The sun was shining gloriously when the two stepped from the trolley at
the little camp station and looked bewildered about them at the swarms of
uniforms and boyish faces, searching for their one. They walked through
the long lane lined with soldiers, held back by the great rope and
guarded by Military Police. Each crowding eager soldier had an air of
expectancy upon him, a silence upon him that showed the realization of
the parting that was soon to be. In many faces deep disappointment was
growing as the expected ones did not arrive. Ruth's throat was filled
with oppression and tears as she looked about and suddenly felt the grip
of war, and realized that all these thousands were bearing this
bitterness of parting, perhaps forever. Death stalking up and down a
battlefield, waiting to take his pick of them! This was the picture that
flashed before her shrinking eyes.
It was almost like a solemn ceremony, this walking down the lane of
silent waiting soldiers, to be claimed by their one. It seemed to bring
the two young people nearer in heart than they had ever been before, when
at the end of the line Cameron met them with a salute, kissed his mother,
and then turned to Ruth and took her hand with an earnest grave look of
deep pleasure in his eyes.
He led them up under the big trees in front of the Hostess' House while
all around were hushed voices, and teary eyes. That first moment of
meeting was the saddest and the quietest of the day with everybody,
except the last parting hour when mute grief sat unchecked upon every
face, and no one stopped to notice if any man were watching, but just
lived out his real heart self, and showed his mother or his sister or his
sweetheart how much he loved and suffered.
That was a day which all the little painted butterflies of temptation
should have been made to witness. There were no painted ladies coming
through the gates that day. This was no time for friendships like that.
Death was calling, and the deep realities of life stood out and demanded
attention.
The whole thing was unlike anything Ruth had ever witnessed before. It
was a new world. It was as if the old conventions which had heretofore
hedged her life were dropped like a garment revealing life as it really
was, and every one walked unashamed, because the great sorrow and need of
all had obliterated the little petty rules of life, and small passions
were laid aside, while hearts throbbed in a common cause.
He waited on them like a prince, seeming to anticipate every need, and
smooth every annoyance. He led them away from the throng to the quiet
hillside above the camp where spring had set her dainty foot-print. He
spread down his thick army blanket for them to sit upon and they held
sweet converse for an hour or two. He told them of camp life and what was
expected to be when they started over, and when they reached the other
side.
His mother was brave and sensible. Sometimes the tears would brim over at
some suggestion of what her boy was soon to bear or do, but she wore a
smile as courageous and sweet as any saint could wear. The boy saw and
grew tender over it. A bird came and sang over their heads, and the
moment was sweet with springing things and quiet with the brooding
tenderness of parting that hung over the busy camp. Ruth had one awful
moment of adjustment when she tried to think how her aunt Rhoda would
look if she could see her now; then she threw the whole thing to the
winds and resolved to enjoy the day. She saw that while the conventions
by which she had been reared were a good thing in general, perhaps, they
certainly were not meant to hamper or hinder the true and natural life of
the heart, or, if they were, they were not _good_ things; and she entered
into the moment with her full sympathy. Perhaps Aunt Rhoda would not
understand, but the girl she had brought up knew that it was good to be
here. Her aunt was away from home with an invalid friend on a short trip
so there had been no one to question Ruth's movements when she decided to
run down to Washington with a "friend from the Red Cross" and
incidentally visit the camp a little while.
He had them over the camp by and by, to the trenches and dummies, and all
the paraphernalia of war preparation. Then they went back to the Hostess'
House and fell into line to get dinner. As Cameron stood looking down at
Ruth in the crowded line in the democratic way which was the only way
there was, it came over them both how strange and wonderful it was that
they two who had seen each other so little in their lives and who had
come from such widely separated social circles should be there together
in that beautiful intimacy. It came to them both at once and flashed its
thought from one pair of eyes to the other and back again. Cameron looked
deep into her thoughts then for a moment to find out if there was a
shadow of mortification or dismay in her face; but though she flushed
consciously her sweet true eyes gave back only the pleasure she was
feeling, and her real enjoyment of the day. Then instantly each of them
felt that another crisis had been passed in their friendship, another
something unseen and beautiful had happened that made this moment most
precious--one never to be forgotten no matter what happened in the
future, something they would not have missed for any other experience.
It was Ruth who announced suddenly, late in the afternoon, during a
silence in which each one was thinking how fast the day was going:
"Did you know that we were going to stay over Sunday?"
Cameron's face blazed with joyful light:
"Wonderful!" he said softly, "do you mean it? I've been trying to get
courage all day to suggest it, only I don't know of any place this side
of Washington or Baltimore where you can be comfortable, and I hate to
think of you hunting around a strange city late at night for
accommodations. If I could only get out to go with you----!"
"It isn't necessary," said Ruth quickly, "we have our accommodations all
arranged for. Your mother and I planned it all out before we came. But
are you sure we can get into camp to-morrow?"
"Yes, I'm almost certain we can get you passes by going up to officers'
headquarters and applying. A fellow in our company told me this morning
he had permission for his mother and sister to come in to-morrow. And we
are not likely to leave before Monday now, for this morning our
lieutenant went away and I heard him say he had a three days' leave. They
wouldn't have given him that if they expected to send us before he got
back, at least not unless they recalled him--they might do that."
"Is that the lieutenant that you called a 'mess' the other day?" asked
Ruth with twinkling eyes.
"Yes," said Cameron turning a keen, startled glance at her, and wondering
what she would say if she knew it was Wainwright he meant.
But she answered demurely:
"So he's away, is he? I'm glad. I was hoping he would be."
"Why?" asked Cameron.
"Oh, I thought he might be in the way," she smiled, and changed the
subject, calling attention to the meadow lark who was trilling out his
little ecstasy in the tall tree over their head.
Cameron gave one glance at the bird and then brought his gaze back to the
sweet upturned face beside him, his soul thrilling with the wonder of it
that she should be there with him!
"But you haven't told me where you have arranged to stay. Is it Baltimore
or Washington? I must look up your trains. I hope you will be able to
stay as late as possible. They're not putting people out of camp until
eight o'clock to-night."
"Lovely!" said Ruth with the eagerness of a child. "Then we'll stay till
the very last trolley. We're not going to either Baltimore or Washington.
We're staying right near the camp entrance in that little town at the
station where we landed, I don't remember what you call it. We got
accommodations this morning before we came into camp."
"But where?" asked Cameron anxiously. "Are you sure it's respectable? I'm
afraid there isn't any place there that would do at all."
"Oh, yes there is," said Ruth. "It's the Salvation Army 'Hut,' they
called it, but it looks more like a barracks, and there's the dearest
little woman in charge!"
"John, I'm afraid it isn't the right thing to let her do it!" put in his
mother anxiously. "I'm afraid her aunt wouldn't like it at all, and I'm
sure she won't be comfortable."
"I shall _love_ it!" said Ruth happily, "and my aunt will never know
anything about it. As for comfort, I'll be as comfortable as you are, my
dear lady, and I'm sure you wouldn't let comfort stand in the way of
being with your boy." She smiled her sweet little triumph that brought
tears to the eyes of the mother; and Cameron gave her a blinding look of
gratitude and adoration. So she carried her way.
Cameron protested no more, but quietly enquired at the Hostess' House if
the place was all right, and when he put them on the car at eight o'clock
he gave Ruth's hand a lingering pressure, and said in a low tone that
only she could hear, with a look that carried its meaning to her heart:
"I shall never forget that you did this for my mother--and me!"
The two felt almost light-hearted in comparison to their fellow
travellers, because they had a short reprieve before they would have to
say good-bye. But Ruth sat looking about her, at the sad-eyed girls and
women who had just parted from their husbands and sons and sweethearts,
and who were most of them weeping, and felt anew the great burden of the
universal sorrow upon her. She wondered how God could stand it. The old
human question that wonders how God can stand the great agonies of life
that have to come to cure the world of its sin, and never wonders how God
can stand the sin! She felt as if she must somehow find God and plead
with Him not to do it, and again there came that longing to her soul, if
she only knew God intimately! Cameron's question recurred to her
thoughts, "_Could_ anyone on this earth know God? Had anyone ever known
Him? Would the Bible say anything about it?" She resolved to read it
through and find out.
The brief ride brought them suddenly into a new and to Ruth somewhat
startling environment.
As they followed the grassy path from the station to their abiding place
two little boys in full military uniform appeared out of the tall grass
of the meadows, one as a private, the other as an officer. The small
private saluted the officer with precision and marched on, turning after
a few steps to call back, "Mother said we might sleep in the tent
to-night! The rooms are all full." The older boy gave a whoop of delight
and bounded back toward the building with a most unofficer-like walk, and
both disappeared inside the door. A tiny khaki dog-tent was set up in the
grass by the back door, and in a moment more the two young soldiers
emerged from the back door with blankets and disappeared under the brown
roof with a zest that showed it was no hardship to them to camp out for
the night.
There were lights in the long pleasant room, and people. Two soldiers
with their girls were eating ice cream at the little tables, and around
the piano a group of officers and their wives was gathered singing
ragtime. Ruth's quick glance told her they were not the kind she cared
for, and--how could people who were about to part, perhaps forever, stand
there and sing such abominable nonsense! Yet--perhaps it was their way of
being brave to the last. But she wished they would go.
The sweet-faced woman of the morning was busy behind the counter and
presently she saw them and came forward:
"I'm sorry! I hoped there would be a room, but that woman from Boston
came. I can only give you cots out here, if you don't mind."
Mrs. Cameron looked around in a half-frightened manner, but Ruth smiled
airily and said that would be all right.
They settled down in the corner between the writing table and book case
and began to read, for it was obvious that they could not retire at
present.
The little boys came running through and the officers corralled them and
clamored for them to sing. Without any coaxing they stood up together and
sang, and their voices were sweet as birds as they piped out the words of
a popular song, one singing alto, the little one taking the high soprano.
Ruth put down her book and listened, wondering at the lovely expressions
on the two small faces. They made her think of the baby-seraphs in
Michael Angelo's pictures. Presently they burst into a religious song
with as much gusto as they had sung the ragtime. They were utterly
without self-consciousness, and sang with the fervor of a preacher. Yet
they were regular boys, for presently when they were released they went
to turning hand springs and had a rough and tumble scuffle in the corner
till their mother called them to order.
In a few minutes more the noisy officers and their wives parted, the men
striding off into the night with a last word about the possibility of
unexpected orders coming, and a promise to wink a flash light out of the
car window as the troop train went by in case they went out that night.
The wives went into one of the little stall-rooms and compared notes
about their own feelings and the probability of the ----Nth Division
leaving before Monday.
Then the head of the house appeared with a Bible under his arm humming a
hymn. He cast a keen pleasant glance at the two strangers in the corner,
and gave a cheery word to his wife in answer to her question:
"Yes, we had a great meeting to-night. A hundred and twenty men raised
their hands as wanting to decide for Christ, and two came forward to be
prayed for. It was a blessed time. I wish the boys had been over there to
sing. The meeting was in the big Y.M.C.A. auditorium. Has Captain Hawley
gone yet?"
"Not yet." His wife's voice was lowered. She motioned toward one of the
eight gray doors, and her husband nodded sadly.
"He goes at midnight, you know. Poor little woman!"
Just then the door opened and a young soldier came out, followed by his
wife, looking little and pathetic with great dark hollows under her eyes,
and a forced smile on her trembling lips.
The soldier came over and took the hand of the Salvation Army woman:
"Well, I'm going out to-night, Mother. I want to thank you for all you've
done for my little girl"--looking toward his wife--"and I won't forget
all the good things you've done for _me_, and the sermons you've
preached; and when I get over there I'm going to try to live right and
keep all my promises. I want you to pray for me that I may be true. I
shall never cease to thank the Lord that I knew you two."
The Salvationists shook hands earnestly with him, and promised to pray
for him, and then he turned to the children:
"Good-bye, Dicky, I shan't forget the songs you've sung. I'll hear them
sometimes when I get over there in battle, and they'll help to keep me
true."
But Dicky, not content with a hand shake swarmed up the leg and back of
his tall friend as if he had been a tree, and whispered in a loud
confidential child-whisper:
"I'm a goin' to pray fer you, too, Cap'n Hawley. God bless you!"
The grown-up phrases on the childish lips amused Ruth. She watched the
little boy as he lifted his beautiful serious face to the responsive look
of the stranger, and marvelled. Here was no parrot-like repetition of
word she had heard oft repeated by his elders; the boy was talking a
native tongue, and speaking of things that were real to him. There was no
assumption of godliness nor conceit, no holier-than-thou smirk about the
child. It was all sincere, as a boy would promise to speak to his own
father about a friend's need. It touched Ruth and tears sprang to her
eyes.
All the doubts she had had about the respectability of the place had
vanished long ago. There might be all kinds of people coming and going,
but there was a holy influence here which made it a refuge for anyone,
and she felt quite safe about sleeping in the great barn-like room so
open. It was as if they had happened on some saint's abode and been made
welcome in their extremity.
Presently, one by one the inmates of the rooms came in and retired. Then
the cots were brought out and set up, little simple affairs of canvas and
steel rods, put together in a twinkling, and very inviting to the two
weary women after the long day. The cheery proprietor called out, "Mrs.
Brown, haven't you an extra blanket in your room?" and a pleasant voice
responded promptly, "Yes, do you want it?"
"Throw it over then, please. A couple of ladies hadn't any place to go.
Anybody else got one?"
A great gray blanket came flying over the top of the partition, and down
the line another voice called: "I have one I don't need!" and a white
blanket with pink stripes followed, both caught by the Salvationist, and
spread upon the little cots. Then the lights were turned out one by one
and there in the shelter of the tall piano, curtained by the darkness the
two lay down.
Ruth was so interested in it all and so filled with the humor and the
strangeness of her situation that tired as she was she could not sleep
for a long time.
The house settled slowly to quiet. The proprietor and his wife talked
comfortably about the duties of the next day, called some directions to
the two boys in the puppy tent, soothed their mosquito bites with a
lotion and got them another blanket. The woman who helped in the kitchen
complained about not having enough supplies for morning, and that
contingency was arranged for, all in a patient, earnest way and in the
same tone in which they talked about the meetings. They discussed their
own boy, evidently the brother of the small boys, who had apparently just
sailed for France as a soldier a few days before, and whom the wife had
gone to New York to see off, and they commended him to their Christ in
little low sentences of reassurance to each other. Ruth could not help
but hear much that was said, for the rooms were all open to sounds, and
these good people apparently had nothing to hide. They spoke as if all
their household were one great family, equally interested in one another,
equally suffering and patient in the necessities of this awful war.
In another tiny room the Y.M.C.A. man who had been the last to come in
talked in low tones with his wife, telling her in tender, loving tones
what to do about a number of things after he was gone.
In a room quite near there were soft sounds as of suppressed weeping.
Something made Ruth sure it was the mother who had been spoken of earlier
in the evening as having come all the way from Texas and arrived too late
to bid her boy good-bye.
Now and again the sound of a troop train stirred her heart to untold
depths. There is something so weird and sorrowful about its going, as if
the very engine sympathized, screaming its sorrow through the night. Ruth
felt she never would forget that sound. Out there in the dark Cameron
might be even then slipping past them out into the great future. She
wished she could dare ask that sweet faced woman, or that dear little boy
to pray for _him_. Maybe she would next day.
The two officer's wives seemed to sit up in bed and watch the train. They
had discovered a flash light, and were counting the signals, and quite
excited. Ruth's heart ached for them. It was a peculiarity of this trip
that she found her heart going out to others so much more than it had
ever gone before. She was not thinking of her own pain, although she knew
it was there, but of the pain of the world.
Her body lying on the strange hard cot ached with weariness in
unaccustomed places, yet she stretched and nestled upon the tan canvas
with satisfaction. She was sharing to a certain extent the hardships of
the soldiers--the hardship of one soldier whose privations hurt her
deeply. It was good to have to suffer--with him. Where was God? Did He
care? Was He in this queer little hostel? Might she ask Him now to set a
guard over Cameron and let him find the help he needed wherewith to go to
meet Death, if Death he must meet?
She laid her hands together as a little child might do and with wide-open
eyes staring into the dark of the high ceiling she whispered from her
heart: "Oh God, help--_us_--to find _you_!" and unconsciously she, too,
set her soul on the search that night.
As she closed her eyes a great peace and sense of safety came over her.
Outside on the road a company of late soldiers, coming home from leave
noised by. Some of them were drunk, and wrangling or singing, and a sense
of their pitiful need of God came over her as she sank into a deep sleep.