THE WAR DRUM
"And what would the grand news be that you promised to tell me?" asked
Grandpa, that evening, when bed-time came and Christina was getting the
little hymn-book ready.
"The news?" she hesitated, nonplussed. Then she went close and shouted
into his ear, "Allister is going to take Ellen back to Prairie Park
when he comes home, and perhaps she will stay with him all next winter."
And she ran away before he could ask her to go into any of the details.
But she could not help hearing him as he talked it over with himself.
And the result of his conversation was that though he did not like to
see any one of the family leave, and especially one of his girls, he
was reconciled.
"Aye, it'll be grand for Ellie, she's not been away, the bit lass, for
a long time. But it's a grand thing he didn't take away my own lass.
Eh, ah'm a selfish old body, but ah could ill spare her."
And once more Christina was rather surprised that she was not
desperately disappointed. It was hard to be very sad in the face of
Grandpa's perfect contentment and Ellen's overwhelming relief.
And so once more Christina turned her feet resolutely from the road to
success to walk in the commonplace paths of field and farmyard and
home. Allister came and took Ellen away with him in July. He was
disappointed at Christina's failure to accompany him, but promised her
the long deferred college course would be hers yet. He was putting
through a new deal and if all went well he might be a millionaire one
day.
"Now old Lady Stick-in-the-mud," he shouted jovially, as he bade
Christina good-bye, "I see I can't pull you out of this place with a
stumping machine just yet. But I'll call around for you again in about
five years or so, and perhaps you'll be ready then."
Christina tried to laugh and take it all in good part, but it was
harder to be misunderstood than it was to give up her chance to Ellen.
But her sister did not misunderstand her. "I'll come home soon and do
the work and let you have your turn, Christine," she whispered
tremulously, as she said good-bye. "And oh, oh, Christine, I can't
ever, ever tell you how good you've been to me!"
That was Christina's reward and it helped her in the days that
followed. For they were not easy days. The heavy summer work was on,
and Ellen's ready hands had taken more than half the tasks. Her mother
missed Ellen sorely and was able to do less every day though she tried
in every way to help.
And then John went down to the corner and hired Mitty to come up three
days a week and do the heavy work, the washing and cleaning, and other
things on days when the churning and baking took all Christina's time.
Poor Mitty was delighted to come. Burke had gone to work in Algonquin
and came home only on week ends. When he was away Granny was very hard
to manage, and it was like being on a holiday to go up to the Lindsays'
and know you would not get scolded for a whole long day.
"'Ere I am again, for a 'ole day's fun," she would exclaim, her face
all radiant, and a whole day's fun it certainly was, for Mitty was the
gayest and brightest little soul in the world, and, as Mrs. Sutherland
said, certainly did not know her place. Granny complained bitterly to
the neighbours, but they all agreed that it was on the whole as
beneficial to her as to Mitty, for she went about and looked after
herself and was quite contented when there was no one there to see that
she was not suffering.
Ellen wrote brave letters that breathed the relief she felt at getting
away. The prairies were wonderful, and her days were so full she had
no time to think. She was staying with the people that worked
Allister's farm and they were so kind and good. Allister had given her
a horse and she was going to learn to ride, only all the girls out here
rode astride and it seemed so dreadful she did not think she could do
it. Neil's Mission Field was only a half-day's journey away by rail,
and she and Allister were going to see him and hear him preach.
Sandy lauded Christina as he read Ellen's letters, telling her again
and again that there was no one like her and that she was just a
corker, and that was all about it. And Christina glowed with happiness
under his praise and grew fairly radiant over Ellen's cheerfulness.
"I'm not a bit more settled down than I ever was, remember," she warned
Sandy. "You'll see I'll get away sometime yet, even if I have to get
married to do it."
"Well, I hope you will," said Sandy gloomily. "Don't settle down and
be an old maid whatever you do. You're just the sort to do it."
"Why?" gasped Christina in alarm. She wondered if Sandy thought she
was too plain ever to have a suitor.
"Because you've always stayed around home doing the jobs that nobody
else wanted to do," declared Sandy.
Christina gave a relieved laugh. "Something will happen some day," she
promised. "Just see if it won't."
She repeated the promise to herself many times as she went bravely
about the kitchen and barnyard.
"Something will happen some day!" But she often added, "But, oh, my, I
do wish it would hurry up and happen soon."
And then something did happen; an event that vitally affected all
Christina's future. Something happened which made it unnecessary for
any one to go far afield for adventure, for it brought the busy world
of affairs, with its turmoil and sorrow and strife, right inside the
green walls of Orchard Glen. Away on the other side of the world giant
oppression suddenly arose to trample and slay, and freedom leaped up
into a death struggle, and her voice rang round the world, calling on
her sons to come to her aid.
It was as peaceful a summer evening as could be, even in Orchard Glen,
when the first faint echoes of that Call reached its quiet homes. The
day had been very hot, and evening had come with her cool mantle of
purple and gold, dew-spangled, and had spread it over the valley. Down
in the river pasture the boys were playing foot-ball, and a dull thud
came up the road like the distant boom of a cannon, could anything so
incongruous come into the mind on such a peaceful evening? The store
veranda had but few loungers, for the day had been a heavy one on the
farms and was not yet over. The orchards grew pink and then purple in
the evening light, the murmur of the water from the dam came up from
the mill.
And right into the midst of this calm and peace came the first note of
the Great Strife. To those who thought about it afterwards, it seemed
fitting that the news should have been brought by that warlike lady,
Mrs. Johnnie Dunn. She was returning from a second trip to town that
day, and though she liked to send her Ford whirling through the village
as a rebuke to idlers on the store veranda, this evening she slowed up
and stopped with a grinding of brakes.
"I say, Sam! Sam Holmes," she cried excitedly, ignoring the crowd on
the steps, "I've got some news that'll help spunk up some o' these lazy
lumps that's clutterin' up your front door here."
Trooper, who was one of the lumps, tried to efface himself behind
Marmaduke, without success. The Woman was glaring right at him.
"Well, well, now, Sarah," said the peaceable Mr. Holmes, "what is it?
Has anything gone wrong in town?"
"Gone wrong? Well I should rather say so! Something that'll make yous
folks buy another pound or so o' starch, when I tell you."
"Milk gone down?" guessed Marmaduke innocently. The Woman transferred
the glare that belonged to her nephew upon his companions in
wrong-doing.
"It couldn't go any lower than it is," she affirmed sternly, "but it's
likely to go up, yes, and everything else, now! No, sir, there's goin'
to be a war, that's what there is. They're fightin' right this minute
over in Germany. The news about it was telegraphed up from Toronto to
Algonquin and everybody says England'll be in it, first thing."
A small ripple of amusement broke over the still, smoky surface of the
the veranda. The Woman was always bringing home startling news and
this was only one of many wild rumours.
"I knew somethin' dreadful would happen if you went to town again
to-day," muttered Trooper from his sanctuary behind the coal-oil
barrel. "No wonder there's a war."
"Well, well, now, I declare, is that true," exclaimed Mr. Holmes,
comfortably. "There's always trouble in them Balkans. I suppose
Germany has got to have her hand in it too. Them Balkans, now," he
continued with the splendid deliberation of one who was an authority on
international affairs, "them Balkans," he lit his pipe and gave a
couple of puffs, "they're nothing but a hot-bed of dissension and
intrigue." And having settled Eastern Europe to every one's
satisfaction, he threw away his match and smoked complacently.
"This ain't no Balkan affair, let me tell you that," cried The Woman,
rather chagrined at the lack of excitement. "This is going to be a
terrible war. It'll be a reg'lar Army Geddin, and after that the end
of the world. Folks was a sayin' that in town to-day; it's prophesied
in the Bible; you can ask any of the ministers and they'll tell you.
Here, Tom, come down here and crank up this machine o' mine, I can't
hang round here no longer doin' nothin', war or no war."
Very gladly Trooper sprang down and gave the crank a whirl that set the
car roaring away up the hill, speeded by a wave of his arms. The
veranda settled down after the disturbance to talk about the weather
and politics again. But Trooper was interested in the news his Aunt
had brought. He had never been content on the little Ontario farm
since the free days when he rode the plains, and soldiering would be a
grand job.
"Wonder if England'll be into this?" he asked eagerly.
"No danger," answered Mr. Holmes, puffing authoritatively. "England
don't want to get into a war any more'n I do. And nobody'd dare to go
to war with her, 'count of her navy."
"There's always some rumour about Germany makin' a war," said Old Tory
Brown. "I don't remember the time that it ain't been talked about."
"There'll never be any big kinda war no more, you may bank on that,"
said the postmaster, seating himself on a nail keg. "Things is too
much mixed up for that. Why, trade and commerce wouldn't stand it for
two days. The banks would all go busted and business would stop. And
the world has got to a place when business means more than anything
else. So there'll not be much of a war. 'Course there will always be
trouble in them Balkans, I suppose."
Trooper looked distinctly disappointed. "The Woman's always getting up
some storm that never comes to anything," he said aggrievedly. "I
thought she really meant it this time. Gosh, I wish there would be a
real bang-up fight with guns shootin' everywhere! Wish the States
would come over here or something and try to take Canada. But I guess
there's no such luck."
There were those who did not feel quite so secure as the Orchard Glen
postmaster. There was very terrible news coming from Europe soon, news
that a people brought up with liberty in the very air they breathed,
could not at first comprehend. There came fearful tales, only
half-credited as yet, of an iron nation gone mad with the lust of
power, and of a free race being trampled in blood and ruin. The cry of
Belgium was reaching to heaven, and a new spirit was beginning to stir
in Canadian hearts, the spirit that takes no thought for trade or
commerce, and counts gain as refuse. The new spirit, which is as old
as the cry for freedom, was aroused, and all Canada was listening,
breathless, for the Lion's roar, the sound that would tell that that
spirit had not perished from the heart of the British Nation.
And then it came! That call that thundered round the world into every
corner of the Empire, setting the hearts of her youth, whether they
beat under palm or pine, aflame for the Great Cause; and at its sound.
Freedom rose up once more from the blood-soaked soil of Flanders, and
gave back, yet again, a challenge to the hordes of Tyranny.
To Orchard Glen the first note of that call was a drum beat that came
throbbing over the hills one summer evening, a drum beat that started
in Old London.
Christina had gone up the back lane with the cows in the evening, to
see if the berries were ripe in the Slash.
The Back Hill was very silent and lovely in the evening. Far below her
lay her home fields; she could see John and Sandy hauling in their last
load of alfalfa, with Jimmie perched on the top. She opened the bars
into the back pasture and the stately herd trooped in, according to
precedence. Cherry stepped back meekly until Plum walked ahead, for
the cows were all well bred and knew their place. And Plum's place was
always at the head. She strolled in like some splendid duchess, her
meeker sisters dropping behind. Christina laughed as she put up the
bars. She always called Plum Mrs. Sutherland. She wondered if Wallace
would be staying all Summer in Orchard Glen. She was thinking so much
about him that she did not see some one coming up the opposite slope
until a tall figure suddenly appeared on the other side of the fence.
"Good evening, Christine," said Gavin Grant.
"Good night, Gavin," called Christina. She was always just a little
bit flustered in Gavin's presence. She was half afraid that he cared
for her and just a little bit afraid that he did not care at all.
"How is your haying?" she asked pleasantly.
"Fine. I finished to-day. And I was just looking if these oats were
ready. If the rain holds off I'll cut them to-morrow."
"Did Auntie Janet help you?" asked Christina slyly.
Gavin's dark eyes twinkled. "No, she didn't, but I had to give in and
get Hughie Reid's boys to help me, or she would have. I'm afraid I
can't manage her alone."
Christina was wondering how many young men she knew on the farms about
would be so careful of three old women as Gavin was of his Aunts.
Tilly Holmes said that Mrs. Sutherland waited upon Wallace hand and
foot. But then one could not believe half the gossip Tilly repeated.
She pulled a plume of the flaming fire-weed, a bright monument to some
splendid forest monarch that had perished in the flames.
"I like this flower, even if it is only a weed," she said. Gavin
smiled sympathetically.
"I always like weeds best, but I daren't tell my Aunties that," he said.
He was much more at his ease here up on the hills, and he looked very
fine too, with the sleeves rolled back from his strong brown arms, and
his bare head covered with thick wavy hair. If he wore the kind of
clothes that Wallace Sutherland wore, Christina could not help thinking
he would be quite as handsome.
"I like weeds," he was saying, "though they do give a great deal of
trouble. This bind weed now. It is such a plague but I feel sorry
every time I destroy it."
He pulled a long graceful branch with its exquisite pink blossoms and
Christina put out her hand for it. And Gavin was emboldened to gather
a little blossom of the blue jay and hand it to her shyly. He wanted
to tell her that the fire-weed was like her cheeks and the blue jay
like her eyes, but he could not. He knew Christina's ambition, and he
was too proud to play the lover when he was not wanted.
But he walked by her side, across the Slash, and Christina felt that
old sense of happy companionship in his presence. The berries were
fairly falling off the branches in ripe luxuriance, and they filled the
little pail she had brought in quite too short a time. Behind them the
top of Craig-Ellachie stretched up to catch the last light of the
setting sun. Her home fields spread out beneath; the dusk laying its
velvet cloak softly over them. The air was so still, the sound of the
horses being driven to the water trough came up from the barnyard.
And then there came across the rose-touched hills a new sound, the dull
throb of a drum.
"What is that?" asked Christina.
They stood side by side and listened, looking in the direction of the
town, where now the electric lights glowed against the sky. The sound
came from the great outside world like the pulse beat of another life,
the life into which Christina was longing to plunge.
"Maybe it's about the war," said Gavin; he suddenly raised his head and
his eyes grew bright. "Perhaps it means that England is in it."
"Oh," Christina looked at him surprised. "It would be awful if the Old
Country got into it," she exclaimed. "Surely they won't."
"It would be worse if she did not," said Gavin. "Think of Belgium."
"But what if they sent a Canadian contingent. I wouldn't like anybody
I know to go to war."
Gavin made no reply. Christina wished he would say he would like to
go. They stood for a little listening to the drum. And the girl had
no slightest idea that to the young man the sound was as a bugle call.
It was Gavin's reveille, and it summoned him across the hills to come
away. But he knew he could not obey, and he stood silent saying no
word of the tumult it raised in his heart.
The next day the news that the drum had sent over the hills came to
Orchard Glen. England was in the war and she would in all probability
call for a Canadian contingent. Indeed Algonquin had not waited to
know, but was going to offer one herself whether the rest of Canada was
loyal or not. And on the very day that Britain entered the Great War,
this little obscure town, set far away north in a ring of forest and
lake, was calling her sons to go over seas and help the Mother Land.
And it was the sound of her drums that had penetrated to the hills of
Orchard Glen and had set Gavin Grant's heart throbbing in time to its
beat.
Mrs. Johnnie Dunn had gone into town that morning with her milk as
usual, and on her return she went out to the hay field to see if her
two underlings had been attending to business in her absence. Marthy
and Trooper Tom were good friends and they were not working so hard
that they were unable to have a little friendly chat. The Woman bore
down upon them.
"Well, if ever there was a time when there should be no hangin' round
an' palaverin' that time is jist right now," she declared. "What d'ye
think's the latest?"
The two men looked at her, Marthy undisturbed, Trooper alert and eager.
"England's into the war, that's what! Yes, sir, and Sam Holmes didn't
keep her out of it neither. And they were enlistin' fellows in
Algonquin last night, an' they say that Burke Wright--For the love o'
goodness, has the boy gone clean off his head?"
"Sufferin' Moses!" cried Marthy, standing with his fork suspended.
For Trooper had turned his face to the heavens and uttered the
ear-splitting war whoop that he had learned on the prairies. He threw
his fork up into the air so that it turned a complete somersault, and
came down and stuck neatly in the coil of hay, gave another whoop, and
was off to the barn in wild leaps.
The two stood staring after him. "He didn't get into a bees' nest did
he?" asked Marthy looking around in bewilderment. The Woman threw up
her hands in sudden enlightment.
"I'll bet--I'll bet he's off!" she gasped. "He's off to the war an'
the hayin's hardly over, an' the harvest jist comin' on! If that don't
beat----"
But Trooper gave not a thought to either haying or harvest. He was in
frantic haste lest he be too late for that fortunate band of recruits
in Algonquin. What if they got off without him? What if the war
should end before he got away? He dashed into the stable and flung the
saddle upon his horse, fastening it with swift, feverish jerks, while
the sympathetic animal watched him with eager eyes, quivering to be
away.
"Hooray, Polly!" he shouted as he swung over her back, "Hooray for
Berlin!"
He went thundering down the lane, roaring good-bye to the two, still
standing, in the field, gazing open-mouthed. Then he went whirling
down the road in a cloud of dust, waving his cap and shouting a joyous
farewell to everything and everybody along the way.
Joanna was at her gate looking up the street to see which of the Martin
children had carried off her watering can, and Marmaduke had stopped to
make love to her on his way home to dinner. They were standing
laughing and joking when the wild horseman came thundering down the
hill.
Trooper shot past them, yelling something that neither understood and
before they could recover from their amazement he had stormed past and
was up over the hill with only the sharp rap of his horse's hoofs to
tell that it had not all been a vision.
Joanna looked at Marmaduke in real concern. He stood for a moment
staring at the cloud of dust on the hill top, and then he suddenly
slapped his knee.
"He's off to the war!" he shouted. "I bet Trooper's off to enlist.
He's the very boy to do it. The Woman stopped here on her way home and
said there was a Canadian Army to be raised and they were recruitin' in
Algonquin last night. Yes, sir," he ended up heavily. "I just bet you
that's what he's up to." He leaned against the fence and suddenly
looked old and weary.
Joanna's handsome face had turned white. She turned and without a word
walked into the house steady and erect. And it takes some courage and
resolution to walk so when your lover has just gone shouting to the
wars without so much as a good-bye wave of the hand, because of the
very joy of going!
The next day Mitty was due for a day of fun at the Lindsays but she did
not appear, and Christina ran down as soon as she could get away,
apprehensive that Granny was really ill again. She found the tidy
little house in great disorder, with Mitty sitting on the edge of
Granny's bed, her face swollen with tears, while Granny sat up in bed
rocking to and fro and bewailing her fate for a poor unfortunate buddy
who should'a' died years agone.
"What has happened?" cried Christina in dismay. "Has Granny----"
"B-b-Burke!" sobbed Mitty, "'E-e's a reservist."
"A what?" cried Christina in alarm. She had some vague idea that the
steady, hard working Burke must have joined some sort of disreputable
gang.
"A--a reservist," repeated Mitty between her sobs. "An' they've sent
for 'im an' 'e's goin' to the war. An' me an' Granny'll be left all
alone!"
"Do you mean he belongs to the army?" asked Christina bewildered by
this strange new thing which had come into their peaceful lives.
Mitty nodded. "Burke was always a grite feller for the solderin', an'
'e joined wen 'e was only a bit o' a lad. But 'e never feared after 'e
come out 'ere as anybody would ever send for 'im. An' now 'e'll go to
the wars an be shot down an' we'll be left without 'im."
This was really a terrible calamity, something so big one feared to
face it, and Christina could only sit and hold Mitty's hand. She was
soon reinforced by the neighbours, many of whom had heard the sad news
earlier, and had been in to console them. Dr. McGarry had already
called twice to see Granny, though he had not been sent for, and he had
left her some new powders. Mrs. Sutherland had brought over a little
book of poems on Strength in Adversity. Tilly Holmes had brought a
dozen oranges from the store, and Mrs. Sinclair came in while Christina
was there with a bowl of soup.
Christina, mindful of her many duties at home, went back soon and sent
her mother down, for Mrs. Lindsay was a wonder at bringing comfort and
cheer.
Mrs. Holmes was there, having come over to supplement the dozen oranges
with a half-dozen bananas. Joanna had come over early in the morning
and carried off Mitty's ironing and was just returning with the basket
filled with beautifully ironed clothes. Joanna hardly ever rejoiced
with them that did rejoice, being rather of the opinion that they
required a little wholesome adversity to temper their glee; but her
heart was very warm towards those who were in sorrow. And though she
had never taken much interest in Mitty's happiness, and had said many
sarcastic things when Burke married her, still she was all sympathy
with her in the day of her trial.
"Now, just let's cheer up and don't worry about it at all," she
exclaimed bustling about with an air that was a real tonic. "Mitty,
you just shut up your crying right now, and come and help me put away
these clothes, or you'll have to send Burke away in his night-shirt.
He'll never get to the war anyway. The British Navy'll have Germany
chased out of Europe long before he'll get there and he'll jist have a
free trip to the Old Country and a chance to see all his old friends
and visit his mother. Why, you ought to be glad!"
"Now that's jist right, Mitty," declared Mrs. Holmes cheeringly. "Pa
says the war can't last any time. Business can't stand it, and there
ain't so much to worry about after all."
Mrs. Lindsay came in with a cup of tea and cream for Granny, and the
old lady was much refreshed and sat up and scolded Mitty well for
crying so much. And Mitty pulled herself together and began to feel
that perhaps life could go on even if Burke were away for a time.
Granny's scolding did her more good than all the neighbours' sympathy.
It was the atmosphere of normal times, and set her back into the sanity
of every day surroundings.
And Mrs. Lindsay made a cup of tea for everybody and they all sat
around Granny's bed and sewed for Burke and mended everything and
talked about the war in familiar terms, feeling that it had really come
right home to them, and that Orchard Glen, with Trooper and Burke as
representatives, had no small part to play.
They talked about Belgium and Austria and Turkey just as though they
were Dalton, Silver Creek and Algonquin. It made them feel quite grand
and important and gave something of a thrill as they spoke familiarly
of those places and at the same time helped to get Burke Wright's
clothes ready to go away and fight the Germans.
"And how was it you and Joanna let Trooper go?" asked Mrs. Holmes of
Mrs. Johnnie Dunn who had dropped in on her way from town, whither she
had followed her impetuous warrior.
"He didn't wait to ask neither of us, I guess," said The Woman. "Tom
ain't the fellow to ask anybody's leave when there's any fightin' to
do." It appeared that though she would have died rather than admit it,
Mrs. Johnnie Dunn was secretly proud of the way Trooper had gone off to
the war, and would hear no adverse comments upon his conduct. Joanna
made no reply to the raillery. These days were harder upon Joanna than
upon Mitty, for she was denied even the luxury of grieving. But
Trooper had not gone. He was still in Algonquin and would perhaps be
home yet. And though her pride was badly hurt, Joanna had not at all
given up hope.