LOVE AND WAR.
We seldom give to Hilda her title of Duchess of New Zealand, for she is
endeared to us, not on account of her worldly successes, but because of
her bright, lovable, unsullied womanly nature. She was dear to all who
had the privilege of knowing her. The fascination she exercised was as
powerful as it was unstudied. Her success in no degree changed her
kindly, sympathetic nature. She always was, and always would be,
unselfish and unexacting. She was staying with Mrs. Hardinge whilst the
house she had purchased in London was being prepared for her. When Maud
was married, she had taken Phoebe Buller for her principal private
secretary. Miss Buller was devoted to Hilda, and showed herself to be a
very able and industrious secretary. She had gained Hilda's confidence,
and was entrusted with many offices requiring for their discharge both
tact and judgment. She was much liked in London society, and was not
averse to general admiration. She was slightly inclined to flirtation,
but she excused this disposition to herself by the reflection that it
was her duty to her chief to learn as much as she could from, and about
every one. She had a devoted admirer in Cecil Fielding, a very able
barrister. As a rule, the most successful counsel were females. Men
seldom had much chance with juries. But Cecil Fielding was an exception.
Besides great logical powers, he possessed a voice of much variety of
expression and of persuasive sympathy. But however successful he was
with juries, he was less fortunate with Phoebe. That young lady did not
respond to his affection. She inclined more to the military profession
generally and to Captain Douglas Garstairs in particular. He was one of
the bodyguard, and now that war was declared was next to Colonel
Laurient the chief aide-de-camp. By the Colonel's directions, the
morning after the interview with the Emperor, he waited on the Duchess
of New Zealand to confer with her as to the selection of a woman to take
charge of the ambulance corps to accompany the forces on the ostensible
expedition to Canada. Hilda summoned Phoebe and told her to take Captain
Garstairs to see Mary Maudesley, and ascertain if that able young woman
would accept the position on so short a notice.
Hilda had always taken great interest in the organisation of all
institutions dedicated to dealing with disease. Lately she had
contributed large sums to several of these establishments in want of
means, and she had specially endowed an ambulance institution to train
persons to treat cases of emergency consequent on illness or accident.
She had thus been brought into contact with Mary Maudesley, and had
noticed her astonishing power of organisation and her tenderness for
suffering. Mary Maudesley was the daughter of parents in humble life.
She was about twenty-seven years of age. Her father was subforeman in a
large metal factory. He had risen to the position by his assiduity,
ability, and trustworthiness. He received good wages; but having a large
family, he continued to live in the same humble condition as when he was
one of the ordinary hands at the factory. He occupied a flat on the
eighth story of a large residential building in Portman Square, which
had once been an eminently fashionable neighbourhood. Besides the
necessary sleeping accommodation, he had a sitting-room and kitchen. His
residence might be considered the type of the accommodation to which the
humblest labourers were accustomed. No one in the British Empire was
satisfied with less than sufficient house accommodation, substantial
though plain food, and convenient, decent attire.
Mary when little more than fourteen years old had been present at an
accident by which a little child of six years old was knocked down and
had one leg and both arms broken. The father of the child had recently
lost his wife. He lived in the same building as the Maudesleys, and
Mary day and night attended to the poor little sufferer until it
regained health and strength. Probably this gave direction to the
devotion which she subsequently showed to attendance on the sick. She
joined an institution where nurses were trained to attend cases of
illness in the homes of the humble. She was perfectly fearless,
notwithstanding she had been twice stricken down with dangerous illness,
the result of infection from patients she had nursed.
Miss Buller thought it desirable to see Miss Maudesley at her own house,
both because it might be necessary to consult her further, and because
she wished to observe what were her domestic surroundings. They were
pleased with what they saw. The flat was simply but usefully furnished.
There was no striving after display. Everything was substantial and good
of its kind without being needlessly expensive. Grace and beauty were
not wanting. Some excellent drawings and water-coloured paintings by Mr.
Maudesley and one or two of his children decorated the walls. There
were two or three small models of inventions of Mr. Maudesley's and one
item of luxury in great beauty in the shape of flowers, with which the
sitting-room was amply decorated. We are perhaps wrong in terming
flowers luxuries, for after all, luxuries are things with which people
can dispense; and there were few families who did not regard flowers as
a necessary ornament of a home, however humble it and its surroundings
might be.
Miss Buller explained to Miss Maudesley that the usual head of the war
ambulance corps required a substitute, as she was unable to join the
expedition. It was her wish as well as that of the Duchess of New
Zealand that Miss Maudesley should take her place. Fortunately Miss
Maudesley's engagements were sufficiently disposable to enable her to
accept the notable distinction thus offered to her. Miss Buller was
greatly pleased with the unaffected manner in which she expressed her
thanks and her willingness to act.
Captain Garstairs returned with Phoebe Buller to her official room.
"Good-bye, Miss Buller," he said. "I hope you will allow me to call on
you when I return, if indeed the exigencies of war allow me to return."
"Of course you will return. And why do you call me Miss Buller?" said
the girl, with downcast eyes and pale face. For the time all traces of
coquetry were wanting.
"May I call you Phoebe? And do you wish me to return?"
"Why not? Good-bye."
The cold words were belied by the moistened eyes. The bold soldier saw
his opportunity. Before he left the room they were engaged to be
married.
It is curious how war brings incidents of this kind to a crisis. At the
risk of wearying our readers with a monotony of events, another scene in
the same mansion must be described.
The Emperor did Mrs. Hardinge the honour of visiting her at her own
house. So little did she seem surprised, that it almost appeared she
expected him. She, however, pleaded an urgent engagement, and asked
permission to leave Hilda as her substitute. The readiness with which
the permission was granted seemed also to be prearranged, and the
astonished girl found herself alone with the Emperor before she had
fully realised that he had come to see Mrs. Hardinge. He turned to her a
bright and happy face, but his manner was signally deferential.
"You cannot realise, Duchess, how I have longed to see you alone once
more."
Hilda, confused beyond expression, turned to him a face from which every
trace of colour had departed.
"Do you remember," he proceeded, "the last time we were alone? You
allowed me then to ask you a question as from man to woman. May I again
do so?"
He took her silence for consent, and went on in a tone from which he
vainly endeavoured to banish the agitation that overmastered him.
"Hilda, from that time there has been but one woman in the world for me.
My first, my only, love, will you be my wife?"
"Your Majesty," said the girl, who as his agitation increased appeared
to recover some presence of mind, "what would the world say? The Emperor
may not wed with a subject."
"Why not? Am I to be told that, with all the power that has come to me,
I am to be less free to secure my own happiness than the humblest of my
subjects? Hilda, I prefer you to the throne if the choice had to be
made. But it has not. I will remain the Emperor in order to make you the
Empress. But say you can love the man, not the monarch."
"I do not love the Emperor," said the girl, almost in a whisper.
These unflattering words seemed highly satisfactory to Albert Edward as
he sought from her sweet lips a ratification of her love not for the
Emperor, but the man.
They both thought Mrs. Hardinge's absence a very short one when she
returned, and yet she had been away an hour.
"Dear Mrs. Hardinge," said the Emperor, with radiant face, "Hilda has
consented to make me the happiest man in all my wide dominions."
Mrs. Hardinge caught Hilda in her arms, and embraced her with the
affection of a mother. "Your Majesty," she said at length, "does Hilda
great honour. Yet I am sure you will never regret it."
"Indeed I shall not," he replied, with signal promptitude. "And it is
she who does me honour. When I return from America and announce my
engagement, I will take care that I let the world think so."
On the evening which had been fixed, the war and transport vessels and
air-cruisers met off New York; and in a few hours the city was in the
hands of the Emperor's forces. There was a little desultory fighting as
well as some casualties, but there were few compared with the magnitude
of the operation. The railway and telegraph stations, public buildings,
and newspaper offices were in the hands of the invaders. Colonel
Laurient himself led the force to Washington. At about four o'clock in
the morning between twenty and thirty air-cruisers, crowded with armed
soldiers, reached that city. With a little fighting, the Treasury and
Arsenal were taken possession of, and the newspaper offices occupied.
About one thousand men invaded the White House, some entering by means
of the air-cruisers through the roof and others forcing their way
through the lower part of the palace. There was but little resistance;
and within an hour the President of the United States, in response to
Colonel Laurient's urgent demand, received him in one of the principal
rooms. She was a fine, handsome woman of apparently about thirty-five
years of age. Her daughter, a young lady of seventeen, was in attendance
on her. They did not show much sign of the alarm to which they had been
subjected or of the haste with which they had prepared themselves to
meet the British envoy. They received Colonel Laurient with all the
high-bred dignity they might have exhibited on a happier occasion.
Throughout the interview his manner, though firm, was most deferential.
"Madam," he said, bowing low to the President, "my imperial master the
Emperor of Britain, in response to what he considers your wanton
invasion of British territory in his Canadian dominions, has taken
possession of New York, and requires me to lead you a prisoner to the
British flagship stationed off that city. I need scarcely say that
personally the task so far as it is painful to you is not agreeable to
me. I have ten thousand men with me and a large number of air-cruisers.
I regret to have to ask you to leave immediately."
The President, deeply affected, asked if she might be allowed to take
her daughter and personal attendants with her.
"Most certainly, Madam," replied Laurient. "I am only too happy to do
anything to conduce to your personal comfort. You may be sure, you will
suffer from no want of respect and attention."
Within an hour the President, her daughter, and attendants left
Washington in Colonel Laurient's own air-cruiser. An hour afterwards a
second cruiser followed with the ladies' luggage. Meanwhile the
telegraph lines round Washington were destroyed, and the officers of
the forces stationed at Washington were made prisoners of war and taken
on board the cruisers. At six o'clock in the morning the whole of the
remaining cruisers left, and rapidly made their way to New York. The
President, Mrs. Washington-Lawrence, and her daughter were received on
board the flagship with the utmost respect. The officers vied with each
other in showing them attention, but they were not permitted to make any
communication with the shore. About noon the squadron, after
disembarking the land forces, left for the St. Lawrence waters, and
succeeded in capturing twenty-five of the finest vessels belonging to
the United States, besides innumerable smaller ones. The Emperor left
fifty thousand men, well supplied with guns, arms, and ammunition, in
charge of New York, and at the head of an army of one hundred thousand
men, the flower of the British force in the Northern Hemisphere,
proceeded rapidly to the Canadian frontier. About a hundred miles on the
other side of the frontier they came upon traces of the near presence
of the American forces.
Here it was that the most conspicuous act of personal courage was
displayed, and the hero was Lord Reginald Paramatta. He happened to be
in London when war was announced, and he volunteered to accompany one of
the battalions. It should be mentioned that no proceedings had been
initiated against Lord Reginald either for his presence at the
treasonable meeting, or for his attempted abduction of Hilda. Her
friends were entirely averse to any action being taken, as the publicity
would have been most repugnant to her. It became necessary early in the
night to ascertain the exact position of the American forces, and to
communicate with the Canadian forces on the other side, with the view to
joint action. The locality was too unknown and the night too dark to
make the air-cruisers serviceable. The reconnoitring party were to make
their way as best they could through the American lines, communicate
with the Canadian commander, and return as soon as possible in an
air-cruiser. Each man carried with him an electric battery of intense
force, by means of which he could either produce a strong light, or
under certain conditions a very powerful offensive and defensive weapon.
Only fifty men were to compose the force, and Lord Reginald's offer to
lead them was heartily accepted. His bravery, judgment, and coolness in
action were undeniable. At midnight he started, and, with the assistance
of a guide, soon penetrated to an eminence from which the lights of the
large United States camp below could be plainly discerned. The forces
were camped on the plain skirted by the range of hills from one of which
Lord Reginald made his observations. The plain was of peculiar shape,
resembling nearly the figure that two long isosceles triangles joined at
the base would represent. The force was in its greatest strength at the
middle, and tapered down towards each end. Far away on the other edge of
the plain, evidence of the Canadian camp could be dimly perceived. The
ceaseless movements in the American camp betokened preparations for
early action. After a long and critical survey both of the plain and of
the range of hills, Lord Reginald determined to cross at the extreme
left. The scouts of the Americans were stationed far up upon the chain
of hills, and Lord Reginald saw that it would be impossible to traverse
unnoticed the range from where he stood to the point at which he had
determined to descend to the plain. He had to retire to the other side
of the range and make his progress to the west (the camp faced the
north) on the outer side of the range that skirted the camp. The hill
from which he had decided to descend was nearly two miles distant from
the point at which he made his observation. But the way was rough and
tortuous, and it took nearly two hours to reach a comparatively low hill
skirting the plain at the narrowest point. The force below was also
narrowed out. Less than half a mile in depth seemed to be occupied by
the American camp at this point. The Canadian camp was less extended.
Its extreme west appeared to be attainable by a diagonal line of about
two miles in length, with an inclination from the straight of about
seventy degrees. Lord Reginald had thus to force his way through nearly
half a mile of the camp, and then to cross nearly two miles between both
forces.
The commander halted his followers, and in a low tone proceeded to give
his instructions. The men were to march in file two deep, about six feet
were to separate each rank, and the files were to be twenty feet apart.
Each two men of the same file were to carry extended between them the
flexible platinum aluminium electric wire, capable of bearing an
enormous strain, that upon a touch of the button of the battery, carried
by each man, would destroy any living thing which came in contact with
it. Lord Reginald and the officer next to him in rank, who was none
other than Captain Douglas Garstairs, were to lead the way. In a few
moments the wires between each two men were adjusted. They were to
proceed very slowly down the hill until they were observed, then with a
rush, to skirt the outside of the camp. Once past the camp, the wires
were to be disconnected, and the men, as much separated as possible,
were to make to the opposite camp with the utmost expedition. Slowly and
noiselessly amidst the intense shadow of the hill Lord Reginald and his
companion led the way towards the extreme end of the camp. They had
nearly reached the level ground when at three feet distance a sentry
stood before them and shouted, "Who goes there?" Poor wretch, they were
his last words. Lord Reginald and his companion with a rapid movement
rushed on either side of him, and the moment the wire touched him he
sank to the ground a lifeless mass. Then ensued a commotion almost
impossible to describe. Lord Reginald and Captain Garstairs were noted
runners. They proceeded at a strong pace outside of the tents. As the
men rushed out to stop them, the fatal wire performed its ghastly
execution. Three times three men sank lifeless in their path, before
they cleared the outside of the tents. The Americans could only fire at
intervals, for fear of hitting their own men. Of the twenty-five
couples of Lord Reginald's force, fifteen passed the tents; twenty of
the brave men were stricken down, whilst the way was strewn with the
bodies of the Americans who had succumbed to the mysterious electric
force. And now the time had come for each one to save himself. The wires
were disconnected, the batteries thrown down, and for dear life every
one rushed towards the Canadian camp. But the noise had been heard along
the line, and a wonderful consequence ensued. From end to end of the
American camp the electric lights were turned on to the strength of many
millions of candle-power. The lights left the camp in darkness; the rays
were turned outwards to the spare ground that separated the camps. The
Canadians responded by turning on their lights, and the plain between
the two camps was irradiated with a dazzling brightness which even the
sunlight could not emulate. The forlorn hope dashed on. Thousands of
pieces were fired at the straggling men. It was fortunate they were so
much apart, as it led to the same man being shot at many times. Of the
thirty who passed the tents ten men at intervals fell before the
murderous fire. Lord Reginald had been grazed by a shot the effects of
which he scarcely felt. He and his companions were within a hundred
yards of safety. But that safety was not to be. Captain Garstairs was
struck. "Good-bye, Reginald. Tell Phoebe Buller----" He could say no
more. Lord Reginald arrested his progress, and as coolly as if he were
in a drawing-room lifted the wounded man tenderly and carefully in his
arms, and without haste or fear covered the intervening distance to the
Canadian camp. He was not struck. Who indeed shall say that he was aimed
at? His great deed was equally seen by each army in the bright blaze of
light; and when he reached the haven of safety, a cheer went up from
each side, for there were brave men in both armies, ready to admire
deeds of valour. Only ten men reached the Canadian camp; but, under the
sanction of a flag of truce, five more were brought in alive, and they
subsequently recovered from their wounds. Captain Garstairs was shot in
the leg both above and below the knee. He remained in the Canadian camp
that day. At first it was feared he would lose the limb. But, to
anticipate events, when the Emperor's forces joined the Canadian, Mary
Maudesley took charge of him; and Captain Garstairs had ample cause to
congratulate himself on the visit he had paid to secure the services of
that lady. He was in the habit of declaring afterwards that it was the
most successful expedition of his life, for it was the means of securing
him a wife and of saving him a limb.
Lord Reginald rapidly explained the situation to the Canadian
commander-in-chief. The Emperor's army could come up in three hours. It
was evident from the movements under the hills opposite, as shown by the
electric light, that the Americans did not mean to waste time. It was
probable that at the first dawn of day they would set their army in
motion; and it was arranged that the Canadians, without hastening the
action, should, on the Americans advancing, proceed to meet them, so
that they would be nearer the Emperor's forces as these advanced in rear
of the enemy. Scarcely half an hour after he reached the Canadian lines
Lord Reginald ascended in a swift air-cruiser, and passing high above
the American camp, reached the Emperor's forces before day dawned.
Lord Reginald briefly communicated the result of his expedition. He took
no credit to himself, did not dwell on the dangerous passage nor his
heroic rescue of Captain Garstairs. Nevertheless the incident soon
became known, and enhanced Lord Reginald's popularity.
The army was rapidly in motion; and after the Canadian and American
forces became engaged, the British army, led by the Emperor in person,
appeared on the crest of the hills and descended towards the plains. The
American commander-in-chief knew nothing of the British army in his
rear. Tidings had not reached him of the occupation of New York and
Boston. The incident of the rush of Lord Reginald and his party across
the plain from camp to camp and the return of an air-cruiser towards
the United States frontier had occasioned him surprise; but his mind did
not dwell on it in the midst of the immediate responsible duties he had
to perform. On the other hand, he was expecting reinforcements from the
States; and when the new force appeared on the summit of the hills, he
congratulated himself mentally; for the battle with the Canadian army
threatened to go hard with him. Before he was undeceived the British
troops came thundering down the hills, and he was a prisoner to an
officer of the Emperor's own staff. The British troops went onwards, and
the destruction of the American forces was imminent. But the Emperor
could not bear the idea of the carnage inflicted on persons speaking the
same language, and whose forefathers were the subjects of his own
ancestors. "Spare them," he appealed to the commander-in-chief. "They
are hopelessly at our mercy. Let them surrender."
The battle was stayed as speedily as possible; and the British and
Canadian forces found themselves in possession of over one hundred and
thirty thousand prisoners, besides all the arms, ammunition, artillery,
and camp equipage. It was a tremendous victory.