It was October, 1916. The harvests were gathered, and the fall
ploughing was done; the frost was in the ground, and the hills were
ablaze with the scarlet and gold of Autumn.
I was debating with Jot whether I would attend school or not, that
winter.
“Of course,” answered Jot, “you will go to school just as if your
mother were here to tell you to go.”
To this good advice Uncle Jim assented by a decided nod of approval.
Now Uncle Jim, I had discovered, had a will of his own and very decided
opinions. As Aunt Joe said, “though mild as skim milk in his ways, he
is as sot as a rock.” And knowing this I thought it best to do as I was
advised.
I began my studies at once when the winter term opened, but was
discontented, and did not take so much interest in them as usual. When
I brought my books home to study, Jot read them eagerly, and asked me
many questions about the lessons. I think I learned more in trying to
answer his questions than I did by the study of them in the books;
for there is a difference between committing a lesson to memory, and
giving a sensible answer to questions to one in earnest to know about
them--for one is an act of memory, but the other requires thought and
reasoning.
Our interest in the war was growing in intensity day by day. Our
neighbors often came in of an evening to hear the news and discuss the
war, and among them there was a Mr. Larkin, who was a pacifist. He
was well informed and well read, for a farmer, and though in the main
patriotic had as Uncle Jim said, “a pacifist crook in his mind that
needed straightening.”
At one of the evening gatherings, after we had dwelt upon the
relentless cruelty of the German army in dealing with Belgium and
France, Larkin said:
“They had better stop this war at once; for war is so dreadful that it
should not have a place in any Christian country.”
“Well,” said Uncle Jim, in his slow and drawling tones, “I don’t much
admire war, but if any darned crowd should break into this house and
begin smashin’ things and threaten to kill the folks, am I a goin’ to
sit here like an idiot and see ’em do it without liftin’ my hand to
stop it? No, sir! I am goin’ to stop such works if I break their necks.”
“But don’t the Master say that we should return good for evil?” replied
Mr. Larkin, “and when smitten on the right cheek that we should turn
the left?”
“Well,” replied Uncle Jim slowly, “I suppose he did say so; an’ I
suppose if the majority of folks would do so, it would be better. But
it seems to me that I have read somethin’ about the Master’s getting
riled at some wretches that had turned the Temple into a sort of
pawnbroker’s shop, and then drivin’ them out with horse whips, because
they had made it a den of thieves. Now what do you suppose he would
have done, if he had been in Belgium, and had seen them Germans setting
fire to churches, and killin’ women and children?”
“That,” said Mr. Larkin, “only proves my assertion, that everybody
should set themselves against war; you speak, as though to keep the
peace with all your power, was degrading.”
“No, no,” said uncle; “you misunderstand me. What I mean is, that when
a bully hits you, you must hit him back so hard that he will never want
to hit you again. To do the contrary would be to encourage him. Such
folks would soon rule the world, if you did not make them take a back
seat.”
After Germany had violated her agreement with the United States not
to sink any more of our ships sailing the ocean on peaceful missions,
our President declared war, to “make the world safe for democracy.”
Then came the first call for volunteers, to fill up the ranks of the
National army. Men were quiet, but determined, in supporting the
President, and a deep undercurrent of war spirit prevailed in our
little community.
I had the war fever mighty bad. But uncle said: “Wait awhile an’ see
how that cat is a goin’ to jump--for ’taint best to be in a hurry about
important matters.”
There were some who differed about the wisdom of declaring war, and, of
course, our neighbor Larkin was among them.
“Don’t you think,” he said to Uncle Jim, “that it would have been
better if our President had not been so hasty?”
“No,” replied uncle decidedly, “I think that, instead of trying to keep
us out so hard, if we had ridged up our backs in the fust place, and
had begun to get a big army together, Germany would never have dared
to provoke us to war. We have a right to sail the seas wherever we
choose, on peaceful business--that was decided in the war of 1812--an’
no nation on earth has a right to say we shan’t.”
During all this talk and excitement Jot was mostly silent with a
constraint that I did not understand--though I had full faith in his
patriotism. At one time, before the declaration of war, it had been
proposed by my cousin Will Edwards that they should go to Canada and
enlist. But Jot had gravely replied: “I should like to fight under the
flag of this free nation, if she should ever need me; as my Uncle Jed
did in the Civil War.”
There was something, even in this remark, of reticence, as though there
were other ties that bound him of which he was inclined to make no
mention.
Soon after the declaration of war, a horse trader accompanied by Bill
Jenkins, and another man, came to the Stark farm to bargain for horses.
The prices they were willing to pay seemed large, and uncle sold one of
our extra horses. Then Bill said, “Why don’t you sell the colt, Jack?
He won’t be good for much for quite a while, an’ I guess you’ll need
the money before long on this place.”
I did not like the freedom of Bill’s remark and neither did I wish the
colt sold. “Well,” said the trader, “it will be no harm to look him
over.” So we went down to the pasture where Jack had been let loose for
his spring feed.
Our colt was now full grown and broken to saddle, but not to harness.
Muddy, the dog, and Jack were great friends. The dog slept in the same
stall with the colt and they often frolicked together in the pasture.
When we reached the pasture the colt and dog were on a frolic--the
colt jumping and wheeling and prancing, while Muddy jumped, barked and
capered in front of him.
Turning to my uncle the trader said: “I will give you two hundred
dollars for that colt. He isn’t worth it; but I know just where I can
sell him.”
My uncle refused to sell, and the man handing uncle his business card,
said: “Well, when you get ready to sell, let me know.”
After he had started away I turned to speak to Jot, but found he had
disappeared. Later I came upon him behind the barn talking to the man
who had accompanied the horse trader, and I overheard him using some
words strange to me--seemingly in some foreign language--at any rate
not common English. As I came upon them they parted, and when I asked
Jot what they were talking about he made no definite reply, but said,
“I am so glad they didn’t sell Jack.”
His evasion made me angry, and I turned away to go to the house. Jot
called after me, but I refused to speak or turn back; and that night we
went to bed without a good-night greeting as was usual with us.
The first thing, after I awoke, I went to Jot’s room, but he was gone.
Then I went down to breakfast, expecting to find him at the table; but
he was not there.
“Where is Jot?” I asked Uncle Jim.
With provoking deliberation he removed his pipe from his lips saying
“Gone.”
“Where has he gone?” I asked impatiently.
“Don’t know--suspect he has gone to enlist--said something about it.”
And that was all I could learn--though I half suspected that uncle was
keeping something back,--something he didn’t think it good for me to
know.
After this I became more dissatisfied than ever, but still continued my
work on the farm, expecting to have a letter from Jot. But no tidings
of him came.
I constantly pestered Uncle Jim, who was made my guardian, to let me
enlist. But he put me off by saying: “Time enough--wait awhile.”
Later on, uncle said to me, “I guess we shall have to sell Jack after
all; I have been offered a good price for him by Colonel Walker. The
interest on the mortgage is coming due this month, and I am a little
short of money.”
So Jack was sold, and that made me still more discontented, and not
long after I “broke out,” as Aunt Joe called it, by saying, “Uncle, I
want to enlist. If I don’t enlist they will, like as not, draft me.
Just think of a Stark being drafted! I am bigger than Jot, and just as
good for a soldier. They will take me, and I am lonesome without Jot.”
Uncle Jim had finished his breakfast, pushed back from the table, and
began smoking his pipe as was his custom after the morning meal.
I knew by his long deliberate puffs that he was thinking it over. Then
with shorter puffs, he finished his smoke and I knew he had reached a
decision.
“What d’ye think, Josephine? David won’t be good for anything at school
or on the farm now; and it is natural for the Starks to want to serve
their country when there is a war on hand. Like’s not, if we don’t give
our consent he will go without it, and that would be worse for him and
us too. What do you think?”
“But, Jim,” said my aunt dolefully, “We are in Sister Emily’s place.
Would she consent if she were here?”
I felt that I had won over Uncle Jim, for when he said, “Well,
Josephine, we will talk it over,” I knew that his mind was made up.
So the next morning at breakfast--uncle slowly and deliberately said,
“Your aunt and I have been considering about giving our consent to
your enlistment.” And then, after a long pause, “If you are still of
the same mind, you may go. I understand that there will be a draft
here--and you might have to go finally anyway--an’ to be _made_ to do
a thing isn’t pleasant, as you say, for a Stark.” So it was settled. I
was to go.