + +"I can't think of anything--but my love for you. It must have been +that." + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +For an hour in the skylight prison, they had waited for the step upon +the stairs. When it came Fallows had an inspiration, and said softly: + +"Sing to 'em, Poltneck--The Lord Is Mindful of His Own--!" + +As before, the song was on the wing at the word.... Throughout the hour +the Germans had flooded into the little city, the main column moving +rapidly on in pursuit of the Russians, a comparatively small force +remaining to garrison. As Boylan had pointed out, the new enemy must +have appeared in tremendous numbers thus to dare such a drive through +the Russian east wing. Lornievitch was at the head of a mighty force to +the east; it was but the tip of the right wing that the Germans had cut +off. + +An old ranker had halted at the door, his platoon behind crowding the +stairway. He was small and scarred, serious and decorous. Peter felt +that the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man conscious +of moving through the days of his life's stateliest fulfillment. Boylan +was nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck stood smiling, singing +as he had never sung for the Little Father. It is a fact that the old +ranker waited for the end of the stanza. + +"Who are you?" + +Peter talked: "Four of the hospital service from Warsaw, and two +American correspondents, until to-day with the Russian army--" + +The platoon-officer ordered his men at rest and sent for his Captain. + +"Prisoners, you may sing," he said. + +They heard the voices of the gathering in the street as Poltneck sang +on, and presently the clatter of a sword in the stairway. A young +officer, not the Captain, appeared. There was a quick appeal in the +veteran's deference and his whisper. The old head bowed affectionately, +too, as to a son of finer blood than he. + +"Two American correspondents,--these two," he reported. "The others are +of the hospital service of the enemy." + +Poltneck had finished. + +"Why are you here?" the officer asked. + +"They were at work all night," said Peter, "and were here for a little +rest. The change this morning was effected before they were aware. We +were helping. + +"You were helping?" the officer repeated. + +"There has been much to do in the hospitals. We have been in +Judenbach--this is the fourth day." + +"We will look at your passports--yours and this gentleman's--" + +The papers were produced. It was almost like a hand that came to Peter +at this instant, though Berthe had not moved--the premonition that they +were to be separated. He had planned nothing for this moment although it +had been inevitable. There was a certain guilelessness about their whole +presence together in the skylight prison, although Peter had tortured +the facts a little--to avoid complication of making known their +revolutionary parts. He had become so identified with his new friends, +in the past three whelming days, that he had forgotten for the moment +the great difference in his position as an American correspondent and +noncombatant from Berthe's and the others. + +Boylan had never forgotten. He had cursed his own slowness as a +linguist, when Peter had taken the part of answering the German officer. +He was afraid of Peter's answers, but that fear was passing now. In +fact, Peter had answered surprisingly well, and his companion was +breathing easily, as a man should in a state of mental health. + +It was not until this moment--the German officer examining his +passports, the ranker studying the insignia upon his sleeve--that Peter +met the disaster of the future. It suddenly appeared to him--that life +apart from _these_ was bleak and a nothingness. To be caught in the +great war-machine again, even with the superb loyalty of Boylan at his +hand, had the grimness of death to his soul. Already he felt the new +mastery of Judenbach, the hard insensitiveness of it--the stone and iron +of its nature, the ineffable cruelty of its meaning and morale.... + +"These seem to be very complete and satisfactory," the young officer +reported presently. "I shall furnish an escort to accompany you and +Mr.--" + +"Boylan," said the voice of the Rhodes' Agency. + +"--to our Colonel Ulrich in charge of the garrison. These papers will go +with you of course." + +Peter cleared his voice and said steadily: "We have long given up any +hope of getting anything out as newspaper men. I, for one, would be very +glad of employment in the hospitals with my friends here. There has been +work for many more hands than could be spared--" + +"We appreciate your sacrifice," said the officer, "perhaps _we_ are not +so short-handed for the care of wounded. We have already brought in men +not dead whom the Russian orderlies missed on the field yesterday. I +believe the abandoned hospitals in Judenbach will not suffer for the +change of flags." + +Peter had noted Boylan's face as the German spoke. It was slightly +upturned and like bronze in its hardness, reminding him of the night +before in the candle-light. It weakened him.... He glanced about the +room as the officer finished. Everywhere he saw their silent urge to +accept. Fallows came forward. + +"Some time again, dear friend--we will work together. All is well with +us--" + +Abel seemed to smile; Poltneck gripped his hand, neither venturing to +speak, nor did the moment require it, for they had all gone down to the +gates of understanding together.... Berthe's hands were in his. + +Boylan had arisen. + +"Your escort is ready," the German said. + +Peter turned from them, but Berthe's face was placed for all to see.... +A little warmth, the mild pleasure of untried friendship, the good +wish of one fellow-worker to another in passing--this was all that the +watchers saw. Even Peter in his great passion could draw no further +message from that white upturned face. But her hidden hands, held in +his, gave him the very respiration of her soul. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Big Belt was alone with his friend again, but Peter seemed merely the +body of a man, not much use. They were kept very close by the Germans, +and told frankly that they were to be sent as soon as possible to the +big prison-hospital at Sondreig. Even German correspondents were not +permitted afield. Judenbach was retained, but the Americans were drawn +forth by the exigencies of service with Colonel Ulrich's force, and on +the afternoon of the third day following the German entry, they looked +back upon the little hill-town a last time. Though there had not been +sound nor sight of Berthe nor the group around her, during the three +days, Peter was different afield, as if he missed a certain personal +identification with that obscure Galician settlement where so much had +happened. He moved about as if there were something dead inside. His +world had turned insane. + +Those were the terrible days of November, and the two Americans were +forgotten at length--as a pair of buttons on the German uniform, +forgotten because they served and were not in the way. All that had +_not_ to do with Berthe Wyndham was black as the Prussian night to +Mowbray's brain, but Big Belt was always by. He could not have managed +except for that. There were days in which it appeared as if half the +world were down and bleeding; the other half trying to lift, pulling at +the edges of the fallen, as one half-stupefied would pull at a fallen +body in a burning house. + +At night through the silences between the cannon, sometimes over the +hills through the cold rains, came to Peter Mowbray's ears the sounds +of church-bells. Boylan did not always hear them. The German officers +declared that there were no such sounds. Boylan's sack was filled with +blood. + +"If I ever get out of here," he said, "I'll write one story--one battle +till I die--and I'll call it 'Vintage Fourteen'." + +For he was sick of the spilled wine of men. And other armies were +fighting in the vineyards of France--as were these in the piney hills +of the ancient shepherd kings; and what a fertilizing it was for the +manhandled lands of Europe--potash and phosphor and nitrogen in the +perfect solution of the human blood. + +More and more Boylan saw that Peter was queer. + +"I can't think," the latter would say. "I feel like a man dying, under +a mountain of dead. Mostly I don't want to live. I don't want to die. I +believe that it's all one and that this is the end of the world." + +Peter could work, however. Day and night when they would let him, and +mostly the Germans accepted his services gratefully now, he tugged at +the dead and the dying in the field and in the field hospitals. And with +the lanterns at night, often under fire, often so long that Boylan could +not rest, but would wait at the hospital-division like a mother for a +dissipated son. + +"They call this the great German fighting machine," Peter whispered to +Boylan one night, "but we're inside. We can't call it that. It's the +most pitiful and devitalized thing that ever ran up and down the earth. +And it doesn't mean anything. It's all waste--like a great body killing +itself piece by piece--all waste and death." + +He tried to make death easy for a soldier here and there, but there was +so much. His clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the smoke +fell, he watched the sun shining upon the pine-clad hills. That moment +the thought held him that the pine trees were immortal, and men just the +dung of the earth. + +...One night Boylan asked as they lay down: + +"Who are you?" + +"Peter Mowbray." + +"Yep, and I'm Boylan. You're at liberty to correct if wrong. Are we ever +going to die or get out?" + +"I don't know.... Boylan, you've been good to me. We're two to make +one--eye to eye--" + +"You're making a noise like breaking down again. Don't, Peter. I've gone +on a bluff all my life. I'm a rotten sentimentalist at heart--soft +as smashed grapes. It's my devil. If you break down, I'll show him to +you--" + +"It wouldn't hurt you to bellow like a girl." + +"Maybe not, but I'd shoot my head off first." + +"Did you see the old leprous peasant to-day? He was hump-backed, and he +had no lips, but teeth like a dog. He pulled at a soldier's stirrup +as we came into town. The soldier was afraid and shot him through the +mouth--" + +"Shut up, Peter, or you'll get me. I've shown you more now than any +living soul knows--" + +"You ought to show it to a woman. A man isn't right until a woman knows +him in and out." + +"For the love of God--go to sleep!" + +They sank into restless death-ridden dreaming; and so it was many +nights, until the dawn that they fronted a swift river, black from its +snowy banks, saw the rising pine hills opposite and were swept possibly +by mistake into the center of comprehensible action--a picture lifted +from the hundred-mile ruck. + +A little town, so far nameless, sat with a shivering look on the slope, +about a half mile up from the river. A Russian quick-fire gun or two was +emplaced in that vicinity, and two batteries of bigger bores (that +the correspondents knew of) were higher on either side. Infantry +intrenchments that looked like mole tracks from the distance corrugated +the slopes in lateral lines, and roads came down to the two bridges that +spanned the swift stream, less than a mile apart. + +The morning was spent in artillery dueling. The Russians seemed partly +silenced at noon. At no time was their attack cocky and confident. The +Germans determined to cross in the early afternoon. This movement was +not answered by excessive firing. German cavalry and small guns on the +east bridge, a heavy field of helmets took the west. Boylan and +Mowbray rode with the artillery. Even as the German forces combined for +position, the firing of the Russians was not spiteful. There seemed +a note of complaint and hysteria. There was no tension in the German +command; it was too weathered for that. + +Now the cavalry went into action and guns moved away farther to the east +for higher emplacement. + +"They're going to charge the horses up into the town. They haven't much +respect for the infantry trenches," said Boylan. + +At that instant Peter's mind opened a clearer series of pictures of +Berthe Wyndham than he had known for days. Palace Square near the river +corner; her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; across +the siding after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and all the +wonderful films of the skylight prison--the dearest of all as she slept. +He could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich with these +pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how she looked. It +had been easier to remember something which Peter designated secretly as +her soul. + +Suddenly the turf rocked under his feet and his body was bent in the +terrific concussion from behind. They turned and saw the middle +stone abutment of the nearer bridge lifted from the stream--the whole +background sky black with dust and rock. Then, just as he thought of it, +the west bridge went. He spoke before Boylan, and rather unerringly, as +one does at times coming up from a dream. + +"They've trapped what they think they can handle--and fired the bridges +by wire." + +Boylan said: "I can't call it German stupidity, because it didn't +occur to me that the bridges were mined.... It's to be another leisure +spraying. We're in the slaughter-pen.... God, man, look at the horses!" + +It had been too late to call back the cavalry. Peter's eyes followed +Boylan's sweeping arm. The horsemen were in skirmish on the slope, just +breaking out into charge. The town above and the emplacements adjoining +which had kept their secret so well, were now in a blur of sulphur and +action directed upon the cavalry charge. The whole line went down in the +deluge--suddenly vanished under the hideous blat of the machines--whole +rows rubbed into the earth--a few beasts rising empty, shaking +themselves and tumbling back, no riders. Peter turned to the infantry in +formation on the western slopes. The Russian fire was not lax now, not +discouraged in the least, nor hysterical. It was cold-blooded murder in +gluttonous quantity. + +The Americans forgot themselves. Cavalry gone--they turned to the west +and saw the poor men-beasts in rout. Even the infantry comprehended the +trick, and felt something superhuman behind it. They rushed back toward +the river--swift, ugly with white patches and unfordable, requiring a +good swimmer.... The eyes of Boylan turned back to the Horse. He had +always loved the cavalry, ridden with the cavalry always by preference. +Peter was watching the river--the hands up from the center of the +river.... + +They were alone, and now the Russian machines were on the German +batteries not yet emplaced, none unlimbered. It was as if the wind +carried them the spray from the sweeping fountains, turned from the +horse to put out the guns. Peter was hit and down--hit again and the +night slowly settled upon him, bringing the bells. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt talked to himself in that blizzard of fire. + +"He's hit--hit twice--but we can't go back to the Russians. They'll +finish the lad. Dabnitz promised. The Germans can't rescue us, because +the bridges are down. I've got to get him across the river--" + +He knelt and swung the burden across his back. The firing was thinner, +and the weight hurried his great legs down to the water.... Personally +he would have waited for recapture. How he would have laughed at +Lornievitch in that case. But this that he bore was under sentence of +death in that camp. He regarded the river now, propping up his head +under the burden. It was a swift devil of a stream, black from its +winter borders and cold. He moved toward the broken bridge, hundreds of +soldiers doing the same. But none of them bore a burden. + +Now he was on the steep and slidy bank-the roar of the current in his +ears, the roar of the guns behind. The stone abutments of the bridge +still stood, but the huge beams of the upper frame-work were sprawled in +the stream, the ends visible. A string of soldiers crawled along, +toward the center of the current. There was a place in which they +disappeared.... He took his position in the waiting line and heard +the cries wrung from the throats of those in the crossing--from the +paralyzing cold. Only a few succeeded. Boylan saw this, as he +awaited his turn. A steady grim procession on this side, whispering, +crowding--but a thin and straggling output on the far bank. Scenes +enacting in the center of the current shook his heart--faces and arms +against the black water, the struggles and the cries of men as they were +whipped away. + +Big Belt was in; no crawl for him. He walked the ten-inch beam with his +burden, as it sank deeper and deeper toward the center. The ice of the +water bit and tore at him. It was like a burn, too, but the paralysis +was not that of fire. The chill wrestled with his consciousness, as +he reached the depth of his waist; the current was bewildering in its +pressures--like a woman clinging to his limbs, betraying him to an +enemy. A mysterious force, this of a running river, for the body of man +is not built for it, and man's mind is slow to learn the necessity of +slow movements. The temptation to hasten is like the tug of demons. +There is much to break the nerve--and yet nerve must remain king of +every action. + +Boylan may have learned the trick in other wanderings. His own weight +and the weight of his burden helped his feet in the rapid runs of white +water. He made his way deeper and deeper upon the slanting ten-inch +piece, holding his consciousness steady against the penetrating stab of +the cold as it rose higher and higher, against the dizzying swirl of +the stream, and against the fact that the timber might be broken at the +center. ...The man before him seemed to go to his knees, reaching down +with his hands. Then the white-topped rush took him.... One must stand; +one must have weight to stand. The beam sunk to the center now-the water +to his heart; the man behind urging.... One soldier ahead crawled forth +where three had been. + +Boylan's fears were equalized now by the sudden dread of the man behind. +If he slipped he would catch at Peter's body. + +"Go slow--that's the trick!" he called. "Feel for your footing each +time. It's there. I tell you it's there, man! We rise in a moment +more--" + +He felt the jointure with his feet--some renewal or stoppage of the +timber. He halted, yelling at the man behind: + +"Wait--something different! I'll get you through--" + +It was the slight turn of the top timbers as they had reached the apex. + +"It's the top of the bridge," he yelled above the boom of the current, +"--a turn like the peak of a low roof. A slight turn to the right. Now +the climb--" + +He put it in Russian somehow, making the words clear. His intensity was +almost madness to keep the other's hands off. + +A shiver passed through his burden. The water had whipped Peter's limbs. +An added call for steadiness, but a gladness about it, too, since he was +not carrying the dead.... Upgrade now. The soldier behind had passed the +turn safely and was following. + +...It seemed that he had walked hours, A thousand or more German +soldiers were lost even as he. Their faces in the dusk passed him--to +and fro--hoarse questions. The gray chill dusk was all about, quite +different from anything Big Belt had known. His clothing had warmed to +him from great exertion. There was a line that caked and dampened again +down his left thigh, like an artillery stripe, from Peter's wounds. +Night came on, finding him without a command--a strange sort of +abandonment, and a certain fear of being overtaken by a Russian party. +The character of his fatigue brought back ancient memories, when he had +looked death face to face and was afraid. + +"Who are you?" someone piped sharply in German. + +He had moved long through the dark toward a moving file of lights. + +"Two American correspondents." + +"What's that you carry?" + +"The other one." + +Peter heard this. It seemed that terrible hands had been tugging at his +flesh for hours; yet he could not move, and lay upon a bed that swung +and swayed and stumbled. + +"Two American correspondents," the voice repeated.... "Search...." + +Then Peter looked into the dazzle of a flashlight, and the familiar +voice said: + +"Yes, he's hard hit and heavy as hell.... Passports in hip pocket-handle +him gently. ... Thanks, I'll take care of this man--unless you have a +stretcher--" + +"To whom were you formerly assigned?" + +"To Colonel Ulrich. We were across the river when that trap was sprung +this afternoon--" + +"Just about wiped you fellows out, didn't they?... Passports right +enough as far as I can see. Stay here, I'll try to get a conduct. +I'm afraid there isn't any Colonel Ulrich--at least I am of that +opinion...." + +Peter was let down. It puzzled him a long time because the ground was +still. The big hands eased. His familiar was beside him, however, wet +and panting. Now Peter seemed to remember that he had messages to carry. + +"There's no other way--I've got to get through the lines--" + +"Quite right," Boylan answered. + +"I don't want to fail. She wouldn't look twice at a man who failed--" + +"Hell, child, sit still. She'd look twice if you failed a thousand +times.... Hai, don't tear open a man's bridle arm. What is it?" + +"He was hump-backed--no lips--teeth like a dog--and the trooper shot him +through the mouth--" + +"I know, but he's dead. His back is straight now--don't look any worse +now than ten thousand others...." + +For a long time all was bewilderment. He had been lifted and lost +consciousness again in the wrenching of the hands. Then slowly he came +back and eternity began as before, his bed swaying and straining. The +familiar voice was near, the German ahead. Sentry after sentry was +passed, and each time deadly waiting.... In snatches he understood that +the voice always near was Boylan's, but as often forgot it again. Once +he realized that Boylan was carrying him, but he could not hold it in +mind.... Now he was sure that it was Boylan. He wished he could die from +the cold. He recalled that the cold climbs to a man's heart and then +lets him out in comfortable dreams. + +"Hai, you!" he heard in the familiar tones. "I can't go any further. +Send a stretcher or a wagon. Tell 'em two American correspondents +are sitting out here--one with a bullet or two through his chest of +drawers--" + +The bed was sinking now.... Then he was dragged across the big man's +lap, and the voice was saying: + +"I never knew it to fail. The man who wins a woman gets the steel, when +it's anywhere in the air, but bullets fly wide and knives curve about a +lonely maverick who has lost all his heart winnings." + +They found Boylan so, his jaw clenched, the huge scarred head bare and +covered with night dew, but ready to talk. Across his legs, Mowbray lay, +and still breathed. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Some unique thing, Big Belt, that rock of a man, had found in Peter +Mowbray. For seven days and nights, though broken with incredible +fatigues (a yellow line of bone color showing across his face under the +eyes), Boylan sat by in cars and ambulances until they reached Sondreig, +the city of the women-folk, and a regular civilized bed. What he gave +to Peter was clear; what he took from a man down, a woman's property at +best, is harder to tell. Perhaps in the great strains and pressures of +the campaigns, he had seen Peter inside, the mechanism and light effects +appertaining, and found it true. It may be that Big Belt had never been +quite sure that a man-soul could be true, and having found one, was +ready to go the limit. This is only a hazard. + +Peter didn't know. He was a lump--one little red lamp burning in that +long house of a man--flickering at that, its color bad, its shadow +monstrous. Everyone but Boylan declared he would die from that wound in +his chest; and Boylan was right. + +The Germans were good. They gave him a little room over an apothecary +shop at the edge of the city, off one of the bullet-wards, so that +the American would suffer from no lack that the hospital routine could +furnish, and still not be denied the ministration of his friend. There +were reasons, from the German standpoint, why it was well for Mowbray to +have every chance for life. The Russian _coup_ of the destroyed bridges, +that lesser disaster, would some time be told. Boylan might be persuaded +to tell the story to America without adjectives. This was not a very +humane way to regard large kindness from saddened and maddened men, and +Boylan did not linger over it. + +The Order in Sondreig soothed. It was like a fine _morale_ shown by +troops in a pinch. The city was one spacious hospital, but orderly, the +horizon smokeless, the distance free from the crash of guns. In fact, it +seemed that the city must have prepared itself for a thousand years--as +if waiting for its messiah. There was a glad quiet in the thronging +streets that seemed to say, "It has come...." + +When he found that Peter would live--all the pathological vortices +past--Big Belt turned with strange joy to exterior activities. Of +course, months would be required to make his companion a man again. +There might remain a crimp in him that would last always, but Boylan was +aware that a man's weakness may be made his strength, and that a life +habit of care which comes from cushioning a wound often results in +extraordinary development of the parts of strength. + +The sight of women and children brought him gusts of emotion. In one +evening hour, he followed a middle-aged woman who was leading a child +through the faintly-lit streets; trailed the pair for a square or two +through the soft snow, a sort of miracle in the picture to him, a heaven +of gentleness and order. This was his first grand reaction from the +field of strife--at least, from this campaign--and he was struck as +never before with the main fact--how little a man really needs to +live his life in brightness and calm. Such a sense of the emptiness of +war-fields surged home to him that he was left a heretic in relation to +all that had called him before. It did not occur to Boylan that this +was wisdom; rather the pith of the emotion was to the effect that he was +getting old. + +The child's thin voice reached him in questionings, and the steady low +tones of the woman. A man could ask little more of the world than to +lead a child thus.... Perhaps they were poor. Boylan would have liked +to fix that. It had to do with the whole inner ideal of the man to be a +fixer of such things--to come home to a house of little ones in quantity +and many women--a broad house of aunts, sisters and old women, a long +broad table of all ages, the many problems resting on him--and one woman +looking straight across.... She would know everything, and yet would +advise with him--quiet discussions of policy regarding this one or that +one, and the interposition of food.... + +He was perspiring. Always after a war or expedition he had perceived +such matters more or less clearly, but not quite as now. Never before +had he constructed his secret heaven with such durable substance.... He +actually believed that the field would never call to him again. It had +become like the fear of hunger that he had learned once for all. No more +of that--no more of war. He had given everything to the field, and lost +his broad board in the world-house. At least, he could find a door-step +somewhere. + +They were gone. He thought of his companion--the sense of summons that +he seemed to have known always. He turned and walked back. The snow fell +softly; the street lights were pleasant and warming with this bit of +peace in the world, this little circle of life with men and women and +children together.... As he neared the apothecary shop, his thoughts +became rounder and rounder with what he had missed. He had taken the +arc and lost the globe--a sorry old specimen of a man, if the truth were +told, a career behind him designed to arouse the wildness of boys, but +without appeal and very much to be discouraged by real men. Finally it +occurred to him of the whole races of men who had _what he lacked_, yet +were restless for the harshness and crudity of the earth. + +"If they only knew what they have," he muttered. "I suppose they forget. +Just as I forget between wars what hell is like.... I suppose they do +forget, and read a man's stuff by their fires (ordering the kids to be +quiet)... thinking that this war-man writing from the field is a great +and lucky guy. I suppose they stop and think how things might have been +different with them--had _they_ taken to the open when the old call +came.... _Ordering the kids to be quiet_--Good God--" + +Whether it was the audacity of fatherhood that called this last into the +world, or the face of the woman who had passed him--is not known. Enough +that Big Belt forgot all his dreams. ...That white-skinned, wonder-eyed +girl, the fire creature, twice seen in the bitter shadows of Judenbach! + +She had looked into his face, as if she scarcely dared to trust her +eyes, as if she, too, were not sure; and yet it had come over him like +death that she was here for her own.... He tried to make himself believe +that it was an illusion, just one of the queer jolts that come to a man +when his thoughts are far off. But actualities rubbed this out. She +was a prisoner of the Germans; probably had proved invaluable in the +hospital service and had earned certain privileges; but it wouldn't do +to let Peter fall into her clutches again; that meant revolution and +death. They would make a dupe of him as before. It had nothing to do +with peace and the outer world; it meant-- + +Boylan saw that he wanted Peter for his own. He wiped the sweat from +under his hat.... He couldn't keep them apart; she would think out +a way; a man can't wrestle with a woman.... The world was bleak and +wide-open to disruption again. He climbed the stairs. + +The wounded man was not awake. Boylan had objected from the first to his +manner of breathing--too much in the throat, hardly a man-sized volume +of air, the breathing of one who hadn't proper lung-room; but this was +an old matter. He reflected on the various fatigues Mowbray had met with +a smile, and the vitality which had finally pulled him loose from the +cold clutch itself; standing him in stead through a journey so grisly +that Boylan had not had the detachment so far to contemplate it from +first to last. So he had been forced seriously to grant exceptions to +the rule of chest inches and vitality. The soft winter air blew in from +the slightly opened casement. + +Peter's face was wan and boyish--different to Boylan as a result of his +encounter in the street. He saw Peter now with the eyes of a man who +must give up.... She was here in Sondreig. He would not help her, but if +she came, there would be no fight.... It had been his fault. Boylan had +sensed the danger of giving too much--from the beginning.... One woman +brings a man into the world, sees him properly a man, and another woman +takes him away.... Just how Big Belt broke into this particular picture +must be suggested rather than explained. He was very close to mothers +that night. He could understand fathers, too. + +...They would never know what he had done. The Russians had not +understood, except Lornievitch, in part, and he was far away; the +Germans would never piece the fragments together, and Peter himself had +been mainly unconscious. Peter had not been told even of the Dabnitz +episode.... They might have pulled together for years if it hadn't been +for the woman, but there was bound to be a woman. Mowbray was like that. + +Big Belt yawned over it all, drew his cot close, so he could hear +Peter's call, lit a fresh candle, and wished he had remembered to smoke +outside. Presently, however, he was breathing forth the full volume of a +man. + +Sitting by the civilized bed early the next afternoon he heard a voice +below that clenched his jaw much as it had been that night outside the +German camp before the stretcher was brought. She had found them. She +did not speak first, but looked in.... Seeing the face upon the bed, she +could not ask, nor speak, but crossed the room. It would have been just +the same so far--had Boylan not been there. In fact, he had withdrawn +from the place by his companion.... She knelt an instant. Now she arose +and faced the friend. + +"He will live." + +Peter was still afar off. + +"Yes, ma'am--I think he will." + +She came to him now. "I saw you last night," she whispered. "I saw you +come here. I could not come until now." + +"Humph--" or something of the sort was heard from Boylan. + +Berthe appeared to draw a certain truth from the situation. Perhaps she +saw _the woman_ in Boylan--the mysterious, draggled creature which he +designated his devil on occasion. The old war-wolf gave her credit for +no such penetration. Still she kept herself second, advised, assisted +for a few moments, but would not let Boylan go. + +"He's knit to you. He might die if you go," she said. + +Something about her choked him. He had been with men so continually. + +"And then I can't stay," she whispered. "But I am so thankful to have +found you--that nothing else matters.... You see, we are prisoners. They +have trusted certain of us to work; still we have no names, no way of +hearing, no mails, or anything. It's a good miracle that I found you." + +Presently she said again: "You don't think I understand, but I do. You +have stood by him. He would not have been here but for you. He is living +because of you. I see that. I see that he has been very close.... You +may hate me as you wish, but you cannot help taking what I give you." + +"You're an all-right young woman," Big Belt managed to remark. "I +knew something of that." Then, in a panic, he added: "He'll know you +to-night. He's cool now. He'll pull through. He'll know you to-night, +and then I go." + +"Not until he sees you.... Besides, I am a prisoner. I cannot come and +go as I would. I may not be able to come to-night--they may say _no_." +"He'll have all that he needs until you come," Boylan said. + +She did come that night. Peter had returned, but voyaged again +meanwhile. In the morning she came again.... Boylan ordered her to sit +down in the far corner. He went to the bed, for Peter was stirring, and +presently opened his eyes with reason and organization in them. + +"Hello," he said. + +"Hello, boy." + +Peter looked beyond him and around the room. + +"Go to sleep," said Boylan. + +"I won't." + +"All right." + +Big Belt stepped aside. Peter managed to get a knuckle up to rub his +eyes. + +"He's back with us," Boylan whispered. + +"Don't go," she pleaded. + +"Don't be a fool," said Boylan. + +She was there beside him, bending lower and lower. It was against nature +for them not to forget the exterior world for a moment, and Boylan was +on the stairs.... + +He saw Sondreig with eyes that seemed to have dropped their scales. It +was early in the morning, and a light snow had freshened everything. An +old woman was sitting at the locked entrance of what had been a dairy +shop, weeping for her only son. Boylan stopped. + +She was very poor and weak. + +"Come, mother," he said, lifting her. + +She looked into his face in a way that roweled the man. + +"Come on," he said softly. "We'll have some breakfast. And you'll tell +me about it. I belong to the widows and the fatherless, too." + +So they rocked away together. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +He was sleeping again. Berthe went to the window. Even in her happiness +she was afraid, for she was remaining longer than her leave.... The +window faced the south, and the apothecary shop was on the edge of town. +The day was like a pearl--snowy distance, a soft-toned sky and the low +shine of the sun. Deep down in the west, like an island, was a thick +brush of cedars, preserving their green across the miles, and calling to +her with something of the native wonder of old Mother Earth; and to the +right, east of south, was the huge blurred stockade where King Cholera +was so far imprisoned with the bait of fresh lives each day. + +The old Mother was in her winter bloom, so pure and deep-eyed, so calm +and above sorrow in her distance and coloring, that it became to Berthe +a moment not to be forgotten--such a moment as would make a woman +homesick in heaven. + +...If the big man would only come back. They might be angry for her +staying. It would be so easy to lose all that she had won from the +Germans. They had come to rely upon her more and more, realizing the +character of her service, and forgetting its origin in Judenbach. She +did not want to disappoint them. With Peter Mowbray here in good hands +and climbing back to life--no woman in the midst of war could ask +more.... At the bedside again, she pondered the recent weeks to this +hour. Without words, without heaviness, he had come along, fitting so +blithely into the new places, bringing his laugh and his skepticism of +self always, asking for no sign nor reward of the future, building no +dream of heaven, but standing true to the tasks of earth. Greatly more, +and differently, she loved him now, and the distance held the green of +cedars. + +...An officer came to her from the bullet-ward. + +"You are to stay until Mr. Boylan, the correspondent, comes," he said. + +"But will they know? They were good to let me come." + +"Colonel Hartz has signed the order. Word has been sent to the +entrainment wards. You were attached there, I believe?" + +"Yes." + +"Let us know in case of any need here." + +"Yes. Thank you." + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +A most satisfying adventure, so that Big Belt added many things to the +matters which could not be related. The old mother had told him of her +son (as they sat together in the little room she called home) and Boylan +had seen in him a singular hero, and made the mother see it. Presently +he strode forth to the shops and returned with many packages of food +affairs, and a cart of fuel following. The prodigious prices which these +things commanded in Sondreig appealed to him as a trifle; in fact, the +simplicity of life on these direct terms of living first hand, struck +him as the eternally right way.... Then she cooked for him, very intent +and eager in the great joy of it, agitated by his praise. In fact, he +went to great lengths of breakfasting to show his appreciation; until, +perceiving what he had done, he strode forth again with replenished +understanding and restocked the cupboard by means of the cart.... Yes, +he would come to-morrow.... Yes, by all means, while he was in Sondreig. + +Even if he had not thought of the white-fire creature being held in +the room above the apothecary shop for his return, Boylan had found it +necessary to leave the old mother, since she could not be made to eat +with him there. She would have cooked for him until she fell by the +fire, but as for her sharing the repast, she begged him to have peace, +that time was plentiful for that.... He was thinking it all out once +more, a most delectable incident, as he walked swiftly through the snow +toward the apothecary shop, when his shoulder was plucked by a passerby, +and he turned, stiffening a bit at the roughness of it. A black-bearded +man of much rank peered into his face, crying out: + +"Boylan, by the One God!" + +"Herr Hartz--by the same!" Big Belt exclaimed. + +And now they embraced--a mighty affair, a memorable spectacle of +pounding, of disengagement, of renewed embrace--so that soldiers and +hospital men circled wide in passing, and the little street was hushed +with the exceeding joy. + +"Come and live with me, Boylan. I will not take no for an answer. +Come at once, and let us a table between us have, to prevent further +inderrupption of travvic--" + +At no time would the cause of this majestic effusion have been +made clear to an outsider, though it was plain that the American +correspondent and the German officer of rank shared it alike. The truth: +these two, and two others somewhere in the world, were the surviving +four of a complement of over thirty men who had made up the original +outfit now known as the Schmedding Polar Failure. Colonel Hartz, +detached from his cavalry command for service in the prison-hospital +at Sondreig, was second in command here as he had been to Schmedding in +that former ill-starred expedition. + +The table was between them. + +"But first," said Boylan, "there is a little business in which you can +help. My friend, Mowbray... is just coming back to life from Russian +wounds. I could not leave him without being assured of his care. There +is one little nurse from the entrainment wards--it is a good story, +which I will tell in good time--competent to care for him. She is there +now, but I have already stayed longer than her leave granted. She must +be set at rest, and word sent also to her own post--" + +"So much words for a little thing--dictate and I write. Then tell me of +yourself, which is more imbortant--" + +It happened, even after the messages were sent, that Boylan spoke very +little of himself. He was grappling with a certain final disposal. His +talk was colored with desire. In fact, within an hour he had reached the +critical part of his narrative, and was becoming more glib momentarily +as the way out cleared: + +"...You see, they met in Warsaw, where I was stationed before the war. +She did not tell him what was in her mind. He parted from her--as any +other married man taking the field. We were together with Kohlvihr's +column, of which I will tell you later.... Now what do you think?" + +Herr Hartz snorted. He did not care to think. + +"She didn't stay in Warsaw," Boylan went on, with great intensity. "No, +my friend, she joined the hospital corps, and followed him afield--" + +"The Russians take anyone for the hosbittles," the other remarked +impatiently. + +"Exactly; and my friend Mowbray found her nursing sick soldiers in +Judenbach. It happened that they were together when the city changed +hands. By the way, there was much of interest in those days of which I +will tell you later.... This is the point. She was a Polish prisoner--he +an American non-combatant. I advised them to say nothing for the present +that they were married. It was very ticklish to change hands anyway, and +would have complicated the position of each one. So they were separated. +He was with me day by day until he was wounded. He moved in a dream +without her--a good boy, Colonel--and a good girl--but war. I say, we +learned something about men, you and I--long ago---" + +Herr Hartz now beamed. + +"We learned it," he breathed. + +"They make only a few on the pattern of Mowbray.... Last night I saw her +in the street here at Sondreig.... So you see why I arranged for her to +take my place at his side--but you can arrange the rest--" + +"For God's sake, what do you want? You talk and talk about such +people and women and love stories--when we have so much to say about +ourselves--" + +"Be patient. We have all time," said Big Belt. "I only want them +together--a true married pair. Then they will be off my hands. You can +make Headquarters forget she is Polish--that is all. Some little place +apart--for them to be together while he heals--" + +"Such a lot of talk for small things. It shall be done, Boylan, with a +paper. I will send them to the country and monobolize you myself. This +is a big war--yes?" + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +A last time he climbed to the floor above the apothecary shop. If only +she wouldn't act up. A serious thing, this he had done. Big Belt felt +that he had rushed matters, possibly treading upon a host of delicate +and incomprehensible affairs. But, when he had found in Colonel Hartz a +man to make action of his words, he had plunged.... + +Peter was asleep. The woman came forward noiselessly, offering her +hand. By her face he knew that all was well with the patient. Boylan had +stiffened to resist the pang of Peter's passing from his life. This +had so far prevented his voice from softening to the woman. It was now +evening. + +"I've done what seemed best," he began abruptly in a whisper. "It +appears to have accomplished what I set out after, but it's likely a +ruffian's way--" + +Her gray eyes widened, her face blanched. + +Big Belt cleared his throat. Whispering was difficult. + +"I met an old friend who made possible your remaining here. He's to send +you into the country--as soon as the young fellow is able to be moved. +You are to take care of him there. You see, my friend happened to +be second in command here at Sondreig, and he thinks he can make +all concerned forget that you were picked up from the opposition in +Judenbach--" + +"Can make Sondreig forget that?" she whispered. + +"We are very old friends. We were out together in a former service--" + +"And we are to be sent into the country--as soon as Peter is able?" + +"Yes." + +"But what is the terrible part?" + +"There might have been a better way, but I didn't think of it--" + +"Oh, what, Mr. Boylan?" + +"I told him that you two were married--" + +"Yes." + +"I say, I told him that you two were married--" + +"Yes--and then?" + +Big Belt backed from her, and sat down. + +"There isn't any _then_," he said. "That's it.... That you were married +in Warsaw, and followed him to the field--without his knowing." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Oh, you frightened me." + +...Boylan was on the stairs. He halted, turned back. She came to him +eagerly. + +"But _were_ you married?" he asked. + +"No. But it's such a little thing compared to what might have +happened--to keep us apart. I mean what might have happened here.... Oh, +God bless you!" + +He twisted his chin away from his collar, drew it clear with his hand, +cleared his throat to speak, and vanished. + + + + +VII + +THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + +It wasn't an open fire, but a little iron stove that got so red that +it trembled, and at intervals could hardly contain the puttering of the +pine; and there was a one-armed soldier, who spent the long forenoons +cutting carefully and piling, until there was a rustic wainscot half +around the room, the drying breath of which was the purest fragrance in +the world.... They petted the soldier until an officer came down. + +It was the hunting forest of a certain Count, and the hut they lived in +was but the lodge of one of his keepers; but it was far enough from the +great mansion (where wounded officers of royal blood and toppling rank +healed or died in much the same fashion as other men) to afford the +silence and solitude they had dreamed of. And all about them the great +trees pondered between the winds--pine and balsam, cedar and fir. It had +looked like a bit of an island from the Sondreig window, but proved +a true forest when they reached there--an enchanted one to Berthe and +Mowbray. + +Twice Boylan came down for a day, bringing Moritz Abel the second time; +but the Colonel, whose authority had done so much for them, required +much of Big Belt, and there was a woman (some mystery about this) who +would keep dinner waiting, he said. So both times he had started back +while there remained light in the sky. And Peter had become thoughtful. + +"Why, there are whole days I can't account for," he muttered. "He must +have had me strapped to him for days at a time." + +He had asked for Poltneck, of whom she had seen the last in Judenbach. +The Germans had loved his singing and made very much of him; and Peter +had asked for Moritz Abel before the latter came for the day. Berthe +had answered freely, but of Duke Fallows she had not spoken in a way +to satisfy his questions. In fact, it was not until the day that Peter +first crossed the little room alone that she seemed ready to speak. That +afternoon he had called her from the window. + +"Where is Fallows, Berthe?" + +"Not far from here," she said. "Not as far as Sondreig from here--a +place you have never seen, but I watched it every day from the window +of the apothecary shop until you were moved. He offered himself at once +when he heard--the cholera quarantine.... But he left a message for you +to carry, Peter--gave it to me for you. + +"I saw him for a few brief moments after he had volunteered. He talked +of you and that other American boy of the other war. He said that the +night he separated from that other--just after the battle of Liaoyang, +the Russians in full retreat, he had written his story of the +battle--the story of the Ploughman, and intrusted it to his friend to +carry to America. He wants you to carry his story of this service--asked +me to give it to you when you were better--to take to America with +yours. 'Just a picture,' he said. 'It may be all wrong, but I see it so +to-night, and I would like to have it come out in America some time.' + +"He is very dear to us, Peter--that old burning exile. Some time we +may understand his love for America.... It was hard to let him go. +They fight day and night in the Stockade. They are trying to spare +Sondreig.... I wish you might have been with him that last night before +he went. It was before I found you--before I saw the big man in the +street.... He was glad to go. There was no sense of sacrifice in it. His +whole sense was of our sorrow and the world's sorrow. But it would have +been good for him if you had been there--because you are of his country. +He said it again and again: 'She must see it. It is her immortal +opportunity,' meaning America--" + +"Is his story so we can see it?" Peter asked. + +"Yes." + +She took from her breast a little chamois, in which was wrapped two +pages of tough tissue, spread them out, drew her chair close to him, and +read this picture Fallows had made, and his message to America: + +..._It is the long night of Europe. France sits in dust upon the ground, +staring toward the End. Mother England has called for her sons, and +some have not answered. She turns her frost-rimed glass from the +grim horizons to the grimmer skies, and always in the movement of the +darkened shadows is written the word, "Disaster." ...Smileless Germany, +stricken as never a nation was stricken before, save by the wrath of +God, still holds to the fatal enchantment of a fatherland of the ground, +while the changes in the Prussian boundaries are marked in fire and the +blood of her children.... Russia is looking southward, furious to open +her casements upon the perilous seas--gloomy millions of the tundras, +mighty millions of the ice-ringing plains--looking southward, marching +southward, to-day marking time, to-morrow a league, but southward as a +ship in passage. Russia, the young, holy genii battling with demons in +her breast, everything to win and only the fruits of her world-shocking +fecundity to lose--southward to slaughter through the long night_. + +...A call to America through the long night--the voice calling for her +to put on her splendid, her initial magic. The voice from the vision of +sorrow-illumined men in frozen bivouacs, crying to America to hold fast +to the dream of her Founders, lest the vessel of the future be drained +of vital essence, indeed--to hold fast until we come ...crying for +America to answer, not with rapacious intellect, not the answer of a +militant body, but an answer from the soul of the New World, with its +original vitality in the Fatherhood of God. + +...Repeating through the long night that the patience of Nature is +exhausted with the hate of man for man; that the hatred of nation for +nation is a lost experiment; that the bitter romance of the predatory +is a story finished in hell; that the passion for self and boundary is +done, that Compassion for neighbor and nation is the art of the future; +crying the end of the national soul and the stroke of the hour for the +birth of the world-soul; crying to America, the only temple, the sole +house of nativity, to put on again her youthful magic, to ignite afresh +the Gleam of her Founders, to arise to her superb and heroic destiny. +They sat in silence until the tap at the door. It was the one-armed +soldier, who came in, regarded the stove critically inside and out, +judiciously chose one knot of pine, inserted it with grave care, and, +departing, inquired if there was anything further he could do. + +"No," said Peter. + +And Berthe asked: "Is there anything we can do for you?" + +He bowed his head in the doorway, and they saw beyond him the winding +aisles of the forest--green and white, the dusk creeping in. + +THE END + + + +_A brief expression of the critical Reception of_ + +DOWN AMONG MEN + + _Outlook_: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive genius, equipped +with a remarkably flexible use of English and impelled by the passion of +a mystic--the author of Down Among Men has written a striking novel. + +_The Dial_: Seems to us the most exalted and appealing story Mr. Comfort +has thus far written. + +_The Argonaut_: A novel of extraordinary power. It is good as _Routledge +Rides Alone_. It could hardly be better. + +_London Post_: Alive with incident, bounding with physical energy, +dramatic in coloring, and modern in every phrase. He has a message +delivered with vigor, inspired with tense passion. + +_Atlantic Monthly_: There is so much real fire in it--the fire of youth +that has seen and suffered--so much vitality and passion that one grows +chary of petty comments. The writer offers us the cup of life, and there +is blood in the cup. + +_Chicago Record-Herald_: An almost perfect tale of courage and +adventure. + +_Chicago Tribune_: Contains some of the most remarkable scenes that have +appeared in recent American fiction. + +_New York Times_: Few richer novels than this of Mr. Comfort's have been +published in many a long day. + +_New York Globe_: We can say in all sincerity that we know of no +recent bit of descriptive writing that can match this for sustained, +breathless, dramatic interest. + +_Springfield Republican: Down Among Men_ is perhaps the most ambitious +American novel that has come out during the past year. + + + +MIDSTREAM + +...A hint from the first-year's recognition of a book that was made to +remain in American literature: + +_Boston Transcript_: If it be extravagance, let it be so, to say +that Comfort's account of his childhood has seldom been rivaled in +literature. It amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels that +will suggest themselves in our letters are the great ones that occur in +_Huckleberry Finn_.... This man Comfort's gamut is long and he has +raced its full length. One wonders whether the interest, the skill, the +general worth of it, the things it has to report of all life, as well as +the one life, do not entitle _Midstream_ to the very long life that is +enjoyed only by the very best of books. + +_San Francisco Argonaut_: Read the book. It is autobiography in its +perfection. It shows more of the realities of the human being, more of +god and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind. + +_Springfield Republican_: It is difficult to think of any other young +American who has so courageously reversed the process of writing for the +"market" and so flatly insisted upon being taken, if at all, on his own +terms of life and art. And now comes his frank and amazing revelation, +_Midstream_, in which he captures and carries the reader on to a story +of regeneration. He has come far; the question is, how much farther will +he go? + +Mary Fanton Roberts in The _Craftsman_: Beside the stature of this book, +the ordinary novel and biography are curiously dwarfed. You read it with +a poignant interest and close it with wonder, reverence and gratitude. +There is something strangely touching about words so candid, and +a draught of philosophy that has been pressed from such wild and +bitter-sweet fruit. The message it contains is one to sink deep, +penetrating and enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. This man's +words are incandescent. Many of us feel that he is breathing into +a language, grown trite from hackneyed usage, the inspiration of a +quickened life. + +Ida Gilbert Myers in _Washington Star_: Courage backs this revelation. +The gift of self-searching animates it. Honesty sustains it. And Mr. +Comfort's rare power to seize and deliver his vision inspires it. It is +a tremendous thing--the greatest thing that this writer has yet done. + +George Soule in _The Little Review_: Here is a man's life laid +absolutely bare. A direct, big thing, so simple that almost no one +has done it before--this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who are made +uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything, to whom reserve is more +important than truth--these will not read _Midstream_ through, but +others will emerge from the book with a sense of the absolute nobility +of Mr. Comfort's frankness. + +Edwin Markham in _Hearst's Magazine_: Will Levington Comfort, a novelist +of distinction, has given us a book alive with human interest, with +passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his despotism over +words. He has been a wandering foot--familiar with many strands; he has +known shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to serene heights. +He tells it all without vaunt, relating his experience to the large +meanings of life for all men, to the mystic currents behind life, out of +which we come, to whose great deep we return. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Fleece, by Will Levington Comfort + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + +***** This file should be named 6351.txt or 6351.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/6351/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Red Fleece + +Author: Will Levington Comfort + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6351] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 29, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +RED FLEECE + +BY + +WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT +Author of "Midstream," "Down Among Men," "Fate Knocks At the Door," +"Routledge Rides Alone," Etc., Etc. + + +1915, + + +TO THE HOUR--WHEN TROOPS TURN HOME + + + + +CONTENTS + +I. THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + +II. THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +III. THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +IV. IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +V. THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +VI. THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +VII. THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + + + +I + +THE WOMAN AND THE EXILE + + +Peter Mowbray first saw her at the corner of Palace Square nearest the +river. He was not in the least the kind of young man who appraises +passing women, very far from a starer. At the instant their eyes met, +his thoughts had been occupied with work matters and the trickery of +events. In fact, there was so much to do that he resented the +intrusion, found himself hoping in the first flash that she would show +some flaw to break the attraction. + +It may have been that her eyes were called to the passer-by just as +his had been, without warning or volition. In any event their eyes met +full, leisurely in that stirring silence before the consciousness of +self, time, place and convention rushes in. ... Though she seemed very +poor, there was something about her beyond reach in nobility. He was +left with the impression of the whitest skin, the blackest hair and +the reddest lips, but mainly of a gray-eyed girl--eyes that had become +wider and wider, and had filled with sudden amazement (doubtless at +her own answering look) before they turned away. + +Desolation was abroad in Warsaw after this encounter. Mowbray thought +of New York with loneliness, the zest gone from all present activity. +Presently with curious grip his thoughts returned to a certain +luncheon in New York with a tired literary man who had talked about +women with the air of a connoisseur. The pith of the writer's +observations was restored to his mind in this form: + +"If I were to marry again it would be to a Latin woman--French, +Italian, even Spanish--a close-to-nature woman born and bred in one of +the Mediterranean countries. Not a blue-blood, for that has to do with +decadence, but a woman of the people. They are passionate but pure, as +Poe would say. If they find a man of any value, he becomes their +world. They are strong natural mothers--mothering their children and +their husband, too,--and immune to common sicknesses. Given a little +food, they know enough to prepare it with art. If a man has a bit of a +dream left, such a woman will either make him forget it painlessly, or +she will make it come true." + +There was no apparent relation, and none that proved afterward. What +he had seen at the corner of Palace Square nearest the Vistula was not +the face of a Latin woman, nor was any looseness of common birth +evident in it. The key might have had to do with the little hat she +wore, just a hat for wearing on the head, a protection against sun and +rain, and with the austerely simple black dress; but these weathered +exteriors again were effective in contrast to the vivid freshness of +her natural coloring. As for what remained of the literary man's +picture of the ideal woman to marry, it was the last word of +decadence--the eminent selfishness of a man willing to accept the +luxury of a woman who asks little to be happy. ... The next day at the +same time and place Mowbray was there, and saw her coming from afar. + +She seemed both afraid and angry, stopped abruptly and asked in Polish +what he wanted. He was startled. It was a hard moment. He explained +with difficulty that her language was as yet an inconvenient vehicle +for him. + +"You are not Russian?" she said in French. + +He shook his head. She seemed to be relieved and he wondered why. + +"What do you want?" she asked, though not quite with the original +asperity. + +"It did not occur to me you would notice," he said in the language she +had ventured. "I saw you yesterday. You made me think of New York. As +I was near to-day, I hoped to see you again---" "You are American?" +She spoke now in English, and with a still softer intonation. + +"Yes,--you speak English, too?" + +"I like it. It is---" she checked herself and asked with just a shade +of coldness, "Is there anything I can do for you?" + +It might be construed as a courtesy to a stranger from one who lived +in Warsaw. Peter liked it, a certain vista opening. However, there was +no answer within reach except the truth, and he plunged: + +"I should like to know you better." + +The red lower lip disappeared beneath the other. Her gray eyes grew +very wide; something intrepid and exquisite in her manner as she +searched his face. Whatever she knew of the world, she dared still to +trust her intuition--this was something of the revelation he drew. + +"Why?" + +Many people were passing. He looked toward the quieter center of the +Square. + +"Will you walk with me there?" he asked. "It is not easy to explain +this sort of thing---" + +"No. I must go on. You may walk a little way." + +"You are very good.... You see, I cannot tell just _why_--as you +asked. If I knew you well, I could tell you. Yesterday I was quite +unromantic---" + +She made it hard for him and did not let him see her smile. "You mean +you are romantic to-day?" + +Peter laughed. "What a trap--and I was trying so hard to tell you." + +"You _were_ trying---" + +"I don't need to tell you. All there is to say is that I want you to +be my friend." + +"I should have to think," she answered. + +"Of course. ... Do you pass here every day?" + +"I should have to think," she said. + +It was the third day afterward that she passed again. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +The first time that Boylan of the _Rhodes News Agency_ of New +York saw Peter Mowbray was in the office of Lonegan of _The +States_, Mowbray's chief in Warsaw. Lonegan had known Peter in New +York and had wanted him for his second many months before the fact was +brought about. This was the Boylan of the Schmedding Polar Failure, of +various wars and expeditions, a huge spectacle of a man, an old-timer, +and very fond of Lonegan, though as representative of _Rhodes'_ +he was structurally the competitor of _The States_ in this +territory. + +"Young Mowbray may be all right," Boylan observed, "but the curse of +the student is on him. I should say that he isn't gusty enough for +hard work--vest buttons too safe--" + +"You can't measure health by the pound," Lonegan observed, regarding +the other's bulk with one eye shut. "I never heard of Mowbray spending +much time in bed outside of the small hours." "How old is he?" +"Twenty-six or seven." + +"I suppose he put on his gear all in a year or two?" + +"There is that look about him, but he's safely over it. Some people +never stop, but I've had to look up at him from the same angle now and +then during the last five years.... It was just a little before that +he happened into--his route like mine--his cub-year in London, then +assistant in Antwerp, then in Dresden. He had Dresden alone for a +year. I've been angling for him some time----" + +"Yes," Boylan remarked, "you need the right kind of help to stand up +with _Rhodes_ from this end----" + +"You do make it wildly exciting," Lonegan answered gently. "We'll rock +Peter yet." + +This chat took place in June. Ten weeks afterward Boylan came in with +the big news, and found Lonegan bending over the following cablegram, +almost the last that came through in the private cipher of _The +States:_ + +Get Mowbray post with Russians. We are mailing influential matters. +Warsaw key-desk for northern campaigns. We are to be congratulated on +having Lonegan there. + +It was from the Old Man, who in certain cases ventured thus to be +expensively felicitous.... + +"I'm sorry, Lonegan," Boylan said. "I thought you would be taking the +field---" + +"No, the Old Man's got the right eye for these affairs. I'm a desk +man." + +What Lonegan had swallowed to make his voice clear and steady, only he +knew, but his nerve was effective. "You've got to help me, Boylan," he +said. "You know the military end. You've got to help me get him +attached. I know you'd do it for me, but I want you to do it for him--" + +A grunt from the big man, who disappeared. + +...Lonegan's lip curled. Again it was only Lonegan who knew why. He +read the cablegram carefully again, and felt his face as if +speculating whether he could wait until morning for a shave. There was +routine to do, and the developments of the day to file. Peter was on a +mail story.... It occurred to him presently that his second would be +interested in this eventuality from the Office. He called several +places by 'phone without locating the younger man. + +"He's with the woman," Lonegan concluded. + +Peter had left her address somewhere, but it was not at hand; neither +was her house available to telephone. Lonegan took down the Warsaw +directory, and came finally to the street-number after this line: + +"_Bertha Solwicz, sempstress_." + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +She, too, was almost a stranger in Warsaw, and lonely. Each had their +work, and many hours each day were required for it; still, after the +first fortnight, they managed to meet often. Peter's time was hers, +for he had the habit of leaving his feature-letter for the quiet hours +of the night. + +"I hate the name of Solwicz," she told him the first time he came to +her house, "especially from you. And you must call me _Berthe_, +not Bertha." In spite of her obvious lack of means, she had a few +friends of rare quality, and yet he did not meet them. On her table +that first day, he picked up a little book of poems, the leader of +which was entitled _We Are Free_. Peter had read it a few weeks +before and given it a quality of appreciation that was seldom called +in these days. Just now he noted that the volume was affectionately +inscribed to her from the author, Moritz Abel. She spoke of him and of +the group of young master workmen to which he belonged. Then she read +the poem, as they stood together. It was a moment of honor to the +poet. Peter had turned pale, and the little room was hushed about +them, as if Warsaw were suddenly stilled. + +"You see what they are doing," she said. "There is a new race of +artists in Russia. They have passed the emotions---" + +"This poem was due in the world," Peter said. "But it is still an age +ahead of the crowd." + +"That's what makes it so hard for them--for him. He does not like +that. He would like to talk to all men straight. Moritz Abel--the name +will not be forgotten. He is like the others of the new race. They are +terrible in their calm. They have passed the emotions. They are free. +Other artists in Europe or America repress the emotions. That is but +the beginning of the mastery. When they are as great as this group of +young men, they will show the spirit of the thing, not the emotion of +it. Emotions are red. This is pure white, don't you see?" + +For three days Warsaw had been upheaved in excitement. On the +afternoon that the messenger from Lonegan brought the news of the +cablegram, Berthe and Peter were planning an excursion into the +country for the next day. She watched him closely as he read, and was +sensitive enough to realize the importance of the message, before he +spoke.... He found her gray eyes upon him. She chose her own way to +break the tension: + +"The country is heaven, no doubt about that. One must die to get +there. Also one must live just so. Even when I was little, something +always happened--just as we were planning to set out for the country." + +He showed her the message, but had hardly heard her words. His +discovery of this slender solitary red-lipped girl and what it meant, +was rarely clear at this moment. She had awakened him plane by plane, +awakened his passion and his mercy and his intuition. + +"Tell me again what you said about the country. I was away for a +minute." + +"It is hard to think of a little excursion to the fields--with such a +holiday ahead, as you are called upon." + +"I wasn't thinking of that either, Berthe, but of you." + +"Of course, you will go?" + +"Doubtless." + +"I was only talking foolishly, about our little excursion. One's own +wants are so pitifully unimportant now." + +"I had hardly expected personally to encounter a war," he remarked and +added smilingly, "The fact is, I hadn't thought of meeting a woman +like you." + +"I don't believe you're as cold-blooded as you try to seem, Peter." + +"I have fought all my life to be cold-blooded." + +She never forgot that. "I wonder why men do it?" + +"It's the cultivation, perhaps, of that which Americans love best of +all--" + +"What?" + +"Nerve." + +"We of Poland dare to be emotional," she said. + +"You are an older people. You know how." + +"One needs only to be one's self." + +Peter smiled. "Sometimes I dare actually to be honest with you. Even +Lonegan and I take no such liberties together." + +"It isn't a matter of courage," she said. "You would dare anything. I +know your quiet, deadly kind of courage. That's the first thing I felt +about you." + +It was like Mowbray not to acknowledge that such a thing had been +said. + +"I came to you asleep. I wonder if I should always have remained +asleep?" + +"Your words are pretty, Peter. It makes me sad that you are going +away." + +"You remember that company of soldiers that passed us yesterday as we +walked? I had seen many such groups before--great shocky-haired +fellows who ate and drank disgustingly. But yesterday you made me see +that their blood is redder than the Little Father's--that empires +ripen and go to seed only on a grander scale than turnips." Her eyes +were gleaming. + +"We who are so wise, who have mastered ourselves, should be very good +to the peasants--and not take what they have and kill them in wars." + +"Did I lead you to believe in any way that I felt myself mastered?" he +asked quickly. + +She touched his arm. "I was talking of the Fatherland," she answered. + +He had met this intensity of hers before. Her scorn was neither hot +nor cold, but electric. So often when words failed her, Peter fancied +himself lost in some superb wilderness... Her own gray tone was in the +room to-day--her gray eyes and black hair that made the shadows seem +gray; her face that no night could hide from him. Sometimes his glance +was held to her lips--as one turns to the firelight. Passion there--or +was it the higher thing, _compassion?_ There was bend and give to +the black cloth she wore, as to the inflections of her voice. She +could forget herself. That was the first and the inexhaustible charm. + +It is true that she was very poor. This room which had become his +sanctuary in Warsaw was in a humble house of a common quarter. She +laughed at this, and at her many hours of work each day, for which the +return was meager. There was the sweetest pathos to him in her little +purse, and her pride in these matters was a thing of royalty. + +"My father earned the right to be poor," she once said. + +It seemed to him that her father was mentioned in the moments most +memorable... She was at the window now, her hand lifting the shade. +The light of the gray day shone through her fingers--a long, fragile +hand that trembled. + +"Shall we walk somewhere, or must you go to your office, Peter?" + +"I won't, just yet. Yes, let's go outside." + +They felt they must climb, a bit of suffocation in their hearts. Until +to-day there had been invariable stimulus for Mowbray in the age of +all things, even in the dusty, narrow, lower streets, but his smiling, +easy countenance was a lie that he disliked now. It pinched him +cruelly to leave her, and there was small amelioration in anything +that the war might bring. She would give him sympathy and zeal and +honor for the work and through all the lonely days, but what a lack +would be of that swift directness of purpose, the deeper seeing, the +glad capacity for higher heroism which he had found only in her +presence. They crossed the riverward corner of the Square, where they +had met. He tried to tell her how she had seemed that first day. + +"I cannot understand," she replied. "Especially that day when I first +saw you, I had nothing." + +Now they ascended the terraces that commanded the Vistula. The rocky +turf of the footpath, smoothed by the tread of forgotten generations +(but still whispering to her of those who had passed on); the +crumbling masonry of the retaining walls, gray with the pallor of the +years; and afar the curving, dust-swept farmlands, which had mothered +a thousand harvests, now moved with strange planting of peasant- +soldiers. Mobilization business everywhere, drilling of the half- +equipped, a singing excitement of parting, recruiting--no time for the +actual misery. + +They stood in the very frown of the fortress at sunset. A column of +raw infantry came swinging out and started the descent. A moment +afterward the roar of a folk-song came up in a gust. It was as if the +underworld suddenly had been cratered. + +"When they sing like that, and I think of what they shall soon be +called upon to do--I can hardly endure it!" she whispered.... They +stood with backs against the wall, as the tail of the column moved +past. "Look at that weary one--so spent and sick--yet trying to sing--" + +They were in the silence again. Across the river, against the red +background, they watched another column of foot-soldiers moving like a +procession of ants erect; and beyond, on the dim plain, a field +battery, just replenished to war footing, was toiling with tired +beasts and untried pieces. Mowbray thought of the human meat being +herded in Austria for those great rakish guns, as the infantry below +was being trained for distant slaughter arenas. + +"Do speak, Peter," she whispered. + +He turned to find her white face looking up to him and very close. +They were alone. + +"You won't mind if I think about myself this once?" he asked. + +"Please do." + +"I only want to say that, if you'll stay where you are, I'll come back +from this stuff--I was going to say, dead or alive." + +"Do you mean I am to stay in Warsaw?" she asked. + +"No--not that exactly. I mean if you will stay where you are in regard +to me----" + +Tears filled her eyes. He would have known it even if they had not +shone through the dusk, because his fingers felt the tremor in her +arms. She tried to speak, but finished, "How utterly silly words are!" + +The face of young Mowbray was strange with emotion, pale but +brilliant-eyed, his long features bending to her. She was utter +receptivity. Neither knew until afterward how rare and perfect was +this moment. + +"Anyway--we understand. We understand, Berthe." + +"...As for Berthe," she said slowly, as they walked back, "her heart +will stay where you have put it, Peter. That's out of her power to +change. But the rest--I can't tell, yet----" + +It was as if a finger had crossed Mowbray's face laterally under the +eyes and across his nostrils, leaving a gray welt. + +"I know you belong to the moderns," he said, after a moment. "We men +belong to the ancients. We want a woman to wait and weep while we go +off to the wars." + +"We understand," she kept repeating.... "And now, before you go, come +home with me and let me make you a cup of tea--just a cup of tea-- +before you go." + +He went with her, and, when his tea-cup was finished, he happened to +look into the bottom. + +"What do you see?" she asked quickly, taking the cup. + +"M-m-m," said Mowbray. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Peter and Lonegan were together at dinner three hours after the +message from _The States._ + +"It's a big chance, Mowbray. That's all I can say. I stay at the wire +--no heroics." + +"You ought to see it all from here." + +Lonegan smiled deprecatingly. "Boylan will help you get through. You +don't know him yet. Some time, perhaps, you will--two hundred and +fifty pounds of soul. He'll do all he can to get you the same chance +he has, because I asked him; and then he'll try to make _The +States_ look obsolete as a newspaper, wherein, of course, he'll +fail. But he'll try. If he takes to you, it won't make him try less, +but he'd do your stuff and his, if you fell sick. There isn't another +Boylan--a great newspaper man, too. _The States_ will watch +closely, knowing that _Rhodes'_ will get everything possible from +Boylan's part of the front. The point is--and I think he'll want it, +too--you'd better work together on the main line of stuff, as we do +here. Your letters on the side should be better than his, because +you're a better writer. As for war stuff, Boylan is the old master-- +Peking, Manchuria and the Balkans--that I think of; also the +Schmedding Polar Failure. That last _was_ war--a spectacular +expedition of the Germans-- + +"I might as well make this a lecture, now that I've started," Lonegan +went on. "The war game isn't complex. All the bewildering +technicalities that bristle from a military officer's talk are just +big-name stuff designed to keep down the contempt of the crowd--the +oldest professional trick. Whenever the crowd gets to understand your +terminology your game is cooked. You know how it is in a drug-store, +and you've seen the old family doctor look wise.... + +"There's a lot of different explosives which they fire by mathematics, +and which you can learn in part from our homely encyclopedias, but the +main game will be fought out on the same principles that Attila fought +it and Genghis Khan--numbers, traps, unexpectedness, the same dull old +flanking activities, the raid of supplies and communications, the +bending back of wings, the crimp of a line by making a hole in one +part--and all that archaic rot. As I say, the game is extinct, so far +as our modern complicated intelligences go, and the men whose names +are biggest in the papers from now on are the same old beefy type of +rudiments whom a man wouldn't associate with in times of national +quiet.... I will end this by saying that the big story is the man-- +the peasant, the trooper, the one blinded little dupe, who dies, or +plunges, or loses his legs in the name of the Fatherland--" + +"I see that," said Peter; "but what really is interesting to me is this +peasant's blindness and the monkey other men make of him--" + +"I'm glad you spoke of that, for it is a thing to avoid. Interesting, I +grant, but not popular with our kind of press. We are not servants of +the minority or the elect. You'll find Boylan exploiting the army he's +with--just as another might have done under Napoleon. By the way, where +are you going to-night?" + +"I'm going to sit at the feet of the most genial anarchist at large. His +name is Fallows, an American, who has been ten years in Russia among the +peasants." + +"Duke Fallows--I know of him. When did he come to town?" + +"Two days ago." + +"Peter, how did you get next?" Lonegan looked a bit in awe at the other. + +"I was asked to one of his private audiences last night." + +Peter knew that Lonegan had many things to ask by the quick tone in +which he spoke the first question. + +"You know what Fallows will do to you?" + +"Yes, if one lets go. He has learned how to use his power. He has brought +forth his young upon the bare rocks, as somebody said." + +"He'd turn an angel into an anarchist." + +"A man ought not to be afraid to listen if there's a chance for him to +be proved wrong--" + +"Correct, absolutely. I am merely thinking about our job." + +"A man gets in the habit of thinking about his job--doesn't he?" + +"Did he tell you about the plowman of Liaoyang?" + +"No, but my companion did. Fallows must have seen that episode rather +clearly." + +"Let's not get off the job business, Peter. As I was saying, the truth +isn't popular--" + +"That doesn't sound like Lonegan." + +"No, and I don't like the feel of saying it, but it's very much to the +point--" + +"Possibly." + +"Mowbray, we are taking our bread, and its cake, too, from a paper that +expects us to exploit the orthodox heroics. The pity and atrocious sham +of it all has its side. But the fact still remains its side does not +furnish the stuff that American newspapers pay men and cable tolls to +furnish." + +"Won't you come to-night?" Peter asked laughing. "Perhaps we can both +reach the high point some day when we have earned the right to be poor." + +"That's a higher point than I dream of, Peter. I can't help but think +what a nest you've got into. Of course, I mean with Fallows and his +kind--" + +"An eagle's nest." + +"But the eaglets are starving." + +"Heretofore the job has been served. Come along with me and meet Duke +Fallows again--" + +"No. I must go back to the wire for the present. Boylan would be +shocked, too. By the way, I've got a bid in for you with General +Kohlvihr. Boylan is to help me put it through, of course. The more +decorated they are the more they fall for Boylan. There's a chance +that you'll start south with a column within two days. So you'd better +get at that encyclopedia stuff--" + +"Yes, I'll attend to that." + +Peter left him smiling, and turned his steps across the Square, into a +narrow street of the poor quarter, and on toward a little room and a +low lamp, where a woman's hands sewed magically as she waited. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Fallows met them in his small bleak room, turned the lamp low, and +opened the door of the diminutive wood-stove to let the firelight in +the room. The three sat around it.... Peter Mowbray felt strange and +young beside them. The woman seemed to belong to this world, and it +was a world at war with every existing power. All Peter's training +resisted stubbornly. Still, right or wrong, there was a nobility about +their stand. He did not need to be sure their vision was absolutely +true, yet the suspicion developed that they saw more clearly than he, +and acted more purely. Mowbray did not lack anything of valor, but he +lacked the fire somehow. He loved Berthe Solwicz, could have made +every sacrifice for her, but that was a concrete thing. + +Fallow's bony knees were close to the fire. He seemed both light and +deep, often turning to Peter with secret intentness, and openly +regarding the young woman with amazement and delight. Nearing fifty, +Fallows was tall, thin and tanned. The deep lines of his face were +those which make a man look homely to himself, but often interesting +to others. His soft, low-collared shirt was somewhat of a spectacle in +consideration of the angular and weathered neck. No rest could exist +in the room that contained such loneliness as burned from his eyes. It +was said that he had been rich, though everything about him was poor +now. One would suspect the articles in his pockets to be meager and of +poor quality--the things you might find in a peasant's coat. That +which he called home was a peasant's house in the Bosk hills--the +house of the plowman of Liaoyang, whose children he fathered. +Annually, however, he went abroad, telling the story of the underdog, +usually making the big circuit from the East to the West, and stopping +at a certain little cabin within hearing distance of the whistles of +Manhattan, where his first disciple worked in solitude mainly, and +against the stream. Just now Fallows was planning a different winter's +work.... They talked of the first fighting. + +"The startling thing to realize is that for the present we are allied +with England," said Fallows. "I mean Russia. You see, I am Russian, +now, not the Russia of the Bear, but of the Man--" + +Mowbray and the woman exchanged glances, each thinking of the tea-cup +in the afternoon.... The exile showed traces of his ten years' +training among simple men. Rhetoric and dithyramb were gone from his +speech and habit of mind. The whole study and vision of the man was to +make his words plain. Thus he said slowly: + +"The peasants are children--children in mind and soul. We who have +come a little farther are responsible for them, as a father is +responsible for his children. So far we have wronged them, taught them +to grasp instead of to give, to look down instead of up. We have even +stolen from them the fruits of their looking down. The time is near at +hand when we shall have to pay for all this.... A true father would +die for his children. I know men who have done that, and there are men +about us here, even in Warsaw tonight, who are ready for that--" + +Fallows' voice was tender. He watched the face of the woman as he +spoke. She was looking hard into the fire. + +Fallows added: "There are fifty million men here in Russia--roughly +speaking. Very strong, very simple, possibly very brutal men, but +brutal as a fine dog is brutal, a simplicity about that. I do not +idealize them. I have lived among them. I know this: They might be led +to virtue, instead of to wickedness. My heart bleeds for them being +led to slaughter again. The hard thing is to make them see, but the +reason for that is simple, too. If they could see--they would not be +children. They must be led. Never in modern history have they been +purely led. Words cannot make them see; wars so far have not made them +see. It may be that the sufferings and heroisms of this war shall be +great enough to make them see...." + +"What would you have the peasants see first?" Peter asked. + +"Their real fathers--that men of wisdom and genius are the true +fathers of the Fatherland, not the groups of predatory men. True +fathers would die for their children. To me it has been blasphemy, +when the nations of the past have called themselves Fatherlands. I +would have the peasants fathered by men who realize that the peasants +are the strength and salt of the earth; men who realize that the plan +of life is good--that the plan of life is for concord and service each +to the other--that the hate of man for man is the deadly sin, the hell +of the world--that the fields and all the treasures of the mother +earth are for those who serve and aspire, and not for those who hold +fast, look down and covet more." + +Mowbray was interested in the fact that Fallows had passed the stage +of eloquence and scorn and burning hatred against evil in persons and +institutions. There was no hue and cry about his convictions. He +seemed to live in continual amazement at the slowness with which the +world moves--the slowness to a man who is ahead and trying to pull his +people along. Moreover there was that final wisdom which Fallows +revealed from time to time--momentary loss of the conviction that he +himself was immortally right. Fallows saw, indeed, that a man may be +atrociously out of plumb, even to the point of becoming a private and +public nuisance, when allowed to feed too long alone on the strong +diet of his own convictions.... An hour sped by. Fallows replenished +the fire and turned to Berthe Solwicz. + +"All evening you've had something in your mind to tell me and I've +been giving forth. You must forgive a man for so many words--when he +has been living with little children so long. What is it?" + +"Just a reading of a tea-cup to-day--but everything you said has its +meaning concerned in it." + +"I'm almost as interested in tea-cups as in the stars," said Fallows. + +"You know a toy-bear, such as the Germans make?" + +"Yes--" + +"Well, it would have been like that--if one were thinking of toys. We +thought of the Russian Bear. It was perfect--in the bottom of the cup +--standing up, walking like a man--huge paunch, thick paws held out +pathetically, legs stretched out, just as he would be, rocking, you +know--" + +Fallows bowed seriously. Mowbray turned his smile to the shadows. + +"Near him," Berthe added, "was a Russian soldier--perfect--fur cap, +high boots, tightly belted, very natty--more perfect than we see in +the streets, as if drawn from ideal. He was stabbing the bear with a +long pole, leisurely--" + +"It was a rifle and bayonet," said Peter. "We both saw it, but didn't +speak until now. He was churning the bayonet around in the great +paunch as if feeling for the vitals. The bear looked large and +helpless." + +Fallows' bronzed head had sunk upon his chest. His eyes, red with +firelight, seemed lost to all expression. "I was thinking it would +happen in Germany first," he said. + +A moment afterward he added: "There's a time when a man wants to die +for what he believes, and another time when he's afraid he will die +before he gets a chance to make his life count." + +Again he paused, and then looked up to Mowbray. "It's a good omen. +That's the _real_ war.... And was it your cup?" + +"Yes." + +"You say that you are going out for the Galician service?" + +"Yes, possibly with Kohlvihr's column." + +"You will see much service," said Fallows. "That used to be our dream +--to see service. It will be easier seen with the Russians. They are +not so modern in method as the French or Germans, or even the +Japanese. Of course, war is the same. The nation at the end will win +on the fields, not in the skies. The sky fulfillment is reserved for a +better utility than war. But war belongs under the sea.... You will +not be suppressed so rigidly with the Russians. You will see the side +of the war which will have the most bearing on the future. I do not +believe France and Germany are in the future as Russia is--" + +"And England?" Peter asked quickly. + +"The key to that is the wealth of the Indies--as of yore." + +"You mean if India remains loyal?" + +"If India remains under the yoke." + +"But, if Britain should preserve her tenure in India with the Japanese +troops--" Peter suggested. + +Fallows shuddered. "As yet I can see no philosophy under heaven to +cover that." + +"And you think Britain and Russia are enemies in spite of this +alliance?" + +"Enemies, temperamental and structural--enemies, past and future." + +Peter recurred to this point: "You think that India would not remain +loyal if she had arms?" + +"I was in a little village of the Punjab two years ago," Fallows +replied, "and there was a lad of sixteen there, wonderful in promise-- +a mind, a spirit. They could not raise in the village enough money to +send him across the seas steerage for his education. A single rifle +costs nearly three pounds. It is hard for us to realize how poor India +is." + +Peter stood fast against this in his mind; his intellect would not +accept.... "Are you going to take the field again, Mr. Fallows?" + +"Not in a newspaper way. I shall nurse wounded soldiers. At least they +have accepted me.... These are fearful and amazing days. We have all +been in a kind of long feeding dream, like the insects, accumulating +energy and terrible power for these days. Such death as we shall see!" + +There was silence. + +"I wonder how they are taking it in America?" Fallows mused. + +"Doubtless as an opportunity for world-trade," said Peter. + +"Oh, I hope not!" the exile said passionately. "There must be another +America." + +Fallows placed his hands on Berthe's shoulders, looking down: "You +make me think of a young woman I once knew," he said. "Not that you +look like her--but that you have the same zeal _for something_.... +You are a very true daughter of your father--" + +"You knew him?" she said huskily. + +"We all knew him--we who dare to think we look ahead. When he died, +his courage came to all of us. We were changed. If it had not been a +pure and durable thing--his courage would have died with him. It is +wonderful for me to be here with you. And this man loves you." + +It was not a question, just a fragmentary utterance of a fine moment. +Fallows said it as a man who has passed on, and yet loves to study the +lives and loves of younger men. Even to Mowbray the feeling came for +an instant that he was part of the solution to which they gave +themselves. + +"I have not told him of my father. He does not know my name," Berthe +said. "But I am going to tell him--before he goes." + +"He is safe," said Fallows. "I felt free with him--almost immediately +--and that picture in the tea-cup!... Peter Mowbray, Peter Mowbray. It +is a good name. And you are going out on the big story of the war for +_The States_. You will see great things--best of all with the +Russian columns. There will be an Austerlitz every day--a Liaoyang +every day. I was in Manchuria with a man who made that his battle. I +wonder if he will come out this time--to find how his dream of +brotherhood is faring? God, how he took to that dream! He will be a +Voice--" + +They were standing. Fallows suddenly reached for his cap. "I'll go out +with you--just to get out. The room is too small for me to-night." + +Yet, when they reached the street, he left them abruptly, as if he had +already said too much. + +"He seems to be burning up," said Peter. + +Berthe did not answer. + +"He was like Zarathustra coming down from the mountain--so shockingly +full of power," Peter added. "And yet he said so little of his own +part." + +"He couldn't, Peter. He's like you--when moments are biggest.... Oh, +Peter, where do you keep your passion?" + +"You mean this great burning that Fallows knows?" + +"Yes." + +"I haven't it. I haven't that passion. I think I am just a reporter. +But you have it.... My father loved his family. I think your father +must have loved the world--" + +"But you love the world--" + +"No, I love you." + +"Peter, Peter--come to-morrow! Don't come in with me to-night!" + +Peter went to his rooms at once. He was struck hard, but merely showed +a bit weary. He found himself objecting to characteristics of Fallows' +mind, the same which he had admired and delighted in from Berthe. She +had always talked easily of death, and he had been without criticism; +now he disliked the casual mention of death in Fallows' talk. + +Peter saw that he was sore, and hated himself for it. Fallows +personally was ready for death; therefore he had the right to counsel +martyrdoms for others if he wished. Death to Peter, however, was not +strictly a conversational subject. If a man were ready to die for +another, it was not good taste to say so. Still he forced himself to +be just, by thinking of Fallows' life. + +Fallows somehow had turned a corner that he, Peter Mowbray, had not +come to so far. Self-hypnotized, or not, the exile had given up +everything in life to make the world better as he saw it. He had +written and traveled and talked and plotted, even vowed himself to +poverty, all for the good of the under-dog. + +"It isn't fanaticism, when you come to look at it," Peter mused. "He +sees it clearly, and makes one see it for the moment of listening. He +isn't afraid. He would die every day for it, if he could.... And I +take things as I find them, and grin. I wouldn't even have thought +otherwise, except for Berthe. I have a suspicion that I'm half-baked." + +Peter's mind was engaging itself thus feverishly, to avoid the main +issue that the woman had flung him from her, and run to cover, +stuffing her ears, so to speak, and asking him not to follow. He +braced himself now and faced it. "If it happened to another pair, I +should say it was the finish," he thought. "I should say that no man +and woman could pass a rock like that.... I can't get to her point of +view by thinking myself there. I'm cold--that's the word. And she's +superb. I'd rather be her friend than lord of any other woman. That +won't change. And she has spoiled everything I thought I knew. +Altogether--it's a game, bright little story--and deep." + +Lonegan came in and flung himself down wearily. + +"I've been busy. Boylan is leaving in thirty-six hours. You're going +with him?" + +"I'm ready," said Peter. + +"Did you have a big time?" + +"Yes." + +"What do you think of Fallows now?" + +"I'm strong for him." + +"Peter--you look bushed." + +"It drains a man to spend an evening in that company. A fellow has to +have a heavy lid--not to waste fire." + +Lonegan was worried. "You don't mean to say you're getting fevers and +emotions." + +"I'm threatened." + +"Mowbray--you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see your +fires--not even how well you bank 'em. It isn't in you." + +"I wish it were," said Peter. + +* * * + +For a long time after Lonegan left he plunged into his work, but there +was no sleep for him afterward. He lay very still, breathing easily, +as the fag-end of the night crawled by. At dawn he arose, dressed +noiselessly, and went out into the city. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +It was too early to go to Berthe, yet his steps led him to the street +of her house, and he had not passed it a second time before she opened +the blinds above, and called to him. He looked at her sorrowfully, and +she met his eyes. + +"Come in, Peter. I've been so sorry! If you can forgive me, we'll have +coffee together--" + +He followed her upstairs. The premonition came that he was to take +away the image of Berthe Solwicz at its highest--inimitably enticing +to his heart, the girlish and utterly feminine spirit that had +captivated the man in his breast. She did not seem to know that she +was like the woman of the first meeting, but to him all her grace of +that day had returned, as if to complete the circle of the episode; +and all that he had loved since was added. The one thing in his life +that he was proud of, was that he had chosen this woman from the +crowd.... They were in her room. With both hands she held him in his +coat, so that he could not remove it, begging him to forget the last +of last night before they could be at rest. + +"I don't know as I want to, Berthe," he said. "It made me think. There +are two kinds of people in the world--the kind who give and the kind +who take. We represent each. I'm afraid the difference is intrinsic. +There would be no satisfaction in me trying to be some one else--even +trying to be like you. I am what I am--and must be that. But, Berthe, +I can hold the suspicion that I am your inferior, and be pleasant +about it--" + +"Peter, Peter--you don't understand. I don't love myself--nor my way +better. I am poor and tortured, carrying about a legacy, or a dream. I +need you. I can tell you now--I never needed you so much as last night +when I sent you away. I need your brain and balance--your big heart. +It was never so dear to me." + +This was too much for him. He sat down before her. All night he had +been trying to qualify for a lower place in her heart than his earlier +dreams had called for--any place rather than to be apart--for the +stuff of adoration was in Peter Mowbray. Half-sitting, half-kneeling, +she took her place on the rug before him. + +"But first I must tell you the story. I could not tell you at once; +and since then we have managed so well. But you must know before you +go. I am not Polish, not even in name. My father's mother was a +Russian woman, but his father was an Irishman, and the name--my name-- +is Wyndham. My father's given name was 'Metz'--" + +Peter had caught it all before her last sentence. "Wyndham" had been +enough. He saw clearly the natural and excellent reason for the +tenderness of Duke Fallows toward the daughter of Metz Wyndham, and +recalled the tragic story of the power and fire of this prophet of the +people, who was executed by the Russian government in the midst of the +turmoil following Red Sunday--"Metz Wyndham, the notorious Red," as he +was denoted in the subsidized press of Petersburg, though "Metz +Wyndham, the peasants' martyr," was a whisper which seemed destined in +the end to silence all such uproar. + +"You have heard of him? You knew his story?" + +The upturned face shone with a different bloom for his eyes. "Yes," he +answered. + +"...I was away from Russia for years--in London and Paris," she said +quickly. "But at last I felt I could not stay longer. I wanted to come +back here--where the struggle is so tense and constant. He worked much +here in Warsaw. All of his kind come some time to Warsaw. And so the +name _Solwicz_, which I hate; and so the fear when I found you +watching me in the street a second time, and my relief to learn that +you were not Russian-" + +"Of course I understand," said Peter. He put his hand upon her head. +"I was in awe of you before I knew," he added, "and yet, I always saw +that in the most vital moments something of him would come out.... I +keep seeing you with him now--what a life for a young girl--what a +builder, those years, for a young girl--and how brave you are. Berthe, +I have it--you are spoiled for common people because you were brought +up with that kind of a man. How clearly I understand last night now!" + +"There's another side to that," she said huskily. + +"Oh, I'm sorry--" + +The most consummate plotting could not have endeared him to her as +those three words. + +"Peter, you must see it--the other side. There was no rest with him. +All his brilliance, all his brilliant companions were one part, but +there was a steady pressure of tragedy about us--from outside. And +there was tragic pressure from him. He was subject to the most +terrible melancholia. He had enough vision to see the wrong +everywhere. It was not mania. There _is_ wrong everywhere, if one +looks--in judges and cities, in nations, wars, in the kind of +amusements people plunge into--wrong and coarseness and stupidity. He +loved men but hated institutions. Sometimes, he would see it all so +clearly that the sense of his own powerlessness would come. He would +cry, 'One man can't do anything. A man like me can't be heard--oh, I +can't make myself heard! It is as if I were shut in a tomb.' He would +only have been happy passing from one great crowd to another-- +harrowing, pleading, electrifying men. He would rise--even alone with +me--to the heights of his power--and then fall into the valleys +because no one could hear. That was his cry, _'I can't make myself +heard!_ Then often, when he was waiting to speak, the power would +come, and leave him drained when he faced his people. He would tell me +afterward, 'If I could only have talked to them yesterday, or an hour +before!' + +"Then the doubt of self would come to him--the fear that he was wrong +or insane. 'Berthe, it can't be that the crowds are wrong; that I am +right--against all the crowds. It must be that I am insane.' He would +suffer like one damned from that. Worse than all was the fear of his +own Ego. He was more afraid of that than any other lion in the way. +'It isn't the cause, it's me--that wants to be heard. It's the +accursed me that I am striving for--in agony to relieve. I merely use +the Cause. All the time it is myself that I wish to make heard.' That +would make him suicidal. + +"I am only telling you these moods. He was a child, a playmate, the +loveliest companion a girl ever had--seeing the beauty and analogy in +all nature and outdoors--full of jest and delights. I just wanted to +show you the other side----" + +It was all of breathless interest. + +"There came a day," she added, as Peter watched her raptly, "when he +did make himself heard, even as he dreamed...." + +Peter thought of his reading the story--a boy at school, and was +struck with the memory of its appeal to him in the light of the +present. + +"...The sustaining of his friends was taken from us at the last. They +dared not come, of course. 'Berthe, little heart, it's all right,' he +would say. 'You will have to go on alone, but the way will be shown +you. You have the strength. You have been heaven and earth to me. I +must go and leave you, but that's only a temporary matter. It will be +hard--but it has been hard _with_ me.... This is all right. It's +good for what ails the world--but you are only a little girl! My God, +I dare not think of it....' + +"I remember the dawn and the cold rain and the stone buildings--and +then to find the world's relation to his daughter. That had been +spared before. He kept it from me, and there was such a sustaining +from his friends and power. Those most concerned are slowest to learn +exactly what the world thinks of them.... It did not come until +afterward, and then it almost killed me. I was clinging to a sorrow +almost sacred, and I found that the world saw only the shame and +madness of my plight. I suddenly saw it in the eyes of the people--how +they drew apart from me.... He had only wanted to make them better. He +said that all evil was the result of men hating one another. He did +not hate men, but predatory institutions, false fatherlands, and all +slave-drivers. They hanged him for that hatred, but what was more +shocking was to find that the people whom he loved and served were +horrified at his daughter...." + +It did not detract from Peter's ardor that his intellect was away for +an instant in a rather skeptical study of Metz Wyndham's life. To +Peter had come glimpses of the magnificent selfishness of this prophet +of the people. Did all great men have such an ego? If their lives were +closely examined would they all reveal, in their intimate and familiar +relations, the most subtle and insidious forms of self-service? In +fact, was not the mighty _ego_ the source of their record-making +in the world? ... Peter banished this rush of conjectures. Whatever +the father, the whole art of the life of Metz Wyndham's daughter was +the loss of the love of self. + +"I feel before you," he said, "as I once felt in the vineyards beneath +Vesuvius." + +She smiled at him. "There are several ways to take that." + +"Just one that I mean--and no explanation." + +"... Peter, our last day together--all shadowy background to be put +away--" + +"And breakfast to occupy the immediate fore." + +He went out into the street to purchase certain essentials, found some +tall white flowers, and a copper vase to put them in. They were +hungry, after the long night, and their happiness was the exquisite +moments which they found between the darkenings. They would not permit +the parting altogether to pervade. Her face was lustrous white; her +eyes made him think of those gray days on the ocean, in which one can +see great distances. More of a girl than ever she seemed to him, with +her black hair combed loosely back and hanging in a pair of braids. +The flowers stood tall between them. + +"War weather like this makes one grow quickly," he said. "To think how +easy and content we thought ourselves--even three days ago. Now, I +want to say, 'Come, Berthe--come with me....' I want to take you to +some quiet place, back in the States, in the country by the water. +Yes, north country--by some lake that would be frozen when we got +there. That's where the silence is, that winter silence. A cabin, a +roaring fire--you and I together, alone. It seems you would be safe +there, and I could begin to be satisfied--". + +"Peter, Peter--don't make heavens to-day!" + +"It's your particular heaven. No other would ever have made me think +of _winter_--of something austere and silent for you to ignite." + +"I wonder, shall it ever come to me--to have peace and abundance of +nature? I have always had the cities, and now it is more war again-- +the opposite to nature--but I shall think every hour of that winter +cabin. That is my place," she added. "Another would have made you +think of the South--or the seas. I shall think of your being there +with me--every day--no matter where I am---" + +Her words had grown vague to his ears. Her lips were so red that for +the time he saw them only. He arose and went to her around the tall +flowers. + +"What did you say?" he asked, after a moment. + +"I don't know--oh, yes--perhaps, if we are very good in this war, and +do all we can to make orderly our little circle of things in the great +chaos--perhaps we may earn that winter cabin and the fireplace and the +stillness. To plan our garden in the winter days---" + +"I wish I hadn't spoken of it. It's almost unearthly far--in such a +time. But, Berthe, will you ever be satisfied with one who hasn't the +white fire of passion--as you have, in the cause of the peasants?" + +"Oh, that's what I wanted to tell you. We are to be separated. We are +grown up--a man and a woman. We dare speak to each other. At least, I +dare.... Peter, I couldn't love you if you were all that--all that---" +She hesitated. + +"All that you missed in me last night?" he suggested. + +"Yes, but I didn't miss it exactly. I was excited and overwrought. You +are splendid with me. It is when others are near, that you are--cold +and unemotional. I know it's your training--that thing you Americans +have from the English. You are that way with men. You are not so with +me. But, if you were like Fallows, or like my father, I could not love +you. I would not dare---" + +"Why?" + +"First, I could not--and then I would not dare. First, that which we +are, we do not love. We love another kind--for completion----" + +"Clearly said. That must be true," he answered quickly. "And why would +you not dare?" + +"Because we should have a little baby, and it would suffer so in +coming years. Peter, the poise and the balance--the very qualities I +need in you, and which I love, the little baby would require as his +gift from his father." + + + + +II + +THE COURT OF EXECUTION + +Chapter 1 + + +"Hai, you, Peter--wake up!" + +It was Boylan's voice, seemingly afar off, but coming closer. + +"Wake up.... I say, young man, what do you think of it by this time?" + +Thus Peter was awakened the seventh morning out--and in a place he had +not observed the previous night. It was as good a place as usual, if +not better, except for the smell of fish that had gone before. Clearly +it had been a fish shop, business suspended some time. There were +certain scaly trays on the sloping showboards to the street; scales +glistened among the cobwebs of the low ceilings; also the floor was of +turf, and doubtless very full of phosphor, an excellent base for rose- +culture. The place dwindled and darkened to the rear, from which the +head and shoulders of Samarc presently emerged, and a moment later +Little Spenski, his companion, sat up and rubbed his eyes. These two, +invariably together, were men of a rapid-fire battery, to meet their +pieces lower in the fields, and attached for the present, as were +Boylan and Mowbray, to the staff of General Kohlvihr's command. + +"Think of what?" Peter asked. + +Boylan disdained answer. He was strapping a pigskin legging over a +bulging calf, always a severe strain. He looked up presently, reached +across and touched his forefinger to Peter's chin then to his own, +which bristled black and gray. + +"Young man, you've got a secret," he remarked darkly. + +Peter smiled. He kept his razors in the same case as his tooth-brush, +and the case had not been mislaid so far. He could shave in the dark. + +"You're either not of age, or your face is sterile," said Boylan. + +"The floor of this fish shop isn't," said Peter. + +"I've been with you the last forty-eight hours straight. No sign of +life in that time." + +"You went out looking for fresh meat at sundown. You were gone---" + +"I was gone just five minutes, because the train wasn't up. You had +tea on when I came back." + +"There was a bit too much hot water." + +"Peter, that will do once more, but I've got a suspicion. No man +living can shave in the saddle--so you won't be able to spring that +one. Besides, you are willing to discuss the matter." + +"Did you ask what town this is?" + +"No," said Boylan; "I couldn't remember if they told me. New town +every night. The only thing to name a town is a battle. God, smell the +wood smoke--doesn't it make you keen?" + +"For what?" + +Boylan looked at him. "What are we out for?" + +"Apparently the column is out for blood, but I thought you might mean +breakfast." + +"The column will get blood, right enough," said Boylan, "whether it +gets breakfast or not. What's the news, I wonder?" + +"I've forgotten my relation to news.... Where are you going?" + +"To see if that beef-train is in. I suppose you'll have rigged up a +turkish bath and be in the cooling room by the time I get back." + +Peter fed the horses and had tea and black bread served for two, by +the time Boylan called from a distance: "Put on the griddle, Peter--a +regular steak.... I stopped in the farrier's on the way back and had +it anviled a bit. That's what kept me," he added. + +Peter tossed it in the pan. Their fire was in the turf at the door of +the fish shop. Boylan drew in close, having washed noisily, and +deposited the remaining provisions in the two saddle-bags. "We're +fixed for supper and breakfast," he remarked, with a sigh. + +"You said that the army that would win this war must win through +famine. The Russians had better begin--" + +"I didn't say anything about Mr. B. B. Boylan--" + +"Mr. Big Belt Boylan," Peter muttered, twisting his face away from the +heat and sizzling smoke steam. The name held. + +The huge Rhodes' man liked Peter more than the latter knew, and his +likings of this sort were deep and peculiar. Boylan was nearing fifty, +a man all in one piece--thick, ponderous, hard, scarred with _la +viruela_, a saber sweep, a green-blue arc in his throat where some +dart or arrow had torn its way in between vital columns. His head was +bald and wrinkled, but very large, his neck and jaw to match, his eyes +a soft blue that once had been his secret shame. Very often he had +been called into the public glare. + +"I was so hungry once," Boylan said, "that I've been a slave to the +fear of it ever since." He referred to the Polar Failure. "Once in +Farrel's Island--we were four," he added. "We drew lots to find out +which one of us we must eat. That _was_ a winter.... All you +fellows may begin famine as soon as you like. You'll come a long way +before you arrive at the personal familiarity of the subject earned by +this same little fat boy.... Turn it again, Peter." + +Samarc rushed past, speaking excitedly in French, and in the shadows +behind they saw the eyes of Spenski, sympathetic and wistful. + +"What did he say, Peter?" Boylan asked quickly. "Samarc's French is +like my Russian." + +"He said his face had been fixed for tea--and toast with Spenski-- +until we began to steam up the place. Now he's gone to the feed- +wagons." + +"Why, bless the ruffian, there's enough here for four." + +"I told him that, but you know Samarc." + +Little Spenski's voice now drawled from behind. + +"We're getting low, anyway. It was right for him to fill the bags this +morning, though very kind of you to offer--" + +"I don't like that, Spenski," said Boylan. "Bull cheek for four was my +order. Why, you fellows--" + +Boylan was going to say how consistently generous with rations and +private provisions the two Warsaw men had been, but got tangled in the +language. Peter helped him. Boylan wouldn't have it otherwise, and +quartered the steak, serving Spenski and covering the fourth with a +tin. It was an excellent feast. For five days these two pair had +cautiously, timidly even, stood for each other in that reserved way +that much-weathered men integrate a memorable friendship.... Samarc +returned. They helped him cache his provisions and drew him into the +quadrangle around the fire. There was time for an extra pot of tea, +and the dawn rose superbly. That day in the column Spenski was called +into the personal escort of Kohlvihr, Boylan accompanying. Samarc and +Peter rode as usual with the forward infantry--just behind the van, +headquarters back a quarter of a mile. + +"Tell me about Spenski," Peter asked. "He's an interesting chap. I +heard him talking to you about the stars last evening, before supper, +pointing out Venus and Jupiter." + +"He'll grow on you," said Samarc, their talk in French. "He did in my +case. We've been together six years in and out of the big instrument +shop in Warsaw--Bloom's. We make a camera, microscopes and even a +telescope now and then. I invented a rather profitable objective for +the Blooms, for which they gave me a position, and a small interest +that has kept me from wandering far from Warsaw. In the first days +they told me about Spenski--his remarkable workmanship--and pointed +out the wiry, red-headed little chap with the quick imperative smile +you've seen. We got on well together from the first. It has been no +small thing for me that he likes my ways. I got him in this service, +by the way, and I don't know whether I'm very proud of that. He's a +lot more famous as a workman now than six years ago." + +"What is his work?" Peter asked. + +"A lens-maker. His art is one of the finest of the human eye--requires +genius to begin with. Spenski's craft on a glass in many cases doubles +the price of the instrument. No one knows better what kind of a +workman he is, nor can follow his particular finish with a keener or +more appreciative eye, than old Dr. Abbe himself. Spenski has letters +from that old master. + +"He knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things--like the star stuff. +He'll name for you scores of the vague, indefinite ones, not to speak +of the larger magnitudes, which he can call by color at any hour of +the night. It was this passion of his for the stars which showed him +his work as a boy. That started him fabricating glasses to see them +better. He has a supreme eye for light, circles and foci, and a brain +that just plays with heavy mathematics--the most abstruse +calculations. Yet, you see, he carries it all with the ease of a boy. +I think men who come with a task to do are like that. It's part of +them. They don't feel the weight of what they know, because it's all +through them--not localized. You might be with Spenski an hour or a +week and never know that he was more than just a mechanic--if you were +just a mechanic." + +"It's very interesting," said Peter, as charmed with his companion as +with the man he talked about. + +"A little while ago Spenski found his girl, and I would have +withdrawn--for that is the high test," Samarc resumed. "But Spenski +managed to keep us both without strain.... And then the war came +along. A blight fell upon all workmanship in an hour. I had been on +the military side of things from a boy, a matter of training and +heredity. Of course, I would go. Spenski looked around the shop when I +told him this. It was stricken, the machinery cranking down, the faces +of the men white and troubled. 'I'll go, too,' said he.... I reminded +him of her.... 'She wouldn't be interested in a chap who remained at +home,' he said.... I told him of the big plants in Switzerland and +America, where he could be of great value, but he was not tempted. 'I +want to go if they'll take me in your battery,' was his last word on +the matter. + +"Of course I saw to that, but there's no work here, and there won't +be, that can bring out Spenski's real values. Think of using such a +man to feed the hopper of a rapid-fire piece.... But it's good to have +him along. Spenski's a hard habit to break." + +That night, when Boylan and Mowbray were together again, but a little +apart from the others, Big Belt said: + +"Say, Peter, that little Spenski is a card. A good little chap, smart +and modest. I like him." + +"I found Samarc worth cultivating, too," said Peter. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Marching south along the Vistula with the old-fashioned army--no +airships, nothing that intensely puzzled Mowbray in this service--that +is, in the exteriors of it--nothing but earth poundage and earth +power, a game that had much to do with earth and not with heaven. +Seven quiet days of marching in splendid summer weather, the raw +peasant soldiery well fed and comfortable, becoming a unit, all +outbreak of separate consciousness anywhere more and more impossible, +hardening to the peculiar day's work. They were used to heavy work, +but this was a particular task that needed specific hardening of feet +and lungs; also the personal idea in each breast required numbing. The +physical aim was to make men light for heavy work; to give them a +taste of the joy and the true health of the field--before the +entrainments, the haste and the fighting; but the psychological +purpose was to make each atom forget itself, to weave it well into the +fabric of the mass. Kohlvihr's division had to be moved; very well, +let the movement gather the values of practice marching as well. + +A raw division, with a scattering of Poles and Finns mixed with the +straight Slav peasantry and regarded by the Russian war office, as +Peter Mowbray understood at once, a ticklish proposition. The cement +for this new service was "green" as yet; it had to set, required +frequent wettings of fine humor and affiliation. The marvel to Mowbray +was that the thousands fell for it. They had practically all left +something that was life and death to them--land, labor, women, +children. Each had established the beginnings at least of a personal +connection in the world, and this relation had to be rubbed out. What +had they been promised to take its place? _Freedom_, doubtless. +But intrinsically they were free men. + +Peter recalled what Fallows had said: that properly fathered this +peasantry might be led into a citizenship and virtue that would change +the world. Instead they were to be impregnated with every crime. With +such thoughts Peter felt the spirit of Berthe Wyndham awake in his +mind. + +Seven days and not a breath from the outer world. The correspondents +were allowed to move in and out of Kohlvihr's headquarters; and, +though they paid richly for everything, were treated well, and +regarded as guests by the staff officers. Peter had met Kohlvihr in +Warsaw before the thought of war--a good-tempered, if dull and +bibulous old man, he had seemed in the midst of semi-civilian routine; +but a different party here afield. Peter recalled the saying of old +sailors that you never know a skipper until you ship under him. + +Moments of evening, in the sharp hazes of wood smoke, when the whole +army seemed nestling into itself, laughing, covering its nostalgia, +putting on its strength, Peter met in certain moments the advisability +of turning his back upon Boylan and Spenski and Samarc. The +extraordinary nature of Berthe Wyndham would flood home to him, as to +one to whom it belonged, very dear but very far.... He would smile +when he thought of _The States_ and the Old Man.... "He thinks +I'm clutched in the ripping drama and waiting for blood," he muttered, +"that I am burning to stop the breath of the outer world with my story +of gore and conquest.... But I'm eating his bread. I won't betray. +There must be a wise way to feed the red melodramatic receptivity of +the cities and at the same time to tell the real story." + +He stood in the midst of square miles of men and military engines. On +every road other Russian forces moved southward and to the southeast. +The railroads groaned with troops, for the most part in a better state +of preparation than Kohlvihr's division. Rumors reached the staff, as +they neared the Galician border, that the Austrian fields below were +already bleeding; finally word came, as they turned eastward, that +they were to entrain at Fransic and make a junction with the main +Russian columns preparing to invade Galicia from the northeast. + +On the night before they entered Fransic, Mowbray awoke, and saw a +figure sitting in the doorway of the little hut assigned them for +quarters. It was Spenski, his face upturned in the starlight. He sat +so still that Peter slipped out from the blankets (which covered +Boylan as well) and took his place beside the lens-maker. Spenski was +facing the east. The street of the little hill town lost itself in a +sharp declivity just ahead; the nearer huts were low. The whole east +was naked to the horizon and an indescribable glory of starlight. + +"Aren't they amazing?" Spenski whispered. "It must be nearly morning, +for those are the winter stars. I think they must have wakened me up. +Do you know them?" + +"Just the first magnitudes. They are more brilliant than I have ever +known." + +Orion and a great kite of suns stood out with new and flashing power. + +"I never saw that huge _W_ before--" said Peter. + +"You don't mean Cassiopeia? Her chair isn't there, but over to the +north--" + +"No, no--_there_. Rigel, the upper right corner, down to the +left, the Dog-star; up to Betelguese, down to the left again to +Procyon, and up to the brightest of all--the stranger, not usually +there--" + +Spenski clutched him. "I was watching the bigger configuration, and +didn't notice. Your stranger is the planet Saturn in transit between +Taurus and Orion. Saturn completes the _W_, and the _W_ +stands for--" + +"War, possibly," said Peter. + +There was a growl just now from Boylan: "Come on back to bed, you +star-gazers." + +"Saturn is so far and moves so slowly," the little man whispered, +"that the _W_ will not be deranged for many months." + +The hurry call for Kohlvihr came as expected in Fransic. The first +sections of the divisions were entrained the next day--an end to +summer road-work.... A day and night of intolerable slowness in a vile +coach, and on the following noon the troop-train was halted, while a +string of Red Cross cars drew up to a siding to give the soldiers the +right of way; a momentary halt--the line of passing windows filled +with cheering, weeping nurses. + +Just one reposeful face--as both trains halted a second or two. It was +the face of one who seemed to understand the whole sorry story, +already to be contemplating the ruin ahead. Her hands were folded, the +eyes intent upon the distance rather than the immediate faces of men. +Mowbray could not articulate. Above all he wanted to meet her eyes, to +put back the light of the present in them, but it was neither sound +nor gesture that accomplished it; rather the storming intensity of +anguish in his mind. His train jerked, her eyes found him, her arms +raised toward him, lips parted. It became the one, above all, of the +exquisite pictures in his consciousness, and the reality passed so +quickly--gone, and no word between them. + +Thus her colors came to him again--the mystic trinity of white and +gray and black--all he had since known and loved added to the mystery +of their first meeting. It was like an awakening to the rack of thirst +after one has dreamed of a spring of gurgling water--the swift passing +of that face of tender beauty and fortitude, that fair brow, gray eyes +and black hair.... + +Boylan was looking deeply into his face. + +"Good God, man, you're a ghost. What is it, Peter?" + +"It struck me queer to see a trainload of girls down here in the +field," said Peter quite steadily. + +"Well, if a trainload of strange women can do that to you--here's +hoping we never do Paris together." + +Little Spenski opposite had seen the outstretched hands, and Peter saw +that he had seen. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +And now a rainy field. Two days of cold wind and rain after the +cattle-cars; a different tone and temper from the men, coughing +instead of laughter at night-fall. Another nameless village--Galician, +now, for the border had been crossed, and the stillest night Peter +Mowbray had so far known among the troops. It was a listening army-- +the far distance breathing just the murmur of cannonading. + +He moved about within the cordon of head-quarter sentries, studying +the edges of the bivouac as the rain and the darkness fell. Kohlvihr's +division was but a tooth of the main army now; the whole region was +massed with Russians marching westward; but still the outfit from +Warsaw was enough, all that he could encompass of the mystery of +numbers. Others had met the enemy, but these were still virgin. They +were listening. + +Their faces looked white in the thickening dark, noses pinched and the +rest _beard_.... Hair--it was like some rapidly ripening harvest +in the command, different each day, making the faces harder and harder +to memorize. Mowbray had been disgusted at first--faces like +changelings, atrocious like chickens. But the beards were taking form +now--all gradations of yellow and red and black--many of that gray- +yellow which loses itself in the middle distance and becomes a blur. +How he hated hair like that! + +The next day dawned bright and cold. At ten Kohlvihr, in the midst of +the southern wing, brushed the tail of an Austrian force in its +turning. The engagement was sharp exhilaration to Peter; perhaps it +was to certain of the soldiers; yet it was the first. Its touch of +blood quivered through Kohlvihr's command not yet assimilated, stirred +this raw entity with deep inexplicable passion. + +The correspondents were riding with the staff; the point of the van +was moving below in plain sight when its baptism fell. Kohlvihr licked +his white lips, the upper lip uncontrollable like a deprived +drunkard's. Below a skirmish was spreading out, the commands +trumpeting back their messages. Mowbray turned. A little battery of +mountain guns was racing forward through the infantry column, the +drivers yelling for _gangway_. It was like a small town's fire +department in action. Now the infantry poured down the rocky slopes +that bordered the old iron road. Peter turned quite around in the +saddle. The murmur in the air was queer--like something wrong below in +a ship at sea. Kohlvihr's face interested him, the skirmish lines and +their reinforcements, the voice of Boylan (though his faculties were +too occupied to catch that rush of humorous comment in English); the +mountain guns interested him, and the sudden racket of Russian riflery +below. + +Now one of the peasant soldiers was running up the slope from the van +toward the staff. He was bare-headed, shocky-haired and bearded, +making queer, high sounds like a squirrel as he ran--quite out of +order and amazed at himself. He would have been struck down by his +nearest neighbor ten days later, felled with the nearest officer's +sword, but there was funk and a bit of dismay in the heart of the raw +division that suffered the soldier to make his way to the staff. + +Lifting his legs lumberingly, he held fast to his left wrist, where a +bullet had started the blood. He held the wound high, like a trophy, +the blood spurting, crying about it.... This was sudden discovery of +something the army had started out to find, but had forgotten in the +length of days. This was the red fleece--its drips of red were in each +raw soul now. A little way farther and the staff awoke. An officer +spoke. The peasant was caught and booted quiet. Kohlvihr licked his +lips to keep them still. He perceived that Mowbray's eyes had fastened +upon his mouth. The lips opened again. The order came forth for the +soldier to be flogged.... It was their particular friend, Dabnitz, a +lieutenant of the staff, who was given the execution of this order. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +The four were much together for a few days after that, Samarc and +Spenski not yet assigned to their battery. They learned each other in +those few days as men often fail to learn the hearts of their +immediate associates during years. There was fighting--scattered, +open, surprising often to one out of touch with the points and the +scouting. Different towns every day, and a continual giving of +territory on the part of the Austrians. + +"This is not the main fighting at all," said Boylan. "This is but the +edge of the game. It won't break into print. The big stuff is farther +on. These that we meet are the Austrian columns hurrying forward. This +territory is ours for the marching through. We'll catch it later--and +this will be forgotten." + +Samarc had known these towns that the Russian column was passing +through, yet he had to ask the names, because of the destruction. The +Austrians would always destroy in haste before leaving, and more +leisurely the Russians would destroy. It seemed to affect Samarc, as +some landmark reopened from its ruin for his eyes, + +"It seems to say," he told the lens-maker, "'I was this at one time, +and now I must go.'" Orders came for Samarc and Spenski, but they were +not to be remotely stationed, since their battery was assigned to +Kohlvihr's division--a different camp but the same field. Few words +about the separation, but each of the four understood.... Night and +day, the dead had been with them in the recent days--in such richness +and variety they could not escape, could not cover them, and something +from the dead entered their hearts. To Peter--so queerly were his +thoughts running--the memorable incident of their last night together +had to do with an ant colony. + +Supper was over, and they had tossed on a decayed log to keep up the +fire. A nest of ants was presently driven forth by the heat from the +soft heart of the wood. They found themselves hemmed in flame and +turned back, as Peter thought, to seek the treacherous shelter of the +nest again. It was not so; they were wiser than that, and marched +forth in scores once more, each carrying an egg in its jaws. Spenski +swung the end of the log out to the grass for them to make good their +retiring. It was all very sane and admirable. Peter respected them.... + +The dead were with them. They had not learned to forget. Spenski would +whimper in his sleep. The days did not fill him, wearied his body but +other faculties and potencies were restless at night. This man who +could grind a lens so that a line from the center of the earth to the +center of the sun would pass through it without chromatic aberration, +was more shocked than the other three by the cursory killing of the +days, his imagination intoxicated and sleep perverted. His companion +who imagined himself of coarser and heavier texture often placed his +hand upon the dreaming one. Spenski would start, open his eyes and +say, "Thanks, Samarc." + +Continual rocking through the long days, and the rumbling of the earth +from the artillery forward. A mountain country of sharply cool nights, +of cool bright days--the scent of cedar and balsam, good water, steady +skirmishing--food just a bit scarce so that the peasants snapped and +bolted, showing sharp about the eyes. It was not hunger--just the lean +kind of fare. Peter often watched the halted columns at night as the +men sprang to the feeding. Supper fires burst forth at the drop of the +rifles. Not so raw now, the Warsaw contingent, a military eye would +remark--getting ripe, in fact. + +A week afterward, Boylan reported at supper that they would be +permitted to ride with the battery on the following day. In the +meantime they had not seen nor heard of the other pair. Fighting and +marching from dawn to nightfall usually; human nature refused effort +after that. They were so near dead at night that they laughed about +it, and felt their faces in embarrassment, sharp-boned and unfamiliar +as the faces of the dead. Mowbray's was still clean shaven. Young +Dabnitz, the exquisite of the staff, and a rather brilliant young +Russian, was the only other who had kept his razors in order. Perhaps +a woman ruled his heart, as Berthe Wyndham ruled Mowbray's. + +Big Belt had lost his last reservation about his companion. He gave +everything to Peter that he had given to Lonegan and something more-- +for the field called a little more, and perhaps Peter called a little +more. The extent of Boylan's loyalty had nothing to do with words or +matters of conduct so far, but it was a huge affair, a suggestion of +which came to the younger man from time to time and humbled him. + +Twice during the first fortnight, Boylan had asked if this were +positively his first venture into the field with troops. "The reason I +ask," he explained later, "is that you appear to have been on the job +before." + +This would have been a matter interesting to the Old Man of _The +States_, according to Lonegan's story. + +"I miss the little guy," said Boylan, referring to Spenski. They were +anticipating the next day with the battery. + +"I miss Samarc, too," said Peter. + +Romanceless, remorseless routine. The day that followed was their +hardest, for they were pressing the Austrians, taking their punishment +but inflicting punishment, as if called of God to extinguish a nation. +The face of the world seemed turned from them, in Peter's fancy. He +marveled at what seemed the swift disintegration of an ancient worldly +establishment like Austria--going down unsung. It was not like a +country losing its identity, though that had to do with the facts; but +rather like a shadow passing, to be followed, not by sunlight, but by +another shadow of different contour and texture. + +"We put such store by names," he muttered, as he watched the Austrian +infantry give way before them, "and yet, the world will get on with +other names just the same." + +...There had been no chance for talk. They had merely pressed the +hands of their friends, something darkly melancholy about Samarc, as +if his eyes were in deep shadow, and something luminous in the eyes +that shone from the haggard face of Little Spenski. They looked +forward to the night, as men famished and athirst in a pit listen to +the toil of rescuers. Almost the last thing that Peter remembered was +that the moon came up before the sun had set. The rapid-fire battery +was at work on a hot smoky hill, the shrapnel and larger pieces still +higher, and the great masses of infantry moving below among the wind- +driven hazes of the valley, their long necklaces, of white puffs, +showing and vanishing. + +Mowbray's ears were deadened to all sounds save from the immediate +machine-guns and the big hounds above; to his eyes the swaying strings +of infantry smoke-puffs in the valley were spectral and soundless. + +The Russians had taken the little town of Judenbach in the early +afternoon, but the Austrians gave them a stand two miles beyond, +finding solid position in a range of craggy hills. The Russians had +not cared to leave them there over night, but the dislodgment proved +difficult. The unlimbering of the batteries toward the end of the day +on the shoulders of a thickly-wooded mass (from which Peter watched +the infantry and the moonrise in daylight), was the final effort of +the day to drive the enemy farther afield from Judenbach. + +The two infantries were contending; gray Russian lines in the bottom +land and already advancing up the slopes. Day after day, smitten and +replenished--tillers of land becoming the dung of the land. Mowbray +had always pitied the infantry, and watched them now with unspeakable +awe and depression--moving up the slopes, lost in their white +necklaces of skirmish-fire, sprayed upon with steel vomit from the +Austrian machines. + +Samarc's battery was idle. It was often so, Boylan reported, when the +enemy's duplicate pieces were busy. + +Now withering--those gray Russian lines. They diminished, gave way, a +thin ghostly pattern of the whole, falling back. An Austrian sortie of +yellow-brown men to finish the task. + +"That's _our_ cue," Big Belt whispered. + +The officers were already finding the range and fall. Samarc's machine +was set, before his superior spoke. Peter saw what a week had done for +him. Samarc seemed old at the task, already to have grown old. Spenski +at the hopper--and the mutilating racket on. Between fire, Peter could +not hold in mind the inconceivable magnitude and velocity of these +sounds. His brain seemed to plow under, as it does the great events of +pain, the impress of hideous suffering which the proximity of the +machines caused. Yet at every firing the damnable things hurt him +more. Fast beyond count, as the threads break in a strip of canvas +torn with one movement--yet each crackling thread here meant projected +steel. + +They saw their work on the Austrian infantry lines. Yet always more +infantry would come forth, and in the silence following the machines, +the gray Russian lines stole forward again. Such was the slow battle +vibration. + +A company of sappers was below, opening the wood of the slope, so that +the machine fire would not be impeded in case the Austrians drove back +the infantry beyond the hollows at the bottom of the valley. A hundred +yards down they were working like beavers among the trunks of cedar +and balsam, when a shrapnel broke among them. The Russian higher +batteries had been trying the same game among the Austrian +emplacements, but could not see results. + +All battery men near the two Americans knew well that the Austrians +would note _that_ explosion of their shrapnel, and would relate +the range to the higher positions above. That one shot showed the +Russian artillerymen that their position was untenable. It was not +that the Austrians could see the damage they inflicted in one company +of sappers, but that the shattering blow in plain sight from their +position would show the exact means to displace the higher pieces that +devastated their infantry. + +"We've got to get out of here," Boylan whispered. Again as he spoke +the orders to retire came quietly as a bit of garrison gossip, and as +coldly. Horses came running down for the ammunition carts; every +muscle of man and beast had its work now. + +In thirty or forty seconds Austrian shrapnel would land higher. Peter +was tallying off the seconds, wondering if they would get clear.... At +this moment he noted that the moon had come up and that the sun was +not yet sunk. The two on the eastern and western rims of the world +were almost of a size and color, very huge and alike, except that one +dazzled the eyes--the difference between incandescence and reflection. +The whole dome was lost in florid haze. He almost laughed at what +followed in his mind, so strange is the caravan of pictures that +hurries through in action. It was the beauty above and ghastly waste +of the infantry that brought back to his brain the reason and decency +of the ants in the burning log--their order in contrast to this +chaos.... + +The Austrians were workmen. Their searching shrapnel had been quite +enough. Samarc's battery had begun to move, when they landed in the +heart of it. All was changed about, and new. The silence was like a +deep excavation, and the smell of fresh ground was in the air. + +Peter did not see Boylan. He arose, half crawled up the torn ground to +the place where Spenski and Samarc had stood. They were some distance +--a saving distance for Mowbray--when he saw Samarc arise, his face +sheeted in red. Samarc was staring about for Spenski. Presently, Peter +followed the eyes of Samarc and saw the little man--half down, but +looking up toward his friend, the eyes wide open; also Spenski's +mouth, and the most extraordinary smile in the red beard. + +Peter crawled a step nearer. There was no voice yet. He was tranced +before this meeting of the companions, each of whom saw none but the +other. Spenski had been partly kneeling, but as Samarc approached, his +head bowed slowly down, and the smile was gone. + +"Come on--they'll do it again!" + +Peter heard the words--but did not know who spoke them--possibly +Boylan from behind, possibly _he_ had said it. He had not seen +Samarc's lips move. + +The voice was an offense in that silence. + +Now Peter saw none but Spenski, until Samarc reached him, lifted, +called. Peter saw the body raised from the ground to Samarc's arms-- +saw the little man's body open upon his friend like a melon that has +rotted underneath. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +All went black for Peter. The slope rose up and took him. For an +eternity afterward he felt someone tugging at him--hands of terrible +strength that would not let him die, would not let him sleep. After +that a familiar voice began calling at intervals. + +"Hello," said Peter at last. "What have I been doing?" + +"Not anything that you've pulled before. Is this an old habit?" + +"What?" + +"Passing out unhurt--lying like a log for an hour or two?" + +"No, it's a new one. Where are we?" + +"Judenbach. It's past supper time--" + +Peter sat up, wobbled. The terrible hands steadied him again. He knew +now what had lamed him. + +"Where is she?" he asked. + +"Huh?" + +"I was wondering what hit me?" + +"Now, you're getting glib again," said Boylan. Peter's reserve had +interposed. His absence had something to do with her, but he could not +remember. "Where is she?" had got away from him as he crossed the +border back into the racking physical domain. He didn't like that. + +"Did I say anything?" + +"Nothing that will be used against you," Boylan observed. "As for what +hit you--that's the mystery. Not a scratch in sight.... I was behind. +You were standing still as a sentry after that shrapnel. Presently you +bowled over--" + +"That shrapnel?" + +"Yep--" + +There was an instant of silence; the picture returned and wrung a +groan from Peter. All the energy of his life rebelled against _the +fact_. Boylan's hand tightened upon him. For the moment Mowbray was +in a kind of delirium. + +"The moon had just come up," he said, "like another sun. The real sun +was still in the sky from our hill." + +"I know. I was there. Cut it, Peter." + +"Where is Samarc?" + +"In one of the hospital buildings, likely. I meant to find him as soon +as I could leave you--" + +"I'll go with you." + +Big Belt fumbled in his saddled bags for a flask, brought it in one +hand, a cup of water in the other.... + +They were in the streets, very dark. Once they were caught in a swift +current of sheep driven in for the commissary. Judenbach sat on the +slope of a hill, a little city, its heart of stone, very ancient, its +"hoopskirts," as Boylan said, made of woven-cane huts. Already the +stone buildings of the narrow main street were crowded with wounded. +The correspondents were not permitted far either way from +headquarters. Finally it was necessary to get Dabnitz of the staff to +conduct them.... It had all been a jumble of ambulances at nightfall +from the field, the lieutenant said. Russian soldiers were not +ticketed. Many faces on the cots were bandaged beyond recognition. The +three gave up at midnight, Peter gaining strength rather than losing +it in the later hours. Orders were that the streets be emptied of all +but sentries. + +"No, nothing like that--" said Boylan, as Mowbray sank to the floor by +his blanket roll. "You haven't had supper--" + +"Don't, Boylan.... I say, what do they do with the dead?" + +Rain was pattering down; the smell of drugs reached them. + +"It _does_ make a difference when you know one of them--doesn't +it?.... God, man, we're cluttered with wounded. The dead are at peace--" + +"I wonder what stars he's watching to-night?" + +"Come, come. Peter--" + +"I know.... I know, Boylan. Only it shows me something. He was a great +workman. There are things in the world that can't be done because he's +gone. There are others like him. He had a girl. He had a friend. He +had us--" + +Boylan decided that talking was good. He listened and prepared soup. + +"And to-morrow they're at it again," said Peter. + +"It won't look the same in the morning--" + +Peter did not answer. + +"Anyway, you didn't bring on the war, Peter--" + +"It makes a man cold with that kind of cold a supper-fire don't help." + +"Peter, you've got me stopped with your moods--like a woman. Women +were always too profound for Mr. B. B. Boylan--" + +"Sorry. You've been a prince. I'll do better now. I'll get out of it. +Little shock--that's all. I think it wasn't so much physical. +Something changed all around. I've been taking things as I found them +so long. That helps to bring on a war--" + +Boylan glanced at him narrowly. + +Peter laughed. "I'm all right. Head's working." + +Big Belt sighed. "I loved that little guy, too. God, I'd run east to +Asia and keep on running rather than meet his girl." + +Peter drank hot soup and slept. Next morning it was like a hard +problem that one has slept upon and awakened with the process and +answer straight-going. They had not searched ten minutes (calling +"Samarc" softly among the cots where the faces were bandaged) before a +hand came up to them. It was Peter who took it; and as their hands +met, the whole fabric of the man on the cot broke into trembling. They +understood. Samarc had been lying there rigid with his tragedy. +Peter's touch had been enough to break the dam of his misery. + +"_I have ceased to kill,_" he said. + +The head was twice as big with bandages; yet under that effigy, so +terrible was the intensity of the moment, Peter became conscious of +ruin there, also of a sudden icy cold in the morning air. Samarc's +powerful hand still clutched his. The voice that had emerged from +under the cloths was still in his ears. It had seemed to come as water +from a pipe--loosely, the faucet gone. The hand was unhurt. + +"_...He came in the night. I did not speak--but my heart was +fighting against the guns. He was moving here and there. He turned to +me, as if I had suddenly cried out, 'What shall I do?'...'You can +cease to kill,' he said._" + +Boylan was watching Peter. His face turned gray. + +They received the intelligence of the words, as they came, although at +another time the mouthing would have been inarticulate as wind in one +of Judenbach's archaic street-lamps. + +"I'll stay with him, Boylan," said Peter, choosing the hardest thing, +but Big Belt would not leave, though the Russian columns were moving +in the street--off to renew the battle among the hills. The two sat by +until Samarc slept. + +* * * + +They were in the street again, moving close to the walls, for the +cavalry was crowding the narrow highway. They crossed finally to a +stone-paved area at the side of Judenbach's main building. Their feet +were upon the stone flags of this court, when Dabnitz suddenly hurried +forward, with a gesture for them to stand back. + +"Just a moment, my friends," he said. "A little formality, but very +necessary--" + +Peter lifted his eyes, perceived three men standing bare-headed +against the wall of head-quarters, twenty paces away. One of them +exclaimed, his voice calm but penetrating: + +"We are not spies. We do not care to turn our backs. We are not afraid +to die, for we have made our lives count--" + +It was the voice of a public speaker; the voice of a man making good +many words.... Dabnitz stepped between Boylan and Mowbray, stretching +out his arms before them. It was all in an instant. They saw Dabnitz's +apologetic smile--and a Russian platoon at their right, rifles raised +--then the ragged volley. + +Each of the three fell differently. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Boylan and Peter sat together in the ante-room of headquarters. They +did not speak. Peter was getting down to the quick. He thought many +things which a man never tells another man, and seldom tells a woman; +yet they were matters of truth and reason, no sentiment about them. He +recalled many incidents of early years in which his mother had tried +to teach him sensitiveness and mercy. Until now her effort seemed to +have been wasted. It had been more simple and appealing to him to +follow his father's picture of manhood. Possibly his mother had +wearied of pitting her will against his. He had grown up under his +father's control and ideal. As it looked to him now, he had become all +that was obvious and average and easy; while his mother's passion had +been for him to become one of the singular and precious and elect.... +He would never have seen this so clearly had it not been for Berthe +Wyndham. She had given him a kind of new birth, taken up the work +wherein his mother had failed.... + +Dabnitz came in. The young staff-officer was handsome, soldierly, +black-eyed. His manner was one of enfolding cheerfulness. He had +proved fair and kindly, temperate in his tastes and delicate in his +appreciations of humor and natural effects. He could express himself +fluently in Russian, German, English and French, but was a caste-man +to the core, a militarist and autocrat. As such he proved rather +appalling to Peter Mowbray on this day. + +"Is General Kohlvihr out with the fronts?" Boylan asked. + +"He's in the field, but not at the front. We got the point yesterday, +you see. I'd rather be in the van every day than left to these matters +of clean-up--" + +Peter looked up at him. "Is there much of this to do?" + +"I'm afraid so. They work among the hospitals. You don't catch many of +them in the ranks--" + +"Perhaps they would rather tend the wounded than to make the wounds." + +Dabnitz smiled cheerfully. "They're afraid of their hides. When a man +does a lot of talking, he is generally shy on action--" + +Peter saw the ease of the acceptance of this view on the part of the +others; saw how clearly it was the view of the military man. + +"And yet it was a clean-cut death of that talker and his two +companions you just executed--" + +"An exception now and then," Dabnitz granted. + +"How do you catch them?" + +"We have a system at work for that purpose--everywhere, especially in +the hospitals. There isn't much temporizing when we get them." + +Peter Mowbray's skull prickled with heat and his face was cold with +sweat. + +"What do they preach?" he managed to ask. + +"Sometimes for men to rise and go home; sometimes for them to cease to +kill, and sometimes to shoot down the officers. It isn't all that a +man has to do now to lead his men forward," Dabnitz observed. "He must +do that, of course, but all the danger isn't in front. It doesn't +follow that a man has turned his back upon the enemy nowadays--if he +happens to be found with a wound in the back." + +"Were these--these that you put out this morning--working in the +hospitals?" + +"Yes." + +Peter turned away. + +"In a good many cases we bring a man to his feet again from a bad +wound--to find him not a soldier but a damned anarchist." + +"It's expensive and cumbersome also to carry such a hospital system +afield," Peter observed. + +Dabnitz did not catch the irony. "Yes, it would be cheaper and simpler +to put a hard-hit soldier out of his misery--" + +Boylan, watching Peter's face, suddenly arose, suggesting that they +ride out toward the fighting. ....When they were alone, he added: + +"I know you don't want the front to-day, but it was very clear that +I'd better get you out of there....Peter, did you ever kill a man?" + +"No." The question did not seem wild to either of them--there by the +open court of Judenbach. + +"I knew a man who did. I saw him getting whiter and whiter like your +face--and looking into his victim's eyes in that queer surprised way +you looked at Dabnitz. It wasn't in the field; in a city bar-room. I +didn't look for what happened--but I knew something was coming. The +fool went on talking, talking. The other watched him, and when all the +blood was burned out of him....Great God, here I am talking blood--" + +"It's in the air," said Peter. "It's hard to breathe!....No, I won't +go down front to-day. I wish I could go back--back--oh, to the clean +Pole--no, to some little snowy woods in the States....Boylan, does it +suffocate you?" + +"It's different from anything I knew," said Boylan. "It's so damned +businesslike. Something's come over the world. War was more like a +picnic before. I never saw it like this. I believe we've gone crazy." + +They stood before the main building, just at the entrance of the stone +court--halted by the hideous outcry that reached them from another +building just a few doors below. It was as if a strong man were being +murdered by torture. The big cannons boomed up the narrow cobble-paved +road from the field. As far as they could see in either direction, the +street was crowded with soldiers, stepping aside for artillery going +south, and the stream of ambulances coming in from the front. Passing +them now from the street into the court was a cortege, little but +grim--a Cossack trooper leading two bare-headed men by a rope attached +to his saddle, a Cossack non-commissioned officer walking behind with +raised pistol. Both the prisoners were young, one a mere boy, yet he +was supporting the elder. Peter's eyes turned to the blank wall of the +main building where Dabnitz had been busy as they passed. To the +right, in the gloom from the walls, was a row of iron gratings, the +windows knocked out--darkness under the low stone lintels. + +Peter had not noticed before this dim square, within the square. His +mind dwelt upon it now in the peculiar way of the faculties, when +thoughts are too swift and too terrible to bear....It was like +something he had seen before, the dark little square. Yes, it was like +part of a recess yard he had known in an old school-building years +ago.... + +He couldn't keep off the reality long. In every direction the +murderous army--no song, no laugh, no human nature, no love, no work, +but death. He was imprisoned. And somewhere near or far in the midst +of such a chaos, was Berthe Wyndham. Could she live in this?.... Peter +was suicidal, very close to that, a new thing to him. Queerly he +realized that death would be easy for himself, simple, acceptable. For +there was no escape. They would not let him go. There was no place +that one could go out of the army. Not even the dead go back.... It +would not be fair to her. She might live, and call to him afterward. +He did not think she could live, but there was that chance. He thought +of his mother--quite as a little boy would, his lip quivering.... He +started at the touch of Boylan's hand. + +"I'll tell you what we'll do," Big Belt said. "We'll write, Peter. +We'll get out the machines to-day. We'll write a story--just as if we +could file it on a free cable. It will do us good. We'll tell the +story--" + +"We'd have to eat it....Boylan, if I should tell this story on paper, +the Russians would burn it and me and the house in which it was +written....No. I must work better than that. Come back. I want +Dabnitz--" + +Boylan drew him face about. + +"You're not going to--" + +"No--no. I wasn't thinking of killing him. It wouldn't do any good. +One would have to kill all the officers and save enough energy for the +Little Father at the last. No, I want him to help me--" + +They found him at headquarters. + +"Lieutenant Dabnitz," Peter said, his hand upon the Russian's +shoulder, speaking very quietly, "I feel like a fool doing nothing all +day long--and so much to do. I want you to take me over to that +hospital Samarc is in, and set me officially to work. Let me be +orderly, anything, to-day. I want to help, if you'll forgive me--" + +"Gladly, Mr. Mowbray. I'm sure they'll be very glad. Of course, they +are always short-handed in the hospitals." + +"Thanks." + +Boylan's heart gave a thump at the new light in Mowbray's eyes. + +"I'll go along, too," he said. "I'm the daddy of them all, when it +comes to lifting." + +A ragged platoon volley crashed from the court as they entered the +street. Peter's steps quickened. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Of course, they did not know it in _The States'_ office, neither +the Old Man nor his managing editor, but a way had been found to +_rock_ Peter Mowbray. Indeed he would have been rocked to pieces +had he not found his work that day in Judenbach. ....When no one was +listening, he would talk to the wounded. Peter discovered that there +was a woman in him, as many a field-man has discovered. In fact he +came to believe that we are all mixed men and women, and that it is +the woman in us that suffers most. He had a suspicion that there was a +woman in Boylan, and had to smile just there. He sank into the work, +and saved himself. Samarc appeared to be asleep. + +He would have laughed to have heard his own talk afterward. A man does +not remember what he says to a loved horse, or to a dog that looks up +in passing. Innocent as that, Peter's sayings to the wounded and +dying. Had there been spies about, the American would have been +counted eminently safe. He had to talk; his heart was so full; it was +part of the action that saved him. All the time there was in the +background of his mind a steady amazement at himself--something of +his, aloof, watchful, that was not exactly ready to accede to all this +change and emotion, and yet was not strong enough to prevent. + +Twice through the long forenoon he saw a little black-whiskered +orderly, eyes dark and wide and deep, his nose sensitive and finely +shaped, his shoulders unsoldierly. Once his cap fell as he went to +lift a pan, and Peter saw as noble a brow as ever dignified a man. He +went to him and, as he stood there, he found there was nothing to say. + +"Who are you?" the other asked. + +"That's what I was trying to think to ask you?" Peter said with a +smile. "I am Mowbray, an American correspondent--" + +"Why are you here?" He pointed to the cots. + +"I had to do something." + +"The misery called to you?" + +"Perhaps. To be sure, I'd better say my own misery made me come." + +They talked in French. + +"It is all the same. You are not a beast." + +"I'm not sure," said Peter. + +"That is good, too. I'm glad you have come. All morning I have watched +you...." + +"You did not answer me. Who are you?" + +"I am Moritz Abel." + +He held a wash basin in one hand, a bit of linen in the other--this +man who had done such a poem that the glory of the future flashed back +through it, to sustain and to be held by men. It was a queer moment. +Facing each other, Mowbray thought of Spenski--as if the little lens- +maker stood behind the narrow shoulders of the poet.... Was it only +the little red-headed body that they had killed"? Would the immortal +come back with a new story of the stars? Thus Peter found himself +thinking of Spenski, with this lover of new Russia before him. And +would the destroyers slay this one too?... Now his humanity came back +in a cloud, and he shuddered at the thought of Russia murdering the +man who wrote _We Are Free_.... Perhaps it was the woman in him +that made him say: + +"I hope _you_ live through the long night, Monsieur." + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Moritz Abel stepped nearer. In the silence Peter grew embarrassed. +What he had said would sound without footing since the poet did not +understand the trend of his thoughts. He meant to, add what _the +long night_ signified, and wanted his saying really known for what +it was--an utterance of pure passion against the destruction of +genius. The other replied, making all explanation unnecessary: + +"I knew you for one of us. It is the long night, but it is a great +honor for us to be here and at work." + +"Where are your companions?" + +The Russian smiled. "They are all about through the dark of the long +night. We may only signal in passing. In fact, I must go now--" + +The surgeon in charge had entered. Peter went to Samarc's cot, +steeling himself. "Samarc," he whispered, without bending, "Samarc--" + +The wounded man stirred a little, moaned, but did not answer.... In +the far corner Boylan was moving cots (occupants and all) closer +together for the admission of more. His sleeves were rolled. Near him +a little woman, whose waist was no larger than the white revelation of +Boylan's forearm, was directing the way, the giant of the Polar +Failure struggling to please. Something of ease and uplift had come to +Peter from this, and from the passing of Moritz Abel. Silently +battling with Dabnitz, with Kohlvihr, with king's desire and the +animal of men, was this service-thing greater than all, greater than +death.... A soldier called and he went toward the voice. Presently +Peter was jockeying him into good humor with low talk. + +All day the battle tortured the southern distance--the cannonading +nearer, as the hours waned. The Austrians were holding their own or +better. It was the fiercest resistance which the Russian columns had +as yet encountered. All afternoon wounded were brought back. It became +more and more difficult to move among the cots in the building. So it +was with all Judenbach that was not in ruins. Twice through the +afternoon there were volleys in the court below; and when the two went +forth for food, they saw a soldier carrying baskets of dirt from the +street, and covering the stone flags close to the main building.... +And from that grim house a little down the street, came at intervals, +shocking their senses, the hideous outcry as of murder taking +place.... Boylan went down into the field an hour before sunset, Peter +back to the hospital. + +"I'll see what I can find," Big Belt remarked. "You're right to go +back, Peter. As for me, I can stand it better outdoors." + +Crossing the street, it seemed to Peter that he had been in Judenbach +certain ages, a reckonable space of eternity--despite the lowering sun +which calmly informed him that at this time yesterday the Austrians +had found the range of Samarc's battery with a shrapnel or two. Many +things had come to him. He wished as never before for a free cable.... +Boylan came in at dark and drew him away from Samarc's cot. + +"I'll be back to-night," Peter promised. + +"...There's been no break in the check to-day," Big Belt reported. +"Kohlvihr's division, and the immediate forces surrounding, are part +of the great right wing, and this right is holding up the whole +Russian command. I heard Kohlvihr explaining to the Commander's aide +that the Austrians here had been reinforced; that they gave us +Judenbach for the taking yesterday, in order to fall back into the +hills beyond. The center and left, it appears, is clear, ready to +fight on to Berlin or Budapest, but the whole line is held up for this +right wing. Kohlvihr is desperate. There'll be a hard pull to get +across the hills to-morrow--all hands, Peter." + +"This may be our last night in Judenbach then?" + +"If killing a division will start a hole across that range of hills, +it's our last night--" + +I'll sit it out with Samarc," Peter said. + +"Go to it, if you think best. You were a mighty sick woman this +morning. Something in yonder helped you. I'll see you through for +another treatment." + +"Boylan, don't you stay up. You've roughed it to-day and been afield. +Don't let me spoil your sleep--with a big day ahead. It wasn't lack of +sleep that got my nerve this morning--" + +"Oh, I'll yap around till bedtime," said the other. "What does Samarc +say?" + +"Something has come over him. Some one came to him last night and +seemed to drive a nail right into his thinking--pinned him." + +"He's turned against the killing?" + +"Yes. And he'll be restless to-night, sleeping so much to-day.... At +least, he made the appearance of sleeping. I think he was shocked to +hear his voice.... His eyes are right enough. But below--" + +"What made you think he had the appearance of sleeping?" + +"It just occurred to me. He didn't want to take all my time. I +whispered his name several times--no answer. Once when I was leaving, +his hand reached up and touched my coat." + +"Is he hurt badly?" + +"Not a thing in the body. It's between his throat and his eyes.... You +know I saw him last night after the shrapnel as he lifted--it was just +a sheet of blood. Afterward it was covered in cloth. I don't think he +knew until this morning, when he started to talk." + +"He was all knit to the little man," Boylan said. "As good a pair as I +ever met afield.... Oh, I say, eat something--" + +Peter smiled at the big fellow and turned to his soup and black bread. +He didn't say what he thought, but it had to do with his own field +companion this time. + + * * * + +...Midnight. Boylan had gone back to quarters. Peter's ward was low- +lit and still. ...The wounded man's hands waved before his bandage, as +if to detract attention from the windy blur of his utterance. Samarc +wanted to die. + +"You know it was because of me that he came--" he repeated. + +"But you mustn't suffer for that. Really, Samarc, a man couldn't have +been a better friend than you. Spenski would tell you so if he could. +These are times for men to _live_. I wanted to kill myself this +morning. You know I was behind you on the hill, too. That, and the +tragedy all about, and then they were murdering spies and martyring +real Fatherland men out in the court--as if there wasn't enough death +afield. It was too much for me. Old Boylan helped me, but if I hadn't +come in to work, I'd have shot my head off. Here--men dying hard and +easy; men and women serving; so much to do,--I got better. Death isn't +everything. I'm not a genius or a dreamer, man. I'm so slow at +dreaming and brotherhood and all that, that a woman once ran from me. +But I saw to-day that death isn't all. I don't know what else there +is, but this is a sort of long night, this war. A few of us are awake. +If we are put to sleep--that's all right--I mean knocked out, you +know. But so long as we are not, we've got to watch and root for the +dawn. God, man, there is much to do. We've got to make our lives +count--" + +He was bending forward talking very low. He thought from the pressure +of Samarc's hands that he was gaining ground. It was queer and +laughable to himself--this line of talk that came to him. He knew so +well the pangs of that suicidal suffocation, that he could talk for +the very life of the other. He added: + +"A little black-whispered man looked up from his soap and towels this +morning. His hat fell off, and I saw he had come a long ways. He +looked at me again, and I spoke to him. Samarc, it was another of +these little whirlwinds of human force--a master workman like the man +you loved. + +"It was Moritz Abel who wrote _We Are Free_.... + +"And there are others--like Spenski and Abel--some of them dead--some +to die to-morrow. Do you think the good God would let them die so +easily if it wasn't all right? But we mustn't die without making our +lives count." + +Peter's eyes were covered by slender hands. It was like passing a +garden of mignonette in the night, that fleeting perfume of the hands. + +"Oh, Peter, how sweet to see you and hear your voice!" + +It seemed that he became molten in her presence. A heavenly +_adagio_ after a prolonged movement of sin and shame and every +dissonance. It was as if she had come from a bath of peace to him; +another inimitable moment in the life of his romance. He turned to +her, holding fast to the hand that was stretched toward him. He +cleared his voice. + +"Excuse me, Samarc," he said. + + + + +III + +THE HOUSE OF AMPUTATIONS + +Chapter 1 + + +They looked long into each other's faces. "You were wonderful as you +spoke of your friend. Did you know that, Peter?" + +He turned away deprecatingly. + +"Forgive me. Of course you didn't know." "...And you meant to come all +the time?" he asked at last. + +"Yes." + +"I should have known it.... That day--that day across the siding--why, +Berthe, it was almost more than I could stand. I had just been +thinking of you." + +"We were like two spirits who hadn't earned the right to be together," +she said. + +"I'm afraid it's dangerous now," he answered. "One mustn't have a +whim, other than to extinguish the enemy. The army is afraid of +itself. All day--" + +Though he checked himself, she knew his thought. + +"Yes, all day, they murdered white-browed men in the court below." + +"Berthe--" + +"Yes." + +"I want you to guard your life--as if it were mine--just that." + +All surroundings were melting away from them. She had never seen him +like this.... Even Samarc could not hear their whispers. + +"You came like an angel, Berthe,--all I ever want of an angel. I tell +you I am proud." + +"Of what, Peter?" + +"That I had sense enough to go a second time to the Square at Warsaw." + +"I'm glad, too.... If we were only in the winter stillness--" + +They were silent. Samarc's hand came up to Peter, and drew him close. +It was clear that he could not bear the woman to hear his struggle for +speech. "Tell her about Spenski," came to Peter's ears in the lipless +mouthing. + +Berthe saw that Peter was ghostly white, as he lifted his head. She +thought it had to do with what the wounded man said. + +Peter began at random, gathering his thoughts on the wing. Nothing +hurt him in quite the same way as that suggested havoc under the +bandage. He steadied himself, and talked of the little lens-maker. +Strength came from the joy he was giving Samarc.... It seemed that +they were quite alone. He told of the night of stars, of the little +man's superb sensitiveness.... She bent to Samarc at last. + +"You wanted him to tell me?" + +He nodded. There was something intensely pathetic in it all. Her eyes +were full of light. + +"The story thrills me," she whispered. "Oh, this is very far from a +hopeless world. What I have seen to-day--even the fortitude of +infamous men--manhood, black and white--the war within the war. Don't +you see, all Russia is out here in the wilderness casting forth her +demon? We must not mind blood nor death--for the result means the life +or death of the world's soul!" + +Once she would have seemed very far and remotely high to Peter +Mowbray.... They had drawn a little apart from the cot. + +"What made you so white?" she asked. + +"It's my weakness. We rode together for days and quartered together. +He was so clean-cut. It's the way his words come. And he seems so +utterly bereft without the little man." + +She pressed his hand in understanding. + +"Berthe, do you sleep? Do you take food? Are you well? Are they good +to you? Can you live through?" + +"Yes, and what of you?" + +"All is quite well with me. I can endure anything with the hope of +taking you home afterward." + +"We must be ready to give up that, too. It is hard; it's our ordeal-- +but if the end should appear, we must find strength to look it in the +face. These are the times for heroics. Every real emotion that I have +ever known is a lie--if those who love each other well enough to love +the world--do not pass on. Why, Peter, you said the same to him-- +speaking of his friend and Moritz Abel, 'Do you think the good God +would let such men die so easily, if it weren't all right?'" + +"Did I say that?" + +She drew back her head, looking him through and through. + +"Peter, it's the child in you that I love. You're so much a man, and +they all think of you as a man, man--all your training to be a man-- +and yet it's the child that a woman's heart sees and wants to preserve +for her own." + +"Do you see much of Moritz Abel?" he asked. + +"Yes.... It was he who found you for me." + +Peter was watching her red lips now. It was like that morning in her +room, the tall flowers between. He did not hear what she was saying. +The room was dim. Samarc's face was turned from them. One man in a +near cot flung his arms about his head wearily, but his eyes were +toward the wall.... He caught her in his arms and loved the beauty of +earth in her face. + +"...Peter, we must forget ourselves!" + +"I can't forget you. I want you as you are," he repeated in tumult. "I +want you here in the world--as you are now! We'll stand for what we +can't help. There's no use fighting the end if it comes. The greatest +thing here to a man will be the greatest thing after he's dead--that's +clear enough. But I haven't had you here--only a few minutes. I want +the winter stillness _on earth_--in the woods--not in some +paradise yet." + +"Hush--I want it too. Oh, you can never know how much!... I had better +go now--" + +"Not until I know all about you. To-morrow is to be the big day of the +battle. All may be changed. If it's a Russian victory, this is our +last night in Judenbach--" + +"You will go out to the fronts?" + +"Yes, for a little, but I shall watch how the day fares, so I can +hurry back." + +"To-day--we were just a stone's throw apart. I was in that building +down the street--the amputation cases." + +"Not the house where those cries come from?" + +"Yes, we work there. Moritz Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, the singer, and +others.... This morning I thought I could not bear to live. It was as +you told him--about yourself. You see we had no anesthesia, except for +cases of life or death--among the officers." + +"And you came to me from a day like that?" he asked unsteadily, his +passion blurred, even the beauty of it. The chance of her living had +suddenly darkened. + +"It was like coming home," she whispered. "...In Warsaw before your +day--sometimes crossing the Square in the darkness--I used to think +what it would mean to come to a house of happiness, after a long cruel +day. It seemed too far from me; sometimes even farther than now. When +I came in here to-night, and heard your voice--I knew what it would +mean to come home. We must not ask too much. Many have never known +what has been given to us--in these few minutes." + +"We must not ask too much," he repeated. + +She saw that he had a vivid picture of her day in that house of +amputations, that the picture had stunned him. + +"But, Peter, I have seen such courage to-day. It was a revelation. All +that I had seen of isolated courage before in the world--all was there +to-day, and ten times more, there in the blood and torture. And +Poltneck sang to them--sang to the maimed and limbless--sang through +the probings--with the sound of the cannon in the distance and more +wounded coming in. He sang of home and Fatherland--even of the old +Fatherland. The many love the old still; it is only the few who love +the dream of the new.... We must not ask too much. The new spirit is +being born into the world. This war is greater than we dream of. In +Warsaw I could see only the evil, but here--under everything--is the +humble and the heroic in man. Hate and soldiery are just the surface. +That which is beneath will be above--" + +She was far from him now; the white flame in her face. He saw that he +could only go on through the days and work and wait and trust in the +God he had told Samarc to trust in. How easily--without an impress of +memory, he had said that; and how heroic to accomplish--for mere man. + +He did not answer--just looked at her. He saw her turn and smile. +Moritz Abel was standing there. + +"I cannot tell you--what it meant to me to see you two standing so," +he said. "And this place of quiet--you two and your paradise!... Let +me see, it occurred to me to suggest--" + +He found himself reluctant to finish. He had spoken lightly as if to +propose that they would be more comfortable in another room--but his +thoughts concerned the volleys in the court. They knew it. + +"The staff knows me rather well," said Mowbray. "I was counting on +that, but one cannot be sure--" + +"There has been no secret," she said. "Will you come in the morning +before the columns go out?" + +"Yes, it will be early." + +"I'll be watching. If not--he will be there to tell you why." + +Peter turned to the poet. "Watch over her--won't you?" + +"You honor me, Mr. Mowbray. All that I can do--be very sure of." + +She went to Samarc's cot and took his hand. Peter saw her face +differently, as she leaned. It was one of the mysteries that her +tenderness was the face of one woman, her sorrow another. + +"Good-by--good-night." + +.... A little later Peter found himself with Samarc's hand in his. He +had been sitting by the cot watching the war within the war, head +bowed on his free hand. It was a struggle of white and black--of +knights and kings, plumes and horses, white and black.... Now the +wounded man seemed sending messages through his hand. The lamps were +low. + +"It's been the day of days, Samarc," Mowbray said. "You brought me +something that I needed very much. I wish I could do as much for you. +Let me know, won't you, if I can?... Yes, I'll be right here through +the night--" + +He heard the tread of soldiers in the hollow-sounding court below-- +clanking accouterments, heavy steps. There was a halt, a voice, and a +long moment before he breathed. It was just a change of sentries, +perhaps. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Just a moment's talk in the street--twice interrupted by sentries, as +they moved the hundred yards from the courtyard of Judenbach to the +house of amputations. + +"...He was trying to lift a man from the hopelessness of death when I +stepped up quietly behind," Berthe was saying. "He was wonderful about +it, because he had felt the same hopelessness. I wish you could have +heard him." + +Moritz Abel said: "He is effective. He is intellect and heart--very +sound. His vision will come quickly. He does not wing--that is our +trouble. We are carried away. He is still within the comprehension of +the average man. We need him greatly. Also he needs us. What a man he +would be to steady us--to interpret for us. The new Fatherland must +have such men. It has been our destiny always to dream and to pass-- +another generation to make our vision flesh--" + +"You mean such men as Peter Mowbray would be direct interpreters?" she +asked. + +"Exactly. We are poets and artists and singers. We are the fathers of +the new Fatherland in a sense, but we need among us lawgivers and +statesmen--men who love men straight and not through the arts--men who +have the same zeal for men that the arts give us when we are pure, but +who are conservers and constructors, men of great force and acumen and +kindness--" + +"Oh, I know so well what you mean," she whispered. "If you could only +have heard him with the bandaged man--_'I am not a genius or a +dreamer, man. I am so slow at dreaming and brotherhood, and all that, +that a woman once ran away from me. But I saw to-day that death isn't +all.'"_ + +"Yes, that is it," Moritz Abel said. "That is the quality. And many +times among those who do not make claim nor talk of brotherhood, the +reality is beaming from their daily service. Yes, that is it. I hope +to know him better after the long night." + +They had reached the place of blood and torture. + +"And now you must rest a little," he told her. "You know he asked me +to take care of you. I like him for that. A man would see a great deal +in that, for he honored me." + +"And me--" she whispered. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +It was not yet dawn. Peter heard the moaning of the men as they awoke +and turned in their bandages. Surgeon and assistants passed through; +two of the latter remained to start up the malingerers. Machine and +rapid-fire men especially were needed at the front, it was said. Four +thousand men had fallen in the past three days, and this was to be the +day of the most furious battle--Kohlvihr to drive a hole through the +hills, this day. An early incident revealed certain facts--personal-- +and had a temporary numbing influence upon Mowbray. The day had risen +and Samarc awakened, when a strange orderly entered the ward, and came +leisurely to the cot where Peter sat: + +"What have you here?" + +"A shrapnel wound in the face." + +The orderly looked under the cot for the uniform, as if to determine +Samarc's place and rank. + +"Where's the blouse?" he asked. + +"It was covered with blood," said Peter. "They took it away." + +"What branch of the service?" + +Peter was not sure--infantry possibly. He didn't care for the +stranger's manner, nor to have this particular gunner of the rapid- +fire pieces hurried to the field unhealed. The orderly bent suddenly, +whispering. + +_"She told me to tell you that she wants to come, but that it isn't +safe--"_ + +...Moritz Abel looking for an interpreter would have been interested +now; also the Old Man of _The States_. The stranger had spoken +leisurely. Peter's temptation was conquered before he was half +through. + +"Are you sure you were to give me some message?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"But I wasn't expecting anyone." + +The other regarded him keenly. Peter was well trained for that. An +officer appeared in the doorway and beckoned the orderly. + +"It must have been a mistake," the latter muttered. + +Peter was thinking fast. The fact remained that their meeting the +night before had been noted. He was leaving for the field shortly; the +harm of suspicion would fall upon her. + +"I promised to call a moment this morning at the amputation house--but +no one was to come for me," he added. + +"I have made a mistake," the orderly repeated. + +"...I wonder if I have?" Peter thought. + +Samarc's hand came up to him, and the pull that meant he wanted to +speak. Peter invariably paled before this ordeal. Not through words +but sounds were the meanings tortured out.... Samarc meant to take the +field. In the usual course there would be no coming back for him at +nightfall, because he had "ceased to kill--" + +"But must your officers know?" Peter whispered. + +...The officers would know if it were the same old crew, because they +knew Samarc's work. This was the substance of the answer. + +"But why go?" + +...They would take off the bandages to be sure that he required +further hospital care. He could not endure that. The bandages must +never come off.... He would rather be afield. + +Peter saw the grim finality of it. Samarc wasn't changed. He meant to +end it. It was not only Spenski, but the havoc under the cloths.... + +A young assistant surgeon at a near cot was rather too hastily laying +bare the lint from a severe shoulder wound. + +Exchange with Samarc had of course stopped. Peter, thinking deeply, +watched with but half attention until the assistant surgeon briskly +rebound the wound, and began tugging at the soldier to get on his +feet. The wounded one whimpered his weakness. + +"Get up!" + +The order was repeated. "Into your clothes, man. Scores are already in +the column with wounds worse than yours." + +The man groaned, stirred, but fell back. Peter had seen the wound--not +a desperate one, but enough to lay a man up for a fortnight at home, +and this could not have been more than three days old. There wasn't +much chance of malingering. + +"Come, come!" the young officer urged angrily. + +The soldier tried to raise himself, but did not make good work of it. + +"I'll get you up, damn you--" + +A quick scream from the man on the cot. Peter did not know what the +doctor did, but he smelled acid. All was cloudy before his eyes. He +was a bit surprised a second after to feel the Russian's neck in his +two hands: + +"None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like +that," he was saying. + +The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage +was done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray +later. His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, +drawing on his clothes. + +"A bit of bad judgment," Peter said, not explaining whether it was his +or the young doctor's. + +The surgeon did not ask, but turned to the great muffled face. + +"This man was from one of the rapid-fire commands, I believe?" + +Peter was prevented from further glibness by a decisive nod from +Samarc. + +"The Fatherland will need you to-day," the surgeon said with a +peculiar significance. + +To Peter's trained ear the sounds from Samarc were dangerously like, +"Fatherland-hell." + +"A shrapnel splinter struck him in the mouth," he explained. "He says +he is ready to take the field." + +Samarc spoke again. + +"His blouse is gone," said Peter hastily. "I can manage for him." + +"Has he a fever?" + +"I'm afraid so--a slight fever." + +The surgeon turned to the other cot. "Let this fellow sleep another +day," he said. + +The soldier lying there gave Peter a look almost uncanny in its +gratitude. + +"Sit down, Samarc. I'll get you a blouse," the latter said and left +the ward. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt awoke early in his own quarters, and beat around under the +blankets for his friend. Peter was not there. Boylan remembered and +sat up. This was the day of the great battle, but there was to be +breakfast first. He recalled what was in the saddle-bags. This proved +unsatisfactory. Even that hinged on Peter, as every thought so far. +... Boylan now reflected that he might have stayed longer in the ward +last night. There was just as much to hold him to the cot of Samarc as +had called Peter. Altogether, the day was not beginning in a way to +suit, + +He sat in the center of a tired tangle of woolen blankets and buckled +on his leggings. His face pricked his chest as he bent forward. There +was a stabbing run of ideas that had to do with marble baths, tepid +plunges and fragrant steam. This collection he made haste to banish +with matters of the day, and the absence of Peter,--but the pictures +were various and persistent--exceptionally enticing baths from all his +history recurring. He stretched out his gray woolen shirt and brushed +it hard with handfuls of dried grass; he washed uncomfortably. It was +like an ablution before one is undressed--that pervasive beard affair +--and a general chill and dampness about clothes and boots that had not +yet worked warm. The day was alternate gray and red. Noise gained in +the street. Big Belt stepped forth. + +Just at this moment he saw Peter Mowbray disappear into that grim +street entrance from which the unspeakable human outcry had issued +yesterday. He followed, twisting into doorways to let provision wagons +pass, quickening his steps to cross between detachments of infantry. A +certain dead cavalry horse was powerful in the air. Boylan knew +exactly where it lay, for it had called attention these three days, an +Austrian property, saddle and all, a ghastly outpouring upon the turf. + +Boylan found himself stepping forward with a gladness that was +answered with sharp objection by his own nature, and which he would +not have let Peter Mowbray know for all Judenbach. He was disgusted +with the weakness that made a man friend such a profound institution +in his breast. + +The hall-way was dark. Boylan heard low voices; something from them +prevailed to hush his entrance. In fact, at the turning he stood quite +still for possibly three seconds. Beyond in the shadows Peter stood +with a woman. Afterward Boylan recalled that there had been one +poignant cry of pain from above, as if born of the monotone of moaning +in that house. + +They did not see him.... A little man appeared from the shadows, +joined the two, and handed Peter a Russian blouse such as is worn by +hospital stewards of the service. Peter thanked him; the other +departed; the two were once more alone.... The huge scarred head of +the old war-wolf withdrew jerkily; with stealth, he stepped back into +the street. He did not stop until he reached his own quarters. There +he found that he had not folded his blankets. In the midst of this +work his hands stopped.... He was as accustomed as any man can be to +unremoved horse by this time. It came steadily to his nostrils, +mingled with the leathery smell of his own field-outfit. Presently he +looked at his watch, and snapped the case shut with a crack. The +strength of his fingers would have broken a filbert. + +"Some men can find 'em anywhere," he muttered. "And such a one! She +was a flame.... As for Mr. B. B.--it's dead horse all his days." + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Ashamed of himself, Big Belt waited to see if Peter would turn in to +their quarters, as he approached carrying the hospital steward's +blouse across his arm. Boylan would not call. It was like a woman's +way--to learn if a man had forgotten her; still he would not call.... +Clean-shaven, very straight and full of life, Peter approached, +smiling at packers and soldiers, a smile for all the world. "Why not?" +Boylan thought. Peter did turn in, and came toward him, hand out. + +"Tomato ketchup with duck's eggs. Draw up a chair," said Boylan. He +appeared just now to see the steward's blouse. + +"Samarc takes the field to-day. It's for him," Peter explained.... +"He's going out to kill himself. Only one reservation--that he kill no +one else." + +Boylan seemed staring at Peter's knees. + +"You're letting the ketchup burn," Peter said mildly. + +"I suppose that's what he really means to do," Big Belt observed, +after a moment. "And what are we to do about it?" + +"I thought I would stand by a little--not so as to be a nuisance, you +know--" + +"Naturally not. Of course." + +They ate in silence--a thousand things to say. + +"I won't be very far from the staff," said Peter, hurrying back to the +hospital. "Poor old Samarc has two wounds, you know--" + +* * * + +It wasn't a day to explain things--not a day to talk. Men afield can +never tell what they are doing; some devilish irony is in the air. +They laugh; they listen; they hope--only a jest comes. The most +thrilling and stupendous situations bring forth but a curse or a roar. +Human throats are inarticulate, afield; the reality that voices heroic +utterance and makes it memorable is not at work in man-fabric; +splendid faces and brave actions--but the words are the revealers of +emptiness. For the animal is awake and upstanding; the spirit that +quickens reality is apart. + +The battlefield opened to Mowbray's eyes that day with abnormal +clearness, as if he had brought rest and reflection to a problem that +long had harried him, He felt singularly light and full of ease--as +one does sometimes in the first hours of the day after a sleepless +night. The day was wild with west wind, a touch of south still +clinging. The east arrayed itself again and again in all the delicate +blends of pink and gray, watery yellow, rose, and azure; a different +arrangement at each glance, as if separate groups of maidens followed +each around a Roman bath. + +Samarc was given a seat in an ammunition wagon, with orders to join +his battery. Peter found his horse, already saddled by Boylan, and +overtook the wagon train as it left the town. In a halt for the way to +clear, Kohlvihr and his staff passed, Dabnitz and Boylan riding +together. The General sat soft and lumpy in the saddle, his eyes small +and feverish, his face hotly red. The staff passed on, all except +Boylan believing that the correspondent had fallen in behind. Riding +with the wagons, Peter frequently turned to the terrifying bandage +above the steward's blouse. When the light was right, he caught a +glint of the eyes beneath. + +The way became steep for the wagons as they neared the emplacements. +Peter swung off and led his pony. Infantry was already engaged down in +the hollows; the reek of powder began to cut the air at intervals, but +the strong wind as often cleansed it away, and the scent of woods came +up startlingly, with the warmth of the sun upon the ground--the sweet +healing breath of drying cedar boughs. + +He was sorry now he had roughed it with the young doctor; that sort of +thing was very far from him. He had no memory of another episode like +it. On occasion, dropping into the queerest abstractions, he fancied +_her_ near.... It had been like a soldier leaving his lady for +the battle--the precious few minutes less than an hour ago. She had +promised to be with him. There had been no talk nor thought of the +terrifying day she faced in the hospital; everything had to do with +his taking the field. She would follow him with her thoughts. Perhaps +he would find his soul out there, she suggested, as he had never found +it before. Peter wondered now just what she meant by that. It was not +his way to fall back upon any such abstraction. + +He reflected how her presence always changed him, gave him strength of +a different sort, and directness of aim.... It was true that she +seemed near--on the other side from Samarc--a part of the mountain +fragrance that would not be overpowered in the gun-reek. He felt if he +could turn quickly enough he would catch the gleam of her colors. This +was her country. She was of the north and the cold lands; she belonged +to the purity of the cedars. + +He played with the thought that she was near; and from the thought, +because it was good, a glimpse of the future came to him--the peace to +come, when men would dwell again with their loves, and the dream of +superb affiliation would come true. All this madness of men would +pass, as the rising powder-reek would pass from these Galician hills, +and leave them their silence and their natural fragrance. + +The wagons had gone on. Samarc's battery might have been rubbed out +for all their ability to find it. All faces strange--gunners, range- +finders, and the cartridge hands. Peter felt a horror in his breast +for the immediate presence of the guns--as if he had reached the end +of toleration in the one day with them. Samarc felt this hate, too, +his ruling passion.... Any moment one of the rapid-firers might drum +into action. Their sense was one--that something would be uncoupled in +their minds. They turned, Peter laughing at his desire to run--as they +found another group of machines emplaced in a rocky shelter a little +higher than the spot where the shrapnel had struck three days before. + +No one called to them as they turned back. A small belated wagon train +rumbled by, but no one hailed them from the seats. They were free, +alone. Peter inhaled the scent of the forest, sharp again from the +acrid taint of the cool, hazy air. He loved the sweet mountain wind as +never before--almost as if he were to leave it all. There was little +need of exchange of words. Each understood mainly the thoughts of the +other. Big guns thundered at each other from the remoter hills. Again +they saw an infantry movement start forth below--the endless strings +of infantry along the broad lower slopes. They stopped to watch them. + +Creatures of the hollows, their business to rise and be swept back-- +marching forth now--Kohlvihr's command. Peter's eyes filled and his +throat stopped at the spectacle of the gray lines. Surely something +was the matter with him, he thought. Was it pathological--loss of +sleep, or fatigue? Or was it something that Spenski and Abel, the +field and hospital; more than all was it something that Berthe Wyndham +had given him? In any event, it seemed as if those infantry lines +marching out now to the burning front were being torn from his own +breast, every _moujik_ precious. He wanted to be with them, not +with the heinous guns. He wished he could spare them, stop the +continual sacrifice. Miles of gray lines moving out now. ...His +companion's tugging hand. + +It dawned upon Peter before many sounds that Samarc wanted to go +alone. He pointed the trail back around the hills toward Judenbach, +where it would meet the road Kohlvihr had taken, suggesting that Peter +join the staff. He, Samarc, would continue the search for his battery. +As a rule Mowbray was the last to continue in the presence of a man +who wanted him to go; and yet, he knew that Samarc hated the field +pieces as much as he, and that he did not mean to live through the +day. He hesitated. The final urging was pitiful--a sort of tumult from +under the cloths. + +"Nothing doing, Samarc," he said suddenly. "You and I for it--at least +a while yet. I say--do the hard thing. The little man would have it +so. We'll go down closer to the infantry stuff and forget ourselves." + +...Yes, Samarc would do the hard thing. There was gratitude for which +Peter had no receptivity--gratitude for the friendship, the night's +watching. His hand was taken and carried to the other's breast, as +only a Russian could do--and down they went together. + +The infantry was their magnet as they made the down grade--miles of +gray lines. The lower land was trampled and dusty; the breeze lost +itself in the hollows. Just as an orchardist, discovering a certain +parasite on his trees, thinks of a specific poison, so they knew that +this great "forward" of the Russian foot-soldiers would start the +Austrian machine and rapid-fire batteries. + +They were moving now in front of a long line of new Russian works +which had appeared deserted. Boylan would have known better; Samarc +should have known. Peter had taken for granted that these had been +emptied by the huge advances already in movement. They were in the +path of Kohlvihr's reserves, it appeared, in the center of the line, +when the signal "forward" was sounded. The works suddenly blackened +with men. It was too much for the pony. Peter found a bridle with a +broken throat latch in his hand, as he watched the little beast tear +down the front, and heard the roar of laughter from the oncoming line. + +The new front seemed endless in the rolling land. They were instantly +enveloped. Out of the throng appeared one face that Peter had bowed to +once or twice before--a captain, now working his way toward them. He +glanced at the civilian insignia on Peter's sleeve, and said, with a +smile: + +"You've tricked us well this time, Mr. Mowbray. I hope you get back as +cheerfully. You'll have to go forward now--at least, until we stretch +out in skirmish. We're rather thick just here. Stay with my command--" + +"We thought we were back of you," Peter said. "I assure you I didn't +plan this, but it's very kind of you." + +The Captain glanced at Samarc and turned to the American as they urged +on. + +"Hurt badly?" + +"Just his face." + +"Stay by--some of the soldiers might be rough--" + +They were carried forward in the resistless interference of great +numbers. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +Peter had pitied the infantry formerly from a hill, having stood with +a battery as it sprayed the Austrian lines. He had watched the +Austrian machines pouring steel upon the Russians also. There had been +emotion; he had felt the shame of it powerfully on this very morning; +but now he reflected, with a touch of levity, that his pity had not +been adequate. At the present juncture he belonged to the sacrifice. +The process was reversed; the globe of his experience shortly to be +made complete. He would have the effects of light and darkness from +the vantage of the preying and the preyed upon. + +Peter had never been actually down among men before. He had watched +men, studied them sincerely, passed them in the street, reflected upon +their problems. At the same time, his personal impetus had always been +away from men, his a different purpose, a different aim. He was +_one_ now, one in the massed destiny of the command, one to obey. +Only by falling could he be free from this extraordinary authority of +the army. + +Moreover, he felt that the motive energizing this authority was not of +the human but of the tiger. + +He might have thought of all this before, as he had thought of death +as one thing for the outsider and a different thing for the little +lens-maker he liked so well. But this was experience, not conjecture. +He was an atom of the charge. The army authority disrupted his moral +sense. It bound and gagged him. No imagination could have constricted +his vital and creative force as this adventure, in which he was caught +up like a chip and carried forward in a rush of animal power. Fear had +no part of his revulsion, but the break of his will. It was not like a +man drowning, in an insensible element; this that carried him +_had_ a consciousness and it was unclean. + +He saw that the rankers leaned on each other; that there was not yet +in the peasant faces about him a single separate individual relation +to the impending peril. These men might have, seen others fall by the +hundreds, but their faith was in the command, their law its law. Peter +saw that they were in a sense like men parading through city streets, +who endure the eyes of the crowds because they are part of a line. It +was the eternal illusion of numbers again--the elbow brush, the heat, +the breath, the muttering of men--this atmosphere that the military +machine breathed. Standing alone, most of them would have fallen from +fear. + +He smelled the unwashed crowd. Under all the bronze that life in the +open had given the command was the lardy look of earth-born men, +close-to-the-ground men; these were the hordes that put on pounds and +size, the rudiment of a mind, the momentary ignition of soul perhaps +in moments such as now--and pass to the earth again. Yet the history +of Europe was to be written upon a surface like this; this, the soil +of the future. It was close to chaos, but as yet undefiled by man. +This was the newest product of earth, the new terrific fecundity of +the North that had alarmed lower Europe; these were the peasant +millions as yet unfathered, strong as yet only as bulls are strong, +gregarians, almost without memory; their terror, pain, passion, hope, +genius not individual yet, but in the solution of the crowds. + +Peter Mowbray's shock was the loss of the sense of self; his battle to +retain this sense. He seemed to fuse in the heat, the vast solution +draining his vitality. He could have given himself to the white fire +of a group of men like Spenski, Abel, Fallows, Poltneck, perhaps--but +to give himself to this.... They were stretching out now as +skirmishers, the crush ended. Entire figures of men could be seen, +instead of necks, beards, and shoulders. Samarc gripped his arm, the +other hand pointing to a little red-haired boy who ran, crouched, sped +on again, halted to look, in the true squirrel fashion of advance, +which is the approved procedure of skirmishers. He talked to himself, +appeared lost in absorption, reminded one continually of Spenski when +his face was averted--and was just one of the miles of infantry. + +Their faces looked cold now; a part of the gray tone so often +observed. The officers fought to stretch them out. Every line of fear +that the human mouth can express Peter saw. Now the drum of the +Austrian pieces. It was not as they had heard it in the heights, but +like an encore at first--as if some tremendous mass of men in a wooden +gallery had started a buffeting of feet. The valley muffled the +volleys; the actual steel was not heard until it neared like a rain +torrent; indeed it found their immediate lines before they heard the +murderous cutting of the air. The Austrian gunners were placed for +enfilading, so that a fraction of point gave them impaling force and a +wide swath in the ranks. + +Peter saw the little red head cocked forward as if to listen to the +nearing gusts of steel. + +Now men were down and crying out. The fire was like that of a hostile +regiment concentrating its volley upon a little knot of soldiers--the +air was whipped, wild with throbbing missiles. Supernatural fear was +the answer from the very souls of men. Their prayer (in Mowbray's +conception) was not for life, but for cessation. Yet the machines held +them with infernal leisure as one holds the stream from a garden hose +to a spot of clay clinging to masonry. + +In all postures the soldiers met the gale, with every answering sound. +Then falling, rising, crawling, the remnant went back. It was not pain +nor death nor wounds that mattered--but the hurtling concussions in +the air, the plague of steel.... + +It stopped. Peter lay exhausted an instant. He felt no hurt. He was +down because one could not stand in that sweep of projectiles. He +recalled that he had seen the red head fall a moment before, and +turned like a sick man, his eyes rolling, to learn if it were a dream +or not. Yes, Redhead had fallen. Samarc was crawling toward him on his +knees. Peter writhed forward, too, but disliking the movement lest it +bring the guns upon them again. He forgot that. Redhead was muttering +about _the storm_. + +"Are you hard hit, boy?" Peter called. + +There were others about--a whole line of fallen, but they saw just +this one--his cheek to the dirt, his mouth moving queerly. He was +young like the undersurgeon, seventeen or eighteen, and much +bewildered, the gray, clayey hue upon him, but not at all uncouth. +Samarc felt his spine, turned him. The wound was in his body. Just now +Redhead saw the effigy that was Samarc. He had been watching Peter +before. + +His mouth opened, eyes seemed to settle back into a red gleam of +horror, his face swung around into the dirt. Peter would have given +his arm to spare Samarc that. No sound from under the cloth--only a +breath. Samarc shouldered him, raised himself with the burden. + +There are pressures of will. One turns on a certain force to meet an +obstacle, and it is exhausted. There are other sources of power, but +one brushes death to summon them. Far ahead they saw the remnant +making cover. Now Peter noted that there was human need at every step. +They lay in all positions, squirmed their faces up to him and +implored. The few were still; the many writhed. He looked for a small +one. He had never lifted a man and was surprised when one came up and +rolled as if by magic across his back. It was so easy that he wanted +to take others. + +"I will come back," he called to the faces. + +He meant to come back as he said it. He wanted to bring them all in. +He had no hate for the Austrian gunners, because he had seen Samarc +and Spenski at the same work, and he knew that the heart of man +changes in a day. He would have helped the little undersurgeon had he +been there. A _moujik_ arose from his knees in front of them, as +they staggered on. He was stunned, bewildered, blinded, but he could +hear. + +"Come on--we're going back," Peter said. + +The other held out his hand gropingly. Peter placed the flap of his +coat in it, and the moujik stumblingly followed.... Another soldier on +his knees barred the way. + +"We're going back," Peter said. "Come on. You can crawl--" + +The soldier set out eagerly to obey, as if it had been a great boon to +follow with his own strength. It was the mightiest episode of the day +to Peter Mowbray. "My God, how they obey _men_!" he said, with +awe. "They _could_ be led right--peasants who obey like that!" + +There was singing all about him--not of bullets, though this little +movement on the field drew a thin, uncertain long-range fire from some +intrenchment (apparently it was not enough to start a machine)--a low +singing as of wells of gladness reaching the surface. Peter was torn +with the agony of the field, yet thrilling with happiness--as if there +was liberation somewhere within. He turned to the crawling one who +inspired him: + +"We're all hurt, but we're going back to bed. Come on--you're doing +famously--" + +The back bobbed to greater effort. The blind one held him fast, and +the Redhead left his trail of blood and murmured about _the +storm_.... It was a long range for the rifles, and seemed as +harmless as sandflies after the horror of hornets they had known.... +They were alone. They saw the heaped rims of the Russian works ahead-- +five of them, alone, for, queerly enough, they were as one. + +And now from ahead, from the concealed Russian lines, arose a roar +such as Peter had never known. It struck him with a psychic force that +filled his eyes with tears, though he did not understand. He thought +that the end of the war must have come--so glad and so mighty was that +shouting. + +Now a fragment of the line ran forth to bring the little party in, not +minding Peter's gestures in the least; for he waved them back, lest +they start the machines again.... It appeared that his little group of +maimed and blind came home marching into the very hearts of the +command--even the Red one.... They had laid their burdens down; an +incoherent Boylan took Peter, leading the way back to the staff. +Kohlvihr and Dabnitz stood there, the old man repeating: + +"Get the name of the hospital man." + +Dabnitz plucked the sleeve of Samarc's coat. + +"Hospital steward,--I have that," he said a second time, "but what's +the name and the division?" + +"He can't speak," said Peter. "I'll get his name later. He's been +wounded in the mouth." + +Curiously enough in this turmoil it appeared for the first time why +Samarc had been allowed a free field practically--why he had not been +impressed for service by one of the batteries. It was the steward's +blouse that Abel had given him.... Peter lost wonder at this. Things +were darkening about him. He smelled the cedars. Her colors seemed +just out of view.... She had been near. + +"Peter--are you hit?" It was Boylan's voice. + +"No, just bushed." + +Now he heard Kohlvihr say: "Anything for you we can, Mr. Mowbray. As a +civilian, you are of course exempt from specific honors, but as soon +as I learn your companion's name I shall suggest that he be honored by +the Little Father." + +"Why, you've put the whole line back into fighting trim!" Boylan +whispered. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Something of the activity now apparent to the blurred faculties of +Mowbray, as he sat in the clammy embrace of nausea and struggling for +breath, appealed to him as structurally wrong; almost inconceivably +abominable, in fact. He had no interest in his so-called achievement, +regarded it with a laugh, repeated that it was pure accident; but such +as it was, he objected to it being used to put the line back into +"fighting trim." + +He was in the large sod-covered pit occupied by field headquarters. He +turned at the sound of breathing at his side. Samarc was sitting +there. Peter's hand went to his knee. Aides, messengers, and orderlies +hastened in and out. There were twenty men in the pit--Kohlvihr the +center of all. Big Belt was ministering--a flask, a momentary massage, +a steady run of comment, ruddy from the heart.... The activity came to +him again. + +Kohlvihr was actually planning another infantry advance. + +Peter started to speak, but halted for further reflection, a bit +skeptical as to his own sanity. This was the third day of the battle; +this the day planned to drive a hole through the difficult Austrian +hills; the whole Russian army was dependent upon taking this Austrian +position; the weather was becoming colder, Berlin still afar off; the +Russian left and center pinned to the results of action here. + +So far mental processes seemed adequate, but this changed in no way +his attitude toward the atrocious activity in the brain of Kohlvihr of +the bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr might sally forth for his wounded; hundreds were dying out +there in the windy hollow. He, Peter Mowbray, had seen their faces-- +their bodies to the end of sight. But Kohlvihr had no thought of that; +rather to meet the range of death machines again with another horde of +his skirmishers--and again--and again, until the end of the day--until +enough passed through to gain the opposite slopes in fighting force, +or until the Austrian ammunition was exhausted.... + +And Kohlvihr had never been out there. His cave was well back in the +shelter of the works--sheltered from ahead and from the sky, with +Judenbach behind.... Old Doltmir, the second in command, was saying: + +"It's a terrible price to pay, General--a terrible price. You will +note that they enfilade our lines as we reach the bottom land. You +will note that their machines cover the valley perfectly and that they +are practiced now--" + +There was balm in that, but acid covered it an instant later from +Kohlvihr, who swallowed a drink and turned with a snarl. + +"We have the price to pay--" + +Peter was thinking now of the front line that had cheered his coming +in; the men so ready to forget themselves for a little spectacle, and +the thrill that had come to his own breast from their shouting. _He +loved them and knew why._ And those men, their lives and deaths-- +were in the hands of this red-eyed human rat who fouled the air.... +No, Peter thought, it wasn't the brandy that smelled. It's Kohlvihr +and the brandy. + +"Good God, Boylan," he muttered in English, "can't you get him by the +throat?" + +Boylan's eyes were wild. He laughed softly, however, saying in +Russian: "Very good, Peter--you'd joke at your death--" + +And Big Belt's eyes roved to Dabnitz, who apparently had not heard +Peter's remark. + +...And now the tugging from Samarc that meant words! It seemed as if a +ghastly stillness prepared for that final rumble; certainly stillness +followed it. All eyes turned, even Kohlvihr's, to the effigy. But +Peter alone understood. + +"...Don't let them take off the bandages." + +Samarc left his seat in the dark corner and walked evenly toward the +center where Kohlvihr stood, his aides about him--poor old Doltmir +standing apart and distressed. The moment had come for the order to be +given. Kohlvihr turned to a dispatch rider at the door--a door made of +cedar trunks. + +For the moment Peter was blocked between two desires, or paralyzed. +The huge face of Boylan close by mutely implored him to be silent. + +"Samarc," he called. + +Samarc did not turn. Now Peter saw the red face of Kohlvihr in its +gray fringe suddenly lifted and enlarged. The effigy was close to it, +but not higher, and hands were tightening beneath it--Samarc's strong +unhurt hands. There had been one snarling scream. It was followed by a +shot from Dabnitz. The red face went down with the other to the clay +floor. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +The roar of the battle followed as Peter staggered back alone to +Judenbach. He must have traversed a mile before there was a rational +activity of his faculties. The first mental picture was that of the +officers running along the works as the order for "advance as +skirmishers" was given. They were inspiring the men in the name of the +Little Father. + +"If only they hadn't said that," Peter muttered pathetically. + +Then he recalled that Kohlvihr had been lifted practically unhurt from +the clay floor; that his order was carried out. The infantry had +obeyed. With all he knew, and all he had seen that day, the mystery of +common men deepened. Out of it all strangely stood forth in his mind +now the man who could not rise, but who crawled after him at a +word.... These men obeyed--that was the whole story. If they were +given true fathers!... Why, that _was_ the answer! + +Peter had come into this with all the fire of revelation. He had +earned it. Blood and courage, and the stress of death, had given it to +him. Yet it was worth it all. He would tell Berthe Wyndham.... + +He stopped short at the edge of the town. Never was there in his life +a moment of profounder humility. Berthe Wyndham had told him all this +before they left Warsaw--on the day that the message came from +Lonegan. All he had learned to-day through such rigor and jeopardy she +had told him; and she had understood it then with the same passion +that he had it now. + +Peter had only listened that day; he had lived it to-day. His heart +suddenly flooded with warmth for Fallows. Fallows had been through all +this--all the burning and zealotry of it, and had come forth into the +coldness and austerity of service. It was very wonderful. Peter +Mowbray's eyes smarted. They, and the service, had certainly crumpled +the old fronts of calm and the sterile pools of intellect. He loved +the peasants now, _and he knew why_.... He saw what a stick he +had been, but this didn't trouble him greatly. The new seeing was +enough; he was changed. His emotions presently concerned the fresh +realizations so dearly bought--in the past three days... three days. + +Not until now did he think of Samarc.... The reality had stood like a +black figure at the door of his brain throughout all the walk, but it +did not enter until now. No, Samarc would not come back to Judenbach. +It was finished as he had intended. He had ceased to kill. Even at the +last he had but used his hands, and in as righteous wrath as ever +tortured human fingers to terrible strength.... He, Mowbray, had not +remained to assure himself that the last command of his friend was +obeyed. This hurt him not a little.... He was in the main street... +exertion, sorrow, exaltation; now he was whipped again. He felt he had +not done well at the last. A teamster yelled to him to get out of the +way. Peter stepped back wearily to let a string of ambulances by. + +Across was that grim door of the house of amputations. He was not +quite ready to enter. He would get himself in hand better. He had not +been gone long--it was only mid-forenoon. He would go to his quarters +and clean up a little--perhaps rest a moment. His thoughts turned +often to Samarc, always with a pang. He wished the Big Belt were here. +This last reminded him of his saddle bags--razors and all gone with +the pony. Boylan would have the laugh at him now. + +He could not sit still in his quarters. Voices came to him from the +street, from the court--even from that grim place a little down the +way. He arose and went across to the familiar hospital ward.... +Another was in Samarc's place. A hand beckoned. It was from the cot of +the soldier for whom he had struggled with the young doctor. He went +to it. There was a message: + +_"They were talking of you as an enemy--"_ + +That was all. Peter did not care for particulars. His volition was +quickened. He had been sadly in need of that. Now he went direct to +the hallway, where he had left her in the morning, and on upstairs. +The rooms were crowded with wounded and medical officers, but no +familiar face--neither Berthe Wyndham nor Moritz Abel. + +Many eyes held him. He did not see the young doctor, but the surgeon +who had come to the other ward was there--that bland, quiet face, +regarding him curiously now. Peter asked nothing, and was free +apparently to move anywhere about the building. None of his own was +there. His loneliness was untellable. He could not have spoken to a +stranger without a break of tone.... + +He wished for Boylan again. + +Peter was in the street, moved along the walls as one very tired. He +was searching, but the thoughts grew so terrible that he could not +keep his eyes to outer activity. His steps led him to the Court of +Executions. Standing by the street gate, he dreaded to enter. He would +not tolerate this, yet it was more than life or death. He had a mental +picture of finding her there, her body shrinking into one of the stone +corners--as a maimed bird that has fallen lies still under its wings. + +His breath burst from him. He had been holding it as if under water. +His eyes traveled electrically now. + +There were dead in the court, but she was not there, nor Abel nor +Fallows. He looked through the row of gratings and under the arches. +There was a low stone lintel with a dim deserted hall beyond.... + +Just now a step behind him, heavy boots ringing on the stone flags. +Peter turned. A Russian soldier halted, raised his rifle, commanded +him to advance. + +Peter waved his hand in a gesture of obedience, but turned to glance +in the gloom under the lintel again. It was just _in the turning_ +that he had caught the gleam of her colors--not when he stared +straight in. Peter assured himself of this before giving himself up. + + + + +IV + +IN THE BOMB-PROOF PIT + +Chapter 1 + + +The dead man in the hospital steward's coat had been carried forth +from the bomb-proof pit. + +Big Belt perceived that the day was working out according to its evil +beginnings.... After coming in from the infantry hollows as one risen +from the dead (and transfigured in the garish light of field bravery) +Peter Mowbray had left him again, now in the possession of strange +devils. + +Boylan was not ready to go back to Judenbach. It was almost noon. He +was watching the heart of the Russian invasion of Galicia, and from +its main lesion. This he knew quite as well as Dabnitz, or Doltmir, or +the half-insane Kohlvihr himself. The Austrians still held. Indeed, it +was not hard for them. The Russian west wing entire, and possibly part +of its center, would be called upon to flank this stoutly adhering +force, if Kohlvihr continued to fail. Such an action would greatly +delay the general forward movement of the Russian arms. + +"You will be without a command, General," Doltmir suggested, at the +end of the second infantry throwback, following that in which Peter +had participated. "We are not disturbing them greatly in our advances. +We are chiefly effective in destroying their ammunition--" + +"Then we must continue that," said Kohlvihr. + +"But the troops will not continue to charge. Our reserves are in. The +fresher men see the fate of the former advances. The hollows are in +plain sight from the forward rifle pits." + +"The officers must drive them forward--" + +"Most of the lesser commanders are lying in the valley. The troops are +killing them as well as the enemy--" + +"Do you mean there is mutiny, sir?" + +"Not of a reckonable type. These men work in the midst of action. +Moreover, our troops are hard pressed. Our division has borne the +brunt for three days in almost unparalleled action." + +"Would you advise me to leave them funking in the trenches?" Kohlvihr +demanded. + +"General, I would advise a report to the Commander of our failure in +four advances--that we can not get sufficient men across the valley to +charge the Austrian positions. Meanwhile I would order the wounded to +be brought in. After that, I would suggest food for the men in the +trenches." + +"I do not care to report four failures without a fifth trial." + +Doltmir turned back. + +Big Belt was thinking fast. In all his experience, he had never seen +the Inside stripped naked like this. Of course, he had observed the +strategy of small bodies of troops determined by a swift consultation +of officers; but this was an army in itself, or had been, and on the +part of Kohlvihr it was very clear that personal matters were +powerfully to the fore. Kohlvihr was enraged; Kohlvihr was ambitious. +Big Belt was aware that, given a free hand and a free cable, he could +make Kohlvihr a loathsome monster in the eyes of the world, this +merely by a display of the facts. + +Boylan's view was cleared a little as he thought of such a narrative. +His sense of the reception of the story showed him the commanding +nature of it. The thing might be done later. Peter's trouble was that +he could not forget it for the present. Thoughts of work put a new +energy into Boylan's thinking. These things now passing in the bomb- +proof pit formed the climax of a narrative that had been running from +the Warsaw office to the present hour.... For a moment in the story's +grasp, Boylan did not hear the voice of the invaluable Dabnitz: + +"...He is under suspicion, sir," that young officer was saying to his +chief. "In fact, the whole hospital corps is rotten with +revolutionists, but the fact remains he can sing like an angel. I +think if Poltneck were brought here to the lines and made to sing the +folk songs--" + +"Get him," said Kohlvihr. "Is he under arrest?" + +"No; as yet merely under espionage. He was valuable in rather a unique +way in the hospitals yesterday." + +"Bring him at once." + +Kohlvihr sent an order for his troops to rest and have a bite in the +trenches. + +The sorry Doltmir stepped forward again: + +"Would it not be well to bring in our wounded from the field, sir?" + +"We will _have_ the field presently," said Kohlvihr. "The sun is +not hot. The lines already have seen too much of their blood." + +Big Belt remembered that. Moments were intense again when Poltneck was +brought in--a tall, angular, sandy-faced chap, with a wide mouth and +glistening teeth, a smile that quickened the pulse, somehow. Boylan +thought of the passions of women for such men. His shoulders were lean +and square. Yellow hair, long on top and cropped tight below the brim +of his hat, dropped a lock across his forehead, as he uncovered in the +bomb-proof pit. He had been shaven-recently. Boylan reflected that he +belonged to the hospital corps. There was a thrill about him not to be +missed. + +"Poltneck--he calls himself," Dabnitz whispered. "Poltneck perhaps, +but I've seen him with the Imperial orchestra or I'm losing memory. I +didn't have a good look at him before--" + +Dabnitz was called by the General, who was seated with Doltmir over a +small collation with wine and bread. The lieutenant was requested to +arrange the inspiration for the men in the trenches. + +Boylan noted how much taller the singer was than even the tall Russian +officer--as the two stood together. + +"The men are very tired, Poltneck," Dabnitz began. "Much has been +required of them, and much is still required. We want you to help us." + +"Yes?" + +Poltneck had been looking about, interested as a kitten in a strange +house. He regarded Kohlvihr and the rest, the trace of a smile around +his mouth. The smile was still there as he turned quickly to Dabnitz +with the single questioning word, not contemptuous in itself, but +Boylan imagined it morally so. The voice furnished a second and very +real thrill. + +"We thought you would sing for your fellow soldiers. You are from the +peasantry, I am told?" + +"Yes, from the people." + +"We thought you would understand," Dabnitz added. "There is an +operatic tenor in the command--one Chautonville. We might have sent +for him, but our thought was to reach the soldiers directly. It is a +great honor." + +"Is it? How and where do you want me to sing?" + +"An advance is to be ordered immediately. We will send an escort with +you along the trenches--just before the order is given. I heard you +singing yesterday. I am sure the men will answer with zeal." + +Poltneck seemed to wilt. Boylan was caught with the others thinking it +was the mention of the trenches that frightened this hospital soldier. +Yet the smile had not changed when Boylan's eye roved to that. It was +not more contemptuous, nor less; but something about it was +unsteadying. Dabnitz already had used many more words than he +expected. + +"I am not used to crowds," Poltneck objected weakly. "I am just a +simple man. Already I am without voice. I beg of you to send for +Chautonville of the opera." + +Dabnitz was puzzled. + +"That is out of the question. Chautonville is back in the city. Within +twenty minutes the order for advance will be given. Come, Poltneck; +you will do very well when you see your soldiers--" + +Boylan reflected swiftly at this point that the smile might be neither +deep nor portentous--a single accomplishment, some stray refinement +perhaps that had leaked back somehow to the people. + +"No, no. I am afraid. I belong back among the wounded. I am very good +there. This is not my place--" + +"Will you require men to assist you to the trenches? Already I have +talked too long." + +"Yesterday I was an anesthetic," Poltneck wailed. "To-day I am to be a +stimulant." + +Kohlvihr now came forward. "It is time," he said. + +"General," said Dabnitz, "we have to deal with an unusual peasant, I +am afraid." + +"It would not do for me to encroach upon the work of professionals," +the singer explained in dilemma. + +"You see he is humorous," Dabnitz observed. + +"We sent for you to sing to the soldiers. Will you do that?" the +General asked, from puffing cheeks. + +Poltneck looked down at him with sudden steadiness. "On the way home," +he said. + +"You refuse--then?" + +"I would prefer that you wound them first." + +"At least, he has declared himself," said Dabnitz. + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +They did not murder him then and there. Boylan was glad of that. His +sack was already full of blood.... It was all too big. Something would +happen to spoil the telling. No man ever got out with such a story.... +He was a little ashamed to find himself thinking of his newspaper +story so soon after the singer was led forth--the man who would sing +for the wounded, but who would not sing men to their death. Come to +think--there was a prostitution about it. Certainly Poltneck had a +point of view. And he was a hair-raiser of quality... everything about +him. + +Boylan thought of writing the Poltneck incident, and became hopeless +again. The Russians would be idiots to let him out alive. He did not +expect it. The only chance was that they couldn't see themselves. +Perhaps Kohlvihr thought he was a hero to-day. Doubtless he did.... +One thing was sure, he, Boylan, must sit tight with his enthusiasm for +the Russian force; must play it harder than ever--must play it for +Peter Mowbray, too. + +"You fellows certainly have your troubles--front and back," he said to +Dabnitz. "But I say, Lieutenant, you couldn't ask troops to go forward +better--you couldn't ask more of the Japanese in the business of +charges--" + +"I wasn't out in that service," Dabnitz observed. + +"Grand little bunch of celibates afield, those Japanese--religious +about these matters of using up hostile ammunition. Fact is, I never +saw white troops go out to a finish four times in one day--as yours +did to-day--out over their own dead, too--" + +He was becoming genial; his heart quaking for Peter, as he thought +suddenly of the words aimed at Kohlvihr's throat, and of Peter's +association at the last with the man in the steward's blouse. +...Dabnitz was unvaryingly courteous. + +The advance was on again. Boylan went forth to see the repulse. The +main lines on either side had loosened to fill the gaps of Kohlvihr's +division, the much-torn outfits braced by the fresher infantrymen. On +they went, a last time, over the strewn land. + +Boylan saw it all again; heard the drum of the batteries when the +troops reached the hollow of the valley; saw them change like figures +on a blurred screen; perceived the antics and the general settling-- +and turned away.... + +It was like the swoop of a carrion bird an instant afterward--and the +deafening strike. The Austrians had varied a little. A shrapnel +battery had been emplaced among the rapid-fire pieces during the +recent interval. A hundred yards down the works to the east landed the +first finger of a hand that groped for headquarters. Boylan watched +for the second shell--one eye, and as little besides as possible, +above the rim of the trench now deserted. It was the same tension and +tallying of seconds that Peter had known on the afternoon that the +moon rose before the setting sun. Big Belt ducked at the second +scream. The explosion was nearer and a little back. He returned to +field headquarters just as a third shrapnel shivered the land still +nearer the bomb-proof pit. + +Kohlvihr's face was gray as the fringe of his hair. He looked little +and aged. + +"My compliments to the commander," he was dictating, "...report that +after five advances we find enemy's front impregnable to infantry. +Headquarters now under shrapnel fire. We are forced to withdraw toward +Judenbach--" + +The dispatch rider was standing by. The dirt sprinkled down on their +heads through the wooden buttresses as another shrapnel broke outside. + +"But the wounded, General. The field is alive with wounded--" came +from Doltmir. + +"I can't send troops out there again--" The voice was thick and hoarse +with repression. "We'll get them at nightfall.... Gentlemen, we may +now withdraw." + +Boylan was one of the last to leave. He saw the aged legs disappear up +the earth-rise as the rear door opened. The legs jerked and twitched +spasmodically, as if taking an invisible spanking. + +Boylan was actually afraid of his thoughts, lest they be read in his +face--the shocking personal business on Kohlvihr's part. "A little +shrapnel or two sends him quaking home, and _they_ went out five +times for him into the very steam of hell." + +His brain kept repeating this in spite of him, so that he did not try +to overtake the staff. + +And _they_--the poor last fragment of them--were piling back +toward Judenbach, leaving their wounded behind. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Goylan was back in Judenbach. It was four in the afternoon. He had +searched everywhere for Peter Mowbray. The whole war zone was getting +blacker and blacker to his sight. He had even gone to the Grim House +to look for the white-fire creature who had taken his companion to her +breast, figuratively speaking; but neither she, nor the weak- +shouldered little chap who had brought the hospital steward's blouse, +was there. There remained Dabnitz, who more than any other was aware +generally of what passed. Big Belt returned to headquarters and +waited. Darkness was thickening before the Lieutenant came in. + +"Where's Mowbray?" + +Dabnitz came close and looked at the other sorrowfully. + +"How long have you known Mr. Mowbray?" + +Boylan tried to think. His faculties were at large. According to facts +he had known Peter (and not at all intimately) during a mere ten weeks +before the column left Warsaw. Facts, however, hadn't anything to do +with the reality. Peter Mowbray was his own property. He said as much, +his voice going back on him. + +"Mr. Boylan, I have seldom been more hard hit. He was my friend, too. +A more charming and accomplished young American would be hard to find, +but we who are out for service, a life and death matter for our +country, must not let these things enter. Mr. Mowbray is affiliated in +various ways with our enemies--not the Austrians, but enemies more +subtle and insidious." + +"For God's sake--Dabnitz!" + +"I thought it would hurt you." + +"You might just as well say it of me." + +"Not at all. Your record stands. It was well known to us when you were +accepted to accompany our column. You will recall that it was your +estimate of Mr. Mowbray's superior that decided us to accept the +younger man--" + +"I have been with Mowbray night and day. He is a newspaper man, brain +and soul--one of the coolest and most effective I have ever met. He +has been for years in Paris and Berlin, before Warsaw." + +"I am sorry. You did not know that he caught a young surgeon by the +throat this morning, when the former was very properly stimulating a +malingerer?" + +"I did not. But a personal matter ought not to weigh against a man's +life--" + +"You did not know that he was seen in somewhat extended conversation +yesterday and last evening with one of the most dangerous of our +recent discoveries among the revolutionists?" + +"I did not." + +"Or that a woman came to him last night, in the heart of the night-- +and talked long--and was called for by the same revolutionist; that +Mr. Mowbray went to her a little after daybreak this morning--" + +"Ah, Dabnitz--a little romance! All night he was serving in the +hospital. I went out to find him this morning, and saw him turn into +the amputation house. Following, I saw him standing there.... He had +probably never seen her until last night. You know how some young +fellows are. They--you turn around--and they are in an affair--" + +"But the two were overheard to speak of days in Warsaw together. It is +not such a little affair." + +"I know nothing of it, but is such a thing fatal?" + +"She is under arrest with the other revolutionist that I mentioned--a +case against her that is hardly breakable--" + +Boylan sat down, + +"Of course you are aware--of the remark he made this morning in the +field headquarters? I saw how gallantly you tried to cover it. It was +that remark, by the way, which nearly cost the life of our General. +The hospital steward, took up the action as you know--" + +"Dabnitz, I was shocked as you. Peter was beside himself. He had come +in from the field--the actuality of it. He forgot where he was. The +unparalleled energy of the General to win the day, you know--and Peter +had just come in from the hollows where the men lay--" + +"My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--" + +For the first time, Big Belt felt the iron personality of the other. +There was something commercial in the manner of the last, a kind of +ushering out one who would not do. There are men who remain as aloof +as the peaks of Phyrges, though their words and intonations come down +running softly out of a smile. Boylan looked away, and then, with an +inner groan, turned back. + +"I tell you it is a mistake. The boy is as sound as--" + +He couldn't finish. There were exceptions to everything he thought of. +"I want to see him," he added. + +"I'll try to manage that for you, a little later." + +* * * + +It was darkening. In the front room of the house, Kohlvihr sat bung- +eyed by a telegraph instrument. The further strategy from Judenbach +was still in the dark to Boylan. He wished the heavens would fall. As +never before, he had the sense that he had pinned his life and faith +to matters of no account; not that Peter Mowbray belonged to these +matters, but that he, too, was meshed in them.... A shot from +somewhere below in the town. Boylan shivered. There was shooting from +time to time for various butchering reasons, but this particular shot +was all Big Belt needed to finish the picture. + +"Why, they'll shoot the lad," he muttered. + +The sentence remained in his brain in lit letters. + +The States of America couldn't help him; even Mother Nature had turned +her face from this war.... "My dear Boylan, I'm sorry--" something +crippling in that. + +Dabnitz returned, bringing a pair of saddle bags. + +"They're Mr. Mowbray's," he said. "His horse got loose and tangled +himself in a battery. One of the men brought in the bags." + +"Thanks, Lieutenant," said Boylan. + +Dabnitz started to the door when Boylan called, "Oh, I say, did you +look through 'em?" + +The Russian smiled deprecatingly. + +"Of course, I needn't have asked that, but I wanted you to. I'll +gamble you didn't find anything--" + +"A little book of poems by a man we're familiar with. A woman's name +on the front page--a woman we're familiar with. Nothing startling, Mr. +Boylan." + +Dabnitz was gone, the bags lying on the floor. Big Belt opened the +nearest flap. On top was a case containing a tooth brush and a pair of +razors. + +"Peter will want these," he muttered. + + + + +V + +THE SKYLIGHT PRISON + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter walked ahead unbound. He could not keep his mind on the journey +with the sentry. His thoughts winged from Lonegan at Warsaw, to _The +States'_ office and home, as if carrying the message of his own +end.... Boylan might finally break out with the details.... The +personal part ended suddenly, like an essential formality, leaving him +a sorrow for Boylan and his mother especially. His full faculties now +opened to Berthe Wyndham. + +He was ordered to turn twice to the left. They had left the little +stone court, entering the main street, and back again into the first +side street for a short distance to a narrow stairway, between low +mercantile houses now used for hospitals. Up the creaking way; the +sentry within answered the sentry without and opened the door. A long +narrow room with a single square of light from the roof, and Moritz +Abel came forward. + +"I'm sorry," the poet said. "I had hoped--" + +"Yes, we had hoped," Peter replied with a smile. + +Duke Fallows appeared from the shadows and hastily pressed his hand. +Abel had turned toward the square of light, as if there were still +another. + +She came forward like a wraith--into the light--and still toward him, +her lips parted, her eyes intent upon him. The sentry who had brought +him turned, clattered down the stairs. The door was shut by the other +sentry. Her lips moved, but there was nothing that he heard. With one +hand still in his, she turned and led him back under the daylight to +the shadows.... He heard Moritz Abel's voice repeating that he had +been a poor protector. Fallows spoke.... + +There was much to it, hardly like a human episode--the silence so far +as words between them, the tragedy in each soul that the other must +go; the tearing readjustments to the end of all work in the world, and +the swift reversion of the mind to its innumerable broken ends of +activity; and above all, the deep joy of their being together in this +last intense weariness.... She wore her white veiled cap and apron; +having followed the summons from her work. There was a chair in the +shadows, and she pressed him down in her old way, and took her own +place before him (as in her own house) half-sitting, half-kneeling. + +"Peter, I could not believe--until I touched you. I was praying just +here, that you would not come--" + +"I am very grateful to be here," he said. + +"I was so lonely. I was afraid of death. Fallows talked to me and +Moritz Abel--but it did not do. I was thinking of you at the battle, +as if you were a thousand miles away--as if I were waiting, as a +mother for you, waiting for tidings with a babe in her arms--" + +She paused and he said, "Tell me," knowing that she must speak on. + +"...It was just like that. I prayed that you would live--that you +would not be brought here--that the time would pass swiftly. We have +been here hours. They came for us soon after you went. We were all +together in that place--all at our work. They led us here through the +streets. It seemed very far. Something caught in the throat when the +soldiers looked at me. I know what my father felt when he kept saying, +'It's all right. Yes, this is all right.' I know just how the surprise +and the amazement affected him from time to time, and made him say +that.... Then we were here. I wanted this darker chair. They came--I +mean our good friends--Fallows came and talked to me, and Moritz Abel, +but it wasn't what I seemed to need. Ah, Peter, I'm talking in +circles--" + +Something warned him that she was going to break, but he could not +speak quickly enough. The human frightened little girl that he had +never seen before in Berthe Wyndham, was so utterly revealing to his +heart that he was held in enchantment. She seemed so frail and tender, +as she said plaintively: + +"We must be very dear to each other--" + +There were tears in her eyes now, and her breast rose and fell with +emotion, as poignant to Mowbray as if it were his own. + +"I did pray for them not to bring you here," she added. "If I had not +left Warsaw, you would not be here now--" + +"Listen--oh, Berthe, don't say that. Please, listen--" + +The current was turned on in his brain, thoughts revolving faster and +faster: + +"It would all have been a mere military movement if you had not come. +I would not have understood Spenski, nor the real Samarc, nor Kohlvihr +as he is, nor the charges of infantry. The coming of Moritz Abel, +words I have heard, the street, the singing, the field, the future-- +why, it's all different because you came. I am not dismayed by this. I +have had a great life here. If this is our last day--the matter is +lifted out of our hands. And dear Berthe, what do you think it means +to me--this last hour together?" + +"What does it mean, Peter?' + +"I look into your face, and know that I've found something the world +tried to make me believe wasn't here. Everything I did as a boy and +man tried to show me that there isn't anything uncommon in a man +finding a woman. My mother knew differently, but every time she wanted +to tell me something happened. Another voice broke in, or perhaps she +saw I wasn't attentive or ready. But I know now--and it didn't come to +me until here in Judenbach--" + +"She must have known," Berthe whispered. + +Fallows drew near. He seemed calm but very weary. "May I bring up my +chair for a little while?" he asked as an old nurse might. + +"Please do," they said. + +"Thank you," Fallows answered, and returned with his wooden chair. "If +you change the subject I shall have to go." + +"I was just saying that I had found something in the world that my +mother knew all the time," Peter explained. + +"Oh, I say, this is important. Moritz must come in," Fallows told +them. + +They nodded laughingly. + +"Moritz," he called. "Here's a little boy and girl telling stories-- +very important stories. You must hear.... We're all one, Peter +Mowbray." + +They drew closer together. Berthe was watching Peter intensely, +knowing that it was his test, very far from his way. Then she +remembered the death-room, and that all things are changed by that. +She sat very still, trying to give him strength to go on. "I've always +used my head," he said, "always explained why, and made diagrams. The +one time I didn't use my head--well, the best thing happened in my +experience." + +Peter was in for it, and weathered gracefully. + +"You'll forgive me," he said, when they asked to know. "I was thinking +of meeting Berthe Wyndham. I saw her one day passing through the +Square in Warsaw near the river corner. Well, it all came about, +because I went there again the next day at the same time--" + +He was a little breathless, but the glad and eager sincerity of his +listeners helped him, and he wanted more than all to lift Berthe if he +could. + +"I could not help thinking of that when I recalled another little +matter yesterday--in Judenbach. Once when we were little, my brother +Paul and I quarreled. My mother and I were alone afterward. I told her +of the tragedy. Everything seemed lost since I had lost Paul. She +said, 'Some time you will find your real playmate, if you are good and +search very hard.' I suppose she has forgotten. I forgot for years. +But it came to me here.... You see I never suffered before, never was +tested, everything came smoothly, everything covered up--" + +"You are good to let us listen," Fallows said quietly. He was staring +at the ceiling. + +"Here in Judenbach the relations of all other days began to match up. +It was as if the whole war was to show _me_, each department +carried on clearly. I didn't know a man could stand so much. Day +before yesterday morning, I wanted to quit. I had a kind of madness +from it all--an ache that wouldn't break or bleed, and was driving the +life out of me. I found the way out by going into the hospital. I had +to forget myself or go under.... When it seemed all over to-day, and +the sentry was marching me here (you see I had gone back to the house +of amputations and couldn't find any of you, and then to the Court of +Execution, and you were not there), it was all slipping away in a +loneliness not to be described, when I found you here--" + +Fallows straightened his head and blinked. + +"'It was all slipping away in a loneliness not to be described,'" he +repeated. "We know that. This is too fine." + +Peter laughed. He was thinking of what Lonegan had said on the night +he came back from Berthe's door, after she had asked him not to come +in.... "Peter, you're lying. I don't believe you'd let anybody see +your fires--not even how well you bank 'em." + +They seemed to require further talk from him. He did not want the two +men, sorry they had drawn up their chairs. His heart was very tender +to them--Fallows and Abel, and the woman who had changed him. They +were before him now as messengers from the benignant empire of the +future--strange strong souls gathered together now in waiting at the +end of a road.... He told them of the bomb-proof pit, the naked +animalism of Kohlvihr, the infantry advances and of Samarc. Presently +his heart was light again, the pent forces of expression springing +gladly into use. + +"...The laughable thing about it," he finished, "--the thing that held +me speechless as Samarc left my side there in the dark corner of the +pit--was that just a few minutes before Kohlvihr had promised to see +that the Little Father decorated him. He had almost reached the +General when my throat worked, and I called, 'Samarc.' It was as if he +didn't hear me. Nothing would have stopped him. It was his idea, yet I +think he meant only to stop the order of another infantry advance. He +had ceased to kill, you know...." + +Peter ended it hastily. They were all interested to know why Samarc +was to have been decorated. This opened the earlier part of the day, +and his strange wandering with Samarc among the hills--the magic of +the hospital steward's coat, the scent of the cedars, and Peter's +persistent sense of Berthe's nearness. + +"Actually, I had to stop and think," he explained. "Each time I fell +into an abstraction, it struck me that she was there. It seems +yesterday, too--" + +"I was just here," Berthe said. "It was soon after we came. We were +all quiet at first--in different corners--" + +"Slipping away in that loneliness," Fallows suggested. + +"As for me," said Moritz Abel, "I had to make peace with myself. We +have been very busy the last few days. I have discovered that I am a +bit of a coward at heart--and I missed having something to do--" + +They smiled at him. "Perhaps I was out there," Berthe said. "Perhaps I +was only sitting here--" + +It was a queer matter that the three men, each of whom would have +given his life to save the woman's, to all appearances accepted the +fact of her as one of them in courage and control. It was Abel who +mentioned the singer, Poltneck, whom Peter had not met. He had been +left in the hospital when the others were taken; yet he had been one +in all their interests and the most reckless and outspoken of all in +his hatred of slaughter. They did not understand, but hoped he would +be saved. + +"He's a magician," Abel said. "He sang to them yesterday--as they bore +the knife. He seemed to hold them in the everlasting arms. It was +worth living to witness that, but I'm afraid Poltneck will come to us. +He's got the fury. Hearing that we are gone, he will start something-- +if only to join us. Then there will be no one to escape with the +story. It troubles me.... If Mr. Mowbray were only free. Doesn't it +seem that our brothers should hear the story?" + +His voice broke a little. His brow was wet. + +Fallows came back from the ceiling, and said: + +"Moritz, my boy, all is well with us. That which is true is immortal." + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +Abel reflected. + +"Yes," he said presently, "but we have not fulfilled our purpose.... +You know, we set out in high courage to start the army back home +again--and now, here we are." + +"A man named Columbus set out to discover a short passage to India and +found a New World. Really my son--these are not our affairs. We have +done what we could.... Once I wanted the world to answer abruptly to +my service--to speak up sharp. But I have made terms--hard terms we +all must make. This is it--to do our part the best we can, and keep +off the results. They are God's concern, Moritz." + +"I dare say." + +"When I was younger," Fallows went on, "I wanted to make a circle of +light around the world. I thought they must see it, as I did. And +often I left my friends discussing my failure. But once I came home +and looked into the eyes of a little boy--a little peasant child named +Jan. I saw that his love for me had awakened his soul.... Man, these +matters are managed with a finer art than we dream of. The work is the +thing." Peter swung into the larger current. They had all been cold. +Fallows was burning for them. The ice and the agony were melting from +each heart. + +"We think all is going wrong. We sit and breathe our failures often +when the celestial answer is in the air. If we were not so obtuse and +fleshly, we could see the quickening of light about us. We have had +our hours here. We have breathed the open. A very huge army is about +us, and we are thrust aside. It would seem that we and our little +story are lost in the great brute noise. Why, Moritz, these things +that we have thought and dreamed will rise again in the midst of a +world that has forgotten the tread of armies." + +They heard a voice in the street--a running step upon the stair. +Queerly it happened in that instant of waiting, that Peter heard the +sound of dropping water beyond the partition--drip, drip, drip, upon a +tinny surface. Berthe had risen, and followed Fallows and Abel to the +door. A moment later Poltneck, the singer, was with them, and the +sentry who brought him took his post with the other at the entrance. +He freed himself from them, and strode alone to the front of the room, +where he sat, face covered in his hands, weaving his head to and fro. + +"You do not well to welcome me," he groaned at last. "I should have +been in a cell alone--not here among friends. You see in me the most +abject failure--a mere music-monger who forgot his greater work." + +"Tell us--" + +He did not answer at once. They led him back into the shadows where +Peter and Berthe had been; gathered closely about, so their voices +would not carry. + +"We were hoping not to see you, said Abel, "yet sending our dearest +thoughts. What you have done is good, and we will not be denied a +song. Speak, Poltneck--" + +"I was all right till you went. I was thinking of everything--but then +I became blind. The work in the hospitals palled. I did not do what I +could. They saw I was different, and watched closely. That made me +mad. I am a fool to temper and pride. All I have is something that I +did not earn--something thrust upon me that makes sounds. The rest is +emptiness. In fact there must be emptiness where sounds come from--" + +"We know better than that," said Fallows. "Tell us and we will judge." + +Poltneck straightened up and met the eyes of Peter. "This is the +correspondent?" he asked. + +"He came up from the field this morning and in looking for us--fell +under suspicion," Berthe explained. + +The long hard arm stretched out to Peter, who still was somewhat at +sea, as Boylan had been, and afraid that he detected a taint of the +dramatic. + +"I saw your companion in the bomb-proof pit," Poltneck declared. "In +fact, I just came from there, but I will tell you.... I was perhaps +two hours or more in the hospital, after you three were taken, when +they sent for me. I thought it a summons, of course, such, as you--" + +He glanced at the faces about him, and continued: + +"But instead of leading me in the direction you had taken, the sentry +bade me mount a horse at the door, and we rode rapidly down to the +edge of the valley, to Kohlvihr's headquarters--a pestilential place +sunken in the ground and covered with sods. There they broke it to me +what was wanted--" + +His listeners began to understand. + +"Yes, I was to sing to the lines," Poltneck added. "It appears they +had been driven back several times, leaving their dead and wounded in +such numbers on the field--officers and men--that there was some +hesitation about the expediency of trying it again. Not, however, in +the bomb-proof pit. Kohlvihr was of a single mind, determined to make +his reputation as man-indomitable at the expense of his division. A +patchy old rodent of a man-- + +"I was to be used to sing the men forward. Great God, they didn't see +the difference from singing to wounded men, to men under the knife +without sleep, to dying men and to homesick bivouacs--from this that +they asked. It is my devil. I played with them. I made them think I +was afraid. I made them think I was simple. One of them told me of the +tenor Chautonville with the army. I played to that. It was very petty +of me to get caught in this cleverness, because that's how I fell--" + +"You didn't sing the lines into a new advance?" Fallows asked. His +face looked lined and gray as he leaned forward. + +"No, I didn't do that. But I made them wait to find out. I was so +occupied with repartee and acting that I failed to seize the real +chance of all the world. I told them I had been tried out as an +anesthetic, but was not sure of myself in an opposite capacity. I +begged them to send for the member of imperial orchestra stars--" + +Poltneck's self-scorn was vitriolic as he now spoke. + +"I told them I was a poor simple man afraid of great numbers, abased +even before wounded, but that if they would wound the men first I +would try. It was this that betrayed me--the joy of astonishing. Oh, +they were without humor. It goes with the army--to be without humor. +Really, you would have been dumfounded at the brittleness of mind +which I encountered in the bomb-proof pit.... Of course, it had to +come. It dawned on them--what I meant, and what the real state of my +scorn was--at least, in part. And I was taken away, very pleased with +myself and joyous--" + +"I do not see where you failed. Where, where?" Berthe asked. + +It was Fallows who understood first--even before Abel and Peter, who +was not so imbued with the specific passion of the revolutionist. + +"I was here--back in the city when it came to me what I might have +done. And so clearly the cause of the failure was shown to me," +Poltneck said, with a humility that touched Peter deeply, for his +first thought had vanished before the fact that Poltneck neither in +the action nor the narrative had once thought of his own life or +death. + +"I should have gone out to the lines and met the men face to face. Oh, +it is hard--hard that I did not think of it, for I could have sung +them home, instead of on into the valley. We might have been marching +back now--all the lines crumbling--the bomb-proof pit squashed!" + +The final stroke fell upon him this instant. None of the others had +thought of it. + +"And these--doors! Living God, we could have opened these doors!" + +Their hands went out to him. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +A basket of food was sent in during the early afternoon. They gathered +about, making a place for the woman under the light. Abel was +brighter, his eyes full of tenderness. Poltneck had not long been able +to hold out in his misery against the philosophy of Fallows, who said +as they broke the bread: + +"We have spoken our testimony, and the big adventure is ahead. It's +against the law to look back. We are honored men. I am proud to be +here, proud of a service that requires no herald. In all my dreaming +in the little cabin in the Bosks I could think of no rarer thing than +this--five together, a singer, a poet, a peasant, and two lovers. It's +like a pastoral--but the dark suffering army is about us. ... Listen +to the fighting. ... But there will be an end to fighting? ... Our +Poltneck may already have sung the song to turn the armies back. Be +very sure, he would have thought of his _coup_ in time to-day, +had the hour struck for that. Sing to us now, my son. Your soul will +come home to you. Sing to us--_The Lord Is Mindful of His Own_--" + +It was started as one would answer a question--food in his hand, and +his eyes turned upward--a song of the Germans, too, the music of +Mendelssohn. + +... It became very clear to the five that the plan was good, that +nothing mattered but the inner life, and that the soul breathes deeply +and comes into its own immortal health, by man's thought and service +to his brother. They saw it again--that goodly rock of things. The +light was shining above. Their eyes filled with tears, and their hands +touched each others' like children in a strange hush and shadow. ... + +They heard a ragged volley of platoon fire from the distant court, but +it did not hold their thoughts from the song nor change a note. The +huge sandy head was turned upward, and the hand with its bit of broken +bread moved to and fro. ... + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Boylan went back to headquarters again, but his nerve was breaking. He +did not feel at one with the staff this afternoon, rather as a +stranger who wanted something which the great brute force was +unwilling to give. He was full of fears and disorders, as if all the +eyes of men were searching his secret places. He told the sentry that +he would like to see Lieutenant Dabnitz, and gave his name, much as a +trooper would. He sat cold and breathing hard for many minutes--an +outsider, as never before. Dabnitz came at last. Big Belt arose and +clutched his arms. + +"Lieutenant," he said. "I'll spend my life to prove you wrong about +Peter Mowbray. I'll get the United States of America to thank you and +General Kohlvihr, and the army for your kindness--if you spare him. I +don't care to go to him--unless I can take him word. My God, +Lieutenant, you mustn't shoot that boy! We've ridden together, all +three. There's so much death without that. He's innocent as a babe of +any revolutionary principle. I'll give America the greatest Russian +story that--" + +"My dear Boylan, believe me, you are wrong. They are deep as hell +against us. You need not trouble, for they are happy as children at a +birthday party--with Poltneck singing and all joined hands--" + +Boylan's knees bent to the seat. + +"But we will not disturb them for the time. We will let you know," +said Dabnitz. "It would be a shame to interrupt such a pleasant party. +Judenbach will be our headquarters for one more night." + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Moritz Abel was saying: + +"... There is one perfect story in the world. It will bear the deepest +scrutiny of mind or matter or soul. Physically it is exact; mentally +it balances; spiritually it is the ultimate lesson. You will find in +it all that you need to know about Christianity, for it is the soul of +that; the one thing that was not in the world before the Christ came. +You will learn in it who is your Father; who your Brother is, and who +your Neighbor. + +"It will impart to you the clear eye for shams and material offices +and for the peril of fancied chosen peoples. From it you will draw the +cosmic simplicity of good actions, and a fresh and kindling hatred for +the human animal of grotesque desire. + +"Children grasp it with thrilling comprehension; it silences the +critical faculty of the intellectuals and animates the saint to tears +of ecstasy, even to martyrdoms. It expresses the dream of peace alike +for nations and men. It is a globe. You can go it blind, and win-- +following the spirit of the Good Samaritan." + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +The light was gray that came down through the skylight. Abel and +Poltneck and Fallows sat on the floor in the front end, because there +were not chairs for all. Back in the shadows sat Berthe and Peter. + +"...I think we will be a little bewildered," she was saying, "as one +awakening from a dream, as one awakening in the sunlight. One stirs, +you know, and shuts the eyes again. The reality dawns slowly--if the +house is quiet.... It will be very quiet. We have been used to the +cannonading so long, and the cries in the night. It will take us a +moment to realize that it is all over. I think I see just how it will +be then. I will have that sense of the glad unknown--that something +long anticipated is about to happen. You know how it comes to one upon +awakening, when something perfect is to happen--the presence of it, +before one remembers just what it is?" + +Peter nodded in the shadow. + +"And then I will remember. It will be you. I will really open my eyes +--and you will be there!" + +Something of her fire came to him. + +"You are sure it will be like that--afterward?" he repeated. + +Her voice and lips trembled. "You ask just like a little child, Peter. +It is the little child in you that strikes the heart. Don't you really +believe in the _afterward?"_ + +"Yes, but I can't see it quite clearly, you know, as you do." + +"You don't think it is all wayward and stupidly arranged as the army +would like to do it--do you?" + +They laughed softly together, but she wanted him to see it, as she +did, "Because," she said, "if you do, we will be together more +quickly. I would have to go and find you, if you didn't come----" + +"I should want to come," said Peter. + +He followed her eyes beyond the twilight from the roof, to the face of +Fallows, seen indistinctly in the shadows. It was like the figure of a +Hindu holy man sitting there so low, his hands raised palms upward, +his voice just audible. + +"Listen," she said, her hand falling upon Peter's. + +"It isn't so much their death that is the great wrong to the soldiers +by the Fatherland. A man may do worse than die, at any time. It's the +death of hate the Fatherland inspires--the fighting death--the going- +down with blood-madness and hatred for the men of another country--not +enemies at all, no harm exchanged whatsoever between them. It is such +deaths that make the world hard to breathe in--the death of preying +animals. But all that is passing. These battles had to come at the +last to hurry it away...." + +"That's what I wanted to say, Peter," Berthe whispered eagerly.... +"Fallows is greater than any,--an inspirer. He will go out with his +dream for men, strong and bright. Do you think that is the same as +dying the fighting death--with a curse and a passion for the death of +men whom you have never seen face to face?" + +"It's quite all right, you know," said Peter. "I'm keen enough to see +it through, but it's a closed door yet. However, there's something +deathless about a woman like you--yes, I'm sure of that----" + +Her hands pressed his swiftly. "Then you may be very sure, there's +something deathless in the man she loves.... Listen, Fallows is +talking about your country now:" + +"... Russia is the invader, but America is the temple of the new +spirit. America must reanimate the world after this war. I believe she +is being born again now.... She was bred right. There is always that +to fall back upon. She was founded upon the principles of liberty and +service to the distressed. No other nation can say that. But America +must lose the love of self, must cease to be a national soul and +become the nucleus of the world soul of the future. Otherwise all that +was holy in her conception is dead, and the passion of her prophets is +without avail. + +"There is a time for the development of the national soul, but ahead +on the road is the world soul, the true Fatherland. The precious +whisper is abroad that more sins have been committed in the name of +patriotism than any other. The time will come when this little orbit +and its slaying delusions will be well back among the provincialisms; +not a bad word in itself, rather a lost meaning through abuse. + +"Over a century ago the inspired Fichte addressed the Germans in a +series of documents charged with the most exalted enthusiasm for the +future of his people, on the basis of such a Fatherland that the only +living answer could be the superb affiliation of men. For years and +decades the gleam of that spiritual ignition endured there. Carlyle, +not a countryman, saw it and made it blaze with the fuel of his +genius. It seems dead to Prussia now, but that gleam shall never die. +Some strong youth on the road to Damascus shall be struck to the +ground by its radiance and arise to carry the light to the Gentiles. + +"There must be such a voice in America now. I seem to feel the new +genius of America, not yet in its prime, hardly articulate as yet, but +rapidly maturing in these days of unparalleled suffering. They will +interpret the New Age. They will meet the New Russia face to face. I +think they are watching for us now. The bond is thicker than blood. +They will see the future of Europe written upon these millions, now +the invaders from the cold lands of poverty. I think they will hold +the spirit until we come. + +"All that was true of Germany when Fichte addressed his countrymen is +true of America in this hour. All the physical and spiritual pressures +of the European disruption are turned upon the temple of America to +drive out the money-changers and make it the house of God." + +Fallows' voice softened. He was talking of America with the passion of +an exile. He loved the thoughts of her good, as he loved the peasants +about him. The room was still. + +"It is a time for heroics," he added. "America is emancipating her +genius, not only from herself, but from the thrall of the old world's +decadence. Do you think there is nothing fateful in the destructive +energy that is rubbing out ancient landmarks? Rather it would seem +that the old and the unclean has played its part, and may not be used +in the new spiritual experiment. I want to hear America's new song-- +the song of the New Age--the unspoiled workmen at their task. They +will sing as they lift.... Yes, we shall hear the song of the New Age. +Since the pilgrims sang together, no such thrilling harmony shall move +that western land. They shall be singing it for Russia when we come." + +"It makes me so ashamed," Berthe whispered after a moment, "when I +think of my weakness to-day, when you came. But, Peter, oh, I didn't +want you to come----" + +"I wouldn't be ashamed," he said. "It gave me something from you that +I couldn't have had without it. There was plenty to hold a man in +wonder--your zeal to do for others, and the exaltations, but to-day +you were down in my valley, in the earth bottoms, just seeing in the +human light, your wings tired. It was the best moment of the +pilgrimage, Berthe--the deepest." + +Peter had wanted to tell her that. + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +Big Belt stood before a man of his own size--Lornievitch, the +Commander of commanders, Himself. + +It was night. Boylan had plunged into a new vat of power, and +persuaded Dabnitz to furnish an escort from Judenbach, four miles to +the east to the main headquarters of the Galician army. + +Rows of sleepy stenographers in the outer room of a broad shepherd's +house in a little hill village--a web of wires on the low ceiling, +lanterns, candles, field 'phones and telegraph tickers, none +altogether subsided; as much routine as in the management of a state-- +the center of this monster battle-line--to say nothing of the +spectacular. + +The two men now filled a small inner room. Lornievitch spoke English-- +an English much to the caller's liking. Perhaps it was the bond of +bulk between them. + +"Well, and so you are Boylan of the _Rhodes?_--what is it, Mr. +Boylan? We are very busy." + +"I have a young friend of _The States"_ he began and talked for +three minutes--talked until Lornievitch squirmed and his aides hurried +forward ready to assist. + +"And what does Kohlvihr say?" + +"I had to speak to him through an interpreter. I could not get the +answer I wanted. He has had a terrible day. The life of one American +is too small for discussion there--" + +"And you have come here to me. Meanwhile, on the wire is the young +man's case--a love affair with a revolutionist--and a sort of be- +damned to the Russian army. You are a strong man, doubtless a brave +one--" + +Boylan was fighting for Peter's life as he would not have fought for +his own; and yet he warmed to the commander--fibers all through him +warming--something of man-business about this office that made the +headquarters at Judenbach look sinister and den-like. It was just his +hope in all likelihood. + +"But Mr. Boylan," Lornievitch added, "what would you do in my case? +There's big action, front, side, within. They have a case against the +others--and he is one of them." + +"He may be one in a momentary infatuation--" + +"Nonsense, Boylan--this is no time for girls!" + +"I grant you that, sir. But he is not a revolutionist. I've slept and +ridden with him night and day. His paper wouldn't pay for cigarettes +to do other than tell the story from the army end. If he's gone +_loco,_ I'll take him home under my arm--" + +"I say, Boylan, what do you want of him this way? He's a newspaper +competitor--" + +"Mowbray got to me. Didn't try to, but he's there. Took the field as +if it had been his work always. He's a friend, clever, courageous, a +gentleman always, clean cut, a laugh, a hand--and a boy over it all. I +didn't know--until I found him in danger. I couldn't feel worse if I +were his old woman--I am twice his age, damn near--" + +"You're invincible, Boylan. I'll tell you this: I feel better. That's +worth something. Things look black here in the valleys. Something +human I needed, in your coming. Go back now. Nothing will be done +until the morning. We've had to shoot Austrian spies all day. Caught +'em red-handed. I feel red-handed, too. Go back, and before to-morrow +morning I'll get an order over to straighten him out from the others-- +before final action is taken. Maybe I'll look him over myself. Good +night.... Oh, I say, Mr. Boylan--" + +"Yes, General." + +"Oh, it doesn't matter. I was just thinking I'd like to have one +friend like young what's-his-name of _The States_ has--" + +"Mowbray--Mowbray--don't forget the name, General--" + +"Good-night." + +"Good-night." + +Boylan put his soul in it. He loved the Russians. It was far this side +of midnight, but he smelled the dawn. + +Back in his own quarters, as he yawned largely at the flickering +shadows of the freshly-lit candle, he noted Peter's saddle bags on the +floor, and considered that it might be well to get them over to-night. + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +Peter walked the room, a changing star or two in the windy skylight; a +candle in the center by the stair-door where the sentry stood; Berthe +watching him steadily from her chair. The others at the far end looked +up occasionally. They were talking low-toned. Poltneck had been +singing folk-songs--pure spirit of the boat and cradle, of the march +and the marriage and the harvest, of the cruel winter and the pregnant +warmth again; songs that had come up from the soil and stream and the +simple heart of man, older than Mother Moscow, old beyond any human +name to attach to them. True and anonymous, these songs. The lips that +first sung them never knew that they had breathed the basic gospel +which does not die, but moves from house to house around the world. +Indeed, the melodies were born of the land and the sky, like the mist +that rises from the earth when the yellow sun comes up from the south, +and the "green noise" of spring breaks the iron cold. + +The moment had come when Peter could not sit still. Berthe was never +so dear, but he could not stay. He held the three men in true full +comrade spirit, but he could not sit with them now. He had nothing to +fear; all was quite well. + +He was thinking of America, that she was "bred right"; that some +change might be upon her now, something akin to his own +transformation. Was there a bond thicker than blood between America +and the New Russia? Word had reached the field that Russia had put +away her greatest devil in a day. A nation is to be reckoned with that +makes her changes thus at a sweep. Had Russia not freed fifty million +slaves at one stroke of the pen--that great emancipation of Alexander? +And Russia now held the Earth's mighty energy of fecundity--an +ultimate significance here; for this guest invariably comes before a +people has reached its meridian, and not afterward.... His companions +of the death cell were touching the truth; this dark suffering army +was the Europe of the future--the Russian voice that would challenge +America to answer brother to brother. + +The folk songs were singing in his soul, and the lines of Abel's _We +Are Free,_ the friendships of Spenski and Samarc, of these in the +room, and the love of Berthe Wyndham. + +All had prevailed. The culmination was now. He thought of the +actuality of to-morrow, but without terror, or blankness. It would +seem that he were leaving all this; that America, Russia, friendship, +the love of woman, were no longer his portion; yet he seemed closer +than ever to them. It was as Fallows said, "These things are +immortal." Perhaps this very room, and this, the greatest of his days +in the world, would be pictured by some one to come, as clearly and as +magically as he saw it all now; by some young workman of the +reconstruction, after the red horse of war was driven back forever. + +He was sustained. The sense came clearly that nothing men might do +could cause him harm. He felt even that his mother would some time +know how well he had come to understand her at the last. Everything +was answered by the mystic future. It was all there; all would be +told. + +"Why, to-morrow," he exclaimed aloud suddenly, "why, to-morrow, we +will laugh at today." + +They were about him. They seemed to understand all that had brought +his words, as if they had followed his thoughts to the same +apostrophe. ...He was laughing in the midst of them. + +"I think it must have been the singing and all," he said breathlessly. +"It got away from me. It has all been too fine to-day. I don't see--I +really don't--how I managed to earn it all." + +A step upon the stair, slow and heavy, a step that Peter Mowbray knew. +The companion sentry had remained below at the street door, and now +called to his fellow of the guard to open. ...Peter was abashed before +his friend like a child that had disobeyed, and come to believe that +he knew better than the father. It was Big Belt at midnight. + +"I brought your shaving-tackle," he said. "Hello, Peter." + +The face in the thin ray looked like polished metal. + +"Come in." Peter had him by the hand, which was easily pulled across +the threshold, but the body didn't move. + +"No, I won't come in--" + +"Boylan, come in!... I want you to meet--" + +"No. I'll see you in the morning.... For God's sake, don't look so +happy, and keep your mouth shut.... Good-night." + +A curtain had fallen before the glowing future. Peter couldn't raise +it again. He tried to restore his laugh and light-heartedness for the +others, but it was a mockery. The world had come in all its chaos and +mad fatigue. All that he had said was without meaning. The singing was +over. Berthe gave him her hand as he returned to the dark corner. She +did not speak, for a moment, and then only to say: + +"How sensitive we are!" + +All the weariness that he had ever known came upon him, gathering +together for descent, pressing out vitality, leaving him cold and +undone. + +"You are very tired," she whispered. "Perhaps we can rest a little. +The three are resting." Then a little later, like a child half-asleep, +she added, "I love you." + +It was her good-night. + +Throughout that short night he dreamed of cedar boughs and pungent +autumn air; flurries of snow falling from wide pine branches. There +was gray in the skylight when he awoke. Berthe was near, her cheek +against his saddle bags, which he had placed for her the last thing. +Very white and small her face looked as she slept, her hands folded +under her chin.... Peter watched, his eyes becoming accustomed to the +faint light. The white cap lay near, a different and imperfect white +compared to her flesh; and the soft deep night of her hair seemed to +him of sufficient loveliness for any world. A girl asleep--and such a +faith had they known. There was a beauty about it all that rebuked the +actuality of the place and the town and the soldiery. + +Misery began deep in his heart, welled up to his throat, blurring his +eyes, resolving his whole nature almost past resistance; that a love- +woman still without her chance, without her child, so fair and +unafraid, who had asked so little for herself and so much for the +world--should be brought to the shame and the shot of fools. A flutter +of eyes. Mowbray gripped his self-control with every ounce of force. +He would hold her in his power of will while she met the issue of the +day, and its first cruel thought. Her brow contracted a little, as if +through some passing pain.... The dawn of a smile that pursed her lips +to speak his name, met his kiss instead. He held her face between his +hands, smiling at her, while the realization came. + +_"Dear Peter--it's the day of our journey--"_ + +He brushed the lather in gratefully with cold water. The touch of the +razor gave him a queer pang such as he had never met before. + +"You're just a boy," Berthe remarked.... "It must make one feel clean. +It has been years since I was present--" + +The others were now awake. They made merry over the shaving, all +taking turns, even Fallows, the last and the longest. Indeed he had +scarcely finished before their first test came. It was like a whip-- +that step upon the stair, but only a sentry with tea and bread. + + + + +Chapter 9 + + +A gray dawn, an east wind with a driving mist, a miserable day afield +in every promise, and Big Belt had missed none of these portents since +the full darkness. With the first relief of the morning-guard at +headquarters, he was there. Dabnitz appeared and smiled grimly. The +wire was already busy; Kohlvihr came in unsteadily, the old fume about +him that made Boylan lick his lips. His own nerves had been badly +wrenched. He could have relished a stimulant, but he hadn't thought of +it alone. + +"You're looking for word from the Commander?" Dabnitz asked. + +"Yes." + +"So are we. It's up to him to-day. We're a mere wisp of what we were--" + +Boylan simulated interest. There was but one idea in his world, +however. + +"By the way," Dabnitz added. "The Commander asked for full particulars +this morning at three. They were sent to him--Mr. Mowbray's case--" + +Boylan jerked up his chin. Of late, his woolen collar had apparently +shrunk. + +"You haven't heard yet?" + +"Not yet. We're waiting--" + +"Nothing will be done until you hear?" + +"Not in Mowbray's case. The others--the others have had tea.... They +are very quiet this morning--no singing." + +Boylan hated him for that, a momentary but scarring hatred.... The +field telephone began. Presently it occupied the steady swift +attention of a stenographer whose pages were put on the machine and +handed in strips to the staff members, like a last-minute news story +to compositors. ...One of the hardest things Boylan ever did was to +speak to Dabnitz as follows: "I'd better be there if you take the +others and leave--leave Peter Mowbray. He's impulsive. You wouldn't +want a scene--you know--" + +"Wait a minute--I think your matter is on the wire," Dabnitz said, +drawing back to the telegraph. + +"Yes," he nodded, and a moment later handed Big Belt this message: + +"My compliments to Mr. Boylan and assurances of excellent regard. I +have found the favor he asks, however, altogether out of my power to +grant." + +Boylan's jaw dropped; his mouth filled with saliva. Dabnitz said +something, "...desperately sorry... couldn't possibly have ended +another way." + +"Come, come--this won't do," Big Belt muttered queerly. He was not +answering Dabnitz, but commanding himself.... He swallowed again and +turned: + +"You will have charge of the affair?" + +"Yes, doubtless. It will be very short--" + +"I will wait for you below. Of course, I'll want to be there, you +know--" + +"I didn't know," Dabnitz sighed. + +Boylan was standing below. He heard distant firing through the rain in +the direction of the field.... Lornievitch had doubtless begun a flank +movement. Kohlvihr would lick his wounds in Judenbach for another day. + +Dabnitz appeared from the stairway, a paper in his hand. He dispatched +a sentry to the barracks for a platoon, and stood waiting impatiently +for its coming. Big Belt, in the door of his quarters a few paces +distant, swallowed again.... It might delay matters.... The black fact +was that it would not do more.... + +"Oh, I say, Lieutenant, come here a moment, please. I want to show you +something--" + +Boylan led the Russian in, and turned. The place was empty. Dabnitz +regarded him wearily--then with sudden amazement. + +It was a kind of bear reaching. He was pulled down, his face smothered +in a woolen shirt that covered a breast like cushioned stone. The +building must have fallen. The hands were neither rough nor swift, but +they pawed him with a kind of power that turned him to vapor. There +was one finger upon his backbone at the neck that shut off the life +currents.... Dabnitz opened his eyes presently--a choking wad of paper +in his mouth. The mammoth looked down upon him and said: + +"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but I had to have a chance to think." + +At this instant Boylan saw the paper that the Russian had carried. It +had fluttered to the floor, Kohlvihr's signature in plain view. The +weights that beset the American had now to do with the uselessness of +it all. He had rendered the momentary order and its bearer +ineffectual; he might possibly divert the platoon. But the great one- +eyed system was all about, knowing its single task of destruction. It +would turn back to that piece by piece--until the task was done. Yet +while he lived, Boylan could not let it go on, in this specific +instance. He was fighting the Russian army now; that die was cast; the +one thing to do was to keep Peter Mowbray alive as long as possible. +He went about further details without hope, however. + +Dabnitz was carefully bound and lifted to the corner in the midst of +saddles and kit. An extra strip was fastened around his chin to +prevent the ejection of the gag. Big Belt spoke steadily and softly as +he worked: + +"You're a good soldier. You play your game to the seeds. I have no +objection to you. When it's all over I'll think of you--as a corking +field man. You've been good to us, too--everything you could do to +make us comfortable and to help us see the wheels go round.... Only +this one little thing. Perhaps you think I take it too seriously--this +Mowbray thing. Perhaps I do. That's my funeral.... Wow, and I was +merely speaking figuratively!... In any event I'm not a nihilist. I've +only got Mowbray on the brain.... I've hurt you as little as possible. +I won't leave you here long, my boy. I wasn't rough with you. You must +have seen that--" + +Dabnitz's eyes rolled. + +"Well, you see I couldn't have a whole lot of noise. There's the true +official timbre in your voice, Lieutenant.... Now you're snug, and the +platoon is served in the street.... Look what's here! I'm a careless +hand--six-shooter and belt. You'll rest more comfortably with 'em off. +And a bit of a sword? I'll take that, too. ...I won't be long, +Dabnitz." + +He went forth carrying the paper. "Lieutenant was called to another +task," he said haltingly to the enlisted officer in charge. "Hold your +men here, until I come--" + +The firing was intense valleyward. Boylan felt the need of thinking +further and dashed into the headquarters' stairway. There were excited +voices above, and he made haste to see. Kohlvihr was wild-eyed in the +center of the upper room--the telegraph ticking nervously, half of his +staff bending with extraordinary intensity over the birth of a certain +message.... What they wanted came over the 'phone. + +Boylan saw four Russian officers rush to the 'phone from the telegraph +table.... Something had happened. He backed out. + +"It's all off," he told the soldier. "Go back to barracks. The enemy +has broken through--" + +He wasn't sure of the last, but tore the paper and crumpled the +pieces. The platoon reversed and vanished. At the far end of the +street a cavalry squad was galloping forward, behind a single dispatch +rider. Already the news was known in headquarters and the staff +officers burst forth with orders for retreat--retreat to the eastward. +It was no secret now. The enemy was crossing the valley that Kohlvihr +had found impassable. + +Big Belt felt the life brimming up in his heart. Then he thought of +Dabnitz, and went to him, shutting the door behind. + +"Do you _get_ what's on, Lieutenant? Wink once--if you do." + +Dabnitz shook his head. + +"It's the enemy breaking through. Judenbach is to be abandoned +_pronto_. Listen--" + +The cavalry was in the street, carrying abroad the order for +retreat.... They heard it plainly now, even the details. Hospitals not +to be emptied, guns and ammunition not readily to be transported, must +be destroyed. The final hell was started in the town. + +"Dabnitz, I don't want you among the captured on my account. Just +forget that order! The platoon has gone back. The staff is blocked and +jammed with greater things. Will you forget it? Wink twice--" + +There was no hesitation. + +"Good. The sentries must be called off--that stair-door left open. +I'll join them--and bother you no more. We'll not leave the room while +the town changes hands. They'll never even ask you if that little job +is done. Will you go with me now and do this? Wink twice--" + +It was done emphatically; a beseeching for haste. + +"Dabnitz, I trust you. I'll entertain you in America some time--all +Washington and New York.... You'll do exactly what I ask--no more, no +less? Good God, man, it wouldn't do any good to kill 'em now. They're +out of hand forever. Perhaps the Austrians will do it, anyway. Wink +twice--" + +"Good." The gag was jerked free, and the various bindings. + +"Now, come with me. I'll detain you but a second or two--" + +Dabnitz walked at his side to the stair entrance of the skylight +prison. He spoke to the sentry below. The officer of the guard was +called; the sentry summoned from above, the door left open. + +"Wait," Boylan said finally to Dabnitz. "Here's your gun, Lieutenant. +I'm obliged to you. You'll know better some day what I mean by that--" + +"Keep them under cover," Dabnitz said hoarsely. "I'll kill you or any +of the others that I see in the street." + +"You'd be quite right." + +Dabnitz turned away. Big Belt deliberated. He did not quite trust the +Russian. He had covered him with his little pocket gun, as he handed +back the arms. Still Boylan couldn't have caused him to fall prisoner. +His hope now was that the Lieutenant would find such a rush and +turmoil that he would be compelled to forget the incident. ...He heard +their voices at the upper door of the stairway. + +"Is that you, Boylan?" + +"Yep." + +"Good-morning. What's up?" It was Peter. + +"I haven't quite settled in my mind. You're not to come down. We +haven't decorated the Christmas tree. I'm sentry here--" + +The side street was deserted. The main highway was a throng, strange +in its new direction of northward, for the bulk of energy had +heretofore moved toward the valley. The sappers were at their work of +destruction. The town rocked with explosions, but the main +consideration to Big Belt was that moments passed without bringing +further fighting to him, personally. + +"Maybe he means to stick after all," he muttered. "He must see that I +was square with him--" + +Then Big Belt smiled grimly, as if he had heard his own words. + +He watched with a kind of ferocity until the passing of the staff made +him duck back into the doorway.... Kohlvihr sitting like a potato-bag, +the brave but melancholy Doltmir--finally Dabnitz. The latter passed +the little side-street without a turn of the head. After many moments +Boylan ventured to the corner. Rifle shots from the southern border, +and the smell of fire, were matters of critical interest. The main +highway was all but emptied of Russians. One little party of +artillerymen was struggling to save a big gun half-horsed. Three +ambulances hurried by filled with wounded officers--but the cries of +the thousands of wounded enlisted men went up from the hospitals which +the Russians were abandoning. The lower half of the town was in a +final ruin that blocked the streets. + +But beyond as the wind cleared the smoke an instant (or the rain held +it low to the earth), Big Belt saw a column of troops. Its single +peculiarity struck him with queer emotion. He returned to the stair- +door. A long-repressed volume came forth from his lungs, as he trudged +wearily upward. + + + + +VI + +THE FIELD OF HELMETS + +Chapter 1 + + +Peter turned back from the upper door, since nothing further in the +way of news was to be had from Boylan. The first face that he saw +within was Fallows', and over it, as his own glance sped quickly, +there passed a look as from some poignant burden. It was the look of a +man who had thought the fight won, and now perceived that it must be +resumed again. Poltneck was just behind. Peter would like to have +preserved in picture the singer's realization that the chance was life +instead of death--the blend of animal and angel which is so +thrillingly human, as it was expressed upon that countenance. Abel was +smiling, something of a child in the smile, a tremulousness around the +lips; and Berthe came forward under the rain-blurred skylight-- +gladness, animation, a touch of the great tension lingering, but +something else that he had not seen before in their prison hours. He +went to her. + +"What does it mean?" she whispered. + +"It means that the door is open, the sentries gone. Big Belt is below +and the town wild with some new trouble--" + +"The Austrians must have broken through," said Fallows. + +"We are to stay until he gives us word," Peter added. + +Berthe was leading him back to the shadows. + +"Peter, does it mean that?" + +He saw the dark low-glowing jewel in her eyes--the earth-shine, all +the sweetness of earth in it. So close to death, it had not been +ignited before in the skylight prison, but it was there for him now, +and he loved her bewilderingly. + +"I think we may almost dare to hope," he whispered. + +"The still snowy woods--only a brave bird or two remaining--the short +brilliant days and early nightfall--our talks that will never come to +an end--" + +Something of her longing frightened him--the danger of its intensity. + +"I think we may almost dare to hope," he repeated. + +"Peter, I think--I think you are braver than any--" + +"Nonsense." + +"But you did not _see_ ahead! To you, it was a closed door +yesterday and last night. Fallows wants to go. He's weary. Abel and +Poltneck are old rebels with visions. They have thought much of such +hours as we have known here. But you--I saw it the first day in +Warsaw--the deadly courage. You had built no dream. You asked no +future. You faced it--light or black." + +"Berthe--I almost broke this morning--when I looked at you sleeping-- +and last night after Boylan came.... I think I would have fought them +in the street! It seemed--blasphemous for them to kill you--those dim +fellows--" + +"...Peter--" + +She had seemed to lose her way, the light gone from her eyes, her lips +cold.... A sprinkle of water, and she was smiling again in his arms. + +"It's strong--too strong," she murmured vaguely. + +The heavy step that Peter knew was upon the stairs. He listened. Yes, +it was alone. Boylan appeared in the doorway. + +"Go to him," Berthe whispered. + +Peter obeyed. There was a gladness for him in the touch of the big +hand. + +"Tell us, Boylan," he said. + +"They've gone." + +"The Russians?" + +"Yes." + +Abel had propped a chair behind Big Belt, who sank into it eagerly. + +"The Austrians have broken through?" Poltneck said. + +"I'm not quite sure about that," Boylan answered. "The column I saw +from the main road a minute ago--coming up from the valley--looked +like _helmets_ to me." + +"Berthe, what did you mean by _'strong--too strong'?"_ + +Peter had stepped back to her for a moment. + +"Did I say that?" she whispered smiling. + +"Yes." + +"I can't think of anything--but my love for you. It must have been +that." + + + + +Chapter 2 + + +For an hour in the skylight prison, they had waited for the step upon +the stairs. When it came Fallows had an inspiration, and said softly: + +"Sing to 'em, Poltneck--The Lord Is Mindful of His Own--!" + +As before, the song was on the wing at the word.... Throughout the +hour the Germans had flooded into the little city, the main column +moving rapidly on in pursuit of the Russians, a comparatively small +force remaining to garrison. As Boylan had pointed out, the new enemy +must have appeared in tremendous numbers thus to dare such a drive +through the Russian east wing. Lornievitch was at the head of a mighty +force to the east; it was but the tip of the right wing that the +Germans had cut off. + +An old ranker had halted at the door, his platoon behind crowding the +stairway. He was small and scarred, serious and decorous. Peter felt +that the head under the helmet was shaven; that here was a man +conscious of moving through the days of his life's stateliest +fulfillment. Boylan was nearest; a little back from the rest Poltneck +stood smiling, singing as he had never sung for the Little Father. It +is a fact that the old ranker waited for the end of the stanza. + +"Who are you?" + +Peter talked: "Four of the hospital service from Warsaw, and two +American correspondents, until to-day with the Russian army--" + +The platoon-officer ordered his men at rest and sent for his Captain. + +"Prisoners, you may sing," he said. + +They heard the voices of the gathering in the street as Poltneck sang +on, and presently the clatter of a sword in the stairway. A young +officer, not the Captain, appeared. There was a quick appeal in the +veteran's deference and his whisper. The old head bowed +affectionately, too, as to a son of finer blood than he. + +"Two American correspondents,--these two," he reported. "The others +are of the hospital service of the enemy." + +Poltneck had finished. + +"Why are you here?" the officer asked. + +"They were at work all night," said Peter, "and were here for a little +rest. The change this morning was effected before they were aware. We +were helping. + +"You were helping?" the officer repeated. + +"There has been much to do in the hospitals. We have been in +Judenbach--this is the fourth day." + +"We will look at your passports--yours and this gentleman's--" + +The papers were produced. It was almost like a hand that came to Peter +at this instant, though Berthe had not moved--the premonition that +they were to be separated. He had planned nothing for this moment +although it had been inevitable. There was a certain guilelessness +about their whole presence together in the skylight prison, although +Peter had tortured the facts a little--to avoid complication of making +known their revolutionary parts. He had become so identified with his +new friends, in the past three whelming days, that he had forgotten +for the moment the great difference in his position as an American +correspondent and noncombatant from Berthe's and the others. + +Boylan had never forgotten. He had cursed his own slowness as a +linguist, when Peter had taken the part of answering the German +officer. He was afraid of Peter's answers, but that fear was passing +now. In fact, Peter had answered surprisingly well, and his companion +was breathing easily, as a man should in a state of mental health. + +It was not until this moment--the German officer examining his +passports, the ranker studying the insignia upon his sleeve--that +Peter met the disaster of the future. It suddenly appeared to him-- +that life apart from _these_ was bleak and a nothingness. To be +caught in the great war-machine again, even with the superb loyalty of +Boylan at his hand, had the grimness of death to his soul. Already he +felt the new mastery of Judenbach, the hard insensitiveness of it--the +stone and iron of its nature, the ineffable cruelty of its meaning and +morale.... + +"These seem to be very complete and satisfactory," the young officer +reported presently. "I shall furnish an escort to accompany you and +Mr.--" + +"Boylan," said the voice of the Rhodes' Agency. + +"--to our Colonel Ulrich in charge of the garrison. These papers will +go with you of course." + +Peter cleared his voice and said steadily: "We have long given up any +hope of getting anything out as newspaper men. I, for one, would be +very glad of employment in the hospitals with my friends here. There +has been work for many more hands than could be spared--" + +"We appreciate your sacrifice," said the officer, "perhaps _we_ +are not so short-handed for the care of wounded. We have already +brought in men not dead whom the Russian orderlies missed on the field +yesterday. I believe the abandoned hospitals in Judenbach will not +suffer for the change of flags." + +Peter had noted Boylan's face as the German spoke. It was slightly +upturned and like bronze in its hardness, reminding him of the night +before in the candle-light. It weakened him.... He glanced about the +room as the officer finished. Everywhere he saw their silent urge to +accept. Fallows came forward. + +"Some time again, dear friend--we will work together. All is well with +us--" + +Abel seemed to smile; Poltneck gripped his hand, neither venturing to +speak, nor did the moment require it, for they had all gone down to +the gates of understanding together.... Berthe's hands were in his. + +Boylan had arisen. + +"Your escort is ready," the German said. + +Peter turned from them, but Berthe's face was placed for all to +see.... A little warmth, the mild pleasure of untried friendship, the +good wish of one fellow-worker to another in passing--this was all +that the watchers saw. Even Peter in his great passion could draw no +further message from that white upturned face. But her hidden hands, +held in his, gave him the very respiration of her soul. + + + + +Chapter 3 + + +Big Belt was alone with his friend again, but Peter seemed merely the +body of a man, not much use. They were kept very close by the Germans, +and told frankly that they were to be sent as soon as possible to the +big prison-hospital at Sondreig. Even German correspondents were not +permitted afield. Judenbach was retained, but the Americans were drawn +forth by the exigencies of service with Colonel Ulrich's force, and on +the afternoon of the third day following the German entry, they looked +back upon the little hill-town a last time. Though there had not been +sound nor sight of Berthe nor the group around her, during the three +days, Peter was different afield, as if he missed a certain personal +identification with that obscure Galician settlement where so much had +happened. He moved about as if there were something dead inside. His +world had turned insane. + +Those were the terrible days of November, and the two Americans were +forgotten at length--as a pair of buttons on the German uniform, +forgotten because they served and were not in the way. All that had +_not_ to do with Berthe Wyndham was black as the Prussian night +to Mowbray's brain, but Big Belt was always by. He could not have +managed except for that. There were days in which it appeared as if +half the world were down and bleeding; the other half trying to lift, +pulling at the edges of the fallen, as one half-stupefied would pull +at a fallen body in a burning house. + +At night through the silences between the cannon, sometimes over the +hills through the cold rains, came to Peter Mowbray's ears the sounds +of church-bells. Boylan did not always hear them. The German officers +declared that there were no such sounds. Boylan's sack was filled with +blood. + +"If I ever get out of here," he said, "I'll write one story--one +battle till I die--and I'll call it 'Vintage Fourteen'." + +For he was sick of the spilled wine of men. And other armies were +fighting in the vineyards of France--as were these in the piney hills +of the ancient shepherd kings; and what a fertilizing it was for the +manhandled lands of Europe--potash and phosphor and nitrogen in the +perfect solution of the human blood. + +More and more Boylan saw that Peter was queer. + +"I can't think," the latter would say. "I feel like a man dying, under +a mountain of dead. Mostly I don't want to live. I don't want to die. +I believe that it's all one and that this is the end of the world." + +Peter could work, however. Day and night when they would let him, and +mostly the Germans accepted his services gratefully now, he tugged at +the dead and the dying in the field and in the field hospitals. And +with the lanterns at night, often under fire, often so long that +Boylan could not rest, but would wait at the hospital-division like a +mother for a dissipated son. + +"They call this the great German fighting machine," Peter whispered to +Boylan one night, "but we're inside. We can't call it that. It's the +most pitiful and devitalized thing that ever ran up and down the +earth. And it doesn't mean anything. It's all waste--like a great body +killing itself piece by piece--all waste and death." + +He tried to make death easy for a soldier here and there, but there +was so much. His clothing smelled of death; and one morning before the +smoke fell, he watched the sun shining upon the pine-clad hills. That +moment the thought held him that the pine trees were immortal, and men +just the dung of the earth. + +...One night Boylan asked as they lay down: + +"Who are you?" + +"Peter Mowbray." + +"Yep, and I'm Boylan. You're at liberty to correct if wrong. Are we +ever going to die or get out?" + +"I don't know.... Boylan, you've been good to me. We're two to make +one--eye to eye--" + +"You're making a noise like breaking down again. Don't, Peter. I've +gone on a bluff all my life. I'm a rotten sentimentalist at heart-- +soft as smashed grapes. It's my devil. If you break down, I'll show +him to you--" + +"It wouldn't hurt you to bellow like a girl." + +"Maybe not, but I'd shoot my head off first." + +"Did you see the old leprous peasant to-day? He was hump-backed, and +he had no lips, but teeth like a dog. He pulled at a soldier's stirrup +as we came into town. The soldier was afraid and shot him through the +mouth--" + +"Shut up, Peter, or you'll get me. I've shown you more now than any +living soul knows--" + +"You ought to show it to a woman. A man isn't right until a woman +knows him in and out." + +"For the love of God--go to sleep!" + +They sank into restless death-ridden dreaming; and so it was many +nights, until the dawn that they fronted a swift river, black from its +snowy banks, saw the rising pine hills opposite and were swept +possibly by mistake into the center of comprehensible action--a +picture lifted from the hundred-mile ruck. + +A little town, so far nameless, sat with a shivering look on the +slope, about a half mile up from the river. A Russian quick-fire gun +or two was emplaced in that vicinity, and two batteries of bigger +bores (that the correspondents knew of) were higher on either side. +Infantry intrenchments that looked like mole tracks from the distance +corrugated the slopes in lateral lines, and roads came down to the two +bridges that spanned the swift stream, less than a mile apart. + +The morning was spent in artillery dueling. The Russians seemed partly +silenced at noon. At no time was their attack cocky and confident. The +Germans determined to cross in the early afternoon. This movement was +not answered by excessive firing. German cavalry and small guns on the +east bridge, a heavy field of helmets took the west. Boylan and +Mowbray rode with the artillery. Even as the German forces combined +for position, the firing of the Russians was not spiteful. There +seemed a note of complaint and hysteria. There was no tension in the +German command; it was too weathered for that. + +Now the cavalry went into action and guns moved away farther to the +east for higher emplacement. + +"They're going to charge the horses up into the town. They haven't +much respect for the infantry trenches," said Boylan. + +At that instant Peter's mind opened a clearer series of pictures of +Berthe Wyndham than he had known for days. Palace Square near the +river corner; her little house in Warsaw and the tall flowers between; +across the siding after Fransic; her coming to the cot of Samarc, and +all the wonderful films of the skylight prison--the dearest of all as +she slept. He could not hold the battle in mind, for he was very rich +with these pictures, and for days had tried vainly to think just how +she looked. It had been easier to remember something which Peter +designated secretly as her soul. + +Suddenly the turf rocked under his feet and his body was bent in the +terrific concussion from behind. They turned and saw the middle stone +abutment of the nearer bridge lifted from the stream--the whole +background sky black with dust and rock. Then, just as he thought of +it, the west bridge went. He spoke before Boylan, and rather +unerringly, as one does at times coming up from a dream. + +"They've trapped what they think they can handle--and fired the +bridges by wire." + +Boylan said: "I can't call it German stupidity, because it didn't +occur to me that the bridges were mined.... It's to be another leisure +spraying. We're in the slaughter-pen.... God, man, look at the +horses!" + +It had been too late to call back the cavalry. Peter's eyes followed +Boylan's sweeping arm. The horsemen were in skirmish on the slope, +just breaking out into charge. The town above and the emplacements +adjoining which had kept their secret so well, were now in a blur of +sulphur and action directed upon the cavalry charge. The whole line +went down in the deluge--suddenly vanished under the hideous blat of +the machines--whole rows rubbed into the earth--a few beasts rising +empty, shaking themselves and tumbling back, no riders. Peter turned +to the infantry in formation on the western slopes. The Russian fire +was not lax now, not discouraged in the least, nor hysterical. It was +cold-blooded murder in gluttonous quantity. + +The Americans forgot themselves. Cavalry gone--they turned to the west +and saw the poor men-beasts in rout. Even the infantry comprehended +the trick, and felt something superhuman behind it. They rushed back +toward the river--swift, ugly with white patches and unfordable, +requiring a good swimmer.... The eyes of Boylan turned back to the +Horse. He had always loved the cavalry, ridden with the cavalry always +by preference. Peter was watching the river--the hands up from the +center of the river.... + +They were alone, and now the Russian machines were on the German +batteries not yet emplaced, none unlimbered. It was as if the wind +carried them the spray from the sweeping fountains, turned from the +horse to put out the guns. Peter was hit and down--hit again and the +night slowly settled upon him, bringing the bells. + + + + +Chapter 4 + + +Big Belt talked to himself in that blizzard of fire. + +"He's hit--hit twice--but we can't go back to the Russians. They'll +finish the lad. Dabnitz promised. The Germans can't rescue us, because +the bridges are down. I've got to get him across the river--" + +He knelt and swung the burden across his back. The firing was thinner, +and the weight hurried his great legs down to the water.... Personally +he would have waited for recapture. How he would have laughed at +Lornievitch in that case. But this that he bore was under sentence of +death in that camp. He regarded the river now, propping up his head +under the burden. It was a swift devil of a stream, black from its +winter borders and cold. He moved toward the broken bridge, hundreds +of soldiers doing the same. But none of them bore a burden. + +Now he was on the steep and slidy bank-the roar of the current in his +ears, the roar of the guns behind. The stone abutments of the bridge +still stood, but the huge beams of the upper frame-work were sprawled +in the stream, the ends visible. A string of soldiers crawled along, +toward the center of the current. There was a place in which they +disappeared.... He took his position in the waiting line and heard the +cries wrung from the throats of those in the crossing--from the +paralyzing cold. Only a few succeeded. Boylan saw this, as he awaited +his turn. A steady grim procession on this side, whispering, crowding +--but a thin and straggling output on the far bank. Scenes enacting in +the center of the current shook his heart--faces and arms against the +black water, the struggles and the cries of men as they were whipped +away. + +Big Belt was in; no crawl for him. He walked the ten-inch beam with +his burden, as it sank deeper and deeper toward the center. The ice of +the water bit and tore at him. It was like a burn, too, but the +paralysis was not that of fire. The chill wrestled with his +consciousness, as he reached the depth of his waist; the current was +bewildering in its pressures--like a woman clinging to his limbs, +betraying him to an enemy. A mysterious force, this of a running +river, for the body of man is not built for it, and man's mind is slow +to learn the necessity of slow movements. The temptation to hasten is +like the tug of demons. There is much to break the nerve--and yet +nerve must remain king of every action. + +Boylan may have learned the trick in other wanderings. His own weight +and the weight of his burden helped his feet in the rapid runs of +white water. He made his way deeper and deeper upon the slanting ten- +inch piece, holding his consciousness steady against the penetrating +stab of the cold as it rose higher and higher, against the dizzying +swirl of the stream, and against the fact that the timber might be +broken at the center. ...The man before him seemed to go to his knees, +reaching down with his hands. Then the white-topped rush took him.... +One must stand; one must have weight to stand. The beam sunk to the +center now-the water to his heart; the man behind urging.... One +soldier ahead crawled forth where three had been. + +Boylan's fears were equalized now by the sudden dread of the man +behind. If he slipped he would catch at Peter's body. + +"Go slow--that's the trick!" he called. "Feel for your footing each +time. It's there. I tell you it's there, man! We rise in a moment +more--" + +He felt the jointure with his feet--some renewal or stoppage of the +timber. He halted, yelling at the man behind: + +"Wait--something different! I'll get you through--" + +It was the slight turn of the top timbers as they had reached the +apex. + +"It's the top of the bridge," he yelled above the boom of the current, +"--a turn like the peak of a low roof. A slight turn to the right. Now +the climb--" + +He put it in Russian somehow, making the words clear. His intensity +was almost madness to keep the other's hands off. + +A shiver passed through his burden. The water had whipped Peter's +limbs. An added call for steadiness, but a gladness about it, too, +since he was not carrying the dead.... Upgrade now. The soldier behind +had passed the turn safely and was following. + +...It seemed that he had walked hours, A thousand or more German +soldiers were lost even as he. Their faces in the dusk passed him--to +and fro--hoarse questions. The gray chill dusk was all about, quite +different from anything Big Belt had known. His clothing had warmed to +him from great exertion. There was a line that caked and dampened +again down his left thigh, like an artillery stripe, from Peter's +wounds. Night came on, finding him without a command--a strange sort +of abandonment, and a certain fear of being overtaken by a Russian +party. The character of his fatigue brought back ancient memories, +when he had looked death face to face and was afraid. + +"Who are you?" someone piped sharply in German. + +He had moved long through the dark toward a moving file of lights. + +"Two American correspondents." + +"What's that you carry?" + +"The other one." + +Peter heard this. It seemed that terrible hands had been tugging at +his flesh for hours; yet he could not move, and lay upon a bed that +swung and swayed and stumbled. + +"Two American correspondents," the voice repeated.... "Search...." + +Then Peter looked into the dazzle of a flashlight, and the familiar +voice said: + +"Yes, he's hard hit and heavy as hell.... Passports in hip pocket- +handle him gently. ... Thanks, I'll take care of this man--unless you +have a stretcher--" + +"To whom were you formerly assigned?" + +"To Colonel Ulrich. We were across the river when that trap was sprung +this afternoon--" + +"Just about wiped you fellows out, didn't they?... Passports right +enough as far as I can see. Stay here, I'll try to get a conduct. I'm +afraid there isn't any Colonel Ulrich--at least I am of that +opinion...." + +Peter was let down. It puzzled him a long time because the ground was +still. The big hands eased. His familiar was beside him, however, wet +and panting. Now Peter seemed to remember that he had messages to +carry. + +"There's no other way--I've got to get through the lines--" + +"Quite right," Boylan answered. + +"I don't want to fail. She wouldn't look twice at a man who failed--" + +"Hell, child, sit still. She'd look twice if you failed a thousand +times.... Hai, don't tear open a man's bridle arm. What is it?" + +"He was hump-backed--no lips--teeth like a dog--and the trooper shot +him through the mouth--" + +"I know, but he's dead. His back is straight now--don't look any worse +now than ten thousand others...." + +For a long time all was bewilderment. He had been lifted and lost +consciousness again in the wrenching of the hands. Then slowly he came +back and eternity began as before, his bed swaying and straining. The +familiar voice was near, the German ahead. Sentry after sentry was +passed, and each time deadly waiting.... In snatches he understood +that the voice always near was Boylan's, but as often forgot it again. +Once he realized that Boylan was carrying him, but he could not hold +it in mind.... Now he was sure that it was Boylan. He wished he could +die from the cold. He recalled that the cold climbs to a man's heart +and then lets him out in comfortable dreams. + +"Hai, you!" he heard in the familiar tones. "I can't go any further. +Send a stretcher or a wagon. Tell 'em two American correspondents are +sitting out here--one with a bullet or two through his chest of +drawers--" + +The bed was sinking now.... Then he was dragged across the big man's +lap, and the voice was saying: + +"I never knew it to fail. The man who wins a woman gets the steel, +when it's anywhere in the air, but bullets fly wide and knives curve +about a lonely maverick who has lost all his heart winnings." + +They found Boylan so, his jaw clenched, the huge scarred head bare and +covered with night dew, but ready to talk. Across his legs, Mowbray +lay, and still breathed. + + + + +Chapter 5 + + +Some unique thing, Big Belt, that rock of a man, had found in Peter +Mowbray. For seven days and nights, though broken with incredible +fatigues (a yellow line of bone color showing across his face under +the eyes), Boylan sat by in cars and ambulances until they reached +Sondreig, the city of the women-folk, and a regular civilized bed. +What he gave to Peter was clear; what he took from a man down, a +woman's property at best, is harder to tell. Perhaps in the great +strains and pressures of the campaigns, he had seen Peter inside, the +mechanism and light effects appertaining, and found it true. It may be +that Big Belt had never been quite sure that a man-soul could be true, +and having found one, was ready to go the limit. This is only a +hazard. + +Peter didn't know. He was a lump--one little red lamp burning in that +long house of a man--flickering at that, its color bad, its shadow +monstrous. Everyone but Boylan declared he would die from that wound +in his chest; and Boylan was right. + +The Germans were good. They gave him a little room over an apothecary +shop at the edge of the city, off one of the bullet-wards, so that the +American would suffer from no lack that the hospital routine could +furnish, and still not be denied the ministration of his friend. There +were reasons, from the German standpoint, why it was well for Mowbray +to have every chance for life. The Russian _coup_ of the destroyed +bridges, that lesser disaster, would some time be told. Boylan might be +persuaded to tell the story to America without adjectives. This was not +a very humane way to regard large kindness from saddened and maddened +men, and Boylan did not linger over it. + +The Order in Sondreig soothed. It was like a fine _morale_ shown +by troops in a pinch. The city was one spacious hospital, but orderly, +the horizon smokeless, the distance free from the crash of guns. In +fact, it seemed that the city must have prepared itself for a thousand +years--as if waiting for its messiah. There was a glad quiet in the +thronging streets that seemed to say, "It has come...." + +When he found that Peter would live--all the pathological vortices +past--Big Belt turned with strange joy to exterior activities. Of +course, months would be required to make his companion a man again. +There might remain a crimp in him that would last always, but Boylan +was aware that a man's weakness may be made his strength, and that a +life habit of care which comes from cushioning a wound often results +in extraordinary development of the parts of strength. + +The sight of women and children brought him gusts of emotion. In one +evening hour, he followed a middle-aged woman who was leading a child +through the faintly-lit streets; trailed the pair for a square or two +through the soft snow, a sort of miracle in the picture to him, a +heaven of gentleness and order. This was his first grand reaction from +the field of strife--at least, from this campaign--and he was struck +as never before with the main fact--how little a man really needs to +live his life in brightness and calm. Such a sense of the emptiness of +war-fields surged home to him that he was left a heretic in relation +to all that had called him before. It did not occur to Boylan that +this was wisdom; rather the pith of the emotion was to the effect that +he was getting old. + +The child's thin voice reached him in questionings, and the steady low +tones of the woman. A man could ask little more of the world than to +lead a child thus.... Perhaps they were poor. Boylan would have liked +to fix that. It had to do with the whole inner ideal of the man to be +a fixer of such things--to come home to a house of little ones in +quantity and many women--a broad house of aunts, sisters and old +women, a long broad table of all ages, the many problems resting on +him--and one woman looking straight across.... She would know +everything, and yet would advise with him--quiet discussions of policy +regarding this one or that one, and the interposition of food.... + +He was perspiring. Always after a war or expedition he had perceived +such matters more or less clearly, but not quite as now. Never before +had he constructed his secret heaven with such durable substance.... +He actually believed that the field would never call to him again. It +had become like the fear of hunger that he had learned once for all. +No more of that--no more of war. He had given everything to the field, +and lost his broad board in the world-house. At least, he could find a +door-step somewhere. + +They were gone. He thought of his companion--the sense of summons that +he seemed to have known always. He turned and walked back. The snow +fell softly; the street lights were pleasant and warming with this bit +of peace in the world, this little circle of life with men and women +and children together.... As he neared the apothecary shop, his +thoughts became rounder and rounder with what he had missed. He had +taken the arc and lost the globe--a sorry old specimen of a man, if +the truth were told, a career behind him designed to arouse the +wildness of boys, but without appeal and very much to be discouraged +by real men. Finally it occurred to him of the whole races of men who +had _what he lacked_, yet were restless for the harshness and +crudity of the earth. + +"If they only knew what they have," he muttered. "I suppose they +forget. Just as I forget between wars what hell is like.... I suppose +they do forget, and read a man's stuff by their fires (ordering the +kids to be quiet)... thinking that this war-man writing from the field +is a great and lucky guy. I suppose they stop and think how things +might have been different with them--had _they_ taken to the open +when the old call came.... _Ordering the kids to be quiet_--Good +God--" + +Whether it was the audacity of fatherhood that called this last into +the world, or the face of the woman who had passed him--is not known. +Enough that Big Belt forgot all his dreams. ...That white-skinned, +wonder-eyed girl, the fire creature, twice seen in the bitter shadows +of Judenbach! + +She had looked into his face, as if she scarcely dared to trust her +eyes, as if she, too, were not sure; and yet it had come over him like +death that she was here for her own.... He tried to make himself +believe that it was an illusion, just one of the queer jolts that come +to a man when his thoughts are far off. But actualities rubbed this +out. She was a prisoner of the Germans; probably had proved invaluable +in the hospital service and had earned certain privileges; but it +wouldn't do to let Peter fall into her clutches again; that meant +revolution and death. They would make a dupe of him as before. It had +nothing to do with peace and the outer world; it meant-- + +Boylan saw that he wanted Peter for his own. He wiped the sweat from +under his hat.... He couldn't keep them apart; she would think out a +way; a man can't wrestle with a woman.... The world was bleak and +wide-open to disruption again. He climbed the stairs. + +The wounded man was not awake. Boylan had objected from the first to +his manner of breathing--too much in the throat, hardly a man-sized +volume of air, the breathing of one who hadn't proper lung-room; but +this was an old matter. He reflected on the various fatigues Mowbray +had met with a smile, and the vitality which had finally pulled him +loose from the cold clutch itself; standing him in stead through a +journey so grisly that Boylan had not had the detachment so far to +contemplate it from first to last. So he had been forced seriously to +grant exceptions to the rule of chest inches and vitality. The soft +winter air blew in from the slightly opened casement. + +Peter's face was wan and boyish--different to Boylan as a result of +his encounter in the street. He saw Peter now with the eyes of a man +who must give up.... She was here in Sondreig. He would not help her, +but if she came, there would be no fight.... It had been his fault. +Boylan had sensed the danger of giving too much--from the +beginning.... One woman brings a man into the world, sees him properly +a man, and another woman takes him away.... Just how Big Belt broke +into this particular picture must be suggested rather than explained. +He was very close to mothers that night. He could understand fathers, +too. + +...They would never know what he had done. The Russians had not +understood, except Lornievitch, in part, and he was far away; the +Germans would never piece the fragments together, and Peter himself +had been mainly unconscious. Peter had not been told even of the +Dabnitz episode.... They might have pulled together for years if it +hadn't been for the woman, but there was bound to be a woman. Mowbray +was like that. + +Big Belt yawned over it all, drew his cot close, so he could hear +Peter's call, lit a fresh candle, and wished he had remembered to +smoke outside. Presently, however, he was breathing forth the full +volume of a man. + +Sitting by the civilized bed early the next afternoon he heard a voice +below that clenched his jaw much as it had been that night outside the +German camp before the stretcher was brought. She had found them. She +did not speak first, but looked in.... Seeing the face upon the bed, +she could not ask, nor speak, but crossed the room. It would have been +just the same so far--had Boylan not been there. In fact, he had +withdrawn from the place by his companion.... She knelt an instant. +Now she arose and faced the friend. + +"He will live." + +Peter was still afar off. + +"Yes, ma'am--I think he will." + +She came to him now. "I saw you last night," she whispered. "I saw you +come here. I could not come until now." + +"Humph--" or something of the sort was heard from Boylan. + +Berthe appeared to draw a certain truth from the situation. Perhaps +she saw _the woman_ in Boylan--the mysterious, draggled creature +which he designated his devil on occasion. The old war-wolf gave her +credit for no such penetration. Still she kept herself second, +advised, assisted for a few moments, but would not let Boylan go. + +"He's knit to you. He might die if you go," she said. + +Something about her choked him. He had been with men so continually. + +"And then I can't stay," she whispered. "But I am so thankful to have +found you--that nothing else matters.... You see, we are prisoners. +They have trusted certain of us to work; still we have no names, no +way of hearing, no mails, or anything. It's a good miracle that I +found you." + +Presently she said again: "You don't think I understand, but I do. You +have stood by him. He would not have been here but for you. He is +living because of you. I see that. I see that he has been very +close.... You may hate me as you wish, but you cannot help taking what +I give you." + +"You're an all-right young woman," Big Belt managed to remark. "I knew +something of that." Then, in a panic, he added: "He'll know you to- +night. He's cool now. He'll pull through. He'll know you to-night, and +then I go." + +"Not until he sees you.... Besides, I am a prisoner. I cannot come and +go as I would. I may not be able to come to-night--they may say +_no_." "He'll have all that he needs until you come," Boylan +said. + +She did come that night. Peter had returned, but voyaged again +meanwhile. In the morning she came again.... Boylan ordered her to sit +down in the far corner. He went to the bed, for Peter was stirring, +and presently opened his eyes with reason and organization in them. + +"Hello," he said. + +"Hello, boy." + +Peter looked beyond him and around the room. + +"Go to sleep," said Boylan. + +"I won't." + +"All right." + +Big Belt stepped aside. Peter managed to get a knuckle up to rub his +eyes. + +"He's back with us," Boylan whispered. + +"Don't go," she pleaded. + +"Don't be a fool," said Boylan. + +She was there beside him, bending lower and lower. It was against +nature for them not to forget the exterior world for a moment, and +Boylan was on the stairs.... + +He saw Sondreig with eyes that seemed to have dropped their scales. It +was early in the morning, and a light snow had freshened everything. +An old woman was sitting at the locked entrance of what had been a +dairy shop, weeping for her only son. Boylan stopped. + +She was very poor and weak. + +"Come, mother," he said, lifting her. + +She looked into his face in a way that roweled the man. + +"Come on," he said softly. "We'll have some breakfast. And you'll tell +me about it. I belong to the widows and the fatherless, too." + +So they rocked away together. + + + + +Chapter 6 + + +He was sleeping again. Berthe went to the window. Even in her +happiness she was afraid, for she was remaining longer than her +leave.... The window faced the south, and the apothecary shop was on +the edge of town. The day was like a pearl--snowy distance, a soft- +toned sky and the low shine of the sun. Deep down in the west, like an +island, was a thick brush of cedars, preserving their green across the +miles, and calling to her with something of the native wonder of old +Mother Earth; and to the right, east of south, was the huge blurred +stockade where King Cholera was so far imprisoned with the bait of +fresh lives each day. + +The old Mother was in her winter bloom, so pure and deep-eyed, so calm +and above sorrow in her distance and coloring, that it became to +Berthe a moment not to be forgotten--such a moment as would make a +woman homesick in heaven. + +...If the big man would only come back. They might be angry for her +staying. It would be so easy to lose all that she had won from the +Germans. They had come to rely upon her more and more, realizing the +character of her service, and forgetting its origin in Judenbach. She +did not want to disappoint them. With Peter Mowbray here in good hands +and climbing back to life--no woman in the midst of war could ask +more.... At the bedside again, she pondered the recent weeks to this +hour. Without words, without heaviness, he had come along, fitting so +blithely into the new places, bringing his laugh and his skepticism of +self always, asking for no sign nor reward of the future, building no +dream of heaven, but standing true to the tasks of earth. Greatly +more, and differently, she loved him now, and the distance held the +green of cedars. + +...An officer came to her from the bullet-ward. + +"You are to stay until Mr. Boylan, the correspondent, comes," he said. + +"But will they know? They were good to let me come." + +"Colonel Hartz has signed the order. Word has been sent to the +entrainment wards. You were attached there, I believe?" + +"Yes." + +"Let us know in case of any need here." + +"Yes. Thank you." + + + + +Chapter 7 + + +A most satisfying adventure, so that Big Belt added many things to the +matters which could not be related. The old mother had told him of her +son (as they sat together in the little room she called home) and +Boylan had seen in him a singular hero, and made the mother see it. +Presently he strode forth to the shops and returned with many packages +of food affairs, and a cart of fuel following. The prodigious prices +which these things commanded in Sondreig appealed to him as a trifle; +in fact, the simplicity of life on these direct terms of living first +hand, struck him as the eternally right way.... Then she cooked for +him, very intent and eager in the great joy of it, agitated by his +praise. In fact, he went to great lengths of breakfasting to show his +appreciation; until, perceiving what he had done, he strode forth +again with replenished understanding and restocked the cupboard by +means of the cart.... Yes, he would come to-morrow.... Yes, by all +means, while he was in Sondreig. + +Even if he had not thought of the white-fire creature being held in +the room above the apothecary shop for his return, Boylan had found it +necessary to leave the old mother, since she could not be made to eat +with him there. She would have cooked for him until she fell by the +fire, but as for her sharing the repast, she begged him to have peace, +that time was plentiful for that.... He was thinking it all out once +more, a most delectable incident, as he walked swiftly through the +snow toward the apothecary shop, when his shoulder was plucked by a +passerby, and he turned, stiffening a bit at the roughness of it. A +black-bearded man of much rank peered into his face, crying out: + +"Boylan, by the One God!" + +"Herr Hartz--by the same!" Big Belt exclaimed. + +And now they embraced--a mighty affair, a memorable spectacle of +pounding, of disengagement, of renewed embrace--so that soldiers and +hospital men circled wide in passing, and the little street was hushed +with the exceeding joy. + +"Come and live with me, Boylan. I will not take no for an answer. Come +at once, and let us a table between us have, to prevent further +inderrupption of travvic--" + +At no time would the cause of this majestic effusion have been made +clear to an outsider, though it was plain that the American +correspondent and the German officer of rank shared it alike. The +truth: these two, and two others somewhere in the world, were the +surviving four of a complement of over thirty men who had made up the +original outfit now known as the Schmedding Polar Failure. Colonel +Hartz, detached from his cavalry command for service in the prison- +hospital at Sondreig, was second in command here as he had been to +Schmedding in that former ill-starred expedition. + +The table was between them. + +"But first," said Boylan, "there is a little business in which you can +help. My friend, Mowbray... is just coming back to life from Russian +wounds. I could not leave him without being assured of his care. There +is one little nurse from the entrainment wards--it is a good story, +which I will tell in good time--competent to care for him. She is +there now, but I have already stayed longer than her leave granted. +She must be set at rest, and word sent also to her own post--" + +"So much words for a little thing--dictate and I write. Then tell me +of yourself, which is more imbortant--" + +It happened, even after the messages were sent, that Boylan spoke very +little of himself. He was grappling with a certain final disposal. His +talk was colored with desire. In fact, within an hour he had reached +the critical part of his narrative, and was becoming more glib +momentarily as the way out cleared: + +"...You see, they met in Warsaw, where I was stationed before the war. +She did not tell him what was in her mind. He parted from her--as any +other married man taking the field. We were together with Kohlvihr's +column, of which I will tell you later.... Now what do you think?" + +Herr Hartz snorted. He did not care to think. + +"She didn't stay in Warsaw," Boylan went on, with great intensity. +"No, my friend, she joined the hospital corps, and followed him +afield--" + +"The Russians take anyone for the hosbittles," the other remarked +impatiently. + +"Exactly; and my friend Mowbray found her nursing sick soldiers in +Judenbach. It happened that they were together when the city changed +hands. By the way, there was much of interest in those days of which I +will tell you later.... This is the point. She was a Polish prisoner-- +he an American non-combatant. I advised them to say nothing for the +present that they were married. It was very ticklish to change hands +anyway, and would have complicated the position of each one. So they +were separated. He was with me day by day until he was wounded. He +moved in a dream without her--a good boy, Colonel--and a good girl-- +but war. I say, we learned something about men, you and I--long ago--- +" + +Herr Hartz now beamed. + +"We learned it," he breathed. + +"They make only a few on the pattern of Mowbray.... Last night I saw +her in the street here at Sondreig.... So you see why I arranged for +her to take my place at his side--but you can arrange the rest--" + +"For God's sake, what do you want? You talk and talk about such people +and women and love stories--when we have so much to say about +ourselves--" + +"Be patient. We have all time," said Big Belt. "I only want them +together--a true married pair. Then they will be off my hands. You can +make Headquarters forget she is Polish--that is all. Some little place +apart--for them to be together while he heals--" + +"Such a lot of talk for small things. It shall be done, Boylan, with a +paper. I will send them to the country and monobolize you myself. This +is a big war--yes?" + + + + +Chapter 8 + + +A last time he climbed to the floor above the apothecary shop. If only +she wouldn't act up. A serious thing, this he had done. Big Belt felt +that he had rushed matters, possibly treading upon a host of delicate +and incomprehensible affairs. But, when he had found in Colonel Hartz +a man to make action of his words, he had plunged.... + +Peter was asleep. The woman came forward noiselessly, offering her +hand. By her face he knew that all was well with the patient. Boylan +had stiffened to resist the pang of Peter's passing from his life. +This had so far prevented his voice from softening to the woman. It +was now evening. + +"I've done what seemed best," he began abruptly in a whisper. "It +appears to have accomplished what I set out after, but it's likely a +ruffian's way--" + +Her gray eyes widened, her face blanched. + +Big Belt cleared his throat. Whispering was difficult. + +"I met an old friend who made possible your remaining here. He's to +send you into the country--as soon as the young fellow is able to be +moved. You are to take care of him there. You see, my friend happened +to be second in command here at Sondreig, and he thinks he can make +all concerned forget that you were picked up from the opposition in +Judenbach--" + +"Can make Sondreig forget that?" she whispered. + +"We are very old friends. We were out together in a former service--" + +"And we are to be sent into the country--as soon as Peter is able?" + +"Yes." + +"But what is the terrible part?" + +"There might have been a better way, but I didn't think of it--" + +"Oh, what, Mr. Boylan?" + +"I told him that you two were married--" + +"Yes." + +"I say, I told him that you two were married--" + +"Yes--and then?" + +Big Belt backed from her, and sat down. + +"There isn't any _then_," he said. "That's it.... That you were +married in Warsaw, and followed him to the field--without his +knowing." + +"Is that all?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Oh, you frightened me." + +...Boylan was on the stairs. He halted, turned back. She came to him +eagerly. + +"But _were_ you married?" he asked. + +"No. But it's such a little thing compared to what might have +happened--to keep us apart. I mean what might have happened here.... +Oh, God bless you!" + +He twisted his chin away from his collar, drew it clear with his hand, +cleared his throat to speak, and vanished. + + + + +VII + +THE GREEN OF CEDARS + + +It wasn't an open fire, but a little iron stove that got so red that +it trembled, and at intervals could hardly contain the puttering of +the pine; and there was a one-armed soldier, who spent the long +forenoons cutting carefully and piling, until there was a rustic +wainscot half around the room, the drying breath of which was the +purest fragrance in the world.... They petted the soldier until an +officer came down. + +It was the hunting forest of a certain Count, and the hut they lived +in was but the lodge of one of his keepers; but it was far enough from +the great mansion (where wounded officers of royal blood and toppling +rank healed or died in much the same fashion as other men) to afford +the silence and solitude they had dreamed of. And all about them the +great trees pondered between the winds--pine and balsam, cedar and +fir. It had looked like a bit of an island from the Sondreig window, +but proved a true forest when they reached there--an enchanted one to +Berthe and Mowbray. + +Twice Boylan came down for a day, bringing Moritz Abel the second +time; but the Colonel, whose authority had done so much for them, +required much of Big Belt, and there was a woman (some mystery about +this) who would keep dinner waiting, he said. So both times he had +started back while there remained light in the sky. And Peter had +become thoughtful. + +"Why, there are whole days I can't account for," he muttered. "He must +have had me strapped to him for days at a time." + +He had asked for Poltneck, of whom she had seen the last in Judenbach. +The Germans had loved his singing and made very much of him; and Peter +had asked for Moritz Abel before the latter came for the day. Berthe +had answered freely, but of Duke Fallows she had not spoken in a way +to satisfy his questions. In fact, it was not until the day that Peter +first crossed the little room alone that she seemed ready to speak. +That afternoon he had called her from the window. + +"Where is Fallows, Berthe?" + +"Not far from here," she said. "Not as far as Sondreig from here--a +place you have never seen, but I watched it every day from the window +of the apothecary shop until you were moved. He offered himself at +once when he heard--the cholera quarantine.... But he left a message +for you to carry, Peter--gave it to me for you. + +"I saw him for a few brief moments after he had volunteered. He talked +of you and that other American boy of the other war. He said that the +night he separated from that other--just after the battle of Liaoyang, +the Russians in full retreat, he had written his story of the battle-- +the story of the Ploughman, and intrusted it to his friend to carry to +America. He wants you to carry his story of this service--asked me to +give it to you when you were better--to take to America with yours. +'Just a picture,' he said. 'It may be all wrong, but I see it so to- +night, and I would like to have it come out in America some time.' + +"He is very dear to us, Peter--that old burning exile. Some time we +may understand his love for America.... It was hard to let him go. +They fight day and night in the Stockade. They are trying to spare +Sondreig.... I wish you might have been with him that last night +before he went. It was before I found you--before I saw the big man in +the street.... He was glad to go. There was no sense of sacrifice in +it. His whole sense was of our sorrow and the world's sorrow. But it +would have been good for him if you had been there--because you are of +his country. He said it again and again: 'She must see it. It is her +immortal opportunity,' meaning America--" + +"Is his story so we can see it?" Peter asked. + +"Yes." + +She took from her breast a little chamois, in which was wrapped two +pages of tough tissue, spread them out, drew her chair close to him, +and read this picture Fallows had made, and his message to America: + +..._It is the long night of Europe. France sits in dust upon the +ground, staring toward the End. Mother England has called for her +sons, and some have not answered. She turns her frost-rimed glass from +the grim horizons to the grimmer skies, and always in the movement of +the darkened shadows is written the word, "Disaster." ...Smileless +Germany, stricken as never a nation was stricken before, save by the +wrath of God, still holds to the fatal enchantment of a fatherland of +the ground, while the changes in the Prussian boundaries are marked in +fire and the blood of her children.... Russia is looking southward, +furious to open her casements upon the perilous seas--gloomy millions +of the tundras, mighty millions of the ice-ringing plains--looking +southward, marching southward, to-day marking time, to-morrow a +league, but southward as a ship in passage. Russia, the young, holy +genii battling with demons in her breast, everything to win and only +the fruits of her world-shocking fecundity to lose--southward to +slaughter through the long night. + +...A call to America through the long night--the voice calling for her +to put on her splendid, her initial magic. The voice from the vision +of sorrow-illumined men in frozen bivouacs, crying to America to hold +fast to the dream of her Founders, lest the vessel of the future be +drained of vital essence, indeed--to hold fast until we come ...crying +for America to answer, not with rapacious intellect, not the answer of +a militant body, but an answer from the soul of the New World, with +its original vitality in the Fatherhood of God. + +...Repeating through the long night that the patience of Nature is +exhausted with the hate of man for man; that the hatred of nation for +nation is a lost experiment; that the bitter romance of the predatory +is a story finished in hell; that the passion for self and boundary is +done, that Compassion for neighbor and nation is the art of the +future; crying the end of the national soul and the stroke of the hour +for the birth of the world-soul; crying to America, the only temple, +the sole house of nativity, to put on again her youthful magic, to +ignite afresh the Gleam of her Founders, to arise to her superb and +heroic destiny._ They sat in silence until the tap at the door. It +was the one-armed soldier, who came in, regarded the stove critically +inside and out, judiciously chose one knot of pine, inserted it with +grave care, and, departing, inquired if there was anything further he +could do. + +"No," said Peter. + +And Berthe asked: "Is there anything we can do for you?" + +He bowed his head in the doorway, and they saw beyond him the winding +aisles of the forest--green and white, the dusk creeping in. + +THE END + + + +_A brief expression of the critical Reception of_ + +DOWN AMONG MEN + + _Outlook_: Possessed of a marvelous descriptive genius, equipped +with a remarkably flexible use of English and impelled by the passion +of a mystic--the author of Down Among Men has written a striking +novel. + +_The Dial_: Seems to us the most exalted and appealing story Mr. +Comfort has thus far written. + +_The Argonaut_: A novel of extraordinary power. It is good as +_Routledge Rides Alone_. It could hardly be better. + +_London Post_: Alive with incident, bounding with physical +energy, dramatic in coloring, and modern in every phrase. He has a +message delivered with vigor, inspired with tense passion. + +_Atlantic Monthly_: There is so much real fire in it--the fire of +youth that has seen and suffered--so much vitality and passion that +one grows chary of petty comments. The writer offers us the cup of +life, and there is blood in the cup. + +_Chicago Record-Herald_: An almost perfect tale of courage and +adventure. + +_Chicago Tribune_: Contains some of the most remarkable scenes +that have appeared in recent American fiction. + +_New York Times_: Few richer novels than this of Mr. Comfort's +have been published in many a long day. + +_New York Globe_: We can say in all sincerity that we know of no +recent bit of descriptive writing that can match this for sustained, +breathless, dramatic interest. + +_Springfield Republican: Down Among Men_ is perhaps the most +ambitious American novel that has come out during the past year. + + + +MIDSTREAM + +...A hint from the first-year's recognition of a book that was made to +remain in American literature: + +_Boston Transcript_: If it be extravagance, let it be so, to say +that Comfort's account of his childhood has seldom been rivaled in +literature. It amounts to revelation. Really the only parallels that +will suggest themselves in our letters are the great ones that occur +in _Huckleberry Finn_.... This man Comfort's gamut is long and he +has raced its full length. One wonders whether the interest, the +skill, the general worth of it, the things it has to report of all +life, as well as the one life, do not entitle _Midstream_ to the +very long life that is enjoyed only by the very best of books. + +_San Francisco Argonaut_: Read the book. It is autobiography in +its perfection. It shows more of the realities of the human being, +more of god and devil in conflict, than any book of its kind. + +_Springfield Republican_: It is difficult to think of any other +young American who has so courageously reversed the process of writing +for the "market" and so flatly insisted upon being taken, if at all, +on his own terms of life and art. And now comes his frank and amazing +revelation, _Midstream_, in which he captures and carries the +reader on to a story of regeneration. He has come far; the question +is, how much farther will he go? + +Mary Fanton Roberts in The _Craftsman_: Beside the stature of +this book, the ordinary novel and biography are curiously dwarfed. You +read it with a poignant interest and close it with wonder, reverence +and gratitude. There is something strangely touching about words so +candid, and a draught of philosophy that has been pressed from such +wild and bitter-sweet fruit. The message it contains is one to sink +deep, penetrating and enriching whatever receptive soul it touches. +This man's words are incandescent. Many of us feel that he is +breathing into a language, grown trite from hackneyed usage, the +inspiration of a quickened life. + +Ida Gilbert Myers in _Washington Star_: Courage backs this +revelation. The gift of self-searching animates it. Honesty sustains +it. And Mr. Comfort's rare power to seize and deliver his vision +inspires it. It is a tremendous thing--the greatest thing that this +writer has yet done. + +George Soule in _The Little Review_: Here is a man's life laid +absolutely bare. A direct, big thing, so simple that almost no one has +done it before--this Mr. Comfort has dared. People who are made +uncomfortable by intimate grasp of anything, to whom reserve is more +important than truth--these will not read _Midstream_ through, +but others will emerge from the book with a sense of the absolute +nobility of Mr. Comfort's frankness. + +Edwin Markham in _Hearst's Magazine_: Will Levington Comfort, a +novelist of distinction, has given us a book alive with human +interest, with passionate sincerity, and with all the power of his +despotism over words. He has been a wandering foot--familiar with many +strands; he has known shame and sorrow and striving; he has won to +serene heights. He tells it all without vaunt, relating his experience +to the large meanings of life for all men, to the mystic currents +behind life, out of which we come, to whose great deep we return. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Red Fleece, by Will Levington Comfort + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RED FLEECE *** + +This file should be named rdflc10.txt or rdflc10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, rdflc11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, rdflc10a.txt + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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