And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
For my hair is gray, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life
to live;
And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he's all I had to
give.
Ah, yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh, how my eyes were
dim!
With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with
him.
For look! How the leaves are falling now, and the winter won't be
long....
Oh, boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of
song!
How we used to sit at the day's sweet end, we two by the
fire-light's gleam,
And we'd drift to the Valley of Let's Pretend, on the beautiful
River of Dream.
Oh, dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay
Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my gray.
For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child, and he waves
to me;
And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts
with glee;
A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: "Come, Mumsie dear!"
Ah, me! If he called from the ends of the earth I know that my
heart would hear.
* * * * *
Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain: how worthier
could he die?
Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.
For Peace must be bought with blood and tears, and the boys of our
hearts must pay;
And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.
And though I know there's a hasty grave with a poor little cross
at its head,
And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he'll never
be dead.
And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with
me still,
So I'm finding the heart to smile and say: "Oh God, if it be
Thy Will!"
ROBERT W. SERVICE.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] COPYRIGHT BY BARSE AND HOPKINS.
THE CASE OF SERBIA
But Belgium is not the only little nation that has been attacked in
this war, and I make no excuse for referring to the case of the other
little nation--the case of Serbia. The history of Serbia is not
unblotted. What history in the list of nations is unblotted? The first
nation that is without sin, let her cast a stone at Serbia--a nation
trained in a horrible school. But she won her freedom with her
tenacious valor, and she has maintained it by the same courage. If any
Serbians were mixed up in the assassination of the Grand Duke, they
ought to be punished. Serbia admits that. The Serbian Government had
nothing to do with it. Not even Austria claimed that. The Serbian Prime
Minister is one of the most capable and honored men in Europe. Serbia
was willing to punish any one of her subjects who had been proved to
have any complicity in that assassination. What more could you expect?
What were the Austrian demands? Serbia sympathized with her
fellow-countrymen in Bosnia. That was one of her crimes. She must do so
no more. Her newspapers were saying nasty things about Austria. They
must do so no longer. That is the Austrian spirit. How dare you
criticize a Prussian official? And if you laugh, it is a capital
offense. Serbian newspapers must not criticize Austria. I wonder what
would have happened had we taken up the same line about German
newspapers. Serbia said: "Very well, we will give orders to the
newspapers that they must not criticize Austria in future, neither
Austria, nor Hungary, nor anything that is theirs." She promised not to
sympathize with Bosnia; promised to write no critical articles about
Austria. She would hold no public meetings at which anything unkind was
said about Austria. That was not enough. She must dismiss from her army
officers whom Austria should subsequently name. But these officers had
just emerged from a war where they were adding luster to the Serbian
arms--gallant, brave, efficient. I wonder whether it was their guilt or
their efficiency that prompted Austria's action. Serbia was to
undertake in advance to dismiss them from the army--the names to be
sent in subsequently. Can you name a country in the world that would
have stood that? Supposing Austria or Germany had issued an ultimatum
of that kind to this country. "You must dismiss from your army and from
your navy all those officers whom we shall subsequently name." Well, I
think I could name them now. Lord Kitchener would go. Sir John French
would be sent about his business. General Smith-Dorrien would be no
more, and I am sure that Sir John Jellicoe would go. And there is
another gallant old warrior who would go--Lord Roberts.
It was a difficult situation for a small country. Here was a demand
made upon her by a great military power who could put five or six men
in the field for every one she could; and that power supported by the
greatest military power in the world. How did Serbia behave? It is not
what happens to you in life that matters; it is the way in which you
face it. And Serbia faced the situation with dignity. She said to
Austria: "If any officers of mine have been guilty and are proved to be
guilty, I will dismiss them." Austria said, "That is not good enough
for me." It was not guilt she was after, but capacity.
Then came Russia's turn. Russia has a special regard for Serbia. She
has a special interest in Serbia. Russians have shed their blood for
Serbian independence many a time. Serbia is a member of her family, and
she cannot see Serbia maltreated. Austria knew that. Germany knew that,
and Germany turned around to Russia and said: "I insist that you shall
stand by with your arms folded whilst Austria is strangling your little
brother to death." What answer did the Russian Slav give? He gave the
only answer that becomes a man. He turned to Austria and said: "You lay
hands on that little fellow and I will tear your ramshackle empire limb
from limb."
DAVID LLOYD GEORGE, 1914.
THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN FRYATT
Captain Charles Fryatt was in command of a British steamship named
_Brussels_, running from Tilbury, England, to the Hook of Holland. His
ship was hailed in 1915 by a German submarine and ordered to stop.
A torpedo costs several thousand dollars, therefore a submarine saves
one whenever she can sink a ship by some other means. Also a submarine
can carry but few torpedoes, so by saving them she can remain longer at
sea and at her work of destruction.
Captain Fryatt was well aware that if he came to a stop, the Germans
would board his ship and sink her by bombs, or would order the
passengers off and sink her by shells from the guns. This is the way
they sank the _Carolina_ off the coast of New Jersey, leaving the
passengers in open boats--many of whom died from exposure and by the
capsizing of one boat in the tempest which struck them at midnight.
Captain Fryatt knew that by the laws of nations he had the right to
defend his ship, so instead of stopping as the Germans ordered him to
do, he put on full speed and turned the head of his ship towards the
submarine, hoping to ram her and sink her. He was obeying instructions
from his government, and was doing nothing but what he had a perfect
right to do according to international law.
He did not succeed, but he gained time and forced the submarine to
submerge, for British destroyers were coming up in answer to his
wireless call.
For his bravery, the British Government rewarded him by giving him a
gold watch and naming him with praise in the House of Commons.
More than a year later, on June 23, 1916, German warships out on a raid
captured the _Brussels_, which Captain Fryatt still commanded. He was
taken to Bruges, Belgium, and put on trial for his life. The Germans
claimed his case was like that of a non-combatant on land who fired
upon the soldiers. They found him guilty on June 27 and sentenced him
to be shot, for having attempted to sink the submarine, U-33, by
ramming it. They laid much emphasis on the fact that the British
Government had rewarded him, although this really had nothing to do
with whether or not he had a right to defend his ship.
The United States was not then at war with Germany, and the diplomatic
affairs of England were in charge of the United States Ambassador in
Berlin. When Ambassador Gerard learned that Captain Fryatt had been
captured and taken to Bruges for trial, he sent two notes to the proper
German officials, demanding the right to visit Captain Fryatt and to
secure counsel for him.
The German officials acknowledged his notes and assured him that they
would take the necessary steps to meet his request.
But the morning of the day after Ambassador Gerard sent his notes,
Captain Fryatt was tried and sentenced, and was shot in the afternoon
of the same day. As in the case of Edith Cavell, Germany's answer to
America was a lie, and a scornful carrying out of her illegal purpose
before the American Ambassador could do anything more. She acted in
exactly the same way in connection with the _Lusitania_, and with all
her submarine warfare, or piracy, as it really is according to
international law.
One of the leading German writers on international law says, "The
merchant ship has the right of self-defense against an enemy attack,
and this right it can exercise against visit, for this is indeed the
first act of capture."
Germany knew she had no right to shoot Captain Fryatt, and she did not
want her right challenged at his trial; so she did not allow the
American Ambassador to see him and to secure counsel for him.
She desired to make him an example of German "frightfulness" as she had
in the case of Edith Cavell and of the _Lusitania_. She thought this
would prevent other British vessels trying to ram her submarines.
The whole world is wondering if Germany would cower under
"frightfulness," and therefore believes other peoples will. Her policy
certainly has never had the effect that she hoped it would. It has
simply made her enemies fight all the harder and dare all the more,
because they remember her inhuman acts and unlawful deeds.
The Germans published the following notice of the trial and execution:
On Thursday at Bruges before the Court Martial of the Marine
Corps, the trial took place of Captain Fryatt, of the British
steamer _Brussels_, which was brought in as a prize. The accused
was condemned to death because, although he was not a member of
a combatant force, he made an attempt, on the afternoon of March
28, 1915, to ram the German submarine, U-33, near the Maas
Lightship.
The accused received at the time from the British Admiralty a
gold watch as a reward for his brave conduct on that occasion,
and his action was mentioned with praise in the House of
Commons.
On the occasion in question, disregarding the U-boat's signal to
stop and show his national flag, he turned at a critical moment
at high speed against the submarine, which escaped the steamer
by a few metres only because of swiftly diving. He confessed
that in so doing he had acted in accordance with the
instructions of the Admiralty. The sentence was confirmed
yesterday afternoon and carried out by shooting.
This is one of the many nefarious _franc-tireur_ proceedings of
the British merchant marine against our war vessels, and it has
found a belated but merited expiation.
The civilized nations of the world, in which we do not include Germany
and her allies, have agreed that the execution of Captain Fryatt was a
murder. Possibly the Germans also know it, but defend it as they did
the invasion of Belgium, as "necessary" to German victory.
History will forever record it as an example of the black deeds done by
desperate men who care only to accomplish their selfish ends, and will
explain how these evil deeds of horror and of terror have injured those
who committed them more than those who suffered from them.
On the very day of the execution of Captain Fryatt, the British
passenger liner _Falaba_ was torpedoed and sunk without warning. She
sank in eight minutes carrying with her one hundred and four men,
women, and children, who were "not members of a combatant force."
RUPERT BROOKE[3]
Among the losses that the World War has caused--many of them losses
that can never be made good--is that of the promising young English
poet, Rupert Brooke.
He was a fine type in mind and body. His father was a teacher in the
great English school at Rugby, and here the boy learned to write, and
to play cricket, tennis, and football. He was interested in every form
of athletics and was strong and skillful at all. He was a great walker
and a fine diver and swimmer. He was said to have been one of the
handsomest Englishmen of his day, tall, broad, easy, and graceful in
his movements, with steady blue eyes, and a wavy mass of fair hair.
He had traveled much in France, Germany, Italy, the United States,
Canada, and the South Seas, where he visited Stevenson's home in Samoa.
Of all lands, however, he loved England best.
When the war broke out, Brooke said, "Well, if Armageddon's on, I
suppose I should be there." He enlisted, was commissioned as
lieutenant, and was sent almost immediately with the English forces to
relieve Antwerp, at that time besieged by the Germans. This experience,
lying day after day in trenches under German fire, followed by the
terrible retreat by night with the thousands of Belgians who had lost
everything except their lives, changed the careless, happy youth into a
man. He was but twenty-seven years old when he enlisted. He wrote but
little poetry after his enlistment, but it is all of a finer, more
spiritual quality than any of his previous work.
He spent the following winter training in England, and then joined the
British Expeditionary Forces for the Dardanelles. He never reached
there, however, for he died at Scyros on April 23, 1915, and was buried
by torchlight at night, in an olive grove on the island.
One of his friends, Wilfred Gibson, has paid a beautiful tribute to him
in a short poem entitled "The Going." It is a tribute that might well
be offered to any of the thousands of young heroes from many lands who
have gone with a sudden glory in their young eyes to give all, that
human liberty should not be lost.
He's gone.
I do not understand.
I only know
That, as he turned to go,
And waved his hand,
In his young eyes a sudden glory shone,
And I was dazzled by a sunset glow--
And he was gone
Death appeared to be in his mind constantly after his terrible
experience at Antwerp, but he seems never to have feared it. It is
really the subject of all of his five sonnets written in 1914, and
these are the best of his work. He thought constantly of England and of
all that she had done for him and meant to him. He thought also of the
little meaningful things of life, and put them into these
sonnets--dawn, sunset, the beautiful colors of the earth, music,
flowers, the feel of furs, and the touch of a cheek. Strange that he
should have thought of the touching of fur. It probably gave him a
strange sensation as it does to many. And then he thought of water and
its movement in the wind, and its warmth under the sun, which seemed to
him like life, just as its freezing under the frost seemed to him like
death. All of this and more he put into a beautiful sonnet entitled
"The Dead."
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colors of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
Note how significant is every human experience which he mentions from
"the quick stir of wonder" which the youth feels, to the kindness which
comes with years. "They had seen movement" is strange, and yet many
like Rupert Brooke are fascinated with movement and see life chiefly in
motion,--in smiles and steps.
His finest poem, however, is the last of the five sonnets and is
entitled "The Soldier." Here he pours out his heart in love of England
and in the pride that he feels in being an Englishman. Read France or
America or some other worthy homeland in place of England and it will
appeal to other hearts beside Englishmen. It is a beautiful poem, one
that will live forever.
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
One of our American poets, George Edward Woodberry, has beautifully
said:
There is a grave in Scyros, amid the white and pinkish marble of
the isle, the wild thyme and the poppies, near the green and
blue waters. There Rupert Brooke was buried. Thither have gone
the thoughts of his countrymen, and the hearts of the young
especially. It will long be so. For a new star shines in the
English heavens.
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England--
"Take us and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown."
W.E. HENLEY.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] BASED ON "THE COLLECTED POEMS OF RUPERT BROOKE," COPYRIGHT BY JOHN
LANE COMPANY.
"LET US SAVE THE KIDDIES"
At 12:20 noon, on Saturday, May 1, 1915, there steamed out of New York
harbor one of the largest and fastest passenger ships in the world. It
was the _Lusitania_, flying the British flag, and bound for Europe, via
Liverpool. On board were nearly two thousand men, women, and children.
They were not overcrowded, however, for the _Lusitania_ was the finest,
the most comfortable of ocean boats. It was more than an eighth of a
mile in length, 88 feet in width, and 60 feet in depth, and had a speed
of nearly 30 miles an hour.
Her passengers, once out from shore, settled down to seven days of life
in this immense, floating hotel. Tiny babies toddled across the smooth,
shining floors of the new home, or watched with gurgles of delight the
older children rollicking and romping over the decks. The women chatted
and sang, and played all sorts of games. The men, too, engaged in many
contests, athletic stunts, and games. At night, when the little ones
were quietly sleeping in their bunks, their elders gathered in the
grand saloon and there listened to some fine singer, a famous
violinist, or a great lecturer.
[Illustration: THE _LUSITANIA_ IN NEW YORK HARBOR
_Copyright by Underwood & Underwood, N.Y._]
So the days passed, the people living as one great family. New
friendships grew, and many delightful acquaintances were formed. The
complete harmony and restfulness of such a life, the clear skies and
sunshine, and the vast expanse of blue-green ocean, all made them
forget that they were riding into a region of horror and war.
For nearly ten months Belgium, England, France, and Russia had been
waging war against Germany. Around England's coasts lurked the horrors
of the German submarine. The travelers on the morning of sailing had
read the warning against crossing. It has since been called the "Death
Notice." It read:
NOTICE
Travelers intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are
reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her
allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war
includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that in
accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German
Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain or any of
her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters; and that
travelers sailing in the war zone on ships of Great Britain or
her allies do so at their own risk.
IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY.
WASHINGTON, D.C., April 22, 1915.
It had been printed in the newspapers beside the advertisement of the
sailing of the _Lusitania_, and was posted that very morning by order
of Count von Bernstorff, German ambassador to the United States. But
most of the travelers paid no attention to the notice after reading it,
for they were sure that no implement of war would be turned against a
passenger ship. With stout hearts, many of the travelers said, "We are
Americans. No country will refuse respect and protection for an
American citizen in any part of the world." Or they said, "We are
British citizens,--not soldiers. We are on a merchant vessel--not a
battleship. Surely our rights will be respected. We cross under
necessity."
So they dared to exercise their freedom and their rights when they
boarded the steamer for this return trip.
After sailing for five days in safety, they came at last within sight
of land. Early on Friday morning a heavy fog had lowered, but the ship
continued to plow steadily through the tranquil waters. Toward noon the
fog lifted and the sunshine and blue sky came to view, contributing to
the full enjoyment of the travelers.
They had just finished luncheon. Some were quietly writing
letters--others playing games. Many had strolled to the upper decks.
They greeted their new acquaintances, regretting that they were so soon
to part, for they were now but ten or fifteen miles out from shore off
"Old Head of Kinsale," and within a few hours all would land, going on
their separate ways for the rest of the journey. Though they were
nearing a world at war, all seemed peaceful.
The ship's clock pointed at two, when a few men standing on deck saw
what looked like a whale rising from the water about three quarters of
a mile away. They saw it speeding toward them, and suddenly they knew
what it was; but no one named it, until with a train of bubbles it
disappeared under the ship, and they cried, "It's a torpedo!"
With a fearful explosion, the center of the ship was blown up through
the decks, making a great heap of wreckage. The passengers fled from
the lower to the upper decks, many of them not stopping for life
preservers. Some of those who did strap on the life preservers did not
put them on correctly. Many leaped into the water, trusting to be
picked up by a passing boat. Although every one was terribly
frightened, yet there seemed to be no panic. The men lowered the
lifeboats, which were crowded to the full. As many as seventy or eighty
people, it is said, were packed into one small boat.
Leslie N. Morton, a mere lad, has been officially named as bravest of
the crew. He was stationed on the starboard side, keeping look-out,
when the torpedo struck. He, with the assistance of his mate, rowed a
lifeboat for some miles, put the people on a fishing smack, and
returned again for other survivors, rescuing in all nearly a hundred.
There were many acts of heroism among the passengers, but in all of the
distress one young man stood out among the hundreds upon the ship.
Alfred G. Vanderbilt, a young American millionaire, quickly realizing
that the steamer was sinking, turned to his valet and cried, "Let us
save the kiddies!" The two sprang to the rescue of the babies and small
children, carrying two of the little ones in their arms at a time and
placing them carefully in the lifeboats with their mothers. Mr.
Vanderbilt and his valet continued their efforts to the very last. When
they could find no more children, they turned to the assistance of the
women that were left. When last seen, Mr. Vanderbilt was smilingly,
almost happily, lending his aid to the passengers who still remained on
deck.
The whole civilized world honors the memory of this brave youth, who
gave his life in serving helpless women and children. Gratifying indeed
it is to know that the little ones were cared for, though sad to learn
that even then only twenty-five of the hundred and twenty-nine babies
on board were saved. About one hundred children were innocent victims
of that dastardly deed which the Germans, through savage desire to
terrorize, became brutes enough to do.