I MEET CAPTAIN SPRINGFIELD
I stood at the window of the room into which I had been shown, looking
over the flower-beds towards the beautiful landscape. Devonshire has
been called the Queen of the English counties, perhaps not without
reason. Even my beloved Cornwall could provide no fairer sight than
that which spread itself before me. For a coast scenery, Cornwall is
unrivalled in the whole of England, but for sweet, rustic loveliness, I
had to confess that we had nothing to surpass what I saw that day.
Mile after mile of field, and woodland, in undulating beauty, spread
themselves out before me, while away in the distance was a fringe of
rocky tors and wild moor-land.
At the bottom of the hill on the side of which the house stood ran a
clear, sparkling river, which wound itself away down the valley like a
ribbon of silver, hidden only here and there by trees and brushwood.
So enamoured was I that I stood like one entranced, and did not notice
the two men who had entered, until St. Mabyn spoke.
Captain Horace Springfield was a tall, dark, lean man from thirty to
thirty-five years of age, and from what I learnt afterwards, had spent
a great deal of time abroad. Although still young, his intensely black
hair was becoming tinged with grey, and his deeply-lined cheeks, and
somewhat sunken eyes made him look older than he really was. Although
he was home on sick leave, he showed no sign of weakness; his every
movement suggested strength and decision.
'Glad to know you,' he said; 'it's a degrading sort of business to go
round the country persuading men to do their duty, but since there are
so many shirkers in the country, some one's obliged to do it. We shall
need all the strength of England, and of the Empire, before we've done,
if this job is to be finished satisfactorily; the Germans will need a
lot of licking.'
'Still, our chaps are doing very well,' I ventured.
'Oh, yes, they are all right. But naturally these new fellows haven't
the staying power of the men in the old Army. They, poor chaps, were
nearly all done for in the early days of the war. Still, the
Territorials saved the situation.'
'You've seen service in the East?' I ventured.
'Yes, Egypt and India.'
'It was in Egypt that Captain Springfield knew my brother Maurice,' and
George St. Mabyn glanced quickly at him as he spoke.
'The country lost a fine soldier in Maurice St. Mabyn,' said
Springfield. 'If he had lived, he'd have been colonel by now; in fact,
there is no knowing what he mightn't have become. He had a big mind,
and was able to take a broad grasp of things. I'd like to have seen
him at the General Headquarters in France. What Maurice St. Mabyn
didn't know about soldiering wasn't worth knowing. Still, he's dead,
poor chap.'
'Were you with him when he died?' I asked.
'Yes, I was,--that is I was in the show when he was killed. It was one
of those affairs which make it hard to forgive Providence. You see, it
was only a small skirmish; some mad mullah of a fellow became a paid
agitator among the natives. He stirred up a good deal of religious
feeling, and quite a number of poor fools joined him. By some means,
too, he obtained arms for them. St. Mabyn was ordered to put down what
the English press called "a native rebellion." He was able to do it
easily for although he hadn't many men, he planned our attack so
perfectly that we blew them into smithereens in a few hours.'
'And you were in it?' I asked.
'Yes,' and then in a few words he described how Maurice St. Mabyn was
killed.
'It's jolly hard when a friend dies like that,' I said awkwardly.
'Yes,' was Springfield's reply, 'it is. Of course it is one of the
risks of the Army, and I am sure that Maurice would have gone into it,
even if he had known what would take place. He was that sort. In a
way, too, it was a glorious death. By his pluck and foresight he made
the whole job easy, and put down what might have been a big rebellion.
But that isn't quite how I look at it. I lost a pal, the best pal a
man ever had. His death bowled me over, too, and I wasn't fit for
anything for months. Poor old Maurice!'
I must confess that I was moved by the man's evident feeling. He had
not struck me as an emotional man,--rather, at first, he gave me the
impression of being somewhat hard and callous. His deep-set eyes, high
cheek-bones, and tall gaunt form, suggested one of those men who was as
hard as nails, and who could see his own mother die without a quiver of
his lips.
'Forgive me, Luscombe,' he said, 'I'm not a sloppy kind of chap as a
rule, and sentiment isn't my strong point. I have seen as much hard
service as few men, and death has not been a rare thing to me. I have
been in one or two little affairs out in India, and seen men die fast.
It is no make-belief over in France, either, although I have seen no
big engagement there. But to lose a pal is---- I say, shall we change
the subject?'
After this, we went out into the grounds, and talked of anything rather
than war or soldiering, and I must confess that Springfield talked
well. There was a kind of rough strength about him which impressed me.
That he was on good terms with George St. Mabyn was evident, for they
called each other by their Christian names, and I judged that their
friendship was of long standing.
After I had been there a little over an hour, and was on the point of
telling the chauffeur to take me back to Granitelands, George St. Mabyn
informed me that he and Springfield were going there to lunch. I was
rather surprised at this, as no mention of it had been made before, and
I wondered why, if they had arranged to be at Granitelands, I should
have been asked to visit them that morning. Still, I did not give the
matter a second thought, and before one o'clock St. Mabyn appeared in
the seventh heaven of delight, for he was walking around the grounds of
Granitelands with Norah Blackwater by his side.
I left soon after lunch, but before I went I had a few minutes' chat
with Lorna Bolivick.
'You will remember your promise, won't you?' and she looked eagerly
into my face as she spoke.
'What promise?'
'You know. The promise, you made about that man, Paul Edgecumbe. I
want you to promise something else, too.'
'What is that?'
'I want you to let me know when you have found him.'
'What possible interest can you have in him, Miss Bolivick?'
'I only know that I _am_ interested in him; I couldn't sleep last night
for thinking about him. It's--it's just awful, isn't it? Do you like
Captain Springfield?'
'I neither like nor dislike him. I only met him an hour or two ago,
and in all probability I shall never see him again.'
'Oh, but you will. You are a friend of Sir Roger Granville's, aren't
you?'
'Scarcely. I happen to have been brought into contact with him because
of this work I am doing, and he has been very kind to me. That is all.
I have never been here before, and probably I shall never come again.'
'Oh, yes, you will. Sir Roger likes you, so does Lady Granville; they
said so last night after you went to bed. I am sure you will come here
again.'
'I shall be awfully glad if I do, especially if it will lead to my
seeing you.'
'Don't be silly,' and she spoke with all the freedom of a child; 'all
the same, I'd like you to meet my father. He'd like to know you, too.
We only live about five miles away. Ours is a dear old house; it is
close by the village of South Petherwin. Can you remember that?'
'If I have to write you about Paul Edgecumbe, will that find you?'
'Yes. You needn't put Bolivick, which is the name of the house,
because every one who is called Bolivick lives at Bolivick, don't you
see? I shall expect to hear from you directly you find him. You are
sure you won't forget?'
I laughed at the girl's insistence. 'To make it impossible,' I said,
'I will put it down in my diary. Here we are. May 29,--you see there
is a good big space for writing. "I give my promise, that as soon as I
have found the man, Paul Edgecumbe, I will write Miss Lorna Bolivick
and acquaint her of the fact."'
'That's right. Now then, sign your name.'
I laughingly did as she desired.
'I am going to witness it,' she said, and there was quite a serious
tone in her voice. She took my pencil, and wrote in a somewhat crude,
schoolgirl hand,--'Witnessed by Lorna Bolivick, Bolivick, South
Petherwin.' 'You can't get rid of it now,' she said.
While she was writing, I happened to look up, and saw Norah Blackwater,
who was accompanied by George St. Mabyn and Captain Springfield.
'What deep plot are you engaged in?' asked Norah Blackwater.
'It's only some private business Mr. Luscombe and I are transacting,'
she replied, whereupon the others laughed and passed on.
'Do you know what that Captain Springfield makes me think of?' she
asked.
'No,' I replied.
'Snakes,' she said.
As I watched the captain's retreating form, I shook my head.
'I can't help it. Have you noticed his eyes? There now, put your
diary in your pocket, and don't forget what you've promised.'
'One thing is certain,' I said to myself, as I was driven along to the
station that afternoon, 'my suspicions about George St. Mabyn are
groundless. What a fool a man is when he lets his imagination run away
with him! Here was I, building up all sorts of mad theories, and then
I meet a man who knows nothing about my thoughts, but who destroys my
theories in half a dozen sentences. Whoever Paul Edgecumbe is, it is
certain he is not Maurice St. Mabyn.'
Several months passed, and still I heard nothing of Paul Edgecumbe. I
made all sorts of inquiries, and did my best to find him, all without
success, until I came to the conclusion that the man had not joined the
Army at all. Then, suddenly, I ceased thinking about him. My
recruiting work came to an end, and I was pitchforked into the active
work of the Army. As I have said, I knew practically nothing about
soldiering, and the little I had learnt was wellnigh useless, because,
being merely an officer in the old Volunteers, my knowledge was largely
out of date. Still, there it was. New schemes for obtaining soldiers
were on foot, and as a commission had been given to me, and there being
no need for me at the University, I became a soldier, not only in name,
but in actuality. I suppose I was not altogether a failure as a
battalion officer; indeed, I was told I picked up my duties with
remarkable ease. Anyhow, I worked very hard. And then, before I had
time to realize what had happened to me, I was ordered to the front.
Some one has described life at the front as two weeks of monotony and
one week of hell. I do not say it is quite like that, although it
certainly gives a hint of the truth. When one is in the trenches, it
is often a very ghastly business, so ghastly that I will not attempt to
describe it. On the other hand, life behind the lines is dreadfully
monotonous, especially in the winter months, when the whole of our
battle-line is a sea of mud and the quintessence of discomfort. Still,
I did not fare badly. I was engaged in two small skirmishes, from
which my battalion came out well, and although, during the winter of
1915-1916, things could not be described as lively, a great deal of
useful work was done.
Then something took place which bade fair to put an end to my
activities for the duration of the war, and which calamity was averted
in what I cannot help describing now as a miraculous way. I need not
go into the matter at length; it was a little affair as far as I was
concerned, but was intended as a preliminary to something far more
serious, but of which I had no knowledge. It was on a dark night, I
remember, and my work was to raid a bit of the Boches' trenches, and do
all the damage possible. Preparations had been carefully made, and as
far as we could gather, everything promised success. I had twenty men
under my command, and early in the morning, about an hour before
daylight, we set out to do it. Everything seemed favourable to our
enterprise. The German searchlights were not at work, and the bit of
No Man's Land which we had to cross did not seem to be under enemy
observation.
I was given to understand that my little stunt was only one of several
others which was to take place, and so, although naturally our nerves
were a bit strung up when we crawled over the parapets, we did not
anticipate a difficult job.
As a matter of fact, however, the Boches had evidently been warned of
our intentions, and had made their plans accordingly. We were allowed
to cross the No Man's Land, which at this spot was about three hundred
yards wide, and were nearing the place from which we could commence
operations, when, without warning, a number of the enemy attacked us.
The odds were against us at the very start; they had double our
numbers, and were able to take advantage of a situation strongly in
their favour.
Evidently some one on our side had either conveyed information to them,
or their Intelligence Department was better served than we imagined.
Anyhow, there it was. Instead of entering their trenches, and taking a
number of prisoners, we had the worst of it. Still, we made a good
fight, and I imagine their losses were greater than ours, in spite of
their superiority of numbers. Most of our fellows managed to get away,
but I was not so fortunate. Just at the first streak of dawn, I found
myself a prisoner; while four of the men whom I had brought suffered a
similar fate.
It was no use my trying to do anything, they out-numbered us several
times over, and I was led away to what I suppose they regarded as a
place of safety, until reports could be made concerning us.
I knew German fairly well, although I spoke it badly, and I tried to
get some information as to the plans concerning me; but I could get no
definite reply. It was bitterly cold, and in spite of all the Boches
had done to make their condition comfortable, it was no picnic. Mud
and slush abounded, and I heard the German soldiers complain one to
another that it was ten hours since they had tasted any food.
Then, suddenly, there was a tremendous boom, followed by a terrific
explosion, and although I was not wounded, I was wellnigh stunned. A
British shell had fallen close to where we were, and, as far as I could
judge, several Boches had been accounted for. A few seconds later,
there was a regular tornado.
As I have said our work that night was intended to be preparatory to a
big bombardment, and I had the misfortune to learn from the German
trenches what a British bombardment meant.
'_Gott in Himmel!_' said one of my captors, 'let's get away from this.'
Whereupon I was hurried on to what I supposed to be a safer place. A
few minutes later, I was descending what seemed to me a concrete
stairway, until I came to what struck me as a great cave, capable of
holding two or three hundred men.
As I entered, a German officer looked up from some papers he had been
examining, and saw us.
'What have you here?' he asked.
'English prisoners, sir.'
'Prisoners! what use have we for prisoners? Better put a bullet into
their brains. They will mean only so many more mouths to feed.'
'One is an officer, sir,' and the soldier nodded toward me.
'Ah well, he may be useful. But I have no time to deal with him now.
_Himmel!_ what's that?'
It was the noise of a tremendous explosion, and the whole place shook
as though there were an earthquake.
The captain gave some rapid instructions which I did not hear, and then
hurried away.