For the next few days St. Ia was completely under the influence of the
war fever. Although we have only about three thousand inhabitants,
three hundred of our men belonging to the Naval Reserve left in one
day, while many who were away in their fishing-boats were expected to
join their vessels as soon as they could return home. Young
territorials left the neighbourhood by the score, and many a lad who
had previously been laughed at, when wearing his uniform, was looked
upon as a kind of hero, and everywhere one turned, the only subject of
conversation was the war.
Each morning at eight o'clock, the time at which our newspapers usually
arrive, there was such a rush for the train, in order to obtain early
copies, as I had never seen before; and presently, when the news came
that an army consisting of one hundred thousand men had landed on
French soil without even a hitch or casualty, we cheered wildly.
Evidently our War-office machinery was in good order, and our soldiers,
perhaps the best armed and equipped that ever left our shores, would,
we were sure, give a good account of themselves.
Among the older and more staid people the inwardness of the situation
was more and more realised. It seemed so strange that the German
nation, which a few weeks before was looked upon as a nation of
friends, was now spoken of as "the enemy." We held our breaths when we
read of the bombardment of Liége, and cheered wildly at the thought of
the brave Belgian army holding the forts against the opposing forces,
and driving back the hordes of Huns with such valour. "How long will
the English take to get there?" we asked again and again. "When shall
we come to close grips with them?" Many a mother grew pale as she
thought of her boy in the line of battle.
Presently news came of the fall of Liége and the victorious march of
the Germans towards Brussels. The terror of the whole thing got hold
of us, as we thought of the unfortified capital being seized by the
advancing hosts of a great military Power. We troubled very little
about French successes or losses in Alsace and Lorraine. We knew that
the French, true to their characters, had yielded to sentiment rather
than to strategy in making what seemed to us a foolish attempt to win
back these provinces. Of course it was only forty-four years ago that
they had been taken from them by their conquerors in the Franco-German
war. We knew too that, ever since, they had been longing for revenge,
longing to win back what they felt to be part of their own country.
Naturally we sympathised with the French in this, and tears came to our
eyes, and sobs to our throats, when we read how old Frenchmen who had
been through the Franco-German war, welcomed the soldiers with wild and
tumultuous joy. Nevertheless we knew that victory could not be won by
sentiment, and that if the carefully trained German soldiers were to be
driven back, there must be strategy on our side equal to theirs, and
that the armies must be led, not only courageously, but intelligently.
Thus, although we had no proof of the rumour, we rejoiced when we heard
that Lord Kitchener had gone to Paris, and by his wise counsels and
tremendous personality had altered the whole course of the campaign.
"He's the man!" one would say to another; "he's like the Iron Duke in
Boney's time. Nerves like steel, a mind like a razor, and the heart of
a lion."
Nevertheless day by day our hearts grew heavier and heavier as we read
of the steady German advance towards Paris. "If the capital is taken,"
men said, "Isn't everything done for?" and then we weighed the pros and
cons with all the wisdom of a rustic population.
Another thing added to our discomfort. The lads of Cornwall were not
responding as we thought they should, to the call of their country.
From all parts of England young men were coming forward, and London was
enlisting volunteers at the rate of a thousand a day. Yorkshire and
Lancashire proved their devotion and their loyalty. Devon, too, our
sister county, more than maintained her traditions. We read how in one
little village where only thirty young men lived, twenty-five of them
had volunteered. "It is because our boys don't understand, don't
realise what we are fighting for," said one to another; and then we
heard with delight that Admiral Tresize and the Member of Parliament
for St. Ia were arranging for a public meeting, at which truth should
be made known.
During this time Bob Nancarrow was much alone. He seldom left the
house, neither was he to be seen in any of his old favourite haunts.
No one followed the fortunes of the war more closely than he. With
almost feverish eagerness he read every item of news, although, by his
own decision, he was an outsider. He was torn by two opposing forces.
One was the love of his country and his own people, and the other was
the voice of his conscience. He thought, when he happened to go into
the little town, that people nudged each other significantly as he
passed, and made unflattering remarks about him. As a matter of fact,
however, no such thing happened. True, there were some who wondered
why he remained at home, while all his schoolfellows and friends had
volunteered; but many more remembered that he was the son of Dr.
Nancarrow, a man who, to the time of his death, was an apostle of
peace. Of course the inner circle of his acquaintances knew the truth,
but they only talked of it among their own set, and thus Bob's fears
were groundless.
One day he was attracted by a large placard which appeared on all the
public hoardings headed by the Royal Coat of Arms: "'Your King and
Country Need You!' A great meeting will be held in the Public Hall on
Thursday night in order to explain why this war has taken place, and
why it is the duty of every man to help." It announced also that
Admiral Tresize was to take the chair, while, in addition to the local
Member, the meeting was to be addressed by Captain Trevanion, who was
coming down from Plymouth for this purpose, just before leaving for the
front.
"Of course I shan't go," said Bob to himself. "I know the reasons for
the war, and I should be in utter misery if I went." Nevertheless he
found himself making plans for going.
For several days Mrs. Nancarrow had been cold and uncommunicative, and
he knew that a cloud of reserve hung between them. He felt that his
mother despised him. He felt sure, too, that she knew all that had
taken place at Penwennack--that he was henceforth to be treated, in
what he had regarded as his second home, as worse than a stranger.
"There is to be a great meeting at the Public Hall to-night," said Mrs.
Nancarrow, on the day of the meeting. "Are you going?"
Bob shook his head.
"There seems to be tremendous enthusiasm about Captain Trevanion's
coming down, although, of course, he is no speaker," went on Mrs.
Nancarrow. "But you see, the fact of his starting for the front in a
day or so, makes him of special interest. I understand that Nancy
Tresize is going away as a Red Cross nurse, almost at once."
Bob's heart fluttered wildly as he heard her name.
"Captain Trevanion stayed at Penwennack last night. Naturally the
Admiral admires him more than ever. The Captain and Nancy motored to
Land's End yesterday afternoon."
Her every word was like a sword thrust into the young fellow's heart.
He knew what she meant--knew too, that the Admiral had always favoured
Trevanion as a suitor for his daughter. How could it be otherwise,
when Trevanion was a man after the Admiral's own heart? _He_ had
showed no hesitation about the right of defending his country; rather
he had throughout been enthusiastic to a degree, while Bob had hung
back. Mad jealousy filled his heart as he realised what might possibly
be taking place. Even then, Nancy, in her scorn for the man whom she
believed to have been unworthy of her love, might be listening to the
pleadings of one who was worthy.
"I expect Nancy will be at the meeting," went on Mrs. Nancarrow. "As
you know, she goes almost everywhere with her father, and as the
Admiral will take the chair, I expect she will be on the platform."
Bob conjured up the scene. He fancied he saw Trevanion, in his
uniform, speaking in a soldier-like fashion about the duty of defending
his country, the crowd cheering wildly, while Nancy, carried away by
her admiration of the man who accorded with her ideals of how an
Englishman should act, would yield to the gallant soldier the love for
which he would give his life.
That night, with a kind of savage love for self-torture, Bob made his
way to the Public Hall. He got there half an hour before the announced
time, and found the place nearly full. All round the walls hung
bunting, characteristic of the county. The Cornish Coat of Arms hung
over the chairman's table, while the chorus of the old Cornish song:
And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen,
And shall Trelawney die?
Then twenty thousand Cornishmen
Will know the reason why.
was printed in large letters, and hung in a prominent place. At the
back of the platform some one had written, "Cornwall has never failed
her country yet. Shall she be unworthy of the names of Trelawney,
Killigrew, Boscawen, Carew, Tresize, and Trevanion? Never!"
To Bob's chagrin he was led to a seat close to the platform. Evidently
the man who took him there, wanted him, as the son of one who had been,
perhaps, the most respected man in the town, to have a place of honour.
In a few minutes the audience was singing patriotic songs. It was true
that there was something jingoistic about them, nevertheless Bob's
heart thrilled. Perhaps there are no people in the whole country whose
voices are sweeter than those of the dwellers in our most Western
county. His heart caught fire as he listened. Yes, there was
something in fighting for home and fatherland, something sublime in
dying for a noble cause. Then again the horror of war, the brutal
butchery, the senseless hatred, the welter of blood, the blighted lives
and homes, arose before him. He knew that the meeting would have no
message for him.
Precisely at the time announced the speakers appeared on the platform
amidst a tumult of shouting, and then Bob's heart gave a great leap,
for he saw that Nancy Tresize, with several other ladies, followed the
old Admiral. In spite of himself his eyes were drawn towards her as if
by a magnet. He tried to look away from her, but could not, and then,
when he least expected it, her gaze caught his. It was only for a
second, but that second plunged him into the deepest darkness. He saw
the flush that mounted to her cheeks, the smile of derision that passed
her lips, and the look of scorn and contempt that expressed itself on
her face. He knew then what Nancy felt about him, and that he had lost
her--lost her for ever.
I am not going to try to describe the speeches at length--there is no
need. The Admiral spoke in a bluff, hearty way about the causes which
led up to the war, and then told of the part which the county had
always played, and of her great names which had gone down to history.
Spoke, too, of the need of men at the present time, and then made his
appeal.
After him came the Member for St. Ia. He evidently tried to speak as a
statesman on the question. He was listened to respectfully, but
without enthusiasm. He was little fitted to explain the intricacies of
international politics. Bob felt, during the whole time he was
speaking, that he did not know the A.B.C. of his subject, felt that if
he had been in his place he would have made a far stronger case for the
country and the cause.
Then some one got up and recited some doggerel by a London journalist
which was said to be very popular in various parts of the country, but
which did not appeal to our Cornish boys at all.
Up to this point the meeting could not be pronounced a success. Crowds
were there, and the people were waiting to be caught on fire; but the
right spark had not been struck. It only wanted a little to rouse the
whole audience to white heat; the train was laid, the powder was set,
but no one seemed able to ignite the match. People looked at one
another doubtfully. The youths who had been expected to enlist
remained cold and almost jeeringly critical. Then the Admiral called
for Captain Trevanion.
A feeling of envy came into Bob's heart as the Captain rose. He was
wearing his regimentals and looked a soldier, every inch of him; tall,
stalwart, straight as a rule. Young and handsome, he bore proudly a
name which might be found in the remotest history of his county.
"I am no speaker," he began, "and never pretend to speak; in fact, this
is almost the first time that I have tried to address a meeting. I am
a soldier; I start in a few days for the front, and I have only come to
tell you why I am going."
There was evidence of sincerity in his words, and they were spoken in
such a hearty and convincing way that they appealed to every one
present. Bob felt it more than any one else. Yes, he envied him. Oh,
if he could only take his place! If he could say, "I am going to the
front in a few days!"
"I have been working hard, these last weeks," went on Trevanion;
"drilling, drilling; training, training; preparing for the fray, and
waiting and longing to, hear the command, 'Up, lads, and at them!'
Thank heaven the command has at last come!"
His voice rang out clearly, and as he spoke a new light came into the
eyes of many.
"And why am I going?" he cried. "Why are tens of thousands of the
brave lads from all over the Empire going to France at this time? I'll
tell you!"
He was not eloquent. He had no great command of language, but he
stirred the hearts of the people, because he told a simple story,
which, while from the standpoint of the cold critic it might appear
unconvincing, was, when listened to by patriotic Englishmen, full of
appeal and power.
He drew two pictures, and although he did it crudely he did it well.
He described first a meeting of Cabinet Ministers in Whitehall. These
men had for a long time been labouring night and day for peace, and now
the final stage had come. They had sent what was in some senses an
ultimatum to Germany, and they were now waiting for the answer. War
and peace hung in the balance. The time was approaching midnight, and
the hour when the final decision was to be made was near at hand. The
question they had asked Germany was this: "Will you keep your word to
Belgium, or will you violate the treaty you have signed?"
"The Belgians," said Trevanion, "had the promise of the Kaiser to
maintain their country's neutrality and integrity. Was that promise to
be trusted, or was it a sham and a lie? 'We Britons gave our word,'
our statesmen had said, 'and, like Britons, we are going to keep it.
What are you going to do? If you prove false, we are going to stand by
our promise, if it cost us our last man and our last pound.
"Presently the sound of Big Ben at Westminster boomed across the city.
The Germans had not replied. This meant that the Kaiser had played the
traitor, that he had torn up the treaty he had signed; and thus when
the last stroke of Big Ben sounded across London, the four statesmen
looked at each other, and said, 'This means war.' Could they have done
any other?" cried the Captain--"could they? No!"
From the hall, rose the many-throated reply, "No, by God, no!"
"Now for another picture," he went on. "It is not in London, not in
Whitehall this time; it is in Germany, at Berlin. Our Ambassador
there, was speaking to a representative of the German Kaiser, the
mouthpiece of the German nation. 'What will you do?' asked the German.
'Surely you English will be neutral?'
"'That depends,' said the Englishman.
"'On what?' queried the German.
"'It depends whether you Germans are going to be true to the treaty you
have signed, true to your plighted word.'
"'And if not?' the German asked.
"'In that case,' replied the Englishman, 'we are not going to stand by
and see a little state wronged and ruined, because a great nation like
Germany, who should keep her word, is playing Belgium false.'
"'Treaty,' questioned the German, 'what is a treaty? Will you go to
war with us for that--just for a scrap of paper?'
"'But that scrap of paper means our nation's honour,' the Englishman
said.
"'Have you counted the cost?' asked the German, thinking to frighten
the Englishman.
"'We English,' replied the British Ambassador, 'are not likely to go
back on our word because of fear.'
"The German left him in a passion, and the Englishman said in his
heart, 'It is war.'
"Would you have had him give another answer?"
And again a mighty shout from the hall, "No, by God, no!"
"Then do your duty--help us in the fight," cried the Captain. The
right note was struck now, and it had been struck by Bob's rival. Oh,
how he envied him! He saw that Nancy's eyes were ablaze with joy, that
she was moved to the depth of her being; and the man who had moved her
to enthusiasm and admiration was the man who wanted the woman Bob
loved, and whom he had lost.
"Can any Englishman," went on Captain Trevanion, "stand by after that?
If he can, what is he worth? Of course he will make paltry excuses, he
will say this and that and the other thing, but what are his excuses
worth? I have heard of young fellows, men who have been trained in our
public schools, who stand by and refuse to help; what shall we say of
them? And you young chaps, healthy, strong, unmarried, without home
ties, what if you refuse to respond to the call of your country? I
will tell you what I think of you: you are white-livered cowards."
Again the audience cheered, and Captain Trevanion, fired by the
enthusiasm he had roused, became almost eloquent. He knew he had the
grip of his audience, and his words came more easily.
"I want to appeal to you girls," he went on. "Your sweethearts are
sitting by you: well, a fellow who is such a coward as to refuse to
fight for his country isn't worth having. Tell him so, shame him into
being a man!" he cried, and his voice rang out, as though he were
giving orders on parade.
"What shall we do?" shouted a voice in the hall.
"Make them feel what cowards they are. Here," and he laughed as he
spoke, "I have in a basket a lot of white feathers; I think they might
be of use. Any of you girls who know men who are hanging back from
cowardice, just give them a white feather, and never speak to them
again until they have wiped away their disgrace." He took up the
basket and held it out. "There," he said, "I have finished my speech:
men and women do your duty!"
As he sat down the whole meeting was in a state of wild uproarious
enthusiasm.
A few minutes later the hall began to empty itself, although a number
of people remained behind to discuss the situation. An old retired
sergeant of seventy years of age stayed with a number of young fellows
who lingered behind, and as they stood near to Bob he could hear every
word that was said.
"Come, you chaps," said the sergeant, "aren't you going to be men?
aren't you going to fight the Germans?"
"Why shud us?" they asked. "What 'ave we got 'ginst the Germans?"
"Would you like the Germans to conquer your country? would you like to
have the Kaiser for a king?"
"Dunnaw: why shudden us?" replied one.
"Laive they that want to fight the Germans, fight 'em--we bean't goin'
to," said another. "Why shud we all git killed to plaise Members of
Parliament?"
"I be sheamed ov 'ee," cried an old man near; "you bean't worthy to be
called Englishmen."
"Why bean't us?"
"'Cos you be cowards. Wud 'ee like to be traited like they Germans be?"
"From oal accounts they be a darned sight better on than we be," was
the reply.
"Wot do 'ee main?"
"Why," laughed a young fellow, "at the last general election one of the
spaikers, I doan' know who 'twas, but the one that talked Tariff
Reform, zaid that the Germans was a lot better off than we be. He zaid
that the Germans was fat, and that we was lean, and that the Germans
had better times, shorter hours, and higher wages than we've got. Ef
tha's so, we'd be a lot better off under the Germans than we be now."
"Bean't 'ee Englishmen?" cried the old man. "Bean't 'ee goin' to fight
and keep 'em from England?"
"I bean't goin' over there to git killed--not me. I knaw trick worth
two of that"; and then shamefacedly the whole lot of them left the hall
without enlisting.
Bob's anger rose as he listened. "What mean cowards they are!" he said
to himself; "I feel almost ashamed to be a Cornishman. Of course
scores of our boys are playing the game like men, but these creatures
make one sick." A moment later his face became crimson with shame.
Was he not doing the same? Yes; his reasons were different, and of
course he could have made a better case for himself than they did, but
was he not a shirker just as much as they were? Then all such thoughts
were driven from his mind in a second, for down the platform steps,
with the evident intention of passing into the hall, came Admiral
Tresize, Captain Trevanion, and several ladies, among whom was Nancy.
At first he felt as if he must rush out of the hall, but his feet
seemed rooted, he could not move. Captain Trevanion and Nancy came
towards him.
"Now then, Nancarrow, have you enlisted yet?" asked Trevanion. "You
should, as an old O.T.C. man. I find that hosts of the fellows from
Clifton College have enlisted. Aren't you going to?"
Bob did not speak, he could not. He heard the sneer in the Captain's
voice, saw the look of contempt on his face, and he knew why he spoke.
But he could not understand why Nancy stood waiting as if with the
intention of speaking to him. He knew that he cut a poor figure
compared with Trevanion, and that to Nancy he must seem a slacker, a
wastrel. Still he could not speak nor move. He felt that the girl's
eyes were upon him, felt contempt in her every gesture, her every
movement. She came up close to him.
"Aren't you going to help to uphold your country's honour?" she said,
and her voice quivered with excitement. Evidently she was deeply moved.
He felt as if the room were whirling round. He thought he noted a sign
of pleading in her voice, and that her eyes became softer. It seemed
to him that she was giving him his last chance. He could not speak, he
could only shake his head.
"Then allow me to present you with this," she went on, and she held out
a white feather. "I am sure you must be proud of it, and that you will
wear it honourably, especially at such a time as this."
The insult pierced his heart like a poisoned arrow. He knew that her
intention was to heap upon him the greatest ignominy of which she was
capable. There were not many people in the room, but there were some
who must have seen her action. As for Trevanion he turned away his
head with a laugh.
"Come, Captain Trevanion," said Nancy, "we must be going." She took
hold of his arm, and they walked out of the hall together.
Bob made a stride forward as if to follow them. He wanted to hurl
defiance at them, wanted to tell her that her action was mean and
contemptible, unworthy of an Englishwoman. Wanted to--God knows what
he wanted. His brain was whirling, everything seemed to be mad
confusion, but he only took one step; the uselessness of it all
appealed to him. What could he do, what could he say? He had made his
decision, taken his stand, and must be ready to suffer.
Then he remembered what Captain Trevanion had said at the close of the
golf match:
"In this field of battle you have beaten me, but in the next I shall be
the conqueror."
"Yes," said Bob, and he silently made his way home. "I have lost her.
I have lost everything, but what could I do?"