THE GATHERING OF THE LEGIONARIES
One week from that night, twenty-seven other men assembled in the
strange eyrie of _Niss'rosh_, nearly a thousand feet above the city's
turmoil. They came singly or in pairs, their arrival spaced in such a
manner as not to make the gathering obvious to anyone in the building
below.
Rrisa, the silent and discreet, brought them up in the private
elevator from the forty-first floor to the Master's apartment on the
top story of the building, then up the stairway to the observatory,
and thus ushered them into the presence of the Master and Bohannan.
Each man was personally known to one or the other, who vouched
absolutely for his secrecy, valor, and good faith.
This story would resolve itself into a catalogue were each man to be
named, with his title, his war-exploits, his decorations. We shall
have to touch but lightly on this matter of personnel. Six of the
men were Americans--eight, including the Master and Bohannan; four
English; five French; two Serbian; three Italian; and the others
represented New Zealand, Canada, Russia, Cuba, Poland, Montenegro, and
Japan.
Not one of these men but bore a wound or more, from the Great
Conflict. This matter of having a scar had been made one prime
requisite for admission to the Legion. Each had anywhere from one to
half a dozen decorations, whether the Congressional Medal, the V.C.,
the Croix de Guerre, the Order of the Rising Sun, or what-not.
Not one was in uniform. That would have made their arrival far too
conspicuous. Dressed as they were, in mufti, even had anyone noted
their coming, it could not have been interpreted as anything but an
ordinary social affair.
Twenty-nine men, all told, gathered in the observatory, clearly
illuminated by the hidden lights. All were true blue, all loyal to
the core, all rusting with ennui, all drawn thither by the lure of the
word that had been passed them in club and office, on the golf links,
in the street. All had been pledged, whether they went further or not,
to keep this matter secret as the grave.
Some were already known to each other. Some needed introduction. Such
introduction consumed a few minutes, even after the last had come and
been checked off on the Master's list, in cipher code. The
brightly lighted room, behind its impenetrable curtains, blued with
tobacco-smoke; but no drop of wine or spirits was visible.
The Master, at the head of the table, sat with his list and took
account of the gathering. Each man, as his name was called, gave that
name in full, briefly stated his service and mentioned his wound.
All spoke English, though some rather mangled it. At any rate, this
was to be the official language of the expedition, and no other was to
be allowed. The ability to understand and obey orders given in English
had, of course, to be one essential requisite for this adventurous
band of Legionaries.
When all the credentials had been proved satisfactory, the Master
rapped for order. Silence fell. The men settled down to listen, in
tense expectancy. Some took chairs, others occupied the divan, still
others--for whom there were no seats--stood along the walls.
Informal though the meeting still was, an air of military restraint
and discipline already half possessed it. The bright air seemed to
quiver with the eagerness of these fighting-men once more to
thrust out into the currents of activity, to feel the tightening of
authority, the lure and tang of the unknown.
Facing them from the end of the table, the Master stood and spoke
to them, with Bohannan seated at his right. His face reflected quite
another humor from that of the night, a week before, when first this
inspiration had come upon him.
He seemed refreshed, buoyant, rejuvenated. His eyes showed fire. His
brows, that had frowned, now had smoothed themselves. His lips smiled,
though gravely. His color had deepened. His whole personality, that
had been sad and tired, now had become inspired with a profound and
soul-felt happiness.
"Gentlemen all, soldiers and good men," said he, slowly. "In a general
way you know the purpose of this meeting. I am not given to oratory. I
do not intend making any speech to you.
"We are all ex-fighters. Life, once filled with daring and adventure,
has become stale, flat, and unprofitable. The dull routine of business
and of social life is Dead Sea fruit to our lips--dust and ashes. It
cannot hold or entertain us.
"By this I do not mean that war is good, or peace bad. For the vast
majority of men, peace is normal and right. But there must be always
a small minority that cannot tolerate ennui; that must seek risks and
daring exploits; that would rather lay down their lives, today, in
some man-sized exploit, than live twenty-five years longer in the dull
security of a humdrum rut.
"Such men have always existed and probably always will. We are all,
I believe, of that type. Therefore you will all understand me. I will
understand you. And each of you will understand the rest.
"Major Bohannan and I have chosen you and have invited you here
because we believe every man in this room is precisely the kind of
man I have been defining. We believe you are like ourselves, dying
of boredom, eager for adventure; and willing to undergo military
discipline, swear secrecy, pledge honor and risk life itself, provided
the adventure be daring enough, the reward promising enough. If there
is anyone here present who is unwilling to subscribe to what I have
said, so far, let him withdraw."
No one stirred. But a murmur arose, eager, delighted:
"Go on! Go on--tell us more!"
"Absolute obedience to me is to be the first rule," continued the
Master. "The second is to be sobriety. There shall be no drinking,
carousing, or gambling. This is not to be a vulgar, swashbuckling,
privateering revel, but--"
A slight disturbance at the door interrupted him. He frowned, and
rapped on the table, for silence. The disturbance, however, continued.
Someone was trying to enter there against Rrisa's protests.
"I did not bring you up, sir," the Arab was saying, in broken English.
"You cannot come in! How did you get here?"
"I'm not in the habit of giving explanations to subordinates, or
of bandying words with them," replied the man, in a clear, rather
high-pitched but very determined voice. The company, gazing at him,
saw a slight, well-knit figure of middle height or a little less,
in aviator's togs. "I'm here to see your master, my good fellow, not
you!"
The man at the head of the table raised a finger to his lips, in
signal of silence from them all, and beckoned the Arab.
"Let him come in!" he ordered, in Rrisa's vernacular.
"_A, M'almé_" submitted the desert man, standing aside and bowing as
the stranger entered. The Master added, in English:
"If he comes as a friend and helper, uninvited though he be, we
welcome him. If as an enemy, traitor, or spy, we can deal justice to
him in short order. Sir, advance!"
The stranger came to the foot of the table. Men made way for him. He
stood there a moment in silence, dropped his gauntlets on the table
and seemed peering at the Master. Then all at once he drew himself up,
sharply, and saluted.
The Master returned the salute. A moment's silence followed. No man
was looking elsewhere than at this interloper.
Not much could be seen of him, so swaddled was he in sheepskin jacket,
aviator's helmet, and goggles. Leather trousers and leggings completed
his costume. The collar of the jacket, turned up, met the helmet. Of
his face, only the chin and lower part of the cheeks remained visible.
The silence tautened, stretched to the breaking-point. All at once the
master of _Niss'rosh_ demanded, incisively:
"Your name, sir?"
"Captain Alfred Alden, of the R.A.F."
"Royal Air Force man, eh? Are you prepared to prove that?"
"I am."
"If you're not, well--this won't be exactly a salubrious altitude for
you."
"I have my papers, my licenses, my commission."
"With you here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well," answered the Master, "I will examine them in due time.
English, American, or--?"
"I am a Canadian." answered the aviator. "I have seen nearly two
years' active service. I rank as an ace. I bear three wounds and have
been cited several times. I have the Distinguished Service Cross. What
more need I tell you, sir?"
His voice was steady and rang true. The Master nodded approval, that
seemed to echo round the room in a buzz of acceptance. But there were
still other questions to be asked. The next one was:
"How did you come here? It's obvious my man didn't bring you up."
"I came in my own plane, sir," the stranger answered, in a dead hush
of stillness. "It just now landed on the roof of this building. If you
will draw the curtains, there behind you, I believe you can see it for
yourself."
"I heard no engine."
"I volplaned in. I don't say this to boast sir, but I can handle the
average plane as accurately as most men handle their own fingers."
"Were you invited to attend this meeting by either Major Bohannan or
by me?"
"No, sir, I was not."
"Then, why are you here?"
"Why am I here? For exactly the same reason that all the rest are
here, sir!" The aviator swept his arm comprehensively at the ranks of
eagerly listening men. "To resume active service. To get back to duty.
To live, again! In short, to join this expedition and to share all its
adventures!"
"Hm! Either that, or to interfere with us."
"Not the latter, sir! I swear that!"
"How did you know there was going to be an expedition, at all?"
demanded the Master, his brows tensed, lips hard, eyes very keen. The
aviator seemed smiling, as he answered:
"I know many things. Some may be useful to you all. I am offering you
my skill and knowledge, such as they may be, without any thought or
hope of reward."
"Why?"
"Because I am tired of life. Because I want--must have--the freedom of
the open roads, the inspiration of some great adventure! Surely, you
understand."
"Yes, if what you say is true, and you are not a spy. Show us your
face, sir!"
The aviator loosened his helmet and removed it, disclosing a mass of
dark hair, a well-shaped head and a vigorous neck. Then he took off
his goggles.
A kind of communal whisper of astonishment and hostility ran round the
apartment. The man's whole face--save for eyeholes through which
dark pupils looked strangely out--was covered by a close-fitting,
flesh-colored celluloid mask.
This mask reached from the roots of his hair to his mouth. It sloped
away down the left jaw, and somewhat up the cheekbone of the right
side. The mask was firmly strapped in place around the head and neck.
"What does all this mean, sir?" demanded the Master, sharply. "Why the
mask?"
"Is that a necessary question, sir?" replied the aviator, while a buzz
of curiosity and suspicion rose. "You have seen many such during the
war and since its close."
"Badly disfigured, are you?"
"That word, 'disfigured,' does not describe it, sir. Others have
wounds, but my whole face is nothing but a wound. No, let me put it
more accurately--there is, practically speaking, no face at all. The
gaping cavity that exists under this mask would certainly sicken the
strongest men among you, and turn you against me.
"We can't tolerate what disgusts, even if its qualities be excellent.
In exposing myself to you, sir, I should certainly be insuring my
rejection. But what you cannot see, what you can only imagine, will
not make you refuse me."
The Master pondered a moment, then nodded and asked:
"Is it so very bad, sir?"
"It's a thing of horror, incredible, awful, unreal! In the hospital
at Rouen, they called me 'The Kaiser's Masterpiece.' Some of the most
hardened surgeons couldn't look at me, or dress my--wound, let us call
it--without a shudder. Ordinary men would find me intolerable, if they
could see me.
"Unmasked, I bear no resemblance whatever to a man, but rather to some
ghastly, drug-inspired dream or nightmare of an Oriental Dante. The
fact that I have sacrificed my human appearance in the Great Cause
cannot overcome the shrinking aversion that normal men would feel,
if they could see me. I say only this, that my mutilation is
indescribable. As the officer and gentleman I know you to be, you
won't ask me to expose this horror!"