I was heartily congratulated by officers and comrades, on receiving the
_Croix de Guerre_. I would have liked to wear it at once; but rules are
rules, and I decided to wait till my own Government gave me permission
to do so.
The next morning we left by train travelling over a beautiful country.
By the middle of the afternoon we reached one of the large cities of
France where we spent the night.
In the evening we went to an opera. It was good to hear the music and
to see the enjoyment of the people. The house was only partly filled;
mostly by soldiers home on permission. The artists were from Paris, and
though I did not understand much of the language, the acting was so
fine that I enjoyed the performance thoroughly. Jot, who was well up in
French, said, “They did as well as though a king were in the box.”
When we got back to our hotel a surprise, a disagreeable one for me,
awaited us. Jot’s acquaintance, the one who looked so much like him
that I had thought him to be his half-brother, was there awaiting his
return.
“I saw your name on the register,” he explained; “and as I wish to see
you on business of importance, I have been waiting here.”
When I, in turn, had shaken hands with him, I said, “I have seen you
before, but did not get your name, sir.”
“Adolf,” interrupted Jot, as though to prevent his giving any other.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “Adolf Von Rucker, it’s a German name, and
an honorable one.” Then, taking Jot by the arm he added, “I wish to
communicate with your friend. Will you excuse my taking him away?”
The striking resemblance of the two, the German name, all added to the
mystery of their acquaintance and, as I believed, their relationship. I
was worried about it in an indefinable way; for I had but little faith
in anything that was German.
I went to bed worrying; but in those days nothing could keep me from
sleep. I was awakened the next morning by Jot who came to my room and
greeted me by saying, “I was sorry to leave you last evening, David.”
“Was that man your half brother, Jot?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Then your real name is Von Rucker, not Nickerson?”
“Nickerson is a part of the name my mother gave me, and which it was
her wish I should be known by. I have told you that before.”
I knew that it would be useless to question him further; and I had an
instinctive feeling that he had good reasons for his reserve, though I
couldn’t understand it. So I dropped the matter, though I still felt
that his association with one with such a name could bear no good fruit.
That morning we resumed our journey on the train, and were speeding
down a broad beautiful river, with mountains here and there on the
opposite side, and with lovely villages and gardens with flowers,
orange trees, palms, and fruit trees. Jot, who had been thoughtful
and, as I thought, gloomy, threw off his depressing mood and entered
heartily into the enjoyment of these scenes.
In the afternoon we reached the sea, and passed the night at a busy
throbbing metropolitan city. On the streets were people and uniforms of
all nations--French, British, American, Algerines, Turkos, Canadians,
East Indians and others that I can not name.
We took a walk along the water side, and then up, up, up, to the top
of a high cliff on the top of which was a church, old, quaint and
beautiful. There we had a magnificent view. The sky so blue, the city
with its green trees and red tiled roofs seen through the blue haze,
the white limestone and the distant mountains, formed a picture never
to be forgotten.
The next day we were on the train again, with standing room only, the
crowd was so great and the service so poor. But this inconvenience was
forgotten in the constant panorama. Beaches of white sand and pebbles,
flowers, orange, palm and peach trees. To me it was like a scene of
enchantment, for beautiful nature had been supplemented by the arts of
the landscape gardener. I had never seen anything like it before.
We reached the city of our destination that afternoon, and went to the
Hotel Beau Rivage, which had been recommended to Jot by some French
friends. The accommodations were fine,--two rooms and a bath! It was
nice to get a hot bath once more, and wash away the stains of travel.
There was not as many people in the hotel as usual, we were told, on
account of the war.
It was the most beautiful sea resort of France. There was a fine beach,
not of sand but of pebbles, beautiful drives, and a broad cement walk
all bordered with palms, parks full of flowers of every kind, and
the broad green, ever changing sea. And then the swim! I had been
accustomed to swimming in fresh water, and the salt sea was so much
more buoyant that I could almost seem to fly, when I took my favorite
overhand swinging strokes through the clear salt water. It was grand!
Swimming was my best hold as an athlete and I enjoyed it. Muddy also
enjoyed the water.
On our return, I took a nap, while Jot went to make some calls on
people to whom he had letters of introduction. I had a long dreamless
sleep, and was not awakened until Jot shook me by the shoulder, crying
out: “Do you want to sleep forever, Dave? I have got some stunning news
for you. Wake up!”
I answered with a sleepy yawn, saying: “Stun away, Jot!”
“Who do you suppose is here?”
“I don’t know and don’t care,” I said indifferently; “I know I am here
with both feet. Wasn’t that a fine swim? Shoot away, Jot; let me know
the worst!”
“Miss Rich and her father and Emily Grant!”
“My!” I cried, springing up. “Where is Emily,--Miss Grant, I mean?--and
Miss Rich.”
“She is here at this hotel,” he replied, “and you had better hurry
up and get down to the reception room; for she has got a half dozen
lieutenants and captains in tow already.”
That hurried me! I dressed and went to meet these people from home.
It was like a breath from my native hills. It was, as Jot said, “as
though they had just stepped out from New England,” bringing with them
all its homely sweetness; and--Emily Grant was more beautiful than
ever. My heart was full: it was a moment worth living for to meet them
amid such beautiful surroundings.
That afternoon we, Miss Grant, Miss Rich, Jot and I, took a trolley
ride down the coast. Fifteen miles of beautiful roads mostly cut
into the sides of the cliffs, which ran up and up and up, and on the
terraces of which were magnificent gardens with vines and olive trees
and flowers, above the white stone. With such company it was all too
entrancing for words!
Doctor Rich was interested in scientific inquiries connected with his
profession, and was glad to have us take the girls off his hands. Such
good times as we had, swimming and boating, and on the cliffs! Such a
contrast was it to the squalid trenches.
Jot had evidently told Miss Emily about my gaining the _Croix de
Guerre_, for she asked me about it. We were far upon the cliff looking
down on town and sea, and at her request I took it out of a case where
I had enshrined it, and showed it to her.
“Oh, how fine in you!” she said, and then asked me questions about my
winning it, until I was tired. So I snapped it in the case again to
resume my--view of the country.
Jot teased me by declaring that I did not even care to take my swims,
without Miss Emily for company, for fear of giving several lieutenants
who were hovering around, a chance.
“No,” I said, “I’ve learned that it is not fashionable to swim here;
they tub.”
I confess that though I believe myself to be a sensible young man, my
heart sank like a piece of lead to the bottom of the sea, when those
young fellows bowed and cast languishing glances at her which she
answered with a smile. Every rose has its thorn!
Our leave of absence was soon to be over. And then the parting came.
I took Emily out for a walk and a climb on the high up cliffs--but it
was of no use. I did not have the courage to tell her all that I felt;
though I was encouraged by her looks and silence.
So I parted with my friends at last, she giving me her address in
France, and both girls inviting me to see them at the ---- hospital.
Furlough was nearly over, and we were on the train at last, speeding
for contending armies. Perhaps I might never see Emily again! Jot was
looking even more grave than usual; but there was a new light in his
eyes that mine did not reflect; which led me to inquire:
“Are you engaged to Miss Rich, Jot?”
“No,” he replied, “but we have an understanding.”
“If you have an understanding, why not engaged?”
“A man,” he replied, “should have something to offer a girl besides
himself and possibly wounds or death, to be engaged to marry her. Did
you,” he continued, “engage yourself to Miss Grant?”
“No, I did not mention it to her.”
Jot laughed a teasing laugh and said: “Well, Dave, I should not have
even thought of putting such a question to you. You look more like a
funeral than an engaged man just now!” And I guess I did.
“Cheer up, Dave!” he teased. “The girls are going to be in a hospital
near us. Who knows but that we shall both be half killed and be sent
there? Perhaps you will have Miss Emily to nurse you.”
“Who said anything about Miss Emily?” I replied crossly.
“No one but your face, Davie. You can not hide that; it always was a
telltale! I know you are blue. I am, too. I am hard hit, like some one
else I know.”
After this conversation we sat for a while in silence, and I thought
Jot’s face grew more and more grave as we neared our destination.
“What is it, Jot, what’s troubling you?” I inquired. “Is it something
that Von Rucker wants you to do against your will?”
“No,” he replied. “I never shall do anything contrary to my
convictions, for either love or money.”
“Why don’t you use the name you are entitled to?”
“Mother, as I have told you, objected to it.”
“Was it because he was a German?”
“No,” he replied; “she married him knowing that, but there was
something she didn’t know. She had very strong prejudices, or
convictions you may call them; and I have the same myself. She was
heart and soul a Union woman.”
“Was he a Southerner?” I said. “Was that the trouble?”
He did not answer me, but looked with a far-off glance as though into
the future, rather than the past.
We at last arrived at our destination and separated. So we left the
sunshine for the clouds of war.