OUT OF THE MISTS
This record of a Yorkshire village--a true chronicle of life among the
canny folk who dwell on the "moor edge"--might well be left at the point
it reached when one of its chief characters saw before him the smooth
and sunlit road of a notable career.
But history, though romantic, is not writ as romance, and the story of
Elmsdale is fact, not fiction. After eight years of somnolence the
village awoke again. It was roused from sleep by the tumult of a world
at war; mayhap the present generation shall pass away before the hamlet
relapses into its humdrum ways.
Martin was twenty-two when his father and he journeyed north to attend
the annual sale of the Elmsdale herd, which was fixed for the two
opening days of July, 1914. Each year Colonel Grant brought his son to
the village for six weeks prior to the twelfth of August; this year
there was a well-founded rumor in the little community that the colonel
meant to buy The Elms.
The announcement of Bolland's sale brought foreign agents from abroad
and well-known stock-raisers from all parts of the Kingdom. No less than
forty animals entered the auction ring. One bull, Bainesse Boy IV.,
realized L800. Bainesse Boy IV. held a species of levee in a special
stall. He had grown into a wonder. On a table, over which Sergeant
Benson mounted guard, were displayed five championship cups he had
carried off, while fifteen cards, arranged in horseshoe pattern on the
wall, each bore the magic words, "First Prize," awarded at Islington,
Birmingham, the Royal, and wherever else in Britain shorthorns and their
admirers most do congregate.
The village hummed with life; around the sale ring gathered a multitude
of men arrayed in Melton cloth and leather leggings, whose general
appearance betokened the wisdom of Dr. Johnson's sarcastic dictum: "Who
drives fat oxen should himself be fat."
Martha and a cohort of maids boiled hams by the dozen and baked cakes in
fabulous quantities. John graced the occasion by donning a new suit and
new boots, in which the crooked giant was singularly ill at ease.
Mrs. Pickering drove over from Nottonby--Kitty was married two years
before to a well-to-do farmer at Northallerton--and someone rallied her
on "bein' ower good-lookin' te remain a widow all her days."
She laughed pleasantly.
"I'm far too busy at Wetherby to think of adding a husband to my cares,"
she said; but those who knew her best could have told that she had
refused at least two excellent offers of matrimony and meant to remain
Mrs. Pickering during the rest of her days.
At the close of the second day's sale, when the crowd was thinned by the
departure of a fleet of cars and a local train at five o'clock, the
White House was thronged by its habitues, who came to make a meal of the
"high tea."
Colonel Grant and John had just concluded an amicable wrangle whereby it
was decided that they should jointly provide the considerable sum needed
to acquire The Elms and some adjoining land. The house and grounds were
to be remodeled and the property would be deeded to Martin forthwith.
The young gentleman himself, as tall as his father now, and wearing
riding breeches and boots, was standing at the front door, turning
impatient eyes from a smart cob, held by a groom, to the bend in the
road where it curved beyond the "Black Lion."
A smartly-dressed young lady passed, and although Martin lifted his hat
with a ready smile his glance wandered from her along the road again.
Evelyn Atkinson wondered who it was that thus distracted his attention.
A few yards farther on, Elsie Herbert, mounted on a steady old hunter,
passed at a sharp trot. Evelyn's pretty face frowned slightly.
"If _she_ is home again, of course, he has eyes for nobody else," she
said to herself.
And, indeed, it was true. Elsie had been to Dresden for two years. She
had returned to Elmsdale the previous day, and a scribbled note told
Martin to look for her after tea.
The two set off together through the village, bound for the moor. Many a
critical look followed them.
"Eh, but they're a bonny pair," cried Mrs. Summersgill, who became
stouter each year. "Martin allus framed to be a fine man, but I nivver
thowt yon gawky lass o' t' vicar's 'ud grow into a beauty."
"This moor air is wonderful. Look at the effect it has on you, Mrs.
Summersgill," said Colonel Grant with a twinkle in his eye.
"Oh, go on wi' ye, Colonel, pokin' fun at a poor owd body like me. But I
deaen't ho'd wi' skinny 'uns. Martha, what's become o' Mrs. Saumarez an'
that flighty gell o' hers. What did they call her--Angel? My word!--a
nice angel--not that she wasn't as thin as a sperrit."
"Miss Walker told me, last Christmas twel'month, they were i' France,"
said Martha.
"France? Ay, maist like; it's a God-forsaken place, I'll be boun'."
"Nay," interposed Bolland, "that's an unchristian description of onny
counthry, ma'am. Ye'll find t' Lord ivverywhere i' t' wide wulld, if ye
seek Him. There's bin times when He might easy be i' France, for He
seemed, iv His wisdom, to be far away frae Elmsdale."
Mrs. Summersgill snorted contempt for all "furriners," but Martha
created a diversion.
"Goodness me!" she cried, "yer cup's empty. I nivver did see sike a
woman. Ye talk an' eat nowt."
Martin, now in his third year at Oxford, was somewhat mystified by the
change brought about in Elsie by two years of "languages and music"
passed in the most attractive of German cities. Though not flippant, her
manner nonplussed him. She was distinctly "smart," both in speech and
style. She treated a young gentleman who had already taken his degree
and was reading for honors in history with an easy nonchalance that was
highly disconcerting. The last time they parted they had kissed each
other, she with tears, and he with a lump in his throat. Now he dared
no more offer a cousinly, or brotherly, or any other sort of salute in
which kissing was essential, than if she were a royal princess.
"You've altered, old girl," he said by way of a conversational opening
when their horses were content to walk, after a sharp canter along a
moorland track.
"I should hope so, indeed," came the airy retort. "Surely, you didn't
expect to find the Elmsdale label on me after two years of _kultur_?"
"Whatever the label, the vintage looks good," he said.
"You mean that as a compliment," she laughed. "And, now that I look at
you carefully, I see signs of improvement. Of course, the Oxford swank
is an abomination, but you'll lose it in time. Father told me last night
that you were going in for the law and politics. Is that correct?"
Martin, masterful as ever, was not minded to endure such supercilious
treatment at Elsie's hands. He had looked forward to this meeting with a
longing that had almost interfered with his work; it was more than
irritating to find his divinity modeling her behavior on the lines of
the Girton "set" at the University.
They had reached a point of the high moor which overlooked Thor ghyll.
Martin pulled up his cob and dismounted.
"Let's give the nags a breather here," he said. "Shall I help you?"
"No, thanks."
Elsie was out of the saddle promptly. She rode astride. In a
well-fitting habit, with divided skirt and patent-leather boots, she
looked wonderfully alluring, but her air of aloofness was carried
almost to the verge of indifference.
She showed some surprise when Martin took her horse's reins and threw
them over his left arm.
"Are you going to lecture me?" she said, arching her eyebrows. "It would
be just like a fledgling B. A., who is doubtless a member of the
Officers' Training Corps, to tell me that my German riding-master taught
me to sit too stiffly."
"He did," said Martin, meeting the sarcastic blue eyes without
flinching. "But a few days with the York and Ainsty and Lord Middleton's
pack will put that right. You'll come a purler at your first stone wall
if you ride with such long stirrup leathers. However, I want you to jump
another variety of obstacle to-day. You asked me just now, Elsie, if I
was going in for the law. Yes. But I'm going in for you first. You know
I love you, dear. You know I have been your very humble but loyal knight
ever since I won your recognition down there in the valley, when I was
only a farmer's son and you were a girl of a higher social order. I have
never forgotten that you didn't seem to heed class distinctions then,
Elsie, and it hurts now to have you treat me with coldness."
Elsie, trying valiantly to appear partly indignant and even more amused
at this direct attack, failed most lamentably. First she flushed; then
she paled.
She faced Martin's gaze confidently enough at the outset, but her eyes
dropped and her lips quivered when she heard the words which no woman
can hear without a thrill. Still, she made a brave attempt to rally her
forces.
"I didn't--quite mean--what you say," she faltered, which was a
schoolgirl form of protest for one who had achieved distinction in a
course of English literature.
Martin took her by the shoulders. The two horses nosed each other. They,
perforce, were dumb, but their wise eye's seemed to exchange the caustic
comment: "What fools these mortals be! Why don't they hug, and settle
the business?"
"I must know what you do mean," said Martin, almost fiercely. "I love
you, Elsie. Will you marry me?"
She lifted her face. The blue eyes were dim with tears, but the adorable
mouth trembled in a smile.
"Yes, dear," she murmured. "But what did you expect? Did you--think I
would--throw my arms around you--in the village street?"
After that Martin had no reason to accuse Elsie of being either stiff or
cold. When the vicar heard the news that night--for Martin and the
colonel dined at the Vicarage--he stormed into mock dissent.
"God bless my soul," he cried, "my little girl has been away two whole
years, and you come and steal her away from me before she has been home
twenty-four hours!"
Then he produced a handkerchief and yielded, apparently, to a violent
attack of hay fever. Yet it was a joyous company which gathered around
the dinner table, for Elsie herself, casting off the veneer of Dresden,
drove posthaste to summon the Bollands to the feast.
John was specially deputed by Colonel Grant to make a significant
announcement.
"We're all main pleased you two hev sattled matters so soon," he said,
peering alternately at Martin's attentive face and Elsie's blushing one.
"Yer father an' me hev bowt The Elms, an' a tidy bit o' land besides, so
ye'll hev a stake i' t' county if ivver ye're minded te run for
Parlyment. The Miss Walkers (John pronounced the name "Wahker") are
goin' te live in a small hoos i' Nottonby. They've gotten a fine lot o'
Spanish mahogany an' owd oak which they're willin' te sell by
vallyation; so the pair of ye can gan there i' t' mornin' an' pick an'
choose what ye want."
Elsie looked at her father, but neither could utter a word. Martha
Bolland put an arm around the girl's neck.
"Lord luv' ye, honey!" she said brokenly, "it'll be just like crossin'
the road. May I be spared te see you happy and comfortable in yer new
home, for you'll surely be one of the finest ladies i' Yorkshire."
No shadow darkened their joy in that cheerful hour. Even next day, when
a grim specter flitted through Elmsdale, the ominous vision evoked only
a passing notice. Colonel Grant and the vicar, each an expert in old
furniture, accompanied the young people to The Elms and examined its
antique dressers, sideboards, tables, and the rest. Many of the bedroom
chests were of solid mahogany. The Misses Walker had cleared the drawers
of the lumber of years, so that the prospective purchasers could note
the interior finish.
Miss Emmy, not so tactful as her elder sister, brought in a name which
the others present wished to forget.
"Mrs. Saumarez used this room as a dressing-room," she said, "and while
turning out rubbish from a set of drawers I came across this."
She displayed a small red-covered folding road-map, such as cyclists and
motorists use. Martin thought he recognized it.
"I believe that is the very map lost by Fritz Bauer, Mrs. Saumarez's
chauffeur," he said.
"Probably, sir. He made a rare row with Miss Angele about it. I was half
afraid he meant to shake her. No one knew what had become of it, but
either Miss Angele or her mother must have hidden it. Why, I can't
guess."
Elsie helped to smooth over an awkward incident. She took the map and
began to open it.
"It couldn't have been such an important matter," she said. Then she
shook apart the folded sheet, and they all saw that it bore a number of
entries and signs in faded ink, black and red. The written words were in
German, and Elsie scanned a few lines hurriedly. She looked puzzled,
even a trifle perturbed, but recovered her smiling self-possession
instantly.
"The poor man, being a foreigner, jotted down some notes for his
guidance," she said. "May I have it?"
"With pleasure, miss," said the old lady.
It was not until the party had returned to the vicarage that Elsie
explained her request. She spread the map on a table, and her smooth
forehead wrinkled in doubt.
"This is serious," she said. "I have lived in Germany long enough to
understand that one cannot mix with German girls in the intimacy of
school and at their homes without knowing that an attack on England is
simply an obsession of their menfolk, and even of the women. They regard
it as a certainty in the near future, pretending that if they don't
strike first England will crush them."
"I wish to Heaven she would!" broke in Colonel Grant emphatically. "In
existing conditions this country resembles an unarmed policeman waiting
for a burglar to fire at him out of the darkness."
Mr. Herbert, man of peace that he was, might have voiced a mild
disclaimer, had not Elsie stayed him.
"Listen, father," she said seriously. "Here is proof positive. That
chauffeur was a military spy. See what is written across the top of the
map: 'Gutes Wasser; Futter in Fuelle; Ueberfluss von Vieh, Schafen und
Pferden. Einzelheiten auf genauen Ortlichkeiten angegeben.' That means
'Good water; abundance of fodder; plenty of cattle, sheep, and horses.
Details given on exact localities.' And, just look at the details! Could
a child fail to interpret their meaning?"
Elsie's simile was not far-fetched, yet gray-headed statesmen, though
they may have both known and understood, refused to believe. That little
road-map, on a scale of one mile to an inch, contained all the
information needed by the staff of an invading army.
The moor bore the legend:
"Platz fuer Lager, leicht verschanzt; beherrscht Hauptstrassen von
Whitby und Pickering nach York. Rote Kreise kennzeichnen
reichlichen Wasservorrat fuer Kavallerie und Artillerie." (Site for
camp, easily entrenched. Commands main roads from Whitby and
Pickering to York. Red circles show ample water supply for cavalry
and artillery.)
Every road bore its classification for the use of troops, showing the
width, quality of surface, and gradients. Each bridge was described as
"stone" or "iron." Even cross-country trails were indicated when
fordable streams rendered such passage not too difficult.
The little group gazed spellbound at the extraordinarily accurate
synopsis of the facilities offered by the placid country of Yorkshire
for the devilish purposes of war. Martin, in particular, devoured the
entries relating to the moor. On Metcalf's farm he saw: "Six hundred
sheep here," and at the Broad Ings, "Four hundred sheep, three horses,
four cows." Well he knew who had given the spy those facts. His glowing
eyes wandered to the village. A long entry distinguished the White
House, and though he knew a good deal of German he was beaten by the
opening technical word.
"What is that, Elsie?" he said, and even his father wondered at the hot
anger in his utterance.
The girl read:
"Stammbaum Vieh hier; drei Stiere, achtzehn Kuehe und Faersen, nicht
zum Schlachten, sehr wertvoll. Neben bei sechs Stuten, besten Types
zur Zucht."
Then she translated:
"Pedigree cattle here; three bulls, eighteen cows and heifers, not
to be slaughtered; very valuable. Also six brood mares of best type
for stud."
"The infernal scoundrel!" blazed out Martin. "So the Bolland stock must
be taken to the Fatherland, and not eaten or drafted into service! And
to think that I gave him nearly all that information!"
"You, Martin?" cried Elsie.
"Yes. He pumped me dry. I even showed him the site of every pond on the
moor."
"Don't blame the man," put in Colonel Grant. "I knew him as a Prussian
officer at the first glance. But he was simply doing his duty. Blame our
criminal carelessness. We cannot stop foreigners from prowling about the
country, but we can and should make it impossible for any enemy to
utilize such data as are contained in this map."
"But, consider," put in the perturbed vicar. "This evil work was done
eight years ago, and what has all the talk of German preparation come
to? Isn't it the bombast of militarism gone mad?"
"It comes to this," said the colonel. "We are just eight years nearer
war. I am convinced that the break must occur before 1916--and for two
reasons: Germany's financial state is dangerous, and in 1916 Russia will
have completed on her western frontier certain strategic lines which
will expedite mobilization. Germany won't wait till her prospective foes
are ready. France knows it. That is why she has adopted the three years'
service scheme."
"Then why won't you let me join the army, dad?" demanded Martin bluntly.
Colonel Grant spread his hands with the weary gesture of a man who would
willingly shirk a vital decision.
"In peace the army is a poor career," he said. "The law and politics
offer you a wider field. But not you only--every young man in the
country should be trained to arms. As matters stand, we have neither the
men nor the rifles. Our artillery, excellent of its type, is about
sufficient for an army corps, and we have a fortnight's supply of
ammunition. I am not an alarmist. We have enough regiments to repel a
raid, supposing the enemy's transports dodged the fleet; but Heaven help
us if we dream of sending an expeditionary force to France or Egypt, or
any single one of a score of vulnerable points outside the British
Isles!"
"Beckett-Smythe retained one of those German chauffeurs in his service
for a whole year," said the vicar, on whom a new light had dawned with
the discovery of the telltale map.
"Are there many of the brood in the district now?" inquired the colonel.
"I fancy not."
"There is no need, they have done their work," said Elsie. "Last winter
I met a young officer in Dresden, and he told me he had taken a walking
tour through this part of Yorkshire during the summer. He knew Elmsdale
quite well. He remembered the vicarage, The Elms, and the White House.
Yet he said he was here only a day!"
"Fritz Bauer's maps are the best of guides," commented Colonel Grant
bitterly.
The vicar was literally awe-stricken. He stooped over the map.
"Is this sort of thing going on all over the country?" he gasped.
"More or less. Naturally, the east coast has been the chief hunting
ground, as that must provide the terrain of any attack. Of course, so
long as the political sky remains fairly clear, as it is at this moment,
there is always a chance that humanity will escape Armageddon for
another generation. The world is growing more rational and its interests
are becoming ever more identical. Even the Junkers are feeling the
pressure of public opinion, and the great masses of the people demand
peace. That is why I want Martin to learn the power of voice and pen
rather than of the sword. I have been a soldier all my life, and I hate
war!"
The man who had so often faced death in his country's cause spoke with
real feeling. He longed to make war impossible by making victory
impossible for an aggressor. He claimed no rights for Britain that he
would deny Germany or any other country in the comity of nations.
Suddenly he took the map off the table and folded it.
"I'll send this curio to Whitehall," he said with a smile. "It will form
part of a queer collection. Now, let's talk of something else....
Martin, after the valuer has inspected that furniture, you might see to
it that the whole lot is stored in the east bedrooms. The architect will
not disturb that part of the house."
"Oh, when can we look at the plans?" chimed in Elsie.
These four people, who in their way fairly represented the forty
millions of Great Britain, discussed the spy's map in the drawing-room
of Elmsdale vicarage on July 6th, 1914. On the sixth of August, exactly
one month later, two German army corps, with full artillery and
commissariat trains, were loaded into transports and brought to the
mouth of the Elbe. They hoped to avoid the British fleet, and their
objective was the Yorkshire coast between Whitby and Filey. Once ashore,
they meant entrenching a camp on the Elmsdale moor. Obviously, they did
not dream of conquering England by one daring foray. Their purpose was
to keep the small army of Britain fully occupied until France was
humbled to the dust. They would lose the whole hundred thousand men. But
what of that? German soldiers are regarded as cannon fodder by their
rulers, and the price in human lives would not be too costly if it
retained British troops at home.
It was an audacious scheme, and audacity is the first principle of
successful war. Its very spine and marrow was the knowledge of the North
and East Ridings gained in time of peace by the officers who would lead
the invading host. That it failed was due to England's sailors, the men
who broke Napoleon, and were destined, by God's good grace, to break the
robber empire of Germany.