Evidently some one had sent Mrs. Nancarrow an Oxford newspaper, for her
letter was in the main about what Bob had done there.
"I am proud of you," she wrote. "People down here have been saying
that you are a coward, and that you ran away from home because you did
not dare to meet the people who knew of your action in relation to the
war. What you did at Oxford at least shows that is untrue. I am
delighted that you defended the poor creature, and thrashed the
wretches badly. I see that one of them is still suffering from the
blow you struck him. I have written to Oxford for fifty copies of the
paper, and shall send them to all our friends. I cannot bear, I simply
cannot bear people to think of you as a coward; and I have also
arranged with our local paper to insert a full account of what you did.
I was glad yesterday to see that one of the Cornish papers had a full
report of it, and in its bill of contents printed the following:
"'PLUCKY CONDUCT OF A YOUNG CORNISHMAN IN OXFORD
"'MR. ROBERT NANCARROW THRASHES TWO BLACKGUARDS AND
HANDS THEM OVER TO THE POLICE.'
"But, Bob, I don't understand you. In spite of your Quaker principles
you felt it right to thrash these villains. What is the difference
between thrashing the wretches who would harm a weak and defenceless
woman, and helping your country to thrash that German bully who is a
menace to Europe? If it was your duty to do one, it is surely your
duty to do the other? The same principle is involved.
"By the way, Nancy Tresize has been accepted for Nursing work abroad.
You remember that years ago she took a full certificate as a Nurse, and
through the Admiral's influence she has obtained a post in France--at a
French hospital, I expect. Perhaps she thinks she will thus be nearer
Captain Trevanion, to whom report says she is going to be, if she is
not already, engaged, If he is wounded, it might be that she would be
able to nurse him.
"Oh, Bob, my boy, my boy, you've lost her. I am told that she despises
you beyond words, while the Admiral regrets having given you free
access to his house and called you his friend. All this is an awful
grief to me. If you went to the front I should of course live in daily
and hourly dread of anything happening to you, but all the same I
should be proud beyond words to know that my son had offered his life
for his country. But now--well, before I received this Oxford paper I
felt ashamed to meet my friends."
Bob closed the letter with a sigh. He was wounded in the house of his
friends. If it were only right, if it were Christian to----; but no,
it was not. It was a violation of every known principle of Christ.
Because the Germans used murderous means to make Europe a hell, it did
not follow that England should do the same. Two wrongs could not make
a right Besides, how much peace and good-will was there in it all?
The next day he saw an announcement that a great meeting was to be held
that same night at the Imperial Opera House, to be addressed by certain
well-known statesmen. The purpose of the meeting was to instruct the
public as to the real causes of the war, and to point out the nation's
duty. Bob made up his mind to go. Throughout the day he applied
himself to his work, and then after an early dinner he left the Temple,
and going out by way of the Temple Church found himself in Fleet Street.
Everywhere the evidences of the war were manifest. On every conveyance
was a call to arms. Newsboys were eagerly shouting the contents of the
papers, people were talking in the streets of the one prevailing topic.
Presently he stopped at a bookshop, and was immediately struck with the
changed character of the literature in the window. There were no
"latest novels," no "new and important biographies"; instead every
shelf was weighted with books about the war.
"GERMANY AND THE NEXT WAR, by General von Bernhardi. Startling
disclosures of Germany's aims and plans, by a well-known German
General," he read. "This is one of the most popular books in Germany,
and is recommended by the Kaiser and the Crown Prince of Germany, as a
book which every patriot should read. It explains why we are at war
to-day."
Side by side were others of a similar description, all written by men
who bore the greatest German names.
Prince von Bülow, ex-German Chancellor, Nietzsche, Trietschke, and
similar great names were given as the authors of the books.
Bob entered the shop, and having selected three which he thought
promised to give him the best idea of Germany's aims and methods,
ordered the bookseller to send them to his chambers.
When he reached the Great Opera House, early as it was, he found a vast
concourse of people. After some little difficulty he found a seat in a
good position for viewing the audience. He was immediately struck by
the fact that here was no thoughtless, irresponsible crowd; rather one
largely made up of men of grim determination and iron will. They were
intelligent, well-read men too. They knew the history of their
country, knew its weakness, and realised its faults. Nevertheless they
loved it.
They were not saints. They were just commonplace people, who lived
commonplace lives, amidst commonplace surroundings. But they had a
sense of right and wrong, and in spite of their failings they had an
inherent love of right. They were Englishmen who instinctively hated
war, and would do anything in their power to avoid it. But there were,
to them, worse things than war. Breach of faith was one; the
destruction of truth, honour, and the nation's good name was another.
If England had made a promise, no matter what it cost her, she must
keep it. England could not stand by and see a little nation whom she
had promised to protect, crushed:
But above all, they were Englishmen. Love of country was a tremendous
factor. The homeland was dearer than their own lives. They could not
stand by and see it filched from them.
Of course there were a lot of patriotic songs in which the whole
audience joined. Some of them were silly doggerel, but there was
nothing coarse or unworthy in them.
"Yes," thought Bob, "there is something almost divine in this love of
home and country. It is eternal in the human heart. One can't get
away from that."
Presently the speakers came on the stage, amidst great cheering and
waving of handkerchiefs.
The chief speaker, one who held the supreme position in Naval matters,
spoke first. It was a masterly speech, every sentence of which was
carefully prepared and tellingly delivered. He did not appeal to
passion, but in cold, measured terms spoke of the causes which led to
the war, and then passed on to the success of the Navy and the Army.
"Yes," reflected Bob, as the young statesman sat down amidst the
thundering applause of the multitude, "as far as a war can be
righteous, this is. If ever a war were justified, this is. But can a
resort to brute force and instruments of murder ever be justified?
That is the question. No, it is not right that these Germans should be
a menace to Europe and the world; but do we not believe in God? Can we
not trust Him? Must blood be washed out by blood, must brutal
arrogance be swept away at the cost of carnage and infinite misery?"
The second speaker, although he had not the same weight, deepened the
impression the other had made by his brilliance and rhetoric. He too
told the story of the English Ambassador in Berlin who was asked
whether England would go to war for "a scrap of paper."
That was the question which he asked amidst the cheers of the crowd,
and then waited a second.
"Yes," and his voice rang clearly through the great building, "when
that scrap of paper meant England's honour and faithfulness."
Before Bob knew what he was doing, he found himself cheering wildly. A
man, a nation should fight for its honour, its plighted word.
Then the old question came back. But how could it do so in the name of
Christ? Should not the weapons of Christ be used? Should not an
appeal be made to the Founder of the Christian religion? Would not the
Kaiser, he who professed to be a Christian, have laid down the sword if
he had been appealed to in the name of the Prince of Peace? How could
a bloody war be waged by those who believed in Christ? It was all
confusing, maddening!
The last speaker was a Labour Member of Parliament. He used no
polished phrases, no brilliant epigrams. He had no knowledge of the
classics, and could not illustrate his arguments by quotations from
great writers. But he had something better--a homely wit, a great
human sympathy. He had a ready tongue, too, and the crowd roared at
his homely humour.
"Six years ago," he said, "I went to Berlin. I was a delegate at a
Peace Conference in that capital. I was one of many sent there by all
the nations of Europe. Our aim was to discuss means whereby national
quarrels could be settled without an appeal to the sword--by brotherly
counsel, by friendly arrangement, by arbitration.
"What happened? Remember this was in Berlin, the capital of the German
Empire. We had met there in the interests of the peace of the world.
Surely the noblest, the most Christ-like purpose for which any
conference could meet."
Bob's heart grew warm at this. It was the dream of his own life, it
accorded with the teaching of Hint Who died for the world.
"What happened?" went on the speaker. "This happened. No sooner had
the President of the Conference got on his feet to address the
delegates, before a single sentence had been spoken, than a number of
soldiers rushed in, sent there by the German Government, and brutally
broke up the Conference. We were not allowed even to discuss the means
whereby the nations might live at peace, there in the German capital.
What would become of the liberties of England if we were conquered by a
nation like that?"
Bob had no knowledge of what took place at the meeting after that. The
incident told, as it was, in homely, yet forcible fashion, seemed
unbelievable. Yet, he thought, the man would not dare to tell it if it
were not true. It was not a matter of hearsay; the thing had been
seen, experienced by the speaker. Not only did the Germans not desire
peace, but they made it impossible even to discuss means of maintaining
it. That was Germany! War they could engage in proudly, but even
friendly discussion among lovers of peace, to obtain peace, was made
impossible by the soldiers of the Kaiser.
Bob left the meeting bewildered. The brilliant speeches were forgotten
in the recital of this single incident. Surely there must be some
mistake! It could not be! It was opposed to, nay, it was the grossest
violation of the first elements of Christianity. And it had, been done
by the Government of the Kaiser.
No, no, the Kaiser did not know, he could not know! But this must have
been because of the law of the land, and the Kaiser must be cognisant
of it.
As he entered the door of the building where his chambers were, he saw
a young fellow whom he knew slightly.
"I say, have you seen this, Nancarrow?" he said.
"What is it?"
"It is an order given to his army by the Kaiser. It was sent me by a
man who actually saw it. Just read it. It is the sweetest thing I
have seen yet."
Bob read what has since become public property, but which was at the
time but little known:--
"_It is my Royal and Imperial Command, that you concentrate your
energy, for the immediate present, upon me single purpose, and that is
that you address all your skill, and all the valour of my soldiers, to
exterminate first the treacherous English, and walk over General
French's contemptible little Army._
"HEADQUARTERS,
"AIX-LA-CHAPELLE,
"_August_ 19."
"Pretty, isn't it?"
Bob's heart grew hot. The arrogance, the self-glory, the mountebankism
of the order aroused all the fighting spirit of the old Trelawneys.
"But they haven't done it yet, neither will they," went on the young
fellow. "Thank Heaven the tables are being turned, and we are driving
them back. No, by Jove, French's 'contemptible little Army' has given
them something to do already. Even when the Kaiser poured the flower
of his army upon them, when they were five to one at Mons, they
couldn't break our ranks. Our chaps faced the fire without a squirm,
and coolly told as afterwards that their shooting was rotten. For that
matter I'm told by the German prisoners that but for the English they'd
be in Paris before now."
"Have you talked with them?"
"Yes, I was admitted into one of the prisoners' camps. I know one of
the men in authority. According to their account the soldiers
themselves scarcely knew why they were fighting; but they were promised
a sort of picnic. Instead of which the British gave them hell. Oh,
they have tremendous respect for us now!"
"I wonder you haven't enlisted."
"Heavens, don't I wish I could! I've tried again and again, but my
eyes are bad. I have to wear tremendously powerful glasses. When are
you off?"
Bob did not reply. He would have given anything to say, "To-morrow,"
but he felt as though a weight were on his tongue.
He made his way to his chambers. It was still early--not more than
half-past nine. He was excited beyond measure, and it was madness to
think of going to bed. What should he do?
Looking around, he saw a parcel, on which was the label of the
bookseller at whose shop he had called.
"It's the books I bought," he reflected. "I can't do any law work
to-night; I'll read them." Almost feverishly he untied the parcel. A
few minutes later he was reading hard.
The book he opened first was _Germany and the Next War_, by General von
Bernhardi. He had heard it spoken of, but had no idea of its contents.
At that time it was but little known. The publishers had just brought
out a cheap edition, and although it was beginning to be talked about,
the world at large was almost ignorant of it.
It has been said that on more than one occasion a speech or a book has
altered the history of nations; that some of the utterances of our
great statesmen have altered the destinies of an Empire. Doubtless
such sayings have much truth behind them, and it would not be difficult
to quote instances in proof of them. Sometimes even a song has moved a
whole nation, and made what seemed impossible, an accomplished fact.
What influence had the Marseillaise on the French Revolution? Let
French historians tell us.
When Bob opened Von Bernhardi's book, he expected to be interested, and
perhaps enlightened; but he certainly did not expect it to
revolutionise his thoughts.
At first he read with only half his mind. He had been greatly excited
by the meeting he had attended, and for the first few minutes
constantly found himself thinking rather of the speeches than of the
book.
Presently, however, a sentence gripped him, and then he forgot
everything else. He realised that he was reading, not simply the
opinions and sentiments of a single individual, but of the ruling caste
of the German Empire. As he read, he rubbed his eyes. He could not
believe that he saw aright. He had expected windy vapourings, instead
he found cold, reasoned statements--a kind of Machiavellian philosophy.
Hour after hour he read, regardless of time, his mind absorbing the
author's arguments as a sponge sucks up water.
An hour after midnight he rose from his chair and flung the book from
him as though it were something unclean.