The big trees clashed and roared all night in the gale. In the morning
a huge limb of one of the Oakdene elms lay on the lawn, and Vic,
running across, anxious for news of the Colonel, brought back word that
he had had a very restless night but was now sleeping quietly, and that
Mrs Dare was sure he was no worse,--which in itself was great gain--and
was not sure that he was not even a little better.
And so it proved when the Doctor called. He pronounced the crisis
passed and had every hope that his patient was now on the road to
recovery. Every care was still needed, however, as one could never tell
what might happen in the case of such a trying combination as pneumonia
and seventy-eight years of age.
Dr Rhenius himself was looking somewhat fagged and overworked. He
said there was a great deal of sickness about, and set it down to
some extent to the general depression of spirits caused by the war.
Every house he went into had some connection with it, and the sense of
anxiety was widespread,--not, he admitted, as to the ultimate issue, on
which all minds were made up, but as to the fate of relatives at the
front. For the descriptions which came home of the fierceness of the
fighting and the effects of the huge German shells, which dug holes in
the ground big enough to bury an omnibus in, seemed to leave small hope
of escape to any who might be exposed to them.
The stories of the atrocious barbarities practised by the German hordes
in Belgium and Northern France depressed them all greatly,--Malines,
Termonde, Rheims--there seemed no bounds to the inhumanity of these
twentieth-century Huns. They had shed off the thin veneer of their
civilisation and reverted to savagery, and the whole world stood
aghast. That a nation professedly Christian, and calling on God to
assist its nefarious enterprises, could not only descend to such depths
but could actually exult in them, was a shock to the moral sense of
humanity at large.
What chance could there be for any who fell into their vengeful hands?
What chance even for those who went out to meet them in fair fight? For
trickery and treachery and every mean device were the chosen weapons of
their dishonourable warfare. Nothing was sacred if it stood in the way
of their winning. They played the game like dirty little gutter-snipes
whose intention was to win at all costs, and the fouler the means the
more they exulted in the success of them.
There were heavy hearts at home in those days, and ‘Missing’ came to be
regarded as almost more hopeless than ‘Dead’;--certainly more pregnant
of sorrows, for the dead were happily done with it all and could suffer
no more.
Con was ever in their thoughts. When his mother read the grim accounts
of the dastardly ill-treatment meted specially to British prisoners,
she was tempted at times to wish his name had been in the fatal list
which left no room for further hopes or fears.
And Ray,--any day might bring similar word concerning him. Now and
again a brief post-card reached them saying he was well and busy. But
even as they read the precious words and rejoiced in them, each one
knew full well that since they were written the end might have come.
When bullets are flying and shells are bursting it takes so little to
end a life. And those venomous Germans made a point of picking off
every officer they could crawl within range of.
And presently Noel and Gregor would go. They were as keen for the front
as though they bore charmed lives and death and mutilation were not.
There were sure to be drafts before long to make good the inevitable
wastage in the First Battalion, and these two, splendidly fit and eager
for the fray, were certain to be among the chosen.
Mrs Dare and Lois and Alma knelt long of a night, and carried prayers
in their hearts all day; Honor and Vic perhaps also, but the matter
had not come so poignantly home to them as yet. Their younger eyes
were still somewhat misted with the pomp and glamour of war, but from
the others’ the scales had fallen and only the horror and misery were
apparent to them.
Alma had run over to see how Uncle Tony was getting on, and they were
all six of them for once sitting over their tea together, working
busily, and talking quietly in the shadow of the war-cloud. Lois had
been sitting with Uncle Tony till he fell asleep. He slept much of late
and was often listless and drowsy and very unlike himself, when awake,
especially in the afternoon.
It was Alma who said, out of the fulness of her heart and of much
inevitable brooding over the matter,
“You know, if the women of all the world would only say the word, and
say it together, and not only say it but mean it with all their souls
and lives, there could be no such thing as war in the world.”
Mrs Dare suspended work for a minute and regarded her thoughtfully.
Auntie Mitt peered at her over her spectacles in wonder. Lois nodded
comprehendingly, with a star in each eye. Honor shook her head
doubtfully. Victoria said, “If we had the vote--perhaps.”
“The vote will come all right in time,” said Alma. “But I was thinking
larger than that. In all wars the women are the greatest and final
sufferers. If they could join hands all over the world and say ‘There
shall be no more war!’--well ... there would be no more war.”
“I don’t see why,” said Honor. “The men would make war all the same if
they wanted to--as they would.”
“Not if the women meant what they said, and were prepared to stand by
it and all its consequences. Ey!” she said, throwing up her arms in
a supplicatory gesture, “I wish I could rouse them to it! It could be
done. I’m sure it could be done. And just think what it would mean!”
“It would mean new life and new hope,--a new Heaven and a new Earth,”
said Mrs Dare impressively. “It would be a Second Advent.... My dear,
it is a wonderful idea.... If only it were possible!”
“It is quite possible,” said Alma, with a quiet confidence which
impressed even Vic, who gazed at her in wondering amazement, “The idea
came to me in the night, as I lay thinking of Con and Ray and the boys,
and all the other men-folk of all the other women in the world. And I
saw how it all might be done if it only could be done.”
“How then?” asked Vic, impatiently, as Alma fell silent and sat gazing
thoughtfully into the fire.
“Why,--in this way.--All men--except the few in every country who hope
to benefit by war--want peace. Peace and happiness are the natural and
healthy states of life. War is unnatural and unhealthy. It is a lapse.
Women crave peace still more, for they are the greatest sufferers by
war. Let them unite all over the world----”
“Women don’t unite,” snapped Vic.
“Even for such a trifling thing as the Vote they have shown that they
can unite. But when this war is over--it has got to be fought out, I
quite see that.--But it will leave the heart of womanhood all over the
world so sore and bruised that, unless I am mistaken in my sex, the
women will be ready to do greater things than we have ever dreamed of
to prevent a recurrence of such doings.... I can imagine a World-Wide
Women’s League for Peace;--membership, every right-thinking woman in
the whole world----”
“Phew!” whistled Vic. “How’d you get ’em?”
“Easily, I think. That is a detail. I’ll deal with it presently. Such
an organisation, pledged to prevent war, would be all-powerful. And,
if it could do this greatest thing of all, it would naturally have its
say in all the minor matters which, through men’s mishandling and
easily-roused passions, so often lead to war.”
“You’re a suffragette, Alma,” said Vic.
“I detest them and all their ways, as you very well know. But the
greater necessarily includes the less. Let women ensure peace, and they
will be accorded their rightful voice in all the smaller matters. Be
sure of that.”
“And how would they go to work to ensure peace?” asked Mrs Dare.
“Perhaps my vague ideas will seem rather crazy to you. But they are
something like this. Imagine the women of the world pledged to keep
the peace at risk even of their lives. Two nations verge on war. To
the women that means loss in every way--chiefly in the lives that
are dearer to them than their own. Very well,--then let them stop it
by risking their own lives. It is the smaller risk after all. After
exhausting every other means of averting the war, let the women of each
such nation rise in their millions and if necessary take their stand
between the contending armies and defy their men to fight.”
“Through my heart first!” said Vic.
“Exactly. The Germans, they say, fire on Belgian women and children.
Do you think they would mow down their own? Not for all the Kaisers
ever heard of. War would stop. But I do not think it would ever come
to that final test. Certainly it would never come to it more than
once. A thousand women shot down by their own men would create such a
revulsion of feeling that wars would end. Telemachus ended the fights
in the arena by giving just his single life. Here would be a thousand
Telemachuses,--a million if need be!!! If their determination was
known, and that it would be persisted in to the very uttermost,--to
death itself,--the men would understand that war was impossible, and
they would find some other way out. But, mind you, if women had their
proper share in the councils of the state their voice would always, on
both sides, be for reason and righteousness. It only needs reason and
righteousness on both sides to arrive at the proper solution of any
dispute.”
“I wish with all my heart you could bring it about, my dear. It is a
grand idea,” said Mrs Dare. “But----”
“How were you thinking of roping all the women of the world in, Al?
It’s a mighty big contract,” asked Vic.
“At first it seemed to me that if you could show the militant women
how much more likely they were to attain their ends by my ideas than
by theirs--they could do it. But I am not sure. They have turned the
world against them by their follies. Nobody would trust them. And then,
suddenly, I thought of the Salvation Army. I see a good deal of them,
you know, round our way. And those gentle-voiced women, with the quiet
happy faces and shining eyes--it is just the very work for them. They
are in and of every country in the world, and everywhere they are held
in esteem. They certainly could do it. Those Salvation Army women could
save the world from War.”
“Alma,” said Mrs Dare, with shining eyes and deep conviction. “You lay
awake to some purpose, my dear. It is a noble idea. I wish it could be
brought about.”
“It could. But whether it can----”
“The Krupps, and all the other war-mongers in every country, would
fight you like Death,” said Vic.
“Of course. That is their only raison d’être. But the women could beat
the war-mongers.”
“And all the Kings, Kaisers, Tzars, Emperors, and such like would be
dead against you.”
“Yes. It would be better for my schemes if they were all done away
with. Republics don’t as a rule go to war as readily as Kingdoms and
Empires.”
“South America,” suggested Honor.
“They are exceptions because they are not yet educated up to
self-government. But where a King is the best man for the post I should
let him remain--as president.”
“There was one of our stalwarts at the Pension Estèphe,” said Lois.
“Who used to argue such matters with Ray. And I remember him saying
one day,--‘You in England are very well-placed. You have practically a
Republic with a permanent head.’ It struck us both as very sensible.”
Then the Colonel’s bell, the push of which lay to his hand on the bed,
announced peremptorily that he was awake, and Lois ran upstairs to
him while Auntie Mitt hastened to prepare his glass of warm milk and
cognac, which at the moment did duty with him for afternoon tea.
“He is a very sick man,” said Alma, when Auntie Mitt had left the room.
“Pneumonia is a serious matter at any age, but at seventy-eight it is
almost hopeless. The great thing is to keep him quiet and----”
“And that is no easy job,” said Mrs Dare, with a reminiscent smile.
“We tried to keep the papers from him by telling him the news and
suppressing anything we thought might upset him. But he was too sharp
for us and insisted on seeing for himself, and now he sees the paper
every day and makes Lois read the bits he wants.”
“I can imagine the state he would be in. His heart is wrapped up in
England’s fortunes. I wish it could all end and give us back our boys.”
“Ay, indeed!” said Mrs Dare.
“It can’t end till Germany’s beaten flat,” said Vic, with emphasis.
“It’s no good half-ending it and simply laying up trouble for the
future.”
“Of course,” nodded Alma. “We are all agreed as to that. Now I must run
and look after my sick men.”