METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published_ _September 15th 1916_
_Second Edition_ _September 1916_
“1914”
I
The early morning of July 25th, 1914, was not at all such as the date
might reasonably have led one to expect. It was gray and overcast, with
heavy dew lying white on the grass and a quite unseasonable rawness in
the air.
The clock on the mantelpiece of the morning-room in The Red House,
Willstead, was striking six, in the sonorous Westminster chimes, which
were so startlingly inconsistent with its size, as Mr John Dare drew
the bolts of the French window and stepped out on to his back lawn.
He had shot the bolts heavily and thoughtfully the night before, long
after all the rest had gone up to bed, though he noticed, when he
went up himself, that Noel’s light still gleamed under his door. His
peremptory tap and ‘Get to bed, boy!’ had produced an instant eclipse,
and he determined to speak to him about it in the morning.
He had never believed in reading in bed himself. Bed was a place in
which to sleep and recuperate. If it had been a case of midnight oil
and the absorption of study now--all well and good. But Noel’s attitude
towards life in general and towards study in particular permitted no
such illusion.
And it was still heavily and thoughtfully that Mr Dare drew back
the bolts and stepped out into the gray morning. Not that he knew
definitely that this twenty-fifth of July was a day big with the fate
of empires and nations, and of the world at large,--simply that he had
not slept well; and bed, when you cannot sleep, is the least restful
place in the world.
As a rule he slept very soundly and woke refreshed, but for many nights
now his burdened brain had neglected its chances, and had chased,
and been chased by, shadowy phantoms,--possibilities, doubts, even
fears,--which sober daylight scoffed at, but which, nevertheless,
seemed to lurk in his pillow and swarm out for his undoing the moment
he laid his tired head upon it.
Out here in the fresh of the morning,--which ought by rights to have
been full of sunshine and beauty, the cream of a summer day,--he could,
as a rule, shake off the shadows and get a fresh grip on realities and
himself.
But the very weather was depressing. The year seemed already on the
wane. There were fallen leaves on the lawn. The summer flowers were
despondent. There was a touch of red in the Virginia creeper which
covered the house. The roses wore a downcast look. The hollyhocks and
sweet-peas showed signs of decrepitude. It seemed already Autumn, and
the chill damp air made one think of coming Winter.
And the unseasonal atmospheric conditions were remarkably akin to his
personal feelings.
For days he had had a sense of impending trouble in business matters,
all the more irritating because so ill-defined and impalpable. Troubles
that one could tackle in the open one faced as a matter of course,
and got the better of as a matter of business. But this ‘something
coming and no knowing what’ was very upsetting, and his brows knitted
perplexedly as he paced to and fro, from the arch that led to the
kitchen-garden to the arch that led to the front path, up which in
due course Smith’s boy would come whistling with the world’s news and
possibly something that might cast a light on his shadows.
Mr Dare’s business was that of an import and export merchant, chiefly
with the Continent, and his offices were in St Mary Axe. He had old
connections all over Europe and was affiliated with the Paris firm of
Leroux and Cie, Charles Leroux having married his sister.
As a rule his affairs ran full and smooth, with no more than the
to-be-expected little surface ruffles. But for some weeks past he had
been acutely conscious of a disturbance in the commercial barometer,
and so far he had failed to make out what it portended.
Politically, both at home and abroad, matters seemed much as usual,
always full of menacing possibilities, to which, however, since nothing
came of them, one had grown somewhat calloused.
The Irish brew indeed looked as if it might possibly boil over. That
gun-running business was not at all to his mind. But he was inclined to
think there was a good deal of bluff about it all. And the suffragettes
were ramping about and making fools of themselves in their customary
senseless fashion, and doing all the damage they possibly could to
their own cause and to the nation at large.
The only trouble of late on the Continent had been the murder of
the Archduke Ferdinand and his wife about a month before. And that
seemed to be working itself off in acrimonious snappings and yappings
by the Austrian and Servian papers. Austria would in due course
undoubtedly claim such guarantees of future good behaviour on the part
of her troublesome little neighbour as the circumstances, when fully
investigated, should call for. The tone of the note she had sent,
calling on Servia no longer to permit the brewing of trouble within
her borders, was somewhat brusque no doubt but not unnaturally so. And
Servia, weary with her late struggles, would, of course, comply and
there the matter would end.
It was unthinkable that the general peace should suffer from such a
cause when it had survived the great flare-up in the Balkans the year
before. Austria would not dare to go too far since she must first
consult Germany, and the Kaiser, it was well known, desired nothing
better than to maintain the peace which he had kept so resolutely for
five-and-twenty years. If it had been that hot-head, the Crown Prince,
now---- But fortunately for the world the reins were in cooler hands.
Then again the Money Market here showed no more disturbance than was
to be expected under such unsettled conditions, and the Bank-rate
remained at three per cent. The Berlin and Vienna Bourses were somewhat
unsettled. But there were always adventurous spirits abroad ready to
take advantage of any little disturbance and reap nefarious harvests.
Anyway he could see no adequate connection between any of these things
and the sudden stoppage of his deliveries of beet-sugar from Germany
and Austria, and the unusual lapsus in correspondence and remittances
from both those countries,--which matters were causing him endless
worry and anxiety.
His brother-in-law, Leroux, in Paris, had hinted at no gathering
clouds, as he certainly would have done had any been perceptible. And
the sensitive pulse of international affairs on the Bourse there would
have perceived them instantly if they had existed. The very fact that
M. Poincaré, the President, was away in Russia was proof positive that
the sky was clear.
The only actual hint of anything at all out of the common was in that
last letter from his eldest girl, Lois, who had been studying at the
Conservatorium in Leipsic for the last two years.
She had written, about a week before,--“What is brewing? There is a
spirit of suppressed excitement abroad here, but I cannot learn what
it means. They tell me it is the usual preparation for the Autumn
manœuvres. It may be so, but all the time I have been here I have never
seen anything quite like it. If they were preparing for war I could
understand it, but that is of course out of the question, since the
Kaiser’s heart is set on peace, as everyone knows.”
There was not much in that in itself, though Lois was an unusually
level-headed girl and not likely to lay stress on imaginary things.
But that, and the evasiveness, when it was not silence, of his German
correspondents, and the non-arrival of his contracted-for supplies of
beet-sugar, had set his mind running on possibilities from which it
recoiled but could not shake itself entirely free.
Presently, as he paced the well-defined track he had by this time
made across the dewy lawn, he heard the rattle of the kitchen grate
as heavy-handed Sarah lit the fire, and the gush of homely smoke from
the chimney had in it a suggestion of breakfast that put some of his
shadows to flight. Sarah and breakfast were substantial every-day facts
before which the blue devils born of broken sleep temporarily withdrew.
Then from behind Honor’s wide-open window and drawn curtains he heard
her cheerful humming as she dressed. And then her curtains were
switched aside with a strenuous rattle, and at sight of him she stuck
out her head with a saucy,
“Hello, Mr Father! Got the hump? What a beast of a day! I say,--you
_are_ wearing a hole in that carpet. Doesn’t look much of a day for a
tennis tournament, does it? Rotten! I just wish I had the making of
this country’s weather; anyone who wished might make her----”
Smith’s boy’s exuberant whistle sounded in the front garden, and Honor
chimed in, “Good-bye, Piccadilly!”--as her father hastened to the gate
to get his paper.
Smith’s boy was just preparing to fold and hurl it at the porch--a
thing he had been strictly forbidden to do, since on wet and windy days
it resulted in an unreadable rag retrieved from various corners of the
garden instead of a reputable news-sheet. At the unexpected appearance
of Mr Dare in the archway, his merry pipe broke off short at the
farewell to Leicester Square, and Honor’s clear voice round the corner
carried them triumphantly to the conclusion that it was “a long long
way to Tipperary,” without obbligato accompaniment. The boy grinned,
and producing a less-folded paper from his sheaf, retired in good order
through the further gate, and piped himself bravely up the Oakdene path
next door, while Mr Dare shook the paper inside out and stood searching
for anything that might in any way bear upon his puzzle.
His anxious eye leaped at once to the summary of foreign news, and his
lips tightened.
“The Austrian Minister has been instructed to leave Belgrade unless the
Servian Government complies with the Austrian demand by 6 p.m. this
evening.”
An ultimatum!... Bad!... Dangerous things, ultimatums!
“It is stated that Russia has decided to intervene on behalf of Servia.”
“H’m! If Russia,--then France! If France,--then Germany and Italy!...
And how shall we stand? It is incredible,” and he turned hastily for
hope of relief to the columns of the paper, and read in a leader
headed “_Europe and the Crisis_,”--“All who have the general peace
at heart must hope that Austria has not spoken her last word in the
note to Servia, to which she requires a reply to-night. If she has we
stand upon the edge of war, and of a war fraught with dangers that are
incalculable to all the Great Powers.”
Then the front door opened and his wife came out into the porch.
“Breakfast’s ready, father,” she said briskly. “Any news?”
She was a very comely woman of fifty or so, without a gray hair yet and
of an unusually pleasing and cheerful countenance. The girls got their
good looks from her, the boys took more after their father.
“Any light on matters?” asked Mrs Dare hopefully again, as he came
slowly along the path towards her. And then, at sight of his face,
“Whatever is it, John?”
He had made it a rule to leave ordinary business worries behind him in
town where they properly belonged. But matters of moment he frequently
discussed with his wife and had found her aloof point of view and clear
common-sense of great assistance at times. His late disturbance of mind
had been very patent to her, but, beyond the simple facts, he had been
able to satisfy her no more than himself.
“Very grave news, I’m afraid,” he said soberly. “Austria and Servia
look like coming to blows.”
“Oh?” said Mrs Dare, in a tone which implied no more than interested
surprise. “I should have thought Servia had had enough fighting to last
her for some time to come.”
“I’ve no doubt she has. It’s Austria driving at her. Russia
will probably step in, and so Germany, Italy, France, and maybe
ourselves----”
“John!”--very much on the alert now.--“It is not possible.”
“I’m afraid it’s even probable, my dear. And if it comes it will mean
disaster to a great many people.”
“What about Lois? Will she be safe out there?”
“We must consider that. I’ve hardly got round to her yet. Let us make
sure of one more comfortable breakfast anyway,” he said, with an
attempt at lightness which he was far from feeling, and as they went
together to the breakfast-room, Honor came dancing down the stairs.
“Hello, Dad! Did they give extra prizes for early rising at your
school?” she asked merrily, and ran on without waiting for an
answer,--“And did you choke that boy who was whistling ‘Tipperary’? I
had to finish without accompaniment and he was doing it fine. He has a
musical soul. It was Jimmy Snaggs. He’s in my class at Sunday School.
You should hear him sing.”
“You tell him again from me that if he can’t deliver papers properly
he’d better find some other walk in life,” said Mr Dare, as he chipped
an egg and proceeded with his breakfast.
“It looks all right,” said Honor, picking up the paper. “Let’s see
the cricket. Old No’s aching to hear. Hm--hm--hm--Kent beat Middlesex
at Maidstone,--Blythe and Woolley’s fine bowling,--Surrey leads for
championship. That’s all right. Hello, what’s all this?--‘Servia
challenged. King Peter’s appeal to the Tsar. Grave decisions impending.
The risk to Europe.’ I--_say_! Is there going to be another war? How
ripping!”
“Honor!” said her mother reprovingly.
“Well, I don’t mean that, of course. But a war does make lively papers,
doesn’t it? I’m sick of Ireland and suffragettes.”
“If this war comes you’ll be sicker of it than of anything you ever
experienced, before it’s over, my dear,” said Mr Dare gravely.
“Why?--Austria and Servia?”
“And Russia and Germany and France and Italy and possibly England.”
“My Goodness! You don’t mean it, Dad?” and she eyed him keenly. “I
believe you’re just--er--pulling my leg, as old No would say?” and she
plunged again into the paper.
“Bitter fact, I fear, my dear.”
“How about Lois? Will she be in the thick of it?” she asked, raising
her head for a moment to stare meditatively at him, with the larger
part of her mind still busy with the news.
“We were just thinking of her. I’m inclined to wire her to come home at
once.”
Then Noel strolled in with a nonchalant, “Morning everybody!... Say,
Nor! What about the cricket? You promised----”
“Cricket’s off, my son,” said Honor, reading on. “It’s war and a case
of fighting for our lives maybe.”
“Oh, come off!”--then, noticing the serious faces of the elders,--“Not
really? Who with?”
“Everybody,” said Honor. “--Armageddon!”
He went round to her and pored eagerly over the paper with his head
alongside hers. They were twins and closely knit by many little
similarities of thought and taste and feeling.
“Well!... I’ll--be--bowled!” as he gradually assimilated the news. “Do
you really think it’ll come to a general scrap?”--to his father.
“Those who have better means of judging than I have evidently fear it,
my boy. I shall learn more in the City no doubt,” and he hurried on
with his breakfast.
The front-door bell shrilled sharply.
“Post!” said Honor. “Must be something big,” and dashed away to get it.
She never could wait for the maid’s leisurely progress when letters
were in question, and she and the postman were on the best of terms. He
always grinned when she came whirling to the door.
“Why--Colonel!” they heard her surprised greeting. “And Ray! You _are_
early birds. I thought you were the post. What worms are you after now?
Is it the War?”--as she ushered them into the drawing-room.
“Bull’s-eye first shot,” said a stentorian voice. “Has your father gone
yet, Honor?”
“Just finishing his breakfast, Colonel. I’ll tell him,” and as she
turned to go, her father came in.
“How are you, Colonel?” said Mr Dare. “Good morning, Ray! What are our
prospects of keeping out of it, do you think?”
“None,” said the Colonel gravely. “It’s ‘The Day’ they’ve been getting
ready for all these years, and that we’ve been expecting--some of us,
and unable to get ready for because you others thought differently. But
we want a word or two with Mrs Dare too. Will you beg her to favour us,
Honor, my dear?” and Honor sped to summon her mother to the conference.
“We must apologise for calling at such an hour, Mrs Dare,” said the
Colonel, as they shook hands, “But the matter admits of no delay. Ray
here wants your permission to go out and bring Lois home. We think she
is in danger out there.”
“You know how things are between us, dear Mrs Dare,” broke in Ray
impulsively. “We have never really said anything definite, but we
understand one another. And if it’s going to be a general scrap all
round, as Uncle Tony is certain it is, then the sooner she is clear of
it the better. I’ve never been easy in my mind about her since that
little beast von Helse brought her over last year.”
At which a reminiscent smile flickered briefly in the corners of Mrs
Dare’s lips and made Ray think acutely of Lois, who had just that same
way of savouring life’s humours.
“I was thinking of wiring for her to come home, as soon as I got to
town,” said Mr Dare.
“If my views are correct,” said the Colonel weightily, “and I fear
you’ll find them so, travelling, over there, will be no easy matter.
The moment mobilisation is ordered--and the possibility is that it’s
going on now for all they are worth,--everything will be under martial
law,--all the railways in the hands of the military, all traffic
disorganised,--possibly the frontiers closed. Everything chock-a-block,
in fact. It may be no easy job to get her safely out even now. But if
anyone can do it, in the circumstances, I’ll back Ray. He’s glib at
German and knows his way about, and where Lois is concerned----”
“It is very good of you, Ray,”--began Mrs Dare, warmly.
“Not a bit. It’s good of you to trust her to me. I can start in an
hour, and I’ll bring her back safe or know the reason why. Thank you
so much!” and he gripped her hand and then suddenly bent forward and
kissed her on the cheek. “I’m nearly packed,”--at which Mrs Dare’s
smile flickered again.--“I’ll cut away and finish. I must catch the ten
o’clock from Victoria, and bar accidents I’ll be in Leipsic to-morrow
morning. You might perhaps give me just a little note for her, saying
you approve my coming,” and he hurried away to finish his preparations.
Honor and Noel heard him going and sped out after him, all agog to know
what it was all about.
“Here! What’s up among all you elderly people?” cried Noel.
“No time to talk, old man. They’ll tell you all about it,” Ray called
over his shoulder and disappeared through the front gate.
“Well!--I’m blowed! Old Ray’s got a move on him. What’s he up to, I
wonder.”
“I’ll tell you, No. He’s going after Lois----”
“After Lois? Why--what’s wrong with Lo?”
“Don’t you see? If there’s going to be war over there she might get
stuck and not be able to get home for years----”
“Oh--years! It’ll all be over in a month. Wars now-a-days don’t run
into time. It’s too expensive, my child.”
“Well, anyway, old Lo will be a good deal better safe at home than in
the thick of it. And I guess that’s what Ray and the Colonel think.”
“I’d no idea they’d got that far. Of course I knew he was sweet on her.
You could see that when that von Helse chap was here, and old Ray used
to look as if he’d like to chew him up.”
“I knew all about it.”
“Of course. Girls always talk about these things.”
“She never said a word. But I knew all the same.”
“Kind of instinct, I suppose.”
Here the elders came out of the drawing-room, preceded, as the door
opened, by the Colonel’s emphatic pronouncement,
“--Inevitable, my dear sir. We cannot possibly escape being drawn in.
Their plans are certain to be based on getting in through Belgium
and Luxembourg. We’ve been prepared for that for many years past.
And if they touch Belgium the fat’s in the fire, for we’re bound to
stop it--if we can. If some of us had had our way we’d be in a better
position to do it than we are. Anyhow we’ll have to do our best. We’d
have done better if you others had had less faith in German bunkum.
Noel, my boy,” as Noel saluted, “We shall probably want you before
we’re through.”
“You think it’ll be a tough business, sir?”
“Tough? It’ll be hell, my boy, before the slate’s all clean again. And
that won’t be till the Kaiser and all his gang are wiped off it for
ever.”
“I thought it would be all over in a month or two.”
“A year or two may be more like it. Germany is one big
fighting-machine, and till it’s smashed there’ll be no peace in the
world.”
“Think they’ll get over here, sir?” chirped Honor expectantly.
“They’ll try, if we leave them a chance. Thank God,--and Winston
Churchill--we’re ready for them there. That man’s looked ahead and he’s
probably saved England.”
“Good old Winston!”
“If you’re off, Dare, I’ll walk along with you. I must call at the
Bank. It won’t do for Ray to run out of funds over there. Good-bye, Mrs
Dare! Bring you good news in a day or two. Ta-ta, Honor!”
“You’ll let me stand my share----” began Mr Dare, as they walked along
together.
“Tut, man! You’ll need all your spare cash before we’re through and
I’ve plenty lying idle.”
“You really think it may be a long business?”
“I don’t see how it can be anything else. Have you had no warnings of
its coming from any of your correspondents?”
“We told you of Lois’s letter. We’ve had nothing more than that--except
delay in goods coming through--and in remittances.”
“Exactly! Railways too busy carrying men and horses; and business men
preferring to keep their money in their own hands. I tell you they’ve
been working up to this for years, only waiting for the psychological
moment.”
“And why is this the psychological moment? The Servian affair hardly
seems worth all the pother----”
“Do you remember a man named Humbert attacking the French War Minister
in the Senate, about a fortnight ago, on the subject of their army,--no
boots, no ammunition, no guns worth firing, no forts, and so on?”
“I remember something about it. I remember it struck me as a rather
foolish display of joints in the armour----”
“And Petersburg was all upside down, the other day, with out-of-work
riots. Crowds, one hundred thousand strong, slaughtering the police,
even while Poincaré was visiting the Tsar. You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“And at home here, matters in Ireland looked like coming to a head. In
fact it looked like civil war.”
“I never believed it would come to anything of the kind, as you know.”
“But to that exceedingly clever busy-body, the Kaiser,--at least, he
thinks he’s exceedingly clever. It’s possible to be too clever.--Well,
here were his three principal enemies all tied up in knots. What better
chance would he ever get?”
“H’m! All the same he seems doing his best to smooth things over.”
“Bunkum, my boy!--all bunkum! He may try to save his face to the world
at large, but I bet you they’re quietly mobilising over there as fast
as they know how to, and that’s faster than we dream of. And the moment
they’re ready they’ll burst out like a flood and sweep everything
before them--unless we can dam it, damn ’em! Perhaps you’ll look in
this evening and tell me how the City feels about it,” and at the door
of the Bank they parted, and Mr Dare went on to his train in anything
but a comfortable frame of mind.